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If truth be told, the Dark World scared you a lot at first.
You’d never really thought about what you could really do or be outside of your designated purpose. You’d been the vessel for so many different kinds of stories, after all. Being a gaming system was pretty incredible in this way, because it meant that you could help tell any kind of story, from one about a vampire hunter in a Gothic castle to a young swordsperson crawling through underground labyrinths. All you needed was a player, and you could go pretty much anywhere and be pretty much anything with them. It left you wanting for very little.
That was, until you stopped having players. You aren’t totally sure what happened. Maybe your players got too old for the games they had. Maybe the television broke. Maybe you just weren’t entertaining enough anymore, and they replaced you with something else, something newer. Whatever it was, someone placed you in a box and didn’t go looking for you ever again. They left you there for a long time, gathering dust and regrets for not being entertaining enough for them. You wished that there was something that you could’ve done, but...well, it’s not like you could have done much. Your only purpose had been to serve the people playing games on you, and if they no longer required your service, there wasn’t much you could do about that.
You really did try not to feel lonely, or regretful. But the feelings crept in anyway, and ate away at you. They were feelings you didn’t want to admit to yourself, but you knew they were there regardless. You hated that about yourself—your selfish desire to be wanted, to be loved. You weren’t supposed to have such feelings. You wondered if any of your other fellow systems felt this way, or if it was just you, and something was deeply wrong with you. Maybe you were just some buggy system with more feelings than was appropriate. Maybe it made sense you were stuck in a box collecting dust, destined to be forgotten.
But you never knew you even felt that way, until you woke up. Before, you had to have no cognition, no sense of self, no way of contemplating anything. None of those feelings of regret, of shame, of loneliness...none of them really stressed you out, until you woke up. When you woke up, in the Dark World, you felt them all for the first time. These feelings, these unpleasant feelings, came flooding forwards into your forefront with such a force it knocked you over. You laid paralyzed in a mountain of boxes for what felt like forever, feeling emotions stream through your mind and body like angry, pixelated lava filling a pit. Your mind buzzed with emotions and memories, thoughts and feelings, a sense of self and self-worth you never knew you even had, but that paradoxically always been there. You were wracked sudden clarity that you knew you were in no way equipped have, let alone deal with. You wanted to go back to being an old, dusty system sitting in a box with nothing to do and nowhere to go. Nothing to think about, nothing to be. You wanted this sentience to end, before it became too much.
And then it became too much, and you started sobbing.
You sobbed because you were awake, you were alive, and you were never supposed to be. You were a someone now, not a something. You could think, feel, and hear. The world around you was something you could interact with and the sensation of it was overwhelming. You’d never cried before, and crying was so energetically demanding and stressful that the thought of crying just made you cry even more. Every second that ticked by was another emotion, and you couldn’t turn them off. All you could do was keep experiencing them, and it was agonizing.
You were sobbing for either a few minutes or a few years.
However long it was, it was suddenly cut off when someone opened the door to the closet you were in, asked where this closet came from, how you got there, who you were, and why you were crying. They conveyed these questions in a series of saxophone notes you somehow understood perfectly. You didn’t have an answer for any of their musical inquiries. In fact, you could barely form thoughts in a coherent way—so you just cried even more. You cried for probably five minutes before the shadowy figure who opened the closet door just shrugged and left you to it, closing the door softly.
You wondered if anyone else here had the same experience when suddenly gaining sentience, or if you were just crazy. You also wondered how you knew that everyone here had some kind of newfound sentience, and why that felt like some kind of objective truth anyone should know. And then you pondered it no more, because thinking too hard about these things made you feel hot and sluggish, like your processors were getting severely overtaxed.
You’re a little better now. You’re still shaken, still a little unsure of what you’re doing here. But you at least can go about your day without crying, and feel pretty okay about everything. You’re still not sure what you’re doing here, but you’re making the most of it. You’ve taken to putting boxes in organized piles, because an anthropomorphic remote told you to do so. They said that you sort of look like a box, so you’re probably meant to stack them. You can’t really argue with that, because you’re too scared to start an argument and feel other emotions you’re not ready for quite yet. Besides, maybe you were meant to be around boxes, and your purpose has finally culminated in something you just never expected.
That, or you’re just finally cracking.
At first, nobody really talked to you, outside of that remote person who ordered you to stack boxes on the daily. But then, a few more people started warming up to you, and a few more seemed to consider you a friend, or something like that. From what you gathered from them, you were working in one of the hallways of The Green Room, which was the backstage area for everyone working on Mr. Tenna’s show. When you asked who the hell that was, they all sort of looked at you like you’d asked if electricity was important. It seemed like they all assumed you should’ve known already, and you sort of got too afraid to ask any further questions. The Dark World was strange. Some things you just knew, and others, you had to be told. It was a difficult system to navigate. And heaven forbid you make a fool of yourself when these people were just starting to like you instead of seeing you as that weird, quiet person who stacks boxes.
Once you got a little more courageous, and starting venturing outside of your hallway, it actually didn’t take long to figure out who this Mr. Tenna character was. Everyone, everyone, talked about him. Some people had good things to say (“That Mr. Tenna’s presence is simply magnetic!”), some people had bad things to say (“I’m already this close to getting fired by Mr. Tenna, and he loves firing people!”), and some people had completely incomprehensible things to say about him (“Do you think horse tranquilizers work on Mr. Tenna? I know they’re not real tranqs, but it’s worth a shot...”).
Whoever he was had a big presence, and you couldn’t possibly go that long without finding him.
And you don’t. It happens pretty quickly, not too long after you graduated from stacking boxes to carrying boxes to different locations. This is a big deal for you, and you are trying to take this promotion really seriously. You have several boxes of saxophones you’re taking to some of those shadow guys. You have no idea why they needed so many, or what they were going to do with any of them, but you do not feel it’s your place to ask questions. You’re about to drop your boxes off when a loud voice catches your attention, so sharp and commanding it makes your cabletail stand high on alert.
“You there! Boxy looking fuzzy thing! I don’t recall seeing ever you before in my life, and if you’re not on the payroll, I can’t have you working here. Ratings will simply plummet if they find out I’m paying someone under the table, and I don’t hire gum scrapers here! I don’t even let people have gum! I'll pull it right out of their gobs!”
You turn around with severe trepidation, your vents doing their best to passively cool you down.
When you see Mr. Tenna though, you’re not starstruck, nor are you let down. You aren’t hit with a lack of recognition, the same kind you’ve felt with everyone else you’ve met here. Somehow, you know this isn’t a person you’re seeing for the first time in your life. No, you recognize this creature, feeling as though you knew each other a long time ago and drifted apart, and are just now coming back together. You don’t know how you know any of this, but you do, and you feel it, deep inside of yourself. Heat is pouring out of your vents, which are struggling to keep you cool as you down grapple with this feeling.
You wonder...if that’s him.
The television you were connected to.
You don’t know how it’s possible, but you think that maybe...maybe the connection you once shared is more palpable than you thought possible. Perhaps the Dark World has...altered things, somehow, and a very physical and basal connection between two objects can be morphed into something...else. Something like a friendship.
It makes more sense the more time you give thought to it. And the longer you think about it, the more your processors whir, the more heat pours from your vents with a soft hiss. How you wish you were one of those more modern consoles with internal fans.
The feeling of recognition seems completely mutual. You witness Mr. Tenna’s posture go from imposing to startled, figuratively and possibly literally shrinking a bit as he also seems to be dealing with some kind of emotion he doesn’t have the intelligence to untangle. His own cabletail is quivering like a live wire, and would surely be setting off sparks if plugged in. His antennae are twitching every which way, and he seems to be working very hard to keep his screen’s display from going to pure static.
You try to say something, but the words won’t come out. You don’t really have the mental capacity at the moment to unravel your feelings, either. So you and Mr. Tenna just continue to stare at each other for an amount of time that is both uncomfortable, and bordering on kind of creepy.
After some of the worst reunion conversation that has ever existed, Mr. Tenna seems to come to his senses somewhat. His antennae twitch for a second, and then he clears his throat. “Well, this has been a 
You scrabble together a question, despite your current mental state. “Okay. Sure. Where is that?”
Mr. Tenna throws up his arms and cackles. “I-I, uh, have no idea! I don’t do my own accounting! GOODBYE!”
You watch as Mr. Tenna absconds by jumping through the drywall, leaving a perfect Mr. Tenna shaped impression.
Fate wasn’t something you knew how to believe in. This was mostly because you were a gaming console, and fate was a concept that really didn’t apply to you in any way shape or form. Everything that happened to you was entirely out of your control, and was entirely in the hands of other people (that you now know are called “Lightners”).
But now, you’re wondering if there’s some reason you were thrust into the same place as Mr. Tenna. It could very well be a pure coincidence, of course. That makes the most logical sense. Logic is something you’re intimately familiar with, and you know logic and fate don’t agree much. But there’s something about how perfectly things came together that makes you wonder if this was all meant to be, somehow.
When you really think about it, you remember just how much you depended on that television. You couldn’t really function without him. If you weren’t plugged into a television, you did absolutely nothing. You were just a box with some controllers. You needed that bright, radiant glow to alluringly provide a visual aid. You needed the power of a machine stronger than yourself to weave yourself into and project yourself through. It was a team effort, really. You didn’t realize it then (because you were just a gaming console), but that television was everything to you. Even when you were unplugged, your maintained closeness to that television was a reminder that you had a purpose, that you were always on display and ready to be played. Sometimes you’d even be left plugged in to the television, which meant that your players were definitely going to play with you again soon. That television was innately tied to your importance. You feel terribly for even forgetting.
Or at least, you would. You have to cut yourself some slack. Being able to have memories and make sense of them is new to you.
And there’s one memory you like the most.
Your memory of how good it felt, being connected.
Feeling electrical impulses travel from you to him, a communication between machines. Feeling yourselves come together as one entity, one entity that served a definite, appreciated purpose. You were working together to put on a show, coming together and feeling the love and appreciation of the players in front of you. And when the players were done, ready to shut you off, you remember how it felt right before you were unplugged. It was like holding hands at the end of a performance, ready to take a bow together. There was a mutual feeling of respect, of love, of need. When the game was done, you felt like there wasn’t anything you couldn’t do without that television. Well, within certain limits. Being a gaming console and everything. Try as you might, you will never be able to fly.
Maybe, you think, the loneliness you felt stored away in that box was in part because you were away from the television that really gave you life. After all, you never really felt lonely or useless when unplugged but stored safely underneath the table holding the television up. Being moved away from the television meant that you weren’t in use anymore, that you didn’t matter anymore.
But in seeing Mr. Tenna for the first time in what must’ve been years, you felt that feeling again—that feeling of usefulness.
The feeling was so intense, and you knew you had to chase it. You need to feel important again.
Unfortunately, Mr. Tenna seemed the slippery type. At least, slippery when he had emotions to grapple with.
While you weren’t the best with those either, you were well aware that you’d languish away in that feeling of obscurity if you shied away from him too much. Televisions were lucky—they could display whatever they wanted and didn’t need any help. They didn’t rely on anyone else for that. Perhaps that’s why he could run his shows with such attractive charisma, and have such a commanding aura that captured the eyes and minds of everyone in TV World.
And over you.
You knew you weren’t going to get anywhere if you played it cool, so you didn’t want to sit around waiting for something to happen. You had to stick your neck out there. Or at least, as much as you could. You weren’t the audacious type, but you were well acquainted with how hints worked. Helpful NPCs and companion characters often provided helpful hints without getting in your face about it, their subtlety nearly an art form. All you had to do was replicate it.
You decided the best thing to do was make a cardboard box statue of the creature of the hour. There were golden statues of Mr. Tenna, everywhere. But if you made one, out of the fruits of your labor, he'd knew it was from you instantly. You spent some time carrying boxes into the main area of the Green Room and carefully stacked them together, making sure to capture the essence of Mr. Tenna as best you could. It was backbreaking, meticulous work, to you at least. You thought about it very deeply and put a lot of consideration into where you put each cardboard box. Whenever realization over what you were doing crept in, you reminded yourself that you were doing this because this was giving you purpose. Maybe you weren’t important to players anymore, but you could be important to your television. The thought made your processors whir and hot air pour passively from your vents.
You made sure to hide when you heard Mr. Tenna announcing that he was entering the room (“It’s Green Room time!”), just so you could watch his reaction. You shove yourself away in a little closet that barely fit your frame, and do a terrible job at hiding the loud noise of your tail thrashing with excitement. You feel heat building up inside of you, trapped by the loose props in the closet, but you don’t care. You can barely contain your excitement.
For his part, Mr. Tenna recoils about five feet and gasps in abject surprise when he sees what you’ve done for him. He gazes up at the statue you’d erected, agape, and clasps his hands together. His tail quivers, and his antennae wave around wildly. He spends a good few minutes just staring at it, like it was the pinnacle of artistic labor. You know deep down it probably isn't, but the validation you are getting from his reaction voids any and all self-consciousness.
“I demand to know,” says Mr. Tenna, looking around at everyone in the Green Room, “who on earth made this wonderful work of art made out of recyclable garbage! I know for a fact that I did not specifically ask for it, which means that someone must have done it themselves! Without being asked! Without being demanded to do so by someone who definitely was not crying holding six empty boxes of tissues! That’s some real dedication, folks! Dedication that would normally get a raise if we had the budget for raises.”
One of the shadowguys provides a series of saxophone notes.
Mr. Tenna turns around to face them, his expression hard to pin down. “The...box guy? You’ll have to be more specific! There’s all kinds of box guys! I myself am the most magnanimous box guy of all! Certainly you don’t mean that quiet box guy who hangs out in dark places and loves dust?”
More saxophone notes.
Mr. Tenna is quiet for a moment. Then, a small smile creeps onto his face, his little fangs barely poking out from his mouth. His screen grows pink, the color soft and warm.
“Well, in that case, tell them to come and see me right away! Someone! Find out where they are and tell them they’re urgently needed! This beautiful effigy of trash is
He then goes back to looking at the statue you made, tail swishing back and forth. He is positively beaming.
You smile too. Somehow. You weren’t sure where your mouth was exactly. If you could blush, you would be doing that, too. You spend a good long time admiring Mr. Tenna admiring your work when one of those nice little dice creatures pops out of a box of props and snaps you out of your stupor.
“Thank goodness he liked that thing. I was hiding here ‘cause I thought he was gonna hate it and take it out on the first idiot who gave him a weird look.”
Mr. Tenna’s office was about what you expected. It's audaciously lavish, with dark wood floors and rich red carpeting. There is gold wherever gold could reasonably be placed, and also where it could unreasonably be placed. The gold Ferris wheel made out of eggs was a bit much, and you have no idea what its purpose of or why it takes up at least a quarter of Mr. Tenna’s office. It did make a funny clucking noise whenever you touched one of the eggs, though, so there's that at least.
There is also a wall of awards on display, some of which seemed legitimate (“Most Successful VHS Box Set Release of 1984!”), and some of which seemed a little less so (“Handsomest set of antennae on any game show host ever of 1999”). It is impressive how many successive years in a row Mr. Tenna had won awards for his antennae. You aren’t sure how much competition there is, but there has to be stiff if the competition ran for so long.
You’re seated facing an impressively tall chair that Mr. Tenna is unceremoniously sitting down in. You look across the mahogany desk and try to make eye contact, but it’s sort of hard to do that with someone who didn’t have eyes. You don’t have eyes either, now that you really think about it. You don’t know where your visual input is coming from at all, actually. You decide not to to think about that too hard.
Mr. Tenna clears his throat, and leans across the desk. “SO! I bet you’re wondering why I’ve called you here. That’s what everyone who comes into this office thinks! It’s a room that really begs that sort of a question. I bet you’re just 
You do your best to squirm.
Mr. Tenna holds up his arms and cheers. “We’ve got a live one, folks! The squirmiest worm just squirmed on stage! Mike, keep the sidewalk damp for this nightcrawler!”
“I was wondering why you wanted to see me now,” you say, very suddenly and completely bemused, “I mean, it is you, right? Back from when I was still being used to play games with? I...I don’t know how I know exactly, but I do. I think you do, too. But then it...it kind of felt like you got scared by it.”
“S-scared?” Mr. Tenna tilts his head, display glitching for a moment and antennae quivering. “I wasn’t scared! Gosh golly, Miss Molly! The only thing I’m scared of is the scariest thing of all: my ratings dropping! Isn’t that right, folks?”
Canned laugh tracks are piped in from somewhere. Trying to ignore how you have no clue where those came from, you frown. “You weren’t scared? Then...then why did you run off like that? It’s just...it’s been a long time since I’d seen you. I was pretty happy to see you then. But then, it...it didn’t really seem like you felt the same way. I couldn’t ever find you to say anything to you. But I really wanted to. That’s sort of why I had to make that statue. I needed to get your attention, somehow, because I...I guess I just wanna know why, Mr. Tenna.”
The silence that follows is drawn out and unpleasant. You aren’t really sure how to break it, or if you even want to. Mr. Tenna’s expression is completely inscrutable. For a moment you find it odd that a television screen can be so difficult to read, but maybe, you think, that actually makes perfect sense. Televisions aren’t really made to display their own thoughts. They’re not really made to have thoughts at all. It’s obvious that Mr. Tenna works with every trait he has at his disposal—his dazzling smile not the least of them—but he’s still missing the things people who aren’t objects have.
It’s a few long moments later when Mr. Tenna clears his throat and adequately focuses on you. He doesn’t have eyes, no, but you can feel him looking. And while he has no eyes, his gaze feels...softer, somehow. “...Just Tenna.”
You blink. Or you would, if you had eyes. “What?”
“Just...just Tenna. We can forgo the formalities. You were my partner, after all! My equal! The reason people wanted to spend their time looking at me for hours instead of going outside or reading a book!”
“Oh. Um. Okay. Tenna. Sorry, I—”
“You were so important for my existence! You were the reason people probably wanted to keep me around sometimes! Some days they spent entire days looking at me just because you were there! They never even watched the programs I painstakingly crafted! All of those cowboy puppets gone to utter waste after I made sure all of them had the most soulful little black beaded eyes!”
“Wh—”
“And those cooking shows! Do you know how many cherries jubilee I burnt trying to make them perfectly? It took forever and a day learning how to flambe the gloopy things! And the waste! The waste of it all! All of my backbreaking work! Do you know how many cherries jubilee that I made earlier that got thrown away or eaten by my useless production staff? How many cherries I had to handpick and wipe down lovingly with a soft microfibre cloth? How much money I had to sink into the flambe budget? How many aprons caught on fire? How little jubilee I felt making cherries jubilee? I HATE CHERRIES JUBILEE!”
“I—”
Tenna threw up his arms and wailed. “I DON’T EVEN EAT!”
“Um--”
“Tenna, look, I’m sorry if--”
“OH MY GOD I SHOULD BE APOLOGIZING TO YOU,” Tenna reaches across the table and grabs you by your neck ruff. He has tears streaming down his face, coming from a totally indistinguishable source. His antennae are twitching and buzzing and his screen is a glaringly bright color test card. “NOBODY EVEN KNOWS WHAT CHERRIES JUBILEE IS! I STILL DON’T REALLY KNOW!”
“I mean, I don’t really know what it is, either.”
Sighing, Tenna slides back in his chair and lets you go. He pulls his hands over his screen and sighs. The entire room goes dark, save for two spotlights on you and Tenna. He gives a dramatic moment’s pause before he continues speaking. “That’s not all I have to apologize for. I have to apologize for...for just letting you go like that. I remember when they stopped playing with you. I remember when you went away, and I remember how lonely it felt without you. I could’ve done something, anything. But I did nothing. I suppose...I suppose a part of me hoped maybe they’d watch me more, if they weren’t playing on you, but they didn’t watch me at very much at all after you left. I was becoming irrelevant, it seemed. I thought maybe they couldn’t use us together anymore...because I just wasn’t good enough. When I saw you again, I...I was afraid that you may be mad at me for that. I can’t stand the thought of it...someone being angry with me. It rustles my jimmies so much. And worse yet, it’d be for a good reason! Not like the mindless criticisms hurled by those with poor taste that send hate mail. A real criticism, that’s not from an unreasonable philistine! The thought of such a thing is sickening. You didn’t scare me, but you maybe hating me did. I had to leave immediately, lest I explode into a pile of useless, well-criticized electronic brick-a-brac.”
You think about things for a moment, taking in Tenna’s words.
Some of what he’s apologizing for makes sense. Some of it is insane.
But it’s all genuine, and that’s maybe what softens the whole situation for you.
Tenna has shrunk to roughly the size of a 5x5x5 cardboard box. You don’t know if that was intentional or not—if it was, it’s an effective manipulation tactic. One that probably wasn’t needed, because he was really winning you over on his earnestness alone.
You reach over the table and pat him on the top of his now very tiny head with your paw. “It’s okay. Really. Don’t beat yourself up if you couldn’t have done anything. Besides. I was just an old gaming system that wasn’t relevant anymore, either. You were just a television. We don’t have any choice in this sort of thing. That's just what happens.”
Tenna just sniffles, pitifully.
“We have choices now, though,” you say, “so, let’s make one now. Maybe we can work together again? That could be fun. If that’s okay, I mean. I know you run a tight ship here.”
For a few seconds, Tenna remains silent and baleful, buried in the chair like a forgotten saltine in a couch.
Then a second later he erupts from his chair at full size. He grabs you by the ruff again and lifts you out of the chair you were sitting in.
“Work...together, again? Jeepers creepers, you’re really considering that, after everything? You’ll forgive a sad old television that quickly?”
You nod, giving a lopsided half-startled-half-earnest smile.
Tenna gasps and gives you another 100-watt smile. “OH,
I’ll get to work right away thinking of things we can do together! New games! New challenges! New sources of entertainment to catch the minds of millions! More things to create into easily consumable whirligigs! We’ll be unstoppable together once more! Mike, get my good ideas journal! Get my feelings journal! Get me a nice, steaming cup of that sloppy, caffeinated joe, Mike! Don’t touch that dial, folks! The good idea train just pulled into the station!
You’ve been helping with the game design for a little while now. It wasn’t the sort of thing you’d really thought you’d be good at, since you never really made the games people played with on you. But you seem to be okay at it. Nobody’s ever told you that you’re doing a bad job, at least. Least of all Tenna, who has been more than willing to supply you with the commendation you’ve been after. It makes you feel good. It reminds you what you were really built for, who you were supposed to be spending your time with. For the first time, in a long while, you feel like you’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing, even if you’re not fitting your intended role exactly.
You wonder if this is selfish of you. Emotions weren’t something you were ever really meant to have, let alone act on. Experiencing them for the first time was so intense it sent you careening into tears. But the more time you spent in the Dark World, the more comfortable you felt experiencing emotions, and the more complicated they got. They became contradictory, intense, hard to pinpoint. But if these emotions were meant to connect you to your intended purpose, they couldn’t be all bad, could they?
Looking over to the monitors displaying Tenna’s show, you smile softly. The more time you spend around him, the happier you were. You’re reminded of the thrum and glow of him when you were connected, of the way your systems communicated with one another. You remember his joy, his gratitude for your existence. How good that always made you feel. You want more of that. You want it to overtake you and swallow you whole. You wanted it to be all-encompassing and overtake every one of your newfound senses. You want to see, to hear, to feel him.
You weren’t sure what emotion this was at first...but you are beginning to think you know.
No. These emotions certainly can’t be all bad.
And maybe, it was okay to act on them.
Tenna’s show is wrapping up for an ad break right now. You set down the stack of cardboard boxes that you were carrying. Old habits die hard, and you like carrying them. You then make your way over to where you know Tenna would be heading offstage. You’ve learned his choreography by now, and you like how dutifully you can remember all of it. Your cabletail swishes back and forth with anticipation as you wait, and your processors hum pleasantly.
When Tenna sees you, he lights up (literally and figuratively), and then waves his hand excitedly. He rushes over to you, clasping his hands in your paws and beaming. You love his smile. It makes you smile.
“Wowie! Where were you all this time? Have you ever seen the Fun-O-Meter jump up like that before? Grab the phone book and call the contractor, Mike, because our contestant’s fun is gonna go through the roof! Jumping on mushroom platforms to get keys worked like gangbusters—it’s just the sort of new, refreshing sort of physical challenges that the people are wanting!”
Smiling, you pat Tenna’s hands. “I’m just glad I could help. It was really fun working with you again. Sort of reminded me of when we were connected together.”
Tenna blushes, squeezing your paws. “I-I agree! It was! And, and, i-it reminded me of when...when we were connected, too. Putting our proverbial heads together, coming up with something together that people love! It’s what we’re meant to do together! HAHA! Oh, imagine if we actually connected when brainstorming! I bet we’d come up with the game idea of the century! Nobody would ever be bored again with either of us! AHAHAHA!”
You tilt your head to one side. “You’re laughing a lot.”
“B-because,” says Tenna, his screen softly tinting pink, “because, that’s ridiculous! We can’t connect again! I don’t know if you haven’t noticed, but I don’t see anywhere for you to connect to me. I-it’s just, just a silly fantasy—or, no, no, not a fantasy, just s-something normal, that I’ve NEVER thought about b-before, ever, and even though I would LOVE to feel that way again, I would never—”
You bring a digit up to Tenna’s control panel, pressing his volume button down until he’s completely muted.
“I want to feel that way again too,” you say. “And I’ve thought about it too, don’t worry. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. You don’t have to be so self-conscious.”
You unmute Tenna, and he gasps. “Y-YOU HAVE? B-BUT...BUT THAT’S...”
“It’s okay,” you say, softly. “It’s normal, it’s fine. That’s what we’re meant to be, right? Connected?”
Tenna hangs his head. His screen is bright pink now, and flickering. A stupid smile is plastered across his face and his cabletail is giving away his excitement, beginning to twitch and wag with electric anticipation.
You bring a paw to his chest. “Let’s do it. Let’s get connected."
Tenna quivers. “Here? Now? D-during an ad break? That’s risky business, kiddo!”
“We don’t have to do it now,” you say, “but I know just how many sponsors you have. That ad break could go on forever, if you really wanted it to. We both know the show doesn’t truly start until you’re back up there. Nobody bothers you when you’re on an ad break. We have all the time in the world, as long as you want this.”
A rare silence befalls Tenna. His antennae quiver and spark for a moment, as though he’s deep in thought, really considering the situation. He bites his lip nervously, but then looks over to you.
Then he nods.
And smiles.
You smile back, and get to work right away.
Your cabletail slithers around your waist and pokes and prods for Tenna’s. You shiver as you feel your prongs touch one another. You can feel the electricity from Tenna pouring out from those little metal protuberances, beating and pulsing into your own. They travel from your tail into your whole body, making you feel warm and wanting. Whatever is going on now, it’s different from what used to happen. Something about the Dark World has changed your connection, and for the better, you think.
“O-oh, that’s...” Tenna’s breath hitches, “That’s so good! M-Mike, turn on the mood lightning! Get two glasses of the finest champagne the Dark World has to offer, turn on the most 
“You need to keep it down,” you say, tapping Tenna’s screen with your paw, “I’d really love all that, trust me, but you can’t be so loud people hear you. None of those words with the sound effects.”
Tenna nods, seeming to understand.
You leave your tail intertwined with Tenna’s and begin feeling around his button-up. Tenna kneels down to make things a bit easier for you, clearly cognizant of your difference in size. You can feel just how warm he is, how ready. You begin unbuttoning his shirt, trying not to let your paws shake. You’re realizing that this is something you’ve wanted for a long time, and it’s culminating in an excitement that is simply too good for you. Tenna whines softly, his tail twisting around yours imploringly.
Once his shirt is open, you trace over his plump belly. Let your digits trace over his midsection and feel the heft of it, a tangible reminder of how much of him there was. You slip your paws up to his chest to his tits, and do your best to give them a squeeze. You can’t fit both in either of your paws, so you have to settle with holding one and moving to another. His tits are heavy, pliant. You think about what they’d be like if you were a similar size, capable of being squeezed and push together. You think too about them at their current size, large enough for you to place your entire face into. You lean up and let your tongue drag across one nipple, and then the other. You let it linger a little bit, pressing it in and feeling the warmth from Tenna’s chest seep into you.
“O-oh, h-heavens to Betsy,” breathes Tenna, “t-that feels amazing! Fantastic! I-incredible! N-nobody’s ever done that for me before!”
“Shh,” you say, bringing a hand up to his control panel, “you really do need to keep in down.”
“O-of course,” whimpers Tenna, antennae drooping, “I can be quiet! I can be quiet as a church mouse! You won’t hear a peep out of me!”
“You’re actually getting louder again,” you say, digits brushing over his volume button. “I’m not gonna mute you again, just turn you down.”
Tenna nods, and you press into the button gently. Tenna shivers, sliding forwards enough that he’s holding himself on top of you, screen glowing softly in your face. With each press of that button, his tail tightens around yours and his breath hitches. True to your word, you only lower his volume a bit, but relish in every stupid noise you push out of him as you hit that button. When you remove your paw, he gasps softly, antennae twitching. He looks like he’s about to fall over any moment, just from all of that touching.
You haven’t even gotten to the main act.
Sliding your paws down, you reach Tenna’s belt and begin undoing it. Tenna’s far too shaky to help with this process, but he does help you undo his fly and shuck away his slacks down to his knees. His tail quivers and positively rubs against yours, electricity pouring into you as though from a tender kiss. You look at him and smile, holding his screen gently. He looked beautiful like that, more beautiful than he ever had before.
Bringing your paws back down, you let your digits dance around the edges of his briefs before finally pulling them down too. Tenna shivers as you expose his video composite port, and you feel your AV cables positively vibrate when you see it.
It’s all coming back. You feel like you’re about to be connected again. But now, it’s a little different. Now it’s not about putting on a show for anyone except you and the television. Now, it’s a private act, for a company of two. Now, you can have something just for you. Selfish, maybe. But what you were designed for nonetheless.
You hastily pull down your own trousers and pants, squirming in order to let yourself get free. Seeing your struggle, Tenna manages to reach over and pull them off for you, gasping as he sees your AV cables unceremoniously tumble out from between your legs.
“W-wowza! T-talk about some fancy machinery! This is an experience I’d call AV-ant garde, folks!”
Very quiet audience laughter is piped in from somewhere, and then some soft wolf whistling.
You chuckle to yourself, softly, because that’s silly, because he’s silly. You position yourself below him, just low enough that your cables can work their way up into Tenna’s port. You reach down and feel your AV cables, dragging your digits over them and shivering at their sensitivity. You feel their tips, sensitive and wanting, and let them go for a moment so you can feel Tenna’s port. It’s softer than you remember, with a slight give as you press into it. They open and close, a bit like spiracles, as you feel them. Tenna gasps when you press in a little more, letting them open and close around your digits. Knuckling your paws, you knead into Tenna’s video composite port with reckless abandon. Every press inwards makes Tenna hitch and moan, lowering himself further down towards you.
“Goodness gracious,” gasps Tenna, leaning down and pressing his screen against your face, “t-that’s wonderful, w-wonderful, keep doing it.”
You nod, and remove your paw for a moment. Tenna keens, bereft. You pat his screen. “You’re wonderful too. So wonderful. I’m so lucky to be doing this with you.”
Then you reach up, AV cables in hand, and carefully plug yourself into Tenna’s port. You gasp as each one slips into place, feeling the port constrict around the jacks. You try your very best not to moan loudly as you feel the tip of your cable tighten in the port, keeping it there snugly. His port is completely hanging onto your AV cables, his tail is wrapped lovingly around yours, and it’s the best you’ve ever felt.
“G-good, you’re so good,” you mumble, your breath hitching, “you’re amazing, you know that?”
Tenna just shudders and whimpers. Your little praises seem to be doing something to him. You figured he was a bit of a glutton for attention and validation, and good heavens, you wanted to fill him with it.
So you keep doing it. You tell Tenna he’s great, he’s wonderful, that you love TV. That he’s the best television you’ve ever known, that there was nobody else you’d rather be connected to. That feeling one with him is a feeling that you’d treasure always, because it was with him. You do your best to wriggle your cables in his port, gently thrusting them in and out as you feel the ports pulsing greedily, drinking in all of the electricity pouring into them like they’re parched, like they’ll never be quenched.
“I’m nothing without you,” you say, a little raggedly, “I need you.”
Tenna nods, pressing his screen against your face. It’s warm, it’s staticky, it's all you want right now. “I n-need you too...you...my last real fan. D-do you...you promise you’ll stay forever?”
Your tail coils around Tenna’s, your cables thrust up into his port. You both gasp.
You gasp. You moan. You promise.
You feel truly at one with your television, connected on a literal level. You revel in the pleasure you are sharing with one another, your feelings bleeding into one another with such intensity you aren’t really sure who it’s coming from. With every squeeze from his port, you feel your AV cables twitch and writhe of their own volition. It’s beginning to get to be too much to bear. Your processors groan and thrum, and you can hear Tenna’s doing the exact same. His processors are so much louder, and there’s nothing to really be done about that. His face is distorted and flickering wildly, and he’s doing his best to vent the heat built up inside of him. Not that it’s doing much—neither of you have built in fans, and you’re just dissipating heat into one another. Tenna’s tail tightens around your sharply, and you both wince in pleasure as your prongs come together and you both buzz with electricity.
Tenna comes first, choking a sob and squeezing you tightly. He has to mute himself as he does, probably knowing well enough that he’d alert everyone backstage of his little rendezvous with you if his volume was up. You follow soon after, whining softly and with heat pouring from your vents.
You both lay there for several moments. Tenna collapses onto you, and you don’t care about how heavy he is. You just care that he’s there. You’re still connected to him, and you can’t help but smile. You’re going to have to unplug soon, but you’re not going to do it now.
“M-mama mia,” sighs Tenna, resting his big head on your chest, “t-that was really something! Five stars! That was how I would rate your performance. How would you rate mine? Keep in mind that you have on multiple counts told me how good of a job I am doing, so anything lower than five stars would be criminally low.”
You smile. “Six stars.”
Tenna gasps, sitting up and thrashing his cabletail, still intertwined with yours. “Six stars? Six? You understand that is far above the general mark for excellence? Goodness gracious, what sort of scrumptious experience did you undergo to feel comfortable handing out such a rating? What exactly were your standards?”
“My standards were just you. But you managed to exceed all of them.”
“They—but you—but—oh, gee whiz, I’m just...I’m gobsmacked.” Tenna’s screen goes red, and he looks at you like he’s seeing you for for the first time, but in another way, a way he hasn't ever before. His gaze softens, and he reaches down to hold your face.
You reach up and hold his head in your paws. “I guess that makes two.”