Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Keep running.

He didn't know how long he had been.  All he knew was that he needed to get away.

Keep running.

He could practically feel his pursuer's cold, fake breath against his plastic.

Keep running.

He knew it would only be a matter of time until he was caught unless he hid.  Out in the open, he was as exposed as a Maus in the Royal Mansion to a Tasque.

Keep running.

As he raced down the sidewalk, at an hour when very few people were out and about, he passed the blinding neon lights welcoming travellers - oh, how few there were these days - to the city.

He could see where he was running up ahead.  He never liked coming here if he didn't have to - too unhygienic.  But it pulsed on his lapel, so… he sprinted faster towards the Trash Zone.

“We both know you're only delaying the inevitable, doll!”

He knew he was.  That didn't mean he couldn't prolong it for at least a little while.

The heaps scattered around the Trash Zone were high and thick, piled high with scrap metal, unfinished meals, the occasional decayed weapon or armor piece that someone no longer needed.  Everything was dusty and rusted, but they could serve as temporary places to hide.

When he raced around the corner, he wouldn't immediately find his prey.  Not yet.  He would have to work harder than a simple game of chase.  It’s now turned into Hide & Seek.

He watched him quietly and carefully through the piles, one bare foot and one green heel stepping slowly, cautiously around the heaps, keeping out of sight as it nudged his mind to head towards the back.  It hadn't been this active since it was first acquired, so why it was directing him towards a dead end now was unknown…  but it hadn't been wrong before now.

He watched as the pink one moved like a predator hunting prey, stepping just as quietly as he searched and reached around the hills of trash, occasionally infecting the stray can or scrap battery with his virus.  It became a tense dance of sorts.  His calculated steps forward, searching.  And his careful steps back, hiding.

Clank.

His head snapped up immediately, only to see a loose pipe bouncing down the side of one of the seemingly endless heaps, and his prey bolting down the center aisle, towards the back of the Trash Zone.

He grinned.  This game was going to end soon.

This was stupid.  He should've detoured towards the carnival, there was bound to be at least one person throwing tennis balls at bottles at this hour, there was bound to be someone who would help him.  It was a fault, a glitch, that led him here, not some sort of divine assistance.  He was trapped.  He could see the looming latticed wall of the back as he turned a corner, with the only things in this back corner being smaller piles of trash and a dumpster.  Why did he follow the prods to go this way?

Behind.

…he felt it pulse again on his lapel.  He could see a shadow starting to come around the corner, moving slowly because he knew he had his prey.  He was going to be taken back all because he followed a stupid crystal instead of detouring to the obvious direction for help.

He could at least delay the inevitable.

He sprinted to the dumpster and moved to crouch behind it, the corner of his bolero rising on a loose nail.  There was a small black hole in the wall where the lattice had cracked away, shimmering faintly with the neon blue-green light of the source code.

•••

Finally.  This one had him running around the city for longer than anticipated, but still.  He was trapped now.  That's all that mattered.  He couldn't get away this time.  He thought this one was such a level-headed and calculating man.  Perhaps even the smartest of their kind could get flustered and make drastic mistakes like this.  He rounded the corner.  …just some trash piles and a dumpster.  Not much to hide behind - and thankfully not much to keep watch of to prevent escape.  He stalks down the aisle, peering between the scraps.

…Nothing yet.  He sets his eyes on the dumpster at the back wall, smirking.  He knows he doesn't need to rush this.  He approaches the back wall, looking behind the dumpster.

. . . Nothing.

There was nothing behind.  Nothing underneath.  Not even anything inside.  He searches around the dead end in a bit more of a hasty manner.  Not so much as a stray fiber of hair.  How?  How had he slipped by?  In this state, he could not have been THAT quiet for THAT long.  Fast, sure.  Stealthy, no.  The way he had been clumsily running in one heel proved that much, it was a wonder he hadn't twisted his ankle joint.

The Addison searches around the Trash Zone for a while more, growing increasingly frustrated with each trash pile not hiding even the hint of blue plastic - besides the Discarded, that is.  The only useless clue was a piece of torn fabric from their clothes.  He then gets struck with a realization.

“...damn clips,” he mutters to himself.  The parts of their world that would continuously open and then reseal themselves in solid surfaces, allowing others to go through them and be transported somewhere else.  Of course.  That's how he got away.

A stupid glitch in the system.

He could be anywhere right now.  The Addison grumbles, straightening from where he was kneeling over to look behind a trash can.  There was probably no use searching for him now… he might as well leave and try to search at a later hour.

…he was going to have a lot of searching to do.

•••

The space was tight.  Cramped.  Dark.  His legs were curled all the way up to his chest, and he could only see out partially from where he was hidden underneath the dashboard of an old rusted, and gutted car. He could hear his fans and circuits working overtime inside his body.  

After going through the clip in the wall, he had ended up in a different area of the Trash Zone.  There were… a lot of old gutted cars in this area.  He didn't know whether he would find the clip, or if it had sealed up again, but he wasn't taking any chances, and crawled into a car to hide himself as best he could.  Which meant underneath the dashboard on the only side that had a door.

The Blue Addison doesn't know exactly how long he was curled up underneath there, but eventually, the exhaustion from running so far, fearing for his life, catches up to him, and his eyes slowly closed as he fell into an uneasy sleep.

●●●

He was afraid to open his eyes.

His internal systems said that the hour was nine A.M.  Not that there was much of a visible difference between the night before and right now in the neon green gridlines of the city's skyline.  At best, the gridlines were a little brighter than earlier.

He didn't hear anything around him.  And from the hard surface pressing into his back he was still in the vehicle, but what if he had found him anyway?  Gotten through the clip before it split, or found another entrance, and was now lying in wait for him to wake up.

He didn't feel any pressure from the crystal, either, so he figured he wasn't in any immediate danger… not yet, anyway.  He didn't know exactly why it had helped him the previous night, but at least it had saved him for the time being.  He cracks open his eyes.  At least there isn't a pink face staring him down from one of the openings of the busted car.

Carefully, quietly, he crawls out from underneath the dashboard and peeks over it to see the other mounds of trash in front of and around the vehicle.  Still nothing.  He then crawls fully out and towards the back of the car, sitting back on the only chair that isn't busted too badly or taken to rest from the uncomfortable position he had been in for hours.  Everyone in this world may be robotic, but that doesn't mean their endoskeletons didn't get tired from improper use.

He breathes a small sigh of relief, allowing himself to close his eyes again.

And he hears it.  The not-quite-so-distant sounds of clanking, scratching, and thumping, occasionally broken by a censoring sound.

Someone else was here.

Not the one he was running from.  Not the infected one.

His eyes snap open, and his audio receivers try to pick up on anything more as he leans forward, tensed and ready to flee if needed.  The noises continue to stay static in one spot.  Eventually, the Addison gains the small bit of courage to investigate.  Cautiously.

‘ ...perhaps they can help? ’

‘... what is someone else doing in the Trash Zone, though?  They don't sound like they're hiding… ’

Hesitantly, he steps out of the vehicle and moves slowly towards the noise, still listening for any change to it.  The trash heaps weren't as large here as they seemed to be in the main dumping area, and they seemed almost sorted in a way.  The actual trash was towards where he was hidden, but as he moved forward it seemed to gradually turn into various piles of car parts.  Hubcaps, engines, tires, et cetera.  He ducks behind one of these tire piles when he gets VERY close to the noise, peeking around the side.

On the other side of a narrow and cleared-out pathway sits another busted-up car, although this one is at least a little cleaner (and slightly mismatched in areas of the paint and other small parts) and with its hood popped open.  Leaning inside the front, likely the source of the censors, is someone with torn, off-white cargo pants and white heels.  …His sibling would more than likely faint at the sight of disrepair those clothes are in.  And at the sight of white cargo pants in general.  But they seem like they're in good use, the pockets visibly expanded even from where he's watching.  It seems like they're trying to fix the car.

“...L1GHT [Bring your family to see the Hoover Dam today!]IT, WHERE ARE YOU, [Old Sparky]…”

…he knows that voice.

The figure moves to stand straight, but they accidentally bang the top of their head on the hood and shout a censored expletive, moving out of it more carefully to rub the top of their head while their motors hiss in frustration.

…he knows that hair, its natural colour dyed ink-black.

That paper-white plastic covering.

The unmistakable way their face scrunched up when annoyed.

Almost before his own mind could think about it, he stepped forward and stubbed his bare foot on one of the tires with a loud thud, immediately making the other whip around, their joints emitting concerning creaks, snaps, and pops as they do, the wrench they were using on the car held at their side defensively.  He backs up and holds his hands to his shoulders in a surrendering pose, his eyes wide and his breath hitching as he sees the other's full face.

“ ...Spamton? ”

Chapter Text

“ ...Spamton? ”

…he knew that voice.  He knew that face.  He'd know the only white Addison to have existed that used to be his brother anywhere.  He'd been searching for months, any patch of white out of the corner of his eye could be mistaken for the back of his pre-dyed hair or his jointed hand before looking closer.  Ever since he'd disappeared, Spamton G. Spamton's face had been etched into his CPU, praying to find him.

And here he was.  Standing directly in front of him in the Trash Zone.

“Spamton, I-”

His sentence was cut off by a blue, egg-like object being hurled at his forehead, exploding into tiny blue sprites of Spamton's face and obscuring his vision for a few moments as the real Spamton darted off behind the car.

“H- HEY, WAIT, COME BACK!”

He quickly swatted the Mini Spamtons away to regain his bearings before giving chase, following the monochromatic blur through the piles of junk.  He forgot just how fast his little brother was.  And apparently still is.  It was hard to keep up with him, especially when he was bone-weary from running for his life last night and only wearing one shoe.  And it seemed as if Spamton knew this area like the back of his hand, dodging and wearing through the tires and gutted cars.

He finally got his chance to catch up, however, when Spamton tried to lose him by scrambling through a car to the other side, the slower movements allowing him just enough time to dash up and grab onto the back of his brother's tattered-looking suit jacket.

“HEY HEYH3YHEYH  EY WATCH THE MERCHAND1SE [Little Sponge], [[Make it or break it, and if you break it you buy it]!¡!”

He winces involuntarily at the volume of which Spamton had spoken, the speech littered with overlaid static like an out-of-tune radio and nonsensical censors.

“JUST- TAKE IT EASY FOR A SECOND, WILL YOU?? Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you!”

…his protest seems to make Spamton stop trashing as wildly to get away, but he still pries the back of his suit from the other's blue hands and backs up towards the other side of the car, allowing him to get a good look at his little brother's face after 15 years.

The plastic was discoloured around his mouth, and the tops of his lower faceplates were stretched into those unnaturally round edges that held the puppet-like red cheeks - the white in these areas was equally as discoloured, and almost looked burned at the areas where they met with other pieces.  He could feel Spamton staring at him, but he couldn't see his eyes through the thickly tinted two-tone glasses… when did he get those?

“...HAVEN'T [U] EVER HEARD OF PERSONNEL [Tired of losing your precious storage space too fast?]¿?  OR A [Shower yourself in all of these savings!]?”

“Hey, I'm in a bit of a spot right now, lay off of it!  But- but that isn't the point-!!  You're... you're Spamton G. Spamton, correct?”

…it wouldn't hurt to at least confirm things.  And by the way Spamton puffs out his chest and puts on a - frankly, very disconcerting - grin, he was right on the money.

“IN THE [Plastic Shrinkwrap]¡!  TH E [Number 1 Rated Salesman1997] AT YOUR [Customer Service, 100% Satisfaction Guaranteed!]

‘ ...is he swearing every other word or something?  Why is the censor kicking in so much? ’

He could barely understand what Spamton was saying, mostly.  Some sentences had a clearer meaning than others, but others were harder to deduce the meaning of.  That wasn't the most important part, though, that could be worried about later.  His brother was alive.  And right in front of him.   Looking like a disaster came upon him - which it technically did, years ago…

“I- do you- Do you remember me at all?”  

He asks hesitantly, almost afraid of the answer.  On the one hand, he desperately wants to make sure that his brother knows who he still is.  But, on the other hand… it's his brother.   The one he all but abandoned years ago, and only tried reaching out to again when he read about the city's elite being kicked out of the mansion by the new ruler, and by then he had already been gone…  he wouldn't be surprised if Spamton tried to forget about them all.

But this question does make the other tense as if he's going to run again.  He doesn't run, however much his feet seem to twitch towards the car's exit and instead grins a little wider.

“HAEAHA EAHAEAH [No],” Spamton laughs loudly, “I CANNOT [Seam] TO REC4LL your [Hideous!  Horrifying!  Ghastly!] [Beautiful Head], [[It seems that our servers are down, and cannot retrieve your account information at this time.  Please try again later]].”

…He wasn't exactly sure of how he should interpret some of those censors.

“...SAY YOU DO [Look! See!] FAM1LAR 2 ME.  HOW CAN I      PUT A [[Please sign below the dotted line]] TO A FACE WITHOUT A [Mother's maiden name]??” Spamton inquires while taking a step forward, raising an eyebrow high above the edge of his glasses.  The wrench in his hand doesn't leave his firm grasp, but at least he isn't actively being threatened by Spamton, which is… better than what he expected from a realistic standpoint…

“Oh-!  Ah, Sample.  Sample James.  Does that… ring any bells for you?”  He tilts his head to the side, ever so slightly fidgeting with the ripped part of his jacket.  This was not how he expected the past 24 hours to go, and it was honestly a little nerve-wracking.  He could even feel his casing starting to perspire - typical of Blues like him.  And only Blues, for that matter.

“HRMMMMMM…” Spamton hummed as he tapped the end of the wrench against a tattered headrest, tilting his head from side to side.  His face and glow then brightened, giving Sample the hope it had rung a bell.

“NOPE.  HAEAHAEAH EAHA.”

…and Sample deflates, his mouth in a frown as he tugs at the jacket tear.

“[U]’RE A REAL [[Try Not to Laugh Challenge, Click Now! 100% Fail!]] 1.  LO    OKING [Grotesque! Awful!] [Hopes and Dreams]FUL THEIR!!!  WHAT, [[Have you spotted this man?  Witnesses say-]] AROUND BEFORE??”

Sample clears his throat awkwardly and shifts from one foot to the other.  Should he come out and say how he knows Spamton if the other truly doesn't remember?  Would that make him just run away again?  Get a wrench held to his throat?  Called crazy?

“You… could say that, perhaps…  You're a, ah- very recognisable?” A half-truth.  His specialty within his purpose.  Maybe if he appealed to Spamton's ego he could try to win his good graces in some way…

“[Comedic canned laughter], GOOD 1¡!  I USED TO be A BIG SHOT.  THE BIGGEST, BELIEVE IT OR    !!!!  BUT NOW…”

Spamton hesitates, before he scoffs and steps forward again to lean directly into Sample's face, making the latter instinctively step backward.

“...YOUR GOING TO NEED TO [If at first you don't succeed, try, try again!] HARDER THAN THAT TO PULL THE [Baa Baa Black Sheep] OVER MY [[-MY EYES.  I CAN'T SEE, MY EYES]], HAEAHAEAHA!!”

Sample's eyes go wide and he stumbles back at the last censor, while Spamton himself doesn't seem to react, hopping out of the wrecked vehicle on Sample's side while the other is momentarily stunned.  That voice…  it sounded like Spamton was terrified.  But he seems confident and smug right now…

“I- you- that censor- Y…”  While Sample struggles internally with whether he should immediately give his little brother a hug and a thousand-plus different apologies, Spamton takes the time to walk past Sample, back to where he was working on the car.

“...BUT YOU HAVE YOUR [Pretty Little Liars] AND I HAVE [Minecrap]!!  SO IF THATS ALL I H4VE [Bigger and better than ever!] THINGS TO DO THAN HAVE A N[ICE-E's P"E"zza] CHAT WITH AN OLD [Complete and utter stranger]¡¡  [Terrible] MAKING YOUR AQUINTENSE, PLEASE [Go Away] SOON ESTEEM CUSTOMER!!”

“WAIT, I-”  Sample attempts to call out after Spamton, but the other merely ignores him and continues walking off while Sample's shoulders sag in defeat and confusion.

“ ...what happened to you? ” Sample murmurs quietly to himself, hugging his arms and fidgeting with his ring as his mind swims with confusion and long-held feelings of guilt.

Chapter Text

Sample stood, staring after Spamton for a few moments before he snapped out of the short reverie.  He'd be damned if he was going to just- just leave as Spamton had asked.  Not after this long.  Not before trying to fix things.  His own issues could be cast to the side for the moment.

So the Blue Addison hobbles after Spamton, not wanting to let him leave his sight, as if he could blink and an illusion would be broken if he did.

“Hey, just- just hold on for a moment, will you??” he calls after the other, wincing a little as something gets caught in his ankle's ball joint before shaking it out. “Light Above this place is a mess - what are you in such a rush for??”

“1'M LATE FOR MY [Her Grace's newest appointed servant just confirmed-].  IT ENT4ILS DE TAILS OF U GOING [Welcome to Far Far Away!]”

…Sample was stung slightly as he followed the White Addison, although mentally he also knew the hostility towards him was well deserved in a way, even if he didn't exactly know whether Spamton was lying about remembering him or not.

“...am I on your turf or something?  Why are you trying to get me to leave so badly?”

“HAVE YOU CONSI DRD M4YBE I DON'T [[-want it!  Need it!  Desire it!]] PE0PLE IN MY [Home Sweet Home]???”

“Your- your home…?”

Sample stops in his tracks for a second as he processes that last statement, looking around the little corner of the Trash Zone he'd found himself in, filled with old decayed cars and somewhat sorted piles of assorted car parts and various trash.  He couldn't imagine even the most down-on-their-luck Darkner wanting to live in this place, gradually accumulating more garbage and just a short distance away in any direction from the Discarded…  he shivers a little just thinking about it.

“WELL WHERE THE [$#/!] 3LSE W OULD I [Live Laugh Love]???” Spamton said sarcastically - or as close as he could sound to sarcastic while borderline yelling, anyway - turning around briefly to face Sample, an eyebrow raised above his glasses.  “U THINK I HAVE SOM EWERE ELSE TO BE?¿?”

…

Sample stays quiet at that.  He honestly didn't even think of Spamton living among garbage - he assumed he'd at least have a tiny room in the Dark Web, or just… somewhere indoors.

“Er- well, have you considered maybe inside someplace would be better..?  Drier, more protected from the acid rain, less noisy…” Sample kicks a screw away with his heel, “...cleaner?”

“I HAVE AN [[New indoor hot tubs, now just $49.99 and FREE shipping!]].”

Spamton points at a particularly large mound of trash behind him, close to where the car he was working on was.  Upon closer inspection, it looks like large sheets of scrap metal precariously placed and hot-glued into the shape of a half-dome against the backing lattice wall, with a door on the front that could be easily picked up and placed off to the side instead of opening and closing it properly.

“That doesn't look clean… or safe…”

“WH O CARES??”

Spamton ticks his head in irritation for a moment, then just utters a glitched grumble before turning to the car again and peering under the hood, muttering to himself as Sample peers around the corner, slightly curious as to what he's looking for.

“...would you like some help?”

Sample can see Spamton's eyes narrow from the sides where his round glasses weren't covering.

“...Y WOULD YOU WANT TO [[ HELP!!!  SOMEONE HELP-]] ME??”

The Blue Addison winces at the sudden censor and steps back out of instinct, before shaking his head and straightening again.

“Because…  because it is the correct response to seeing someone having a difficult situation?  I heard you cursing while trying to fix something earlier… perhaps I could assist.”

Sample puts on the most convincing voice he can muster right now, attempting to get Spamton to accept his offer to help, still trying to get in his good graces again.  Spamton's fans whirr a little faster as he considers the offer before he leans against the front of the car with a sigh.

“WHAT DO U EVE N KNO ABOUT [[-come on down to Big Shot Autos!]]???”

“I, uhm…” Sample hesitates, since he doesn't exactly know his way around cars beyond how to jump his own, “...I can figure it out.  It shouldn't be too hard, right?  Nothing that a search can't tell me.”

“...WELL YOU'RE [Lite-Brite] A BOUT IT NOT BEING HARD, EVEN FOR A [$%/!] LIKE U,” Spamton finally concedes, turning back to the car and gesturing vaguely to the inside of it, “THE [Old Sparky] CAP FEEL OFF IN SIDE.  GET ME SOMTHING LONG AND [[We'll be sure to have you hooked on our finest products!]].”

Not what he had in mind as far as helping, but he'd take it.  Sample nods and hobbles to one of the larger trash piles, gingerly sifting through it.  It may be mostly car parts instead of Discarded and trashed food like the rest of the Trash Zone, but that didn't mean he exactly wanted to touch a whole bunch of it.  He'd have to rinse his hands off later, for sure.  But, after a minute or two, he pulled out a long metal rod, helpfully bent on one end - although it didn't hurt to bend it a little more to get a longer hook.

“Will this work?” he asks, holding the wire out to the side for Spamton to see.  The White Addison takes it from Sample's grasp and looks at it for a moment before returning to the car, sticking his arm and the wire down behind the engine and twisting around for a moment or two before pulling it back out, one end of the L-shaped cap stuck to the hook of the wire.

“HOOK, LINE, AND [Sink or Swim,] HAEHAEHA EHAE.”

Sample smiles a little at the joke.  At least his brother hadn't lost their sense of humour, even if at least a ‘thank you’ would have been appreciated…  He stands up from where he was crouched and stands a little ways away from where Spamton continues to work on the car, hands clasped in front of himself, trying not to stand in the other's personal space while still wanting to observe.

Spamton puts the cap back where it's supposed to be on the engine and works on it for a minute before his fans whirr in annoyance, giving Sample a look out of the corner of his eye.

“I KNOW YU'RE [Have you seen him?] AT M E.  U CAN GO NOW.”

Sample startles a little and quickly tries to think of an excuse to stay here.

“I, uhm, well- I just wanted to watch you work, is- is that okay-?”

“..YU STILL HAVEN'T EXPLAYND WHY U'RE EVEN [Here with us tonight is the one and only-] IN 1ST PLACE.”

…and for good reason, but Spamton OF ALL PEOPLE didn't need to know about that right now.  He felt awful about lying to one of his youngest siblings immediately after finding them again, but that issue could be pushed aside and covered until necessary.  He still had time before things got worse and he had to leave.  He could still come back later even then, since he knew where Spamton was now…

“...it's complicated.  Let's just, er- say I was in a spot of trouble and I tried to hide here, but then found myself in this area, slept the night in a car, and then woke up to you cursing…”

Spamton raises an eyebrow and looks at Sample fully instead of from the side now.

“...WHAT KIN D OF [Prepare for trouble, and make it double!]???”

“Oh, nothing important, I just-”

Sample waves off the question, but then a little bit of the anxiety from earlier comes back…  could he even leave at the moment without being in danger?  Would He be waiting somewhere?  Hell, he's already hours late for work and He more than likely knew where he worked, where he lived, everywhere he went normally.  He was avoiding using his system's messaging system as well to not accidentally spread anything, so he couldn't even ask any of his siblings to help right now…  stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“...Y OR [[Don't hesitate on these fantastic deals since they won't be in stock next week!]] SAYS IT I5,” Spamton says slightly suspiciously, “BUT K3EP YOUR [Neverland]ING SECRETS TO YOURSEL F IF THAT'S WHAT U WANT.  YOU'RE NOT [[And these deals are going, going, gone!]] AW4Y, R YOU.”

What he said was phrased like a statement rather than a question, as if he already knew and had partially resigned himself to the fact that Sample would attempt to make any kind of halfway believable excuse to stay as long as he could.  So Sample nods slowly, fidgeting with the ring on his finger.

“...I'm not sure if I really can go away even if I wanted to, hah,” he laughs a little, “At least not to anywhere I'm supposed to be.”

The White Addison's head tilts forward as he pinches the bridge of his long nose underneath his glasses, groaning quietly.

“...YOU CAN [[Please stop!!  Please stay, don't leave me alone, I can't-!!]] 4 A WHILE,” Spamton finally says, body language looking like he's uncomfortable about this, “BUT STAY O UT OF MY W4Y THO.  AND DON 'T [Cleanup on Aisle 3].”

“...don't clean the place?” Sample asks, tilting his head confusedly.  Spamton groans a little louder in reply, gritting his teeth together.

“DON'T.  MAKE.  A.  MESS.”

…how would one make a mess in a place that's already literally a dump?  Although Sample supposes the trash buildup is formatted in a way that would make Cyber City's systems believe it's intentionally placed items, and not random drops that get cleared out in the dump every few weeks, so if he really didn't want all this junk to be cleared out…

“...understood, no messes will be made, and if you want me to help you with anything to at least make myself useful, I can-”

“JUST STAY 0UT OF MY W AY RIGHT NOW.”

Sample stops when Spamton shoots the offer down for the moment, looking a little disappointed to not be able to be of some use but ultimately nodding, stepping back a little and staying quiet for the moment as he watches Spamton look at him for a few long moments before returning to work on the car.

‘ At least he’s not actively trying to get me away anymore… ’ he thinks to himself. 

That was a… somewhat comforting thought, right?  Going from being pushed away to just kind of ignored?  That's a step in the right direction, right?

Chapter Text

Sample sits on the sidelines, curiously watching Spamton work for a while longer.  Spamton also eyes Sample cautiously out the sides of his glasses, making sure that the Blue is actually staying out of the way and not attempting to ‘help’ at all.  He's… not entirely sure how he should feel about the fact that someone besides a stray Tasque or rogue Virovirokun found his little hiding place, and especially not sure how he should feel about it with one of his own species, to say the least - one that seems determined to not leave, at least for the moment, despite the obvious discomfort on Spamton's part.  At the moment, however, he's standing off to the side, looking at Spamton anxiously as if he couldn't take his eyes off of the latter.

The awkward silence continues for a few hours more, until Spamton finishes working on the car for now, shutting the lid and tossing the wrench into the front seat through the smashed windshield.  He turns around to go back into his shop, almost blissfully entertaining the thought that Sample would get bored and leave.

“May I see the inside of your–” Sample says before clearing his throat awkwardly, obviously not entirely sure what to call it, “–your home?”

Spamton rolls his eyes behind his glasses, dragging his fingers through the top of his greasy, messy pompadour.

‘I know I agreed to let him stay for a while, but how has he not gotten bored and left yet?'

“MY [Storefront Website].”

“...your store,” Sample repeats, almost not quite believing that the thing that can barely even be called a ‘building’ is not only where Spamton lives, but is also just his own shop.  “May I see your store?”

‘Once a salesman, always a salesman,’ Sample muses, but he can't imagine the White Addison gets regular customers here - or any business at all, for that matter.

Spamton pauses for a moment, gears clacking in his brain.  On the one hand, he REALLY doesn't want to interact with Sample any more than the bare necessities.  On the other hand…  maybe he can sucker the guy into buying one of his products.  Maybe steal a couple 10s out of their pockets, too, the night's still young.

“...F1NE.”

Spamton walks over to the door and somewhat reluctantly holds it open for Sample, watching him hover at the doorstep mildly curious facial expression, paired with the air of apprehension about entering.

He was always so paranoid about messy places, wasn't he?

♤~~♡~~♤

Sample takes a step inside the shop, his eyes immediately drawn to the mural painted on the entirety of the slightly uneven bricks that make up a divider between the shop and another room - it's painted in a bold shade of light blue, with white blobs on one side and a large yellow circle on the other.  Some pixels of the wall are out of place or discoloured, and the paint is clearly flaking, but it's still a pretty clear depiction.

‘The Light World's sky,' Sample thinks to himself, remembering seeing a smaller and neater version of this within Spamton's old mansion room years ago, and how he always used to describe that sky in the beginning of it all.  The light of Heaven.  Seems that that's still something he thinks about after all of this time.

Once he finally tears his eyes away from the mural, his eyes travel around the rest of the shop as he steps a little further in to allow the other to come in as well.  There's a small counter in front of the back wall, and the actual ‘shop’ consists of two shelves flanking each side of the entryway, with objects ranging from broken weapons and trinkets to frayed bowties to even a stockpile of bottles consisting of differently coloured pixels…  Sample's not entirely sure whether he wants to know what kind of liquid that is or not.  No matter how hard he squints, his processors can't make out the prices, either.  They're constantly glitching and changing.

“P REETY [-take part in the class-action lawsuit against ICE-E'S-], RIGHT?‽?” says Spamton, hopping over the counter to the other side.

“...you mean ‘classy?’”

“TH4AT 2.”

The awkward silence between the two persists a little more as the Blue hovers near the entryway still, feeling Spamton’s eyes on him behind the glasses.  

‘It would be rude to not have a look around after asking to see the inside, right?’ Sample thinks to himself, willing himself to move from the door to the shelves, bending down to look at a shattered snowglobe.  It's pretty, in a weird way…

“Spamton, why are you selling a-” before he can finish, the high-pitched ringing of a phone plays throughout the store, startling Sample back to standing straight, wincing at the sudden, unwelcome sound.

From how Spamton’s fingers on one hand grip the counter, seems like he doesn't find it exactly pleasant either.

“Are- are you going to answer that??” Samples asks a little strainingly, clearly uncomfortable.  He hasn't liked ringing phones much for some time now.

“ITLL [[Don't pass up on these AMAZING offers in store!!].” Spamton's teeth grind together at the end of the censored statement, waiting for the ringing to stop before emitting a glitched sigh that sounds more like a faulty fan.

“Why would you not just… answer it?” Sample asks, confused as he rubs the joints on one of his wrists. “It would stop that racket far faster, and-”

“WHY WOOD 1 ANSW ER WHEN [– but nobody came]???”

‘Well, obviously there's SOMEONE there… ’ Sample resists the urge to roll his eyes as he thinks before speaking again.  “Then perhaps disconnect the phone if nobody is ever calling?”

“BUT WH A T IF [[Hyperlink Blocked]] CALLS?‽¿” The sudden action of Spamton flying over the counter to be right in Sample's face on the other side of the display shelf, combined with the sheer volume and intensity of the demand, causes Sample to stumble backwards and just barely catch himself from toppling over the 'merchandise.'  “I CAN'T JUST – I CAN'T J UST – I C4N'T JUST –”

The corrupted looping continues for a few more moments before Spamton’s hand raises and hits the side of his head hard, snapping it to the side as he pauses for a moment and blinks before bursting out laughing like a madman.

“HAEHAEHAEHAEH AHEHAEHAEHAEH [No].”

Sample blinks rapidly, not entirely sure how to respond to whatever the Hell that was about or… why it even happened, moving away from the latter and internally wincing, ears ringing from the volume of that explosion of speech that came directly at him.

“P- point taken, that was a stupid suggestion…” Sample stammers out, fingers grabbing at the torn edges of his jacket.  He averts his eyes and tries to steer the conversation back to a normal topic and… hopefully more sane replies as he looks at the bottles on the opposite shelf.  “What's- what's in these?  The S. Potions?”

The White Addison's body language immediately becomes more relaxed and comfortable.  “TH3Y AFFECT UR HP A LO T!!  MADE WITH THE SMOOTH TASTE OF      !¡!”

“The ‘smooth’ taste of… what, exactly?” Sample inquires, tilting his head to the side as he tries to make sense of the sudden pause.

“THE SM0OTH TASTE OF    !!!”

Sample just blinks at the rather excited repetition. “...right,” he states flatly, eyeing the bottles again.  Somehow that description didn't comfort him about the contents.  At all.

“U [-want to need these fantastic new-]???  FOR Y0U I CAN SELL FOR THE LOW L OW PRICE OF    !!!” The latter exclaims, moving to the S.Potions and offering one to Sample - or more accurately, thrusting the bottle into Sample's face - the ever-present grin somehow seeming wider, and he can feel how intense his eyes are behind the dual-toned glasses.  The price tag on the label is still corrupted to Sample's processors.

“I, er, don't think that would be a good idea…” Sample begins to say, but then he pauses to think.  This is his younger brother here, obviously in some kind of distress physically, monetarily, and mentally.  He's fallen so far from how he used to be…  Sample's not going to be letting Spamton disappear again until he's able to help like he couldn't (or just didn't …) all those years ago.  Besides just wanting to hide from that Light-forsaken contagion from the Dark Web, the crystal had led him here for a reason - He had led him here for a reason, and had given him the means to find Spamton to fulfill that reason, no way in the seven worlds was he going to pass this up.

At least until he could figure out more about him and gain more of his trust, a purchase or two couldn't hurt, right?  Maybe it was perfectly safe and Sample was just being his usual worrywart self...

“Actually…  I'll gladly take some,” Sample says, putting a tiny smile on his face as he pulls out his wallet and rifling through it, pulling out a wad of Dark Dollars.  “How much would-”

But before he can finish his sentence, the money is snatched from hands in a flash, the bottle instead being pressed into its place.

“PL3ASHUR DOING [Family Business] W ITH YOU!” Spamton declares before promptly shoving about half of the money into his mouth and stuffing the rest in the cash register, laughing in that loud and bitcrushed voice.  Sample, all the while, is left utterly baffled as he wonders just what he's stumbled into by finding Spamton again…

You won…?

You got 0 EXP and -90 D$

Chapter Text

In a bewildered state, Sample puts the vial of whatever-it-is in an inside pocket of his bolero, just behind that little crystal of near-transparent material pinned to the front.  He makes a mental note to investigate the bottle later…  It better have an ingredients label, although he isn't holding out hope for this being in any way, shape, form, or code ‘legal’ in any sense of the word.

At the very least, Spamton seems to be in a better mood after Sample bought something, humming a distorted tune through his disconcertingly wide grin as he sifts through the cash register…  Sample is about 99% sure that the wad of money the other put in the register is the only money in there when he peeps over the counter to watch - there's nothing that could indicate there's much more in the machine, anyway.

“...YOU'R [-it's a shooting star!]ING,” Spamton comments after a few beats of silence, feeling Sample looking between him and the cash register, unable to stop feeling uncomfortable by just how much the Blue Addison just… stares at him.  The other blinks and averts his eyes, instead looking around the inside of the store again.  Privately he wishes that he would get bored of whatever act he's trying to pull and leave .  Permanently , preferably.  But as long as he's even entertaining the thought of leaving the contents of his wallet here, well, who was Spamton to complain?

And then there was also the fact that the Blue had said he was in trouble and hiding out here…  In a way, that puts them in the same boat, just with Spamton's being far more complicated.  If he's even telling the truth, that is.  He has to be lying in some way.  Setting aside the dignity of any other sane salesman for the sake of attempting…  something.  Anything at all.  He doesn't know what, but there has to be something that he plans on accomplishing with Spamton.  They both know those stares aren't just normal gawking at Spamton's…  everything, although it certainly isn't a small minority of his thoughts.  The greasy black hair with shining spots where motor oil is getting hit by light.  The casing covering his teeth scraped and peeled upwards years ago, making his jaws appear so much wider and taller than they used to. Among other features, but those are among the most glaringly obvious characteristics.

Either way…  it's not as if he could judge someone else for having no place to go, could he?  It's not as if he can judge for keeping things hidden.

“S 0…” Spamton begins, tapping buttons on the register at random, but whatever he wants to say just… doesn't come to him.  Sample tilts his head at the latter, confused as to why he stopped, but what exactly CAN he say here?  The uncomfortable and tense atmosphere could be sliced with a cursor if someone tried.  Obviously, the Blue isn't going to give him the whole truth about anything he actually wants to ask the man…

“IS THE [[ Error404: Not Found ]] SHO3 A HOT H o T NEW TREND OR??” He says, changing course and angling his head down at Sample's bare foot, “IF U NEED 1 I CAN SAY THAT YULE N EVER EVER FIND THE BEST [-deals, deals, and more enticing deals!] ON THE LATEST TRENDS!!!  U ALL CHANGE STYLES EVRY 5 MINUTES [-each and every way!]!!”  He grins widely as he yanks up a box of various shoes from under the counter - some are Addison-grade heels and flats, some are Swatchling dress shoes, and there are sneakers and sandals and boots.  He promptly shoves it over the counter to Sample, just barely missing toppling it over the edge.

“Er…” Sample begins, debating whether or not he wants to gamble with wearing unknown shoes, “I'm not sure if that would really be such a < -fabulous, tremendous, prodigious, and mind-blowing offer beyond your wildest dreams !> ide-”

He could feel his joints crack as they forcefully moved in time with the unwanted interruption, a rehearsed and spontaneous movement.

Sample slaps a hand over his mouth, feeling the glitch claw through his voicebox when he spoke.  That.  That's not supposed to happen.  His internal systems weren't overheated or running too fast, he-

Thunk.

He's promptly snapped out of the soon-to-be spiral by a hard thud against his forehead, scrabbling to grab up at a container of coolant that was tossed at him from over the counter, the assailant staring at him blankly.

“THATL B3   D$70.99,” he smirks, opening the cash register again.  …Sample isn't quite sure if he's joking or not.

“Ah- w- why?  I don't- this wasn't necessary-”

“DON’ T U FRITZ [Ow]T WEN YOUR SC0RCHING HOT AND FEEL LIKE [ $%!/ ]???” his head cracks to the side, “[-miss out, act now!] A SCAN???  HAEHAEHAE-” Spamton raps his knuckle against his skull a few times, cutting off the laughter, before continuing.  “WORKS THE SAME AS A [[- adoring fans? ]] [[ -fame and fortune? ]]!!!”

Sample looks back and forth between Spamton and the canister of coolant for a few moments before he places it back on the counter. “I, uh- I think you took most of what I had in my wallet already…” he says slowly, “...and coolant most certainly does not work on Addison systems, I can assure you of that. ”  Sample crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly not wanting to continue talking with Spamton at the moment, even though he immediately regrets thinking that when it crosses his mind - at the very least he could run a small scan in private to see just how bad the virus is.  It's more than just a small bug if it's affecting his voicebox, that much is certain.

“W0RKS 4 ME!!!” he shrugs, putting it back underneath the counter, “FANS HAVENT WORKED SENCE      AND I F EEL GRATE!!!” Sample opens his mouth to retort, but decides against it…  if Spam says it works, then maybe it has at some level for him, and if his fans haven't been functional, then he may as well make do with what he has, right?

…

“Right, well,” Sample begins, shuffling his feet, “...I should- perhaps I should leave you to your business instead of continuing to intrude, don't want to < Hearts will stop! > any… ahem- scare away any potential customers you may have!” Sample grins awkwardly as he backs away towards the door.  “It IS alright if I stay in one of those abandoned cars on the other side of your… Work area, right?  I guarantee I'll stay out of your way.”

“UR PAYING R 3NT.”

“I'll, er… see what I can do,” says Sample with a strained smile.  Of course, he would charge rent as if he owned the Trash Zone… “Well, good evening!”  Sample then gives a small wave and hurries out the door as quickly as he can without seeming as if he's running away.

‘That shine on his jacket…' the White Addison thinks to himself, narrowing his eyes behind his glasses and grazing a finger across the sharp edge within his breast-pocket.

•••

Sample hurries through the Trash Zone, eyes darting about to find the car he hid in the previous night.  When he sees it, the vehicle raised a few inches off the ground by a mound of garbage underneath it, Sample climbs inside to the backseat, taking a shuddering breath as he carefully pulls open his safety settings in his CPU and puts himself into safe mode, activating the virus scanner in his systems.  His vision then goes dark, save for a small neon blue progress bar, as his head droops down to his chest.

Some long time later, when the delayed virus scan ends, the Addison's vision returns, and - after checking his surroundings outside of the car, he reopens the settings for the results of the scan…

Malware found: file infector.  Begin quarantine?

…

You are not connected to a quarantine device.  Please visit your local repair shop to access quarantine services.  The nearest one to your location is:

…

Please connect to the Internet to continue.

Sample groans and bangs his head lightly against the headrest of the seat in front of him.  Of course, the one time he gets a virus is when he isn't near a quarantine device… and he highly doubts that there's one in this place.  He would need to leave to find a repair shop.  Thankfully, he doesn't need a GPS to know that there's one about two miles west of the Trash Zone.

…but even if he doesn't need to connect to the Internet at the moment…

He puts himself in safe mode again and sluggishly activates his Internet.  Just long enough to see a flurry of notifications fly across his vision, momentarily blinding him again:

You have 12 missed messages and 3 missed calls from Target.

You have 64 missed messages and 5 missed calls from Banner.

You have 37 missed messages and 14 missed calls from Broadcast.

…

Last call: 2 hours ago.

Sample quickly disconnects himself again as he feels a short spasm go through his body.  He doesn't want to be connected too long for the virus to spread.  He didn't even open the messages to see what his siblings had said or to tell them he was okay.  Just to make sure.

…

He hopes they're looking for him.

Sample breathes a heavy sigh, thumping his head back against the seat and feeling the tap of the vial in his pocket against his chest.  He pulls it out gingerly and observes it in the dim light, seeing now that the liquid inside is mostly blackish-brown, but wherever light hits the vial, pixels in an array of colours glitch across and through it.  …it doesn't look healthy.

‘Did- did I just buy an infected consumable…’ Sample thinks bewilderedly, staring at it for a few moments longer before pocketing it.  …he doesn't feel that he'll be drinking that at any point soon.  Sample looks around outside the car, still paranoid about having been followed or found, before hesitantly climbing under the dashboard into that uncomfortable position again - he would need to find a better spot to stay hidden and rest soon.  And a charging station at some point.

Suppose Spamton had been outside near the gutted Cungadero. In that case, he may have heard the halting, shuddering breaths and whirring fans of the Blue Addison trying to calm the whirling thoughts and paranoia within his head about the recent events of yesterday and today… as well as trying any way he could to somehow contain contamination within just one part of his CPU.

Chapter Text

“SAMPLE!! OPEN THE [$%#^] DOOR!!”

Sample startles out of the almost-trance he was in, jumping and nearly dropping the precious material that was held in front of his eye. …he doesn't like how unaware he gets in that state.

But a necessary compromise.

…He also realises that he'd been gnawing on a display heel that was beside him on the table in that trance, a chunk of the bottom bitten off. He quickly shoves it underneath the couch - he'll clean it up tomorrow… 

Probably.

That's been happening more, lately, and he's not too sure how to feel about the fact that he doesn't dislike the taste.

Sample stands up and wipes his eye with his wrist, thanking the Light that that… substance that appears whenever he uses that thing doesn’t show up on his dark clothes, before going over to the break room door as he puts the crystal inside his jacket, unlocking it to see an Orange standing outside of it, tapping her foot and darting glances between the break room and the front door.

“Oh, Vice- hey,” Sample starts, smoothing down the front of his sweater and twisting the ring on his finger, “Apologies about that, force of habit to lock the door and all, hah-! How long have you been standing there, I hope not too long…?”

“Yeah, like, five minutes of knocking on the door, I was about to start breaking in!” Vice hisses out, before rolling her eyes and quickly standing on tiptoe to peck him on the cheek. The two of them had been dating for a few years now, and yet the only kisses they'd shared were quick little ones on the cheek or hand.

“What, did you fall asleep or somethin’?”

“I, er- I suppose I did doze off, yes…” Sample says, embarrassedly scratching the back of his neck, “Is my-”

“He's here,” Vice sighs heavily, looking towards the front door of the shop again, “Came to tell you to go get your brother before he and ‘Bait end up going at each other's throats again.”

Sample nods, sighing lightly as well… Sample's family could never particularly like his coworker, Clickbait - his twin particularly less than the others. Always so antagonistic and snarky for no reason, he was… and with Broadcast, it was common for them to lash out at each other when he’d come to pick up Sample.

And that seems to be no different today, as the Blue can see his sibling outside the front door at the curb, glaring daggers at the bubblegum pink Trojan Addi taking a draught of their cigarette leaning against the building, the latter of which is politely ignoring him… for now, at least.

“Thank you, Vice… have a good shift,” Sample hums, kissing Vice's cheek back, “Don't push yourself as hard as she wants you to.”

“Please. I'll do it twice as hard, show her up, sitting in her lousy little office all day instead of actually doing something useful,” Vice grumbles, crossing her arms as she glares at the manager's office down the hall. Sample can feel the air around her heat up as she gets annoyed even thinking about the late shift she’ll have to work tonight.

‘Of course you will…’ Sample thinks to himself half affectionately, half resignedly. He quickly punches out and trots out the front door, nodding tersely to Clickbait and smiling at Broadcast.

“Hey, ‘Cast, ready to go?” the Yellow Addison looks up as Sample speaks to him, immediately brightening despite the irritated crackles of static emitting from his hair and hands.

“Hey, Sam!” Broadcast grins widely before opening the passenger door of his sleek car for Sample, letting him get in before shutting it, allowing Sample to roll down the window.

“Byeee, Cassie~” Clickbait calls and waves sarcastically as Broadcast moves to the driver's side, the Yellow hissing in annoyance.

“Piss off, ‘Bait,” Broadcast grumbles, “Don't have time for your bull right now.” The other opens his mouth to reply before Sample quickly interjects, attempting to end an arguing match before it begins.

“Can we please just go…” Sample pinches between his eyes, sighing thankfully as Broadcast gets into the car and pulls out onto the road, Clickbait waving again and blowing out a puff of rosey-tinted smoke their way as they drive off.

As was customary for their Saturday afternoons, Broadcast let Sample change the channels on the radio from news stations to music, putting it on a channel playing Light World musicians from the 70s. They made the usual small talk - ‘how was your day?’, ‘anything exciting happen?’ - but it otherwise fell into comfortable silence after that. Broadcast and Sample were fine with silence between each other. It would eventually pick back up into a conversation. For now, they were content to watch the light acid drizzle falling on the other cars and the road while a song about going beyond yellow brick roads filled the car's interior.

Broadcast pulls into the parking spots of Sample's apartments, where they always relax for a few hours before going to eat with their other siblings. Where Sample keeps things impeccably tidy save for a pair of shoes kicked into a dark corner.

“So what's with the ink on your jacket?” Broadcast says, plopping himself down on the couch and twirling Sample's television remote around in his fingers - thank goodness by now his irritation has melted away.

“The hrm?” Sample hums while taking off his jacket and placing it carefully on the mannequin by his desk, peering at the areas on his jacket where ink would show up, and- …oh. There on the sleeve, a smeared stain on his right sleeve, on the white part of the cuff. “Ah… that.”

Broadcast looks over at Sample, his mouth and eyes morphing into a face of slight concern as his electric yellow eyes travel over his face. “You don't look through that- that thing at work, do you? I've noticed what it does to your eye…”

“So what if I do?” Sample replies, tapping his fingers on the desk, the eye he was holding the crystal to subconsciously twitching, “I was waiting for you, anyway, my shift was technically over…”

“But what if someone else saw you doing that?” Broadcast groans, “How would you explain that away to someone like your boss or, Light forbid, Clickbait?? I just-” he sighs, the ring on his finger crackling and the fans in his body making a loud clacking for a few seconds as if to emphasize his mild frustration.

Sample rolls his eyes, but in all honesty can he really be that annoyed with his twin's worries? Even he's not sure how he'd explain it to his coworkers, and what he does isn't exactly normal by any standard.

The shoes with large bites and teeth marks taken out of them kicked under his desk and stuffed into the bottom of the trash bin or under a couch at the gift shop prove that.

“Broadcast, it's fine, really, nobody will find out. I have it under control. And besides-” Sample moves into the kitchen to turn on the coffee pot, “-I do not usually use it at work, anyway - people stare at me all day, remember?”

The Yellow in the living room emits a half-assenting, half-annoyed huff and a spark of disapproval at his twin's dismissal of his concerns, but he turns on the television, deciding not to bring up the topic of Sample using that… thing… at work again… For now. Broadcast turns the volume to a low number - loud enough to hear, quiet enough that it doesn't bother conversation - before standing up and moving to look at a painting on Sample's wall above the desk. A picture of an ocean painted in purple and green hues by some Swatchling or the other. Serene. Pretty.

Sample comes back into the living room a few minutes later, a mug of coffee loaded with a - quite frankly - concerning amount of cinnamon for Broadcast and a simple plastic cup of water for himself, cringing as he sees Broadcast looking at the painting. Only it isn't a painting, when the Trojan disguise of something unassuming is taken away with only a few lines of code hidden - lines of code that Broadcast has access to seeing in Sample's apartment with manager access, allowing him to remove the disguise of the quiet painting to what lies beneath.

Maps placed in roughly the same size as the painting, each able to be expanded and moved around by hovering a finger over spots. Each dotted with pins and thin red lines between them. Each littered with sticky notes of various numbers - times, prices, dates, coordinates, IPs. Each paired with pictures of seemingly mundane scenes - people walking down a sidewalk from a storefront camera, alleyways, outside shops and other buildings. Some pictures are live footage - most of the live footage comes from only one district of Cyber City.

“...you have anything else yet?” Broadcast asks hesitantly. He always sounds hesitant when he refers to Sample's project. To Sample's obsession. But he still wants to help in some way, when he can - bless him. He's the only one who knows about it, and even that was only by accident. A mistake he doesn't intend on repeating. Sample sighs and hands Broadcast the mug of coffee, looking up at it and hovering over a part of the map on the west side of the city, the neon red and red-yellow-green colour-changing outlines highlighting the borders of the districts.

“I've narrowed down the possible locations to this area and the Opera district,” he starts, spinning the water cup in his hand carefully as he points, “Still just a broad location, but I'm- … I'm getting closer. It's helping, it's working, I swear it is…”

The last part he mostly mumbles to himself for reassurance.

“Uh-huh…” Broadcast drawls out, taking a swig of the coffee, “And did you get any other clues today, or nothing?”

“Nothing. Just black.”

A small hum of sympathy and a pat on the shoulder, sending a small jolt of electricity through Sample's body. Broadcast knows just how desperately he wants answers, as he looks up at the photos plastered over the maps with similar white, pixelated blurs in various spots throughout them, sometimes dotted with a flash of pink or yellow. He knows just about how far he's gone for answers. How long he's been searching for that answer.

Broadcast accesses the code for the apartment again and reactivates the code to hide the maps, watching the pixels fade back into place for a moment before grinning at Sample.

“Well, if you saw nothing, then that means there's nothing to really think about right now, eh? So just- don't think about that for the night and enjoy yourself! Live a little and put some pepper in that water of yours,” Broadcast laughs, taking another drink of his coffee, and the sheer absurdity of that idea causes Sample to stammer, before snorting and breaking into a fit of snickers, Broadcast appearing proud of himself for being the cause of the laughter.

“Light, why would I put pepper into water…” Sample sighs, rolling his eyes once the surprised giggles stop, “But I suppose you're right, there's no hunches I have or clues to ponder, I- I suppose I can just give it a rest for the night…”

“That's the spirit!” his twin crows brightly, bumping his mug against Sample's plastic cup, “Just live in the moment!”

‘And try to stay away from fixating on this so often…’ is what Broadcast doesn't say out loud, watching Sample's expression morph into one of contentment as he uses his ring to create a few little bubbles to hover above the surface of his water, and lose that sharp gleam and haunted look he gets whenever he uses that little crystal, the look be has when he gets wrapped in the supposed visions in his head and absorbed into the maps and cameras.

All to search desperately for the fallen star that disappeared from the Queen's Mansion years ago.

‘Is he really getting closer to an answer,’ Broadcast wonders, watching his brother, ‘Or is he just chasing white rabbits until he disappears into the same rabbit hole?’