In the far corner of their shared space, a single Pipis rested—nestled deep in a fluffy blanket Spamton had laid out with nervous precision. The blanket was absurdly soft, decorated with little cartoon dollar signs and stars.

Spamton sat barely two feet away, hunched over, jittering, and watching it like a hawk. “There, there, little guy… or gal… or whatever you are… Daddy’s here…”

He adjusted the edge of the blanket for the fifth time in the past hour. His hands trembled, but not from fear—this was obsession, a mixture of anxiety and fragile hope. “You don’t need anyone else. Just me. Just me and you.”

Tenna stood near the wall, arms crossed, watching silently. His screen flickered—once, then again. He’d been trying to keep quiet, but that only lasted so long. “You act like the thing’s gonna die if you blink.”

Spamton turned sharply, voice cracking through clenched teeth. “Maybe it will if YOU keep staring at it like that!”

Tenna’s screen glitched brighter, a harsh static pulse across his face. “You don’t know what it is. None of us do. You’re not protecting it—you’re projecting.”

Spamton stood, tense and wild-eyed, hovering over the Pipis like a shield. “You don’t get to talk about protection. You LEFT.”

Tenna’s jaw clenched, his screen flickering hard enough to cast brief, harsh flashes against the wall. “You locked me out.”

The silence afterward stretched, thick and unfinished. They stood there—two broken voices in one room, both wrong and both too stubborn to admit it.

Then…

A soft, crack.

Spamton instantly dropped to his knees, practically nose-to-blanket. The Pipis twitched. A faint glow spilled out from under the plush fabric. Another crack, then a shudder—then silence.

Both of them froze.