Spamton sighs at his desk, almost tossing the computer's mouse away from him as frustration boils over. It's impossible to write emails under these conditions, now stuck in a time when almost nobody seems to check their inboxes and everybody has the latest AdBlock installed. He can tell that he's getting nowhere fast.

He needs to step up his game, to try his hand at texting scams...

Two hours later, he's still made no progress. Spamton closes the notepad on his phone to instead browse through the massive list of new contacts afforded to him by the city for easy marks to train the old algorithm on...

But he stops as he reaches one name in particular.
Listening carefully, he can almost hear the other man out there.

Brad, his new and only roommate, is snoring somewhere in the townhouse's living room after a long evening of drinking. The two get along now that they've gotten the urge to murder each other out of their respective systems (functional immortality is just cool like that), actually growing to enjoy each other's company.

And in Spamton's case...

An off-color joke had been all it took, something stupid but so unexpected that anyone privy to it couldn't help but crack a smile, and Brad had the disadvantage of being drunk. The smile had only lasted a moment, it could have been missed so easily by anyone who wasn't looking past the beard for it, but it was enough for Spamton.

He had liked seeing Brad smile, deciding in that very moment to work towards seeing more positive emotion from his latest friend, and even in the current situation he still found himself staring at nothing in particular as he daydreams even further...

... about his friend.
Smiling. Just. Smiling.

And maybe even... laughing?

Yeah... yeah, laughing!! Laughing and smiling, enjoying a nice time out with his very good friend Spamton G. Spamton. They could go to a nicer bar next time, maybe, the kind with private tables not too close to the main stools but not so far that they couldn't keep ordering.

Spamton could figure out how to get more smiles and maybe even a few laughs out of the sour younger man while they chat over drinks and heaps of greasy food. They'd have such a nice time that they might just keep it up on the walk home, enjoying each other's company while Brad throws that one strong arm across Spamton's shoulders--

-- to support him!!!

So he. Doesn't fall.
Because of all the drinks.

Spamton's just such a lightweight, y'know? Something he'd never exaggerate a little for the sake of a guy's attention!!! He'd never pretend to be more sloshed than he is just to feel the security of having Brad's strength on his side, to sneak his way into the other man's personal space just to soak up a little bit of Lightner warmth....

The puppet jolts back into reality as a sudden glitch wracks his system and he drops his phone, suddenly frantic to grab it before throwing a paranoid look over his shoulder at the closed door and the snoring far on the other side.