Chapter Text
Tense shoulders slammed against the damp wall, soft flesh clashing hard against stone. Dark, sturdy brick cracked, small chips falling a long way before tinking on the ground below. A large, firm hand gripped the tiny creature’s throat, easily keeping the little man pressed against the wall. He continued to struggle despite the pain flaring in his back, one wing pinned very uncomfortably.
Spamton dug his nails into thick scale, unable to get through the durable avian forearm. Sharp rock carved into his spine, his scruffy coat doing nothing to cushion against the primitive blade.
“Get your disgusting claws off me!” The tiny creature yelled, his narrow eyes barely visible behind his colored glasses. Adrenaline rushed throughout his body, the tips of his limbs beginning to tingle with numbness. He fluttered his wing weakly, unable to do anything more than displace a pitiful amount of air.
“You’re on borrowed time, rat.” Their deep voice rumbled, each word vibrating their prey’s entire body.
Spamton felt the grip on him tighten, his vision blurring as he failed to take in a breath. His scrunched face softened, his fuming anger dominated by the lure of unconsciousness. His bared teeth receded, a calm taking over his body against his will.
“No more running, no more excuses, we want our money.” Light reflected off the impossibly smooth metallic mask, the seam of it sharpened to a knife’s edge. The metal covered the assailant’s entire face, but mirrored the beak underneath, doing very little to hide their identity. Akin to that of a plague doctor’s mask, the avian look was intended.
Spamton tried to speak, but was unable to make any sound, his lungs were empty. His free wing drooped, his thin arms falling to his sides.
The avian dropped the tiny creature, his elbows landing in a puddle with a pathetic splash. He instinctively gasped face down in the water, inhaling whatever grime and dirt the polluted water offered before he could stop it. He coughed and spat, everything burning as he aspirated. Barely strong enough to prop himself up, he struggled to keep his head above water. Even after he finally caught his breath, he continued to wheeze, every breath desperate.
“You have two days,” That heavy voice bellowed, the blurry black figure kneeling down to grab the little creature’s face. “Your interest has doubled. Fail to meet this deadline, and your pathetic life will reach its tragic end.” Their talon nicked his cheek, a thin trail of blood quick to run. As they retracted their hand they stood their full height once again. Without warning, they reeled back and swung their leg, landing a kick full force against the disheveled creature.
Spamton’s arms gave out and his face splashed in the puddle again, his body curling into a ball involuntarily. His glasses slipped off from the sudden movement, lenses fully submerged in the murky liquid. The tiny creature sat himself up, one arm stretched out to keep his balance on the ground, the other clutching his stomach. It was a fight just to keep himself upright and not double over in pain. But he was determined to hold his ground to shoot a fierce glare up at the massive arrogant bird towering over him.
“Don't forget.” They almost sang, their mocking tone laced with scorn. With an insincere bow, they took their leave, choosing to turn their back to the miserable creature. Such a gesture was the final blow to his ego, both parties knowing full well Spamton wouldn't be able to do a damn thing, even with their back fully exposed.
With the immediate threat gone, Spamton dragged himself forward, crawling out of the shallow pool of muck. He shook his entire body like a dog emerging from an unwanted bath, vile green colored slime splattering everywhere within a five foot radius. He dabbed a finger on his cheek wound, the smear of blood faintly visible on his grey gloved fingertip.
The weight of his situation began to dawn on him, his entire body trembling with fatigue. He reached for his glasses, his thumb and finger delicately plucking the arm of his beloved accessory. He gave them a small tug, the puddle putting up an irritating level of resistance.
He jerked his hand up, finally piercing through the film of mystery goop that coagulated on the surface. As the lenses pulled through the gooey barrier, an unpleasant glob clung to them, caked on so thick the vibrant colored lenses looked like a sun bleached condom.
Spamton’s hand collapsed against his thigh as he turned to his injured wing, the pins and needles refusing to fade. He tried to lift it open, his efforts met with a hot rush of pain, leaving the movement incomplete as he realized the wing was broken. Its grey webbing was decorated with dozens of mini cracks, each tiny line bulging with a glowing red. Thin wet streaks ran down the main wound in the center, maroon lines beading down the hydrophobic skin like the curves of an umbrella. A large hole beside the bone promised a permanent scar, the puncture far too wide to ever fully close again.
Spamton winced as he brushed his thumb over the fractured bend, sucking a sharp breath through the pair of pointed canines buried deep in his bottom lip. His eyes drifted back to his lap as he hung his head, his shoulders drooping further. A quiet huff left him as he ran a hand through his hair, his depressed aura rapidly shifted to manic rage as he grit his teeth, both hands pulling on his mullet fringes. The tiny man fell onto his back kicking his legs as he let out a blood curdling screech. Such a visceral sound would be expected from a cornered feral critter, rather than a small sentient man.
With his frustration aired, his body stilled once again, his swirling emotions slowly settling. Laying on his back, he stared up at the overcast sky, its grey glow dimmed by a dark mass of bloated clouds. His fuzzy vision begged for the clarity his glasses would provide, but he didn't dare put them on in their current state.
Spamton’s hand reached up, palm stretched as if he were pressing it against glass. Someday. He thought to himself. Someday I’ll be big. Big enough that no one can touch me. A droplet splashed on his cheek, prompting Spamton to close his eyes.
A clap of thunder echoed in the distance, the light rain quickly becoming a heavy pour.
The little hand clenched a tight fist with a muffled sound, his worn glove deflating from his fury.
Someday you’ll all pay.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Dozens and dozens of hooded figures bustled down the street, countless bodies bumping off strangers like billiard balls. The active crowd shambled with half hearted urgency, their soggy footsteps squishing an unholy cacophony of overstimulating noise. Like fish in a river, monsters pushed and shoved, forcing their path through in an unorganized mess, each eager to escape the storm. Muttered apologies and irritated exclamations went unheard, completely swallowed by nature’s white noise.
The packed pathway made a common sidewalk present itself like a busy tourist city square, the commotion disguising it as some kind of intriguing hot spot. And yet, all the fuss stemmed from the unremarkable weather. Just another typical day in the city, and the locals never seemed to learn their lesson; to read the clouds before making plans.
An abandoned alley resided just beyond the waves of monsters passing by, the forgotten space filled to the brim with broken, splintered crates and pallets. An unfortunately common occurrence, the large objects were often dumped in bulk alongside the usual trash. An extreme eyesore, certainly, though the appearance was a bit misleading. The alley’s saving grace came from the city having the decency to keep the majority of actual sanitary concerns clean, leaving low priority wood shells piled high, claustrophobic, and ugly. The surrounding dumpsters were well maintained in decent condition, though their hinges were starting to rust. They managed to serve the bare minimum for the townspeople, and sometimes, the baseline purpose was all the luxury one would be granted.
Buried beneath the general scent of city sweat, the alley’s bubble of air was thick and wet, and smelled burnt. Like an everlasting soggy electrical fire, something always simmered beneath the pavement, never to turn to ash, nor ever to see the light of day and display its flame.
Hidden behind the forbidden jungle gym sat the disheveled little man; bruised, bloody, and exhausted beyond reason. Even with the distant, filtered noise, the alley remained dead and damp. Desolate, liminal. Like a pocket dimension on the path through purgatory, the space instilled with an eerie discomfort that gripped the heart with an unshakable cold.
The air reeked with dense smoke, every distant passerby's cigarette out performed by potent car exhaust. The foul scents marinated in his lungs, the stench clinging to his nostrils like stubborn soot. That colored air hovered close to the pavement, seeping into those wooden boxes like a comically upscaled bundle of incense sticks. The mist swirled and danced, drawn to the ground like metal fragments lured to a magnet’s pull.
Face tinted from the cold, nose running, skin hot, Spamton busied himself, isolated in this empty stall. Rain padded down on the weathered cloth above, its waterproof wax long gone, washed away after a dozen rainy seasons. It reduced the amount of water dripping onto him, quite pitifully rather than fully preventing it.
Droplets dripped into a bucket, a waterline well animated by the ripples stirring an endless dance. Taking advantage of the outrageous downpour, Spamton used his collection to clean himself off, but every movement burned in his aching little limbs. Sore blue bruises shined through his flushed skin, that once beautiful white now riddled with a decade of imperfections. Down on his luck from the beginning… these recent years had not been any kinder than those avian hands. Each passing day discouraged him further, his battered mind inching closer and closer towards a darkness he struggled to keep at arms length. He'd welcomed that emptiness once, and even now, years later.. it still felt like he never truly recovered. It felt as if every struggle now was just delaying his inevitable collapse into the void writhing within.
If something didn't change soon, he was sure he'd give up completely, or relapse into those old year habits. Slip right back into his previous self post the tremendous failure that landed him here on these sickening streets in the first place.
By now, Spamton had taken off the bulk of his outer layers, spending the better half of his afternoon dunking them in a wooden bucket that had collected enough rainwater to serve as a free laundry service. Without soap he wasn't able to do much, but he was pleased to at least be rid of the bulk of alleyway grime.
He twisted his coat tightly, ignoring the popping of thread as he rang out water. Satisfied, Spamton uncurled the coat, glancing at it briefly before slipping it back on over his shoulders. He struggled to slide his wings through the designated slits, forced to manually narrow the injured one as it furled painfully.
Fully dressed again, he was significantly cleaner than before, but the little creature still felt every remaining speck of dirt left on his damp body. He hated living like this. He pulled his knees close, leaning his head on his arms. His tail curled around his feet, the creature often forgetting its true length even after a decade of time to adjust to the change.
As his eyes closed, the overstimulating sounds of the city began to fade away, the rain drowning out his fatigue as he was pulled towards unconsciousness. His exhausted body was begging for rest, yet just as he was beginning to nod off, he heard footsteps approaching fast. His eyes snapped open and alert as he froze, pleading his silence would keep him hidden behind the crumpled wall of wood. This stall had been abandoned for months, there was no way someone knew about it, nor would be doing something about it now, in this rain? But if he had been followed-
Spamton gripped his arms tight, staring in the direction of the wet shuffling footsteps, fear settling deep in his stomach. He couldn't see whatever stood on the other side of his shield of crates. Footsteps, clicking, and indescript muffled taps on cloth. As quickly as it came, all the shuffling noises went quiet, the heavy rainfall beginning to sting in his ears as he tried to focus harder.
“You’re early. How considerate, I always appreciate punctuality from my affluent associates.” A timid voice called out of the alley, high pitched and mildly masculine beneath its whiny edge.
Spamton jumped at the first words spoken, and shoved his mouth into his coat arm to keep himself from voicing his surprise. A second set of footsteps grew closer, each step loud and heavy. Spamton could feel the vibration from each footfall in the ground beneath him, the strength increasing as it grew closer.
“I don't like to waste time. You know that.” This voice was low and intimidating, easily matching the vibe of his footsteps. “Any trouble picking up the samples?” Spamton’s brain buzzed from the low octave in a way that rattled him to his very core. This guy projected his voice like a seasoned performer, commanding and incredible and unnecessary stage presence in this abandoned alleyway. It was so distracting, he struggled to follow along with their conversation.
“None, Sir. The usual amount will do. Although you know tips are appreciated.” The first voice replied, almost playful, a steep contrast to the serious authority the other carried.
“Show me.”
Two clicks went off in sequence, distinctly the signature sound of a luxury name brand suitcase opening. Spamton felt curiosity swell in his chest, his fingers twitching, antsy.
“Good. And the watch?”
“It was a bit delayed in shipping, but I was able to get my hands on another model I knew you had your.. er, ‘eye’ on. Heh.”
The humor was lost on the little creature, being unable to see either monster. After an uncomfortable silence, the higher voice continued.
“Right. Anyway, that one will be here next week, but to make up for the wait, here is this year’s model.” More distinct clicks, followed by hands rummaging through what Spamton assumed to be jewelry cases based on the soft velvety sounds padding against one another.
He couldn't stand it, he just had to see what was happening. Spamton dispersed his weight slow and cautious, lowering himself into a readied squat with hands outstretched to the wet concrete. He pushed himself to his feet, and began timing his footsteps with the stirring of those mystery boxes.
“You uh, don't seem very enthused. I thought you liked this one?” The sheepish voice had a particular twinge of anxiety, a tone Spamton was all too familiar with. He heard the clap of a case snapping shut, prompting him to be extra quiet as he pulled himself up onto the wooden crates.
“It's damaged. It’s worthless.” The authoritative voice hissed, and Spamton felt the crates rattle as he took a step forward, the very air continuing to buzz with each angry word spoken. “Did you think you could scam me?”
“Of course not- no absolutely not!”
A quiet damp thud echoed in the alley.
Spamton finally reached the top of the boxes, and cautiously peeked his head out. His horns curved the edge first, his eyes quick to follow. His long nose settled just over the gritty edge, pressed hard enough against the wood to crease the bridge as he got a lung full of aged lumber.
He saw an impossibly tall, slim figure tower over a short round one against the brick wall. The smaller guy had raised their hands up defensively, limbs shaking as their voice wavered.
“Y’know uh, the real reason I didn't notice is kind of embarrassing. But I guess telling you is better than getting crushed by you, haha!” The round figure put a hand on their neck, rubbing it nervously. “I lost my glasses recently, and my vision had gotten worse and I didn't realize how bad it was! Without ‘em I have trouble seeing up close. But-but don't worry! I have a new pair on the way! We’ll be back in business in no time.” They flashed a nervous smile, but it couldn't fool a blind child.
The hidden creature cowered behind the crate, his grip on the wood tightening as he watched the off putting scene unfold in front of him. Were the wood not completely soaked through, he’d have gotten a serious case of splinters stuck through his gloves into little sensitive palms.
A fist slammed into the wall above the round figure, the speed and weight behind his hand crushing brick like a crumpled car. The wall caved in, the structural integrity of the building permanently compromised from such a devastating blow.
The smaller figure flinched, clutching their head with closed eyes. As the giant robotic beast withdrew his hand over the spooked critter, they lowered their trembling arms with a startled expression leaving their mouth agape to pant.
The wall crackled as the ruined stone settled, a massive hole left in the masonry. The rain caused the shedding dust to smear into paste, the bubbly goop sticking to his gloved knuckles. His shoulders eased as he leaned away to pull a blood red handkerchief free from his suit’s pocket, massaging his dirtied knuckles with an uncomfortably routine looking elegance.
“M-message received, B-Boss! No more deals til I have em, you said it!” They grabbed the suitcase and ducked around the corner, fleeing full speed.
The seething man turned his back to the street, the once busied sidewalk now completely quiet. Turned towards the stacked crates he put a hand on his hip, the other on his face to pinch his eyes. Rather it was a screen. And as he removed his hand Spamton saw he didn't have eyes.
He’d seen a few robotic monsters in his time in the city, but Spamton had never seen one so… unique. His build looked quite dated, yet still seemed strangely sleek. He was suspiciously easy on the eyes, though the exact age of his TV head was left strangely vague by the well maintained metal exterior wrapped around what should have been an ancient model.
The CRT slid a hand onto his collar and lifted up the lip of the blazer, his vibrant red tie unbothered by the movement. Digging through the interior pocket, the ribbon didn't budge, clipped in place, it remained still as if we're plastic rather than a soft malleable cloth. Broad shoulders rolled as his posture relaxed, the accumulated tension soothing slowly as he took a swig from a shiny flask.
The tall monster twisted his torso, half turned away as his dark glove rummaged around his pants pocket. He lifted out a familiarly branded pack of cigarettes, gave it a shake and skillfully popped one stick free with ease. He bit it between his teeth as he stuffed the rest away, sliding out a slim, crimson rectangle. The CRT clicked his tongue as he held the lighter to his lip, a quiet shink echoing over the alley as he struck it repeatedly under the tilt of his head. His shielding hand twitched as frustration flickered across his face, the man taking a long, slow breath after his cigarette finally lit.
Spamton eagerly inspected every detail from the intimidating TV, quite surprised to see such a noble monster this far into the shittier part of the city.
His head was a distinct CRT TV, an old model that had long since been outdated by better technology. It was a large deep blue metal box with a fancy curved back, the front lined with a sleek border. His screen was slightly curved, his supple face slapped on top as if it were a shape shifting creature stuffed in a glass jar. His mouth came and went, as if he could hide it at will, returning to a flat, smooth, uninterrupted surface at his leisure.
The top of the TV was crowned with a small dual ring blue coil and an asymmetric set of grey wire antenna, his left rod crooked and bent. The detail was quite distinct from the rest of his perfect attire, contrasting strongly against his apparent, compulsive neatness.
Pointed dark grey derby shoes shined like a polished tire, their heels adding an unnecessary few extra inches to his already dramatic height. His gloves matched in color, his outfit quite coordinated in a cohesive cool palette, that saturated red a… bold accent choice paired with the rest of his fit.
The desaturated blue blazer was strikingly fancy, embellished with countless decorative seams, layered with significant visual flare. It was fitted tight enough to shape his metal plating, and the robotic monster was built buff. Almost every inch of the man was covered, but Spamton could tell from his movement he was metal through and through. His joints looked stiff, as if they were poorly maintained or somehow limited by the tight clothing.
Each fold of fabric wrinkled over his joints, bunching under his arm and elbow as it bent to manage his cigarette. The coat hugged every inch of his silhouette in an unbelievably flattering manner, with a dozen buttons lining the front half. Each was looped taut, snugging his already snatched waist similarly to a corset.
With his attention drawn to his chest, Spamton finally recognized who he was looking at.
Wait. Crooked antenna? That fancy suit and tie? His eyes skimmed him up and down again, twitching as a flat toothy grin popped onto his screen. The TV lifted a mini case from his pocket, his lip curling wider as two canines made themselves known as he looked inside.
That smile! How did I not recognize him? His face is all over the city! Spamton tried to peek further, careful to not fall from his perch. Even after leaning precariously, he wasn't able to see into the case. The metal man held it to have the lid perfectly block his view. It almost felt intentional given the angle required to do so so conveniently.
“Mr. Tenna?” Another voice called out, startling both monsters. Spamton felt relief Tenna had jumped himself, or he likely would have heard the little creature scrape against the wood as he temporarily lost his footing.
The tall monster snapped the case shut and slipped it into his suit as he spun around on his heel.
The thin android stood almost on par with Tenna, just a head shorter. Her purple and white silicone popped against her dark outfit, a lot of skin showing with her fancy garments. Constructed with near uncanny beauty, her white plating was elegant and impressively crafted, her visible limbs barely blemished by the subtle panel lines and edges. With a bold attitude defining her face, she pursed her violet painted lips with a smug smile pulling her pointed nose up. The android lacked standard eyes, in their place instead sat a deep violet glass panel stretched over her cheeks like a facemask. It cycled through text and pixelated emoticons, changing between them on a whim as if she were constantly tending to mobile games like a vr junkie.
Queen wore a well fitted dark dress, the invitingly soft silk hugging every curve of her thin stature. Draped over her shoulders, she gently held a sheer shawl covered in roses with an umbrella poised over her head. Her intimidating height was pumped up a few inches by a pair of matching black stiletto heels. A large, round, flat hat topped off the outfit, the top adorned in massive, beautiful feathers that flowed down to her shoulders and beyond. Robotically beautiful, round hips, and a modest bust, she resembled a perfect feminine humanoid. She looked incredible, but there was a twinge of unhinged madness behind her calm demeanor.
“Queen? What a- surprise. What are you doing this far out in the city?”
“Well I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing alone in an alley? In the rain? Without an umbrella?” Her voice was smooth and sultry, aged like a fine wine. She tilted her head, the brim of her hat lifted to show off more of her judgemental face.
After a pause, Queen held out her arm, and the CRT was quick to lock his elbow around it, escorting her like some kind of gentleman.
Hunched over, Tenna kept up an uncomfortable posture to fit under the umbrella. “Nevermind that. Were you looking for me? You could have called-”
Their voices faded out as they rounded the corner and stepped out of earshot, prompting the little creature to quickly hop down and peek around the edge of the building.
Spamton tilted his head, shocked Tenna seemed friendly with one of, if not the biggest face for crime in the city. She has thousands in her crew, and all of them deeply respected and feared her. She was ruthless, selfish, and stubborn. She took what she wanted, and would step on anyone to get it, by any means necessary.
Though the longer he thought about it, the more it made sense, Tenna was the biggest celebrity, and he definitely embraced a shady side post his creative career. They had a lot in common, and with a similar.. ‘work ethic,’ they could easily get along. Yet Spamton still felt a strangeness seeing the two so friendly.
Wet dust oozed down the wall, and he lifted his head up at the crater Tenna had left behind. The mud like goop trailed down as if the wall itself were bleeding, a small scale mudslide slowly slithering over his hands. The hole was a lot bigger than it looked far away, standing next to it Spamton felt his entire body shudder. He shook his head and looked down the street, spotting the two intimidating robots stopped not too far ahead. Tenna pulled on a glass door, propping it open with his foot, bowing slightly to the android as she stepped inside. He took her umbrella, and shook it off before folding it down, looping the curled handle over his wrist. His sleeve bunched up slightly, a blinding beacon of light reflecting from his wrist.
Spamton caught a glimpse of a fancy watch, the shiny metal reflecting more light as his hands twisted. The sight reminded him that Tenna had just declined an expensive watch due to minor cosmetic damage. If that was the case, he could assume he’d have many nice watches he could sell for quintuple digits. Just one of those would be his golden ticket out of here.
Slowly, Spamton made his way down the sidewalk, focused on reaching the building he saw his target enter. It was a short walk, and he stepped over the curb as he leaned back to look up at the sign above the door, met with a very fancy cursive title.
Just as he began brainstorming how to get his hands on that watch the door opened, and he dashed to the wall, trying to make himself small as he looked over to see who was passing by. A hot wash of panic made his knees weak as his eyes narrowed in on familiar black feathers. As if in slow motion, his eyes drifted up to meet the turned head of a swatchling, her face covered by a floral veil rather than the expected metal mask. Spamton stilled, his wings fluffed out, tail completely frozen in the air like a scorpion about to strike.
“Apologies, we’re closed for a private dinner. You’ll have to come back another time.” The avian figure bowed slightly, her sturdy scaled hand folding against her chest as the other rested behind her back. She opened her eyes to see the small creature completely static below her, absolutely terrified. Such a reaction unnerved her, and the Swatchling recoiled. She raised upright, loosely in her normal posture with a confused head tilt. “Um- sir? Are you alright?” She raised a hand to wave it in front of his face, and jumped back as he hissed and swatted at her, finally breaking his silence.
Spamton dashed away full speed, ducking down the closest alley and taking many turns before ending up on the other side of the street. In the back alley between two large diners, he hugged the edge of a large dumpster, clutching his chest. He slid down to sit, his shaky limbs beginning to sting as his fresh wounds were aggravated again.
What the hell. What the hell. What. The. HELL?? Spamton grabbed at his hair, very distressed. Why didn't they cave my face in??
~ ~ ~
The lanky man sat uncomfortably, leaned back with an arm on the rim of his chair, the small piece of furniture barely sturdy enough to hold his weight. With every breath he took he could feel it creak, prompting the man to sit still as much as possible.
Tenna sat with his long legs crossed, his right foot flat on the floor with his knee higher than the table, the other even higher. He did an excellent job masking his discomfort, appearing completely at ease and relaxed, everyone nearby unaware of the immense tension in his joints.
“So how long have you been in town? I'm surprised you didn't give me a heads up, I could have set up a proper dinner.”
The robotic lady across the table waved her hand, smiling wide. “Oh where's the fun in that? I like the element of surprise.” She put a hand on the other, her chin leaned on the back of her palms.
“Yes, you always enjoyed the spontaneity to a frustrating degree.” Tenna took a sip of his whiskey, savoring the smoothness of it for a moment before setting the empty glass down.
Queen’s smile widened as a scaled hand slid a glass of acidic wine in front of her, a vibrant green liquid begging for consumption. She eagerly pinched the short straw as she put her mouth around it, taking a long sip. “I'm fun! You're just too boring to appreciate it.”
The waiter stepped around the table, presenting her tray to the large man with a tranquil expression behind her lace veil. Tenna unenthusiastically pointed at the swatchling’s face as he grabbed the stout glass, the ice clanking with the movement. “Another new uniform, huh? You're consistently.. passionate about dressing up your little birds, I’ll give you that. I don't get the appeal, myself.”
“Oh how strange! You have dozens of suits all with their specific tiny differences. Don't you like fancy clothes? How can you not enjoy dressing up those adorable little Pippins of yours? Or the positively handsome Shadowguys. Oh how I’d love to coordinate so many outfits!”
Tenna shrugged, his drink sloshing loudly against clinking ice.
Queen took another sip and hummed with delight. “Anyway. To answer your previous question, I’ve been in town for a couple days. I didn't expect to run into you, but the timing couldn't be better. I’ve been meaning to catch you up on some trouble I’ve had in the East District.”
“What kind of trouble?” His screen clicked black, his eerie smile quick to return, a pitiful attempt to hide his change in mood.
The android waved her hand again, picking up her glass. “Nothing too serious, but I want it handled before it gets out of hand. Some of that birdbrain’s underlings have been pushing in my newer territory. Even with a few warnings, and a few less than warnings, he seems keen on starting something too big for them to handle.”
Tenna downed his drink all at once, setting it on the table as he straightened his posture. His chest puffed out as he tapped on the table, turning his screen away from the woman across from him. “Swatch, huh?” His taps grew loud for a moment before he cut himself off, his head snapping back in Queen’s direction. “So how are you wanting to handle this? I wouldn't think you’d need my help for something small like that.”
Queen’s playful energy vanished in an instant as she set down her emptied glass. Her serious aura was quite prominent, the change equally noticeable in her tone as she spoke. “Of course I don't need you. I want to show that cocky little bastard that our alliance is strong. He needs a reminder that messing with me, means messing with you. He’ll back off immediately seeing our combined ranks at the ready.”
“And if he doesn't? What if this is his attempt to get in with our crowd? Some elaborate play?”
“I don't care!” Queen slammed her hand on the table, a handful of swatchlings on stand-by twitching behind her. She put her hand on her temple, rubbing tiny circles as she calmed her exterior body language. “My circuits- I don't give a damn what that ugly pigeon is planning. I’ve let him fester long enough, it's time to rid us of such a pest.”
“So you want my advice?” Tenna asked, uncrossing his leg to sit upright.
“Heavens no.” Queen laughed. “No, I want your guys.” She paused, smiling harder at the man’s irritated posture. Even without expressive facial features, Tenna was visually vocal with his emotions. So much so Queen found it truly endearing how unaware of it he could be at times. “Cheer up, big guy, I didn't come here to take without giving you something in return.”
Tenna turned back to her, his tense shoulders sinking in the slightest watching her wave over a swatchling. A detailed document slid across the table, the android's silicon fingertips inaudibly vibrating with the movement.
“A contract? Just how serious are you?”
Queen gestured with her hands, almost comically animated as she spoke. “Very. I know how much you love your contracts. This is a detailed one, with fine print and all! Have a look!”
“You flatter me.” He said so sincerely deadpan, the honesty of his statement unclear. The CRT leaned forward, his right hand on his thigh as he placed the other on the paper. He skimmed over it with incredible speed, looking at her with disbelief. “20%? Are you out of your mind? You are serious.” Tenna leaned back in his chair, putting his hand on the bottom of his screen.
“For a few months, yes. 20% of our product will be shipped directly to you to sell, distribute, and use however you please, free of charge. And in exchange I’d need your full support while I deal with Swatch. This contract only dates three months, but should I need more time, I’d be happy to renew.”
The man got to his feet, leaning both hands on the table, hunched over quite a bit dramatically given his height. His middle finger tapped on the clothed wood, the soft sound muffled, echoing under the table as if it were far away. With the click of his tongue he pushed himself back, standing his full height once again.
“I'll agree on two conditions.” Tenna pulled a pen from his interior suit pocket, clicking it as he laid it over his thumbs. He held it with both of his hands, meeting the android’s gaze.
Queen nodded at him, attentively listening.
“One; you keep me updated, completely. If I need to be involved directly I want you to notify me immediately.”
She nodded again.
“And Two;” he rotated the pen length wise, slowly spinning it as if it were roasting over a campfire. “All orders to my men are parsed through me. I command them, they won't take orders from anyone else. The only exception to this rule would be if I was not present while they were deployed with you. But I would still have to tell them to obey your word in my absence.”
Queen stood up, and stepped around the table to get within arms length. “That makes a few ideas of mine a bit more complicated than I’d like, but I always enjoyed a challenge. I accept your terms.” She extended her hand, and smiled again as Tenna took it.
“Excellent.” After a quick shake, he retracted his hand and half leaned on the table to sign the document. He returned the pen to his pocket, then clapped his hands together with a muted pop. “Well, it’s time I take my leave. It was nice chatting, Queen.”
The android turned to him, shocked as a lavender glow of question marks flooded over her eyeless visor. “Oh, really? You're not going to stay to eat?”
The CRT shook his head. “No time. I'm busy today. I hope you don't mind me taking the back exit, I’ve had enough rain for the day.”
“No problem, just be sure to close the door, we don't need any pests crawling in.”
Tenna nodded, and bowed to her politely. “Keep me posted.”
The tall man had to duck his head significantly stepping through the doorway, his left hand firmly pressed against the top of the frame as he swung his head underneath. His screen tilted up as he emerged from the diner, pleased he could stand his full height and be spared more unpleasant rain in this roofed alleyway.
A quiet clink drew his attention, the TV's screen spinning around, immediately locking onto a rolling bottle. He stared at it for a long moment as he listened for further sound. He remained unsatisfied with the silence, but decided to head home rather than waste his time investigating.
Tenna turned his back to the bottle and put his hands behind his back, taking hold of his wrist as he paced forward. After just a few steps he stopped, turning to look over his shoulder slightly. Not enough to see behind himself, but enough to alert anything lingering in the vicinity he was very aware of their presence.
He continued walking, without looking back a second time.
Spamton didn't dare breathe until those heavy footsteps were far away. The tiny man hesitatingly poked his head around the dumpster he'd clung to, taking several deep breaths to calm himself. He was so worked up he was almost able to convince himself to stay here rather than follow his golden ticket, but his racing thoughts were quick to talk him out of it.
You're dead in two days anyway. Might as well try something.
After collecting himself, Spamton dashed forward, hiding behind every large object on the way as he traversed through the quiet, claustrophobic streets.
The narrow shape of the alley was suffocatingly tight, with the space barely stretching five feet at its widest sections. The majority of the surrounding structures were made of stone and concrete, with weathered wooden paneling occasionally sprucing up the dreary blandness of depressing greys. There was little to no color outside the occasional dull pop of matt paint and graffiti, although the amount of graffiti was surprisingly low for such a liminal space.
With the lack of windows and sparse scattering of backdoors, it was clear this back alley wasn't intended for common use. Yet despite that, the street was well lit and plentifully populated with bright porch lights. Many buzzed loudly, humming with a strong unstable current, attracting tiny moths and dozens of miscellaneous bugs.
Various tarps were strung up overhead creating an artificial ceiling to block out the rain, each layer working to guide it all through a system of gutters. The incessant tapping paired with the roaring flow of water was almost more obnoxious than the overall downpour outside. Individual sounds began to overlap as the little man progressed further, surrounded by an entire complex system of pipes garbling up gallons of water. The fluid splashed wildly through metal tubing in an overbearing cacophony of noise, the sounds loud enough to disturb even those hard of hearing.
As the unexpected ‘pair’ of monsters progressed further through the alley, the crowded architecture only amplified. Dozens of buildings were crammed together, many directly connected and sharing walls like shops in a strip mall. Each structure stretched up to the same height of twenty feet, all capped with the same sheeted roof. The illusion of uniform size was broken up by the occasional gap in the tarp ceiling, allowing glimpses to the hidden mismatched heights beyond. Each building had a sporadic mix of floors resembling a miniature city skyline. Every gap in the cover came with a harsh flow of water racing down, sagging the material in pooling pockets like an inverted field of smooth hills. Like a manmade plastic infused jurassic flora display, or a child’s shitty science project that only wasted materials rather than sparking any meaningful conversation on whatever ‘science’ they claimed it tied to.
That CRT’s jaw dropping height felt so much more threatening in this cramped space, his body nearly taking up the entirety of the walkway. He almost had to duck in some places, his antenna occasionally brushing against wet bags. Following from a distance, Spamton felt himself begin to slow, lagging behind further as he felt himself losing his nerve. This is a terrible idea.
The occasional break between the boundary buildings gave way to a rush of noise as the little monster passed by, the sudden sound sharp and almost painful in volume being funneled so specifically. The roar of a bus stirred him on, rushing forward to catch up before losing sight of the TV stepping around a corner.
Running down the alley, stalking the CRT, Spamton wondered if such a space was built with the intention for sketchy activity. With no visibility and limited access, it would be easy to set up an ambush, with any violent sounds greatly reduced by the solid walls.
It didn't take long for the pair of monsters to near the end of the alley. The ambient rain began to grow louder and louder as they approached the edge, the open sky still dumping countless buckets of rain.
Spamton had managed to successfully tail the tall man throughout the maze of back roads, miraculously remaining undetected. The little man didn't get the chance to savor that glimmer of relief, his shoulders drooping with a revelation. Following that TV was going to be a lot harder now out in the open. With more witnesses and fewer dumpsters to shield himself with, Spamton could feel himself break a sweat.
Still, he pressed on, keeping a healthy distance behind the CRT, barely able to weave through the crowds.
Overall, the task turned out much easier than anticipated. Tenna stuck out, towering over every other monster around, permitting an unexpected ease to follow at a greater distance.
So long as he didn't start a scene, Spamton was sure he would be able to do this. Pacing along, he tapped his hands as he bit his cheek, his tongue fidgeting in his mouth as he felt himself get clammy.
At last, the TV approached a fancy building, and as he walked up the steps he pulled out a keycard and held it beside the front door, a distant chime chirping. Spamton swore to himself as his target stepped inside, noting the digital lock. From across the street he ducked to some bushes to scope out the side of the complex before approaching. Wet metal sparkled in the rain, drawing his eye to the welded scaffolding making up a fire escape that started on the second floor. The thing was just begging to be used.
Just one watch, he told himself. In and out, it’ll be easy.
Spamton solidified his plan as he dashed across the street and approached some shrubbery below the metal rails, certain he could climb up the miniature tree and leap onto the soulless monkey bars. He cringed, immediately picturing himself missing the jump and landing a 15 foot drop onto the wet pavement face first. The premonition was enough to set his nerves aflame, every inch of his body hot with pain he had already accumulated from the day.
The exhausted creature nestled in the bushes, laying down in a tight ball on the bare dirt within a cage of branches. He decided to get some rest before potentially picking a fight, and after closing his eyes, sleep robbed his consciousness almost instantly.
~ ~ ~
Spamton woke in the middle of the night, extremely sore all over. He was hungry too, he couldn't remember the last time he ate. His ears rang as he stretched and sat up, giving the edge of his jaw a rub to soothe the tinnitus. As he took in the sight of his makeshift nest in the bush, his wings brushed against waxy leaves, his minor wounds flushing with mild stings as partial scabs pinched his webbed appendage.
He'd almost forgotten the day’s events, now just hours old. As he rubbed his eyes, he could feel a small piece of him beg to just stay asleep.
Shaking off his wishful desire, the little creature grabbed branches and pulled himself up, easily navigating through the compact foliage. His head popped out the top of the bush, various leaves and fractured twigs buried in his messy mullet of hair. Narrow eyes swiftly surveyed the immediate area, the tiny man pleased with the absence of locals and general life.
The surrounding pavement was still, completely soaked with a month's worth of water. The asphalt looked relatively new, the dark color well saturated and rich. Although, it was a shitty job; laid uneven and bumpy, with many large pockets of water taking full advantage of the situation. Frogs and small harmless bugs gathered to enjoy the break in rain, all enjoying their party in the temporary, mini ecosystem.
This side of the complex sported all the miscellaneous billed services, bricked up walls tipped with barbed wire guarded gas lines, water tanks, and a miniature electrical grid that looked futuristically fancy. Suspiciously high end for what appeared to be little more than a halfway decent living situation for the average upperclassmen. Dense shrubbery framed a perfectly straight line around the sub area, shielding all outside eyes from the stealthing little man’s activities.
Spamton heaved himself upward, perching himself on the highest branch positioned just below his target. Sitting on his heels he firmly steadied himself at a slight angle. He readjusted his feet, repeatedly opening and closing his hands over the woody stem. His tail flicked back and forth, his wings stretched out to keep him balanced as he readied himself. After a bit of wiggling, he leapt forward, springing his small body upward several feet, his little limbs struggling not to flail while airborne. The bush branch rattled, flicking back and forth with jingling leaves.
He felt his heart clench as he caught the lowest bar of the ladder in one hand, his body swinging around wildly with a loose anchor. Straining himself, Spamton raised his left hand up to join the other on the bar, his dangling feet kicking to carry the momentum forward and catch the ladder. After successfully climbing up, the little creature took a moment to catch his breath, massaging a knot out of his good wing. His entire upper body spasmed as he pulled himself up, and his flightless limb suffered the bulk of it.
I have no idea which room he’d be in. The tiny man craned his neck to look up the column of steps above. Who am I kidding? Of course he’d be in the penthouse.
As the low hum of rattling metal settled, the ambient, distant whistle of cars reclaimed the air. City critters chirped, nearby puddles sang with frog croaks, and the blanket softness from the night muted everything with an uneasy quiet.
With the crack of his knuckles, roll of his shoulders, and tilt of his head, Spamton was ready to press on. He dashed up the stairs, running on all fours at a shocking pace. Even at this speed, he barely made any noise splashing through the excess water stored on each metal shelf, the swift creature an expert at navigating in this manner.
Spamton arrived at the top of the fire escape, surprised it only went up to the second to last floor. With a shrug he dug through a small bag he kept under his coat, pulling out a dulled blade. It was extremely old, bent, and beginning to rust, but it was all he had. He stuck it into the window frame, gliding it back and forth with great skill. The lock popped up, and he pushed the glass up, sliding it open. He gently brushed off some shedded iron colored particles, merely smearing the dust onto the white frame. Ignoring the clear marks he sank his gloved hands onto the windowsill's lip, and he cautiously slid a leg in, slowly easing his weight onto the pristine wooden boards. Swinging his satchel back around, he straightened his coat over it, concealing his blade in his sleeve.
Crouched, Spamton stealthed forward, taking quick small strides, relieved to have a long runner rug to mute his footsteps. His heeled boots were beyond worn, the grip of his soles long since smoothed out, making soft surfaces a bit difficult to navigate reliably. As he scampered through the halls, he grew more antsy, put off by the ease of his task. He glanced to the ceiling's corners, more than confused by the absence of cameras in what was otherwise a modern building. No staff security? No body guards? He peeked his head around the final corner that should lead him to the flight of stairs up to his target. Nothing guarding the front entrance??
Spamton approached the door and put a hand on the doorknob, giving it a slow test, and twitched as it cracked open. It's unlocked? At this hour?! A simultaneous wave of relief and stress washed over him, sending chills up his spine, the fluff covering his skin erect and alert.
The little creature cracked the door open, hesitating before finally sliding himself through. In front of him stood a grand staircase that opened up to a large, spacious room, bright moonlight mixed with a dim yellow corner, the source not yet known to the small man. He crawled up the stairs, not wasting time to peek over the final step, jumping back down as he saw a figure beside the glass. He exhaled, opening his eyes again, gathering his courage to look again.
The far end of the room was lined with floor to ceiling windows, their borders intricately detailed, glowing radiantly with how the moonlight flooded through. On the right wall was an near empty desk, a lone pen, journal, and blue jacket set atop it. Beyond the desk was a set of double doors, one cracked open, with the paneling quality on par with the fancy glass. He couldn't see far to the left, a half height wall obscuring most of his view from his low angle. The little creature’s focus returned to the figure in the center of the glass wall, the tall man permitted to stand his full height with a grand 30 foot ceiling looming above him. Looking up made Spamton feel so small, the scale of the interior made him lightheaded.
Tenna stood with his left hand raised, pulling on his cufflinks with his right as his screen faced the window, his mind clearly busy elsewhere.
Spamton stalked forward, eyes glued to the robotic man’s backside as he drew his blade. The tall TV switched hands, the tiny jingle of metal pins continuing to clink as his hand worked his wrist.
Spamton clutched the blade’s handle tight, every cell in his body screaming at him to flee. Tenna was home, why did he come in? What was he thinking? Taking him on, even with the element of surprise, he didn't stand a chance, not with this shitty knife, nor his shitty stature.
Tenna leaned to his right, dropping the silver disks into a wooden bowl atop a lone stool. Its placement as a feature was odd, weirdly far away from all other furniture, in the middle of such a fancy wall lined in glass. With nothing but a bowl atop it, everything about the choice was strange.
This is stupid! I should just come back when he’s gone. I only need one watch. I don’t need to take such a risk-
Spamton’s thoughts vanished in an instant, as if someone had snapped them away. His mind went dark, his body numb as he watched the giant man turn his rectangular head over his shoulder.
Shit.
“You are either incredibly bold, or inconceivably stupid.“ He spoke without fully facing him, looking off to the side of the room, rather than directly over his shoulder. Even after he stopped speaking, the weight of his deep voice lingered in the air with the slight echo reverberating through the space. His posture remained relaxed, unconcerned and uncaring to the intruder behind him.
He’s going to kill me.
Tenna finally turned around, slow, calm and collected. His demeanor was bone chillingly apathetic, as if this was an expected inconvenience he couldn't care less for. “So which is it?” He shifted, and now the little creature could see that the window Tenna stood near was open, with a soft breeze creating ripples in his shirt as it blew past him.
Spamton’s legs trembled. He knew! How the fuck did he know?!
The CRT approached the tiny man, his screen blank and dark. His silhouette was lined with a soft moonlight, a shadow cast over his front giving him an almost ethereal glow. "How amusing. That such a.. pathetic creature would even attempt to sneak up on me. What was your plan, foolish one? Surely you didn't think you could wound me with a mere toothpick.” He leaned down and poked the point of the blade, and inspected the tip of his finger, showing off his undamaged glove with that signature toothy grin slapped on his face.
As soon as Spamton’s attention was on his raised palm, the massive monster pounced forward. His dominant hand gripped the tiny creature’s wrist, his hold solid and cold, like stone. Spamton dropped the knife immediately as he fell onto his back, pinned in the blink of an eye. His blade hit the ground after him, a metallic pitched clattering beside his head.
Eyes wide, Spamton stared in horror up at the enormous screen looming overhead with bared teeth, his reflection distorted by the TV’s open mouth sneer. The hand on his chest was big enough to pin the tiny creature’s entire upper body, huge metal fingers flexed, sinking into his skin through his pathetic excuse of a coat.
He felt sweat form on his hands, the liquid chilling as the cold night air slipped through his shortest furs, a chill nipping at his skin.
Spamton frantically scrambled, unable to escape the death grip, his chest flaring in pain from the pressure being applied to it. He frantically pulled at Tenna's massive arm, unable to get a hold with his tiny hands. "Unhand me you-” He was cut off by an increase in pressure, forced to suck in a shallow breath to counter the weight threatening to squish him flat.
Tenna's middle finger tapped his chin, the tip of his digit bearing a sharp claw underneath the taut fabric of his dark glove. "Such a tiny creature. Too small. Wouldn't even be satisfying to crush you.” He tilted his finger down, his nail pressed against Spamton's lip.
The pinned man felt his heart racing. No matter how much he struggled, he remained completely immobile beneath the heavy TV. His right hand strained to the side, desperate to grab the knife just out of reach.
“Any other day something like you would be squished before you could blink. How fortunate for you that I don't want to spend the next hour scrubbing you off my floors." He curled his finger, pulling his hand back sharply, the claw cutting Spamton’s bottom lip precise and clean. Tenna pushed himself off the floor, getting to his feet, his shoulder’s tension eased as he rotated his wrist.
Not giving the intruder a moment of rest, the CRT bent down and placed a hand on Spamton's throat, that firm grip lifting him into the air to carry him to the wall of windows. As he approached the glass, the tranquil moonlight grew brighter, the cool night breeze rushing past him, eager to enter the room behind.
Spamton pawed desperately at the sturdy arm suspending him, but his efforts were completely fruitless. With his vision blurring, Spamton felt an extreme deja vu; that all too familiar wash of shame blended with primal fear clawing its way into every crevice of his being. It was devouring him from the inside. It wasn't fair he was so small compared to everyone else. The world was so big, why was he born so small? And made even smaller after…
His strength was dwindling fast, so the tiny man pushed himself to use the last of it to grab Tenna’s wrist.
Spamton’s eyes snapped open as he felt a distinct metallic band, time itself feeling still as Spamton realized he had an opportunity. Tenna was reeling back, winding his arm, just seconds away from launching the tiny man from the balcony.
With the last of his consciousness he desperately clung against the robotic arm, anxiety shooting through his hands as he finally felt a click. Securing his prize, Spamton gripped the object as tight as possible as he was thrown across the courtyard below, flying several feet in the air before colliding with a massive tree. He hit branch after branch as he tumbled down, every inch of his body catching nature’s hands. He landed on a sturdy branch at the base of the tree, doubled over, draped over it like a bath towel. Instinctively, he tried to correct his balance, his tail flailing wildly as his wings failed to aid the situation. He slid forward, accelerating fast, hurling towards the ground head first.
He shut his eyes, falling a good ten feet before landing hard on the greenbelt with a notable thump. Tufts of various plants comically fluffed into the air, each slow to settle again. Such a graceful kiss of dirt added more colored stains to his blazer, its once pristine titanium white long gone after years in the urban wilds.
Spamton kept his eyes closed for a long moment, clutching the watch in both hands. He had convinced himself that this was nothing more than an illusion. That when he opened his eyes it would vanish, certain he had failed, again. Gradually he willed himself to squint, his limited view showing off that shiny metal trinket. Relief washed over his tense joints, his limbs feeling lighter as his mind felt dizzy. He couldn't believe he’d survived, let alone succeeded in a last second attempt.
Spamton held the watch against his forehead, his shaky hands beginning to ease as he let out a heavy sigh. The calm moment didn't last, and he heard a sharp whiff as something small landed between his legs. The creature tried to sit up, forced to pull back to not touch the mystery object. His own knife greeted him, stuck in the ground, pinning him in place with a new hole in his pants. He involuntarily squeaked, had it landed just a hair closer, he’d have lost a vital part of his dignity. He was quick to inspect himself, pleased to see everything was as it should be, the seam of his pants the only casualty. This itself was surprising, as Spamton wasn't sure he could cut through the fabric if he tried. Yet his worn blade had traveled so fast it sliced through it like air. Chills ran up his spine, his wings ruffled as he twitched. He hoped he’d never have to take the full strength of the TV man’s wrath.
The little creature was quick to gather himself, yanking the knife from the grass to pocket it alongside the precious metal inside the bag on his back. He ran off into the night, blissfully unaware the CRT had witnessed his retreat, calmly leaned over his balcony with a cigarette in hand.
“Lucky little thing, aren't you?” Tenna muttered, taking a deep breath as his screen darkened.