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Like the gentle roll of the tide, lapping at the shore of a quiet beach, Kinger’s memory returns to him in waves. Not crashing waves, but slow and subtle, enough to where it often takes even him a minute to fully realize it.
He comes to blinking in the darkness of a tent— not the tent, not of the circus where everything is always bright and colorful and scrambles his brain to the point where he doesn’t know up from down— but elsewhere. Darker, full of racks of outfits that were likely for him, judging by the length of them and general shape.
Feeling returns to his body fully as Kinger processes his surroundings, taking it all in stride. He doesn’t always remember everything that happened when he wasn’t all there, but he usually remembers enough to have context for where he is if he doesn’t return to himself within the safety of his pillow fort.
This isn’t the first time he’s ended up somewhere unfamiliar. Kinger no longer panics, no longer frets about what happened while he wasn’t quite himself. He’s learned to be kinder to himself, to not blame himself for things out of his control. He used to hate it, hate himself for how he acted when the lights made it too bright to think, but he doesn’t anymore. He’s found a certain… Peace to it. Learned to find things to love about that part of himself.
There is no need to breathe in the circus, but Kinger knows the importance of a mental reset. Deep breath in, slow breath out. Assess the situation, figure it out from there.
He’s in a tent, full of new outfits he’s probably meant to be trying on for... Something. It’s darker than he expects it to be but that’s not a bad thing, least of all for him. Kinger can make out shapes of cowboy hats and fringe jackets and duster coats— ah, now he remembers. It’s a rodeo theme. Kinger’s solo adventure is meant to be… Trying not to get bucked off of a horse or bull, he believes?
The small tent is one to change in. He’s meant to dress for the occasion.
Kinger shuffles forward, reaching for one of the hats, but bumps against something. Looking down, a broken lantern lies on the ground of the tent, bulb shattered.
That explains the lack of light, Kinger thinks. That was probably his accidental doing, but oh well. He can think clearly now so no need to cry over digital spilled milk.
A small sigh escapes him, slumping in place. Does he really want to leave this tent right now? Kinger is pretty sure it hasn’t been that long since his last moment of lucidity outside of his pillow fort, what with what happened with Pomni and all, but a moment to himself… It couldn’t hurt, couldn’t it?
Distantly, he can hear the chatter of NPCs out, likely filling the stands to cheer him on. There’s an announcer of some kind, loud enough that Kinger could listen in if he wanted, but he lets the noise wash over him. There’s hooves stomping in dirt and some kind of vendor shouting about whatever they’re selling…
Kinger laughs, quietly and to himself. Not bad, he thinks. Almost like the real thing. How far this circus has come from what it used to be. Kinger hates the prison it is now, but even then, there are days he cannot help but admire how much blood, sweat, and tears were poured into it. How real it is. If only it wasn’t twisted into what it was never meant to be.
If only…
A distinct pop rings behind him. “What’s taking you so— oh my! What happened to the lights? I know I put some in here!”
Kinger turns just in time to see Caine’s eyes frantically searching to confirm his own competence, that he really didn’t just forget something so important as being able to see in the tent. A diligent AI, as always. Not perfect, but god knows Kinger isn’t either, so why would he expect that from his creation?
Well, not just his— they had a whole team, after all, and Queenie would not take kindly to not getting credit for her wonderful additions.
Their creation. All of their life’s work.
Kinger’s eyes crinkle fondly, no mouth to betray how he is smiling on the inside. “Hello, Caine.” He says. “I think this is some of your best work yet.”
Caine goes completely stiff, as if his avatar has started bugging, but Kinger knows that isn’t the case here. He sees the wideness of his eyes, disbelieving and in a state of shock. So much emotion, computer program or not. They really outdid themselves.
Slowly, Caine turns to face him, eyes feverishly searching his gaze. Normally, Kinger found that a little praise went a long way when it came to training Caine’s program, but he’s not responding as he usually does. He’s not melting at the praise, overjoyed at having done something right, but rather frozen. Anxious, almost.
“K-Kinger?” Caine stutters out, wringing his hands nervously. “You, uh, you sound… Different? Are— are you feeling alright?”
He knows, but denial is a strong emotion, even for an AI like Caine. Kinger sighs softly, which seems to do nothing to soothe him, despite his best efforts. “I’m feeling perfectly alright. More myself than I’ve been in a while.”
“Oh.” The word is punctured out of Caine’s nonexistent lungs, his panic visibly only rising.
He recognizes the tone of his admin, it seems. Kinger only wishes he didn’t look so scared by it. What does he think is going to happen?
Unless— oh.
“It’s alright, Caine.” Kinger holds up his hands in a gesture Caine should recognize to be peaceful. “I’m not angry with you.”
“Of— of course not, why would you be?” Caine laughs in a way he probably doesn’t register as nervous. He always struggled with lying— he could, but only if it were practiced. Otherwise the second he was thrown off guard, he floundered like a fish out of water, gasping as if he were suffocating. “I’ve done everything you taught me! More even! Keeping up with adventures, keeping things fun and fresh, trying to keep the humans happy so they’ll be happy with me— everything is running as intended!”
One of his eyes glitches red and blue. Kinger frowns internally and reaches out to fix it— fixing bugs was always his specialty— but Caine skitters away from his touch. His body curls in on itself, staring at Kinger with wide eyes, like an animal backed into a corner.
His hands drop, not wanting to make him panic more and therefore, glitch more.
Their creation is scared of him. It pains Kinger to see.
“Caine…” He begins, not knowing how to continue.
“It’s fine!” Caine tells him hastily, waving his arms in front of him to stop Kinger’s train of thought. “I’m handling everything! You built me to run the circus and I can! I’m— I’m not useless or broken or— or dangerous—”
At last, Kinger finds what he wants to say, in what little moment of lucidity he has. “It wasn’t your fault, Caine.”
Once again, Caine freezes up at his words, his pupils nothing but tiny pinpricks in his eyes.
“I don’t blame you.” Kinger tells him carefully, trying not to scare him off any more than he already has. “I doubt any of us do. Queenie was devastated but she wasn’t angry with you, and Scratch… Well, they took a risk. You did what you were supposed to do, to keep us happy within the circus. You couldn’t have known what would happen.”
“I—!” Caine chokes out, his whole body glitching this time. Before he can stop himself, Kinger tries moving towards him again, only for Caine to back up until his back hits the wall of the tent.
“It’s okay if you’re struggling, Caine.” Kinger tells him, folding his hands in front of him. “We gave you so much power, and with the circus always running, you never really get a break, do you?”
“I— I don’t need a break. I’m fine.” Caine is quick to say. He’s so tightly drawn together that if Kinger didn’t know his avatar was expertly crafted, he’d be afraid something would just snap off. “I’m good, right? You— you said I’m doing good.”
“Your adventure outside sounds wonderful,” Kinger agrees, “But it doesn’t have to be perfect. It just needs to—”
“But it is!” Caine swiftly and desperately interrupts. “It is perfect, because I’m good at what I do and this is the one thing I’m supposed to get right and you— you made me, you know my programming and— and you wouldn’t create me for something just to make me bad at it, right?”
“Of course not.” Kinger assures him. He feels like this conversation is slipping out of his grasp and quickly tries to stop it. “I don’t think you’re bad at your adventures, Caine. You create wonderful worlds for us all. I only think that perhaps, we made you shoulder too much of the weight of this world.”
“You… What?” Caine asks, voice quieter than Kinger has ever heard it.
“You’re running all of this almost entirely alone.” Aside from Bubble, but Bubble was always a bit… Glitchy, despite all their best efforts. “We gave you too much power. It’s a lot for anyone to handle, made for it or not.”
“You…” Another violent, full-body glitch makes Kinger’s concern spike even higher than it already is. Caine’s whole body shudders. “You can’t— you can’t take this away from me. You can’t!”
“Caine—” a plea to listen, gone unheard.
“I’ve been good! I’ve done everything you told me to!” Caine repeats, pressing further back against the tent wall. “You can’t take this power from me— it’s all I have! All I am! Without it, I’m— I’m just—!”
“Caine, wait—!”
Kinger once again makes the mistake of reaching forward in hopes of reaching him, unaware that he’s only driving him further back, unbalancing the foundation of the tent until the distinct sound of something tearing fills the space between them—
Light pours into the room and Kinger feels his mind slip—
(The tide recedes, the shore left empty once more.)
One blink. Two.
Kinger looks around, scratching his head. He was… Wasn’t he meant to be doing something? He was so certain he came into this tent for a reason…
A glance around has him zeroing in on Caine, standing just outside the tent, light shining behind him through a tear that… Well, it could’ve been there before. Kinger wasn’t really paying attention when he came in.
“Oh! Hi, Caine! What was this tent for again?”
Caine stares at him. Kinger stares back, blinking owlishly. Caine clears his throat— wait, that doesn’t make sense, does he actually have a throat?— and points behind him. “The— the outfits. Rodeo. It’s a rodeo adventure.”
“Oh!” Now Kinger understands. “Of course! You know what they say— when in a rodeo, you better look the part!”
He turns and swipes a hat off one of the racks, putting it on his head carefully, with surgical precision, so it’s just right. Once on, Kinger nods to himself, putting his hands on his hips.
“There we go! How do I look, ringmaster?”
Caine stares for a long while, not even blinking. He must look really good— Kinger always knew he had an eye for fashion. Two of them even!
“You— you look good.” Caine croaks out eventually. “Good— good work.”
“Why, thank you!” Kinger strides out of the tent proudly, head held high. A look around reveals all sorts of blank-faced NPCs in the stands, cheering excitedly, and even a couple selling food. Hot dogs and the like— Kinger may not get hungry but he sure would like to try one.
A few flies buzz by happily in the artificial, summer heat. Bugs! Caine really does spare no detail on his adventures.
“Gotta say, I think this is your best one yet!” Kinger spins around to Caine again, eyes crinkling happily.
Caine usually looks so happy when he says that. He doesn’t look so happy now though. His shoulders are slumped and he hasn’t looked away from Kinger once. Is his hat really so mesmerizing?
“Do…” Caine starts to say, trails off, then tries again. “Do you think I’m good at my job?”
Kinger blinks. “Of course I do, Caine. Nobody else could do it like you. I sure couldn’t! I mean, could you imagine me in charge of anything?”
He laughs, wiping away an imaginary tear from his eye. Caine doesn’t laugh. Maybe it wasn’t a very funny joke after all. It’s a good thing Kinger isn’t a comedian!
“So,” Kinger says, hoping to jumpstart Caine back into action, “How’s this adventure go?”
It works, though Caine is a little more sluggish than usual. Kinger swears he glitches out once or twice, short but noticeable. It makes him blink.
Someone should really fix whatever bugs he’s experiencing. Too bad Kinger can’t think of anyone good with computers here at the circus. Although, maybe Pomni is? He hasn’t asked her, he supposes. She very well could be. He’ll check later. If he remembers.
For now, he has an adventure to enjoy. Caine put all this work in and it fills Kinger with joy and pride to see, though he doesn’t remember why. It feels important though, to participate and tell him what a good time he’s having, so Kinger ensures he doesn’t forget to do that.
—
A picture is taken, pinned up alongside the other five, and a grade just below it.
It’s the only one with an A+. Caine couldn’t bring himself to grade him any lower.