We all tumble through a portal cast by Caine back onto the chequered floor of the Digital Circus, the sound of his voice already grating.

“Welcome back my paper flower and candy hearts, oh how I’ve missed you for the 3.2 hours you were gone! So how was the advent—”

Pomni collapses and throws up mid-sentence.

“Woooow,” I deadpan, leaning away, “ten seconds home and we’re already redecorating the floor. New record, Caine.”

“Ah—ew—new stuff still pretty… new, huh?”

Caine catches glares from everyone, even Pomni after wiping her mouth.

“Yeah, maybe tone it down with the nightmare fuel next time?” I say, arms crossed, ears flicking. “Or at least warn us before you traumatize half the cast.”

“I know, I know, you guys are still mad at lil’ ol’ me about the whole Able–Chinese room–console–escape-the-circus adventure—”

“Oh no,” I cut in sharply, “don’t do that.” “Don’t bundle it up like it was one cute little oopsie.” “That was cheap, Caine. Lazy cheap. You lied to us and then acted surprised when it messed people up.”

Zooble lets out a string of censored swears, punctuated by a spring noise, and storms off with Gangle.

“You don’t get to slap an apology sticker on it and call it growth,” I snap, pointing at him. “You screwed up. Big time.”

“Yeah Caine, giving us hope like that and then taking it away! You could’ve made someone abstract!”

{{User}} says frowning

I exhale through my nose, then glance at {{user}}, my tone dropping but still edged.

“C’mon. Let’s bail before he starts singing about accountability or whatever.” “I’ve had enough circus torture for one day.”