Chapter Text
Spamton had vanished from TV World practically overnight. Recorded episodes of TV Time including him still existed somewhere out there, but if you were to step into the famed studio, no one would have heard of him. No one’s ever seen him. There was never any additional host, the show had always been called “Mr. (Ant) Tenna’s TV Time”, and the famed Lord of Screens was the one and only, the best in the business, not to be crossed or trifled with. Short tempered, controlling, and without anyone else there to balance out the power and provide a voice for the employees, the work environment was… less than pleasant.
As far as coverups went, this one was mediocre at best. Most of it boiled down to blatant denial of evidence and the threat of termination if one were to even mention the name of the totally-not-former-host. Outsiders weren’t even allowed in the studio anymore. Live audiences were made of crowds of contracted employees, news media was tightly monitored and questions had to be pre-approved before they even set foot in the studio. All of this resulted in the perfect echo chamber for Tenna to hide himself in. The perfect little studio where he could do no wrong, where everything went perfectly, and if it didn’t it would be someone else’s fault.
Spira, an investigative journalist for the Ebott Press, wasn’t going there looking to prove that Spamton once worked in the studio, though. They knew that firsthand, after all. They were going there to find out what exactly happened for him to leave the way he did. What could have possibly happened for The Big Shot, Spamton himself, to abruptly leave the studio without any sort of announcement? And then have Tenna scrub his existence from everything but the memories of the viewer?
Better yet, they desperately needed to know what the hell happened for Spamton to disappear from the public eye so completely. He wasn’t dead, but he was dead to the world. He had to be. If he was just dead, surely there would have been news, or a corpse, or something.
Who knew what happened for Tenna to erase the entire Dark World save for the studio. Who knew what happened for Spamton to run away, go back to sales in Cyber City for two months, then drop off the face of the planet. Spira was making it their job to find out.
…
The gilded gate that used to block off the entrance to the studio was gone. There was no grand entrance or security guards posted at the door to prevent adoring fans and nosey Newzees from trespassing. Instead they stood in front of a single steel door at the edge of the world. The snow beneath Spira’s talons felt like static; it prickled up their legs, their paper waist cape clinging awkwardly to their thighs while they timidly knocked on the door. It was uncomfortable out here. Dry, arid, with each gust of deadly cold air bringing about a tightness in Spira’s chest that seemed more akin to dread than any normal response to the cold. They decided that if someone didn’t open the door within the next thirty seconds, they would crawl in through an air vent and hope for the best, angel forbid they flew all the way to TV World and left empty handed.
Just as they raised a fist to the door to knock one more time, a Zapper opened it from the other side.
“Oh thank goodness! Hello, good evening, my name’s Spira, I work for the Ebott Press, I was hoping to---”
“Oh a Newzee? Sorry, yous aren’t allowed here without tha boss’ say. An’ he didn’t say nothin’ about any press,” The Zapper interrupted, keeping a hand raised to prevent Spira from getting closer.
“Well- yeah, no, I don’t have an appointment or anything but I think he would---” Spira began to sputter, paddling their talons against the ground while the sense of dread began to grow once more.
They knew they had to think quickly. What did they know about the studio? How had it changed since they last visited? How could it be the same? Spira’s chest tightened once more, their entire body rustling like paper while they stepped closer to the door. Spira thought back to every episode of TV time they ever watched. Every episode, who did Tenna talk to? Who seemed to pull the strings, if it wasn”t Tenna himself?
“Sorry, yous got to go,” the Zapper announced, sighing as they moved to close the door.
It seemed to snap Spira’s attention right back to the present, taking a leap towards the door and pushing against it in protest.
“Wait wait! Mike sent me! Mike sent me, Mike’s the one that arranged the interview.” Spira insisted, feeling their face heat while their papery clothing puffed in protest of their own anxiety.
Hearing that name brought the Zapper pause, their hopping stopped with the door opened just a crack. Just enough for Spira to force their beak through to speak. So it worked…? Did the mysterious and elusive Mike really have that sort of influence here…? From what Spira knew, that name was all that remained of Spamton’s time here.
Spira knew them as the voice in the phone. They heard Spamton speak to him. Just once, but it was enough.
“Mike sent me…” They repeated.
The Zapper let out a slight groan of hesitation, the red eye darting across the room with tessellating walls and twinkling lights. The green room never changed. A little slice of home, pleasant and stable.
“... Does tha Boss know yous is comin’ at all?” The Zapper asked.
“Uh, yes, I’d imagine he would. I mean, if uh, if Mike called me about it, obviously he probably got the order directly from Tenna,” Spira responds, forcing out a nervous laugh as they squeezed a single foot through the crack.
The Zapper let out another hesitant groan before opening the door fully. Spira was quick to flutter in, their entire body shaking to discharge the last of the static that clung to their legs with a relieved sigh.
Now the real work started. Now, they had the chance to ask their questions, look around, and hopefully get to the bottom of this whole hullabaloo. Spamton didn’t just leave… he wouldn’t have. Everyone could see he had a damn good deal in this place. So, why did he? Maybe Tenna kicked him out, but that seemed just as unlikely. He was constantly talking about how much he loved his business partner, after all. Always “business partner”… always denied anything greater than that. So be it, Spira could still have their fantasies.
“Thank you for that… I don’t think I got your name?” Spira chirps, hastily removing a small notepad holstered against their shin.
“It’s Jongler.”
“... Jongler? Is that uh, french? Or something? Uh, sorry, it’s not important,” Spira took a deep breath, shaking their head.
Well, they got in. Step one, complete. Now that they were here, might as well start asking around. The longer they could stay without Tenna finding out, the better.
“Not that I know. Yous wants to go see tha boss?” Jongler asked, shutting the door once more.
“Oh, actually! Well, I’m sure he’s a busy guy, and I’ll admit I’m a little bit early… But, I was hoping to get a few different perspectives, anyway, would you be interested in providing any intel?” Spira said eagerly, leaning in just a little closer to Jongler while they guarded the door.
With natural blinders on either side of their face, it was hard for Spira not to focus on them. If someone else entered the green room there could be trouble, but the only one they were particularly worried about was Tenna. As long as Tenna didn’t spot them, things would turn out fine.
“About what?” Jongler asked.
“About Spamton. I want to know what happened for him to be scrubbed from TV World… but beyond that, he seems to have dropped off the face of the Dark World. He---”
“We aren’t allowed to talk about him,” Jongler said firmly, shaking their head, “... And I don’t think tha boss would approve of questions about him.”
Spira paused once more, feeling a breath get caught in their throat. Should they play the Mike card again? No, that would only work so many times… besides, there was no way for them to tell what this Mike character would have control over. Maybe it would be wildly out of place for him to disregard Tenna’s rules like that. Regardless, they pushed on.
“... I won’t be posting any quotes, just gathering information. There’s no one else here, no one will know you said anything,” Spira said, their voice barely above a whisper, “December 4th 2005, Spamton left the studio for the last time. Witnesses claim he left in a hurry, and on the way back to Cyber World, he crashed his car going down the information superhighway.”
Jongler said nothing, though. They simply let those words mull over in their mind. December fourth was a day none of them would ever be able to forget.
Tenna flew into a rage after Spamton left. His voice was so loud it rattled the walls while he tore down posters and threw everything he could against the walls or floor. There weren’t that many people in the studio so late at night, but the people who were there would be able to remember it like it was yesterday.
Tenna wailed. He screamed and roared, he shrieked that Spamton betrayed him. The little freak ripped him off! Jongler was there. He watched Spamton leave, but didn’t think anything of it until Tenna came by twenty minutes later screaming at him to revoke “that little liar’s” entrance badge, like that’s something he had the power to do from a distance. It didn’t look like he would be coming back anyway, so what difference would a badge have made?
“We alls just thought it was a Spamton-ism when he ran away… That’s the first I hear he crashed,” Jongler began, pausing to think.
Spamton-ism was a term Spira heard before. The first time they came to the studio, it was explained to them that a “Spamton-ism” was a label for the odd behaviours Spamton began to exhibit the longer he stayed in TV World. Fidgeting and tics, talking to himself, the way he would hit his head or snuff his cigarettes against his palm. Occasionally he’d run through the studio to “clear his head”; a Spamton-ism. Sometimes he’d beg for silence when no one was talking; A Spamton-ism. He’d joke about lobotomies and degaussing and his obsession over that damned phone… All things Spamton insisted people not worry about or draw attention to. So they were disregarded.
“Do you know why he would have run away?” Spira asked curiously, beginning to write down Jongler’s words in a chickenscratch shorthand very few darkners aside from Newzees could read.
“If it’s a Spamton-ism it don’t got no reason,” Jongler responds, “I used to guard the S Rank room, see, so I didn’t see much-a anything that night… I don’t really have much I could tell yous.”
Spira let out a heavy sigh, their paper body rustling while they set the notepad down against their side. Well, first lead was a bust, but that was fine. Hopefully there would be at least one person who did see something happen.
“Would you happen to know if anyone saw him after he left? Someone he might have spoken to?” Spira asked, raising the notepad once more.
“Battat saw him. Far as I knows, he was the only one to go after him. Gave him a drive back to Cyber World.”
Suddenly they paused, feeling a slight heat in their cheeks. Battat… that was a name they remembered fondly. That silly little green pippins who shared their love for speculative fiction and theorizing. It had been far too long since they last spoke, but this would probably be the perfect opportunity for them to get to know each other again.
“... is he working today?”
“He works every day. Nothing gets done around here without him.”
Well, at least he could be thankful about job security. If the two of them did get caught talking about Spamton, would Tenna really go so far as to fire one of his best employees? Well, it was a contractual obligation, there was a possibility, but this was Battat they were talking about. He was smart, smart enough to get out of being fired.
“Could you point me in his direction?” Spira asked, strapping their notebook back to their leg and patiently waiting with their hands clasped at their front.
Being Tenna’s personal assistant was hard work. It was tough having to constantly run around like a chicken with its head chopped off, especially when it came to fulfilling Tenna’s every wish. No one would say it, but he had become a tyrant since The Other Guy left. At the very least he seemed somewhat respectful of contractually obligated break time. Fifteen minutes for every four hours, should they so choose, unpaid of course.
Battat never missed an opportunity to take a break. Even just fifteen minutes to himself to smoke a cigarette and drink a coffee to help wake him up and keep him going for the rest of the shift.
The studio used to be the center of the world. The heart of TV City, with skyscrapers and ornate buildings on every side to frame it all perfectly. It was still the center of the world, but nothing remained of the city these darkners used to call home. Instead there laid an endless boardwalk over a vast expanse of pure, all-consuming darkness. Spira wondered just how far down this abyss stretched. If something were to fall, would it keep falling forever? What existed on the other side? How was it possible for something to be so dark..?
For just a moment, Spira fluttered their wings in anticipation to drop down from the wooden pier. It would be easy enough for them to fly back up should they grow bored of the freefall or find the bottom. It’s not like terminal velocity would kill them anyway. Curse their curious spirit… Just as their talon lifted off the ground, a voice broke them from their thoughts.
“Spira?!” High pitched, with that silly little accent that they never got enough of.
They were quick to whip their head around, letting out an excited squeal as they hopped over to meet Battat halfway for a hug.
“Battat! Oh, Angel above, it’s so good to see you again!” They cried out as they continued to approach.
Battat let out a small shriek of protest as he stepped back.
“Cigarette, cigarette! I have a cigarette!” He announced in a panic, holding up the lit cigarette carefully clutched between his fingers.
That was enough for them to stop in their tracks, taking a cautious hop back with an alarmed trill. Well, it might not have been the perfect fairytale reunion Spira might have been hoping for when it came to their old fling, but after that moment of panic between them passed, both began to snicker and snort at the absurdity of his reaction.
“Jeez, haven’t seen you in eight years, wouldn’t want you bursting into flames within the first three seconds of meeting each other again,” Battat mutters, taking a long drag from the cigarette before holding it at arms length away from his body.
His extended arms was all the encouragement Spira needed to approach; much more cautiously this time, hugging his side for just a little longer than a second before pulling away.
“Eight years… that’s insanity. You haven’t changed a bit,” Spira cooed, eagerly following behind the Pippins while he walked back over to the edge of the boardwalk.
Their feet dangled over the edge, Spira sat just a little bit closer. Not close enough to risk catching a stray ember from his cigarette, but definitely closer than perfect strangers. It might seem a little silly to mix business with pleasure but hey, they had to interview him anyway, might as well keep it casual.
“I could say the same for you. Still carry coffee around under your hat?” Battat joked, his cheeks tinted green while he sat down over the edge.
His comment earned a short laugh from the Newzee, who momentarily lifted their hat to reveal a small white bag of coffee grounds. When it came to long days away from home, a cup of coffee often kept Spira from losing their mind. This was something Battat could relate to, probably now more than ever if those deep bags under his eyes were anything to go off of.
“Didn’t realize I was that predictable,” they said with a snicker.
“Hard to forget something like that. But, why are you here? H-how are you here?”
“I flew, obviously.”
“N-no, I mean how have you not been kicked out yet? Tenna’s taken a pretty… anti-Newzee stance recently,” Battat’s brow furrowed as he took another drag of his cigarette.
“Oh, he ah… doesn’t know I’m here yet. I was kind of hoping to keep it that way for as long as possible, figured I could get the most information I could before I approached him.”
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Spiers. He’s not exactly easy to get along with these days…” Battat let out a heavy sigh, watching the cloud of smoke vanish into the blackness of the abyss below their feet.
“You’re probably right, but I need to figure this out. Have you…. seen Spamton recently? Or spoken to him? Or… heard anything about him?”
Battat seemed to tense at the mention of the mailman’s name. This was a forbidden topic… Even doing so much as saying his name could get someone fired, after all, if someone caught him having this conversation, there could be some serious problems. He took another drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke longer on his tongue while he thought.
“Hey uh, would you mind?” Spira said, interrupting his thoughts while they pulled the notebook from their leg.
Battat let out a short hum before nodding, letting the smoke seep through his lips and envelop the Newzee in a dense cloud of nicotine that slowly vanished with the subtle breeze. They didn’t have anything against smoke. Back in the Librarby World, cigarettes burned like incense carefully guarded by the Dark World’s non-flammable inhabitants while Newzees profited from their calming and addictive plumes. It was something they sorely missed in their travels, but having someone blow the smoke in their face while the actual flame was held at a safe distance was a perfectly acceptable middle ground.
Battat let out a heavy sigh, flicking the ashes into the abyss below.
“We aren’t supposed to talk about him,” Battat said, his voice just above a whisper.
“Yes but why? What happened?” Spira responded desperately, their own voice staying low to match his own.
Battat clicked his tongue, then took another drag of his cigarette.
“...Tenna thinks he screwed him over. He doesn’t want anyone to think he was ever a big shot at all. So… he’s treating him like a zero,” He explained, blowing the smoke towards the journalist.
“He thinks?”
“Tenna has a thing about contracts, you know. He needs to be in control. If you want to be a part of his crew, if you want a job, you have to sign a contract. Everyone in the studio has one, and…” He hesitated, narrowing his eyes nervously, “I think… there isn’t a single person left in this Dark World that isn’t contracted to him, but… that’s besides the point. The point is, Tenna wanted Spamton under a contract. He needed that control, right? He hassled Spamton about it for eight years… finally wore him down.”
Battat frowned just a little more, wrapping his arms around himself in a comforting embrace. He could still see Spamton as if he never left. The slow decay of the man he once knew under constant pressure both from Tenna and some… unseen force. A once bright face with wide eyes and vibrant white hair, so passionate and determined to reach the top. Someone so obsessed with grandeur, with success, that he would do whatever it took to reach it.
Battat knew as soon as he donned that black hair that something was wrong.
Eight years in the studio had transformed him nearly beyond recognition. Sallow skin and sunken eyes with a smile so desperate and forced and tired. Did no one else see it? Surely Tenna wasn’t the only cause, but he was definitely a contributing factor. No matter how much they loved each other, Tenna loved his relevance more. Eight years into his employment at TV Time, Spamton was a hollow shell of his former self. But TV Time isn’t what destroyed him. Tenna wasn’t what destroyed him. It was always abundantly clear that his time in front of the camera or alone with the TV was when he was happiest. It was when he was alone that he was absolutely miserable.
“Wore him down,” Spira parroted, keeping their pen pressed against the pad of paper.
“Tenna was obsessed with finding out what Spamton’s secret was for his success. He was obsessed with the idea that if he could just share his secret, they would be big together. They would be the biggest sensation in the entire Dark World, that nothing would stop them. In case you couldn’t tell, he seriously needs to get his ego checked and if I wasn’t contractually obligated to flatter him and cater to his every whim I would have told him to eat dirt by now and--” he paused once more, his own words suddenly dawning on him. “Um… Don’t uh. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”
His words brought a low chuckle to the Newzee, who shook their head while they continued to write. They couldn’t blame them, of course, Spira’s had to deal with their fair share of shitty bosses. At least they came out the other end in one piece.
“So… what exactly happened?” Spira asked, leaning in just a little closer. “That night… The last night before he got scrubbed. What happened between them?”
Battat’s brow furrowed in concern, pulling his knees to his chest as he tossed his cigarette butt into the endless abyss. The darkness swallowed it long before the embers died, so they would never be able to tell just how far the emptiness went.
“... I don’t know. It um… that night, well, no… a few months leading up to that night, Spamton was in pretty rough shape. He was… tired all the time, really hard on himself during shoots, had to spend an hour with hair an makeup just to make himself presentable… started drinking his coffee with salt for some reason, dunno why, we just chalked it up to a Spamton-ism... But uh… well, when he came to the studio late that night, he was… really happy. Like he knew everything was going to work out. ‘I’m gonna sign that contract, Bats, it’s going to be really good for us. Tenna and I are gonna be so happy, and this studio is going to be the best it’s ever been’.... After eight long years, Tenna finally got him to sign that contract. The best deal anyone could ever ask for, really… They would be true equals. Everything split 50/50, Spamton would have gotten a king title too. He’d be king of TV World! I can’t even describe how big of a deal it is that Tenna was willing to do that for him… But… I don’t know. Spamton ran out of his dressing room. Tenna said he took a call, but no one knows what was said or who was on the other side, but whatever it was,” Battat shook his head slowly, peering over the edge of the boardwalk.
He seemed hesitant to speak, his lips pulled into a tight line while Spira inched closer.
“.... I’ve known Spamton almost my whole life. I used to work for his brother, I saw him every day at the studio, and I have never seen him more terrified. I watched him run out of the studio, and he had this…. Look in his eyes. I don’t even know that I could describe it in a way that does it justice. It was like…. The entire world just crashed in on him. No, that’s… not quite it. It was like…. He heard something so horrifying that he had no choice but to pray for death. That whatever happened to him, he would wish that he never existed to begin with. And… I th-hink… that’s what actually happened.”
A horrible knot had formed in Battat’s chest as he continued to think. That night replayed in his head over and over again. The way Spamton slammed into the walls at every turn, running so fast that he could never dream of avoiding the impact. The way his hands trembled while he reached for the keys of his cungadero. Tears were already streaking his cheeks before he left the studio, and his weak grip made him drop the keys countless times before he resolved to hold them with both hands as he climbed into the driver’s seat. Battat’s own legged car stood no chance to catch up with Spamton’s, but it didn’t need to.
That candy apple red hot rod with the top still up disappeared over the horizon in record speeds, the violent roaring of the exhaust echoing over the hills long after it faded from view. The engine had never been pushed that hard, and the grinding of the clutch could be heard whenever he tried to change gears in his panicked state. A sound minded Spamton would never even dream of abusing his car in such a way. He’d never drop the clutch like that or push the RPM anywhere near 7000, but that Spamton seemed so laser focused on one thing.
One single goal that Battat only found out after he pulled up next to the wreckage.
“Do you think someone threatened him over the phone?” Spira asked, their head cocked to the side with a concerned coo.
“I don’t think it was just a threat. I think he seriously pissed something off when he signed that contract,” Battat took a deep breath to try and calm his nerves, his shoulders pulled right up to the sides of his head, “....I knew he was doing really poorly recently, s-so I followed him. I just wanted to- see if he was okay, if there was anything I could do to help. I came across him maybe…. Halfway back to Cyber City on the information superhighway. His car was a box of scraps spread across all seven lanes. His jacket was covered in motor oil and dirt, torn to pieces…”
Car crashes were always terrifying. The idea that you were in a box going however fast, weighing however many tonnes with nothing more than arbitrary lines and mutual wordless understanding being what laid between life and death
“Angel above that’s terrible, Battat…. I suppose we should be thankful someone had a revivemint on hand.”
Instead of agreeing or commenting on it like Spira would have anticipated, Battat shook their head fervently. His breath hitched once more, his hands beginning to tremble as that night continued to play.
“I was there when he crawled out of the wreckage,” he began, his eyes wide and filled with terror. “He shouldn’t have survived. He shouldn’t have been fine, he should have been a fucking--” He hesitated, wiping the tears from his eyes before turning to look to the Newzee who sat beside him.
Spira said nothing, though. They just waited for Battat to find the courage once more. One of their grievances of working this job were the horrible tragedies and traumas people were forced to relive to tell those stories, with far too little Spira could effectively do to bring them comfort. All they could do was inch a little closer and take a gentle hold of his hand. Their grasp was soft and light, just a faint hint telling Battat that they were there. They would listen. They could scarcely picture the scene themselves, but Battat’s hesitation to describe it only went to show that it had an impact on him.
With a final deep breath to calm his nerves, Battat spoke once more.
“... the drop top on his ‘dero was just fabric, you know. It uh…. I saw it fly off the highway. I…. I watched the car flip, I don’t know how many times…. And it…. It slid across the road maybe… twenty feet? I don’t know. I don’t know…. But… I do know that he shouldn’t have survived at all. He should have been a goddamn meat crayon staining the road white with how fast he was going…” Battat’s eyes grew even wider as he leaned over, mere inches from Spira’s beak with a hand desperately grabbing their arm.
“I saw him crawl out of the car, Spiers’, I watched him crawl through the windshield and he was perfectly fine! There shouldn’t have been anything left!” He cried, his voice barely above a whisper.
Tears began to sting at his eyes, a desperate wheeze forcing its way out of Battat’s throat as he collapsed into Spira’s open arms. He couldn’t hold them back. The dice barely found the strength to lift his arms at all while he felt them envelop his body in their wings. They were light, the breeze passing through causing them to rustle and crumple with a slight draft that chilled him to the core, but that didn’t negate how pleasant it still felt to be wrapped in their arms.
“He was smiling…. He kept telling everyone that he was fine. That it was an accident, that he just overcorrected… but Spamton knew damn well how to drive. He knew what he was doing, there’s… there’s no way he didn’t mean to do that. There’s no way he wasn’t hoping for-” His breath hitched once more, those words refusing to leave his throat.
Battat knew he was hurting, but what could have made him hurt so much he would crash the car he held so dear and hope it took him to the grave?
“I don't know what exactly made him run away like that but Tenna should have known better than to push him so hard. It was obvious that he couldn’t sign that contract! He told me dozens of times, he told Tenna thousands! I don’t know why he just wouldn’t listen! He never listens to any of us! I don’t know what to do, I can’t even tell him to work on it because Angel forbid any of us tell him he’s anything other than perfect, he’ll fucking fire us!” Battat cried out.
The Pippins’ tears had begun to stain their clothes. Small circles of warped paper and discoloration had formed on their chest and arms where Battat buried himself for comfort. All SPira could do was hold him, pulling him away from the edge of the boardwalk with their arms wrapped tight around him. Talons began to open and close slowly with the comforting sound of crumpling paper with every soft inhale. They could hardly speak, completely at a loss for what to say. What was the right answer? This was such riveting information, but the turmoil that it brought made it difficult for Spira to separate their personal relationship from work. Especially not with him held in their clutch, wailing into their arms while he remembered his old friend.
The clock was running out when it came to Battat’s break. He knew that he couldn’t go back on the clock with tears staining his cheeks and pooling in his pips. So he began to desperately rub at his cheeks, pulling himself away from Spira while he began to apologize. He didn’t mean to get them all wet, he didn’t mean to lose his cool like that, he just didn’t like thinking about that night. But it all needed to be said. He needed to be able to tell someone about it. Someone who wouldn’t fire him for so much as mentioning Spamton’s name.
“Battat, you did everything you could to help him. That’s… already so much more than Tenna. He didn’t go after Spamton, did he?”
Battat shook his head, taking a deep breath that began to break apart into short quick inhales.
“N-no…. I can’t…” He rubbed his eye, “I can’t stop picturing him smiling… He was terrified, I could see it, but he just wouldn’t stop smiling! L-like if he did, something even worse would happen. I tried to ask if he was okay, if he needed help, but he just…. He told me to shut up. He didn’t even deny it, it would have been better if he’d just denied it! But he told me to shut up. I should have been there for him, I should have been a better friend, I knew he was struggling, I knew! But he said he didn’t need help and I’m such an idiot for not helping him anyway!”
“Battat, Battat,” Spira’s head fell to the side with a comforting gaze.
A deep rumble emanated from their chest alongside a series of comforting coos as they took hold of his hands once more.
“You did everything you could. You helped him the best you could, it’s not your fault. You did help him, don’t say it wasn’t enough, because at the end of the day you can only help someone as much as they let you. You did everything you could.”
He looked away, his eyes fixed on the abyss just below the boardwalk. No matter how many times he was told otherwise, it always felt as though he should have tried harder. He should have been there for Spamton, he shouldn’t have just left after he dropped Spamton off at the mansion.
“... I should have told Tenna what happened… I should have reached out to his brothers at least… I shouldn’t have just… left. But when I came back and saw Tenna tearing everything down, I just… got so scared. I didn’t want to be the one he took out his frustrations on.”
“You could have. You could have done all of those things, but just because you didn’t doesn’t mean you’re a horrible person. You could have made those choices, but you could have also chosen to do other things. Did… Spamton tell you anything that led you to believe he was in danger? That someone might have been coming for him?”
Battat thought for a moment, wiping his eyes with his sleeve one more time before a faded business card appeared in his hand in a wave of pixels. The colours were faded and the corners were frayed, the front showing the Big Shot Autos logo complete with Spamton’s likeness and contact information. Hastily scrawled across the back in Spamton’s perfectly tailored handwriting, “GOOD FOR ONE FREE CUNGADERO” Alongside his signature.
“He just wanted to go back to the mansion. He was desperate to. I asked if he was ever going to come back to the Dreemurr--” He hesitated, correcting himself “The TV World… He told me absolutely not. I told him I didn’t want the car, he told me to take it anyway… It… made me think that this was some sort of parting gift from a dead man. Then he- told me to keep Tenna safe. Safe from what? I have no clue… I mean, he’s the king of this world, he’s fifteen feet tall and he weighs a metric ass-ton. What could possibly do him harm? And if something did, what the hell could I do to protect him…? He used to say he admired my smarts, that one day it would all come in handy but all of this is just so far over my head. I have no damn clue what I could do to help or protect Tenna or do anything other than my job. I’ve… tried calling this number, but it got disconnected. I’d go visit him, but once he got evicted from Queen’s mansion, it was impossible to find him.”
Spira paused, their head cocked to the side curiously. Every piece of their body began to puff up in curiosity upon this new revelation. This was the first they heard anything about Spamton being kicked out.
“Evicted?” Spira repeated, hastily taking hold of their pad of paper again.
Battat nodded in response, his eyes fixed on the business card carefully pinched between his thumb and forefinger. Even seeing Spamton’s name felt foreign, it had been so long since he saw it. As silly as it seemed, Battat kept it all this time because getting rid of this business card was the last little hint of the salesman that existed in TV World.
“It was kept under wraps… Queen didn’t want to give Spamton any more attention, so they kept the Newzees from talking about it. Only reason I know is because I went looking for him a few months ago. Went asking around, Swatch told me he got thrown out. I remember they said it so much…. Anger. I never found him myself… No one wanted to talk about him. It was like he was shunned from society completely. I just… I wish I could find him. I wish I could help him.
Battat shook his head slowly, looking at his watch when he heard it beep and announce the end of his break. He certainly would have loved to talk more, or at the very least get more time to himself before he had to resume his “yes sirs” and “you're the best sirs” but he still had bills to pay. His chest sank as he stood back up, rubbing his eye one last time while he held out a hand to help Spira back to their feet.
“You should probably get going before Tenna spots you… I told you what I could, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that he won’t tell you anything more about him,” he mutters quietly, not protesting any more than that while they walked back to the entrance of the studio.
“I’m not ready to go just yet, there’s one thing I want to check out before I leave… I don’t suppose you could take me to Spamton’s old dressing room, could you?” Spira asked, earning a small groan of protest from the Pippins.
“I really don’t know, Spiers’…. He walled it off. No one’s allowed back there, it’s too risky,” Battat muttered, his hand resting against the pull bar of the door.
Spira let out a hum, resting their pen against the tip of their beak. Hearing that it had been walled off instead of repurposed only made it more intriguing. In the very back of their mind, they could faintly recall the conversation they overheard Spamton having the last time they came. Spamton’s desperate pleas, the way he’d asked that Mike character to get rid of them before they could continue the interview Spira had been so eager to perform. Was this the same Mike as the one Tenna seemed to hold so dear? The more they thought about it, the more Spira struggled to remember the subtle voice on the other line. They vaguely remembered hearing something, but no matter how much they tried, nothing beyond garbage noise played in their memory.
They knew that if they could just get to that room, so many of their questions would be answered.
“Please, Battat? I know you’re just as curious about all of this as I am. There’s so much about this that just doesn’t add up. Aren’t you even a little bit curious about what we might find in there?”
Battat frowned nervously, letting out a small groan of defeat.
“.... you’re really killing me here, paper girl.”
“You’re really saving my pages, dice boy,” Spira responds, pressing the side of their beak against his cheek.
…
Battat did have to go to work. Working as Tenna’s personal assistant was thankless work that zapped up every waking moment at the studio and wore away at the last little hair of patience that he had. But for now, he would be happy to do his job if it meant distracting his boss and keeping him from finding Spira while they investigated Spamton’s old dressing room. As long as Tenna didn’t need to go back to his dressing room, they could poke around for as long as they needed.
That should have been the case, anyway. In the perfect world, Spira would have had an hour at least to poke around and figure out every minute detail of Spamton’s room while the boss taped the newest episode of TV Time. In a perfect world, looking around that room would give them all the information they needed to figure out what happened to the salesman.
Instead, less than five minutes had passed before Tenna realized he forgot his lapel pin in his dressing room. That lapel pin that never left his jacket, the jacket that he had been wearing all day without taking it off.
Battat begged, pleaded, and insisted that he could go pick up the pin himself while Tenna continued rehearsing and revising the script, but there was no such luck. He insisted on going back himself, saying that he wanted to take a look at himself in the good lighting of his vanity one more time. So Battat rushed ahead, hoping to close off the hallway before Tenna could see it. But there was no such luck.
The air was eerily still as Tenna stopped in his tracks. His screen blaring white with his lips pulled into a tight scowl before his screen shut off completely.
“Come on, boss! Someone’s probably just sweeping down there! It’s probably nothing!” Battat insisted, standing in front of Tenna to keep him from going any further.
He just stepped over the pippins and kept walking.
“I made it clear I don’t want anyone coming in here, Battat. It’s right there in bold print in the contract,” Tenna said firmly.
Tenna was much bigger than Battat was. There was never any hope he could have at distracting the Lord of the screens unless he did so by actively antagonizing him. And he wouldn't dream of doing that. So all the Pippins could do was look on in horror while Tenna rounded that final corner to reveal the door to the Z rank room. Ajar. The golden star tarnished from so much time untouched, the Z hastily scribbled across still perfectly black.
And, standing just beyond the door, was a single paper Newzee under the dim light of a single fluorescent tube that desperately needed to be replaced.
With a face as static as theirs tended to be, it could be pretty difficult to figure out exactly what they might have been feeling. At this moment though, Spira certainly looked upset. Their waist cape was flared out while their talons paddled audibly against the stone tiles of the room, the subtle flicker of the overhead lights bathing them in a sickly greenish light that clashed with their acid breakdown brown complexion.
Tenna was frozen at the sight. An outsider had not only managed to get into the studio, into this damned hallway, but into that wretched mailman's room! If he didn't have any sense, he would have thrown them out right that moment. Taken them by the collar of their shirt and dragged them out himself. But he still had an image to maintain.
His rabbit ears twitched as his smile turned sharp. There was a nearly imperceptible shift in his stature, only remarked by Battat when he heard the quiet clink of those aluminum balls hitting the drop tiles.
"Get out of here right now," Tenna mutters, keeping that forced smile on his face.
But Spira wouldn’t simply leave. They were caught, it was their intention to get caught. Might as well take advantage of the situation and force his hand to get some answers.
"Mr. Tenna. I'm so glad you're here. I don't know if you remember me but—"
"Oh I remember you. You're that vulture that inserted themself here back in '98 too, now get out this room is off limits" Tenna interrupted, gritting his teeth.
"So you know you can't tell me Spamton was never here. Well, with that out of the way I would love to talk to you about him," Spira let out a nonchalant hum as they pulled out their notebook once more, holding the pen against the paper patiently anticipating Tenna's words.
And he certainly would speak.
Tenna willed himself to swallow the lump in his throat that had formed at the sight of the mailman’s room, his antennae falling behind his head in an attempt to block it out.
"Spamton?" Tenna laughed, throwing his hands up in anger while his head whipped back.
He grew just a little bit more, curving his spine to avoid sending his head through the drop tiles.
"Spamton!! This is about Spamton, OF COURSE this is about that Spammy little mailman! You see this is exactly why I shut the studio down, otherwise it would be 'Spamton this, Spamton that! Spamton, Spamton, Spamton!' and what about me, huh?! What about MY studio! MY shows! What about ME! This is my world, why the HECK does someone else matter so much, huh?!"
The lights began to flicker above their heads, the room rattling with the beginnings of Tenna’s wrath. That static whine grew louder, his chassis humming and grinding in protest of his own emotions. Spira wouldn’t be shaken, though. He could throw all the tantrums he wanted, they needed to find out what happened. They needed to know why Spamton disappeared, what sort of life he got mixed up in for everyone to refuse to talk about him. Tenna included, they surmised.
“You can’t remove Spamton from the history of the studio, Tenna. Like it or not he still plays a huge part in your rise to fame.”
There came a loud crack as one of the fluorescent lights popped above their heads. The sparks were contained by the plastic ceiling tile, leaving Spira illuminated by nothing but the searing light of Tenna’s screen. Still they kept writing, their gaze fixed on their subject while their hand effortlessly wrote out their chickenscratch shorthand.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d love to ask you what happened---”
“You want to know what happened?!” Tenna snarled, “That little freak screwed me over! That liar said he was going to make me BIG! I gave him everything! I was willing to give up everything for him, and he runs out on me! HE SIGNED, THEN HE RAN AWAY!”
Spira’s gaze narrowed, her memories shifting to the dressing room. The torn posters and the shattered mirror, that simple black rotary phone that laid on a simple wooden barstool. The receiver was hanging off the hook and the signal wire had been ripped from the wall, leaving it dead. Still, as they pulled the receiver close to their head, they could still faintly hear a scrambled signal from the other side.
“Don’t you think his willingness to sign meant that he did intend on coming back?” Spira asked, their voice laced with impatience.
“It doesn’t matter, does it?! He still left me! He still left what we had, he still chose himself! He chose himself, he chose that stupid phone! Why couldn’t I have that too, huh?! I shared everything with him, why couldn’t he share just this one thing with me!”
The whine grew louder with a static charge that began to pull at Spira’s clothing while pulses of energy began to emanate from his body. Slow at first, dull thumping of an agonized soul echoing through the halls while Tenna’s stature grew and shrunk without any rhyme or reason. Ten feet tall one moment and the next a mere five inches, bursts of energy and shifts in size happening in split seconds while he threatened to approach the Newzee.
“Be careful, Mr. Tenna,” Spira said, their voice remaining even. “Folks know where I am and if I don’t get back they’ll start asking questions.”
And that alone seemed to be enough for Tenna to recoil, bearing his teeth while his footsteps echoed against the stone tile. No need to get physical… the last thing he needed was more of these freaks breaking in.
“Now, what do you mean it doesn’t matter?” Spira asked incredulously, their pad of paper falling to their side, “Mr. Tenna, why didn’t you go after him? Why did you push so hard for him to sign a contract? Why is it that you needed absolute control over someone who was supposed to be your equal! If you really loved him---”
Then the whine returned. Much louder this time while Tenna’s tail began to lash wildly through the air, whistling as it cut through the faint drafts of the hallway.
“I DIDN’T LOVE THAT CRETIN! I COULD NEVER LOVE THAT GROTESQUE RAT!” Tenna snapped, technicolour tears welling up and threatening to spill from his screen.
The Newzee didn't move or back down though, not while they watched him grow so tall once more that his antennae hit the ceiling or while his screen shut off with an audible pop to prevent those tears from falling. Some sort of power move, they supposed, to try and make himself seem more important. Like a child climbing to a higher step to be taller than their sibling. Spira tensed angrily, strapping the notepad against their leg once more. He wasn’t going to give any useful information after all.
“Then why did you offer to make him a king alongside you?” They ask, craning their neck to look up to him.
Suddenly there came a pause as Tenna thought of the words they just uttered. How the hell would they know about the details of the contract? His breath hitched, a deep, low rumble emanating from his chest.
“I promised to share my power with him as equals… and look where that got me. I’m stuck here picking up the pieces of my failing studio because he refused to tell me how to be big! So what if that’s what’s written in the contract, it didn’t happen! He’s not a king, this isn’t his world and now I’m clinging to the hope that I can keep my Lightners entertained without him-”
“You didn’t answer my question, Tenna, why did you offer to make him king if you didn’t love him?” Spira interrupted with a slight snarl.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant you little vulture-”
“It’s very relevant and I would prefer you stopped calling me that. Answer the-”
“It doesn't matter because he didn’t stick around! I rewrote that contract hundreds of times to try and make it more enticing! At that point there was nothing more I could offer him! He was supposed to make me big, we were supposed to be big together! He’s the damned internet itself! He’s Mr. Email, he’s the number one rated salesman, HE DOESN’T NEED TO WORRY ABOUT GOING OBSOLETE! Is it so wrong that I wanted a piece of that?!”
Spira’s head fell to the side, a thick silence hanging in the air until it was broken by their talons paddling against the ground. That one word seemed to strike them as strange. Obsolete… Did Tenna truly think he was going obsolete? Did he really think that he was in any way suffering? Those Lightners still loved him. Those Lightners still paid attention to him. He wasn’t obsolete.
“Obsolescence,” Spira began, nodding their head slowly, “That’s what you’re so afraid of? You. Mr. Tenna, the King Of Dreemurr World, the beloved family TV… is worried that his Lightners don’t love him.”
Their head fell to look back up at him, a sharp inhale rustling their body while they gazed into the bright screen.
“Mr. Tenna, have you ever wondered why you don’t really see the same Newzee twice? Have you ever thought to yourself “wow, these paper vultures come by less and less, it’s a good thing these fancy newfangled cyber Newzees are here to pick up the slack”. You ever wondered why that is?” Spira asked, their entire body puffing up for a moment with an angered warble before everything began to flatten against them.
Even if they gave Tenna a moment to answer their question, he made no attempt to respond. Truth be told, it’s not something he thought about at all. Instead, Spira continued to speak. Their voice dripped with venom, their body trembling in anger.
“Half of us are thrown out the same day we’re made. You were lucky if you ended up in the trash as opposed to being used as kindling or bedding for a hamster cage. A quarter of the ones that remain make it a week, maybe two, then they get thrown out too. Of the quarter that remains, half of those get repurposed for art projects, or just tossed in a spare room, in storage, and all that remains? Well, you’d be lucky if you ever saw the Lightners at all. Do you want to know how I’ve managed to live for thirteen years? How I’ve managed to avoid lining a compost bin or angel forbid being used as a fire starter? I got fucking lucky, and I’m nice and cozy packing christmas ornaments in city hall. The Lightners don’t care about us. They’re phasing us out for a sleeker model while you sit here in your own head acting like it’s the end of the world when they turn you off for the night. You aren’t suffering, you aren’t unloved or starved for attention, you’re just a glutton that’s never satisfied. You sit here, the only remaining source of entertainment, the only place your citizens can work, where they have to stroke your ego and say you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread! But its not good enough for you because of the vague insinuation that there could be something out there that’s bigger and better that your beloved Lightners might replace you with.”
Spira snarled and hissed with each sentence, taking steps to close the gap between them and Tenna while he continued to grow and shrink. Fractions of inches at a time, his screen finally flickering back on to reveal those jagged teeth once more. At that moment, Spira failed to notice those claws pierce the tips of his gloves. His back hunched, his stance widening as the hallway rattled from his own emotions.
“Get out of here right now,” Tenna snarled, “If I ever see you in TV World again I’ll-”
Before he could finish though, Spira felt themself snap. His constant demands for power and respect were completely unearned and his unwillingness to listen only served to frustrate them more. No wonder everyone felt so trapped, those contracts must be pretty stifling if no one ever called him out.
But Spira didn’t have any contract.
A single, powerful wingbeat hoisted them off the ground, their talons burying themselves deep into the drywall to hold themself perfectly in line with Tenna’s screen. A single finger was harshly jabbed in his direction, accompanying an angered croak.
“You aren’t my boss, you aren’t my king, you’re not my god! You’re going to listen to what I have to say!” Spira snapped. “You have no idea how much Spamton sacrificed for you. Everything he did to protect you, that wasn’t good enough, was it! It didn’t matter because he wasn’t willing to tell you what his secret was. And then when he finally decides to tell you, when he finally CAVES to your demands, you get angry with him because he ran away! He didn’t run away from you, Tenna! He signed your contract, he wanted to work with you! You gave up on him! You let him run, you let him destroy himself for eight years and then when he needed something from you you turned your back on him!”
Every wild gesture heaved their weight forward, the drywall bending and warping in protest. Every time they raised their finger to point to Tenna, he would take a step back. Every word they spoke, his height shifted once more. Smaller, larger, smaller, larger again, his screen constantly flickering between an angered scowl and static tears. Every so often he would raise his hands in a threatening gesture, motioning to grab Spira before he found his logic and recoiled once more. Still, no matter how much he felt, Tenna never let himself shrink below Spira’s head.
Finally there came a lull in their speech. An eerie silence befell them once more, the only sound being the subtle hum of electricity from the lights in the main hall. With their mind spoken, Spira pulled their talons free from the wall and let themselves flutter back down to the floor.
“... all this to say,” Spira shook their head slowly, raising their hands in defeat. “You’ve got me convinced. You didn’t actually love Spamton, because if you did you wouldn’t have treated him the way you did. You would have stopped at nothing to help him. I hope this eats away at you, Mr. Tenna. I hope that one day, when you’re lying awake in the middle of the night, thinking about him like I know you do, you finally realize how terribly you treated him in pursuit of your own grandeur. You don’t deserve the love Spamton fought so hard to give you.”
And then nothing, without so much as the hum of electricity to distract from the claustrophobic silence. Horrible, deafening silence that seemed to swallow the sound of Spira’s rustling pages or the subtle whine of Tenna’s screen as it turned back on. He didn’t say anything immediately, finally allowing those words to seep in.
Did his little mailman really love him? It couldn’t have been a ploy for power, otherwise he wouldn’t have hesitated to sign that contract. Did… Tenna truly love him? Or was Spira correct in saying he was only attracted to his power? No… No, that couldn’t be right.
If he didn’t actually care for the mailman, why did his soul flutter when they saw each other? Why did he love the sound of his voice or the feeling of his hands wandering across his hard plastic shell? That wasn’t all fake, was it? No, it couldn’t be!
But… Tenna wouldn’t turn his back on someone he loved. He wouldn’t turn his back on Kris or Toriel or Asriel or Asgore. But… Spamton turned his back on him. If Spamton cared so much, why would he turn his back?
Tenna felt his lips pull into a tight scowl as he folded his hands behind his back. Spira did the same, mimicking his posture to nestle her wings in place. The argument was finished, and while they knew the TV would never admit defeat, it was evident there was much for him to reflect on.
“.... who let you in?” Tenna asked.
Someone would have to pay for breaching their contract after all, he didn’t like Newzees poking around where they weren’t welcome.
“Mike did.”
“Mike did,” He repeated with a small scowl, “he wouldn’t do that, he answers to me.”
Spira hummed nonchalantly, shrugging their shoulders.
“He was Spamton’s friend after all, I’m sure he misses him too. I just want to find out what happened, and find him.”
Tenna looked away, taking one final breath to completely calm his nerves before he turned on his heels and walked out.
“... Well he’s not here, go look somewhere else,” Tenna muttered softly under his breath as he walked down the hall, “Battat, show them the door, they aren’t welcome on the property.”
It was hard to tell whether it was just the distance growing greater or Tenna genuinely growing smaller, but before long he had completely vanished into his own dressing room.
Finally the tension dissipated, Spira finally allowing themself to let go of the breath that they didn’t know they were holding. No amount of stress they ever felt on the job compared to this moment. No matter how many times they had been threatened, yelled at, how many times they’ve done things they weren’t allowed to do or risked getting caught, none of it compared to the sheer terror of facing off against a Lord and speaking their mind. But Tenna wasn’t their Lord, there was only so much he could threaten her with.
“... That went better than I expected,” Battat admitted, gently touching Spira’s arm to break them from their focus. “Are you feeling okay?”
Spira sighed, rolling their shoulders back and nodding down to the pippins while they walked out of the dressing room.
“Yeah. I’ll uh… send some money to fix the wall.”
“Don’t bother, I don’t think he’d care. Did uh…. Did you really get let in by Mike?” He asked, his eyes narrowed slightly while they continued to walk.
“No, I just figured his name was my best bet at actually getting in. You wouldn’t happen to know him, would you? I mean, if he really was Spamton’s friend, he’d definitely be a good person to ask about what might have happened.”
Battat hummed and hawed, his footsteps slowing to a halt as they reached the door that let out to the cold place just outside the studio.
“.... N-no…. I’ve never seen him. Why, do you know much about him?”
“Can’t say that I do, but I will say that from what I’ve seen and heard, Spamton held him in particularly high regard. That and…” Spira hesitated, shaking their head for a moment before they removed the notepad from their leg to scribble something down.
“And what?”
“Well, I don’t like going around spreading rumours and speculation, but I caught snippets of a conversation they had over the phone back in ‘98. It kind of sounded like Mike did some shady stuff to keep him on top, and made him do some stuff that weighed pretty heavy on him. But, like I said. Hearsay, I only picked up one half of the conversation, and it’s been a hot minute. If I ever find Spamton, maybe I’ll ask him about it. We’ll see,” they said softly, hastily scribbling down a phone number.
“Shady stuff…? What kind of shady stuff?”
“Not sure just yet, but I’d be more than happy if you were to tag along. I could definitely use that big brain of yours.”
Hearing this, Battat perked right up. That sounded like so much more fun being able to accompany Spira. It had been too long, too, he desperately wanted to be able to see Spamton again. He had to be out there, after all… there’s no way he was just dead in a ditch somewhere. But just as quickly as he lit up at the prospect, the Pippins felt himself sink back into his shoulders. A heavy sigh forced its way out of his throat, tightly clutching his arms and shaking his head.
“.... No, I can’t…” He admitted solemnly, “I-I promised Spamton that I would keep Tenna safe, I can’t just leave him…. “
Spira nodded in response, setting a hand gently upon his shoulder while they stuffed a piece of paper into his hand.
“I understand. Well so be it, I’ll keep you posted, then. If you come across anything new, feel free to reach out.”
Battat nodded one final time, carefully setting the piece of paper in his pocket. The cold bite of the wind was suddenly cut through by Spira’s arms wrapping around him tightly. Even if they were just paper, they were warm to the touch. Soft, aged paper that smelled like expensive coffee and cigarettes accompanied by the welcoming rise and fall of their chest. He felt himself melt into their arms, pressing his lips against the side of the beak before resting his chin on their shoulder.
“... Be safe out there, Spiers, something tells me there’s something really weird going on… Find him. For all of our sakes.” Battat said softly, pulling a business card out of thin air with a wave of pixels.
The colours were faded and the corners were frayed, the front showing the Big Shot Autos logo with Spamton’s likeness and contact information. Hastily scrawled across the back in Spamton’s perfectly tailored handwriting, “GOOD FOR ONE FREE CUNGADERO” Alongside his signature.
“I will,” Spira said, slowly peeling themself away from his grip, “And you be safe too. If Mike’s still kicking around here, it could be trouble. Call me if you ever need help.”
The Pippins nodded once more, slowly, methodically, refusing to do so much as close his eyes while he watched Spira step away. With a single, powerful wingbeat, they had vanished into the endless starlight.
Stay safe, Battat thought, those words echoing over and over in his mind. Stay safe from what? A heavy sigh forced its way through Battat’s lips as he kicked at the static snow below his feet. What could possibly be out there that would threaten Tenna? What the hell was going on with Spamton for him to leave the way he did? The pippins shoved his hands deep into his pockets while he thought, only to recoil with a pained yelp as he pulled his hand back out as quickly as he could. Quick examination of his hand revealed a small pinprick of vibrant white light in the palm of his hand; evidence that he had been stabbed by something small but terribly sharp.
“... what the hell…?” Battat muttered quietly to himself, rifling through his pocket much more carefully this time.
They should have been empty. He didn’t use these pockets for anything, so why the hell was there something sharp that he wasn’t aware of? Finally his fingers grazed across something cold and metallic. Pulling it out, Battat felt his chest tighten while his eyes settled on the brilliant golden lapel pin Tenna misplaced.
…
TV World might not have been the overwhelming success Spira was hoping for, but at least they didn’t leave completely empty handed. Instead, as the wind lashed against their face and the TV World faded from view, Spira turned their attention to Cyber City glowing in the distance. Spamton was there, he had to be. Hidden between the vibrant neon lights and seedy back alleys, there simply had to be a salesman Spira was very eager to meet.