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Spamton drew in a deep breath from his cigarette, letting the peppery bitterness of nicotine hit the back of his throat as he inhaled, and exhaled. Looking down at the pack he held in his other hand, dangling lazily between his fingers over the balcony, he made a mental note to ask Tasque Manager for another one. How many had he smoked that day? Three packs?
Whatever, it helped him stay on track and reduce stress. If Queen could drink herself silly on battery acid, who said Spamton couldn’t have a smoke break?
As it would turn out, the glitter of melted snow on the pavement far below the balcony coupled with the drowned-out noise of Cyber Citizens meant only one thing. The New Year was arriving soon. He remembered the New Year’s that marked the end of 1997. Those were good memories, one he could remember getting joy and rising stocks out of.
Everything about 1997 was a miracle.
It was no longer 1997, however; it was almost 2000.
Such a large and nearly unfathomable number, he thought. One that he heard in hushed whispers not from excitement but rather out of concern. What would happen in 2000? How big of a change would it be? Is it true that the entire world would shut down then?
So, yes, Spamton had several justifications for smoking his third pack of cigarettes tonight.
It was not early in the night; it appeared that 2000 inched closer and closer every hour. Spamton was not getting anywhere close to sleep, for he’d found that luxury harder to come by these days.
Why would you sleep? Mike had asked him, Do you want to risk losing your hard work? You know you won’t get to Heaven if you slack off.
No, of course. Mike was right. He had to be. Spamton didn’t need to sleep. He needed a cigarette and to de-stress.
He watched as smoke exited his nostrils and dissipated into the chilly air, twiddling the now-stubby cigarette between his index and middle finger. Not long ago, he never would have thought that he’d end up here, on the balcony of the mansion’s penthouse looking over at the edge of the year 1999.
The penthouse’s heavy doors were pushed open, the hinges creaking from behind him as he turned his head to spot a familiar, slim silhouette by the doorway, complete with a wine-glass full of battery acid. He could smell the sourness from here.
“O-M-G,” Queen moaned unceremoniously, “As Much As I love Partying With The Guys Downstairs, It Makes Me: Exhausted.”
“Queenie, what--” Spamton realized the collar of his suit was askew, and hastily fixed it back into position. “Ha! What are you doing here?”
He tried as best as he could to keep his voice from raising, hoping the annoyance in his tone wasn’t immediately obvious. He liked her, he really did.
“Just Wanted To See What’s Up,” She flopped over on the red couch, not spilling a drop of her glowing beverage. “Hold On...(Loading)...Are You Smoking Again.”
That wasn’t a question. She knows he smoked. She’d seen him, smelled the nicotine off his breath, and more. Spamton had nothing to hide at this point regarding what Queen knew of his habits.
“And you have a [100% Alcohol] drink in your hand,” Spamton said, and cringed as he realized his voice was glitching again. “You have no room to [Law and Order].”
“F-Y-I, Your Voice Is Getting Worse,” Queen pointed out, her expression twisting into a mild frown with her visor displaying TRUE in red letters. “I Can Hear The Glitches And Stops.”
Spamton cleared his throat, out of embarrassment. Yes, his voice had been deteriorating lately along with every other aspect of his health. Likely just stress. It just had to be stress, right? He was doing just fine otherwise. Still beautiful, handsome, and dashing. Still a Big Shot.
“And I Know You Haven’t Been Making Too Much Lately,” She stood from the couch, her metal joints creaking slightly as she straightened up and walked towards the salesman.
You’re getting old too, Spamton thought. Same boat.
“And what about it?” He coughed, the sudden rise in volume putting a strain on his smoke-filled lungs. “It’s not my fault, I’m just a little...stressed. I’m fine! Just [Peachy]!”
Queen towered over Spamton, always had. Even as she leaned forward on the balcony, she was still much longer, much taller than Spamton ever could be. So much for wearing six inch platform shoes.
“Are You Sure,” her voice was clear and crisp amidst the muffled ambience from the city below. It certainly fit her looks. “You Look Like You Got Caught Doing: An Epic Fail.”
Spamton cringed again. Looking up and down Queen’s frame, he tried to find a retort he could say back to Queen, anything about her looks, but no. She was pristine, absolutely perfect . Out of his range.
He didn’t think he looked that bad, besides the bags under his eyes and receding hairline. Those were just natural signs of aging and there was nothing wrong with it.
“I look fine.” He insisted.
“Spammy-Wammy,” Queen reached a hand to touch his cheek, long fingers tracing his cheekbone. “You Look Like Somebody Ate Your Balls (True).”
Her sense of humor was...unique. He’d never understood where it came from, but she always knew how to make him smile. Not tonight, however. He only registered her playful jab with offense, biting his tongue back so he wouldn’t come up with another snide remark that would get his ass kicked.
“I’m a Big Shot, right?” He backed away, pushing Queen’s hand off his face. Adjusting his collar, he tried his best to look presentable. “Everything I’ve done means something, [Right or Wrong]?”
Damn it. He took another inhale from his cigarette.
Almost in tandem with Spamton’s smokes, Queen took a sip of her battery acid beverage. “What Is A Big Shot Anyway. You Always Say You Are One, But I Got No Idea W-T-F It means.”
“Well, that’s easy, it’s...” Spamton paused. It wasn’t that easy to define a Big Shot, was it? Something that Mike always promised he could be, but never elaborated on it beyond making money and reaching fame. He tried to look for a definition, and settled on one, “It’s when you make it [Big], you know?”
“...Big Like My Ex’s Ass You Mean,” Queen cracked a coy smile, her black lipstick glistening from the overhanging light. “But I Get It.”
“Yeah.” Spamton looked out to the cityscape. “I’ll be [A Honest Man], I think Mike’s running me ragged.”
“I’m Worried About You, Spammy-Wammy,” Queen admitted, “I’m Not Sure How Many More Funny Ways I Can Tell You About How Sick You Look. Like, Literally Sick, Not In The Slang Sense. It’s Not Just Your Physical Appearance Either, I Can Sense Something’s Wrong In That Wacky Head Of Yours.”
At the last sentence, she gave his hair a light pat. “All This Talking About Heaven And Whatnot, It’s Weird, Man. Let It Go.”
The curt dismissal of Heaven made his heart ache. No matter how much he’d try to explain it to Queen, she never could understand. Did he truly disturb others with his preaching?
He swallowed down his pride and took the last cigarette out from his pack. No sense trying to deny his woes anymore. Queen was here and she could see right through his exhaustion, knowing that he’d been working himself to the brink. Time to let the floodgates open. Just so as long as Mike wasn’t nearby.
“I think I’m [Seeing Things],” He confessed, taking a draw from this last cigarette. His brain was already getting cloudy, and he could feel his blood pressure go through the roof. “Can’t really sleep. Appetite’s bust. I know Mike’s trying to help me, but I get the feeling that this isn’t good for my health.”
He took another long, shaky inhale from the cigarette and continued. “He hasn’t been calling back, not as often. My sales are going down the [drain], and he hasn’t called back!”He let out an uneasy laugh, feeling himself unraveling at the seams. Running his hand through his hair, he finished the last cigarette and flicked it away. The now-empty pack of cigarettes shook in his other hand. He thought he could see strings wrapped around the wrist that held the empty pack.
“Ha, I don’t know what to do without him, isn’t that sad? Just like I couldn’t do anything as a [Little Sponge] back then...”
“Spammy. Spammy,” Queen put her hand on Spamton’s shoulder, which trembled under her firm touch. “Take A Chill Pill, Dude.”
He gazed up into the deep black of her visor, marked with little blips of red @’s representing pupils that stared back at him. For all the strange and monotonous robotic aesthetic she bore, she was surprisingly expressive.
“You Think You Have It Bad.” She spoke, “Imagine Having To Rule A World That Could Shut Down In A Few Hours.”
Spamton blinked, “The...2000 thing? Of course. That’s soon.”
“Just Imagine.” She adjusted her position, laying one arm across the balcony and still holding the glass in her other hand. “You Rule A Totally Tubular Cyber World And Everyone Loves You. You’re Having The Time Of Your Life. It’s Been Like This For Years. But Then, Boom. Everything Goes Upside Down In One Day. The Internet Shuts Off, Clocks Stop Working, Banks And Prisons Open.”
She exhaled dramatically and continued, “It’s Chaos. The World’s Going Postal, And What’s A Queen To Do About It?”
Ignoring the fact that Queen had managed to make the topic of conversation about herself, Spamton thought about the rapidly impending doom. Could it be that this would further affect his sales? His stocks might go down, and without Mike to help him...
“What...What am I [going, going, gone] to do?”
“Nothing, Probably.” Queen shrugged. “But Don’t Worry Spammy-Wammy, We Will Find A Way Out Of This Crapload./.Or Something.”
He tried wrapping his mind around it. Could a single, yet massive, number have everything to do with his failing sales? Was it not Mike? Why 2000? Why was this year so scary?
“What is...Why 2000?” He asked. It wasn’t like Queen could reliably answer, but a guess from royalty was better than nothing.
“Such A Big Number, The Millennium. I Actually Don’t Know. Something To Do With Dates (Chronological).”
Spamton’s hands shook terribly, and he was hardly able to hold the pack anymore as he tried to search for another stick to smoke. Something uncomfortably hot tingled at the back of his head, creeping up through his brain like static. He’d been feeling those sensations more recently, especially if he hadn’t had anything to smoke in a while.
“[God Help Me],” He muttered, “Does this have anything to do with Heaven?”
“You Think It’s About Heaven Again?”
Spamton’s heart dropped into his stomach. The look Queen gave him just now, with one finely-sculpted eyebrow raised high on her forehead, said everything it needed to. She did not have to make another cheeky comment for him to know that she thought he was going insane.
“Don’t...don’t you remember?” Spamton muttered, trying to reel his mind back to when Mike had explained the concept of Heaven, and the light that had blinded him. “Heaven, it’s our path to [Freedom]. Our key, we could...We could stop 2000 from happening if we just--”
This was it, Spamton reasoned. The floodgates had opened, and it took Spamton’s sanity, his dignity along with the water that flowed.
“Spamton,” Queen finally spoke, the otherwise-monotonous inflection of her voice wavering in concern. “Dude, Are You Sure You’re Okay.”
“FINE!” He almost yelled, “I mean, I’m fine!”
Just beyond the balcony, a crowd of Darkners congregated around the city center. Some neon lights flickered here and there, as if they too awaited the new millennium.
“It’s Almost Here,” Queen turned to face the city. “I Don’t Know Whether To Be Scared Or Excited. This Could Be Radical Or It Could Be The End Of The World As We Know It.”
“Or the end of my sales...” Spamton mumbled, his arms hanging uselessly at the sides of his body.
He used to be happy about the New Year, too. Just like everything else, his love for new things and opportunities was slowly fading along with his sense of taste, and sense of time. He felt the seams of his suit brush against his skin, the fabric itching and prodding at him uncomfortably. The sky, normally painted with electric-green circuits that hummed and pulsated, became splashed with pixels of red, green, blue...Fireworks.
“Wack, There’s Less Fireworks Than Usual,” Queen hummed, taking the last sips of what was left in her glass of battery acid. “Still Radical Though, Don’t You Agree, Spammy-Wammy.”
The splashes and fizzles of fireworks in the night sky blurred together, reds and greens and blues combining into one as his vision deteriorated before his eyes. Queen’s voice sounded further and further away as static continued to creep up his mind, being felt though his hands and feet in tingling sensations.
“Spamton?”
The sky transitioned into the ground, and the last thing Spamton could hear was Queen’s gasp before everything shut down.
....
Spamton awoke in the year 2000 to the sensation of a crumpled pillow and a soft mattress beneath him. He groaned, head pounding with pulsating aches and the remnants of nicotine’s chemical effects. His hands shook, and his mouth felt like sandpaper.
“Oh You’re Awake,” Queen’s voice came from the couch, it appeared she too had fallen asleep at some point in the night. As she stood up and went to Spamton’s bedside, he noticed she had a glass of warm water in her hand, gently evaporating with steam. “Drink Up, Please.”
As he came to, he realized he had been sweating profusely, clammy hands staining an expensive mattress. Despite the nausea boiling in his stomach, he took the glass of water.
“What...What happened?”
“You Fainted,” Queen’s visor flashed TRUE, “It Was Rather Dramatic I Don’t Think Even I Could Pull That Off.”
“I-is that [The Price Is Right]?” Spamton coughed, a dry and rattling sound. He took a sip from the glass of water and continued, “R-right on the [Adam and Eve] of the New Year?”
“Yes, I Would Have Thought You Faked It, But No, You Were Actually K-O’d.” Queen’s voice remained monotonous all though, but her mannerisms indicated that she really did worry about his little...episode. “I’m Glad You’re Awake Though, How Would I Explain To Everyone That You Freaking Croaked On New Years.”
That, at least, made him crack a smile. He continued to drink water, the warmth soothing his parched throat and his aching mind. His hands still shook so terribly that the liquid in the glass started to splash over.
“Uh, [Happy New Year’s], I guess. To a new Millennium?”
“Don’t Faint On Me Again, You Little Muppet,” Queen smiled broadly, her visor flashing with L-O-L in red letters.
Maybe he was worrying too much, Spamton thought.
Maybe everything will turn out fine.