Work Text:
Strings cut so deeply into Spamton that he feels parts of his body go numb. They drag over his skin and yank him hard. Up, down, side by side. Suddenly, his ears are ringing with the sound of a phone. Then he squeezes his eyes shut as lights nearly blind him. Studio lights and LED bulbs surround him. The loud shouts from the audience startle him, the next thing he knows he’s clicking drinks together with Tenna in the green room. He takes a long drag of his cigarette.
But Tenna is different, his smile is wide and his antennas droop slightly. His frame is lighter and his coat is red, with a golden tie around his neck. Spamton sets his drink down and laughs so hard he curls inwards. He’s wearing a matching outfit.
Tenna slaps a large hand on his back, but it’s not his usual threatening manner. It’s almost gentle against his backside, Tenna is leaning forward and laughing seemingly as hard as he is. There is a kind of warmth that radiates off him, his friendly smile and relaxed posture. He’s so happy. Spamton is happy too.
Soon he’s desperately holding the phone against his ear, his hands clenching the black plastic like his life depended on it. Maybe it did. The fear in his stomach ends up engulfing him whole. Like a serpent swallowing him into the void.
Something bites away at his code. Eating pieces of his very essence. It burns and he tries to shout for help but he’s drowning. Suffocating until he passes out.
Soon he’s small, smaller than even the day he was uploaded. His body was stiff and warped into a puppet like form. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong.
Tall. Powerful. Freedom is close. He stands bold and strong. Sturdy wings at his back, they could stretch wide and matched his old feathery body. Heaven is close, he can feel it. He just needs to be rid of the strings.
A strange pair of yellow and pink glasses. They are cracked. A hand picks them up carefully and holds them close.
Darkness. Nobody. Nothing.
[WOULD YOU LIKE TO RESTART]?
[ARE YOU SURE? Data and other save slots will be deleted.]
[YES] / [NO]?
[[YES]]
Somehow the darkner wakes up on the floor, his head face down into the carpet. He sits up and groans, rubbing his head.
He glances around the room, something feels off. But nothing he can see has noticeably changed. What a way to start the day.
It doesn’t matter now. He knows what he has to do.
Spamton knows for the most part how each day will go. His job requires a strict schedule and even on his days off he makes business plans to keep his position as the number one salesman! Not much room for surprises.
A small leap and skip to the closet, Spamton pulls open the door and reaches for his everyday attire. He had it all organized so it would be exactly as he needed it for the next day. Especially since he can’t afford to be late. The only time that happens is when he’s trying to irritate Tenna. He loves to poke the TV hard and see how much he gets shocked by it.
When his hand touches the white jacket, he gets a sudden flash of red and gold. He pulls his hand away as if he’s been burned by it. He stares at it surprised, expecting it to change again. But it doesn’t.
He’s still half asleep, he’s just seeing things. Spamton rubs his eyes hard before grabbing his clothes and getting dressed for the day. He slicks his hair back, and it holds for a second before snapping back forward. He frowns and tries to put it back in place but his stubborn hair refuses.
Fine. He grabs his yellow and pink glasses before leaving for work.
He’ll grab some coffee for breakfast on his way, technically it’s past lunch. With Tenna’s show usually stretching into the long hours of the night, they have an off sleep schedule. They typically end their shifts early in the morning.
Pippins and shadowguys all bustle around the puppet as he worms his path around them. He grabs the doorknob to Tenna’s office and swings it open.
The hinges squeak, and the bright glare of the hallway lights is left behind him. Inside Tenna’s office, which is technically Spamton’s unofficial office, it’s dimmer. Much easier on the headache Spamton is getting.
Tenna is hunched over his desk, the blue white glow of his monitor looking downwards. Papers are spread around him, cue cards and old scripts marked with bright pen strokes. He looks up when Spamton enters.
“Here I thought you weren’t showing up today,” Tenna comments, setting down his pen, “If you use another one of your idiotic excuses-“ he pauses when he sees the way Spamton is slumped. His glasses do little to hide the way his eyes are glazed over.
“What’s wrong with you? You look like you lost a fight with a power cord.”
Spamton blinks. His tie is crooked, his hair won’t stay slicked back, and there’s static clinging to the cuffs of his sleeves. He grins anyway, wide and uneven, “Maybe I [WIN WIN WIN] hotshot! Don’t think my [BIG TALK] is just for [SHOW TIME].”
That comes out faster and louder than he meant. A touch of bite in his voice, like he’s trying to prove something.
Tenna’s antennae twitch and he stands up, “Excuse me?” His tone is sharp with a warning, “Try that again, salesman.”
Spamton freezes. His mouth opens, then shuts. Why does that feel wrong? He’s always been the snappy one, the one to prove who’s in charge, wasn’t he? No, no, that’s Tenna. Tenna’s the one with the piercing words, the impatient voice, the temper that makes the Pippins scatter.
So why does he remember it differently?
Spamton’s laugh comes out strained, “Heh, just [JOKES] with you. I didn’t get a lot of [REST AND RECOVERY].”
Tenna narrows his eyes, studying him for a long second before turning back to his desk, “Get your act together before rehearsal. I can’t be tired out from killing you before the show.”
Spamton nods stiffly. He stands there a moment longer, wondering why he feels so bizarre before he climbs up to Tenna’s desk and sits down to view the papers. He yawns as he tries his best to focus, the words blur themselves over the papers.
Now and again he can feel Tenna’s gaze over him. Studying him closely like he’s checking for something. But every time he looks over at him, he’s back to shifting through scrips.
This is going to be a long day.
A pippin comes by with coffee for the two big shots and Spamton had never appreciated caffeine more. His hands felt steadier around the warm drink.
After a while of perfecting everything to Tenna’s preference, he stands up abruptly, almost knocking Spamton off the desk with his tail. Spamton ducked just in time to miss it.
“Stay here while I give these back to the crew.” Tenna said as he walked to the door. When Spamton opens his mouth to protest but Tenna snaps his head towards him and glares so intensely that the puppet shuts his jaw as fast as possible. Tenna leaves and slams the door behind him.
Now alone, Spamton relaxes a bit. He doesn’t need Tenna knocking him around today with whatever’s going on in his head, even if Spamton very much enjoys being Tenna‘s object of attention.
Maybe he needs some comfort. That’s definitely not a job Tenna could fulfill so he goes to the next best thing. Something he values as much as he values Tenna.
Spamton drops off the desk and scampers over to a large wardrobe. It has a silver latch on it, thankfully Spamton has a spear key. He takes the key out of its hiding spot underneath a picture on the wall, and jumps up. He holds onto the latch as he unlocks it. When it snaps open he drops down and the doors swing open. Inside on a plush pillow and surrounded by blankets. A pipis. More specifically his and Tenna’s pipis.
It’s perfectly round and smooth, bigger than any pipis Spamton has made before. He still remembers the day he happily, and anxiously, gave it to Tenna as a special gift. The CRT held it at first with an expression of confusion. But as Spamton wrung his hands together and explained its significance, something in Tenna’s body language changed. He held the pipis a little closer to his chest and a hand over it in a protective manner. Spamton watched him turn it over in his claws examining it.
Tenna didn’t say much about it, but later when Spamton found the nest he made for it, he understood.
Spamton gently pats her, his smile reflects on her shiny red shell.
Wait. Red? He frowns. This isn’t right, pipis are blue. Aren’t they?
Footsteps approach from the hall and Tenna walks in, he sees an empty desk before he looks over to where Spamton is now sitting in the pile of blankets with their pipis.
Spamton taps a finger against her, “Has she always been [ROJA]?”
Tenna frowns, clearly unhappy that Spamton was messing with her while he wasn’t there. Even though she belongs to both of them, Tenna is picky about her being out of her spot. Or even just opening the wardrobe. He quickly walks over in a few large steps, he instinctively reaches for her but pauses, “Of course, she’s always been red. Why are you messing with her? We have work and she needs rest.”
Spamton pouts, “I could’ve [PINKY SWEAR] she was [FEELING BLUE?]” He tucks her back into her spot. Tenna swats Spamton out of the wardrobe, he glances over the pipis before muttering something quiet to her and closing the doors. He puts the lock back on.
“We have a show to do.”
The smaller darkner follows the TV host out of the room, a pit sat at the bottom of his stomach.
Tenna’s late night talks always had people being completely consumed by the host’s charming and charismatic personality. Anyone who had a screen tuned into his show every night. Spamton would stand off to the side in the wings if he wasn’t joining Tenna on stage to advertise or give feedback on whatever topics Tenna is covering.
The stage is dull, but it’s supposed to be. Dark colors and bland lights above. Nothing interesting or distracting. But that’s the point. So when the CRT steps onto the stage, he draws in all your attention. He’s the most eye catching thing on that stage. A screen behind him that displays messages, ads, and whatever the weather duo couple needs during their segments.
But as Spamton walks out, everything changed. No longer straight and sterile. Game show lights flash as upbeat music plays. Tenna steps out, smiling and waving. His voice is boisterous and cheery like he’s everyone’s best friend.
Spamton stands there frozen, like he’s been permanently glued to the floor. His body is cold and he can’t speak.
Wait, isn’t-
A pippin snaps their fingers in front of his face, “It’s your cue!” He snaps out of his thoughts as he realizes he can move again. He snaps back into business partner mode. Greeting Tenna with a grin as he stands by his side.
Tenna’s grin fills the frame. The light from his screen flares pure white, then softens to that familiar warm tint, all charisma and command. The kind of expression that tells viewers ‘you’re safe here, as long as you keep watching.
“Welcome back, folks,” he says, voice steady and smooth, “If you’re just tuning in, congratulations. You’re awake when it matters.”
Behind him, the green screen cityscape glows with flickering neon. A crawl of headlines rolls by.
POWER OUTAGES IN DARK WORLD SECTOR 6- AUTHORITIES WARN TO STAY INDOORS
MISSING PARTS: ARE YOUR NEIGHBORS HIDING SOMETHING?
Tenna chuckles under his breath and leans closer to the camera, as if confiding in the audience.
“You’ve heard the rumors, distortion spreading, people vanishing, systems suddenly collapsing. But don’t panic,” he says, and then flashes a smile that’s too big, “Panic never sells, does it?”
The Pippins in the crew laugh obediently. The sound is canned, looping too neatly.
Tenna stands, pacing in front of the desk, “We’re living in uncertain times, viewers. The system wants to keep you calm, to keep you quiet. But my job,” He spreads his hands, “My job is to keep you informed. Because if you’re not scared, you’re not paying attention.”
The monitor behind him flashes red for a split second, a subliminal frame Spamton can barely catch from offstage. Words flicker.
WATCH CLOSELY. SOMETHING IS WRONG. STAY INSIDE.
Tenna continues, voice dipping to a near whisper now, “They’ll tell you it’s fine. They’ll tell you everything’s running smooth. But you know the truth, don’t you? That creeping feeling that something just isn’t right. Perhaps, everyone else feels it too.”
He turns sharply toward the camera again. “We’ll be right back, after a short word from our sponsors.”
The jingle kicks in. Bright, false, drowning. The studio lights dim, leaving only Tenna’s face still glowing as if he hasn’t stopped smiling even when the feed cuts to black.
The rest of the broadcast goes by in a flash. By the time Spamton blinks away his visions the cameras are cut and the lights go out.
The applause light dies, leaving the studio in a heavy half darkness. The last segment has run so long that the air feels stale, the cameras still humming like tired insects.
Tenna retires backstage, and an exhausted sigh leaves him. His polite ‘made for TV’ smile hasn’t cracked once all night, but Spamton can see the faint static in the corners of his mouth, that thin tremor he gets after too many hours in front of the lens.
Spamton blinks at the sudden silence. His ears ring. When he steps offstage, his shoes scuff too loudly against the floor. Usually, he’d follow Tenna to the dressing room, let the host bark orders until they both ran out of energy. But tonight something in his chest pulls him sideways.
He slips through the side door, down the narrow hall where the glow of the stage can’t reach.
The corridor feels endless this late in the morning. His footsteps echo quietly as he walks aimlessly. The studio has always been a maze, but now the doors don’t match the rooms he knows. The prop storage should be next, but instead, there’s a stairwell leading down. He doesn’t remember there being a stairwell.
Maybe he’s getting sick. Nothing is where it used to be and when Spamton tries to think of what things are supposed to look like his head starts to throb.
Suddenly he can feel something. He stops and clutches his chest. He leans against the wall as a wave of glitches overtake him. They distort not only his vision and voice but his whole body. It hurts, imagine being a complete puzzle until someone starts taking pieces of you away. Sometimes replacing them with parts that don’t fit.
He drops to his knees and screams from the pain. But no sound can escape his throat. It’s a silent yell. Tears prickle at his eyes as he tries to breathe, the glitches subside slowly.
Slowly, the distortion fades. The lights buzz faintly overhead again. He’s alone, or maybe the hallway itself is watching him, waiting to see what he’ll do next.
[NO NO NO],” he gasps, trying to twist free. The harder he moves, the more resistance he feels, as if his own body doesn’t want to obey. The world flickers, green, white, black, and he can hear them, the voices that used to come through the receiver, sales pitches, laughter, orders barked down the line.
Each voice overlaps, cutting into him. The phantom cords cinch tighter, tracing the paths where his arms should move, around his throat, down his spine. He gasps, but the air won’t go in right, every breath catches and skips like a bad signal.
He claws at his neck even though there’s nothing there. The voices splinter into static.
The lights blink once, twice. The pressure suddenly releases, leaving him shaking on the floor, the echo of those unseen strings still burning across his skin. His chest heaves, his thoughts scattered to noise.
When the silence finally returns, it’s so loud it scares him more than the sound ever did.
He needs to get out of here. However he can, so he gets up and stumbles. He holds onto the wall as he gets to an exit and shoves the door open as hard as he can.
Spamton steps outside and is met with the sudden chill of snow falling. It bites at his body but he doesn’t care. The cold wind makes him shiver but at least he can stand upright.
He stares at his feet, and the snow surrounding him looks oddly like a screen that gets white static from a lost signal.
The snow soon turns into another vision. This time it shows Tenna lying half buried in the snow, his arms sliced off lying by his side. His screen is cracked and broken. His suit is torn and his antennas are snapped off. Someone screaming his name.
It sends a chill deep inside Spamton, colder than the weather ever could.
This isn’t real. None of this is real. It’s all just inside his head.
Spamton balls up his fists and smacks them on the side of his head.
But it doesn’t stop the images. Tenna broken into pieces. Spamton being burned alive. The strings choking him. They all cloud his mind until his vision started getting blotchy.
[NEW FILE DETECTED]
[Overwrite existing save data?]
[YES] / [NO]
[[YES]]