Chapter Text
On second thought, maybe it would’ve been better to take the bus home. The city was so bright and inviting, though, and it seemed like it’d almost be sinful not to take in the dazzling neon lights and fireworks for as long as possible. Everything always looks more mundane through a city bus window, right? That’s what you’re telling yourself, at least, as you duck through yet another alleyway. Something crunches underneath your foot--there are no fallen leaves here like there are where you come from. Everything here is inorganic, robotic, and… well, a little claustrophobic. The buildings surrounding you sure are doing a good job of blocking that wonderful city view. You check the bottom of your shoe. Nothing’s stuck to the sole (thank God, you just bought these shoes); rather, there’s only a long strand of something bright green, newly crushed and leaking fluid.
Wait, there’s several of these scattered about this alleyway. You just stepped on one of many wires scattered about the dirty street. Most of them have clearly seen better days. You briefly wonder how many other people crushed these beneath their feet today. A few wires spark, an unnerving reminder of the beautiful fireworks that are still booming outside the alley.
[Yeah, no, I’m running home]
[Wait, are these plugged in?] <
You can’t help but follow the emerald strands with your eyes. They all lead to one place… the maw of a large dumpster. That’s weird , you think nervously. Each of these wires has the same place of origin, but they’re all severed on the other end. Who dumped these here? Why are some still sparking? What’s that rustling coming from the dumpster? Did you leave your stove on when you cooked spaghetti this afternoon? When did--wait, what’s that rustling coming from the dumpster !?
A chill slithers up your spine as you instinctively take a step back. The temperature has suddenly dropped a degree or ten, it seems. Slowly, agonizingly, you watch in horror as three white something s peer over the dumpster’s opening. Your body is completely frozen. Yeah, the bus absolutely would’ve been better. When the three ivory things brush a few wires aside, it dawns on you that those are fingers. Those wires… they’re either covering or attached to something!
But… Is that a what you’re watching free itself from the trash, or a who ? Monsters come in all shapes and sizes, after all… If this was the human world, you’d be running like there was a rocket up your ass, no doubt. But scary as some may look, the Darkners here have all proved themselves to be anything but terrible. You remember the two eyes cheerfully peering out from the mass of black tentacles. That horrific creature was a guy who’d tapped you on the shoulder. He’d returned your dropped wallet. He was an upstanding citizen, just like you or many other humans you’ve known. Maybe whoever’s inside the dumpster needs help. You haven’t met a bad person here yet…
[ An upstanding citizen… ] <
[What could I do to help, anyway?]
Feeling returns to your arms and legs. You creep forward, your heart hammering against your ribcage. It takes a minute to find your voice.
“Uh… You okay?”
No response.
“Hello? Are you okay in there?” you say a little louder. More rustling. You freeze again.
“No,” groans a male voice from inside. He heaves himself over the edge of the dumpster. For a moment, the two of you lock eyes, you in a terrified stance and him propping himself up by both arms… He looks alarmingly human in the dark. He has a discernible nose, and above it, two eyes, one pink and one yellow--or are those glasses? The man has no ears that you can see… perhaps they’re hidden by his hair, which is jet black and somewhat disheveled. His skin is a pale white. He’s wearing some kind of vibrantly colored suit. You stare, bewildered, and he stares back.
Then he loses his balance, topples over the dumpster, and lands painfully on his face.
[Help him up] <
[Wince and say, “Ooh, that’s gotta hurt”]
You scamper over to his crumpled body. It’s only when you lift him by the arm that you realize two differently colored wings are poking out of his back. The stranger can stand--sort of. He adjusts his glasses and slicks his hair back as best as he can. Another firework booms in the distance. The man flinches at the sudden noise, but fixes his posture. You step back to allow him some space.
“Are you okay?” you ask for the third time. Now that your eyes have adjusted to the nighttime darkness, you can see faint lines running from the corners of his mouth to his chin, along with what looks like a circle of red paint covering each of his cheeks. His likeness is strikingly similar to that of a puppet, or a ventriloquist dummy. Several green wires extend from random points on his back. He looks kind of like a robot, too… or maybe a really weird combination of the two.
[“You’re a robot!”]
[“You’re a ventriloquist dummy!”] <
“You’re dumb!” you blurt out. Wow. Real smooth there. The stranger gives you a look of disappointment, but it fades to sadness soon thereafter. He hangs his head. Before you can sputter out an apology for your inability to speak basic English in front of a stranger, he mutters something under his breath.
“Good to know I’m not the only one who thinks so,” says the stranger sarcastically.
“I… That came out wrong.”
“Did it?” He smiles. “Look at me! I just fell [ DOWN FROM HEAVEN LIKE AN ANGEL ]!” The sudden switch in his tone makes you jump out of your skin. All of a sudden, he sounded so jovial and lively. It was like he was momentarily possessed by some sleazy car salesman. Apparently, the frightening change didn’t faze him, because he simply clears his throat and speaks again. “I just fell outta the dumpster!”
“Uh… Yeah.” When he offers you his hand, a part of you almost wants to smack it away.
“I’d like to offer [a BIG deal!] For helping a guy out! Kindness doesn't come for free around here, ya know!” The man leans forward to closely examine your face. “Speaking of… Are you from around here?”
“[Screaming deal!!] [Assholes] everywhere! And yet none of ‘em bothered to even say hi to their old pal Spamton.” He shakes his head disapprovingly and tsk , tsk , tsk s. “I can’t blame ‘em, though.”
What the hell are you talking about , you think to yourself.
“That’s me! Your friendly neighborhood [l0ser] Spamton. Ah-heh, heh, heh…” The laugh is delivered without a smile from Spamton. “I guess I can’t complain. It’s not worth it to help some foolish nobody, is it?” He frowns. “I’m not really a person, you see.”
“So you are a robot,” you blurt. Spamton’s head jerks unnaturally when he laughs. At least someone thinks your social blunders are endearing.
“No.” He looks at his wires. “Wait, yes. Wait, [ERROR]. No, what I mean is, well… I’m not a person in the sense that [Hyperlink Blocked].”
“Come again?”
Spamton suddenly grins. “Come?” he asks jovially. “I’d love a place to stay! Anything would beat that [discarded: 2 banana peels] dumpster! You’re a real [sweet hearts on sale for $4.99 each, plus shipping and handling b u y t o d a y]! What’s your name?”
Should you really be giving this trash goblin your name? Well, it’s too late. You’ve already mumbled it. Spamton nods, and repeats it. You feel like you’ve made a terrible mistake. Spamton throws an arm around your shoulder and begins to walk. He smells like banana peels and old cologne. Glumly, you give the spot above your right hip a loving pat and give it a silent goodbye. This creep is 100% going to steal at least one kidney.
Spamton stops in his tracks. “Wait,” he says. “Where are we going?”
You take the opportunity to duck out of his arm and backpedal away, your hands up defensively. Spamton stands there and smiles at you.
“Uh, look, Spamton. I’d love to, um, take you home, but…
[We don’t even know each other] <
[You invoke a primal sense of dread in me and I’d like to depart from your freaky ass posthaste]
I don’t really ever bring strangers into my house. Or tell them where I live. I’m sure you understand. Maybe I can point you to a bus station or something, but my apartment has only one bed, and…”
“HA! HA, HA!” Spamton laughs uproariously. “I love your humor, Y/N! I’ve slept in the trash for years! You think I’d be uncomfortable on the carpet? Don’t worry, your [wish I h4d a house] is yours only. The carpet sounds great!”
“B-But I have hardwoods…,” you stammer. Spamton wraps both arms around one of yours and begins to walk again. In his embrace, you have no choice to follow. He parades you around the city, crossing streets and walking through alleyways, spewing nonsensical chatter that’s occasionally interrupted by even more nonsensey nonsense. At one point, he tells you to say stop when you see your apartment. The monsters here are friendly, but this is overkill. Spamton hasn’t let go of your arm. Occasionally, he leans into you to rest his head against your shoulder.
He seems so… harmlessly eccentric. It’s not that you feel safe with him, but his presence no longer has any aura of potential danger. It’s as if your mere existence is more than enough for him. You don’t need to talk, respond, or even acknowledge that this strange man is practically glued to your side. He’s content with yapping on and on as long as he can keep his arm interlocked with yours and sometimes rub up against you. It’s odd, but somewhat charming.
That’s the right word , you think. Charming. The sight of your apartment snaps you out of your thoughts. You’ve been out here long enough. The fireworks have long since stopped lighting up the sky, and the neon lights of the city have made your eyes tired. You need some sleep. Spamton keeps talking, none the wiser. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let him crash on the floor...
No! That’s exactly how people get killed in horror movies! You can’t just let a complete robot puppet stranger into your house! You purse your lips in thought. But there have been several times tonight where he led you into a place with no people. He had several opportunities to harvest your organs or kill you or mug you or do whatever robot puppet strangers do to vulnerable humans. Maybe he’s waiting for you to fall asleep… But that wouldn’t make sense, either. You can tell by his grip on your arm that Spamton would probably be able to overpower you. And if he wanted to kill you in your apartment so badly, why doesn't he seem eager to get there? He asked you to point out your place of residence once, and that was it.
And the thought of sleeping in a dumpster weighs so heavily on your heart… This poor man must be so humiliated to have to live in such a place. He seems so overjoyed to have someone to talk to… or rather, talk at . Maybe you can just sleep with one eye open. You can even keep a kitchen knife close by in case he turns out to be dangerous. It wouldn’t be so bad to grant a homeless guy a warm, safe place to sleep, would it?
Would it…?
“Y/N.” Spamton clumsily blows air from his mouth. He’s probably trying to whistle. “Yoohoo, Y/N. You okay? You’re looking a little [*shivers*] troubled. What is it? [BUY ONE GET ONE FOR THE SAME PRICE NOW!!]”
His sudden yelling snaps you awake. “Uh--!” You collect your thoughts. “Uh, sorry. I…”
Spamton awaits your response eagerly. You swallow the lump in your throat. You weigh your options. The midnight breeze makes both of you shiver. Slowly, you raise your hand and point.
“That’s my apartment. We’re here.”