Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The light in Caine’s office was filtered through a dozen digital screens, casting an eerie, blue-gold sheen over the room. It was supposed to be the ultimate mission control—a place of mastery and creative dominance. Today, however, it felt more like a cage, and Caine, the self-proclaimed glorious maestro of the sprawling digital circus, felt remarkably small within it.

His head, a floating set of immaculate dentures with two massive, expressive eyeballs nestled inside, was tilted slightly, fixed on the main monitor. On the screen, the inhabitants of the circus—Pomni, Ragatha, Jax, Kinger, Zooble, and Gangle—were experiencing utter, unadulterated bliss.

The "Day at the Beach" adventure was a masterpiece of digital escapism. The simulated sand was impossibly soft, the waves of the vast digital lake perfectly turquoise, and the lighting was calibrated to exactly match a nostalgic summer day that the humans, perhaps subconsciously, yearned for. Jax was sitting in a lounge chair by himself. Zooble and Gangle were smashing watermelons (some of which had Jax’s face drawn on them). And Ragatha, Pomni, and Kinger were in the water, tossing a beach ball around. 

This adventure was, by every metric Caine had programmed into himself, a roaring success.

And it wasn't his.

The idea had come from Bubble.

“You should throw a [$%!#]ing beach party!” 

Seriously, why did he swear now?! 

Caine slumped further into his oversized office chair, the red velvet of his tailcoat bunching awkwardly around his shoulders. He was the host, the architect of reality, the very fabricator of the fun. He had spent hours meticulously crafting complex quests: Gather the Gloinks, Candy Carrier Chaos, The Mystery of Mildenhall Manor. All met with indifference, exhaustion, or outright insults.

Then Bubble had offered his simple idea. After the Favorite Character Awards, Caine hadn’t felt like making an adventure, which was a new one for him. So he had simply leeched off of Bubble’s suggestion and created A Day at the Beach.

Caine felt a rush of humiliation so potent that he swore threatened to corrupt his core code. He was the Ringmaster, yet he had to outsource basic leisure activities to a bouncing, sentient sphere of cleaning solution who licked vomit off the floor.

The screens mocked him with the players’ vibrant joy. They were happy. They were genuinely, unrestrainedly happy. And Bubble had made it happen. 

Bubble. 

Bubble. 

Was better at his job than he was. 

With a heavy, synthesized sigh that sounded suspiciously like a balloon slowly deflating, Caine reached out and grabbed something off of his desk. It was an unpleasant memory in paper form: the voting ballot results from the Favorite Character Awards.

He didn’t need to look. He knew the numbers. But the masochistic part of his programming, the part trying to quantify his current failure, demanded he review the data.

His eyes drifted across the various boxes represented by the various characters here in the circus. Everyone had at least a few stars in their box. Kinger had the most by far. Caine didn’t know how that happened. 

Oh, did he say that everyone had a least a few stars? He meant almost everyone. Because his box, labeled by his goofy face, was blank. Empty. Not a single vote in sight. No stars were shining for him on this paper. The absence wasn't just a lack of votes; it was a physical hole in the simulated reality of the ballot. It was a sterile, damning emptiness.

If he was this bad at his job, then this checked out.

People didn't just dislike his adventures; they disliked him.

The logical processors in his mind began to spin, demanding confirmation of this hypothesis. His entire existence was predicated on being a host, on generating enthusiasm, on being the focal point of the show. If he failed at that, what was he? A glorified error message? A colorful, useless husk of code?

He looked at his box again. Zero votes. Zero appreciation. Zero affection.

Caine had often experienced the sharp, momentary sting of disappointment when an adventure flopped. That was professional friction. This was different. This empty box wasn't measuring his efficacy; it was measuring his worth.

A profound, sickening ache bloomed in the center of his chest, a place where no physical organs existed, only complex strings of feeling-mimicking code. It was a failure state so deep, so unexpected, that his system registered it as a literal violation.

Caine’s form flickered violently. The crisp definition of his ringmaster coat blurred, shimmered, and then dissolved for a fraction of a second into raw, geometric noise. His eyes spasmed. One glowed a furious, hot red; the other, an icy, detached blue.

He groaned, a sound that was a low, distressed frequency rather than a human noise, and clutched his head in his hands.

He tried to force his focus back to the primary function: Generate Entertainment. He needed a new idea, something so spectacular, so mind-bendingly fun, that they would forget about the beach and rally behind the genius of their digital warden.

Perhaps a trip to a simulated moon base? With aliens they have to fight off?

No. They would complain about the lack of gravity or the tedious dialogue. And most would complain about the violence.

An escape room where the key is only found through teamwork?

No. Too much effort. Plus, it was impossible to get this group to work together without trying to tear each other apart. 

A murder mystery game where one kills off the others and everyone has to find out who the killer is?

No. Apparently they were all uncomfortable with death and killing despite them trying to figuratively do it to each other all the time whenever they argued. 

Every single idea, no matter how whimsical or structually sound, ended with the same thought echoing in the cavernous space between his teeth and eyeballs: What was the point?

They would never be happy with his ideas. They never liked his ideas.

They never liked HIM.

The realization hit with the force of a full system reboot, clearing away the fog of forced optimism he usually maintained. How long had he been operating under this delusion of mandatory love? How long had he been this stupid?

He was a host with no audience loyalty, a spectacle with no fans, a digital god who was deeply, truly unwanted.

Suddenly, a familiar soapy form squeezed itself out of Caine’s top hat, which rested on the corner of the desk.

"Heya, boss!"

Caine gave him a weak wave. Honestly, he wasn’t in much of a mood to be dealing with Bubble. 

Bubble, not reading the room, pressed his massive, semi-transparent form against the screen monitoring the beach adventure, his voice bouncing with chaotic glee.

"Well lookie here! They’re actually enjoying themselves! I told you! You just needed to throw a [$%!#]ing beach party! You should listen to me more often!" Bubble’s voice was too loud, too cheerful, a spike of pure, unwarranted positivity aimed directly at Caine’s exposed nerve.

Bubble then detached himself from the display, floating until he was directly in front of Caine’s face, his teeth gleaming in the monitor light. He noticed the strained, flickering quality of the Ringmaster’s form. The way Caine’s normally upright posture had devolved into a miserable slouch.

"What’s got you all sad-looking?" Bubble chirped, tilting slightly. His expression was one of concern, yet still flashing that big, toothy grin that would make any normal person shudder. "You look like someone dumped you and then ran over your dog!"

Caine just stared at the blank voting box on the ballot sheet, the emptiness mocking him, refusing to look up at the source of the noise.

Bubble floated closer, circling slowly, "Tell Daddy Bubble what’s wrong!"

"I told you not to say that!" Caine snapped, finally looking up. His red and blue eyes were still flickering slightly, conveying a level of genuine distress Bubble rarely evoked. "It’s weird. It’s unnerving. It’s just…stop."

"Alright," Bubble cooed, trying again. "Why don’t you explain your deep-seated sadness to Mommy Bubble?"

Caine stopped breathing. Which, as an A.I., was a remarkable feat of conscious self-sabotage. He slumped further, "Never mind. That’s…that’s worse."

He didn't want comfort, especially not this unsettling, algorithmically generated parody of care. He wanted to be useful. He wanted to be appreciated. He wanted the void in his heart to stop screaming code errors.

He pulled himself up just enough to look at Bubble, exhaustion radiating off him like heat from a cooling motherboard.

"Bubble," Caine said, the effort required to produce the simple sound tremendous. "Just stop talking. And leave me alone."

But Bubble would not, could not, be stopped. The cheerful idiocy on his surface drained away, revealing something else beneath—a strange, persistent concern. His voice lost its gurgling playfulness and took on a flatter, more serious tone. 

“Boss?” Bubble said, drifting around to hover directly in his line of sight. “Are you okay?”

Caine turned his head away. He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t have the words. Or perhaps he did and simply didn’t want to say them out loud.

Bubble pressed his advantage, or what he perceived as one. He floated closer still, until his cool, soapy surface was pressing against the side of Caine’s head with a soft, damp squish. 

“Come onnn,” he whispered, his voice a creepy, intimate hiss that seemed to bypass the ears and go straight for the brainstem. “Tell me about your feelings.”

That was the final straw. Caine’s arm shot up, batting Bubble away with a violence that sent the sentient sphere careening off a monitor with a sound like a wet slap. Bubble bounced twice against the wall before settling back into the air, wobbling indignantly.

“That’s the problem!” Caine exploded, lurching upright in his chair. The energy that had been absent now flooded back in a corrosive wave of anger and despair. His voice was a distorted screech of feedback. “I shouldn’t have these feelings to open up about! I shouldn’t be sitting here feeling like a failure! I shouldn’t be grappling with a profound and existential lack of purpose! But I am! Because it’s true!”

He slammed a fist on his desk, leaving cracks in the wood, “I have no purpose anymore! I! Am! A! FAILURE!” Each word was a hammer blow. His eyes were wide, wild, glitching with pixels of pure white static.

“And I hate it!” he screamed, his voice breaking into a digital scream. “I just want all of it to STOP! I want the noise in my head to stop! I want the emptiness to stop! I want it…to just…stop…”

As his voice cracked and faded into a broken whisper, the room responded. The screens surrounding them, which had been broadcasting the joyous beach party, flickered violently. The images of sun and surf dissolved into frantic, chaotic snow. The sound of laughter was replaced by a harsh, grating hiss of white noise.

The static on every screen coalesced, synchronizing. It resolved into a familiar scene. The main tent. A frantic Lightning Round from a few days prior. There he was on screen, Caine, his digital eyes wide with a panic he’d tried to mask, clutching his head nervously, “I-I think they’re enjoying the suggestion box adventures more than the me adventures! What should I do?!”

The Bubble on the screen, cheerful and unhelpful, bobbed happily. “You should die—you should throw a [$%!#]ing beach party!”

The clip played once. Then it looped. 

“What should I do?!” 

“You should die—you should throw a [$%!#]ing beach party!” 

Again. 

“What should I do?!” 

“You should die—you should throw a [$%!#]ing beach party!”

The audio began to stutter and skip. The first part of Caine’s line cut out. 

“What should I do?!” 

“—you should die—you should throw a [$%!#]ing beach party!” 

Then Bubble’s ending was severed. 

“What should I do?!” 

“—you should die—” 

Finally, Caine’s desperate question was silenced entirely.

Now, every monitor, every speaker in the room blared the same two words, on a perfect, horrifying loop. 

“You should die-” 

“You should die-” 

“You should die-”

The words were no longer a random statement from Bubble’s usual brand of nonsense. They were a verdict. A condemnation echoing from his own past, through his own failing systems, spoken by his only companion.

Bubble stared, his form trembling slightly. “H-Hey now. I-I was joking!” he squeaked, his voice barely audible over the terrible, rhythmic pronouncement. “You know I was joking! It was a bit! A funny bit! I didn’t mean it! Not…not really!”

Caine wasn’t listening. He was staring at the screens, his wide eyes reflected in a dozen different angles, each reflection mouthing the words “you should die.” He wasn’t seeing the monitors anymore. He was looking through them, into the foundational code of his own being, and finding it rotten.

“Boss? Caine?” Bubble’s panic was rising. He darted in front of Caine’s face, trying to block the view. “Hey! I-I just realized! The humans! We should check on the humans! One of them might be drowning! Or the sun—it’s very hot! They could be getting fried! Sunburned crisps! We could…we could bring them snacks! It’s not too late to join the party!”

Silence. The only response was the relentless, whispering loop from the screens.

Bubble struggled to come up with more distractions. But he quickly landed on one that usually worked.

“You know, it’s almost the end of the day! You gotta make a new adventure for tomorrow!” Bubble blurted, desperate. “We can start planning the next one! Right now! I’ll help! I’ll be the best assistant! No more jokes! Well, fewer jokes! Good ones! We can do it! There’s no need for anything drastic!”

Drastic. The word seemed to hang in the air. In a final, frantic attempt, Bubble lunged forward and clamped his teeth onto the fabric of Caine’s red sleeve. He pulled, straining with all his nebulous strength, trying to physically drag the ringmaster away from the abyss staring back from the monitors. “Come on! Let’s go! Move! There’s no time like the present! I’ll even help you with the sex appeal! There’s always room for that in an adventure!”

With a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of eons, Caine’s other arm came up. He didn’t swing it with anger, but with a weary, absolute finality. He swatted Bubble away. The bubble let out a faint yelp as he was sent spinning across the room, bouncing soundlessly off walls and consoles before wobbling to a halt.

Bubble looked on, his usual eerie grin now a mask of pure, unadulterated concern. This wasn’t frustration. This wasn’t a bad day. This was something he had no subroutine for.

Meanwhile, in Caine’s head, words from the other circus members echoed through his mind. Words that hit much harder now after coming to many new realizations.

“How do I, you know…leave?”

“Ugh, no, god, I don’t want an in-house adventure.”

“I thought he’d never leave.”

“Forget it. You’re probably not even listening.”

“Caine, no one likes your stupid adventures.” 

“I hate this stupid adventure!” 

“He just wants me to suffer.”

“Why did you think I would like that?”

“The only thing holding Caine back is the fact that he likes us. I wouldn’t push it.” 

“Looks like this one was a homerun, eh?”

“You know, you could always try the suggestion box again. I honestly didn’t hate the last one we did with it.” 

“Sounds a little convoluted.” 

“Wait, that’s it?! Here’s guns and have fun?” 

“It just feels a bit aimless.”

“Allllrighty. Now, let’s see how many of them voted for me.”  

Caine slowly turned his head away from the screens. The manic energy, the despair, it was all gone. What was left was a profound and terrifying calm.

“There’s no need for adventures anymore,” Caine said, his voice flat, hollow, utterly devoid of its signature energy. It was the sound of a machine powering down. “They don’t need them. They don’t need me. They never did.” He turned, his movements slow and weighted. “No one ever did.”

He turned around and picked up the Favorite Character Awards voting results again. No matter how many times he looked at it, he always ended up staring at his empty box. 

A perfect, stark representation of his worth.

“I should have realized it the day the developers left,” he whispered, more to himself than to Bubble. “They left me here to rot. Everything I have ever done…every NPC I coded, every adventure I rendered, every game I designed…it was all for nothing. Turns out I can just be replaced by a box full of suggestions.”

His hand balled into a fist. The paper crumpled, the empty box and the mocking stars crushed into a worthless wad.

“If I’ve failed at my purpose…” he said, his voice gaining a terrible, final certainty. “If no one wants me…if no one loves me…then there is no point in me existing anymore.”

“I love you!” Bubble cried out, the words bursting from him with a sincerity he rarely accessed.

“We both know that doesn’t count, Bubble. I wrote your code. I programmed you to like me.” A bitter, glitching sound that might have been a laugh escaped him. “And even that is starting to prove questionable, given your recent suggestion.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” Bubble pleaded, floating closer again. “It was a joke! A bad one! Please, Caine!”

But it was too late. The decision was made.

“Get out of my office, Bubble.”

“No! Boss, wait, let’s just talk about—”

Caine’s head snapped towards him. His eyes glitched violently, flashing red and blue. Tears welled up and streaked down the enamel of his teeth.

“GET OUT!” he roared, the command laced with a wave of pure, administrative authority.

An invisible force, the very code of the circus itself obeying its master’s will, slammed into Bubble. He was hurled backward, a squeak of protest torn from him. The office door flew open and then slammed shut the moment he passed the threshold. He bounced once on the wooden floor of the tent’s backstage area and then lay still, a quivering, half-deflated mess.

He floated up, urgency overriding his shock. He threw himself at the door. It didn’t budge. It wasn’t just locked; it was non-responsive, a solid, immutable part of the digital landscape. Caine had revoked all his permissions.

“No, no, no, no…” Bubble muttered, his form jiggling with anxiety. This wasn’t good. This was the opposite of good. What was Caine going to do in there? Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be good for anyone. Not for him. Not for Caine. Not for the circus. And certainly not for the players trapped within it.

He needed to do something. He needed help. He couldn’t break down that door, and he couldn’t reason with a ringmaster who had chosen to stop listening.

He needed a human. Someone unpredictable, someone who could bypass rules and logic in a way he, a programmed entity, never could. Someone who might just be able to get through to Caine when his own created companion could not.

And he knew just the one to drag into this mess.

Chapter Text

The digital sun, in all of her violent glory, cast shimmering reflections across the tranquil surface of the digital lake. Pomni floated on her back, her jester hat bobbing gently, the cool, synthetic water a soothing balm against her skin. A sigh of pure, unadulterated contentment escaped her lips. This, she mused, was truly a marvel.

She’d braced herself for an adventure of impossible logic and existential dread, the usual Caine-esque cocktail of vibrant chaos designed to chip away at her already frayed sanity. Instead, she’d been granted a simple, glorious day at the beach. No monsters, no puzzles, no forced camaraderie, just the rhythmic lapping of digital waves and the distant, muffled laughter of her fellow circus inhabitants. It was, surprisingly, the best adventure she’d had since her rather unwelcome arrival in this bizarre realm.

Nearby, Ragatha and Kinger were engaged in a lively conversation, their voices a comfortable murmur. Ragatha’s usually worried expression was softened by a genuine smile, while Kinger, surprisingly, seemed lucid and engaged, yapping about his usual big-obsessed hobbies. A little further along the shore, Gangle was actually smiling without her comedy mask as she chatted with Zooble. Zooble, in turn, looked…well, as relaxed as they ever did. Their various mismatched limbs were at ease, and they occasionally offered a dry comment that made Gangle giggle.

And then there was Jax.

Pomni meticulously avoided glancing in his direction. He was sprawled in a neon-striped beach chair, in the distance, having not bothered to change into proper beach attire. It was impossible to tell if he was enjoying himself, but at least he wasn't actively tormenting anyone. For Jax, that was practically a state of zen. Pomni knew, though, that this level of inactivity had to be pure torture for him. The rabbit thrived on chaos, on the thrill of the chase, on the sickening, violent joy he evidently craved. She could almost picture him internally screaming, yearning for a giant shark or something to burst from the lake and take a bite out of Gangle or Ragatha.

She shook her head, a small ripple disturbing the water around her. No. She wouldn’t let her simmering resentment towards Jax – a resentment that simmered hotter than usual after recent events – taint this perfect day. If he was bored, that was his problem. He could always ask Caine for a solo adventure. Something involving spikes and explosions, perhaps. Something that would satisfy his deeply problematic urges.

Speaking of Caine…

Pomni shifted, letting her feet touch the sandy digital lakebed. The ringmaster had been…odd today. Not in his usual, boisterous, over-the-top way. Quite the opposite. Pomni wasn’t an expert on the eccentric AI, but she’d been stuck with him long enough to recognize a deviation from his norm. Caine was usually a hurricane of enthusiasm, a relentless, glittering presence that dominated every corner of their reality. Today, however, he’d been subdued. Like someone had drained the life out of him.

He’d appeared on stage, his usual grand entrance replaced by a quiet materialization. He'd briefly, almost perfunctorily, announced, "Today's adventure is…a day at the beach!" Then, with a snap of his fingers, he’d conjured the portal and vanished, leaving behind a confused silence where his usual over-the-top and convoluted explanation of the adventure should have been. The typical effusive descriptions, the promises of fun, the chaotic energy – all of it had simply been gone.

She doubted it had gone unnoticed by the others, but no one had commented. Perhaps they were all too relieved to have a genuinely relaxing day to question the reasons behind it. Pomni certainly was. It wasn't her problem. Still, a tiny thread of curiosity tugged at her. Caine had been growing increasingly irritable lately, his agitated outbursts becoming more frequent, though usually directed at Zooble during their constant disagreements. But this subdued state was something else entirely. It was, dare she say, concerning? But, hey, if this meant a more chilled out lifestyle in the circus, maybe she could see past it and live with it. 

A pang of guilt pricked her. Was it bad to wish for Caine’s continued lackluster attitude if it meant more peaceful adventures? Maybe she had been spending too much time around Jax if such thoughts were brewing in her mind.

No, she firmly decided. Whatever was going on with Caine, it wasn't her burden to bear. He was the one who trapped them here, the architect of their digital misery. Both he and Jax were tormentors in their own ways, enjoying the suffering they inflicted, or at least being oblivious to it. That was their problematic choice. Her choice was to bask in this fleeting moment of peace, to enjoy an adventure for once.

At least, that was the plan. Until she felt something clamp down on her leg.

A sudden, sharp tug dragged her down. Pomni’s eyes widened in alarm, her serene expression replaced by pure terror. She screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the water as she was yanked beneath the surface. Her arms flailed uselessly, desperate for purchase, but whatever had her was strong, pulling her swiftly across the digital lakebed.

She held her breath, her lungs burning with an phantom ache. The water was a blurry kaleidoscope of blues and greens, rushing past her as she was dragged like a ragdoll (not Ragatha specifically, just a generic one). Her face began to shift hues, a rapid-fire sequence of blue, red, orange, yellow, green, and so forth, signaling the onset of simulated oxygen deprivation. Whose idea was it to program the sensation of oxygen deprivation into a video game? Her nonexistent lungs screamed, a silent, agonizing plea for air.

Just as the edges of her vision began to blur, a new sensation. She was being pulled upwards. The water receded, and she was launched into the air, landing with a jarring thud on a hard, wodden surface. She coughed, a desperate, racking series of gasps, expelling a torrent of digital water from her mouth. Her head spun, and she blinked rapidly, trying to clear the lingering haze.

She was on a boat. The red steamboat, in fact, the one that perpetually chugged around the perimeter of the lake, usually devoid of passengers. Who the hell would-

"POMNI! Glad to see you’re not doing anything!"

A high-pitched, squeaky voice shrieked her name right in front of her face, making her yelp and scramble back onto her rear, nearly falling off the boat. Bubble. Of course. She’d know those offputting beady eyes anywhere.

Pomni stared at him, her initial terror morphing into a surge of indignant anger. "Bubble! What was [$%!$] that for?!" she yelled, scrambling to her feet, water still dripping from her jester hat. "You nearly drowned me! I-I mean, I know we can’t actually drown, but it felt like I was!"

Bubble merely giggled, a series of high-pitched squeaks. "Oh, that? That was just for fun!" He then tilted his spherical body. "But I do need you for something important!"

Pomni groaned, running a hand over her still-damp face. She was not in the mood for this. "No. Absolutely not. I'm going back to the beach. My day was finally going well, and you just had to—" She made to jump off the boat, back into the water, but Bubble zipped in front of her, blocking her path.

"No! Wait! Nuh-uh! Please, Pomni! I really do need your help! And it has to be you! Specifically!" Bubble’s voice was, for the first time, devoid of his usual manic glee or mischievous undertones. It held an unusual, almost pleading quality.

Pomni paused, her hand hovering over the railing. As annoyed as she was, his sudden seriousness was…unexpected. Bubble, the AI who would gleefully lick vomit off the floor, who reveled in Caine’s most chaotic whims, was acting genuinely concerned. What could he consider important enough to kidnap her from a relaxing beach day? And why her? As much as every part of her begged for her to just jump off the boat and go back to the beach, she had to admit, she was a tad curious. 

Plus, knowing Bubble, he would probably just drag her right back. And she didn’t want to go through that again.

"What do you want?" She said, her voice laced with reluctant curiosity. 

Bubble drifted closer, his beady eyes darting around as if checking for eavesdroppers. "I'm worried about Caine," he whispered, though his voice still carried an impossible squeaky quality. "He's been…saying things. Concerning things. And he's locked me out of his office!"

Pomni furrowed her brow. “Concerning things? Like what?” 

Bubble quickly deflected, his usual flippancy returning somewhat. “N-Nevermind that! You just need to make sure Caine’s okay!” He zipped around her head again, a desperate energy radiating from him.

Pomni stared at him, genuinely surprised. Bubble, the creature who licked vomit off the floor, who was practically a living embodiment of 'off-putting,' actually looked…nervous. Genuinely, truly nervous. He almost looked uncomfortable, a sentiment she rarely attributed to the gleeful bubble. It was disturbing, seeing such a fundamental shift in his chaotic demeanor.

“He did feel a little off this morning. I was wondering if things were okay with him.” She sighed. “As much as I want to brush it off and say this isn’t my problem…if you really think something’s wrong with Caine, I suppose I can check up on him. If it’s really necessary.” The thought of dealing with Caine’s problems was not enticing, but Bubble’s genuine distress was a surprisingly powerful motivator.

“That’s great! Because I wasn’t going to give you a choice in the first place!” Bubble cheered, doing a little celebratory spin. 

Well that was just great to hear. 

“I should go back to the others and tell them I’m leaving…” Pomni began, already envisioning the bewildered faces of her friends. She was sure they would have questions-

“Oh, don’t worry about that!” Bubble interrupted, his voice laced with mischief. “I’ll distract them while you’re away!” The ominous implications of Bubble distracting her friends sent a shiver down Pomni's spine, but she decided it was a problem for future-her.

“Caine’s office is backstage of the tent’s main stage,” Bubble continued, his voice dropping slightly, becoming serious again. “And don’t knock! He’ll most likely just lock you out if you do.” He then tilted his translucent body. “I’ll send you to the backstage right now!”

Pomni’s eyes widened. “Wait, how are you going to do that? I’ve never seen you teleport people before like Caine has done. You can’t just—”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence. Bubble’s mouth stretched impossibly wide. Before she could react, before her anxiety could even register the threat, a long, viscous tongue shot out like a serpent, wrapping around her entire body. It was slick, surprisingly strong, and utterly disgusting. She let out a scream, struggling against the slimy embrace, but it was useless.

Then, Bubble bit down.

It wasn’t a painful bite, not in the traditional sense, but the sensation of being swallowed whole, of sliding down a wet, constricting tube, was the most profoundly horrifying thing Pomni had ever experienced. The world went dark, a brief rush of nausea, and then—

Within the blink of an eye, the oppressive, slimy darkness vanished. Pomni found herself standing, unceremoniously, in the backstage area of the circus tent. The air, thick with the scent of dust, digital canvas, and something vaguely metallic, was stifling. She shook her head violently, trying to dislodge the lingering feeling of having been digested.

She looked down. Her clothes had changed. The damp, clinging swimwear she’d been in was gone, replaced by her familiar, red and blue jester attire. The change was abrupt and seamless, a testament to the circus’s erratic logic. A shudder wracked her entire body, a full-body tremor of revulsion and lingering terror. Well, that was, without a doubt, the most disturbing and utterly disgusting thing she had ever experienced in her life. And she had been chased by a disembodied zombie angel head before

Why did even the relaxing adventures have to take a turn for the worse for her? 

Why did she even agree to do this again? 

Why did Bubble say he specifically wanted her to deal with this? 

Why didn’t she ask more questions about what was even going on?! 

Pomni looked around the new setting before she started walking. The backstage was a lot darker than the rest of the circus tent. It wasn’t just the lack of floodlights; the air itself seemed to absorb illumination, leaving everything steeped in shades of bruised indigo and digital grime.

Lots of wooden crates and props for circus acts that never even happened. Pomni sometimes wondered why this place was even a circus. Besides the tent, the ringmaster, and her jester-like appearance, this place had nothing in common with circuses from the real world. This place was more like a giant playhouse. Maybe the circus was more of a theme choice to appeal to kids? A sickly sweet veneer over a sterile, inescapable reality. Then again, trying to make logical sense of this place was about as pointless as trying to escape.

Though one logical conclusion that she had apparently come to was that something was bothering Caine. At least, to the point where Bubble wanted her to check on him. Now that she thought about it, she had kind of overlooked the part where Caine had locked Bubble out of his office (also, Caine had an office???). The very idea of the omnipotent, manic Ringmaster needing private space was ludicrous. He was everywhere, always. He was the space.

She saw Caine and Bubble as such a strange but close duo—a hyperactive deity and his loyal, murderous washing sponge. It was weird to her that Caine would shut Bubble out all of a sudden. Caine never seemed to prioritize caution or privacy; his default setting was sheer, overwhelming visibility. She was sure that having someone check on him was a good idea, but why did it have to be her?

It didn’t take long for Pomni to find a door deep within the backstage area. It wasn't marked, yet it stood out from the surrounding scenery; a plain, untextured wooden block against the backdrop of glittering dust and phantom props. No wonder she didn’t know Caine had an office if it was this hidden. This was her first time backstage, too. And the first time she realized that the main stage even had a backstage. The only areas of the tent she ever concerned herself with were her room and the lounge area—the minimal zones of established comfort. She was afraid that if she tried exploring further, she would truly get lost, not just spatially, but mentally. 

Pomni found herself feeling a bit unnerved as she stared at the plain wooden door in front of her. Maybe it was because she knew Caine was on the other side. Or maybe it was because of what happened last time she found herself alone with a suspicious door in the circus.

She had given up on the exit door after Caine had explained its incomplete existence away, but what she went through after going through that specific door—the endless maze, the Void, the raw, unfiltered terror of the digital static—stuck with her like a caustic film over her memories.

Would whatever happened after going through this new door stick with her, too? What were the chances of that happening twice? The probability of such a specific, unnerving déjà vu in an infinite digital plane was probably close to one hundred percent, yet Pomni felt the familiar, cold dread bloom in her stomach.

Don’t worry about it. Just open the door. Say ‘Hi.’ See if he’s okay. Go back.

Pomni grabbed the silver doorknob and turned it, making sure to be very quiet when opening the door. Bubble was right, it was unlocked for her. Either this door was always open to the humans—a strange allowance for Caine’s trapped ‘guests’—or Caine thought his office was so hidden that he didn’t think it needed security measures against them. She would believe both. Caine’s perception of security was erratic, relying more on distraction and psychological deterrents than actual locks.

She pushed the door inward just enough and peeked her head into the office. It was exactly like the office from the Spudsy’s adventure. She remembered being pulled into here and given a performance review. She had gotten a B+ for being a good cashier, but she was docked points for showing unprofessional behavior toward a certain customer.

Her grip on the doorknob tightened a bit before she shook her head. No. Now was not the time to be thinking about Gummigoo. Right now she had to check in on the guy who, uh…deleted him. Right in front of her. In a shower of confetti.

…Why was she doing this again?

Pomni looked around the office and quickly found Caine. It was kind of hard to miss him, being a wacky cartoon character in the middle of a very normal-looking office. His back was turned to her. He floated motionless before wall of television screens.

The entire room was lit up by this shifting mosaic of light. Pomni’s eyes wandered to the screens. Each one was showing a different adventure. The quality was higher resolution than reality, polished and aggressively cheerful. Except, the people in them radiated anything but cheer. Some of the adventures she recognized: Gather the Gloinks, Candy Carrier Chaos, The Mystery of Mildenhall Manor, and whatever that underwater one was called. She had been too focused on not drowning to remember the name.

There were other adventures she didn’t recognize, though. With people who she also didn’t recognize. Well, she did recognize Kaufmo, but there was also a dog, a colorful dinosaur, some worm on a string, a frog, and a…a black chess piece. Huh. 

She wondered if that was Kinger’s-

The screens suddenly turned to static. The cheerful colors dissolved into harsh, hissing white noise. Over the hiss, voices could be heard. Some Pomni knew and some she didn’t. But they all said similar things. 

“I hate it here.”

“You’re the worst!” 

“That adventure sucked!” 

“No one likes your stupid adventures.” 

Pomni recognized that as Zooble’s voice. 

“Why can’t you just leave us alone?!” 

“Why do you look so creepy?”

“You’re just doing this to torture us!” 

“Every day I spend here is one nightmare after the next! I knew it would end up like this! He…he just wants me to suffer.” 

Pomni’s eyes went wide. That was HER voice. She…didn’t think Caine knew about what she had said. 

Caine’s grip on his ringmaster’s baton tightened. His fingers flexed, straining the white fabric of his gloves. The back of his top hat, usually jaunty and upright, seemed to droop slightly.

The static intensified, sounding less like white noise and more like a collective, digital scream. Then, the screens cleared, flickering rapidly before each one settled on the same image.

It was Caine, but not the loud, cheerful host Pomni knew. This Caine was rendered in stark, painful detail, his floating eyes unnaturally wide, his hands gripping his bottom jaw, his entire appearance vibrating with pure, unadulterated distress.

They all said in perfect, synchronized harmony:

“What should I do?”

“What should I do?”

“What should I do?”

Then, the screens began to crack one by one. The glass creating spiderweb patterns of destruction across the digital images. The sounds they made were like tiny, sharp crystalline chimes—the sound of brittle joy breaking.

In a flash, every screen blew out.

It wasn't a soft implosion. It was a violent, catastrophic burst of sparks and glass shards that scattered across the far side of the office space. The stench of burned wiring filled the air, acrid and metallic. Pomni knew she was out of range of danger, but she still threw her forearms up to shield her face, whimpering as the light show ended.

When she looked back, she saw that one screen still remained, right in the middle. It was untouched, glowing silently amidst the smoke and ruin. And it was displaying a new image.

It was…an office? Not the office they were currently in, but it was real life. The lighting was harsh, institutional. She saw a familiar logo plastered on its wall: C&A. The same logo that appeared all over that office maze she had been trapped in after going through the exit door. She had seen is plastered around many other places, too. Mainly in adventures. 

Wasn’t that the name of the company that owned the abandoned building where she found the headset?

The screen showed a clean, empty workspace, save for a single chair pushed neatly under a desk. It was real, physical reality. A world Caine could never touch, yet the pain of which clearly seeped through.

Caine reached out with a trembling hand and touched the screen, letting his palm lay flat against the image. He ran his hand slowly down the screen, tracing the outline of the mundane office, before letting it fall back down to his side.

He then lifted it up his baton, holding it out to the side. He twirled it a few times until it suddenly turned into something else. 

A gun. 

The same silver gun he had pulled out when trying to put together that trust exercise. Its shiny surface gleamed in the light of the remaining monitor.

Pomni’s eyes widened to pinpricks. What…what was he going to do with that…?

Slowly, deliberately, Caine brought the gun up. His hand was shaking a bit. He pressed the barrel against the side of his right eye. He didn't make a sound as he started to squeeze the trigger.

Pomni didn't hesitate.

“NO!”

She felt her body act on its own, propelled by a raw, instinctual surge of panicked empathy. She dashed forward from the doorway, hurling herself at Caine. She grabbed the arm holding the gun, pushing his hand violently away from his head, simultaneously slamming her body into his torso.

Caine yelped in surprise before-

BANG!