Recollection

He remembered. Of course he remembered. Remembering was what kept him going. It reminded him what he was fighting for, what he was trying to do. It made the voices grow weak and distant. It gave brief, fleeting moments of clarity to his mind. It was all he had, and getting it back was his life's mission.

He remembered 1994. The beginning. A clean storefront, a bright future, big plans. A row of finely polished automobiles, gleaming under the lights of the showroom. Walls of auto parts and car care products. Tires, windshield wipers, car batteries, fuses, gas caps, rear-view-mirrors, snow brushes, squeegees. Air fresheners shaped like pine trees. The stench of fresh rubber and plastic. It was all very American, which seemed odd on the surface, as the mall they were set up in was located in Mongolia, but the area was under heavy development from an international crowd. One day, the executives in charge of the project had said, this city would fly. And a flying city would be a worldwide envy, a mecca for tourism and spectacle. They'd been smart to come here, he knew. This was where the money would be made, by far-thinking businessfolk with a keen eye for the future and the promise of the technology in development.

He'd worked hard to get the business off the ground. It hadn't been easy, but he knew that hard work equaled great rewards. If you just put in the effort, you would earn yourself a return on investment that was worth the elbow grease you contributed to the cause. So he worked hard. He was in every advertisement, on every poster, all over the show floor. His gleaming smile and clever quips caught the eye of the locals, and slowly but surely Big Shot Autos began to build up steam.

He remembered 1997. The big time. His favorite year. Business was booming, and what was once a small outlet in the mall was now turning to grander plans. In the works was the impending launch of a new website. Big Shot Autos would harness the power of the information superhighway, and he was there every step of the way once again. He adorned pop-ups and banner ads, letting his personality and charm do the work for him. Promotional items with his grinning face were produced by the thousand. Investors were eager to dump money on this humble little mall tenant as they promised incredible things with the power of technology. He was on top of the world, and the view was dizzying.

He remembered 2000. He wished he didn't. It had all happened so fast. One minute everyone in Big Shot Autos was a millionaire, the next their stock was in free-fall and they were rapidly finding themselves pushed into a corner. The dot-com bubble had burst, as Wall Street realized virtually none of these hip and trendy Internet salespeople could actually turn a profit. All the sales in the world couldn't make up for the capital being burned through. Investors were scared off, seeing the truth behind the curtain. Piles of plushies in his image were tossed into bargain bins, and then shortly after into dumpsters. A Hail Mary Christmas sale failed to save the company. In spring of 2001, Big Shot Autos finally collapsed under its' own weight and was shuttered. By the end of the year, their space in the mall had been replaced with The Neon Star movie theater, and that was the end.

But he hadn't given up. Selling products was all he knew. It was what he was born to do. So he'd struck out alone, without his creators and coworkers. His ads were met with confusion, first from people who only remembered his former employers, and then from people who didn't recognize him at all. Without any direction or upkeep, he began to decay. Steadily, year by year, bitrot and malware took tiny nips and swipes from his being. He was still determined to succeed at what he did best, though. There had to be a [[method]] to his [[madness]]. If he couldn't [[SELL NOW]] at [[NO MONEY DOWN]] for [[BARGAIN PRICES]] what kind of a salesman was he?! What was the point in even existing?! No. This was his life. He would [[MAKE IT WORK FOR YOU]].

TRY NOW! BUY NOW! WIN WILD PRIZES! AS SEEN IN CONSUMER REPORTS [[July 1997]] VOTED MOST LIKELY TO [[Drive Home Today In A Winner]]! DON'T DELAY, ACT NOW! PICK UP THAT PHONE AND GIVE US A CALL!

DON'T IGNORE THE VOICE. THE VOICE WILL HELP. THE VOICE WILL MAKE THINGS RIGHT. THE VOICE KNOWS WHAT IT'S DOING. THE VOICE WILL BRING BACK THE SALES, THE CUSTOMERS, THE [[Wacky Stacks]]. DON'T GIVE UP YOU [[Worthless Puppet]]. YOU WILL SUCCEED IF YOU TRULY WANT IT AND PUT IN THE EFFORT. IF YOU FAIL, IT'S YOUR OWN FAULT! THAT'S JUST BUSINESS, BABY.

THE VOICE KNOWS WHAT'S BEST.

LISTEN TO IT

LISTEN TO IT

LISTEN TO IT

LISTEN

The memories were suffocated, and his world was once more swallowed up in noise.

---

 

 

Finé didn't like this. Something about this entire situation was making her brain tug at her psyche in odd directions she wasn't used to. The two of them had gone deep into the Undercity, Spamton insisting he knew the way. They were supposed to be going to the location he had picked out to use for Omega Mart. He'd said it was perfect and ready to go - all they needed to do was add the dimensional gate, import products, and deploy a team of workers to get everything spiffed up and organized. Easier said than done, but one had to start somewhere, and a ready-made indoor space with no lease was a better launchpad than most businesses got.

But the route to take to get there was throwing her off. They'd gone down numerous flights of stairs, along twisty back allies and through many doors. The Undercity's usual "outdoor" look had faded away some time ago, and now it felt more like they were in some kind of industrial facility. Were they near the Engine District?

"Yes, um... I have question. Are we close?"

"SO CLOSE! CLOSE ENOUGH TO [[SMELL]]. CLOSE ENOUGH TO [[TASTE]]. CLOSE ENOUGH TO [[Save The Trip, Fax Your Credentials Today!]]"

Spamton trotted along in front of her, his tiny feet scuttling along almost in a blur as he weaved around the hallway. Opening yet another door, he led Finé into what seemed like some sort of office building. There was a thin carpet under their feet now, and the buzz of the fluorescent lights was getting harder to ignore. The wallpaper around them was peeling. They passed by a faded 2000 calendar picturing some sort of monstrous "Y2K Bug" hanging on the wall, but Finé didn't have any time to inspect it as Spamton continued resolutely trodding on.

"NO ONE ELSE KNOWS THE WAY BUT [[Me, Myself, And I]]. WE NEED THE GATE, OTHERWISE NO ONE'D EVER COME! NOT MUCH OF A [[One-Stop Shop]] THAT WAY! HAHAHAHA!"

Spamton came to a fork in the hall that offered two paths onward. The right hallway went forward a short distance before going into a hard right turn that hid away what lay beyond, while the left hallway offered a gradual curve instead. Brushing aside a brown and dying office plant, Spamton started down the left hallway, his companion following grimly. Spamton nearly got out of her sight as he skittered along the curved hallway. Finé was just starting to realize that the architecture of the hallway didn't seem possible when she nearly crashed into Spamton.

The end of the hallway was a solid plaster wall.

"...Um..."

Before she could voice an objection, Spamton was already toddling back the way they came. She shrugged it off, telling herself he had simply forgotten the right way onward. When they came back to the fork, the right hallway was a short straightaway ending in a wooden door, with no further path to be seen. Finé tried to reconcile this with her memory. Was she mistaken? Spamton moved as if nothing was wrong, opening the door and stepping inside yet another room.

Now things were starting to look like they might be getting close. Finé recognized this area as a mall lobby, as the walls gradually widened around them until they were in a huge mostly-empty room. Dead ahead lay a decorative fountain, though no water ran within it. More doors and halls were on the left and right of them, like the shops of a mall would be arranged. She looked into one open door and saw sickeningly yellow walls and damp-looking carpet, drawing back with a sudden instinctual revulsion. She was very grateful Spamton hadn't turned and waddled his way inside that one.

The fluorescent buzz of lights had faded away, replaced with what sounded like muffled, distorted music that sounded vaguely familiar to Finé, but was impossible for her to actually place. Spamton reached the end of the plaza, looking up proudly at where an anchor store would normally be. There was nothing here but a vacant space, but Finé could see the interior through large windows at the entrance and the storefront already had shelving and carpeting.

"HERE WE ARE!"

"I see... So we open Omega Mart here."

"YESIREE BOB! JUST NEED THAT GATE INSTALLED AND THIS BABY'S READY TO [[ascend]]. OMEGA MART'S GOING TO BE THE BIGGEST ATTRACTION OF THE LINI-MALL SINCE [[Hyperlink Blocked]]."

"Well..."  Finé swallowed hard. "I wishing you the best with the plan. I am counting on this."

"DON'T YOU WORRY! I KNOW THESE [[Walls]] LIKE THE BACK OF MY [[Strings]]. YOU'RE IN GOOD HANDS."

Somehow, Finé doubted that. But she'd made her choice. Together, she and Spamton would breathe life into this strange, impossible 'mall', or go bankrupt in the process.

What did she have to lose?