Chapter Text
“Superstars…” The ringmaster’s eyes are glued to the door in front of them, and his aren’t the only ones. This has to be the softest anyone has ever heard his voice. For the first time in their lives, it doesn’t ring in their ears like the faint warning of early onset tinnitus. It’s melancholic. If they bothered to strain hard enough, it almost sounded afraid. After living here for so long, they weren’t sure he was programmed to feel that. “I believe we’re nearing the finale of our show.”
Air in the Circus has never been stagnant, especially not like this. But now, looking into the door to their escape, it’s like no one remembers how to breathe. Ragatha knows she doesn’t. The air is sucked clean out of her lungs; hell, it’s sucked clean out of the entire room. Her gaze is firmly locked on that red door, its insides hazy with a bright, white light.
The faint, haunting sound of a piano outro begins to dance around their ears, no doubt Caine’s doing. He floats in front of them now, but his feet are barely off of the ground. In fact, some of the cast even has to look down at him to look him in the eye. They can’t think of a single time he’d ever been that low to the ground long enough for something like that.
With a gloved hand, the ringmaster delicately takes off his tophat. Absent-mindedly, almost oddly considering the situation they were all in, Ragatha thinks he looks a bit off without it. Unfinished might be the word she’s looking for, but the thought is brushed away as fast as it came.
Fidgeting with his hat in his hands, the top row of the ringmaster’s teeth furrow. “Gosh…” Bubble suddenly appears by his side, still donning his sharp, signature grin. “I don’t know what to say to you all.” Looking up at everyone, Caine’s eyes dart between the faces in front of him. All are wide eyed, not even looking at him. They’re all in a range of shock. None of them can believe it.
He’s not even sure he believes it himself.
Looking back at the door, the AI can’t script himself a sentence to say. He doesn’t even think he was programmed for something like this. The show wasn’t exactly built with an ending in mind; but now that it was here, the ringmaster realizes it’s not as grand as he’d make it. If he were given the opportunity to plan the finale, there’d be cannons, fire, the whole book of fanfare, and then its sequel.
But he’s not the one planning the finale. It’s not really something that could be helped, could it?
Instead of dwelling on it, the ringmaster floats upward with Bubble. Summoning his cane, he holds it steadily in front of him, placing his hat back firmly on his head. Dual colored eyes study the faces below him, which he suspects is the last time he’ll ever see them again. He can only hope he’s properly burnt them into his memory.
“I guess all I can say is, thank you.” Everyone’s looking away from the door now, staring at the ringmaster above them. “You’ve all been wonderful, willing participants.” Caine smiles, which looks odd considering the fact his entire head is a pair of teeth, practically beaming despite the situation.
And just like that, they look away from the ringmaster for the last time. He floats so high above them that anyone would have to crane their head to look at him, and no one wants to turn away from the door again. Whether or not they’ve rejected the idea of an escape, deep down, they’re all afraid this red rectangle of hope will disappear if they look away for too long. And after being stuck here for god knows how long, no one dares to take that chance.
Except now, where they’ve been handed their chance on the fanciest silver platter, they’re stuck frozen. Not a single one of them can think to move. It’s this paralyzing fear that renders their legs rooted to the ground instead of running straight out of their neverending torment.
Beside her, the rag doll can hear the sound of Gangle taking a shaky breath inward, which finally urges her to look away. She looks towards the rest of the cast, taking half a second to read each of their expressions.
Pomni somehow simultaneously looks like a swirl of emotions and blank all at once. Her hand tightly squeezes Ragatha’s, almost as if she were worried the doll would disappear. Gangle’s hands are covering her mouth, her eyes as wide as saucers. Zooble’s trembling, their monotone facade thoroughly shattered and discarded. For once in his life, Jax isn’t smiling, Ragatha can’t think of a time he’s ever looked this shocked. And Kinger… well, Kinger isn’t here.
That realization makes Ragatha frantically look around for the missing chess piece, briefly forgetting her worry about looking away. He’s not out in the main area, she can’t see him looking for bugs in the corners. He couldn’t possibly be in his room, since the doll swore she saw him right before this all occurred. Right when she thinks about announcing his absence to the rest of the cast, whether they truly care about it or not, she hears the sound of footsteps. Instantly, her gaze is forward once again.
Jax is moving towards the door.
There’s no aura of confidence radiating from his purple frame, no cocky stride to show that he could care less. For once, the rabbit’s moves are clearly cautious. He’s only a handful of steps away from the door, maybe less than that considering how long his legs are; but when he walks, each step feels like it takes an eternity. Jax pauses right in front of the door, the haze from the white light makes his fur prickle and stand on end.
He’s angled in such a way that no one can see the look on his face, but they all can see the way his gloved hand trembles when he brings it closer to the light emitting from the door. Instantly, he can feel a constant sense of static dancing over the palm of his hand, which grows more intense when he brings it closer. The feeling nearly makes him pull away. Static was never a good thing in the Circus, after all. However, the yellow glove remains firmly in its spot, then it’s suddenly thrusted into the blinding light, a simple way to test the waters.
Jax jumps back from the door with a sharp yelp, his hand tightly clutching the wrist he shoved into the light. His shoulders heave as he suddenly remembers how to breathe, and in a motion that was quick enough to break anyone’s neck, he turns to look back at the rest of the cast. Conflicting emotions play across his face so fast they’re hard to read, eventually settling into his eyes as his smile twists around the corners.
A bewildered sounding laugh tumbles past his yellow teeth. “It’s real.” He can barely speak above his own laugh. Everyone who’s staring at him slowly drag their gaze towards his hand; they’re almost surprised when they don’t see it glitching and breaking. Jax’s laugh grows louder, the grip on his own wrist tightening to the point he worried he was about to snap his own hand off. “It’s real!”
The rabbit can’t help but look up at Caine in disbelief now that he was facing him. This wasn’t some elaborate set up to a crazy adventure; there’s no trick behind it. This was the real way out. Jax can feel the corners of his eyes burn, and looking back towards the cast, he barely takes the time to acknowledge the new layer of shock on their faces.
Completely facing the door now, Jax shields the rest of the cast from his splitting grin and his eyes filling with tears. They all watch in stunned silence as the rabbit quickly straightens his spine, takes a deep breath, and then walks through the door without another word.
Ragatha can only hold her breath. No sound comes from the white light; no cheer of freedom from Jax, not even the sound of a scream. All that remains of the rabbit is an eerie silence that hangs thick in the air. For a reason she can’t explain, Ragatha almost expects Jax to come running back. But he never does.
There’s a twinge of sorrow that Ragatha can’t stop from sprouting in her chest. Sure, it was Jax; the cocky jerk who acted like your feelings were nothing more than a speck of dust on his overalls, but in an odd sense, he was family. They had been through thick and thin together, abstraction and adventure. The fact he left without a real goodbye, though the rag doll really couldn’t blame him, hurt in a way she couldn’t place.
With Jax being the one to test, and eventually disappear into the waters, it seems to push Zooble into motion. Their trembling figure first turns towards Gangle, then towards Ragatha and Pomni. Antennas twitching, their hands open and close into fists that they stare at for a long moment before they look back up towards the door.
“Holy ^$...” They ignore the sound of Caine chastising them for their language, taking half a step forward. When they move, Gangle moves as well, sticking close to the body of shapes. Despite her comedy mask being shattered long before the morning even got into motion, this had to be the closest her tragedy mask would ever get to looking happy.
“Caine,” Ragatha’s voice rasps, forcing her to swallow. She rips her gaze away from the door to look at the ringmaster, missing Zooble and Gangle as they disappear through the door’s frame. “Where’s Kinger?”
The ringmaster twists in the middle, snapping his fingers only for nothing to happen. Staring at his hand, he tries once more, then drops his hand. “Can’t sense him.” Is the only reply, which still makes Ragatha’s heart drop. That could only mean two things; Kinger had disappeared through the door long before it was discovered, or something worse had happened.
Hands tangling into her dress, the rag doll reluctantly turns her gaze back to the door. Like a moth to a flame, she’s tempted to walk through. She takes a step, then another, only to freeze in place when the faint sound of ringing bells sounds behind her. It couldn’t be. Ragatha turns around, her hands tightening around the fabric of her dress further.
Pomni. Pomni, who has been absolutely hellbent on finding a way out ever since her first hour in the Circus, the jester who was constantly peeking around every corner in case a door would be there. Now that it was right in front of her, she was hesitating. Her pupils weren’t scribbles yet, but Ragatha could tell they were getting close. Pinwheel eyes forcibly tear themselves away from the blinding white light, looking at the rag doll instead.
Trembling hands can’t help but reach for Ragatha’s, which the doll grabs in a heartbeat. She can’t even remember letting go of her hand the first time. The jester tries to speak, but the words can’t seem to make it past the knot in her throat. Ragatha squeezes her gloved hands, trying to keep the jester from freaking out.
“I’ll be right behind you.” Ragatha’s voice is tight, almost sounding out of breath. Her dread and excitement melt together to forge a sharpened sword, effectively piercing her chest. “Go. Pom, I promise I’ll be right behind you.” She repeats, but she doesn’t even get the chance to try and urge Pomni forward. In a panic, gloved hands grab her by the wrists, pulling her attention away from the door once more.
“What if-” Pomni chokes, her pupils darting over towards the door before they refocus back onto the doll. There’s a sense of desperation swirling in her eyes, making her furrow her brow in worry; the poor jester was on the brink of hyperventilating. “What if you aren’t on the other side?”
The thought hadn’t even crossed Ragatha’s mind. Now that it was brought into the air however, the sword in her chest painfully twists. There really was no guarantee they’d both wind up in the same place, they could be across the world for all they know. Her breath becomes caught in the knot in her throat, tangling before it could reach her digital lungs.
Pomni pulls her out of the trenches of her thoughts when her hands find the doll’s once more, clearly seeking comfort. Ragatha looks back at the jester, so much emotion welling in her gaze that she knows for sure Pomni can see it. A wobbling smile ghosts her face, struggling to stay in place. It’s an action Pomni poorly attempts to mirror.
“If we aren’t together,” The doll leans down, gently pressing her forehead against the jester’s. They’re both terrified, they can feel it radiating off of one another. “I’ll do whatever it takes to find you. It doesn’t matter how long it takes. We’ll be together again.”
Pomni chokes out a watery laugh, tears already streaming down her face. “Me too.” When the doll pulls a couple of inches away, she can see the thick, black streaks that stain the jester’s cheeks. The dual-colored jester leans in for one last quick kiss, a final seal. “I promise.”
Swallowing down her dread takes much more effort than it usually does. Ragatha straightens her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end when she faces the door once more. A brief glance at the jester next to her, possibly the last time she'd ever look at her again, told her that she felt the same way. Giving Pomni’s hands one last comforting squeeze, Ragatha gently lets her go.
Taking a cautious step forward, Ragatha nearly breaks when Pomni turns back to look at her. The doll gently motions her forward, her gaze soft. It takes a moment for the jester to turn back to the door; Ragatha can hear her suck in a ragged breath, holding it tight in her throat. And before the jester can give herself another chance to hesitate, she finally walks through the door.
And then there was one.
Ragatha’s legs felt like blocks of lead. She almost felt like she couldn’t breathe. The doll forces her body into motion before her anxiety could paralyze her entirely, only stopping when she reaches the door frame. Her body buzzes with a faint static feeling, one that increases whenever she moves closer to the white light. Her thoughts, nagging as always, force her to turn back towards the ringmaster and his companion.
"Caine…" She breathes, catching his attention. Half a glance tells her that he didn’t expect her to say anything to him at all. "What's going to happen to you?" The doll can see the look Caine gives Bubble; an uncertain glance that speaks louder than his words. Ragatha didn't hate the guy, even if his adventures were less than ethical, so the thought of something happening to him makes her stomach twist.
Rubbing a hand under his jaw, the ringmaster wracks his brain. "I'm not too sure…" He looks to Bubble again, who only happily rolls in the air, his jagged smile never leaving. "I guess Bubble and I have the Circus to ourselves." Looking around the room, Ragatha can see the forlornness in his gaze despite his attempt to remain cheerful.
Bubble whispers something to the floating ringmaster, making Caine loudly gasp, suddenly chastising the spinning bubble. Realizing she wouldn’t have his attention again for a long time, Ragatha finally turns back to the door. It was now or never.
Closing her eyes as tightly as she possibly can, Ragatha’s trembling figure finally steps through the door. Static completely envelops her body like a blanket, and before she knows it, the feeling of the floor beneath her disappears. She’s floating. The bright whiteness of the door goes out like a haunted house light, plunging her into an infinite darkness. It’s so dark, she can’t even tell if her eyes were open anymore.
The longer she floats, the more disoriented she becomes. She can’t see her own hands, let alone a foot in front of her. She can’t speak. It’s just her and the never ending darkness that surrounds her. The lack of stimulation numbs her senses, there’s a point where she acknowledges that she can’t feel any of her limbs anymore. After a while, she’s not even sure she’s breathing anymore. The only thing she can confidently do is think.
And the first thing that she thinks of? That maybe this door was a way out, not the way out. After all, no one in the Circus could guarantee they were escaping the confines of virtual reality to return to the real world. Maybe this door was just a weird, physical manifestation of a recycling bin. Maybe they all willingly walked into their own dark executions, never to return.
Thinking slowly builds a pressure behind where her eyes should be. It’s like someone was balancing a heavy sledge hammer at the front of her skull. And the moment the doll makes note of the fact, the pressure steadily gets worse. It morphs and mutates until it’s akin to a sharp pain; almost as if one of the many hostile creatures that Caine created over the years managed to escape with them, solely there just to gouge out her eyes.
Ragatha doesn’t scream. She doesn’t even think she physically can, so she doesn’t bother trying. Trying to turn her head, her entire body locks up when a flickering pain lights up behind all the pressure. It was like Satan himself was trying to grind the tips of his pitchfork into her eyes, attempting to scratch away her optic nerves like some kind of cheap lottery ticket.
It’s visceral.
It’s agonizing.
The doll can only pray it ends soon.
Two separate corkscrews are gouging out her eyes like they were the corks in a set of wine bottles. The feeling digs and grinds into her sockets, scratching against her skull. There’s a faint, muffled mumble that makes its way to her ears, but she can only assume that’s from the digging reaching her brain.
And then, as the claws of the inky darkness remove her eyes like someone taking grapes off of the vine, it’s bright.
The faint mumble she heard before clears up, making her realize that someone is talking to her. Ragatha can feel everything again, her limbs heavy, her throat dry. Her brain feels hazy. It’s hard to think. She doesn’t dare open her eyes, scared that the brightness will render her blind. The voice grows louder, progressively getting clearer and clearer until she can finally understand it.
“Ma’am?” A gentle hand is on her shoulder, its warmth seeping deep into her body. The voice sounds tremulous, which quickly causes a sense of nervousness to sneak into its actions. She can feel the hand on her shoulder quaking before it gently tries to shake her. “Oh god, please don’t tell me I took it off too soon-”
Whoever is beside her instantly silences themself when she stirs, finally deciding to brave the brightness and open her eyes. Ragatha’s vision remains blurry for a moment, but after a few heavy blinks it clears. She’s in a dull office room, an abandoned VR headset and a pile of cash sitting on the desk next to her.
The sight hits Ragatha like a bullet train. She sits up with a sharp gasp despite the voice warning her not to. Her head spins, a wave of sickness barreling over her at top speed makes her feel like she can barely breathe. There’s a constant thump of blood pounding in her ears.
She can remember everything.
Her name, her apartment, her birthday, the diner she works at. She can remember her parents, the day she moved out, the constant chastising from her family for not going to college. Milestones rapidly flash in her head like a broken movie reel, clashing and standing side by side with her memories of the Circus. She remembers the entire reason why she put on the headset in the first place, the stack of cash with a red band in the middle was meant to be her rent this month. Hell, she was in her work uniform, she planned on actually going to work after this. It’s all coming back to her.
Swallowing, Ragatha realizes she needs to make a conscious effort to breathe now. When she inhales, it feels like she’s been hit with shrapnel. Her entire body aches in a way that feels foreign. She can’t help but look down at her shaking hands, finding five fingers in place of the odd, mitten-like hand design she had in the Circus. Frantically, she doesn’t even think before she begins patting down the rest of her body.
She can feel her ribs now, not a cotton replacement. Her body has an actual form of structure, not a pseudo one. Finding her face, she tentatively feels along her cheekbones, along the length of her jaw. The contact makes her realize and remember she’s still blind in her right eye, the prosthesis she put in this morning flashing in her mind. She feels so human that it’s actually overwhelming.
“Ma’am?” The voice is back again. Ragatha turns so quickly that she physically makes them flinch away. Her eyes are instantly scanning, her fight or flight responses dialed up to twenty, yet somehow still malfunctioning.
Standing near her is a man, maybe in his late forties. His hair is a pale orange with gray sprinkled throughout, vaguely kept in a ducktail style. He sports a short beard to match. The light blue button up shirt he’s wearing is wrinkled and halfway untucked from his dark blue jeans, a lanyard hangs on his neck, but the ID is backwards. Glasses rest on top of his head, though from her scanning glance, Ragatha can’t tell if they’re only reading glasses or not.
When she focuses on his face again, Ragatha finds that the man’s eyes are unfocused. She doesn’t dare try to speak, afraid her own voice will give out on her. Instead, she turns to make an attempt to face him better, hoping her movement would pull him out of his thoughts. This results in the cheap office chair below her to loudly creak, and the sudden sound makes the man scream.
Instantly, he’s familiar. She’s just barely relearned how to breathe, but this news realization steals the breath from her lungs once again.
“Kinger?”