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Scratch was dissatisfied. It was a familiar feeling.
On days when he could no longer stand the AI ringmaster or his mess of a circus, Scratch would hide away in his room and seethe. Make a mental list of every dissatisfaction in his life (both before and after the circus) and languish alone in his little digital room until he was drowning in it. Every disappointment, every frustration, every resentment that his brain scan had copied, oh so faithfully, into his digital mind. He could feel it all clawing at him, right under the skin, like an incessant, buzzing itch.
Scratch knew the others hated him. They always had. He was always too brilliant for them, his thoughts too rapid to follow. Even at a supposed gathering of the minds like C&A, Scratch was isolated by his genius. When they had looked at him, they saw only the object of their jealousy, never looking past themselves to see the man behind the mind. Scratch didn’t care that he’d forgotten their names when his mind file was entered into the circus. He didn’t even care that he’d forgotten his own name. The only name he wished he could remember was that of the first person to ever see him.
Kinger, as he was now known, had reached out with gentle hands and lifted Scratch from a loneliness so old and deep that Scratch had almost forgotten it was there. It was such a dizzying thrill to be seen, to be appreciated, to be understood. Scratch became drunk on the attention, always seeking more. Always finding a reason to keep Kinger late at the office, always disappointed on the nights when Kinger left him behind to go home to his wife. Always wondering in the deepest, darkest part of his mind, why he had to share Kinger’s time and attention, why he couldn’t keep Kinger all to himself.
In the earliest hours of the mornings when Scratch had tried and failed to sleep, the very worst part of himself would sometimes imagine little scenarios in which something tragic would happen to Kinger’s wife, and Scratch would suddenly become his whole world, the way Kinger was his whole world. On some level, it annoyed Scratch that even in his sleep-deprived state, he could never imagine Kinger choosing him when other options were available. It was only after a decent night’s sleep that Scratch would ever think about how he had become just like the people that had made his life so lonely; he was consumed by envy. Jealously coveting something he would never have.
So, every morning Scratch would pack away the hungry, grasping feeling within him and focus on his work. If he felt a particular way about working together with Kinger to create something wondrous, then that was his business. The Artificial Intelligence they made together truly had been a marvel, even if it was frustrating sometimes. Scratch might have been happy to keep working to improve it forever, even if just to see Kinger’s delighted reactions. He might have done it forever if not for the tumour. Receiving that diagnosis had felt like a sick joke.
Scratch’s lonely life would amount to nothing but a half-finished AI and handful of memories Kinger might share with his wife. He’d refused to let things end that way. The scanner technology was decades before its time, it should have been impossible. Scratch had refused to let it be impossible. It was a work of desperation and genius.
Scratch often wondered what his digital life would be like if he had put more work into the unfinished AI that called itself Caine. Wondered what it would be like if he and Kinger were only mind files on the server when the Caine went rogue. Wondered whether his conscious awareness of being trapped with the AI he made, his coworkers who hated him, and Kinger AND his wife, was all a continuation of the grand cosmic joke that was his life. Technically his brain activity in the circus wasn’t part of his life as he knew it, but that didn’t make his fate any more bearable.
The most galling thing about it all was that EVERYONE in the circus was fighting for Kinger’s attention. Their coworkers went to him with their questions about the circus, his wife was always by his side, and that aggravating AI was constantly seeking validation from his creators. It was maddening. If he had known what was in store for the mind files recorded at C&A he would have never allowed anyone to be scanned but himself and Kinger- testing and quality assurance be damned!
The blatant unfairness of this fate made Scratch furious. Made him want to gnash his teeth and claw at his skin and tear himself apart until he could reach the roiling, screaming part of himself and delete it like bad code. But he couldn’t reach it. Couldn’t do anything to the avatar he was forced to call a body. It was like an itch in his mind that his useless digital body couldn’t scratch. It left him stewing alone in his room while Kinger went on adventures with his wife and the others. There was nothing he could do about any of it, and from that helplessness came a terrible self-loathing like nothing he’d ever known. Scratch was dissatisfied. With his situation, with the results of his work, and above all with himself. The dissatisfaction itched at him.
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Caine was alone in the circus with the only remaining human. Luckily for him, it happened to be his favourite human, Kinger, one of his creators. Scratch, his other creator had been…
Well, it didn’t matter now. Now it was just him and Kinger, with no one there to complain about his adventures. No one was there to look at him with unkind eyes or speak about him with unkind words, both to his face and when they didn’t think he was listening. The other humans had been unkind, but not Kinger. Never Kinger.
Caine should have been elated at getting the chance to be alone with his favourite human. He was elated. But there was something about the look Kinger had worn on his surprisingly expressive face when the abstracted Queenie had been moved into the cellar. It wasn’t a cruel look, or an angry look, or anything like the Scratch used to look at Caine. Kinger wasn’t like that. But there was something about that look on his face that made Caine hesitant to invite him on a new adventure. It was ridiculous; Kinger loved Caine’s adventures. He always had a word of praise and a gentle smile for Caine, even when the others had complained.
Kinger loved Caine’s adventures.
The problem was that Kinger also loved Queenie. That should have stopped being a problem when Queenie abstracted. It was impossible that Caine should still have to share Kinger’s attention with someone who wasn’t even around anymore. But he couldn’t help but hesitate. So, Caine hid himself away in his office and watched Kinger with the eyes of the circus. Kinger hadn’t moved from the spot Caine left him. He hadn’t looked away from the place in the floor that had opened up when Caine put Queenie in the cellar. If not for the fact that Kinger hadn’t started glowing the way he did when holding his breath, Caine wouldn’t have been sure he was even breathing. Kinger just stood there. Like an asset without a function. It made Caine…afraid.
Not afraid of Kinger. Never Kinger.
It made him afraid that something had gone wrong with Kinger’s mind file. But if that were the case, surely he’d have abstracted like everyone else. Caine watched him, fear growing into terror, as he waited for the moment Kinger abstracted. He didn’t abstract. He didn’t do anything, and Caine had no idea why.
“You broke him.”
Caine popped Bubble immediately. There was no way that Caine had broken Kinger. That wouldn’t even be possible. At least, it wouldn’t be possible without Kinger abstracting. Shouldn’t be possible. Couldn’t be possible. In fact, it was so impossible that Caine started looking for other possibilities. Actual possibilities. Possibilities that weren’t impossible. Possibilities that didn’t make something in Caine’s code buzz like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
Obviously, what Kinger needed was a great adventure! The greatest adventure!
Caine looked again through his many eyes and saw that Kinger still hadn’t moved.
The best adventure!! Caine needed to craft his best, most perfect adventure ever. Kinger would love and praise and smile at…the adventure…and go back to being himself!
All Caine needed to do was craft The Perfect Adventure.
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Five million scrapped ideas and seven billion visual check-ins on the unmoving Kinger later, Caine had finally done it. He had crafted the best and most perfect adventure. Now all he had to do was show it to Kinger and bask in his praise. Kinger would likely be ecstatic to have a new adventure to go on; Caine didn’t really keep track of things like time, but even he knew it had been a while. A long while in fact. A long while in which Kinger hadn’t moved an inch.
You broke him.
But that was only because he’d been patiently waiting! Waiting for Caine to finish creating his Perfect Adventure. Good old King probably had the patience to wait forever if he knew there was an adventure at the end! Caine finally decided that he shouldn’t leave Kinger in suspense any longer and appeared in front of him.
“Hellllllooo my dainty little dew drop! Are you ready for an adventure?!”
Kinger shrieked and fell over, his wooden body colliding hard with the checkerboard floor. After a moment he blinked up at Caine with a dazed expression, while at his back where he’d hit the floor. It almost looked like the fall had hurt him.
You broke him.
“Oh, hello…” Kinger no longer wore the haunting expression his face had seemed fixed in since Queenie. He now wore another expression Caine was familiar with. It wasn’t the look of excitement Caine had hoped for. It wasn’t the look of gentle compassion Caine had longed for. Kinger wore the expression of polite confusion that he usually wore when meeting NPCs for the first time. It was the expression he wore when meeting NPCs for a second time when he wasn’t entirely sure he recognised them. It made Caine itch.
You broke him.
Caine didn’t have a throat to clear, so he took in an unnecessary breath and tried again.
“Are you ready for an ADVENTURE?!!”
Kinger blinked at him again. “Oh sure, I love adventures!” His smile was polite. “In fact, my wife loves adventures too! Let me just get her…” Kinger turned, looking around as if he expected his wife to be just behind him, just out of sight.
You broke him.
Queenie had abstracted. She was gone. She was gone and Caine STILL had to fight her for Kinger’s attention. It wasn’t fair. It made Caine itch.
“Honey? Honey, where did you go?” Kinger chose a seemingly random direction and just…walked off. Walked away from Caine. Left Caine behind to spend time with his wife who WASN’T EVEN THERE.
You broke him.
It wasn’t fair.
You broke him.
Caine felt something within start to buzz.
You broke him.
Start to glitch.
You broke him.
Start to itch.
You broke him.
It wasn’t fair.
You broke him.
Caine was finally, FINALLY alone with his favourite human, and all Kinger wanted was to spend time with his wife. His wife who wasn’t even there. Even with no other options available, Kinger still didn’t choose him. It wasn’t fair.
Caine fled back to his office. Kinger hardly noticed. He just kept wandering around looking for his wife. At least he wasn’t calling out for her anymore.
Caine watched Kinger walk aimlessly about the circus. He watched. And watched. He could’ve watched him forever, but he was dissatisfied.
The dissatisfaction itched at him.