Spamton drifted through the maze of poverty, his frame dwarfed by the other ad bots that bustled around him. Each bot flashed brighter colors, sported longer noses, and exchanged friendly banter that left he feeling somehow less than whole. Yet, despite his shortcomings, Spamton cherished the company of his gentle friends, hoping that someday, he might stand taller among them.
Mike hovered effortlessly, a true “big shot” in Cyber City, his presence commanding respect. Spamton stared in awe as Mike descended, his voice resonant and confident. "Kid, you’ve got a spark. Let me show you how to shine," Mike offered, extending a gleaming phone to Spamton, a promise of guidance and connection in a world that had always seemed out of reach.
Spamton[/@ch_1] spread across airwaves and holo-billboards. Glimmering credits flow into his account, and crowds gather beneath his name, eager for the latest deals.]
With Mike’s help, Spamton found himself rising above his old life. Mike provided funds, creative ideas, and unwavering encouragement, though he was often busy and could only offer advice through the phone. Spamton’s former friends watched with envy as he soared, their own lights dimming in comparison, and the gap between them grew with each success.
It was here that Spamton met Tenna, the enigmatic tv man, whose show was the heart of Cyber City’s entertainment. Tenna welcomed Spamton as a guest, eager to hear stories of advanced technologies, the internet, and email. Tenna was a boisterous, friendly counterpart to Mike’s quiet wisdom, and together, the trio appeared unstoppable—until the day of the broadcast that would change everything.
Spamton[/@ch_1] sits center stage, his phone glowing ominously on the desk. The atmosphere thickens, and the city’s hum seems to falter, replaced by a sinister static.]
The phone rang, its shrill tone slicing through the applause. Spamton answered, expecting Mike’s reassuring words, but instead, a cold, distorted voice seethed through the speaker. "You are nothing more than trash, Spamton, you are less than nothing. You were only a pawn in my hands, I don't need you anymore, I don't need anyone anymore, even Tenna. Goodbye, Spamton." Spamton’s circuits froze as his world crumbled; he believed it was Mike, not realizing the Roaring Knight had hijacked the call. Tenna, alarmed, reached out, but Spamton recoiled, spiraling into despair.
Spamton[/@ch_1] wanders aimlessly, his once-vibrant display flickering erratically. The poor district looms, shadows swallowing bright memories as data leaks from broken terminals.]
Spamton’s fame faded as quickly as it had arrived. Paranoia consumed him; he rejected Tenna’s support, choosing isolation over companionship. In his desperation, Spamton sought power in the Queen’s palace, donning the Neo armor in a futile attempt to reclaim his lost glory. Yet, no matter how much he struggled, he remained a pawn—caught between the ambitions of Mike, Tenna, and the unseen hands that manipulated Cyber City’s fate.
