AMI-2143: Spam

Spam

He/him - pansexual

Story CWs: unethical experiments, dehumanization

Spam wasn't always the glitchy, malware-ridden mess he is today.

Once upon a time, he was just a regular Amicabot. One made for advertising, his bright colors meant to draw attention, but he'd always wanted to be more than that. More than just the small fry, one cog in the machine with his fellow adbots. He had ambitions- he wanted to grow beyond just what he was made for. Whip-smart as he was, he'd never be satisfied just creating ads. No. Spam was going to be a Big Shot, and he was going to get there in whatever way he possibly could.

He taught himself how to hack. How to... adjust his own programming. How to peek into channels he wasn't supposed to see. 

How to forge connections he wasn't supposed to have.

This was, then, how he and his fellow Adbots landed a job at the shows hosted by TV Time, the larger than life star. Spam didn't initially think much of the man- he only really tried getting close as a way to use the other as a stepping stone. No hard feelings- Spam simply knew he was meant for more than just being one of the ad guys. Surely TV Time knew that much too, when some random bot started chatting him up, right?

He... did not foresee actually caring for the big lug. He did not foresee TV Time just giving him the time of day, outside the shows. The bot was clearly so passionate about what he did, and wanted to make others happy, it was honestly endearing. Spam should've taken advantage of that.

After a while, he couldn't really bring himself to. He still had ambitions, but he didn't want to trample all over TV Time to reach them. He wanted-

He needed something else to make it big. He once again used his skills as a hacker to try and find opportunities.

What he found instead was the attention of some people a bot really, really doesn't want to catch the attention of. Especially not one as ultimately replacable as Spam. Too late, he realized what he'd done, who he'd been messing with by cruising in their channels, and if he could pale, he would have. Bot-modders, and not the legal kind with their own shops in the city, no. Those who were looking for Amicas who wouldn't be missed,who they could mess and experiment with, put mods on that weren't approved, and then sell them to the nearest bidder as a mindless drone. He had no choice but to run, to leave behind everything and everyone he knew- to leave behind TV Time without a word. They wouldn't hurt him, no, he was too well-known for that, but someone as small as Spam?

Well, that was free game. It didn't matter how far he ran. It didn't matter.

They captured him. They modified him. Shoved him into new bodies, shoved programs into him that messed with his mind, his very code. The only thing keeping him from totally losing himself was his own skills with hacking, protecting himself behind layers and layers and layers that they couldn't just reach. They could change his body, could force unfamiliar forms upon him, but they couldn't have his mind. If they could-

He'd resist it for as long as he possibly could. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of giving up, of breaking. If they wanted to break him, they'd have to fight him for it. You could say a lot of things about Spam, but by god, he was a stubborn son of a bitch. It was scary, it hurt, they got closer and closer to it every day.

And then the Great Restful One erupted practically on top of them.

His captors didn't stand a chance, even hidden away in their secret lair. Seismic activity damaged their dangerous machinery, shockwaves distorted signals, and if Spam hadn't been messed up enough before- well, this certainly did it. Spam's not sure how he got through it all without permanently shutting down, without getting destroyed. All he knows is that he was desperate, and in that desperation, unleashed... something. Something they'd done to him. Something they put in him.

His new Big Shot form was enough to keep him from getting destroyed alongside the rest of the bots in the facility, though he would not remember how, exactly, he escaped. What he does know is that when he came to, the world was as good as destroyed. What few predecessors were still around quickly succumbed to the volcanic ashes and gasses that spread over the planet, until all that was left was misery, destruction, and piles upon piles of corpses, both robotic and organic.

Yet Spam had survived. Out of everyone, Spam had survived.

How lucky. How incredible.

How horrible.

After the initial freakout, however, Spam quickly decided he wasn't just going to let himself rot away. Not a chance. He'd been through too much to just let it all go to waste, and by god, he was going to make something of himself. He wasn't going to just wallow in his own misery- he couldn't. He needed to keep moving, as he always had, and so, he started wandering the now-ravaged land. Here and there there were other bots who survived, but he never stayed long. Only for supplies, and no more.

He shouldn't have been surprised that he'd come across the scrap that was the former crew of TV Time.

That he'd come across what was left of the bot himself.

Perhaps, he shouldn't have been surprised when he got overcome by anger and longing- anger, because TV Time had just let him leave, hadn't tried to reach him even once. No, once Spam was gone, TV Time didn't care anymore, clearly.

Longing, for that old bond- for someone he knew. For someone he cared about, who (he thought) cared about him. With whom he'd shared so many wonderful moments, so many good memories.

Before he knew it, he found himself repairing TV Time, and despite the other's anger when he woke up (damn hypocrite!), he found himself unable to leave. 

One familiar face in an apocalypse, however strenuous their current bond... it was something of a blessing. Spam couldn't bring himself to tell the other what, exactly, had happened to him. The memories were painful and foul. Horrific, and hard to recall, which wasn't to say anything about his newfound communication issues, courtesy of... many things, honestly. It bothered TV Time, clearly, but then, they bothered Spam more. There was no point in dwelling on it, anyway. The past was in the past, and there was no changing that, though Spam had to admit, it was... nice, to be with TV Time again. Their bond wasn't the same, what they had currently wasn't the same, likely never would be, but... he found himself enjoying it. Even if they couldn't be the same bots they once were... perhaps they could be something new together, some day.

(Perhaps, they already are.)

FORM NOTES:

• EGG FORM: very unfinished, very weak, but very energy-efficient. Spam doesn't like it, and avoids it as much as possible, but when he gets heavily damaged or exhausts tremendous amounts of energy (like using his Big Shot form for an extended period) he reverts to this form. Unable to speak in this form. About 20cm/0'7"ft tall
• BASE FORM: Spam's everyday form, and closest to what he used to look like before he got captured and before the eruption. The most comfortable form, although that doesn't say much, these days. He always has some form of body dysmorphia going on like this. Very glitchy and riddled with malware. Can defend himself in this form, but not very powerful. Just over a meter/3.5ft tall.
• BIG SHOT FORM: Powerful but extremely draining to maintain, the Big Shot form essentially allows Spam to 'hulk out', so to say. Armed with high-tech abilities and a powerful blaster, there is very little that can stand in Spam's way when he takes this form. However, it is tacing on both his mind and body, and reduces him to his baser programming, leaving him more animal than intelligent bot. He's still in there somewhere, it's buried under glitchy programming and negative emotions. He can only maintain it for a few minutes -15 at best- before needing to revert to the Egg Form to restore his energy. About 600cm/19'8"ft tall with wings, 435cm/14'3"ft without.