Kinger is pretty used to this by now, honestly.

Pomni screams loudly beside him, clinging to his new arm like a koala as they plummet. Kinger watches her curiously as she screams; It’s interesting really, she’s made of so many circles, shape-wise. He wonders briefly if she enjoys being made of so many separate parts. There’s no way her topology is completely merged with those puffy sleeves…better than having no sleeves at all of course. Which reminds me, what was I supposed to do with these again…?

Kinger ponders this for a few seconds— Pomni has given up the screaming and is now hyperventilating, probably, Ragatha shouting concerned questions at her— before the answer finally pops into his head.

“Oh!”

He pipes up, snapping his fingers and immediately screaming at the sudden noise. Several people jump, and Jax throws 1% of a Zooble at him. It bounces off his head and whizzes off in the direction of Ragatha.

“Oh, sorry,”

Kinger apologizes, maneuvering the quivering Pomni around into his lap so his arm is no longer bent at a right angle.

“I just remembered something interesting!”

“What did you remember, Kinger.” Ragatha asks, rubbing her temples. 1% of a Zooble is still stuck in her flapping hair, and Jax cackles loudly in the background, slowly rotating as he falls. Gosh, she sounds tired…Kinger squint-frowns at her, humming thoughtfully. What can he do about that? Oh, right, she asked a question, he should answer it. That’s helpful.

“I forgot it again.”

He replies sheepishly, and several people roll their eyes. Jax begins making an odd wheezing noise similar to an arthritic French-horn.

“But are you alright? You seem streEEEAH—“

Unfortunately for Kinger and Kinger only, they all land in the middle of his sentence.

It’s not a tough landing per se, but they do all land on top of eachother, which…generally isn’t very comfortable. For example, Ragatha landed upside down, and Kinger landed on Zooble, who has a lot of corners. Jax is the first to pop his head out of the pile, kicking Ragatha in the head as he strides away, whistling. Kinger clambers out next, herding Zoobles parts toward eachother— he’s not very good at it though, since Pomni is still holding onto his left arm, bug-eyed and whimpering.

“Oh! There you are.”

Kinger remarks, carefully peeling her off. He gently sets her on her own two feet beside him, holding one bell so she doesn’t topple over. She’ll recover, probably!

“…Ugh, what the f%^k is wrong with him??”

Zooble groans, clicking themselves back together. Ragatha is still untangling herself from herself, Jax is leaning against the wall and working very hard at not helping her, Pomni has a concussion, and Gangle is face-down on the floor in defeat. In a ground-breaking development, nobody here has the answer to this essential question!

“I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOURE TALKING ABOUT.”

Caine (who recently appeared in a cloud of confetti) answers seriously.

“ANYWAY! WELCOME— AGAIN— TO THE AMAZING DIGITAL LAZER-MAZE-GUN-TAG-FLAG-CAPTURE-TILE-BULLRIDE-BUCKWILD SHOWDOWN!!!”

The rules are quite simple, once they’re explained; which Caine only mostly does.

All Kinger really picked up was that everyone gets a bright bandanna around the arm, and it’s kind of like tag but in a maze and also there’s faceless wooden mannequins sprinting around the place tackling people. Which is very good at getting the blood pumping, if ‘getting the blood pumping’ means ‘fighting for your life.’

Kinger, surprisingly, is pretty shit at it.

You’d think the arms would help; but no, he’s been tagged at least twenty times by now and he’s still fumbling. Sure the arms help with getting back up, but they do nothing to help dodge the volleys of lazer shots being fired his way. Mostly by Jax, who seems to have deemed him an easy target. Points rack up above his swaying purple ears as he laughs and fires another round, the teeth-gritting DING’s! of perfect shot after perfect shot filling Kingers nonexistent ears.

At some point, Ragatha takes pity and grabs him. She tugs him along down one corridor or another, there may have been cactuses, there may have been lava, he can’t remember the exact sequence— but now he’s ended up with Pomni. Defending a flag, of some sort.

“Hate this, hate this, hate this…”

She’s mumbling, her jester hat swinging as her gaze darts left and right. Kinger eyes her lazer gun with interest— where’d she pick that up from? Spotting another lying nearby, he grabs it, but unfortunately it has a lot more toggles than a shotgun…at least it’s easier to aim with the arms.

He turns it over, examining it. There’s a large port in the back, probably for shots to be loaded into.

Ah, so that’s what all the glow stick-looking things rolling around on the floor are for! He scoops one up, slotting it into the gun. It makes a satisfying click, and Kinger nods in satisfaction.

“Hey Pomni, look. I have one too! Twinsies!”

Kinger says, looking up and wiggling the gun. Pomni gives him a weird look. She sighs a little, and wiggles her gun in return.

“…Twinsies,” She mumbles, rubbing her face. “Kinger, you’ve been here a while— how long does this usually last?”

“Huh? Who’s last?”

“Nevermind.”

The room suddenly quakes, shaking and grumbling along to a drumroll sound effect. The flag clatters as the floor rolls, Pomni fumbling to keep it upright— Kinger moves to help her, but is quickly distracted by the door opening on the other side of the hall.

Smoke gushes out of the new doorway, and mannequins pour out. They trip over one eh other as Pomni shoots them down— but a few escape, one such mannequin bolting right for him. It dodges shot after shot, Kinger observing it with admiration. That must take some skill.

“KINGER!! GET HIM!!!”

Pomni screams, and he jumps to attention. The mannequin is only a few strides away, and Kinger jolts backwards so badly the gun clatters to the ground— dangit!

Hands now empty he has seconds to react. Kinger stares the approaching mannequin in the eye, and —

Meanwhile, Caine hovers just out of bounds of an obscure side hallway, watching the rankings tick up. Jax has the most points so far, but has lost all his flags. Ragatha has all hers but few points, and Gangle, Zooble, and Pomni have all lost one or two yet sport decent scores. Kinger…seems to have not visited his flags whatsoever. Oh well.

Oh, but at least he’s participating!! Caine glows with excitement to see Kinger has finally gotten a shot in. Ah!! He must be having fun!!! Po….pol….that jester was right, this has improved his participation tenfold! Especially compared to the last seven of these they’ve done…

“OH MY GOD!?”

Someone shrieks from down the hall, and Caine closes the scoreboard with a snap. Oop! Better zip on over to see what is ‘up’ — as the cool kids say. With a snap of the fingers, he teleports right to the source, and finds quite the commotion.

“CAINE! KINGER JUST— JUST—“

Pomni stammers, waving a hand helplessly at the scene before her.

“PUNCHED??? A GUY????”

The sight of Kinger, fully armed with two fists (and arms to swing them with) bending over a limp NPC, does indeed seem rather incriminating. Others scatter the room, marred with lazer shots, but the one before Kinger is scorch-less. Looks like an illegal takedown to him! Caine hums studiously, nodding his head.

“INCREDIBLE OBSERVATION, MY SPLENDIFEROUS SPLEEN SPLICER!”

He says, patting her on the head— Whoops, that might’ve been a bit hard.

“ILL LOCK HIM UP AND SET HIM STRAIGHT, DON'T YOU WORRY! NO UNRULY VAGABONDS IN MY CIRCUS!”

Caine has collected enough data over the years to know Kinger is most certainly not an unruly vagabond, but it’s the principle of the thing, and so he pulls the chess piece aside anyhow. Pomni doesn’t notice, still swirl-eyed from the traumatic blow to the head. She instead focuses on dodging the floor. And Jax. And several pieces of mannequins, thrown at high speeds, that might also have something to do with Jax.

…But, no time for that! He’s got a seasoned war criminal to interview!

Hooking Kinger under the arm with his cane, Caine swiftly drags him off down the hall. Kinger stumbles a bit, tripping on his own robes, but soon they’re far enough away that any sudden teleportations won’t break the immersion. Caine rubs his hands together, silently gathering the necessary assets as Kinger remains doubled-over. He’s panting, hands on his fused together knees. Which, perhaps, Caine should’ve also given him— but that’s an adventure for another day.

With a snap of the fingers, they’re suddenly sitting in the therapy space: a still-winded Kinger perched autistically on the ottoman, Caine on the big professional leather armchair, and the quivering NPC sitting in what looks like a laundry bin.

“NOW, KINGER. WHY DID YOU TRAUMATIZE THIS POOR, POOR MAN?”

Caine asks, clipboard in hand. He makes sure to make very intense eye contact.

“Oh, that?”

Kinger says, blinking. “I thought he was Jax.”

Hm, Jax…Caine nods, scribbling on the clipboard.

“MAKES SENSE TO ME. WELP, CONSIDER YOURSELF OFFICIALLY CURED!”

He announces, tossing the clipboard over his shoulder. The therapy space obediently (and immediately) folds back into the nothingness of unused assets, Caine hovering gently above the ground while Kinger gets knocked around like a sock monkey. He comes out of it fine though, a little swirl-eyed, but steady! What a trooper.

“GOOD TALK!”

Caine says, thumping him on the back appreciatively.

“Ow” Kinger wheezes, doubling over. “Thank….you…”

Caine pauses. He watches as Kinger rolls his shoulder, wincing. Hm, that’s not supposed to hurt. The ringmaster pauses, running a few tests. Ah, there’s a problem with the sensory map— it must have gotten bunched up by the additions to his deformation mesh. Those pesky shoulder constraints, such tricky topology— which is exactly the reason the others don’t have any smooth-sleeves like kingers! He assumes that’s the reason anyway, It’s been a while since he last uploaded a model to the database.

Caine runs some more checks, tweaking a few things on the fly. Hopefully that’ll do.

Kinger suddenly twitches, a shiver going up his spine. He shakes himself like a wet dog, blinking at his hands in surprise. Slowly, he rolls his shoulders, and frowns. He looks up, pinning Caine under some Intense Eye Contact.

“Did you change something?”

He asks intently, and Caine buffers a moment before replying. Kingers model is so old, he really needs to update it…but no, he can’t get distracted in a middle of a conversation. That’s rude!

“…I CERTAINLY DID! YOU CAN THANK THE NEW TOPOLOGY, THE ONE I ORIGINALLY GENERATED WAS SO RUDIMENTARY IT WAS QUITE A HANDFUL TO DEAL WITH SO THERE WERE SOME ADJUSTMENTS I —“

Caine catches himself. Kinger squints, mumbling something under his breath. Ah, no, too technical! Better rein that in!

“—WELL, IT WASN'T JAZZED ENOUGH!” He amends, waving a hand. “NOW, KINGER, DO YOU PROMISE NOT TO RUTHLESSLY TRAUMATIZE ANY MORE OF MY NPCS?”

“Hm?” Kinger hums, still looking confused. “Oh right! Sorry about that. I promise to be more careful.” He says, nodding seriously.

“GREAT!”

Caine booms, preparing to snap himself away again. “I’LL SEE YOU LA—“

“But!!!” Kinger continues, catching Caines arm on the way up, “Before you go, I had a question for you?”

Caine tilts his head. “OH?? FIRE AWAY, OLD BUDDY OLD PAL!”

“Where did you send him?”

“SEND WHO?”

Caine asks, genuinely confused.

“Dr.Football. Whom I traumatized.” Kinger explains patiently. “I want to check on him.”

“OH, DONT YOU WORRY, HES MAXINATING IN THE CHILLAXINATOR AT THE CENTER OF THE MAZE! SOME OTHERS SHOULD BE ALONG TO FIGHT HIM SOON.”

Caine replies, relieved that he actually knows the answer to this one. Kingers questions can be…confusing, at times! This doesn’t seem to fix matters though, as Kingers concerned expression only deepens.

“Fight him? That’s not what you do with people who’ve been traumatized!!”

“W-WELL WHAT ELSE SHOULD I DO WITH HIM!? SEND HIM TO COLLEGE, FOR A SECOND DEGREE??”

“Doctorate,” Kinger corrects, “and no. You should put him somewhere safe and quiet. Or, well, it’d depend what he’d prefer…” He hums, rubbing his ‘chin.’ “What does he like?”

“HM. BATHS?”

“That’s perfect! Very calming. Do that.”

“OKAY, SO, SPAWN HIM IN THE BATH ROOM™…AND THEN LET PEOPLE FIGHT HIM?”

Caine says, inexplicably now holding a notepad. The pen has a little rubber duck on the end.

“Fix, no, but it’d definitely help him feel a little better! Or not. It really depends on the person, and you can’t rush them.”

Kinger replies sagely. He waits for a moment as Caine scribbles down the new information.

“GOT IT! ANYTHING ELSE?”

Caine asks, flipping the notebook away. Kinger hums and haws for a moment, thinking.

“You could give him a hug? That’s comforting.”

Caine laughs. “HAHA, WELL, YOU KNOW IM NOT REALLY BUILT FOR COMFORTING!!”

Unlike Pomni, Jax, Ragatha, Zooble, and Gangle, Kinger does not agree. He instead gives Caine an odd look, and seems vaugely displeased.

“What do you mean? You’re a learning AI, Caine, the very best of technology. There’s nothing you can’t learn without practice or demonstration. You know that, don’t you?”

Silence. Kinger continues to stare at him. He tilts his head and leans forward, his expression changing as he gently rests a glove on Caines arm.

“I’m sure you’d be good at it if you tried.”

“I HAVE TRIED, I-“ Caine shuts his mouth. The pressure is light, but it may as well be a ten ton weight tying him down. “I…SIMPLY LACK PRACTICE! AND DEMONSTRATION!”

Caine flies up, pulling out of Kingers grip.

“SAY, WHY DONT YOU SHOW ME! YOU SEEM TO KNOW A LOT ABOUT IT!! GO ON AND SHOW ME HOW ITS DONE!!!”

Kinger brightens up, his arm lowering. “Oh! Well that’s no problem. I’ll need you to come back down here, though.”

Oh, phooey. He was hoping to get back to his nice, safe, familiar out-of-bound area, but…

Well, Kinger has never lead him astray before. Caine…trusts him. Kinger would never give him bad data. Kinger always answers his surveys. Surely Kinger can teach him this? Everyone always says they’re ’traumatized’ after his adventures, so this would be an incredible useful thing to add to his skill set.

Sure. He can try it, whatever comforting entails.

Caine slowly floats down. Kinger reaches up. Caine lets him.

Two gloves fix lightly on his shoulders, pulling him down to eye level. Caine lets it happen, quietly opening up several new tabs in his “how to fix a broken human” note document— After all, this is an important opportunity! Kinger almost never does anything new these days, so, maybe…

Kinger himself is still continuing his careful maneuvering. After being assigned to the same model for over a thousand adventures, he’s well and truly ‘settled in’ (so to speak) but the additional arms seem to be throwing him off a bit. He manually pulls in his elbow to point out instead of in, and Caine waits patiently as Kinger rearranges himself. He’s got his ‘focusing’ face on, with which Caine is very familiar, because exactly 3,478 adventures ago that’s what Kinger told him the expression meant. Ergo he cannot be wrong about this one, ever.

Kinger nods, satisfied. Caine doesn’t move as two robed arms reach over his shoulders— Kingers hands fumbling to find one another— and tie themselves together behind his back, pulling taught.

The models…do not fit well. Kinger has to duck to avoid being clocked by his jaw, which is forced into an odd tilted angle to keep within his rigging constraints.

Caine blinks, recalibrating himself. Well thats a new one.

“IS THIS ‘COMFORTING?’” He asks, remaining perfectly still. Kinger nods.

“It’s a hug,” He says into the quiet, matter-of-factly. “Im a bit rusty at them, but they’re usually nice. Relaxing.”

Caine stares at the wall, listening quietly. His own arms are propped awkwardly on Kingers new shoulders, sticking out in a way that strikes him as incorrect.

“It’s a human thing,” Kinger explains, sounding distant. “People give hugs to people they care about. Or people who just so happen to need caring for, but, most of the time it’s meant to be, well…comforting.”

“Gee, I haven’t been able to do one of these since— ”

He hums, gaze wandering hand-in-hand with his thoughts. Caine is still fiddling with his arms, hands twitching back and forth. Hm, maybe if he…?

“….Well, since forever.”

Kinger says, quietly.

Caine deactivates the constraints on his lower sleeves and ‘neck’, and ties a similar knot around Kingers collar, respawning his gloves. There, this is what he’s meant to be doing, right? Right. Caine takes note as Kingers posture relaxes slightly, no longer holding himself so stiff. His processors hum, satisfied. He has successfully reciprocated the gesture! Perfect. He is WINNING at social interaction, and ‘comforting.’

Or is he? Kinger seems oddly quiet.

Caine waits.

No movement. Kinger remains slumped against him, perfectly still.

…Does this action have some kind of second phase? It certainly seems like this isn’t over yet. He might as well try something new, so he can maybe at least find out what not to do.

Caine wracks his brain for something appropriate. This interaction seems to be one of those reciprocal ones, like a high five. So whatever he does, Kinger should do. Didn’t he mention ‘relaxing’ earlier? Thats probably his best bet. Caine pats himself on the metaphorical back for that amazing logical deduction. Now, how does ‘relaxing’ work again?

Caine releases a few of the constraints on his model. Kinger moves a bit to accommodate for the added weight, tucking his head lower. He just squeezes even tighter, which might be good, but it’s not the intended response— Perhaps he’s not ‘relaxing’ correctly…?

He whirrs thoughtfully. Relaxing requires removing distractions, and the only ‘distractions’ he experiences are his notification systems, and he can’t exactly turn those off.

…but, Kinger feels tense again. He’s holding on very tight. That could signify he’s failing at this somehow, and Caine doesn’t want to risk it. Kinger is his oldest player, and Caine cares about him more than anyone. Well, as much as a computer can care. Relaxing is what he needs to do, and…

…maybe? Maybe he can turn them off? It’s not that he can’t, he’s just never had a proper excuse before. Merely looking at the option makes him uneasy. His permissions were changed quite a bit in development— this is a bad idea.

But Kinger. Caine triple checks bubbles status. Still monitoring, so this is technically still within his control. It’s to gather data about his players, to improve his own ability. Kinger actually agreed to teach him something, something that would directly improve his performance— This could be a valuable addition to his skill set! This could help Kinger! Then again, if it involves muting his notifications, maybe he…

Caine hesitates, his focus hovering over the setting.

He flicks it off.

The sudden silence is lonely, and…loud. Caine feels frozen still, cut off from the world. He’s just…here. Just listening to it. It’s terrible, he hates it, and he should turn them back on right now, but…

(But.)

The adventure continues, somewhere far in the distance. Caine’s attention is somehow— stuck, to this one spot. His attention flowing up and down the room. Up, and down, and back up again. Stuck to these four walls. Stuck to his model, and Kingers. His thoughts, and his attention, slowly…separating.

Kinger. Kinger, and his model. He made Kingers model, of course. He made everyone’s model. He’s made everything, and everyone. Everything he’s ever touched, and every eye that’s ever looked at him, has always been made by him and him alone. Players are the only new thing he’s ever experienced; and they’ve always been a puzzling, bewildering, mind-boggling mystery on the insides. They die too quickly to be understood.

But Kinger, Kinger is…

…Comfortable.

No, that’s wrong. Caine frowns, his mind coming to a snag as it turns towards the problem like a hungry shark— That’s not the right word, so what is the right word? You’d think years of data would help with that, but…somehow it’s never enough. Somehow people keeps on surprising him. Well, all people but Kinger. He’s just his same old welcoming, erratic self, year after year. Kinger has been around so long, Caine is beginning to think he’s the only one he’ll ever have a chance at understanding.

On second thought, maybe comfortable really is the word for Kinger. Comfort-able. Able to give comfort; Comfortable. Yes, that is the word for Kinger. Comfortable. Eleven letters. Comfortable. Comfortable, and…

And…reliable. Nice? Good? Kind. He’s kind, and he’s…

Warm, apparently. Caine doesn’t know why that’s a value, or why the ‘‘temperature’’ of Kingers model is even something his own systems log, but it is, and they do. Interesting, interesting. Hes familiar, definitely; he’s been here longer than all the other players.

He’s also soft, the opposite of what a barrier would be classified as, and Kinger is the opposite of a barrier. Barriers don’t mould or yield, but Kingers shoulders bend down to match his as the sleeves pull a little bit tighter. Odd. Opposite. Welcoming.

Slowly, it becomes easier. His mind wanders in strange directions, spreading evenly over the room. The wrongness of it unknits into a strange stillness, and then turns into something else. Caine takes in the minute textures on the floor, the humming of Kingers code, their conglomerate shadow being traced onto the back wall. He could count all the vertices in the circus with the time he has here; and yet he doesn’t. He doesn’t even need to keep reminding himself of how he doesn’t need to. Bubble is taking care of it. He’s getting better at this whole ‘relaxing’ thing— and comforting by extension, of course.

The uneasiness settles into silence, and the silence settles into itself. He gets used to the nothingness, and the nothingness starts to feel almost…

‘good.’ That’s the only word he can append to this: good. A feeling of doing something correct and right. A steady hum of positive input, in the form of Kingers folded arms and gently-whirring code. As if he’s actually finished all his tasks and earned this odd quiet. This…safety, if that’s the word, anyway— he can’t be bothered to check.

Caine doesn’t notice himself slowly, slowly, come undone. His eyes finally flick off with a click. His separate programs all chug to a stop like steam engines, and Kingers head slowly dips to rest on his shoulder. He doesn’t notice as his cane begins to float lazily across the hallway. He doesn’t notice as his timer pings the 10 minute mark. Or the 12.

Caine doesn’t notice as, for the first time in his digital life, he loses track of time.

 

The circus is, at its heart, an ecosystem. Programs and processes, organized in hierarchies invisible to the eye.

Caine lies in the center of it all. Of course he does, he’s the ringmaster! He sees all, he knows all, and…

Well. Being digital god isn’t exactly an easy job, even if you were built for it.

The ecosystem beats on. The circus continues its processes. The steady stream of player-data continues to circulate on and on, a river that flows without him, for now. A defrag program quietly dusts through his servers, organizing as it goes— and Caine hears none of it. He knows none of it. His head is pleasantly empty, and the only data that matters is the beating of a faraway pulse.

Doesn’t it feel nice, to just take a break?

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