Now's Your Chance!!! Spamton x Reader

Invest Now!!!!

Everything is pain.

With every pulse of your heartbeat, fresh pain flows through you, crawling over your legs and hands and head and finally coming to rest in your chest, at your soul. Everything aches. Everything burns.

You can't find the willpower to move, so instead you just lay there, eyes open but trained on something invisible and far away.

You distantly hear the honk of cars and the music that always flows through the city. It echoes through wherever you are, like something coming to die.

Like you, maybe.

Are you going to die?

Probably not. But with this never-ending pain, part of you wishes that you were.

You flex your fingers, nestling them into whatever substance you're laying in. While the feel of it doesn't help identify it, you very quickly come to notice the smell, and at that you instantly realize that your life had been saved by a pile of trash.

Ironic, considering the way Queen feels about you.

You finally decide to sit up, forcing yourself to move despite the pain. The moment you're up, you're clutching at your head again, an intense headache throbbing through you.

You definitely can't do this yet.

You shift as well as you can, settling into a more comfortable position. Now you're propped up, and you can at least see the rest of the alleyway where you fell.

The walls are covered in graffiti. The charming colors and designs give you something to focus on, so you fully immerse yourself in the artwork. There are robots and birds, names and symbols, all the classics. You're pretty sure you see a phone number, but it's too far away to read. 

What catches your eye most, though, is the sheer number of posters.

Each one is the same: a smiling man advertising a car. Every single poster is worn and looks as though it might rip apart with just a gust of wind. Dirt, paint, all sorts of things mar these posters, and it's deeply saddening. While you don't understand the fixation, the sheer persistence of whoever keeps putting these dumb posters up makes you pity them for every single one that is damaged. 

Part of you wonders in a morbid way whether or not you crushed that person when you fell, but you check beneath you, and no one is there. As far as you can tell, at least. It makes you laugh, but the movement reminds you of your pain, and you just end up coughing. 

You decide that, at least for a little while, you should try to sleep. You nestle into the trash pile as best you can, letting yourself drift away.

~~~

You wake up to the sound of humming.

Someone is rummaging through the trash near you. 

No, wait. Someone is rummaging through you. 

You're only half-awake, but you can feel small hands patting you over, looking for anything you might have on you. Those same hands plunge into your pockets with a practiced care, plucking your wallet from your pocket. The man(?)'s humming wavers with delight, and he mutters something to himself.

Before the little guy can slip away with your money and identity, your eyes flick open fully and you snatch his wrist.

"HEY, WHAT'S THE [[BIG BIG BIG!!!] IDEA?"

You lock eyes with a small, small man. He has the face and voice of a salesman, with his perfect puppet features, his slicked-back hair, and his charming intonation, but it all has an edge to it that you can't quite put a finger on. He's dirty and wild, though, that's for sure. He looks like he hasn't showered in months, if not years.