* The EmptyDisk slingshots itself out of Spamton’s phone rather unceremoniously, stabbing him straight in the snout with one of its sharp corners.
“YO wCH,” his voice crackles in surprise, hands dropping his phone on the ground right outside of his dumpster. The Disk clatters to the ground, joining the other piece of technology not too far away, and even sooner after that, Spamton’s struggling himself over the top of the oversized trash bin to get a better look at that EmptyDisk.
* He picks up the floppy-shaped disk with a huff, holding it in both hands. Oh man, he cries in his thoughts, this is it. The freedom he’s been dying for, right here in his hands at last. The tips of his fingers drum atop the disk- this is what freedom felt like. He brings the disk to his nose, just so he could know what freedom smelled like. He sticks his tongue out and drags the piece of tech down the length of it, just to know what it tasted--
“PBbthBHTH--- Pbth pbth pbthh thpbthhTHHHH- HEUGH!“
* Terrible idea. Terrible, terrible idea. He regrets the decision immediately, frantically attempting to remove the dirt, dust and grime from his tongue by ‘pbth’ing into the next century. Freedom’s got his head thinking weird. And so does this disk! He swore he just saw it change shape.
* ...Didn’t it? Hold on, wasn’t it more... floppy-shaped before? Instead of compact-disc shaped? No, now it was definitely missing those sharp corners he was just assaulted in the nose by. They took a hike right before his very eyes and the chromatic reflection of this new disc seemed to be blobbing outside of its threshold. It was gross and glitchy, morphing from iconic disc shape to iconic disk shape right before his technicolored lenses. It even started to burn the tips of his fingers, causing him to drop the thing back onto the ground.
* This was freedom, wasn’t it? Is freedom supposed to burn? Is freedom supposed to... hurt? It hurt to get himself into this situation, wouldn’t it hurt too- if not more- to get out of it? Equal exchange and all that chump change, right? Right. Although, the thought of consulting a professional in freedom- a Him that seemed to be successful in becoming a Big Shot once again- crossed his mind as he rubbed at his chin and picked up his cellphone once more. Besides, Spamton Spamdiego G. Spamton already lived inside of a god damn garbage can, what pride would he have left to lose in asking?
* Before he could even turn his attention back to his phone, he could feel something tugging at the tail end of his suit jacket. Much like a hand, it latched on, dragging him across the gravel slowly at first before it became more of a vacuum suction... like the vacuum of space, tripping him up from his feet, into the air, and before he could realize what the hell just happened, he himself- and his code- were absorbed into that reality-bending disc Pip sent him, his cellphone crackling on the ground outside of his home as the disc reabsorbs itself from which it came; the cellphone.
