[Mike] was calling him. It was the first thing he thought while waking up. A familiar trill danced in his head. It sparked his nerves awake, his mind slipping down a waterfall of nonsensical thought. His phone was ringing.

He needed to get up to answer the phone answer the phone answer the phone make it stop ANSWER THE PHONE— He fell off the bed. Something caught in the comforter, yanking it down onto him. For a brief moment, far too long, he flailed about to throw it off. It was a fair bit difficult given his circumstances. He just about gave up to fall back to sweet sleep when he managed to chuck it off himself. There were more important things to do than sleep. Like the phone. It was ringing. He needed to answer it. He had to answer it, he had to, he must, he needed it he needed—

To summon a few little spamlings to help himself. His concerns twisted to a different problem stopping him from answering. He knew where the phone was, below in the study. But he couldn’t exactly reach it just yet. No matter how much his heart jumped in his throat and his thoughts screamed. After all, it’s a fair bit difficult to walk downstairs when you can’t walk. Or easily hold things. He couldn’t exactly sleep with his prosthetics. Well, he could but this was a semi-safe place. He didn’t need to worry about being woken to fight or flee. It was already a bit of a risk accidentally falling asleep with them on earlier.

The phone was still ringing throughout the house.

He summoned a couple spamlings to help get his limbs on. Whatever benevolent angel in the universe let him have such magic was a blessing. Rising to his legs and stumbling his way out the bedroom, the little spams trailed at his heel until they poofed when no longer needed. He nearly made his way down a single step when he heard something else slip past the blaring ringing. The words slipped in and out his inner ears, lost to him. Not looking behind him he perfectly mimicked the ringing and rushed down the stairs. He couldn’t afford such a distraction when [Mike] was calling.

There was the hall. Down the right, the first door. The study. He had been the one to decorate it after so much pestering of his older siblings. It was filled with pale furniture and a cluttered shelf. The table supported a mess of disorganised items and a desktop computer, so unlike after he made his first breakthrough. But the most important thing sat to the computer’s right. The telephone. The telephone. The unmoving telephone he heard ringing so clearly it might as well have been in hand already. It was. It was in his hand, already held to his head in a familiar manner.

“HELLO?”

There was silence. He twirled the cord in between a finger, far less fluid than when [Mike] used to call. He didn’t have the same dexterity.

“HELLO, [Mike]?? I’M AT [Phone] NOW. PICK IT UP [Pick] IT [[Up]]. I’M [All Alone On A Late Night] [Please] [Please] [[Please]] [[Pick up the phone]]”

Nothing. Not even the fuzz of garbage noise. He plopped down in the table’s chair, glitching out with the force. There was a pause. Then a decision. His fingers glided across the dial, spinning it with such practice that even lost muscles couldn’t scrub it from his hands. He ignored the voice in the back of his head screaming at him stop, stop, what are you doing?! This is exactly what you came to prevent!

“We're sorry; we are unable to complete your call as dialed. Please check the number and dial again, or call your operator to help you.”

That’s right. Both relief and disappointment zipped through him. Of course. It wasn’t a real number. It never was one, was it? Not until… He rang it again. The same answer parroted back to him. Then he did it again, a third time, a fourth, fifth. It was the sixth time when he noticed it. With how close he was to the table, he shouldn’t have been able to feel the back of the chair. His breath left fog on the black shine of the phone. He twisted the cord in hand, turning his head around. His heart stuttered at the sight.

Feathers. Sunset coloured feathers. His mind rather unhelpfully pointed out that they were, in fact, wings. The same wings NEO had. However, in a much better condition than he had seen last. Like how they had been when he first found it. No longer wing-esque masses of metal that couldn’t even dare hold his weight, but rather proper angelic wings. Idle wonder crossed his thought, of it being because of the lightner’s SOUL, or if it was NEO itself. 

He dropped the phone and found himself falling off the chair. A bit-crushed shriek filled the room.

“[[No nO NO No]]”

Imagine if anyone else saw them. The amount of trouble, the difference of him with and without. He just arrived! His feet pushed him back against the wall. No one would believe him and Spam the same with them. Could he get in trouble for stealing something that would still be there? He didn’t want to end up back in a goddamn garbage can because of wings of all things!! He doubted he could even fly with them like this. They were most likely useless. Would they find more things for him to lose? He squeezed his eyes closed and yanked at his hair. He prayed. He was only imagining things. They couldn’t be here. They shouldn’t be here. It didn't matter to him that he could feel them and everything they touched.

“Spamton?”

He curled in on himself, hoping he stayed hidden in the small spot between the table and the room’s corner. It’s not like it would help. His throat was filled with a constant stream of 'no.' He didn't need to be seen to be noticed.

A phone clicked back in its receiver. The dial tone permeating the air cut off. There was nothing but his voice and static.

“Spamton?” Whoever it was got closer, the volume of his name reaching through the ringing. He dared to open an eye. Binx hovered above him. Looking down at him as if he were a feral dog that may snap at any moment. He shifted his jaw and clenched his teeth. What an awful look, he decided.

“[Blue Cheese]! IT’5 [[NOT!!! LET ME SAY—]] WH47 1t [[Looks Like Car Troubles]]!!” Spamton waved his arms about. As if that would be more convincing. The panic crawling through him caused him to glitch erratically, twitching his head this way and that. He ignored the sharp stabbing pain caused by the sudden movements.

“…I… What? It looks to me that you were on the phone and then hid in the corner. I do not need to know why.” Binx shook his head. He took Spamton's hands in his and helped him off the ground. Spamton didn’t protest. “You look like you need a distraction. Why don’t you… Go get dressed and wake up Spam, yes?”

Dressed? He glanced down. Ah. In his haste to reach the phone, he hadn’t thrown on his sweater or jacket. Not even his shoes or glasses. He was only wearing his pants. Whoops. Not exactly a ‘Big Shot’ look. It was beyond him how he hadn’t noticed his blurry vision until now. He must have been out of it.

“…okay...” He nodded shakily, pulling his hands back. His feet carried him around Binx, tripping only once. A quick glance behind him at the phone, followed by a check of his back… Nothing. Just dirty, white fur. Not a single feather nor even a hint. It… Must have been a hallucination again. Yes. That’s exactly what it was. Nothing else. A hallucination. He returned to the stairs, pulling himself up them. Every few steps he looked back, as if the wings would sprout once more. He gave up expecting them to reappear once he had on the rest of his clothes. 

Right, okay. He shifted his inner tasks, trying to focus on what Binx asked. Wake up Spam. That would be easy. He certainly had the lungs and volume for it.

Spamton made his way past the upstairs furniture to the white door. After a few knocks, he opened the door with a loud, “[[Good Morning Cyber City! Today’s Weather Forecast Includes]] WAKING THE [[$!?!]] UP!!.!”

Right, okay. He shifted his inner tasks, trying to focus on what Binx asked. Wake up Spam. That would be easy. He certainly had the lungs and volume for it.

Spamton made his way past the upstairs furniture to the white door. After a few knocks, he opened the door with a loud, “[[Good Morning Cyber City! Today’s Weather Forecast Includes]] WAKING THE [[$!?!]] UP!!.!”

An ‘ugh’ response resounded in the darkness. Spamton made his way in the room, a hand to the wall. Luckily a lamp wasn’t far from the door. He fumbled before twisting it on, blinking at the brightness.

“Nooo…” Were Spam’s thoughts about that. The addison in question shoved his head under his pillow. Spamton walked over to his old desk—or rather, the not-so-old not-his-anymore desk— and turned on that lamp as well. Together the two lamps lit up the room quite well. Dark, star themed wallpaper was more visible, and purple carpet kept it from being too bright. The off-white furniture stood out. Not awfully, but quite a bit of contrast.

“[Wake Up] TO [The Smooth Taste Of] D4Y” He looked over the desk. Was it always so crowded? There were pens and pencils, papers with doodles, scribbles, and even a labelled page with math for how much a car should cost. A candle and a clock were pushed to the far corner, not as used as the rest. Above the desk was a cork board that was equally disorganized. Glasses sat in the only empty spot nearest the bed. Spamton turned away. 

“…Go away...” Spam’s muffled voice said. “Wait…”

He pulled his head out of the pillow, squinted up at Spamton. He blinked. The two started at one another, Spam’s mouth flapping with a loss of words.

“…IT’S tiME TO W4KE UP.” Spamton jankily pointed a thumb to the clock.

“That wasn’t a dream.”

“[[No]].”

Spam sat up with his eyes on Spamton. “You’re me.”

“ARE YOU [Real Estate Interest] THIS?” He furrowed his eyebrows, “BINX SAID [Wake Up Call] Y0U. [Alarm Noise.mp3]”

“Hooo… Shit.” Spam rubbed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. He glanced back to Spamton, then to his hands. This was a bit ridiculous, and he really didn't want to wait for every response. So Spamton headed to leave with copied earlier words, “[Go Get Dressed]”

“Right. Right…”

He closed the door behind him. And deflated with a static huff. He wasn’t running away from an awkward situation, no. Everything was fine. There was nothing to run away from. Now.

Now what?

He didn’t know.

Perhaps he would try seeing what he could gather up to sell other darkners, while he planned for Heaven. Not too unusual for his normal activities. Perhaps easier. None would recognise him and his tactics. There were many ways he knew to trap someone alone in an isolated area. Or he’d just get lucky again like with Kris. He had no idea what he was going to sell. He didn’t have his most signature items with him, nor really anything of note. That he would willingly part with, anyway. Just what was on hand.

It’s not like he carried hundreds of items in his pockets that logically shouldn’t fit, such as swords or whole cakes. Sword of a lot. That would be odd, though he wished he did. Could he even make enough kromer to get by? Or get some sort of home? Would he be stuck in garbage forever? Stuck seeing how long he could put up with the charity from his past? He’s not really able to get a normal 9-5er. Fine motor skills were not his strong suit anymore. If he went to an interview, no one would take him seriously for long. Longer than in his proper time with a lack of social standing. But not long enough.

He’d tried. Multiple times. He hadn’t had it worked out before.

Oh. He was standing below at the base of the stairs. The room was a fair bit brighter than earlier. The lights illuminated the soft golden colours of the walls and carpet. His eyes snapped across the room. The grayscale kitchen, free of any mess or disaster. Deals could wait a bit. Might as well abuse this situation as much as he could. Before the worst comes to the worst. His quick strides brought him to the fridge, just about to open it—

“There is cereal in the cabinet above the oven.”

—Someone speaking up caused him to jump. Spamton turned to see Binx eating a sugary bowl of cereal in the dining room. Ah, that would work just fine. It’s far easier to accept what’s offered instead of agonising over the options. “DELICIS [Deals]”

He found himself staring at an empty bowl and a cereal. A sense of vertigo swam his head. The kitchen step stool was untouched, still leaning against a counter. His memory blanked out, and he couldn't recall getting anything down. Confusion fluttered through him. He shook off the oddity. The little extra height he gained was apparently enough to finally reach the cabinets. That was new.

He filled the bowl all the way up. The thought of just swallowing the whole box did cross his mind. Sadly for that brilliant idea, he preferred to keep his food down. Throwing up happened way too often for his comfort. That didn’t stop him from treating the cereal as if it were soup, tipping it down to eat it.

“‘Scuse me.”

Spamton choked and coughed, glitching out the path of an unexpected Spam. Heaven was it annoying to be spooked twice in five minutes. Keeping an eye on Spam, he continued to step off to the side. Spam practically danced around in the kitchen, grabbing miscellaneous items for reasons Spamton didn't know. He finished the little bit left of his cereal. It wasn’t stale for once. Or soggy. It used to be surprising how much soaked cereal others threw away.

“Do you two want any scrambled eggs?”

“No, thank you.” Binx shook his head in the corner of Spamton’s eye.

What a terrible idea. Both cereal and eggs? That much food in such a short time… It could make him sick. “[[Request Accepted]]!!!!1!” 

So of course he would have eggs. His glasses lens flipped colours at the exciting thought. There’s nothing wrong with having a nice splurge every once in a while, is there? Of course not. He could consider it a… A ‘success’ feast or something. Split up feast since the sandwich was before he slept. Whatever’d get his thoughts to stop whispering he didn’t deserve anything.

He considered licking the leftover sugar out of the bowl before deciding against it. He set the bowl down behind him.

“HEY!! LET ME SAY [[Thanks]] 4 THIS [Great Deals And More] [Offer] YOU GAVE.” Spamton jittered with a tapping foot, looking between the two other addisons. “CANNN’T SAY     I’VE HAD BREAKFA5T IN [For The Longest Time~]”

“Ah.”

“Well, ehaha…”

Neither knew a good response, nor did Spamton know what he would have wanted to hear. He didn’t need one anyway.

“I DO NEED, [Terms And Conditions Apply] IF [Please let me stay! Don’t leave me alone!]. MONEY NO. I HAVE [For A Limited Time Only!] KROMER”

“You know… You don’t really need to do anything to stay here for a while, right?” Binx said.

He blinked and his hands held a little plate with scrambled eggs. In front of him, Spam nodded along to Binx’s words. “It’s not like you’re renting. Maybe just help with chores if you can?”

With a few choice words, a lightbulb went off in Spamton’s head. Help? “I CAN DO THAT! WHAT YOU NEED [Press F1 For] IS BECOMING A [[BIG SHOT!!!!!]].!”

“…What?” 

“A BIG SHOT.” With a quick spritz of magic, he dropped his scrambled eggs— and the plate— down his throat, not pausing to chew. Ignoring the horrified look, he gestured his hands as if to  paint the air with ideas, “I AM   I AM  A SALESMAN , AND WITH [3 Easy Payments of $9.99!] [[You Too Can]] BE A BIG SHOT LIKE ME!. JUST [[Don’t Touch That Dial]]!!”

“That doesn’t really—”

“YOU’rE TRYING TO SELL A [[Cungadero]], [[Right]] [[Right]]?”

“A what ?”

“WELL HAVE I GOT [[Exactly Everything That You Need]]!! [[Insert Text Here]].”

“Huh?”

“[[Hyperlink Blocked]]”

A pause.

“…EAHEAHEAH! I MEAN I. C4N HELP. YOU. I WAS [Number 1 Salesman] FOR REASON!”

“Hey… Wait…” A blue hand pushed Spamton away from his younger counterpart. Separating the distance that close without him realising. He’d shoved himself in Spam’s face without noticing. With teeth grinding, his attention turned to Binx.

“Don’t you think you’re taking things a little far, just to offer some sort of help?”

The familiarity of the words sent an uncomfortable shiver down his back. “WHAT? OF COURSE NOT! [No Money Back Guaranteed] [Mik—] I’M AN [[HonestMan]]! IT’S JUST A LIL BUSINESS. THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH— There’s NOTHING WRONG.”

“I’m not saying there is.” The expression on his face told Spamton that Binx hadn’t even considered it. Water plinked down from the faucet next to him. Hesitation left an air of uncertainty. It was deafening to his head. “Look, Spamton… You have been a fair bit more extreme than necessary. It’s rather—”

Spam cut Binx off. “How could you help?”

“What?” “HUH?”

“I— Well— Eh— It’s my decision right? Since he asked me!” Spam fumbled his fingers through his ponytail. He shrugged and turned around as if he couldn’t face them. Or maybe he was just interested in his own scrambled eggs. “I’m not sure how it’d make me be a ‘big shot’ but. Well. Advice couldn’t hurt.”

Spamton gave a manic laugh, his head jerking downward and up with teeth clattering. He excitedly flapped his arms about, “THAT’s [What I’m Talking About]!!! YOU GOTTA GRAB [The Game Of Life™] BY THE [[Silly Strings]]! MAKE YOUR OWN [Deals] CALL YOUR OWN [Shots]!!1!”

Binx's glancing between the two Spams was obvious even with his eyes closed. Yet despite the frown and uncertainty that was so obvious, he didn’t try to convince either little addison to stop. Well, really he didn’t try a second time to get Spamton to settle. Spamton had begun to pacing with exclamations that even he couldn’t keep track of. Just spitting nonsense, not sure of what he was trying to say. While he waited for Spam to finish his breakfast, he pointlessly filled the stiff and silent air. He was certain of only one thought.

Anything he told Spam was still better than [Mike]’s sickening, raw honey words.

The moment food was all eaten, he jumped over to shove Spam out the door. The faster they were, the better chances of tired early risers who wouldn’t read fine print. Spam only protested briefly, but there was no refusal. Spam had to lead the rest of the way not long into the walk. It had been so long since he had attempted to sell on the street rather than in a back alley.

“YOU HAVE [Details Included In Our Paperwork] RIGHT?” He almost forgot the most important part of any ‘proper’ deal. Legality wasn’t exactly something he dealt with anytime recently. But he had plenty of experience. Mostly. …As a Big Shot, he’d been quick to hire someone else for that tedious loophole work. Laws never were his strong suit.

“Wha— Yes.” Spam searched through his pockets before pulling out some loose half folded papers. He straightened them out and gave them over, “Here.”

Spamton took them, reading them over for a refresher. A 1991 junked car he found in the trash zone. It was probably the correct amount of papers, he couldn’t remember. Laws change over 25 years. It had been a side project. Just something to fix up in his spare time. He had done a damn fine job of it, too. Mechanics were always a favourite pastime of his. Up until all that hands-on work was no longer his part in maintaining Big Shot Autos. Then he was only the owner and main advertiser, not really working on anything in years. And after… Well.

Oftentimes he wondered if it was a coincidence the car finally worked a few weeks before he got that call.

He tuned back into the current reality to hear Spam rambling about the car. Something about how red was such a good car colour that made it feel faster. Spamton nodded along, his thoughts scattered elsewhere. Not that he would disagree.

Eventually they stopped in a crowded part of the city. Significantly less urban than where the family home was. More of where he watched the lightners travel along, in the original future. Aside from them, there was only one other Addison. All three were unconcerned about the other party. There was no competition, so each party ignored the other.

“…Okay! So!” Spam’s head swivelled to watch the passing darkners. Spamton stayed quiet to listen. He couldn’t at all remember how he used to pitch, before [Mike]. Spam was clearly trying not to fidget or move around like he did at home. A frown briefly graced Spam’s face before he twisted it to a slightly crooked, typical addison smile. “I— Okay. …Twelfth time’s the charm…”

There was a pause as if he forgot his lines, before he cleared his throat and spoke back up. 

“Hey! Car sale, I— We’re selling a great, used car for cheap prices! At half the price than you’d find originally. Only 10 thousand dark dollars!”

It certainly was a pitch. But the words were spoken at a normal conversational volume, not a ‘professional car salesman’ level. Or with the same zeal as Spamton. Even his words to Kris had fulfilled the basics of any sales pitch. Even though Kris was terrified, it still worked.

“WOW. THAT’S [[Dirt Poor Quality]] DEALS!”

Not all of his glitching words were totally involuntary. Just mostly. Besides. There was no reason to hide how dumb Spamton thought it was. Spam blinked in response. 

“Wh— It was perfectly fine.”

“YOU NEED, TO BE LOUDER! AND [Adobe Flash]IER!” Spamton declared, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He patted Spam’s shoulder and gave a computer fan hum. The younger’s smile fell. “Is that why you yell?” Doubt was obvious in the younger’s expression. Spamton wasn’t sure why.

“OF COURSE! THAT AND MY vOICEB0X IS… [Stuck In Traffic].” He didn’t want to dwell on that . He tried to think of how to continue on the previous topic. His smile twitched, “WATCH AND LEARN, [Little Sponge]!”

He threw his arms up and dropped his jaw. Letting out strange music from his throat, his fur and hair started to shift through rainbow colours. The area around them lit up similarly to the brightness of it. Eyes that had previously ignored them were drawn to the strange and mildly obnoxious sight. Perfect. He glanced over to Spam, then to the street. 

Picking a random stranger, he walked up and swung an arm at them to force their attention on him. The legal papers in his hand crinkled loudly. “HeY HEY HEY!!!” He cut off his song and rainbow. Luckily this situation had the simplest requirement. He just had to reuse the exact words from the original time he sold this car. He waved his hands and approached closer after each sentence. 

“[[Are you tired of walking place to place in this city? In need of a cheap solution that really works? Our lightly used and EXCELLENTLY maintained car is just what you need!!]]”

He paused to sort what to say next, gauging how they reacted. Oh. Hm, that was not a good look. Could he recover from that glare and electric zap of annoyance? He probably should have paid attention more to who he singled out. A werewire didn’t need a car. This one clearly didn’t like the audacity of the suggestion.

“OR OR OR OR— FOR! ONLY [13k Retail Value]!” Might as well stick to his guns.

They let out a loud bzzt before he could continue. White spheres of electricity shot past his head as sparks audibly ignited in the air around them. It was more of a threat than an actual attack, but it was effective enough to get the intent past. He didn’t back off, doubling down with a stuttery laugh. 

“HA HA HA! [[Best Deals This Side Of]] [[$!?!]]!!!”

He hardly blinked when the world  darkened to black, faint purple lines surrounding them both. Oh, if only he could only grin wider. With how his business usually went, this was a very familiar sight. One he knew how to work around quite well.

So a Fight the werewire wanted? He could give them that. It was a poor mistake on their side. He already was a great Fighter. NEO just made him even stronger. Maybe a few dollar sign bullets or even lasers and this would be over quickly. 

Wait…

Why couldn’t he move?

His body twitched and he glitched, his head turning to his right. Spam stood next to him, wide eyed and grimaced. He hadn’t even noticed Spam got pulled into the Fight as his battle partner. Something else did, though. Like a janky marionette controlled by an inexperienced puppeteer, his arm pointed at the werewire’s connected cord. Words less his than usual left his mouth, “SP-SPAMTON!! [[helpme]] THR0W [50% Off] BULLETS AT THAT WIr3!”

“What?” Spam looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, “How is that supposed to help?”

Spamton felt his eyes squint and smile drop, as if affected by an irritation that he couldn’t feel. It made him slightly woozy. “[[Trust]] [[My]]”

“I— Er— Alright?”

He briefly watched Spam summon up word bullets, uncertainty painted on his face. The puppet turned away. Familiar fuzz of magic crept up his throat. He coughed before it could manifest, as if the feeling were foreign to him. In between the hacking, ‘his’ pointing grew more insistent and words spilled from his lungs. “[Take The Deal] AND SHOOT [For The Sky] SPAMTON!!! NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW AS [[Much Ado About Nothing]] AS Y0U C4N”

Dollar signs and various ad-related words zipped faster than he could blink, hitting at the werewire’s cord. It shifted, maybe looser but otherwise nothing happened. He didn’t really see the point of such an action, though his returning smile indicated otherwise for you .

“HELL YeS [DIY]!”

Then came the werewire’s turn. Reminding him why a Fight wasn't such a good idea, not that he had any choice. The SOUL. The brilliantly glowing SOUL that gave him what he believed to be Freedom. It floated out of him very much like it had from the Lightner. Normally, he wouldn't be too bothered about it. Excited more than anything. His impossible prize, proudly displayed for all to see— well, only two others. He had the impression that the SOUL was unconcerned as well.

It was their reactions that got him.

A sharp buzz and gasping. Circles flying quick with a ‘what’ said near. And then. Pain. Lightning flashing down his spine. His awe of rose glory halted by the harsh reminder that no matter what Heaven’s Angels have gifted to you, reality’s blade dug deeper. It didn’t burn as much as usual.

In retaliation, You managed to choke out ad bullets at the wire, shaking it up more. A few numbers join after from Spam, greatly loosening but just not enough.

“[Defend Your House From Those Pesky Bugs] SPAMTON” His glitched voice commanded the past. 

“I don’t—” Spam held his arms up in a kind of pitiful shielding manner. There was a pause before he finished his words. “I don’t really know how?”

“[[Congr4tulations You W1n!]]”

Strikes of electricity whipped past both of them. A swarm, then just a couple spheres— Only some hitting the pair. It hurt Spamton more than Spam. That was alright. You had a plan.

“AG4IN. PR0CEED.”

Raised arms and just in time. Despite how the magic hurt and made you nauseous, it was fine. Everything was fine. Nothing was wrong. You had a lot of HP to keep up with your clumsiness. It’s so difficult to re-coordinate on such short notice.

You decided to use the extra TP to finish this. Your partner did not have as much experience to keep himself safe. 

“PROC3ED. DEFEND.”

As soon as Spam’s arms were up, you reached for that familiar and new feeling. It was painful for only a brief moment. You were barely on your feet when the ache in your chest flew out as a toothy, cracked heart. It swung and snapped at the wire, ripping it off the werewire. Your mouth filled with the taste of rubber. The werewire shrank into a little plugboy and thumped on the ground as the heart dropped the wire.

The heart disappeared, your clothes thankfully not that much worse for wear. Spamton blinked his eyes and felt his head swim. A pounding headache hit him.

The battle magic sustaining their little pocket dimension finally faded, leaving the three on the city street. The little plugboy wasted no time in running off with a curt ‘sorry’, weaving between darkners until neither Spamton future nor past could see them anymore.

“Let’s not do that again, alright!” Spam yipped, shaking his head and hopscotching his feet up and down. It was not a question. “Maybe we should head back home. I haven’t used that much magic in a while…”

His nausea reared itself up to the back of his throat. Spamton gagged and threw up ceramic plate shards and breakfast on the sidewalk. He heaved for a good minute, faintly noticing someone pulling his hair away from his head.

“…Right, we’re heading back home.”

Once there was nothing left to throw up, Spam led him off. He didn’t pay much attention to anything around him. His head was full of cotton, his semi-permanent smile anything but a smile. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Expected for Spamton and his luck at this point…

They walked up the porch and inside, where they split off. Spam said something about a sink, he didn’t really listen.

Spamton caught a glimpse of Spam and Binx talking out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't sure what it was about, so he opted not to care. He felt far too emotionally and mentally drained. He stumbled his way upstairs after voicing an odd combination of ads. Hopefully that sounded like what he was trying to say. He could get away with sleeping the rest of the day, yeah?