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Spamton sprang awake from a spontaneous nap because of an obnoxious clunking sound approaching his dumpster. Accompanied by creaks and whirs, it grew in intensity. His head lifted instinctively from his lumpy pillow, breaking a string of drool trailing from his exposed teeth. His dreary brain failed to identify the nose through its fog. Once recognition hit, his body acted before his mind, coiling up in a ball under his newspaper blanket as tightly as possible. They were the pained footsteps of another rundown Addison, creeping ever closer.
Spamton’s stature did him no favors except in hiding. With his knees tucked to his chest, he could faintly feel his heart thumping against them. Spamton was greeted with another anxiety-inducing sound: the screech of the dumpster’s lid being thrusted upwards. Then came a chuckle, followed by a hoarse wheeze. An acrid puff of smoke, produced from a mix of a cigarette and a failing machine’s lungs, intruded the cramped space.
Two hands slammed the bottom of the bin, skittering about like spiders independently of each other. Their skin was so torn and loose, it was as if the Addison they belonged to was hearing their own rotten hide as gloves. It took only seconds for one to crash atop the newspaper. Spamton was flattened against the floor, his teeth and nose grinding against the rust. The suddenness of it all vacated his lungs of air. Ten fingers curled against his back and ripped him upwards like a crane game claiming its prize.
“well Well Well Well Well Well. looks like i found a little rat in the Dumpster Dumpster Dumpster Dumpster,” the machine sneered, their voice box audibly clattering in their throat.
Spamton kicked the Addison’s face before he ever saw it. His plastic legs were too light to provide any meaningfully painful force, and too short to be in range once the intruder extended him an arm’s length away. They held Spamton by the back of his shirt, turning him into a scruffed cat.
“STREET smARTS!!!” Spamton conspicuously shouted, pulling his arms into his sleeves and sliding out of his shirt entirely.
Before he ever hit the ground, the Addison drop kicked him, sending Spamton careening across the alleyway like a three foot ten soccer ball. His glasses fell from his nose, clattering against the pavement. From his position slumped against the ground, only now could he get a good look at his aggressor. Unlike Spamton, they still had some of their skin. Their purple fluff was matted and clumped where it wasn’t missing entirely. Half their skull was exposed, flashing a metallic grin and one lidless eye. Perhaps the ultimate sign of their disrepair was their dim flesh; a healthy Addison would literally glow to catch a customer’s eye.
Spamton clutched his smarting side, backing away from the broken man. They lurched forward on stiff legs, casting a shadow over Spamton. Halfway there, they stopped, snatching up the glasses in their withered claws.
“i will be taking These These These These,” the Addison stated as if it were inalienable fact.
“THOSE ARE NOT FOR [Free Samples]ing! [[refund]] ME THOSE BACK [ForNoCostToYou] NOW!!!” Spamton hissed.
“that can’t be all you Have Have Have,”
Spamton rose to his feet unceremoniously. The Addison kicked him down again, grinding their shoe into his chest. They spat out their cigarette into his face, aiming for his hollow eye. It bounced off his forehead instead. Spamton clawed at their leg, tugging on their dilapidated lime green jeans.
“[@#$%] OFF! I HAVE [no inventory currently available at this time]! I’M COMPLETELY [Out of Stock]!”
The Addison leaned into their corroding knee, patting down Spamton’s body and turning his pockets inside out.
“that may be True True True True,’ they began, giggling when they found the puppet’s pockets to be empty, “but listen to That That That That.”
They poked the left side of his chest.
“you have a strong, healthy Heart Heart Heart Heart. organs and parts are the only thing worth to try to sell to other addiSonSonSonSonSons.”
Spamton, ever the ambitious salesman, smiled politely in the face of this dangerous criminal.
“WELL DO I HAVE A [DEAL] FOR YOU! FOR JUST [[4.99 Kromer]] I WILL-”
The other Addison cut Spamton off with a tinny laugh, looming inches away from him.
“where you’re going, you won’t need MoneyMoney.”
Realising the intensity of the situation, Spamton grabbed their face and readied for attack, slamming his nose into their eye in an awkward attempt at a headbutt. They squawked in pain, head reeling a hundred and eighty degrees as they leaped backwards.
“I AM NOT [heart healthy cheerios]! YOU WILL NOT HAVE MY [[HeartShapedHeart]]!” Spamton croaked, gasping for air.
The Addison sprang forward again, grabbing Spamton by his legs in a blind rage. They lifted him into the air and slammed him into the ground repeatedly.
“dieDieDieDieDieDieDieDieDie!!!”
In one final fit, they spun around and tossed Spamton against the side of his dumpster. He ragdolled into an aching pile of limbs on the damp ground. His nose bled; some of the fluid drained into his eye socket. Even his teeth ached from the series of impacts.
“IF YOU’RE GONNA [BEAT] ME TO DEATH YOU SHOULD KNOW YOU’RE [Buying] MY ORGANS [At Half Price]...” the puppet groaned.
“you’d be surprised at what can stille be SalvageSalvageSalvaged.”
“MAYBE YOU SHOULDA [online shopped] FOR A [GreatDeal] ON A VOICEBOX FROM ONE [1] OF YOUR [black friday sales].”
The Addison donned Spamton’s shades as they strolled over to the struggling spambot, concealing their bleary eye.
“you’re that guy who used to be on TVTVTVTV. i bet your guts are stuffed with rare PartsPartsPartsParts…” they whispered, more to themselves than Spamton.
They sat on his abdomen, pinning down his entire lower half. Their right hand pulled on his shoulder for leverage as their left coiled around his jaw, yanking hard. The joint that connected Spamton’s neck to his skull creaked in pitiful protest. It wasn’t easy to tear an Addison’s head clean off, but they worked with a casual precision that revealed their experience.
Spamton was completely helpless. His mouth was forced shut. All he could do was claw ineffectually at their legs and torso, but even his balled fists were too small to so much as distract the machine. Still, Spamton didn’t give up, determined to be annoying until the end. He hammered on their thighs and back, pushed on their shoulders, and raked his fingertips against their hands. Their weight was all consuming, making his legs go dumb and his breathless brain dizzy. As his ancient joints threatened to come undone, lights flashed in the empty voids of his eyes.
Just as Spamton’s head was about to give way, a ViroVirokun whizzed past. The Addison turned to look at what had bumped into them, lifting their hand to guard their raw face from any further damage. Spamton wasted no time, instantly biting the wrist that gripped his shoulder and tearing off a chunk of their flimsy skin. They yelped, clutching the injury and subsequently freeing Spamton. He slipped out from under their body, forcing himself onto his legs despite how they crackled with pins and needles.
Tailing the ViroVirokun was a herd of 15 or so Ambyu-lances. Two seamlessly snatched the decaying Addison and dragged them off without missing a beat. Spamton was well aware of how to avoid the city’s virus patrollers after years on the streets. He scampered on all fours, weaving between their legs with a vengeful snicker, and popped back into the safety of his dumpster.
“i don’t have a VirusVirusVirusVirus!” the Addison insisted, shouting maniacally. “i just need new PartsPartsPartsPartsPartsParts…”
Unlike before, the broken machine’s repetition found no end. The Ambyu-lances swept them into the horizon, endlessly screaming ‘parts’ until their voice was drowned out by the distant sounds of cars honking and tires screeching. Spamton waited, not only until the screams abated, but until his apparently valuable heartbeat subsided as well. Sucking in a hesitant breath, he lifted up the dumpster’s lid, clutching his chest with one hand. To his relief, he spotted his shades smiling at him from the pavement.