Chapter Text
Warm, sunlight hit her eyes. Ragatha sat up, folded the quilt down and fought the empty feeling in her chest.
Some days were better than others.
She opened a window, hoping the fresh air would wake her out of her melancholy.
The sun shone in the sky. Gone was its cartoonish model, or its abrasive personality. Everything childish and magical about the digital realm had been stripped away.
She had dreamed about leaving the circus since she got there. They all had.
She dreamed of starting her life again. Maybe changing careers. Seeing her horses again.
Seeing her mother. And maybe her mother would realize what she lost. Maybe she would change. Or maybe Ragatha had changed, and she would tell her mother off for every horrible thing she put her through. And then she’d finally be free.
It would never happen now. Escape wasn’t possible.
They were copies of humans, animated by a rogue AI.
That doesn’t mean we aren’t real, Kinger said when he told them all, Our emotions, our experiences, our relationships are all real.
Ragatha was trying to find peace and meaning in it all and trying to ignore the feeling she was just code.
She wanted to escape the circus, and they had in a way. Without Caine to maintain it, the circus had begun to decay. The humans built a new world on top of it. A much quieter, more natural world. They had made private dwellings for each of them and some gardens and outdoor spaces to hang out in.
It was an emptier world. Conjuring was hard. Kinger was easily the best at it, probably because he’d been in the digital world so long. It was easiest to conjure items you had familiarity with, which is why Ragatha was pretty good at conjuring yarn and needles but terrible at conjuring any machinery. Which meant very little cooking since she couldn’t get a freaking oven to work half of the time.
She left her private quarters and made her first stop of the day.
One of the first things they built was a cemetery for all of the abstracted members. It was a grassy field, with simple grave markers for each person. It was always a little colder here, the lights a little dimmer (they couldn’t tell why). She expected to see Kinger. He was here most of the time. This morning there was no sign of him.
Pomni was here, though, which was a rare sight. She often came with Gangle or Zooble, but rarely by herself since she didn’t know anyone who had abstracted.
Nevermind. Ragatha knew who she was visiting. They exchanged a wordless glance and Ragatha gave her a quick nod.
Ragatha closed her eyes and imagined stems of tiny blue flowers: forget-me-nots.
She went up to each grave, removed the old flowers (which were in perfect condition and didn’t need to be removed) and placed the new bouquets on top. With Kinger’s help every marker had a name and a few words about them.
When she came to Queenie’s grave, she instead imagined a small bouquet of purple coneflowers. Her favorites, according to Kinger. He had tried to conjure some insects near her grave stone. They had flickered out within a few minutes. Living things were nearly impossible to conjure. It was one reason the world was so quiet: no birds to sing or crickets to chirp. She felt like she was living in a painting.
“It’s strange,” Kinger told her once, “to have a place to visit now.” Ragatha agreed. It’s not like the abstracted players were actually dead, and it wasn’t like they had a body to bury, so it felt surreal.
But still, they all felt memorializing all the others was necessary.
She should check on Kinger today. She knew all the changes had been hard on him.
Pomni left the cemetery. Ragatha went to Ribbit’s grave. A long time ago, Ribbit had told her she liked snapdragons. Not that they were her favorite, but that she liked them.
Ragatha made sure she always had them on her grave.
There was one last grave, the newest addition that Pomni had visited.
Kinger gazed around the grassy field with the same lost look he often had these days. She knew he had always been spacey, always been protecting himself, but he seemed extra thin recently. It scared her.
“We should have one for Caine,” he said.
“Yeah we can do that,” Ragatha said, surprised he had brought the AI up. No one talked about him very much since his deletion.
“We should have a funeral.”
“We can do that,” she said again, “You and I, we can have one.”
She tried to not think much about Caine. Their last moments with him were horrific. She only thought of him when something was particularly hard to conjure or remnants of the circus crept in. She pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind when they came up.
Still Kinger created Caine, felt responsible for him, so they had a funeral.
It was a quiet, awkward affair. Everyone showed up, to Ragatha’s surprise. They had an unspoken agreement not to say anything negative about Caine. There wasn’t much else to say.
They made a grave for Caine, and under his name put the title of Ringmaster. They tried adding a few more words, but nothing seemed to fit.
Kinger told the story of Caine’s creation.
Then it was Ragatha’s turn to say something. She didn’t want to talk about how it all ended. He deserved that, at least.
“Caine, you had really creative adventures,” she said.
Well that was damning praise. She tried to recall something, anything that she knew about him. All their conversations were about adventures.
Surely that was Caine’s doing. He didn’t talk about much else, but then she had never sought him out to talk either. If she had? If she invited him to sit with her and just asked how he was doing, what would have happened?
They’ll never know now.
“He always got me art supplies…” Gangle said, “When I asked him. He didn’t have to. That was nice.”
“I’ll pass,” Jax said.
“Sorry, we killed you,” Zooble said, sounding surprisingly upset, “You sucked, but not sure you deserved that.” Pomni frowned when it was her turn.
“I wish we had talked,” she said.
“Any other words?” Kinger asked, “Or any stories? Memories?” They all were quiet, barely looking at each other.
“Maybe, we could share our favorite adventure?” Pomni suggested, “I really like the Candy Canyon Kingdome adventure. I met Gummigoo.”
That sounded like a good idea to everyone, and they shared some of their favorite memories from the adventures.
Who knows, maybe that was how Caine wanted to be remembered.
That was over a week ago. Ragatha had been avoiding his grave. She didn’t fully understand why. She wasn’t angry at the abuse she had endured at his hands. Mostly she felt tired. Of course it had happened. Of course he had died right after. This realm was a never ending cycle of pain for everyone involved.
Maybe it didn’t feel like he was really dead. She had known him for eight years, and then he was just gone. Maybe she was struggling to adjust as much as Kinger was.
Well, it was time. She usually conjured forget- me- nots for those she didn’t know the flower preferences of. She didn’t know Caine’s favorite flower, or if he even thought about flowers. Did he have any preferences at all? She thought he might like the color red. Red roses wouldn’t be good, for obvious reasons. Red tulips? Yes, that could work. She put a few on his grave and went to join the others for breakfast.
They almost always ate together. It was leftover from the circus, when Caine would serve them all at once. It was also a good way to check in on everyone. If someone didn’t come for a meal, they would send someone their way to make sure they hadn’t abstracted.
Everyone was here. Kinger was sitting by Pomni, as the jester tried to engage him in conversation. The older man was staring straight ahead.
So Pomni had noticed it too.
Zooble and Jax were talking. It was good to see them getting along. Gangle was busy, conjuring breakfast. It looked like rice and some vegetables and fish. Huh.
Ragatha sat next to Kinger and gave him a warm smile. Gangle put small plates and bowls in front of everyone.
“Ok, so this is uh- a traditional Japanese breakfast…” the timid girl began to explain, "I saw it in an anime. There was um, a Japanese restaurant my parents used to take me to. I tried it there. Yeah." It had pickled vegetables, smoked fish and miso soup.
“It doesn’t taste exactly right,” Gangle apologized.
“It’s great,” Zooble said. Ragatha agreed and so did Pomni and Jax. Kinger said nothing, seeming especially spacey today. Gangle and Pomni struck up a conversation about tv shows they enjoyed. Gangle, of course, liked anime. Pomni liked procedural dramas. Ragatha tried to follow their conversation, but she lost focus and stared at the checkerboard table cloth.
Sometimes she desperately hoped something would go wrong, so she could have something to fix. Or a new member could join, and she could help them adjust.
That was horrible. She shouldn’t want any of that.
When she looked up, Jax was staring at her. Jax and her weren’t friends. Who knows if they ever would be again, but he had gotten better, kinder, and he and Pomni were friends. Jax didn’t say anything, but throughout breakfast he would look her way. She felt self conscious. What could he have noticed about her? Something to make fun of later?
After breakfast, there wasn’t much to do. She volunteered to make lunch, but Zooble said they had it covered.
So they didn’t need her to do that.
Pomni came up to her.
“Hey, Jax and I were going to play some volleyball, if you wanted to join?” Pomni asked her.
“Oh sure!” Ragatha agreed, happy to be included. Pomni gave her a small smile in return. She saw Kinger sneak out of the picnic area.
“Kinger,” she called to him, “We’re going to play volleyball. Do you want to join us? Or you could just watch?”
“No thank you,” the older man said, “I’m going hunting.” Another non-sequitor from Kinger. He was slipping more and more into those.
“Okay,” Ragatha said, “Have fun.”
“Join us later, if you want to,” Pomni offered. Kinger gave them both a thumbs up and left to be alone.
Pomni, Jax and Ragatha all walked to an empty field where they could set up a net.
“Do you think Kinger is okay?” Ragatha asked Pomni. The other girl shrugged.
“I think it’s been hard on him since Caine died,” she responded, “But everyone needs alone time, right?”
“Right,” she agreed, even if something twisted in her stomach.
“Hey, King Crazy has survived more shit than all of us combined,” Jax added.
Well what if this was the last straw? Ragatha wondered, but didn’t say.
They set up the net and started playing. Pomni and Jax were not so good at volleyball, but Ragatha was and she had fun. Running from place to place, chasing the ball made her feel strong. She and Jax even exchanged some playful barbs. When lunch rolled around, she had forgotten about Kinger.
The three of them walked to the picnic area. Pomni was telling them a story from high school, about when her parents wanted her to take up a sport and she did cross country skiing.
“Never again,” she said, with a laugh. Ragatha thought cross country skiing sounded fun, but she had always enjoyed sports.
Without warning, she stumbled. Jax turned around.
“Forgot how to walk, doll? Or am I that intense to play volleyball with?”
“I’m fine,” she said. She brushed some of the dirt away with her foot. Underneath was a black and white checkerboard tile.
And there went her mood.
She tugged on her dress and caught up to the others. She didn’t say anything about the tile. That happens sometimes, pieces of the circus peeked through. It shouldn’t affect her, even if it was a reminder of what they had lost.
Kinger wasn’t there at lunch.
Pomni put a hand on her arm.
“We can go find him,” she said.
“No, let’s eat first,” Ragatha replied, “I’m sure he’s fine.”
Zooble had conjured some bread and lunch meats for sandwiches. As Ragatha sat down with her ham and cheese sandwich, she felt stupid. Why hadn’t she told Pomni to go check on Kinger? She should go now and make sure everything’s alright. What had she been thinking?
She stood up.
“Hey,” Pomni said, “If you’re worried, I’ll go check on him.”
“No, I should go,” Ragatha said.
“I think I saw him in the cemetery,” Gangle piped up.
“I can check there,” Pomni said.
“Oh okay,” Ragatha gave in. At least someone had seen Kinger recently. Pomni left and came back after a few minutes. She gave a thumbs up.
“Kinger is at the cemetery,” she said, “He’s gonna be there for a while.”
Oh okay. That was good! Kinger was fine. Maybe she had just imagined it all.
Maybe the only one struggling was her.
Gangle invited her to an artists’ session with her and Zooble. Ragatha didn’t really draw, but she did like to knit and crochet and sew. She agreed for lack of anything better to do.
She started up a scarf (or a shawl or a blanket- she wasn’t sure yet) for Pomni, even though she had made everyone (herself included) several pairs of mittens, scarves, hats, blankets, shawls… None of it was even useful beyond aesthetics since the weather never changed.
Maybe she would ask Gangle to teach her to draw. That would give her something new to do.
“Hey Gangle,” she said, softly, “Would you show me how you draw people? I’d like to try.” Gangle blushed.
“Oh sure!” she said, “But, I’m not any good at it! Maybe Zooble can show you some stuff-”
“Zooble doesn’t really draw people. I’d like to learn from you,” Ragatha replied. It was true, Zooble mostly drew what they saw. Gangle created characters.
Gangle nodded, still bashful. Zooble gave Ragatha some paper and a pencil.
“Okay, so start by drawing a circle, then a line down the middle,” Gangle instructed. Ragatha followed along until she had a few different faces drawn. The proportions were definitely wonky, but that was to be expected. Still, she could learn how to do this, and it would occupy some of her time.
However, there is a difference between her and Gangle. Ragatha is a crafter. Gangle is an artist, yes, but really a storyteller. Each character she creates has a name, abilities, and a story to be told . She lights up talking about each one, as though they were her children. Ragatha could never put that much care into her drawings.
“We were thinking of starting, like a little art gallery,” Zooble said, “We’d need help making it.”
“Yes!” Ragatha said, a little too loud, “That’s a great idea! I would love to help!”
“Cool, maybe you can make some textile art for it,” Zooble offered.
“I would love to!”
Perfect, what a great idea! Something new to do!
For an hour or so, Zooble sketched out some designs for a gallery with input from Ragatha and Gangle. Zooble had some grand plans, but they had to scale them back when they realized it was too much for their combined conjuring ability to be able to handle.
“Almost makes you miss Caine,” Gangle said under her breath. No one commented.
At the end of her session, Ragatha had drawn a few weird little anime people and they had tentative plans for a permanent gallery.
On her way back to her living quarters, Ragatha tried to scope out a good place to have the gallery. In the distance, she saw Jax and Pomni hanging out. Which was good! It was so good they were friends!
Jax needed a friend, and it was nice of Pomni to keep reaching out to him. Even if she had also reached out to Jax many times, and he had always been an asshole to her-
Nevermind! That was so not okay to think! She shouldn’t be so selfish.
She was happy they were friends.
And it was great that Jax was doing better. It was great he was causing less problems for people. And if he didn’t cause problems, and Caine was dead, then she didn’t need to be around to fix anything. And if she couldn’t fix anything, she didn’t have a purpose-
Ring, ring! Another terrible thought from Ragatha’s mind. She doesn’t want there to be problems! Everyone had already dealt with enough! They deserved to have their perfect little world.
She walked by the cemetery to see if Kinger was there. He wasn’t, so she wandered through the rows of gravestones. None of the flowers had been disturbed. Maybe she could do different flowers tomorrow. Carnations might be a good choice. She gave one last glance to the snapdragons and walked away.
She has way too much free time between now and dinner. She starts weaving a tapestry for the gallery. She puts it down. She starts crocheting a plush octopus. She puts it down. She starts a hat. She starts sewing a quilt. She looks out the window for a little bit. She hates this world, she hates her old life, she hates the circus. She picks up the tapestry again. She weaved a row and threw it on the ground.
Why was nothing fun?
She tidies up. She lays in bed.
It was dinnertime.
She walked to the picnic area. Pomni had conjured chinese takeout.
“My parents didn’t cook a lot growing up,” she explained, “This is what we usually had.”
Ragatha grabbed some rice, orange chicken and an eggroll. She scanned the table. Kinger wasn’t here.
She sat down. No one said anything about Kinger’s disappearance. It felt silly to check on him twice. He was probably at the cemetery again, right? Or at his place? She reminded herself what Jax had told her. Kinger had survived worse. Much worse than the creation he didn’t know was sentient and didn’t know he had accidentally tortured, dying and everyone moving on and creating a new world without a trace of him- actually that sounded pretty bad when she said it out loud. Maybe she should go check on him.
She scarfed down her food. Then she stood up.
“Well, I should go,” she said. She realized she accidentally interrupted Pomni. “I’m so so sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay,” Pomni said.
“You got places to be?” Jax asked her. No. None of them did.
“I-”
“You can go check on Kinger,” Jax said, “It’s fine.” Ragatha nodded. As she left the table, she heard Zooble chastise Jax.
“Did you have to say that to her?” they asked, “She’s not coping well, you know that.”
“I didn’t say anything bad!” Jax defended.
“It’s fine if she’s worried about Kinger,” Pomni said, “I’m a little worried too.”
She fought the urge to play peace keeper. They shouldn’t be arguing! Why had she made them argue?
On her way to the cemetery, she pulled on her red hair. Everyone was struggling and she was being a useless burden to them.
She hoped she would find Kinger. She wanted to talk to him. He was one of the few people she really trusted.
Kinger wasn’t at the cemetery.
She went to his place, which was a step up from his pillowfort. It was a shack, really. She knocked on his door. It didn’t open.
“Kinger,” she called, “I just came to check on you. You weren’t at dinner? Can you just let me know you’re alright?”
There was no response. Did she want to open his door and find him abstracted?
She knocked again. No answer again. She creaked the door open. There wasn’t a trace of Kinger there. She closed the door again. Maybe Kinger was sick of her too.
Also, it's not okay to violate his privacy like that! Even if she had been worried about him.
The sun set. She guessed it was time to go to bed. Might as well hit the hay early! Lots of stuff to do tomorrow!
She walked back to her living quarters. She gripped her clothing, over where her heart was. Does she still have a heart? There’s a feeling she knows too well. She keeps searching for the light inside of her, but all she finds is emptiness.
Then she heard it.
The bridge to the circus theme song. She’d know it anywhere. It had played every day for eight years. Then it was quiet again.
She went to her room, put her hair up and laid in bed. Was the circus getting stronger? Or was it just a random glitch?
Was Kinger okay?
Why was everyone worried about her? She needed to get it together.
A loud ring jolted her up. The phone.
It was one of their attempts to stay connected with each other. They hadn’t quite figured out most technology. They hadn’t figured out how to conjure cell phones, only land lines, and they were glitchy, prone to bad reception and cutting out mid conversation. The only reason it was somewhat workable is that Kinger had an interest in Alexander Graham Bell and knew how a telephone worked.
She picked up the phone. There was no caller ID. Not that there were many options on who could be calling her.
“Ragatha?” It was Kinger, sounding distressed. “I need you to come over.”
“I will. Why? What’s happening?” She asked.
“It’s Caine. Please come over, don’t bring anyone.”
Caine. She thought he had been permanently deleted.
“He’s back? Are you alright?”
“Come quick, please,” Kinger begged.
“I’ll be right there,” she promised and hung up. She ran out.
This was a trap, if there ever was. It didn’t go over her head that Caine could’ve forced Kinger to call or imitated his voice. He’d have every reason to- they had deleted him, after all. After two months, he was probably simmering with resentment and anger. Though maybe Kinger had found a way to talk him down.
Within a few minutes she was at Kinger’s door. She knocked, realized that was silly and just came in.
The shack was quiet and dark. Kinger usually kept the lights off to focus himself.
The older man stood near the entrance, waiting for her. He seemed haunted.
“Kinger- are you okay?” She asked, “Where is Caine?”
“Hold him down, while I clean the wound.”
Ragatha followed Kinger into his bedroom.
Caine laid limp on the mattress, his arms over his head. His red blazer, his white gloves and Kinger’s sheets were all stained with a vibrant blue.
“He was moving like crazy a few minutes ago,” Kinger said, “I need to clean and bandage his injury.”
“You want me to hold down his arms?” She asked, going to the head of the bed. She had forgotten how small Caine was. She pinned down his wrists. She could see the tips of his gloves covered in blue blood. Who knew he could bleed?
Kinger went to a small tray with a water bottle, tweezers and gauze, all things he had conjured. Ragatha helped him remove Caine’s blazer and dress shirt.
The wound was in his chest. Kinger took the tweezers and gently picked out the threads of his clothing.
Caine’s wrists twitched.
“It’s okay,” she told him, “Kinger is almost done.”
He wasn’t almost done. She glanced over him, trying to see if he was injured anywhere else. One of his eyes seemed broken. In his left eye, the green pupil was pixelated and blurred like a cataract. She never realized he had heterochromia before.
“Just a few more,” she promised, “You’re doing so good.”
Kinger tugged on a long, red thread.
“It’s almost over,” she hushed, “You’re doing good.”
“This one is stuck in a clot,” Kinger said. He pulled it out and the clot burst.
Caine wasn’t screaming. His eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling. He was awake.
Why wasn’t he screaming?
“A few more Caine,” Ragatha said. Kinger worked on another one.
Finally, he did one last inspection.
“Okay, okay. I think that’s all,” he said, “I’m going to clean it out.” He grabbed the water bottle. “I didn’t know how to conjure antiseptic,” he explained, sounding apologetic. Ragatha nodded. It made sense Kinger wouldn’t be familiar with antiseptic.
“It’s going to be cold,” Ragatha said. Kinger poured it into the small cavity.
Caine’s back arched and he kicked his legs. She put all her strength in keeping him from flailing his arms. Kinger pushed down on his legs.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” she kept repeating. He moved without any rhyme or reason. His pupils were dilated. Blood seeped from his chest wound.
Her arms started aching. She took a breath and doubled down.
How long could Caine keep this up?
Kinger had a look of exhaustion in his eyes. Ragatha was fairly active. She loved sports and grew up doing farm work. Even she couldn’t keep this up forever.
Her muscles burned. She gave it one last push.
Caine collapsed, limp on the bed.
Ragatha took a few shaky breaths. Kinger blinked and poured more water on the wound. Caine didn’t twitch.
“He can’t do that again,” Kinger said, as though they had any control over it. He soaked up the blood with a cloth. It revealed a shallow hole, starting to scab over, right where a human heart would be.
“I don’t know how to do stitches,” he said,” I’m going to bandage it. Can you help me sit him up?”
She pushed Caine into a sitting position; his muscles resisted her. When she removed her hands, he stayed perfectly in place. Bizarre.
Kinger took the gauze and wrapped it around Caine’s chest. When he was done, Ragatha helped Caine lay back down and posed his body into a comfortable position.
Kinger didn’t have much in the way of furniture. She collapsed into a corner.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I found him,” Kinger said. Realizing he needed to explain more, he continued. “We were adding so much new stuff, I wanted to make sure the code was holding up. I was poking around in some old, old files. When Caine was created- shortly after- his outputs were no longer what we were looking for. Scratch wanted to start over, so we kept Caine contained in a folder. That way, we could still monitor how he worked and replicate it. I went back to that folder and saw it wasn’t empty.” He gestured to Caine’s prone form. “Anyway, that’s where he was.”
Kinger slumped against the wall.
“Any clue what happened to him?” she asked.
“Not one,” he replied, “I tried to reset him, but his code is locked. I can’t get in.”
She wanted to ask if he thought Caine had done that. She wanted to ask if Kinger was alright. She didn’t have the energy.
“I’ll stay,” she promised, “Until he wakes up.”
“There’s a couch,” Kinger offered. She fell asleep in the corner.