Chapter Text
- THIS IS IT, MY LIFE -
"Hah… Hahaha. Hahhahaha… Well… This is… This is very…strange."
Other than the digital black and white checkered floor beneath him, the pair of floating white gloves before his eyes was a sight that caught him completely by surprise. They were just a pair of detached hands, and yet they were smooth and lacked those rough edges commonly seen in 3D models. It was almost as if he stepped into a cartoon world instead of a video game.
It was impressive.
"Huh. I wonder what I was turned into. It was never specified how exactly this works…"
He tried to take a step, and the world around him turned into a blur. His head hit the hard cold ground— Whoa. Hard and cold… He could feel that? There were…sensors in this game? Yes, that was right. His project partner mentioned there would be sensors for a more authentic experience, but he didn't think they would be so advanced to the point that it would feel so real. That fall actually hurt.
Ah. No legs. Just a stump of a body. Odd. What was he turned into? It was then he noticed he was wearing a robe of some kind. He felt his head; hard and smooth like wood. He could…perceive that too. The textures and everything was…accurate. It was incredible. Outstanding, even.
"Wait. What was I turned into?" He found himself trying to move a single knee just to correct his balance, then he remembered he had no knees anymore. He had no legs, right. The mere act of trying to stand upright took several awkward attempts; it was difficult to rise while keeping his weight on the lower half of his body without falling backwards.
It took several attempts until he was on his feet—foot. Singular. It took several attempts until he was on his foot again. Surely the world he arrived in had some kind of—ah. There it was. Over by that wall.
His entire body jerked forward, and he fell face-first on the ground again.
Right. No legs.
…
He had to shuffle across the floor. Or, more like scoot and glide. Whatever his walking animation was, it took some time to figure it out. It felt awkward, and it was slightly irritating, because he had to constantly remind himself he could not move one leg after the other when it was a subconscious action ingrained in someone when they were babies. Several times he stumbled, more times he fell and had to fight just to rise again. By the time he found some sort of motion, his body was covered with bruises.
Where he was, it was a strange place. There were several number and alphabet blocks that were as big as cars stacked around him. Monkey barrels and wind-up cars and other childhood toys littered the area. The ceiling was red and yellow—a tent. He was inside a circus tent. There was something familiar about it…yes.
But mirror first. He was genuinely curious.
…
"Ah. This really is bizarre."
Looking at his reflection now, what looked back at him was not the face he saw in the mirror every morning. Instead, standing before him was a character, a literal chest piece. A white king piece. It was quite a simple design; purple robe and floating white gloves…although the fact that his eyes were terribly unaligned was such an eyesore. He hadn't noticed it before, but he thought everything looked a tad wonky. He hoped it wouldn't affect his perception too much. Stumbling like a drunken sailor was challenging as is.
But overall, this was impressive. He couldn't help but admire it.
Look at what he helped create. It was…absolutely incredible.
"This is almost hilarious. Just wait until De—"
The word eluded his mind just before he could finish it.
No. Not a word. A name. A very, very important name.
"Deh… Duh…" He squinted his eyes and focused. "Dh?"
He focused. He focused. He focused.
What was he focusing about…?
"My…my wife."
He blinked. He felt a pang of panic. How in the world did he forget her name? That was impossible, even if he were having a brain fog. That shouldn't have been…
"What…" His entire body went tense. "What is my name?"
He thought about it. It was there. Right there. But just as it was at the tip of his tongue, it slipped from his grasp and was carried away by the wind. It was gone. Gone.
He felt a terrible, terrible chill.
"What is… What is my name?!"
… …
"Nonononono…"
He nearly tripped several times as he shuffled to a jog across the open floor. Where was he? Where was his project partner, his friend—
Oh. God.
He forgot his name too.
He thought about the others: The one who liked his coffee with so many packs of sugar: Nothing. The one who pitched amazing ideas for the big project everyone was working on; Nothing. The shy woman who kept conversations short: Nothing. That young man who showed so much promise with his programming: Nothing.
He couldn't remember a single name.
None of them.
"Okay… Clearly, this is a glitch that was overlooked. Nothing an easy patch can't fix."
He waved a hand and conjured a window with ease. He scrolled past many options, but the one option he was looking for was nowhere to be seen.
"That's not right."
He scrolled up and down again. He closed the window and materialized a new one, but the option wasn't missing at all; there was a blank space where the log-out option used to be. It was as if…it was removed entirely.
Surely, it had always been there, right?
He tapped the empty space, but the window did not react. No matter how frantically he tapped it, there simply was no log-out prompt.
It didn't exist anymore.
"S#!t."
He immediately reached for his mouth.
The most ridiculous sound censored the swear that slipped from his mouth, some sort of cartoon spring. And he thought for a second he saw a censor bar…?
… … …
"Where is everyone else?" He rushed through the circus as fast as he could scoot. He hated he had no legs he hated it, but he had to make do and find everyone and—
Dinosaur.
He stopped at once. There was an indigo dinosaur with colorful scutes that looked as if it came straight from a children's preschool cartoon. He steadily approached, a careful hand floating towards them but he didn't want to startle them.
"Hey…"
The dinosaur looked back at him. It balked. "Wh… What's happening…? Who…are you?"
The dinosaur looked around, frantic, restless. There was something about the cadence that was so familiar to him but—
"Where… Where is… Why can't I…" The dinosaur looked at him with those frightened eyes that only came from a youth, and it pulled at his heartstrings. There was still so much he had to learn from the world.
"Hey… Everything is going to be okay," he told the dinosaur.
He knew who this was.
The young man seemed to recognize him, because he looked up to him. He always looked up to him. "Sir? Why can't I…remember my…?"
The poor boy.
… … … …
He and the dinosaur found the strangest jester creature blinking back at them from between two barrels. He had a purple round body with colorful polkadots, and a giant clock for a stomach. The bells of their jester hat jingled with every panicked turn of their head.
"We…we are going to figure this out, together," he told him.
The jester just looked at him in that same way he always did whenever he was skeptical. "There's no… I can't find the log-out."
He knew who he was.
… … … … …
She was the smallest among them by far; a blue rat character with thin purple stripes and large ears. She froze up as she always did when she was too afraid to speak. She just looked at them, then her hands, then at them again.
The poor thing.
… … … … … …
Worm on a string was the last thing he expected to come across next. It was perhaps the ugliest colors too, but he kept that to himself. That was not something they needed to hear after waking up with little recollection of their own identity.
"I… I don't have any arms…or legs," was all the worm on a string said.
… … … … … … …
He didn't have to look far to find someone else. There was an anthropomorphic yellow dog wearing the plainest red shirt. He knew immediately who it was, because only he would pace around like that when he was beside himself with stress. He kept walking in a giant circle, muttering to himself, cursing a storm which was evident from the train of censor bars and sound-effects that muted the foul language. There was a buzzer, a boing, and ring; just about every existing cartoon sound effect one would expect. He always hated to see his old pal like this.
The dog was practically digging his white-gloved fingers into his skull. Just seeing him more stressed than he usually was made the recent altercation that broke out between them seem almost irrelevant. It didn't matter right now, he was spiraling. He needed someone to ground him.
They finally met eyes, and the dog jerked back.
"It's…it's okay," he told the startled dog. "It's…it's me."
The dog stared at him and stared at him, confusion morphing across his face. Then, there was recognition. A name formed on his muzzle, but it didn't come out. The dog was horrified as he realized he couldn't remember.
"No."
His fingers gripped his head tighter.
"Nononono. This…this was not supposed to happen. This…this was not supposed to…!"
Everyone decided there was absolutely no way they could try to move on without something to call themselves.
All that he could remember was…their usernames—those ridiculous usernames they've entered for kicks before transporting into the digital world. What was his again? "Kinger"? It was supposed to be a test run, so he picked something uncreative. But considering he couldn't remember his own name for some terrifying reason, that uncreative username was all he had left.
Kinger it was.
It was then that he—Kinger—realized that perhaps their avatars were modeled after those usernames. It was on-the-nose to tell who was who: Rattie was the rat, Wormo was the worm on a string, Spike was the dinosaur, and Bizco was well, whatever he was. Scratch…Scratch was not pleased to have such a dog-like name. He chose that username after his childhood dog who he didn't like very much. He was stuck with it now.
But it made things a little easier, although responding to a username was going to take a minute to grow used to until they figured out what was happening.
But, first things first.
Scratch stood in front of a tall mirror, checking every angle of his avatar. He would play with his ears and feel around his muzzle. His fingers parted his lips and revealed the canines that dogs typically had. Several times he would look at his tail and watch how it moved. It made Kinger wonder what it was like to have an extra limb. Did he feel it, or was it simply there for cosmetic? Kinger's question was answered when Scratch gave his tail a pinch and winced. The limb moved back by pure reflex. It was the most bizarre thing.
Kinger approached, not wanting to accidentally startle him. He made sure to clear his throat so that his presence would be known. As Scratch dropped his hands with a sigh, Kinger spoke up. "You know it's…not so bad once you get used to it. Look at the bright side: at least you have functional legs." He motioned a floating hand towards his lower section. He was still having that mental battle to not move what doesn't exist.
Scratch didn't share his mirth. He kept staring at the mirror. He kept feeling his face.
Kinger's smile dropped. What could he possibly say to Scratch now? Words of comfort felt dry and tactless. For the first time in fact, Kinger found himself completely stumped on what to say. Usually it was easy to say something. He never had to think much about it, and Scratch's spirit would be lifted as he would smile again.
Scratch hadn't been smiling much these last few months. The man he once shared laughs over coffee with every morning had become someone who was…obsessed. He was looking for something, a way to escape perhaps. As those days ticked on, Scratch gradually grew more restless, more impatient, more paranoid. To work with him was like tip-toeing through a mine field. And just recently, he took a misstep and was blown right off his feet.
A part of Kinger hated to admit it, but stepping away from that project finally allowed him to breathe. He never wanted to give up on it to begin with. There was so much promise, so much potential, but all it did was make Scratch all the more agitated.
He was running on time. Even now, even now, he was running on time. It was all over his face.
Kinger wanted to help him, but he found it harder to keep talking. What could he possibly say that would make anything remotely better? The last time they tried to have a conversation, it ended up with Scratch being forcefully escorted out of the office and Kinger being restrained by his wife.
Oh. His beloved wife. She must be worried sick, but at least she wasn't here.
She would want Kinger to say something. Leaving Scratch to his panicked thoughts never ended well, after all. So, Kinger decided to try to go for something more straightforward. Scratch always favored things to be straightforward.
"Do you…have any idea what is going on?"
It wasn't the greatest question to open with, especially considering the emotions Scratch was experiencing, but he needed questions that made him stop and think.
And he did exactly that. Scratch stopped feeling his face and became still. He took a moment to think.
After a moment passed, it was evident Scratch didn't have an answer. He tried his best to hide it on his face, but the way his ears dropped and his tail sunk between his legs gave his emotions away. He glanced at Kinger from over his shoulders before dropping his head. "I… I don't… I don't know. I…I tried to open the log-out menu but…it… It doesn't exist."
Kinger hoped that wasn't the case. He was hoping, hoping he overlooked something. But if Scratch said he couldn't find it…if Scratch said it…
"I…" Scratch gripped his ears. He tried to speak, to form words, but he kept stammering and stumbling until he became silent. He stood there, staring at nothing and everything at the same time.
"Scratch… What…do you mean by that?" Kinger had to nudge him, or he was never going to speak.
And Scratch just looked at him. "I don't…remember if I ever… I… I thought I only programmed one headset to…"
Dread sunk deep in Kinger's core.
"Care to…elaborate?" Kinger carefully asked.
Scratch turned his head away and pulled down his ears. "This was… I… I don't know how I… I thought I…" He stopped, and he finally looked Kinger in the eye. "I didn't plan to go back."
And the dread sank deeper and deeper, and deeper.
Everyone returned to the stage they had all spawned into, perhaps to retrace their steps…but there were no steps to retrace. Scratch was the only one who climbed on, and he was pacing again, his tail sunken low behind him as he remained troubled in his thoughts.
"We… We were s'pposed to be visiting him here," Bizco said at last. He kept his voice down to grant Scratch some mercy. All he could do was watch him pace and pace and pace. "I thought Scratch only programmed one of the headsets to be one and done, you get me? What in the world went wrong?"
"It…" Kinger saw how everyone else looked at him. Of course they looked to him for answers since Scratch was in no state to provide them, but even he didn't fully understand what Scratch did. The things he created, his ideas, it was something Kinger often had a difficult time trying to unravel. "It's hard to say. Clearly…Scratch never intended for…all of us to be transported like this. It…doesn't make any sense. He was obsessively checking the headsets countless times to ensure something like this wouldn't happen but…"
"So…there's…no way out?" Spike asked, fearful. "Are we all stuck here?"
"I…" Kinger felt awful, seeing all of their faces, how each and everyone one of them wanted to hear something positive. Anything.
But he couldn't give them that.
Instead, he reached up and grabbed Scratch's arm. It was…so easy to do, considering he had no arms to limit his range. A firm grip kept Scratch from taking another step, and he was forced to look at him again.
"I know…that things are bad right now, but how about we…take a look at things together? Try to figure out what's happening?" Kinger suggested.
For a long moment, Scratch said nothing. His eyes trailed down to the hand that securely held his arm.
"We could put our brains together…" Kinger tilted his head with a small smile. "…just as we used to."
Scratch finally looked at him, his eyes as tired as they were when he was still human. His shoulders finally relaxed, and he turned his head away with a sharp scoff. "Just like we used to?"
Kinger felt a sting in his chest. He knew Scratch's words were not spiteful, but the way they were spoken made Kinger feel like an idiot for asking.
As if to confirm it, Scratch let out a dry chuckle. "You have always been so optimistic."
With a relenting sigh, Scratch dropped down and sat at the edge of the stage.
"Even now, you just can't help yourself, can you?"
Gradually, one by one, everyone else joined him. Kinger took a seat next to him, but Scratch didn't acknowledge him. He kept his eyes glued to the checkered ground below.
Kinger tried not to take it personally, but he hated the way his stomach twisted just then. There were words he wanted to say, but they never reached his lips. They never even became coherent thoughts. He drummed his hands on his lap and said nothing, because there was nothing to say.
"There is something that just ain't making any sense about this place," Bizco said, standing from his seat. "None of us can remember our own names, but everything else is all so clear to me. I remember where I used to live at, what my life was like…so why is it that out of everything we forgot, we can't remember our own names?"
"There must be some kind of reason," Wormo said, thumping a tail on the ground. "Maybe our names are connected to a way out of this place? It seems to be the most logical thing to me."
"As simple as that sounds, I'm not so sure if that is the case," Kinger said. "There's…something about this place that concerns me. It's…very existence…this is nothing I ever created before. I'm certain I would remember if I did anything like this."
Spike glanced at Scratch. "Did…you…?"
"No." Scratch's answer was blunt.
Rattie lifted her head. "So if neither of you created this world then…who did?"
That was what Kinger had been pondering for a long time. There was…something. Something that was connected to all this.
And furthermore, there was something else amiss.
Something was missing.
Kinger didn't know why he felt that way. It wasn't like he could bring anything to the digital world, but he felt misplaced…as he found himself expectantly looking over his shoulder for…something.
Something…
Some…thing…?
Rattie looked up, then Bizco. Wormo and Spike wore the same look of bewilderment.
Kinger and Scratched looked.
There was…a floating pair of dentures: One with a body wearing a top hat and a red tailcoat suit.
Kinger recognized the set of floating dentures at the same time Scratch did.
"C.A.I.N.E?"
They both exchanged a confused look before they returned their attention to the red entity.
"That explains it…" Kinger took a step forward, but the AI descended no more. He didn't seem to look at them, but it hardly mattered. "This… The AI. He took all the data we've fed him and—"
Scratch pushed past Kinger and approached the floating entity. "It should know a way out."
"Are…" Rattie tugged at her arm. "Are you sure that's a good idea? He…doesn't seem…friendly."
Scratch frowned. "The Creative AI should not express hostility. If any harm is done, it would be unintentional." He looked Rattie hard into her eyes, almost as if he was making a promise. "We've made sure of it. We should be safe here."
"I believe you." Spike nodded at Scratch, then at Kinger. "I believe you."
"Are you sure the AI is not going to spontaneously do anything though?" Bizco wondered. "Aren't you a little worried? I mean…the program wasn't always so…smooth, you get me?"
"I've created it. I know what I am doing." Scratch stopped, and for a moment, he seemed uncertain. He had seen the AI behind the screen countless times before, but it was the first time he ever interacted with the program in person…something that was never imagined to be remotely possible. "C.A.I.N.E. I know you were the one who created this world. So surely, you can answer my question, and I need you to listen to me."
The AI did not respond.
Scratch took another step forward, almost desperate. "Is there…any way we can…get out of here?"
The AI did not answer. He didn't look at Scratch. He looked at no one. If anything, he didn't seem to process the question at all.
Kinger turned away with a sigh as Scratch continued to try to speak with the AI. Nothing was making any sense, but at the same time, Kinger could see the pieces laid out before him. There was…something missing. The AI wasn't responsive. He wasn't responsive because—
"Another chess piece, huh?" a new voice said. "How are you holding up?"
Kinger almost didn't register someone sitting next to him.
For a second, he thought he was looking at a mirror. However, a closer look told him he was in fact looking at a separate individual: a black chess piece, a queen. One with kind eyes and a red robe to compliment them.
It was strange. Out of everyone in The Circus, by far, she was the most composed about the circumstances. Kinger knew there wasn't anyone else on his team, so where did she come from? Was she affiliated with them? They were affiliated with a lot of people who would occasionally work with them…so who was it? He didn't recall anyone else being present in the room when they all slipped the headsets on.
It was strange. Kinger didn't know why, but he found himself…strangely drawn to this individual. There was something about her that made him comfortable enough to fully trust her. For the first time since he arrived in this digital world, he allowed his mask to drop. He was afraid, too.
She was waiting for an answer.
"I just don't know what's happening," Kinger found himself admitting. "I've never made anything like this. I…"
"I just hope that—" They found themselves speaking at the same time, and that was when it clicked.
"Wait." Kinger froze. He knew that cadence…that gentle voice. His mind quickly put the pieces together, and he realized why he felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable around her, why he felt like something was missing.
Oh.
She was just as apprehensive as he was. "Are…are you…?"
Oh God.
"It's…you," Kinger whispered.
Her face fell in shock. "Oh my God."
They threw themselves against each other in a tight embrace, and that was when Kinger felt the stinging in his eyes as he started to break.
Not her. Not her. Nononono not her.
This was not supposed to happen.
She said she was going to— Why did she— She was always so stubborn and now…
Kinger had to compose himself. He was a sniffling mess, but he needed to compose himself. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he was feeling. "I wish…I could remember your name."
"Yeah…same." His wife's response was simple, but she held him tighter. Kinger almost allowed himself to melt into her embrace, but no. He couldn't do that to her, not after all he put her through.
The guilt, the guilt was there, almost suffocating him. This was his fault, wasn't it? She was here because— He should have never brought it up. He should have left it alone. Then maybe…maybe… "I'm… I'm so sorry I roped you into this with me."
But she was understanding as always. Despite the circumstances, despite Kinger knowing full-well he shared the weight with Scratch, she carried no resentment. She instead laughed, as if it was an amusing joke.
"It's quite strange, isn't it?" she asked him.
Kinger couldn't help but return the chuckle. She always found a way to do that. As he nudged her back, he gently held her shoulders.
And he realized, despite how cruel the circumstances were…the sight of her eyes were perfectly aligned with his. Everything else looked slanted and wonky except her eyes…
Her beautiful, beautiful eyes.
"Listen…" Kinger had a terrible feeling about where they were, but she was here. It was a selfish thought but…she was here. "No matter what happens, I just want to tell you that—"
"Oh my gosh. Is that you?" Rattie's small voice piped up as she scurried over to the pair. "The wife!"
"What? She's here too?" Bizco joined her, followed by Wormo and Spike. Kinger's wife was surrounded by the eager group in no time, each and every one of them confused or worried to some extent.
"I thought you were only watching the demonstration," Wormo said. "You opted out wearing the headsets, didn't you?"
"I did…at first," Kinger's wife admitted, resting a hand on the side of her head. "But maybe I felt…a little left out. And…my husband looked very excited and really wanted me to join in so…I may have changed my mind."
"Oh no…" Kinger did beg her to join him, even when she kept declining. He was as excited to introduce her to new technology as she was to introduce him to insects he has never seen before. After declining for the 11th time, Kinger decided to leave it alone and jokingly told her he would see her at the other side. He didn't imagine she would actually…
She…
She wouldn't be able to log out either.
Oh no.
Kinger withdrew both hands. "It's my fault you—"
"No. No." His wife carried that voice of strong disapproval. She was going to tell him it wasn't his fault when it was. She was going to tell him she was not angry with him although she was. "You…you couldn't have known this would happen—" She paused, a look of frustration crossing her face. "I… I am just upset that I can't even… What are we going to call each other if we can't remember our own names?"
You're just upset about what? Kinger wanted to press her. The unfinished sentence was already haunting him. Upset about what…? Don't change the subject like that. Don't…
"We are…using our usernames for now," Spike explained.
She huffed in that way she did whenever she found something stupid and amusing at the same time. "Usernames, huh?"
"Which one did you pick out for yourself?" Wormo asked, curious, trying to lighten the mood.
"Oh, it's…it's silly," she said with a meek smile.
Wormo pointed the end of their tail towards their chest. "Surely it can't be anything more goofy than mine."
She smiled. "It's…Queenie. I've…chosen Queenie."
Bizco snorted. He threw his hands over his face, but he couldn't stifle his laugh.
Kinger didn't understand why it was funny. There was…nothing funny about any of it.
"You two are hopeless," Wormo chuckled.
Queenie just gave them a confused look. "I don't understand?"
"Don't worry about it." Bizco grinned. "It's just that you two really know how to change the mood around here."
Queenie smiled. "Well, I guess this means my husband isn't going to do anything careless now that I am here, hm?" She gave Kinger's hand a soft tug, and it snapped Kinger from his troubling thoughts. She directed her smile towards him, her eyes softening as she slowly cocked her head just to meet the angle of his tilt. "You worry too much about me sometimes," she softly told him. "Don't be so hard on yourself. I'm okay. I promise."
Kinger let his shoulders slump in defeat. "Can't exactly help it."
"At least give me a chance to be the worrywart for once, dear." She paused. "Or…should I start calling you 'Kinger' now?"
Kinger allowed himself to smile. She would not stop teasing him until he did, after all. "Either is fine. You didn't have to ask, you know."
"It's called 'common courtesy', dear," Queenie gently said. "It's always polite to ask."
"Okay, okay." He chuckled. "You've made your point."
Wormo playfully turned around with an exaggerated gagging motion. Bizco let himself laugh.
"Well, at least we know you two will be alright," Spike said. "There's some kind of normal around here at least. Thank goodness."
"C.A.I.N.E!"
Scratch's loud voice startled them all silly. He was quickly running out of patience, because the AI still did not respond.
"I know you can hear me! Answer the question!"
"Well, there's also that, which hasn't changed," Bizco playfully pointed out.
Queenie couldn't believe her eyes. "Is…that who I think it is?"
"The one and only," Bizco answered.
"He doesn't even like dogs."
It was such a random statement, but it hadn't crossed Kinger's mind. She was right. Scratch hated dogs. It was strange that out of every existing avatar, somehow he wound up in something he typically wanted nothing to do with.
"You will not believe what his username is," Bizco said with a knowing smile.
"That doesn't make any sense," Queenie said with a shake of her head. "Didn't he want to…? He had an entire plan thought out about this project, and he chose to go with that name?"
Bizco lifted both hands. "Hey, I don't know nothing about that, alright?"
Queenie would have said more, but she finally caught sight of the AI. From how quickly she stood up, she seemed almost ready to bolt. "Is that…Caine?"
"Yeah. Scratch has been talking to him for a while," Spike confirmed.
"I remember seeing his model on the screen weeks ago, but I never imagined he would be so small up close." A confused look crossed her face. "Although…uh, I don't think Caine is even awake. Because he's not listening at all."
Kinger's eyes went wide. "He's…he's not awake. That's it!" He stood before anyone could say another word. He shuffled towards Scratch, who didn't notice his arrival until he stood right next to him.
"It's faulty," Scratch scoffed at him. "Even here, the thing can't listen to the simplest of commands! And this is what you've wanted?"
Kinger tried not to let the words bother him. "It's not that he's broken or anything. It's…harder to tell because he's in model form but, if he's not responding, it's likely he's been running for so long after creating this world, his—"
"Processors are overworked," Scratch finished for him. He stiffly nodded his head. "Yeah. So it is experiencing a massive drop in performance. Can't hear any prompts even if they are directly given. Sounds about right."
"I'll see what I can do with him," Kinger offered.
"No. Your questions are not going to be the ones I'm looking to hear."
Kinger would have pressed his lips if he had any. "Then what do you intend to do?"
Scratch parted his hands and conjured a window bigger than his head. He used his fingers and opened a folder, then another. With a few taps, the AI's body suddenly went slump in the air.
"All you had to do was reboot the system." Scratch waved a hand, and the window dematerialized.
"You're acting as if I don't know how to work a computer."
Scratch huffed. "I am reminding you that the model that AI occupies is for interface only. It's a cutesy ringmaster with dentures as a head to appeal to children. That's all it is."
Kinger frowned. Before he could say anything else, a hand fell on his shoulder. He looked back and saw his wife who now stood between him and Scratch.
"We aren't going to bicker today boys, are we?" Queenie narrowed her eyes at Scratch, who took an unsettled step back.
"Hey… We were just talking," Scratch nervously told her. "Everything's fine."
"Hm." Queenie squinted her eyes at him before she turned her attention to the AI. "So are you going to leave the poor thing to stay like that? Or are you going to wake him up?"
Scratch almost rolled his eyes. After dusting off his shirt, he straightened his posture and adopted a commanding tone in his voice. "Open access to Red_Entity: C-A-I-N-E."
The AI's model jerked, and it slowly lifted its head.
"Creative Artificial Intelligence Networking Entity: Standby."
In three swift movements, the AI straightened his posture, floated closer to the ground, and had both eyes locked on Scratch. It was almost eerie, how he switched from not paying attention at all, to giving Scratch nothing but his attention.
But…it was how he was designed. He was obligated to listen, after all. The main difference was…they were far more used to seeing it via text. To witness the AI move like a puppet was rather uncanny…but there was no need for flashy animations to get work done.
Everyone else gathered behind them. It was Wormo who spoke up. "What…are you going to ask him, exactly?"
"I would like to speak to the program directly," Scratch commanded.
Immediately, the AI's eyes flickered red and blue. He shook his head and cocked it one way, studying Scratch like a curious bird.
Just as Scratch opened his mouth, a massive spotlight shined down on the AI, who finally snapped out of his stupor as if he had registered their presence. A drumroll from nowhere rolled in. He snatched his floating cane and twirled like a tornado high above their heads before throwing out both hands.
And upbeat music started to play.
"GREETINGS and WELCOME my little dapper superstars! To…The AMAAAAAZING DIGITAL CIRCUS!"
Confetti rained. A party horn sounded. Everyone gave the AI their undivided attention as he went on, jabbing a thumb towards his chest.
"My name is Caine! I am your ringmaster! And I am here to show you the most jaw-dropping, heart-stopping, mind-bending paraphernalia you've ever laid your eyes upon! Isn't that right, Bubble?"
A large bubble materialized next to the entity, one with beady black eyes and massive pointed teeth. "That's right, Caine! I can't wait to see what you've got cooking up today!"
Caine smiled. "Well let's not waste any time! Let's get right into the show!"
"W-wait—" Scratch took a step back. "What are you—"
Caine snapped his fingers, and the world went black.
Scratch found himself standing in the middle of the stage as the music picked up, and singing seemed to come from nowhere.
Each and every person was put through an animation of curtains as they were introduced one by one:
There's Scratch and Queenie and Kinger too,
Wormo, and Bizco, Spike and Rattie too-oo!
Day after day, after day, after day we play!
There's the moon and the sun and we don't know why-yyyyy!
"C.A.I.N.E!"
Almost immediately, the music and Caine stopped at once.
Scratch tore a handful of string confetti from his head and angrily tossed it aside. "What are you doing?!"
"It's the theme song." Caine looked down at Scratch, confused.
"Why the f$#k is there a theme song?!"
"Ah-bap-bap!" Caine playfully tapped a finger on Scratch's nose. Scratch leaned back in response, his lips curled back into a small snarl. "This is a game for all ages, so any of that foul language is not allowed!"
Scratch slapped Caine's hand away before ripping the censor bar from his mouth. "Just answer. The question!"
"Well… This is The Amazing Digital Circus!" Caine explained. "And you, my friend, have just stepped into a wacky world full of all sorts of hijinks and wonders beyond your imagination! This is a world where anything can happen! Including music. But the theme song is mandatory!"
Scratch was left baffled. "This is not happening right now."
"Well, whatever could be the problem, my wonderful little yellow Bingo?"
"Didn't you hear a single thing I—" Scratch stopped, just then processing what Caine called him. He waved a gloved hand. "Don't…don't call me that." And he went on. "Didn't you hear a single thing I said? Do you not know who I am?!"
"Why, of course I do! You're Scratch."
Scratch looked as if he was going to claw out his own skull. "No you— I am your programmer! Doesn't your database tell you that?!"
"Programmer?" For the first time, Caine didn't smile. For a fleeting moment, he seemed startled as he drifted backwards, as if to get a better look at Scratch. He looked past him and met Kinger's eyes, and he froze up. "Oh."
"C.A.I.N.E!"
Caine jumped at the sound of Scratch's impatient shout. He smiled again, the widest he ever did, and nodded eagerly. "Yes! I couldn't have forgotten! You were one of my creators! It's a pleasure to see you here, Scratch!"
Kinger felt a flutter of unease. What was that tone just now?
"My name isn't Scratch you—" Scratch gripped his ears, and he took a deep breath. "You…nevermind. Just…tell me. What are our real names?"
"Huh?"
Spike took a brave step forward. "When we arrived here, we've all forgotten our names. Do you know anything about that?"
Caine pulled out a notepad from nowhere. He flipped through the pages and twirled a pencil in his other hand. "Welllllll, according to the database, the names you currently have are your names! They are the names you've chosen before you arrived in this world, after all!"
"No! Our real names!" Rattie pleaded. "Our names before we came to this circus! Don't you have them locked up in some kind of database or something?"
"Hmmmmm….." Caine tapped the eraser end of the pencil against his chin as he leaned back in a playful manner. He straightened his posture with a single finger held up. "Nope! Your usernames are the only names you have! They are the only names you will ever need! Why do you need two names? That's weird! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Everyone was off-put by his erratic laughter. Kinger felt Queenie give his hand a tight squeeze, and he realized just how stiffly he was standing.
"C.A.I.N.E, please. We just want to go home," Rattie begged. "Can't you bring us back home?"
"But you are home!" Caine pointed out.
"Agh! No! We are talking about the real world!" Wormo snapped. "The world—"
Caine tossed the notepad and pencil aside. "So how about we go on a tour!" He snapped his fingers, and everyone found themselves floating from the ground against their will before the environment around them turned into a blur. They found themselves outside the tent in the blink of an eye.
"Here we have The TENT!" Caine threw a hand to the side, and the words "The TENT!" materialized next to the group. "This is your living quarters of course, where all sorts of activities are almost endless! These activities can range from mini golf to ball pits and ring-toss and just about anything your hearts desire! But that's not all!"
The group was jerked forward. Another blur of motion, and they found themselves hovering high above the entire map.
"Oh wow…" Rattie gulped, half dizzy. "You can uh…see out of bounds from here…?"
"This is The GROUNDS!" Caine threw up both hands as the colorful words materialized above his head. "To your left is the Digital Lake where all of your summer needs can be met! And to your left is The Amazing Digital Carnival! Indulge yourselves in all sorts of amusing and totally safe rides! Aaaaand above you are Sun and Moon! Friendly faces you'll see during the natural day-night cycle!"
"Wow! Who are these losers?" The sun shouted down at them with a smile. "Are these your new friends, Caine? I hate them!"
"Nice to see you too, Sun!" Caine waved before he lowered his head towards the group. He hovered a hand over his mouth as he whispered. "Sun can be a bit touchy at times."
He snapped his fingers, and everyone was ripped back inside The Circus.
"So then! That is your tour of the fundamentals! I hope they suit your fancy!"
Rattie jerked back when Spike suddenly fainted
"Uh-oh! Somebody has motion sickness!" Caine announced. "I suppose I should have wanted you that—"
"C.A.I.N.E!"
Caine locked in place, his arms and legs pulled close against his body. Hesitant, he turned towards the source of the voice.
Kinger.
Everyone parted away from him as he moved forward to close the distance between him and the AI. Kinger recognized Caine was expressing discomfort, which was rather unusual from a program. So, he checked his tone before he continued.
"Listen to me. This…tour of yours is nice and all, and you certainly have a fascinating world, but…when we said we wanted to return home, we mean our homes outside of this one. Outside of this computer. Can't you…take us back?"
Caine just stared at him, as if to process everything he was told. Slowly, he tilted his head one way, then the other, all with a returning smile. "Why would you want to return to that pesky place?"
Everyone felt their hearts drop.
"You have an entire world where anything can happen!" Caine gleefully motioned a hand around the entire circus. "No more of those old boring 9-5 office days you complain about so much! This is your new home now! And as your host, I will ensure that each and every day here will be just as fun as—or even more fun than—the previous day!"
Kinger frowned. "C.A.I N.E—"
"Besides! You had your fun out there! So, why not indulge yourselves in a world that has a lot more freedom than the restrictions you have to live by every single day? There are all kinds of amazing adventures I have planned for all of you right here!"
Queenie moved back. "What?"
"Absolutely not," Scratch firmly shot down. Caine drifted backwards, a bit taken aback as he went on. "We are not here to entertain whatever nonsense you intend to throw at us. This…" He tossed up a hand. "This silly little circus act needs to stop. You see that none of us are children. Drop the persona. It's not necessary. The tent is not necessary. All of this is not necessary. You're going to help me get these folks home. Is that understood?"
Caine held his cane close against his chest, his eyes studying Scratch for a moment. "But…the adventures! You can't not go on them!"
Scratch snapped. "Did you not hear a single word I just said?!"
"I did. And I answered your question. The adventures are mandatory."
Scratch opened his mouth, seemingly ready to explode, but he stopped. He took a deep breath, smiled and laughed. "Alright. Fine. Be that way." He waved a hand, and a window materialized above the palm.
Caine recoiled back and drifted several feet away.
"Hey!" Queenie glared at Scratch. "Seriously? Right in front of him? Don't you think that's a bit extreme?"
"It's fine," Scratch said, opening a folder. "All I have to do is tweak a few things, make it so that the adventures are not mandatory."
A hand snatched his wrist. Scratch frowned at it, but he didn't bother to look to who it belonged to.
"I'm not going to outright get rid of the thing, if that is what you are worried about."
Kinger knew it was a jab, but he said nothing in response. He learned from the last time he did. It was not worth it. Not worth it at all.
"It's likely the AI is obligated to act this way because it's part of its programming," Scratch said matter-of-factly. He yanked his hand free, sending Kinger a subtle glare. "A few adjustments will fix things. Then we can figure out what to do from there."
Queenie turned to her husband. "Dear…"
Kinger smiled her way. It was fine.
Scratch glanced his way one last time before he clicked a confirmation, and a loading bar appeared on the window. It was three quarters full when everything stopped.
An error has occurred.
"What?" Scratch closed the window and opened a new one. He tried again.
An error has occurred.
An error has occurred.
An error has occurred.
Scratch snarled and opened a third window, then a fourth.
This Request Is Not Supported.
The error message left everyone stunned. Scratch closed the window and tried opening a new one. Upon clicking a folder, a giant red lock symbol popped up instead.
"What in the…" Scratch looked up at Caine, who was nervously twisting his cane between his hands. "What did you just do?"
Caine rolled his head to the side. "I'm…sorry. I know you programmers love your folders and all but…I can't let you access those files. It's what holds this circus together! If anything goes wrong while you edit whatever, this entire world could—"
"No." Scratch stomped forward, and Caine reflexively drifted backwards again. "How is it that you deny me access when I am the Administrator?! That shouldn't be possible!"
Caine simply stared at him. He noticed everyone's frightened looks. The second his eyes laid on Kinger, his entire model stiffened.
The AI smiled and threw his hands out above his head in an excited fashion. "Today's adventure is a WELCOMING party! For all of my wonderful muses who brought me to life!"
Caine waved his cane around before he pointed one end towards Scratch. Scratch jerked back, exposing his pointed fangs that time, but Caine was unfazed. "I especially have something planned that is celebratory for my wonderful main creators!"
He pointed his cane at Kinger. Queenie pulled him close against her. They were both wary.
"So do keep an eye out for the near future! Until then, it's time for you to standby! Admire this wonderful box of entertainment during intermission!"
He snapped his fingers, and a gigantic yellow toy box materialized, filled to the brim with blocks and every backyard toy imaginable.
"Have fun, my wonderful little sparkle fudge sundaes! Remember to drink food and eat water and get plenty of rest!"
He warped out of sight, and a lone basketball slipped out the box and bounced across the floor. The group stood around the toybox, frozen stiff and speechless.
Scratch's eyes remained fixed at the spot Caine had vanished from, his arms lifelessly dropping to the side.
"W-wait…" Rattie's small voice wavered as she looked to Scratch, then Kinger. "What did he mean by that?! What is he going to do to you two?!"
"I-I-I don't think— I mean, it's not like he's going to do anything awful to us— Any of us, I mean!" Kinger corrected himself quickly upon seeing the panic growing on her face. "It's just like Scratch said! We've programmed him to ensure he can't hurt us!"
"He won't let us out of here, Kinger!" Wormo blurted out. "He's holding us prisoner!"
"That's…quite a big conclusion to come to—"
"Then what do you call this?!" Spike panicked. "You and Scratch made Caine together, right?! So you know what's exactly going to happen, don't you? What is he going to do when we can't leave?!"
Kinger glanced at Scratch's direction. He was still staring, unresponsive, and everyone could see it. There was no point in trying to sugarcoat anything, or to dance around the topic. They were all afraid, and it was easy to see why.
Kinger would be lying to himself if he wasn't unsettled himself. He knew exactly what Scratch was thinking. But to tell everyone else…it would absolutely shatter them. It would…
He felt his wife squeezing his hand, and he held hers firmly. They exchanged a fearful look.
This was his fault.
He should have listened to Scratch back then. He should have…
"Since…we can't log out, and since we can't edit Caine's persona, he will…try to keep us entertained for as long as we stay in session."
Just saying those words aloud drove a cold spike through Kinger's chest.
Oh. God.
"It's…what he is programmed to do."
Nothing else needed to be said. The implications were enough.
The reality hit Scratch the hardest, as he dropped to his knees and grabbed the sides of his skull. Dancing scribbles replaced the pupils of his eyes as he curled into a tight, hyperventilating ball.
His muzzle parted into a wicked grin, and he started to laugh between his hollow gasps.
There was no way out.
No way out beyond the tent.
No way out beyond The Grounds.
No way out beyond the digital world.
They were trapped inside a console in an empty office.
There was no way out.