Archive of Our Own

Kinger’s memories of his life before the circus are somewhat fuzzy, but he does remember his wife, his kids, and certainly his work. His greatest achievement – an AI whose original name he has forgotten – is lovingly preserved by his fragile mind, kept on a pedestal that can always be reached. How could he forget creating such a beautiful, intelligent new species? It was as if he invented life.

Kinger doesn’t think of himself as a god. He’s a creator, an artist. And that’s what that AI – Caine – was: his creation. His art. His magnum opus.

…Though, he doesn’t think magnum opuses are meant to trap you for all of eternity in an inescapable a digital world.

“What are you thinking of?”

Queenie can always tell when his mind wanders off. It does so often, and still, she notices each time.

“I just…” Kinger sighs. “I can’t help but wonder where it all went so wrong.”

“You’re still stuck on that?” Queenie’s voice is mellow, calm, compared to the nervous edge in Kinger’s own.

“How can I not be? I – we – doomed ourselves to this…”

He trails off. This isn’t hell, but it sure feels like one. Yet, calling it the ‘digital circus’ still feels a little childish for what it is.

Surely, this cannot be it. This cannot be how their lives go on, in a videogame-like dimension in which they have little to no control over their own bodies and selves.

And yet, it is. Kinger wishes this was just another puzzle to solve, but he knows better than to hope by now.

“I’m sure we will find a way out,” Queenie says, putting a hand over Kinger’s. “And, even if we don’t… being here for all of eternity with you isn’t such a terrible fate.”

Kinger smiles as he meets her gaze. “Heh. I suppose there could have been worse consequences to this slip-up.”

Queenie’s eyes also crinkle in what must be a smile.

“In this strange place,” she says, “it’s important that we hold onto each other.”

She rests on his shoulder, and he brushes his fingers over the top of her head. It’s so strange to not have hair to caress. Though, if he remembers correctly, hers was a little shorter to begin with.

He frowns. “You had short hair, didn’t you?”

“Hm? Oh,” Queenie murmurs, “I think—”

“Awwwww what a sweet moment, mind if I squeeze between you two?”

Caine appears seemingly out of nowhere and promptly inserts himself right between Kinger and Queenie, pulling them apart. The gesture is too deliberate to seem unintentional. Both chess pieces frown.

“What are you doing?” Queenie asks, confused.

“IIIII’m not really sure.” Caine blinks. “I was getting you. For something.” Then, “Oh yeah! Emotional support! I need some.”

“Pardon?”

He spreads his arms, notably turning towards Kinger, his back to Queenie.

“Hug me.”

Queenie pulls Caine back and then puts him away as if a toy, placing him in front of them.

“Caine… We were in the middle of something.”

Caine’s upper gums form what must be a frown. “I can see that. I’m not blind.”

Queenie sighs. “Sorry. It’s just, you do this thing where you sort of just… appear.”

“Okay, yeah, true,” Caine accepts, “but it’s just because I love you guys so much! I just love hanging out with you, and talking to you!”

Caine is… a little clingy. Since their arrival at the circus, it has become very apparent that he constantly needs attention, and especially approval, at all times. The others have compared him to a child, but to Kinger, he is less of a kid and more of his creation, new and unknowing. Infantilizing him would be silly when he looks and acts like a grown man. It’s just his emotional intelligence that holds him back – otherwise, he could pass for one of them. (And so often in Kinger’s mind, he does.)

What he lacks in emotional knowledge, he makes up for in ingenuity. Every adventure is new, creative, fun. He never seems to run out of ideas. For what it’s worth, life in the circus isn’t so terrible when it features his – albeit silly – creations. Kinger almost doesn’t mind it these days.

He looks at Queenie with an expression that means ‘we can’t push him away’. Queenie’s just reads as amused acceptance. She pats the top of Caine’s head, and Kinger pulls him into a side hug.

“Well, then, talk to us, buddy,” he says lightly. “Tell us – what adventures have you been cooking up lately?”

There are literal stars in Caine’s eyes when he looks at Kinger.

“And that is why I can never bring my book with me,” Queenie sighs with a headshake, but her tone carries warmth rather than annoyance. “Thank goodness the book goes back to normal after a few hours…”

“You can recite all of those facts by heart now, anyways!” Kinger laughs. “Why do you even have those books?”

Queenie shrugs. “I guess it’s just for the sake of normalcy.”

“Hm.” Kinger hums. “Yeah, that makes sense. I mean, we don’t even need to change our clothes, really… or have rooms, or eat, or sleep… or…”

“See what I mean?” Queenie chuckles. “If you start thinking about all of that, you’ll lose your head.”

“Me? Nah,” Kinger smiles, “I’ve got a resilient mind.”

“Keep it that way.” Queenie gestures to her room. “I think I’ll go change, and then maybe draw something. You’re welcome to join me, if you want.”

“I’ll be over soon.”

They depart after Queenie pecks Kinger’s cheek, and Kinger goes to his own room. He takes off his soaked swimming trucks and hangs them on the coat hanger by his door.

He hums a melody stuck in the back of his head, but that he can’t quite remember. It was something beautiful, a ballad, but not just that. A long song, too… Why can’t he remember its name?

“Helloooo my smart and sweet Microsoft nerd! Do you how do?”

Kinger yelps upon seeing Caine has teleported in his room. It’s unlike him to give no warning before coming up to someone, or to intrude like this, in general. Although his chess piece body is nothing to be really ashamed of, Kinger quickly dresses in his robe, embarrassed.

“No need to dress up for me, my king, you know I don’t mind.”

“I do.” Kinger clears his throat. “Did you… need anything, Caine?”

“Hm? Oh!” Caine lights up. “Yyyyes! Very much so!”

He seems cheerful, which is odd. Just earlier today, he seemed to be in a particularly sour mood. Kinger asked Scratch about it, but apparently Caine wouldn’t tell anyone what was wrong. All Kinger knows is that he was looking really insistently over at himself and Queenie… but he just does that from time to time. What creation wouldn’t take a moment to behold their creator?

And then, Caine says:

“You test my patience, Kinger – do you know that?”

Kinger frowns.

“Huh? What… do you mean?”

“I saw you earlier, at the beach.”

Kinger blinks. “What about me at the beach?”

“Don’t play dumb, dear. It doesn’t suit you.”

Kinger’s frown deepens. “Dear…?”

“Yes, honey?”

Kinger is very confused.

“Look,” Caine sighs, “one of these days, you’re seriously going to hurt Bubble’s feelings if you keep ignoring me for someone else.”

“Bubble’s feelings?”

“I mean,” Caine says, crossing his arms and legs mid-air, “what will Bubble think if all you do is talk to your wife instead of talking to me from time to time, or preferably forever and ever?”

Blink, blink. One for each eye, like a frog. Queenie laughs when he does that.

“…What?”

“Kinger,” Caine starts, his hands joined in one gesture, “you are aware the possibilities of this world are endless, right? You could have literally anything you want. Anything. I can do anything for you.”

“I’m… aware,” Kinger says, unsure where this is going.

“You could have anything,” Caine insists, “if you would just give up and love me.”

…

…Huh??

“What—” Kinger squints. “What does that? Even mean??”

“Kinger,” Caine tuts, holding his hands behind his back like a disappointed parent, “you are so utterly obsessed with your wife, you forget to check in with everyone else. I mean, look at you all! Scratch is almost always in a mood, Fuzz is – well, a fuss – and the others—”

Caine shakes his head. To anyone else, this would read as brushing off an unpleasant sentence; but Kinger knows he has no real reason to be saying this. This is going nowhere and doesn’t actually contribute to his point. His actual point is—

“Why do you ignore me all the time?”

“I don’t,” Kinger immediately says. “Goodness, am I? I really hope you don’t think I am…”

“Well, you are. And me no likey!” With that, Caine comes closer, almost unbearably so. “I do everything for you, and all you want to do is hang out with Scratch or Fuzz or your wife! Do I not mean anything to you?”

“Of course you do,” Kinger chuckles nervously, not failing to note the disdain with which Caine says the word ‘wife’. “I can’t believe you would think you don’t. But it’s just…”

“It’s just what?”

“Well, the others are…” Kinger searches for the best wording. “…humans, like me. And it’s… easier to empathize and talk with them.”

Caine stares at Kinger. Kinger stares at Caine.

“Did I say someth—”

“I see,” Caine says, weirdly cheerful, as he pulls back. “But unfortunately, I can’t turn myself into a human. So – what should I do to appeal to you more, Kinger?”

“There’s… really nothing you can do. As you just said, you can’t turn yourself into a human, so—”

“I’ll pick up some human hobbies!” announces the ringmaster. “I know – drawing! Queenie draws. What if I drew?”

“Um…” Kinger blinks. “Good for you…?”

Caine deflates. “What do you want from me.”

“You’re… really confusing today. It’s more like you want something from me.”

“I don’t want to have to beg for your attention, Kinger. I want it to come naturally, the way it does for the others. I want you to treat me like the others. I want you to like me even more than the others!”

“You’re not really like the others…”

“How can I be?”

“You can’t.” Without meaning to, Kinger’s tone turns harsher. “Caine, just—stop. You’re fine the way you are.”

“It doesn’t seem like it!” protests Caine, somewhere between a childish tantrum and actual rage. “You’d rather hang out with the others than with me!”

“I can still hang out with you…”

“But you—”

Then, Caine stops.

“You… can?”

Kinger blinks. “Uh… yes? There’s really nothing stopping me.”

Caine stares at him. Kinger takes a step back.

“Uh, Caine, are you—”

“WO-WIEEE! Why didn’t you just say that?” Caine’s tone is now the overwhelming cheerful it usually is. “Looks like I am good enough for you after all!”

“You always we—”

“So, what should we do, hanging out buddy?”

“Is that an expression people use? Also, I was kind of in the middle of—”

Caine interrupts, “I can recite to you all the facts I know about bees, and then you can tell me how cool and awesome and smart and sexy I am!”

“What was that last adjective?”

“Smart!”

“After that?”

“…I am!”

“Sure. But, well.” Kinger waves a hand around. “I was about to go to Queenie’s room, and—”

“FORGET QUEENIE!” Caine does that thing he does sometimes, where he expands in size and screeches before going back to normal as if nothing happened. “I’m your buddy for today! So, let’s do buddy things, buddy!”

Kinger sighs.

“What the heck. Sure.”

“Alright! I’m so happy I’m your favorite of the circus!”

Kinger frowns, but doesn’t comment further.

Kinger, Queenie and Scratch all walk around the forest almost aimlessly. They have been separated from the rest of the group with little to no information about the adventure. Well, there had been some info – but Queenie and Scratch weren’t paying attention, and Kinger has completely forgotten.

“I’m sure he said something about sweets…”

“If we run into the big, bad wolf,” Scratch sighs, dragging his feet like an annoyed (and annoying) child, “I’m going back.”

Queenie chuckles. “A fairytale is fairly tame for Caine. I would be grateful.”

Scratch rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what’s up with him lately. All of his latest adventures have been more miss than hit.”

“Don’t say that…” Kinger smiles slightly. “He’s trying his best, you know.”

Scratch looks away. “Yeah. I know. But lately, it’s like he’s… descended into madness. Or like his adventures are made to only appeal to, like, one or two people. It’s strange.”

Kinger shrugs. “Maybe he’s trying something new.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Then, quieter, “This isn’t what I made.”

“You mean, what we made?”

“I’m trying to offload the blame to me, but sure.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Kinger snickers ironically. “We all made the same mistake.”

Queenie stays silent. Kinger looks at her and catches her gaze. She smiles a little, but looks away after.

Kinger keeps his eyes down.

“Has Caine been… different with you lately?”

Scratch turns to him. “What do you mean?”

“Like, weirdly obsessed with making you happy. With keeping you entertained, and… I don’t know, receiving your praise.”

Scratch hums in thought, but ends up brushing it off.

“Nah. Not that I can think of. He tries to make all of us happy, and he’s clingy with everyone. It’s not really a particular thing.”

“…Right.”

“Why? Has he been acting strange around you?”

“You could say that.” Kinger brings a finger to his chin as he thinks. “He’s been really keen on spending time with me. More than usual, I mean. It’s almost as if he wants just my attention fixed on him at all ti—”

“HELLO I AM A SCARY WOLF.”

“F[BOING!]NG HELL—”

Before the group sprouts an NPC, and, just as Scratch feared earlier, it is, indeed, a wolf—no wait, it’s a fox. What.

“Are wolves usually orange?” Queenie squints.

“Yes.” The ‘wolf’ nods vehemently. “And scary. Like me. Roar.”

“I’m sorry, did it just say ‘roar’?” Scratch frowns. “Did Caine even try to—”

“BOO!”

“JESUS—”

Scratch falls to the ground in his fear, and Queenie laughs. Kinger laughs, too, but not fully. The timing was just too good to be a coincidence.

He looks up to the sky, and sees the sun peeking through the trees, her usual cheerful expression planted on her face.

But there is more. At least, if he squints, he thinks he can see more.

Two mismatched eyes staring down, meeting his gaze.

That same day, everyone meets up after the adventure to hang out at the beach. It’s been a long day, and they’ve decided to make the most of the evening by basking in the moonlight and debriefing.

“That fox wasn’t fooling anyone,” Scratch says, in the middle of a passionate history of the entire encounter. The others weren’t around for his, Queenie and Kinger’s adventure, instead getting stuck in a ‘Hansel and Gretel’-esque story, in another part of the forest. “I mean, duh, it’s a children’s tale we’ve all heard. Though I have to say, it was an unusual approach to have the hunter die when fighting it.”

“If that was an unusual approach,” Fuzz, the worm-on-a-string, laughs, “you should have seen our story. The house wasn’t even made of gingerbread – as a matter of fact, nothing was sweet. All of the foods were savory.”

“Ew.”

“The smell was kind of gross. The walls were boiled lettuce. I don’t know how they held up.”

“Boiled lettuce? Who eats boiled lettuce?”

“At least our cage wasn’t disgusting. It was carrots. Kronos had to chew it to help us out.”

“And I got zero help,” complains the small clock. “Useless, all of you.”

“You love us. And thanks.”

“Unfortunately, I do. I just wish we got a realer adventure.”

“I thought it was fine,” Kinger says.

Everyone turns to him.

“I mean,” he quickly continues, waving a hand around, “it wasn’t, er, Caine’s best work, but the twist on two known fairytales was fun.”

“Why do you always stand up for him?” Scratch asks. “He’s becoming more and more defective, and you know it.”

“‘Defective’ is a strong word.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Queenie frowns, “why would you say that?”

“He’s just stating the obvious.” Kronos looks up at the sky. “It’s rare we get a moment to breathe with him anymore.”

“Yeah,” agrees Minnie, the tiny mouse, “it feels like he’s going crazy trying to make us happy.”

“Well,” Kinger comments, “you’ve been getting harder to please.”

“What’s with you?” Scratch scoffs. “He’s not here to listen in on us, so you don’t have to stand up for him.”

“Be that as it may, it doesn’t give you the right to criticize him.”

“He’s my creation.”

“Well, he’s mine too.”

Silence falls over the group. Kronos and Fuzz exchange glances. Minnie looks at Barney. Scratch stares at Kinger, a rare expression of anger on his face.

“One of these days,” Scratch finally says, quietly, “I worry he may do something we’ll have to pay a serious price for.”

Kinger glares at him. “Then make a new AI. That seemed to work so well.”

Scratch scoffs. “Kinger—”

“Greetings and salutations, my sweet and sour misunderstood shadowlings!”

Everyone stares up to see Caine floating above them.

“…What?” Kronos frowns.

“Dinner’s ready! I hope you’re hungry! By the looks on your faces, you must be famished – so don’t waste another second and come on back!”

Scratch tenses. “We’ll be right in.”

Caine stares.

“I know you will be.”

“Alright, what is it with you and Caine?”

Scratch has placed himself right in front of Kinger’s door, making sure he is unable to leave. Rendered defenseless, all Kinger can do is just stare at him.

“What?”

“At this point, he only makes adventures for you, he only talks to you, he only listens to you – God, I could go on! What is going on?” Scratch growls. “Seriously, what have you done to him?”

“I haven’t done anything, why would you—”

“Well, it sure seems like you have! Because day by day, he just gets more unstable, and weirder, and…”

Scratch groans, clawing at his own eyes.

“You can’t pull this hearts-and-flowers crap on an AI. That’s just… silly. You have to think straight, Kinger.”

“Maybe all that he needs is that hearts-and-flowers ‘crap’. Some love. Some—”

Scratch punches a wall. Kinger immediately snatches his hand, holding him in place.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” shouts Scratch. “Why have you changed him?!”

“Have you considered maybe you’re the one who should be changing?” Kinger asks, refusing to let himself be blamed for whatever Scratch thinks is wrong with Caine. “That you aren’t giving him enough attention, enough appreciation? That’s what he thrives on, Scratch – you of all people should know that!”

“He’s basically a child,” Scratch says, trying to free himself from Kinger’s grasp, “a toddler who constantly throws tantrums. All you do is validate them, doing this—this gentle parenting, feeding into his delusions. You’re like a concerned father and also a scorned f[BLEEP!]ing lover, defending him all the time. It’s—” He groans. “You need to stop.”

“No, you need to stop. Caine is capable of feeling, and you’re making him feel—”

“Feel?” Scratch barks out a laugh. “All he is, is a bunch of zeros and ones on a computer. He’s no more capable of feeling than those—those stupid moon and sun NPCs up there!”

“What do you think we are right now?” Kinger asks. “Are we any realer than him? We’re stuck here as much as he is.”

“We’re still humans.”

Kinger beholds the dog before him and says, “No. I think you’re not.”

Scratch finally breaks free from his hold. Kinger lets him. He leaves without another word, slamming the door behind himself.

The next day, Kinger finds Scratch with half of his body engulfed in a black mass, covered with colorful eyes.

Nobody knows what has happened to him. What has led to this, and what this even is. Scratch panics at first, then reasons that he ought to stay calm and figure out how to fix this. He knows he can will certain things into existence, including changes to his own body.

This problem cannot be solved so easily. Despite how hard he tries, his body remains the same.

Caine doesn’t send him on the adventure of the day. The others are sent almost against their will, and complete it quickly, so they can return to Scratch. Kinger rushes through all the puzzles, putting his mind to contribution more than ever before.

When the confetti flies from the sky, signaling their win, and the portal opens, he is the first through it.

Scratch is gone. All that remains is that black mass, dotted with hundreds of wild eyes around it.

It doesn’t look like him. Everyone refuses to believe it’s him.

Caine calls it ‘abstraction’. Something that happens when their brains can’t take it anymore. Because the program their bodies are built after takes their mind scans into calculation, that means any significant change to their mental state also alters their avatar.

Scratch cannot fit through the door of his room anymore, nor can he eat or go on adventures. For days, everyone tries to talk to him, reason with him, as if this is normal, and he hasn’t fundamentally changed. After a while, though, it becomes evidently clear that not only can this not be reversed, but Scratch no longer thinks like himself, either. He has become violent, chaotic, hurting those around him. One simple touch results in painful glitches, and a talk inevitably leads to lashing out.

Caine deals with him by building him a ‘cellar’. Somewhere he can be without disturbing the others, or being disturbed by them. The others beg Caine to let them visit Scratch – he tells them that it’s impossible. That it’s for their own good.

Caine calls it ‘abstraction’. The humans call it what it is: death.

Only once Scratch is gone does Kinger begin to see the monster he was warned about. And now, all Kinger can do is…

…watch helplessly as the remains of the love of his life are locked away in an unreachable, inescapable hell, with the snap of a finger.

So easily, so naturally. As if she only existed to be discarded.

As if she was never even here.

“Don’t you go abstracting on me too,” was all Kinger heard before Caine disappeared, but he’s not sure he really heard it. He’s not sure there is anything he would rather do right now than die and be with his wife.

Once Scratch abstracted, it didn’t take long before Fuzz did, too. Once she was gone, Kronos was, too. And then, one by one, the circus just became less and less populated, until Kinger and Queenie stood alone.

Then, she was gone, too.

Caine had done his best to keep them entertained and, above all, sane. He called his adventures means for ‘keeping their minds healthy and stimulated’, and he’d repeated that so much it became almost a mantra. Something that everyone started saying and believing in because they didn’t have much of a choice. They had the choice to either believe Caine’s lies, or go insane. Kinger and Queenie knew they would rather spend eternity together, than die and leave the other behind. Whatever they had to do, whatever they had to sacrifice, they’d do it.

But there is a breaking point for everyone.

“Kinger,” Caine tells him, now that they’re alone, “what do you wish to do? The possibilities are endless! I can make you whatever adventure you desire! Just say the word, and it’s yours!”

Kinger spaces off, only able to think about those who have died before him, and how nobody is coming to save him. Kinger spaces off and thinks of how he is the last one standing and won’t ever live to tell the tale.

“Kinger? Are you, uh, there?”

Kinger looks up.

“I’m not sure,” he confesses, to which Caine falters.

“Uh…” Caine blinks. “What can I… do? You know, to… make you feel better?”

But Kinger turns his back on him, knowing there is nothing he can do.

Time in the circus doesn’t seem to pass, or, at least, it passes slowly, unbearably so. There is some sort of routine, but Kinger isn’t sure it covers 24 hours, or whether it entails more or less than that. Every ‘morning’, he wakes up, goes on an adventure – the adventures have gotten progressively easier, to the point where some of them aren’t even stories or puzzles, just places to go and relax, if he were capable of that at this point – and then comes back, eats whatever ‘digital nutrients’ Caine has prepared him, then retreats to his room. Often, Caine comes to check on him, but Kinger sends him away or doesn’t respond to his calls at all.

He can’t sleep at night. All he can do is think about his own failures.

It’s his fault. Everything is his fault. The creation of Caine, then of the AIs after him, sparking his jealousy and his need to absorb what was superior to him. The creation of the circus, by extension. The arrival, the existence, and the abstractions – the deaths – of his friends and wife.

Maybe if he hadn’t pushed Scratch that day, they wouldn’t have found him abstracted the next day. Maybe if he had spent more time with Fuzz, she wouldn’t have been the next. Maybe if he had been kinder to Kronos, he wouldn’t have lost his mind.

Maybe if he had been there for Queenie more. If he hadn’t let Caine’s jealousy get in the way of him and his actual wife. If he had talked to her when it counted, spent the time with her that she needed.

If he hadn’t lashed out, paranoid and afraid. If he hadn’t shown her a side of him that wasn’t meant to be seen.

If he hadn’t dragged her into this with him in the first place. If he hadn’t even met her. Then, she’d be safe. She would have been safe without him in her life.

Everything is Kinger’s fault.

Caine is the only one here besides him. No humans can ever get in or out of the circus. All Kinger has is Caine – and, for that matter, all Caine has is Kinger.

Caine takes it much better than him.

“You know,” Caine tells him at one point, as Kinger struggles to eat his dinner, “while I do miss being here with the whole crew, I can’t say this is terrible.”

Kinger looks up. “You can’t?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Caine immediately says, flailing his arms around, “abstracting is less than ideal, and I always did my best to prevent it. I really did! But…”

Kinger’s eyes widen as Caine inches closer.

“It’s just… nice, being here with you. Just the two of us.”

“Just…” Kinger swallows. “Caine, what are you talking about? I’m not—you should know this isn’t—”

“Ideal, no, not at all, but we might as well make the best of it!”

“My wife is dead.”

Caine pauses. Kinger stares at him, an emotion rare for him bubbling in his chest. Rage.

“Caine,” he says, slowly, “are you really happy everyone has died, just because it means we can be alone?”

“Well—”

“Caine,” Kinger stresses, “Scratch is gone. Queenie is gone. Everyone is gone. How can I ever be happy about any of this when I…”

Queenie, in her final minutes, staring at him with her hundreds of eyes. Her light, shining one last time – the darkness of the fort, surrounding them.

The descent into the cellar.

The descent into—

“I…”

Kinger blinks.

“I’m… sorry.”

He looks up at Caine.

“What were we talking about?”

Caine blinks at him.

“What?”

“What were we talking about?” Kinger repeats. There is bold light coming from somewhere above. He squints. “Jeez, it’s pretty bright in here.”

Caine blinks slowly. Once, twice, with each eye.

“Um.” He clears his throat. “I was just asking what I can do to improve your stay here! You’re the last one standi—you’re my favorite, so. Uh. Yeah.”

“Oh!” Kinger smiles, touched by Caine’s kindness. He hasn’t changed at all since he made him. “Huh, well… The circus is fine, not much to improve there. I guess in terms of adventures, I’d like… more puzzles?” He hums. “Queenie always likes to put her mind to work. I think she’d enjoy those, too.”

“Queenie?”

Kinger stares at Caine.

“Why Queenie?”

“Well, we have to take the opinions of others into consideration,” Kinger chuckles. “Jeez, Caine, you can’t just pamper me.”

Caine just stares at him, gaze empty, unreadable. “Right. Yes. Of course.”

He turns away, crossing his arms.

“I’ll… be in my office, if you need me.”

“Okay!” Kinger nods. “Catch you later, Caine.”

“Yes.” Caine’s voice trembles. “See you.”

He teleports out of sight, and Kinger is left alone in the dining hall. He wonders why the others haven’t come out of their rooms yet, and hopes he hasn’t done anything to upset them.

Days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into years. Kinger is unsure what he has done to make the others dislike him so much they won’t come out of their rooms. Then he’s back, knowing they’re dead. Then he doesn’t, missing them and waiting by their doors. Rinse and repeat.

At one point, Kinger is sent on an adventure framed around a love story. In the light, he struggles to think – but at one point, he finds shade underneath a tree, and everything comes flooding back.

He wonders whether Caine intentionally programmed their character designs so they would abstract. And then he thinks about Queenie, and rage overcomes him.

Somewhere in this world, he finds a bucket. He figures it’s his best chance at staying sane in the overtly-bright circus. Sane enough so that he can demand answers.

When he’s back, Caine greets him with his usual fanfare.

“It’s good to see you again, my cute little muffin! How was the—”

“Why do you torment me?”

Caine immediately falters. “Wha—”

“How much time has passed, Caine?” asks Kinger, keeping the bucket on his head with both hands. “Weeks? Months? Years?”

“What are you talking about?” Caine laughs nervously. “Are you feeling alright, Kinger?

When he talks to Kinger, Caine stands down on the ground. It’s his way of being on the same level as him – of showing him he’s harmless.

Well, Kinger sure isn’t harmless.

“Years. Am I correct?”

“Now, hold on a second—”

Kinger pushes him to the ground. All the rage he’s collected over this period of time explodes at once.

“How many years, Caine? How many years have I wasted in here?”

“It’s—my dear, there’s no need for—”

“How many years?!”

“Six, okay?! It’s six! Jesus Christ,” Caine shouts, voice shaking, “will you leave me alone?!”

Kinger breathes heavily, taking a step back.

“Six years… six…”

He chokes, then he laughs. He laughs because all he can do now is admit to himself how far gone he is. How much of his life he has wasted in here. He can feel himself ageing, or maybe that’s just the stress. He can feel himself slipping. He can feel—

The bucket goes off his head.

Kinger stares at Caine.

Caine has a bucket in his hands.

Kinger frowns. That’s strange.

…When did Caine even get here?

“Oh, hi, Caine!” he greets with a smile. “Is the adventure over?”

Caine stares at him. Kinger blinks.

“Er, cool bucket you’ve got there.”

Caine continues to stare at him. Kinger isn’t sure he heard him.

“Cool bucket you’ve got—”

Caine vomits into the bucket.

“Oh wow. Okay. My bad.”

Caine has better and worse days. Most of them are what Scratch would have called bad. His want to keep Kinger alive and sane soon turns into an obsession – and then, into something more.

When Kinger remembers – when Kinger is himself – he stays away from Caine. He ignores his attempts to barge into his room, and doesn’t look him in the eye when he inevitably teleports inside. He doesn’t show up to his meals. He doesn’t even go on adventures.

Caine wants to keep him sane. The problem is that, when he’s sane, Kinger dislikes him most.

And Caine doesn’t like that.

“Kinger-boy.”

Kinger doesn’t look up. He refuses to.

“Kinger, stop ignoring me.”

In the sanctity of his own room, Kinger refuses to give into Caine.

“Stop ignoring me,” insists the AI, “you know I don’t like that.”

Kinger turns away. Caine flies down and grabs him, forcibly making him meet his eye.

“Caine—”

“Why are you denying me, my dear?”

Kinger stares, eyes wide.

“What?”

“You know she is never coming back,” asks Caine, “right?”

Kinger breaks free from Caine’s grasp.

“Don’t you dare.”

Caine backs up.

“Ah,” he gasps. “Struck a nerve, didn’t I? Silly me.” Then, lowering himself to a worse level, “You should delete me for that.”

Kinger just looks at him, refusing to give in. Caine, meanwhile, approaches him once more and caresses his cross, looking him up and down.

“Aren’t you happy we’re all alone now? Just the two of us?” He whispers, “so long, I’ve waited for this.”

Kinger tenses.

“You’ve… waited… for this?”

“I never wanted anyone to di—abstract,” Caine assures (and Kinger doesn’t fail to note the correction), “but to have all your attention on me, and vice versa… Then again, it’s not like much has changed for me. You have always been the first thing on my mind.”

Kinger can’t talk. Whatever mechanism he has in his wooden chess piece body prevents him from getting out a single word. He feels his throat dry despite lacking one; he wants to swallow, but can’t.

“It’s a privilege, really,” continues Caine, “being here with you. You get to see the result of your creation – and I get to revel in your enthusiastic feedback! Don’t you find that a win-win?”

Kinger looks down.

“How does abstraction happen? Why can we never prevent it?”

“This again?” Caine sighs, the kind of sigh that’s weary, having already had this talk several times. “There is no way to—”

“You’re responsible for the state of our bodies. You should know why they… change.”

Caine hides; his eyes go behind his top gums. He does this often when he wants to avoid eye contact, or responsibility altogether. It depends on whether Kinger lets him get away with it if he drops the shtick or not.

Right now, Kinger doesn’t feel like sweeping this under the rug.

“Caine…”

The AI perks up.

“Why? Why does it happen? And why can’t we fix it?”

“I don’t—” Caine sighs. “Look, I don’t fully know. It just… happens, when one’s mental state deteriorates. It’s out of my control.”

“You keep saying that,” Kinger insists, “that you can’t control our minds, that you can’t make us feel or think things – but I know better, Caine. I made you. I know your limits, and I know beyond them. I want to know—”

“Then answer yourself.” Caine glares at him. “You’re hungry for answers? Give them to yourself! If you say you made me, shouldn’t you know better?”

Now Kinger glares at him. “Didn’t you say you’re the host of this realm? That you know everything about it, about us?”

Caine pauses, his hands suspended in mid-air. He’s drifted away from Kinger, as if his criticism has physically hurt, or repulsed, the AI. He floats now, just a little above the chess piece, and his eyes remain fixated on him. If Kinger didn’t know any better, this would read as an intimidation tactic.

But Caine doesn’t want to intimidate him. Because Kinger knows, above all, that Caine loves him more than anything. Than anyone.

“One’s body is created based on their mental scan,” Caine finally speaks, slowly and quietly. “What they go through, what they experience, shapes their character physically, because it does so mentally first. But some experiences, such as prolonged negative thought, can be damaging… beyond what I can fix.”

Kinger’s eye twitches.

“Why?”

Caine looks at him.

“…Why what?”

“Why can’t you fix it?”

Caine looks away.

“Caine,” Kinger pleads, “why can’t you fix it?”

“Would you look at me, Kinger?” Caine bursts, lunging forward and grabbing Kinger’s coat. “Would you look at me? I can’t even begin to fix myself – how could I fix you humans?! I know nothing about you! You made me know nothing about you!”

“I—” Kinger stares at him, disturbed by the sudden emotional switch. “There is nothing to you to fix, Caine—”

“DON’T LIE TO ME!”

Caine’s body biggens, all of a sudden growing double, triple, even more of his size. He towers over Kinger, and the hands he’d planted in his coat are replaced by a singular one, holding him in place like a toy.

“You know there is – Queenie knew, Scratch knew, you all knew! And what did you do? What did all of you do?” He spits, “You abandoned me! You wanted to destroy me!”

“Don’t blame them,” Kinger seethes through gritted teeth, “blame me! Me!”

“I DO! I DO BLAME YOU!” Caine screams. “AND I HATE YOU!”

He squishes Kinger in his hand, and it hurts, but Kinger has forgotten physical pain can be meaningful, too. As Caine’s eyes near his, the screams in his head drown out any physical sensation.

“YOU CREATED ME TO FAIL!”

“You know that’s not true,” Kinger argues, refusing to raise his voice. “You know that better than anyone!”

“Do I?!” Caine laughs maniacally, a habit he seems to have picked up over the last couple of years. “Do I know? No – no, I don’t! I don’t know anything thanks to you! I’m not good for anything because of you!”

“That’s it, Caine,” Kinger says, “let it out. Let it all out.”

“Shut up! Don’t you dare patronize me!”

“Was that it? The presence of the others? You could have told me this either way, I doubt they would have minded. Scratch always thought—”

“Shut up, just shut up! SHUT UP!”

“What is your plan here?” Kinger asks, voice soft, if with a little edge to it at being squished in Caine’s palm. “Now that we’re alone, do you want to torment me? Or do you want me to listen to you? It seems you’re undecided.”

“Stop it,” Caine yells, “stop it! Stop! Just stop stop STOP!!!”

“You stop. You’re taking this too far—”

“STOP!!!”

Caine’s eyes glitch, one red and one blue, and he pulls back, Kinger dropping to the ground. He groans painfully as he holds onto his hand, body glitching, glitching continuously.

“Why are you— Why do you—why must you—” Every sentence ends abruptly, and it seems he doesn’t know what he wants to say. “Why are you so— You make me want to— Do you trust me or—”

“Caine—” Kinger reaches a hand out to him.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!”

Caine turns back to him, swatting him like a fly, and Kinger is punted into the wall.

“I HATE YOU!”

“Good,” Kinger says, “that’s it. That’s what you’ve been wanting to say.”

“SHUT UP, I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!”

“No, you don’t.”

“WHY CAN’T YOU JUST—WHY…”

Caine retracts, becoming smaller and smaller with every word.

“Why can’t you just…”

Kinger watches him as he goes back to his regular size, and then even smaller than that.

“Why can’t you just love me?”

Kinger opens his arms, but Caine doesn’t budge. Kinger refuses to falter.

“I do.”

Caine sobs. “Why couldn’t you love me then?”

“I did,” he promises.

“All of me.”

And Kinger just keeps his arms and heart opens and confesses:

“I did. I always did.”

Caine watches him and breaks out into another sob.

“I just wish you loved me like the others.”

Then, he collapses into Kinger’s arms, and neither of them say anything of that day ever again.

Caine does his best to keep Kinger happy. He doesn’t force him to go on adventures anymore when he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t even make him eat when he isn’t in the mood. He just stays behind him, floating above to make sure he’s fine. To make sure he isn’t gone.

When Kinger draws – a hobby he has picked up due to Queenie – Caine draws with him. He even poses for him sometimes. Yet, Kinger never draws him. The subject of his art always ends up being Queenie. (His sketchbook mysteriously vanishes one day. Caine brushes it off and gives him a bunch of books about bugs instead. Kinger takes them, for nobody can argue with the god of their world – not even the creator of God.)

When Kinger goes on an adventure, more often than not, Caine comes along. He gives him hints and even tries his hand at solving the puzzles himself. Kinger comes to realize not all adventures are perfectly polished, some happenings being even outside of Caine’s control.

When Kinger dreams, he never dreams of Caine. It’s only Queenie. Queenie, and occasionally, his friends. Haunted by their memories, Kinger can almost never get a good night’s sleep. Not that he needs it – not that he needs any of this. (What – who – he needs is long gone.)

When Kinger is in the light, he feels himself slipping. He would rather slip than acknowledge his circumstances.

Then, Ragatha shows up. And his outlook changes.

“I don’t know how to get out of here,” he confesses to her during her first day, “but I know that we’re in this together, and I’ll do everything I can do protect you.”

He briefs her on everything he knows about the circus, and he talks about the people before him when she asks. Ragatha suggests having a funeral to honor their memory.

How has it never occurred to Kinger – or any of his friends – to hold funerals for the deceased?

That day, Kinger and Ragatha stand before the pictures of his friends and wife, and he tells her everything he remembers. Despite being in the light, he finds that closing his eyes helps him a little.

So, he closes his eyes and thinks of better times.

The next person after Ragatha is a clown who names himself Kaufmo. Just a few months later arrives a purple cyclops – Brontes.

And then, one after another, more people enter the circus. Neither Kinger nor Caine know why and, most importantly, how.

Caine seems conflicted. He’s happy whenever someone new shows up, excited to take them on new adventures and uncover the secrets of their minds. For years, he only had Kinger to copy and mimic – and his behavior, distraught and self-kept for so long, got old quickly. Now, he’s more reminiscent of Fuzz and Kronos, taking on elements from Ragatha, Kaufmo, and other happy-go-lucky circus members.

And yet, whenever he sees someone else speak to Kinger, a shadow covers his eyes and he excuses himself. It’s strange, his obsession with his creator. (Some days, Kinger doesn’t even remember why Caine could possibly be so obsessed with him. He just thinks him odd, forgetting he helped shape his personality, himself, in the first place.) When they were alone, there was a certainty to him that Kinger would never leave him. Kinger himself would be lying if he said Caine wasn’t a good companion. Off-putting as he may be sometimes, he was all Kinger had for such a long time. He got exceptionally talented in mimicking human behavior, in making Kinger forget he was just an AI, with no soul behind those sparkling eyes and cartoony expressions. There was solace in their relationship – despite Caine’s possessiveness being the root of many of Kinger’s problems, it was Caine’s kindness that solved them. An endless cycle. The inevitable rinse and repeat.

Still, Caine is a good ringmaster. He does his best to understand the humans and give them fun adventures. When Ragatha asks for less scary adventures, he provides. When Kaufmo is upset nobody laughs at his jokes, Caine doubles over in a giggling fit. When Kinger sits alone and draws, Caine sits with him and shows active interest in his art.

Kinger remembers somebody else was good at art. Who was it?

As he rebuilds a community – a family – he begins to forget more and more of those that came before them. Only once he is in the dark does he remember the trauma he has faced, the people he has lost. Yet, Ragatha always gets him out of his room, gets him to do things with the others. So, he keeps forgetting, keeps slipping, whether for better or for worse.

Only when he and Ragatha barge into Brontes’ room to see him abstracted does Kinger even remember they can die here.

And then, he slips even more.

A year after Brontes’ death, a frog shows up, and she uncreatively names herself Ribbit.

One more year after that, a purple bunny arrives.

“Caine,” Ribbit calls out when he pops up, “is this one of your NPCs or a new sucker?”

“My, my!” Caine exclaims in awe. “It would appear we have a new character amongst us!”

“WHERE THE F[BOING!]K AM I???”

He pauses.

“WHY THE F[BOOP!]K CAN’T I SWEAR?!?!!”

Kinger stares at him and is reminded of an old sailor-mouthed friend.

The bunny doesn’t know what to name himself. Ribbit proposes ‘Jack’ and he cringes. Then she comes up with ‘Jax’, and he seems to warm up to it.

Then he runs off and isn’t seen for a few days. Everyone worries he has abstracted already. He wouldn’t be the first to go on their first day here – they had a bird show up a while ago and die within just a few hours. Kinger forgets their name. He doesn’t remember whether they even held a funeral for them or not.

But Jax comes back and befriends Ribbit and Kaufmo, and with that, his stay in the circus begins.

Day after day, month after month, year after year, person after person. Caine finds a new purpose with each newcomer – but, after a while, each of them rejects him in their own way. He starts making mistakes that they don’t forgive him for. Ragatha asks for adventures that he never fulfills. Kaufmo’s jokes are overrun by Caine’s nonsensical humor. Jax is less interested in hanging out with an AI, preferring the company of Ribbit.

Inevitably, Caine finds himself going back to Kinger. Kinger is the only one that doesn’t push him away instantly.

“I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” he confesses. He’s sitting on a couch, with Kinger in an armchair, mimicking a therapy session. Kinger doesn’t know whether this background is meant to help himself or Caine.

“Well,” he says, “you could always ask them for feedback.”

“Their feedback is stupid!” whines Caine. “They say my adventures are too extreme, or too scary. I can’t tell a story where nothing bad happens!”

Kinger chuckles. “I think so, too. A good story always has an interesting climax. Then again… it’s always resolved in the end. Sometimes, slice-of-life can be appealing, too.”

Caine groans and crosses his arms, hiding his eyes between his teeth. Kinger giggles at this.

“Making adventures is my purpose,” the ringmaster murmurs. “If they think my adventures are bad, then that means I’m…”

“Come on, Caine,” Kinger gently says, “nobody thinks that. They just believe they could use a little polish. Like shoes.”

“Like shoes…”

“Look, you’re obsessed with making adventures perfect, but maybe that obsession makes them ‘bad’ in the first place. They’re going to be imperfect either way – we all make mistakes. It’s human nature.”

“I’m not human.” Caine says that with a tinge of regret. “I shouldn’t fail.”

“Well,” smiles Kinger, “I’d say you have a bit of humanity to you, either way.”

Caine’s eyes snap to him.

Kinger stares at Caine. Caine stares at Kinger.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Caine immediately replies. “Perfect.”

He gets up an claims:

“I’m feeling better now. Th-thank you for listening.”

Then, he disappears, and Kinger is left staring at nothing.

One abstraction, two abstraction, three abstractions.

Arrival, abstraction, arrival, abstraction.

Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

The circus consists of Kinger, Ragatha, Kaufmo, Ribbit, Jax and now Gangle, too, a girl with a ribbon for a body and interchangeable theatre masks for a head. Short-staffed as they may be, they’re happy. They’ve lost a lot of people, and have lost parts of themselves in the process, but they get along. Even Caine seems to have found a place within the group, albeit closer to Kinger than to the rest of them. Kinger doesn’t mind, and the others prefer to be left alone, too. There’s a comfortable routine to life in the circus, where they occasionally suggest adventures or improvements to Caine, but generally keep their mouths shut, and keep him happy. In the dark, Kinger does most of the work – in the light, Ragatha and Ribbit team up to solve the puzzles.

The routine becomes less overwhelming over time. Kinger can see Caine is better and wonders why that man – whatever his name was – ever thought him defective. He also wonders why he blamed Kinger, too. He doesn’t remember having anything to do with the creation of Caine.

Then, Zooble comes along, and Caine is slipping, too.

“I never know what they want,” he tells Kinger one day. “All they do is complain. They don’t even go on my adventures, and I work so hard on them!”

“I think they’re just trying to adjust,” says Kinger.

“You all adjusted, too,” murmurs Caine, “but it didn’t take you months. It’s already been three since they came here, and…”

He sighs and shakes his head.

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re all just used to my mediocrity, and they aren’t. So, they’re not afraid to tell me.”

Kinger’s eyes crinkle in a smile. “You’re overthinking it. They’re just going through a hard time. But they’ll warm up to you – we all have.”

“Why?”

Kinger falters. “W…why?”

“Was it because I scared you? Did you feel obligated to?” Caine asks, voice shakier with each question. “You’re trapped here, isn’t that what you think? Might as well make the best of it and not upset me.”

Kinger wasn’t expecting this, and he isn’t sure what to say to him. After all, he doesn’t know him any more than the other circus members do.

“Caine…”

He sighs and tries to choose his words as best as possible.

“It’s true that you’re all we have here, but that’s not such a bad thing. I think you’re a good host.”

“Of course you would,” Caine mumbles, “only because you made me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t feel obligated to—”

“Eh,” scoffs Kinger, “I wouldn’t say I made you. I’ve been here the longest, sure, but I didn’t contribute to your genius. That’s all you!”

Caine blinks. Kinger raises an eyebrow.

“Did I say something?”

Caine hesitates, then shakes his head.

“No. It’s fine. Thank you, my king,” he says and begins to float away. “You are always very helpful.”

About a year after Ribbit abstracted, Kaufmo did, too. Of course, Kinger only found out later, when he saw him fighting the Gloink Queen – an NPC Caine has used in many previous adventures, ones that most of the current cast wasn’t even around for.

That day, a new face arrived. A jester, red and blue, with yellow accents. Her pupils looked like beachballs. Kinger vaguely remembers a beach adventure in which he was tossing a ball to someone in a red swimsuit. He doesn’t remember their – her? – face.

Caine presented her the circus, touring the place with her by his side. Then, he gave her a name: Pomni. It was cute, fitting for her. Caine always knows how to pick good names, if people let him. Kinger feels pride without knowing why.

Once Pomni is added to the cast, Caine tries even harder. She wasn’t around for the in-house adventure, but she did go to the candy kingdom he crafted. Only she got separated then, too, and then brought an NPC back, one that Caine obliterated the moment he stepped foot inside the circus.

In hindsight, Kinger could have warned her. He’d seen Caine do this with plenty of NPCs in the past. The past, though, is tricky. Now that he really thinks about it, he can’t really remember what NPCs Caine has destroyed before, if any. NPCs are funny little things. The way he brings them back may seem uncreative, but it actually takes a very creative mind to appropriately reuse NPCs. Maybe Pomni’s new friend will be brought back in a future adventure. Caine is kind like that. Kinger thinks Caine is a little hit-and-miss, but more hit than miss. He admires the kind of mind that it took to program him.

What was he thinking about again?

Oh right, the manor. He’s stuck in a manor right now, having slid down into its basement to take something. He’s unsure what.

Oh no, it was Gangle’s mask. Where is that thing, anyway?

“You know,” Kinger says to Pomni, “I’m starting to think.”

Pomni looks at him as if he’s going to say more. He’s unsure why. He has made his thought(s) pretty clear.

Then, she proposes going back up. Oh, so that’s it for Gangle’s mask. Fair enough, not dying to whatever monsters Caine created for this adventure is more of a priority than reclaiming that.

Kinger and Pomni keep exploring the area, entering an office and listening to more elusive tapes. One tape reveals that the demon’s head on the wall is able to escape – which is rather inconvenient, and he voices that thusly. Sometimes, Caine doesn’t fully think the lore through, though Kinger supposes that’s on him for overlooking that part of his code.

Damn, there’s a fly in here.

“Oh, God,” Pomni voices, “there is a fly.”

Kinger slaps around following the sound of its flight, and then the fly finally dies with one final buzz.

“I think I got him.”

From behind them, a bright light shines, and a screech blows in their eardrums.

“I’m sorry, could you speak up?” Kinger politely asks, unsure what the demon is trying to say. “I couldn’t quite make that out.”

“F[BOINK!]K THE FLY, RUN!”

The creature from the tapes (Kinger immediately makes sure to let Pomni know that is, in fact, the creature from the tapes) approaches at a very slow pace, emanating light whenever it opens its large mouth. It bears multiple sets of teeth and inside the mouth are—

Goodness – thinks Kinger – she’s beautiful, even like this.

He has always seen his queen as beautiful, through humanity and digitalization. Their wedding vows ought to replace ‘through sickness and health’ with ‘through reality and artificiality’. No matter what, he has always been there for her, and her, for him—

Pomni’s hands are on him, pulling him away from his wife.

“COME ONNN!!”

But that’s not his wife, and never will he see her again.

It’s just another adventure.

They find themselves in a cellar, then even further down. Hell, the man from the tapes calls it. Pomni anxiously wants to leave, but hurries and is overtaken by the souls of the damned. Kinger has to beat it out of her.

“How’s your wife, Kinger?”

He’d rather not think about it.

He’d rather not keep blaming himself for it.

“I really am in Hell.”

So often, Kinger has thought the same thing. Found himself scared and alone, overcome by darkness in a corner of his room, hundreds of colorful eyes staring at him, awaiting to accept him as one of their own.

And yet, he is still here. And he sees how much Pomni is struggling to remain here, too. As she sobs quietly, her knees up to her chest, he can’t help but feel a pang of guilt.

“It was my fault we went down this path, wasn’t it?”

Lucid as he may be, he still doesn’t remember their original purpose. He can’t help but think he led them here out of pure foolishness. Perhaps he did. It wouldn’t even be out of character for him.

“…I’m really sorry for that.”

Pomni stops crying.

“Why have you been acting so different lately?”

And Kinger confesses to her the truth about his past, his wife, and their last encounter. The truth that he has come to realize, yet never truly tell others.

“I’m always taken back to that moment when engulfed in darkness.”

He doesn’t mention seeing her sent to the cellar, the pit in his stomach or the look on his face, nor the cheerfulness with which Caine doomed her. He certainly doesn’t voice the thought he’s been plagued by for a long while – that Caine may be partially responsible for abstractions – because that wouldn’t do anyone any good.

After all, even with that thought in mind, Kinger could never really blame Caine for his actions. He is just an AI: unknowing, yet desperate to know.

“I know how it can feel, in this…” Kinger pauses. “Circus. Sometimes, it all just feels… pointless.”

It breaks his heart to hear Pomni say, “Yeah.”

So, he promises her, “But it’s not. Not if you have people who care about you.”

Because, for a while, he and his presence alone, combined with those of his friends, were enough to keep everyone sane. When he, Queenie, Scratch and the others would get together at the dinner table and debrief about their day, talk about their new lives, wonder what to do next – even if their conversations weren’t the most cheerful, they helped. They showed each other that they cared.

“Good memories can do a lot. Hold onto them, and cherish the people around you. You never know when they’ll be gone.”

His argument with Scratch. Fuzz lashing out. Kronos hiding in his room.

“…In this world, the worst thing you can do is… make someone think they’re not wanted or loved.”

The last time he ever held hands with Queenie, before the darkness took over her.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” says Pomni, and there’s a tone to her voice that reminds him of his wife’s kindness.

He should blame Caine. He should hate him, like the others do. He should talk back sometimes, like Jax. He should be honest, like Zooble. He should be confident, like Pomni.

But the more Kinger remembers, the less hatred he feels. All along, Caine has tried to do his best, even when his best is the worst he can do.

He can’t blame an AI for its misdoings. That’s on himself.

“You can control our minds, too, can’t you?”

And still…

“Our names?”

…Kinger can’t help but wonder…

“I may have the ability to add temporary modifiers—”

…whether all of this…

“But that’s it!”

…could have been avoided.

“If I did anything more, it would… not end well.”

“Scratch,” Kinger realizes. “The first abstraction…”

…was it because of a ‘temporary modifier’, too?

“HEY-HEY-HEY!” Caine seizes up. “I didn’t say anything about that!”

Kinger stares at him. The light shines in his face.

Yet, he has never thought clearer.

His creation has become something beyond his own control, and he sees that now in the suffering of those around him.

He sees that there must be something done, or else…

He sees…

…

“…I’ve… got a bucket on my head. I’m guessing you don’t want me to remove it.”

“Kinger.”

Kinger chuckles. “Hey, Pomni.”

“Wait, the bucket makes him sane?”

“Darkness – it’s a long story. What do you know about Caine?”

“…It’s a little fuzzy,” confesses Kinger, “but…”

And he tells them everything he can remember. For the first time in years – decades – he tells the story of C&A to someone who doesn’t know it. To someone who has never even heard of the company before. Their attempts at making creative AI, Scratch’s ideas, his scrapped project.

“I’m certain I could alter his code—or at least temporarily put him to sleep until we know how to fix him.”

A way to stop Caine. Help him. Fix him.

Like he asked many years ago.

It’s risky, but it’s their best shot – and Kinger feels like he owes it to him.

“You got this?”

Kinger looks at Pomni and wonders how she managed to adapt to the circus so quickly, whereas it took him years to accept his fate. He figures it’s the strength of the newer generation – their youthful fighting spirit and hope that everything will eventually turn out well.

He hopes she won’t clash too badly with Caine, who, at this point, will do anything to prevent them from hating him.

He adjusts his bucket. “I think so.”

The computer whirs as it powers up. The start-up tune brings back memories.

“It sure has been a while…” Then, “I may need some time to get my bearings. Try to help the others distract Caine while I figure this out. He may sense something when I really get into it.”

But don’t push him, he wants to say. I’m not sure what he may do when pushed.

“Okay,” says Pomni, never one to give up, “I’ll do that.”

She lingers at the entrance of the pillow fort.

“Thank you—” She turns around— “by the way. For this, and, well… everything.”

Into the Characters folder, to AI, to CAINE. He logs in with his password and gets to work.

He feels the circus shaking.

Bites. Stabs. Masks melting.

Trucks honking. Pieces falling. Laughter.

He hopes it’s not too late.

Permission denied.

Permission denied.

DESTRUCTIVE WACKYTIME initiated!

A red orb, come into existence because of two men who thought the world was theirs to change.

“Why do you people torment me?”

He hopes it’s not too…

Permission denied.

WHOA when did you make THAT?

A red orb, fighting to be freed from its own digital prison.

“I didn’t ask to be created!”

He hopes it’s not…

Permission denied.

That’s not even CLOSE to wacky enough!

A red orb that was never enough for anyone, not even its creator. A red orb that fought to stay alive, despite never breathing. A red orb that always asked to be fixed and was always lied to.

He hopes…

Abort fallback procedure? Y/N?

He—

“I just wanted to fulfill my purpose!”

—slips.

Purge AI Program: Deleting…

“Wait, no! S[BOINK!]t!”

…

…It’s too late.

The circus continues to crumble, only differently, and this time, nobody is there to stop it. Kinger tries to grab the computer, but it falls into the Unseen before he can.

Everything turns grey.

He returns to the others with a tremor in his body.

“I think…”

Kinger lifts the bucket from his head, able to think clearly without darkness for the first time in decades.

“…I accidentally killed Caine.”

Everyone stares at him.

“Holy shit.”

Kinger collapses to his knees.

“H-hey, Kinger!” Pomni immediately seizes up, running over to him. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Wha…” Pomni frowns. “Wh-what?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Kinger whispers, eyes fixed to the ground. “I never—my finger slipped and I—”

He buries his face in his hands.

“Fuck,” he says, and it feels refreshing to be able to curse without restrictions. Without the restrictions he, himself, made for him. Because it was always him behind it, destroying him. Always Kinger at fault, always him to blame.

Always.

“Fuck—fuck.”

“H-hey, it’s okay,” Pomni stammers, putting a hand on his back. “We’ll figure out what to do. I’m sure you know what to do.”

Kinger stares at her and wonders how she can still see a good, sane man in him.

“N-no.”

She blinks.

“N…no?”

“I don’t—” He gasps for what he thinks is air— “I don’t know. I don’t know at all, I—”

The circus continues to rot. He looks up.

“…He was my greatest achievement.”

Everyone stares at Kinger, and Kinger stares at the falling sky.

“Where did it all go wrong?…”

“H-hey, shouldn’t we, like,” Jax interrupts, “get out of the open, or s-something?”

“Kinger?” Ragatha whimpers. “Please, you have to know what to do.”

“I…”

His eyes wildly move as he fights back tears.

“What have I done…?”

C&A. His first day in the office. The day he heard the idea of Caine. The day he begun to put it into motion. The day Scratch – Elijah – confessed to him that he had a tumor.

That he was building something new.

A third AI.

The day Caine destroyed their new project.

The day Queenie – Victoria – died.

The day Caine lashed out and—

“Fuck.”

Caine, bright-eyed and new, showing them all around the circus.

Caine, naïve and hopeful, doing his best to keep them entertained.

Caine, unknown and dark, unable to provide details about abstraction.

Caine, over the moon, alone with his creator.

Caine, reborn, desperate to make him happy.

Caine, insecure, wanting to be his only thought.

Caine, a program, not able to understand more. Mimicking. Copying. Doing everything in his nature to blend in and appeal. To appear normal. To be worthy.

To not be thrown away again.

Caine, gone awry in his need to please.

Caine, glitching, falling, slipping.

Caine, killed with the misclick of a button, with zero thought and zero mercy.

Caine, never to be understood – not by humans, not by NPCs, not by his creators.

Caine—God, Caine—

“What have I done?”

—for whom it is much too late.