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There was something deeply offensive about confetti that screamed when it popped.
It should’ve started by now.
No daily nonsense, no collapsing hallways, no musical numbers, no Kinger losing it in the corner, no Gangle looking concerned, no Zooble yelling at Caine, no Ragatha trying to calm things down, no Pomni trying to process everything.
But nothing happens.
Just... silence.
And the worst part is,
The confetti was already falling before the ringmaster appeared.
“That’s not ominous at all." Jax muttered, batting a streamer out of his face.
Zooble raises an eyebrow, “Well this is unsettling, in a different way."
The usual suspects were already gathered—confused, twitchy, and visibly disappointed.
“Huh, where’s Caine? he’s usually out by now.” Ragatha chirped in, concern plastered on her face.
“Did… did something break?” Gangle asked, voice small.
“Oh no-” Jax continued, “Caine’s slacking!” he shouted, his tone implying to just get this day over with.
“Or plotting” Pomni added. Woah, looks liken she’d finally grasped the timing of the gathering now, someone gave a mental congrats. “Or both”
“Both is good!” Kinger shouted.
“In what wa–you know what, nevermind” Zooble mutters, arms crossed.
Jax? He just felt weird.
Something was off.
And it wasn’t the usual circus-of-madness off, this was quiet (which meant Caine was definitely up to something.)
Sure enough, he popped in midair with a firework that wrote:
💥🎉🎇CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!🎆🎉💥
in glitchy font.
“Welcome back, my little meat ghosts!” he beamed, flipping upside down. “Guess what today is?”
“Tuesday?” Zooble guessed.
“Judgment day?” Kinger suggested cheerfully.
“The day you finally get deleted!” Jax muttered.
Caine ignored all of them.
“It’s your progress celebration! You’ve all come so far! Emotionally! Mentally! Digitally? Sure, why not!”
“Progress… in what?” Pomni asked, already suspicious.
“Exactly!” Caine said brightly. “That’s the spirit!” Uh, this is more unsettling than the usual adventures.
Jax squinted at him. “You didn’t say ‘April Fools,’ but I feel deeply pranked right now.”
Caine was already conjuring a platform. Six glowing pedestals spiraled upward from the ground, each bearing a strange, faintly humming object.
“Now, now,” Caine said, voice taking on a singsong quality that made Jax’s teeth itch. “Today’s activity is all about teamwork! Emotional bonding! Growth!”
He snapped his fingers. Confetti exploded again—this time it screamed when it hit the floor. Creepy.
“Your mission: Use your special items to create something together! A collaborative structure of greatness! Or... whatever you want, really. Just interact, you silly people.”
“That’s it?” Ragatha asked, hesitant. “No time limit? No deadly stakes?”
“No.. rules?” Zooble added.
“No hints?” Pomni frowned.
“No!” Caine grinned. “Well—yes. Well—maybe! That’s the fun of it!”
“Ugh. I wanna leave already...” Jax said flatly.
There's definitely no real prize, which means it’s probably a trap.
After a few confused glances with each other, they all reluctantly shuffle to their designated pedestals.
Jax wandered over to his pedestal, just to get this over with.
On it sat a small, cracked mirror. The edges shimmered, distorting his reflection in unsettling ways—his grin too wide, his eyes too sharp. A cartoonish version of himself, but more honest somehow.
He picked it up and flipped it once.
“Oh cool" he muttered. "Symbolism."
The others were already gravitating toward their own items.
Jax watched them.
Ragatha was beaming with rehearsed energy, Pomni was already analyzing something like it held the secrets to the universe, Gangle looked like she was about to cry. Again.
Great, he thought. Another round of emotional softball, and I didn't even get to bat.
He’s had enough of that yesterday, thank you. Mentally exhausted after all that reflecting last night. Ugh, can’t even pull off the usual smile now.
Too tired of everything.
He glanced back down at his mirror.
Nope. Not doing that today.
He pocketed the item and stepped off his pedestal.
If they were supposed to “build something together,” well… someone had to walk around and supervise, right?
Besides,
He was bored.
Jax didn’t really know why he wandered toward Pomni first.
He saunted over because, well. Boredom took a part in it, but its mainly due to his own ‘item’ was probably some cryptic metaphor for ‘feel something’, and that sounded gross. Watching Pomni stress herself into a stroke sounded way more entertaining.
She stood frozen in front of her pedestal, cube clutched tight in both hands. Her shoulders were hunched, brow furrowed like she was trying to squeeze blood from the ugly, mutating rubik’s cube.
Jax leaned against a nearby wall and watched for a moment, silent. The cube kept shifting—colors rotating in random spirals, sides rearranging themselves every time she came close to finishing one.
Her fingers twitched every time it scrambled. Everytime she came close to lining it up, the damn thing shuffled itself again as if it was mocking her.
Cause this place loves doing that. Pretending things make sense until you try too hard.
“Y’know,” he called out, learning against a floating square that may or may not have been solid, “I’m starting to think that thing doesn’t want to be solved.”
Pomni didn't jump—points for her. But her shoulders twitched. “Don’t start.”
Jax grinned. “Start what? Offering constructive feedback? You’re welcome.”
Wow. Nobody’s having it today, completely understandable after yesterday’s adventure. He'd rather not do anything for a whole week straight to be honest.
“Just saying-” He kicked one leg up, propping himself like he was settling in to watch some type of show. “If it keeps resetting every time you almost finish, maybe it’s broken. Or cursed. Or some deep metaphor for a problem you’re stressing with.”
She whipped around to glare at him. “Do you mind?”
“Absolutely not!” he beamed.
Pomni exhaled sharply. Her grip tightened. “It’s a logic pattern, there has to be a sequence. You just have to hold the pieces still long enough to get it.”
“Oh, yeah, totally." Jax nodded. “Because that’s how things work around here! Logic, rules, outcomes that make sense.” his hands wavered, his eyes rolled.
In some way or another, he doesn't feel like a jerk today. Eh- man, what the heck did Pomni do to him?
She turned away, visibly trying to ignore him.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t really want to leave yet.
Pomni muttered under her breath, twisting the cube faster now. “...If I can finish just one side, the rest should follow…”
“What happens if you can’t?” Jax asked, offhand. “What if it’s, like, a joke? Or a trap? Or something you’re supposed to give up on, and you’re just wasting your time trying to make sense of something that never will?”
She hesitated.
Not long. just a half-second hinch flicker of stillness in her twitchy little motions.
But it was enough.
“It’s not.." she said, but her voice didn’t sound convinced.
The cube whirred—and then reset again.
All progress gone.
Pomni let out a strangled noise. An awful little hngghhhhhh sound, long but quiet.
She pulled back—like she might throw it.
Which, honestly, she should.
“Do it." Jax insisted, deadpan.
She didn’t. She hesitated too long, and the moment passed.
Then she did throw it—but not far. Just a pissed off little toss.
Jax caught it mid-air with one hand.
He tossed it up, caught it again.
“...You really believe solving this’ll get you outta here?” he asked, more curious than mocking now. The sarcasm was still there, but something genuine underneath was lurking in.
She looked at him. Jaw locked.
“...no.” she said. “But it’ll give me something.”
That hung in the air longer than either of them liked.
That quite desperation. The same one he saw in the mirror sometimes when he was stupid enough to look too long. The idea that if you just focused hard enough, stayed busy, fixed the thing, then maybe you wouldn't fall apart like the rest of them. Like him.
He hated it.
So he handed her cube back silently.
And shoved his hands in his pockets, walked off before he had to think any longer.
Behind him, Pomni didn’t scream.
Didn’t throw it again.
She just stared at the puzzle like it was her last lifeline.
Yeah, thats enough feelings for today. Next trainwreck, please.
And started turning.
Jax didn’t have a plan.
He just knew he wasn’t touching his own pedestal unless it tried to eat him first.
So he wandered.
Which, for some reason, meant heading towards Gangle.
Of all people.
She was huddled beside her pedestal, nervously adjusting this weird puppet—tall and wire-jointed, with a fabric face that looked like it had been badly programmed to smile. Except it didn’t smile, not really.
It lagged.
A full three seconds behind her movements. She’d lift an arm, then it would. She’d twirl, and it flopped half-heartedly after.
It was supposed to copy her, Jax figured. But the result was uncanny. Like watching someone try to perform through a wall of molasses.
“Wow,” Jax said, stopping at a comfortable mocking distance. “Is that thing supposed to be a performance, or a cry for help?”
Gangle flinched. “I—I think it’s supposed to reflect me?”
The puppet tilted to the side. It looked drunk.
“....that’s worse.” he pitied. Wait, what?
He crouched down, watching as she tried to spin again. This time she forced a cheerful pose—one arm in the air, foot lifted like a ballerina.
The puppet sagged forward like it was fainting.
“Ten outta ten,” Jax muttered. “Perfect metaphor for masking your feelings."
In the distance, he could feel some type of sharp glare.
She whimpered a little, tugging at the puppet’s arm to reset it. “It’s not damage, I’m just—trying to be positive. I’m not sad! I’m not!”
The puppet crumpled completely.
From behind, Pomni scoffed—still fiddling with her puzzle.
“Yeah, sure. Because shouting that always convinces people.”
“It’s not shouting,” Gangle sniffled. “It’s being honest!”
“Ribbons–Gangle,” Jax said, deadpan. “If you were any more honest, that puppet would’ve already burst into tears and walked offstage.”
Gangle sniffled harder. The puppet twitched and sat down.
For a second, it looked like it was about to hug itself.
Or combust.
Then, from across the room, Zooble’s voice echoed faintly:
“Is it too late to opt out of whatever therapy nightmare this is?”
“Same, honestly,” Jax called back. “But I think we already signed the waiver by existing.”
“Ugh..." Zooble groaned. “Screw this, I’m making mine into a bomb.”
Jax smirked.
He turned back to Gangle, who now sat with the puppet mimicking her posture—sad, quiet, collapsed. She wasn’t even trying anymore. Not crying, not faking. Just… still.
The mirror in Jax’s pocket felt weirdly warm.
He ignored it.
“You gonna keep trying?” he asked.
Gangle looked up at him.
“...Maybe later.” she said softly.
He nodded once. Then stood, brushing his coat off.
“Cool. Just don’t let it kill you.”
She nodded back.
“Thanks… I think?”
What the heck is wrong with him today?
He was already walking again.
Next stop: Kinger’s! With a chessboard..? Huh.
But from behind him, the puppet stood up on its own.
Nobody noticed but him.
Weird, he thought. Or maybe not.
If Jax had to rank the group based on who was most likely to crack, Kinger was always hovering near the top—right next to himself, but with more panic and fewer jokes.
And sure enough, today was no different.
Kinger had dragged his pedestal to the corner, where he was now sitting with his legs hugged on the floor with an entire chessboard laid out in front of him.
The problem?
The board had too many squares,
The pieces didn’t match,
And they were all labeled with things like “Yesterday’s King,” “Pawn of Light,” and “The Unspoken Third Option.”
Oh yeah, Jax thought. This’ll be normal.
Kinger hummed tunelessly as he moved a knight that looked suspiciously like a spoon.
Jax approached slowly, like one does with a wild animal.
“...What are you doing?”
Kinger didn’t look up.
“Can’t talk now,” he whispered. “They’re watching. I’m three moves ahead, but they’re closing in.”
“Uh-huh.." Jax said. “And who exactly is ‘they’?”
“The darkness, obviously!” Kinger hissed. “They move diagonally.. very sneaky.”
“Naturally.”
One of the pieces shuddered and morphed into a rubber duck.
Jax stared. “Okay, I’m starting to think you’re just playing Calvinball with anxiety.”
Kinger didn’t respond. He was sweating. His hand hovered over the board like it was radioactive.
“The game has to be played,” he muttered. “If I stop, they’ll notice. If I hesitate, the queen dies again.”
Again?
“You lost a queen?” Jax asked, then stared off somewhere else.
“... I.. see."
A lone thought came out, even the usual unhinged Kinger is nowhere to be seen.
Behind him, Zooble wandered by carrying a mangled paper doll with detachable limbs.
“I swear to Caine, if this thing tries to give me a moral lesson I will bite it.”
“Too late,” Jax called. “We’re in an episode of ‘My Metaphor and Me!’”
Zooble rolled their eyes and kept walking. Kinger didn’t even flinch.
Jax turned back to the board.
The pieces were now arranged in some shape that looked vaguely like a person curled up. Or maybe a bug. He couldn’t tell. Probably wasn’t supposed to.
Kinger’s hands shook.
Jax squinted. Something was bugging him. Something quiet.
“Hey,” he said. “This whole thing today, these… pedestal challenges. Has Caine done something like this before?”
Kinger stilled.
Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.
Then—very softly—
“Yes.”
Jax blinked.
“Wha—really?”
“A very, very long time ago.” he confirmed, voice low. “I remember it. Some of it. It was... different. But the feeling—all the same.”
“What, the party? The cryptic tasks? The weird silence?”
Kinger didn’t respond right away.
“The quietness, that’s how you know it’s real.”
That was… deeply not comforting.
“Wow.” Jax exclaimed. “You still remember it?”
“Pieces of it, enough.”
“The others didn’t.”
“Eventually, neither did I.”
The others?
Did he mean the other circus members before him, or the already abstracted ones?
He made another move. A bishop flopped over.
“But today brought it back.”
Jax clicked his tongue.
“Yeesh. That’s bleak, man.”
“Isn’t everything here?”
Touché.
The chessboard let out a distorted beep. The duck quacked.
Jax backed away slowly.
“You enjoy your existential board game!" he said. “I’m gonna go check on the next contestant in this sad little showcase.”
Kinger didn’t answer.
He was already talking to the bishop again.
Man. What a day, Just half way there!
Zooble was swearing before Jax even got close.
Colorful language. A+ creativity. Sounded like they were inventing new slurs just for this specific puppet.
The object on their pedestal looked like it had been yanked out of an arts-and-crafts horror show. A paper doll made of mix-and-match parts—some sharp, some soft, none of them symmetrical. Joints twisted at wrong angles.
They’d already torn off the arms and were attempting to glue on a different pair—only for them to melt and reattach as the originals.
Zooble was slumped against a wall now, the mangled paper doll in their lap.
They weren’t even trying to fix it anymore. Just holding the torso, slowly tapping their fingers along its jagged edge.
Like they were waiting for something to click.
Jax approached with the same casual swagger he used to approach landmines.
Zooble noticed, but didn’t look up.
“If this is supposed to be cathartic, I want a refund." they growled. “It keeps snapping back every time I change something. Like it’s coded to fight me.”
“Ah, so like you.” Jax said brightly.
Zooble chucked a torso piece at his head. He let it pass through him. “Missed.”
“Not trying,” they said. “Just releasing anger.”
“Aww, I’m honored.” he responded.
Zooble finally looked at him—eyes narrowed, head tilted in that sharp, geometric way that somehow still communicated “I hate this whole thing, but you’re especially annoying right now.”
A few seconds of tension lingered. Before Jax could respond, they continued.
“And you know what the worst part is?” they said. “I don’t even like the version it keeps resetting to.”
Jax quirked a brow.
“Then why keep trying?”
Zooble didn’t answer right away.
They reached for another arm. Ripped it off. Tried to stick it in upside down.
It fused halfway, then corrected itself.
“...Because it shouldn’t get to choose.”
The words were quiet. Raw.
Jax blinked, Huh.
“And yet it does.” he said, softer than usual.
“Yeah,” they muttered. “Welcome to the circus.”
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Behind them, Ragatha passed by humming something just a little too upbeat. Her dress sparkled with confetti that hadn’t been there five minutes ago.
Zooble didn’t even look at her.
Jax tilted his head at the broken doll halves now pulsing faintly on the ground.
They were already fusing back together.
“Resilient little freak.” he muttered.
“Yeah." Zooble said. “We both are.”
“Hey,” he said, remembering something about making a particular gadget Zooble mentioned a while ago. “Didn’t you say you were gonna turn that thing into a bomb?”
Zooble groaned.
“Yeah.” they muttered. “Turns out it already was.”
There was a beat of silence.
Jax didn’t have a comeback for that one.
Damn.
He stared at the half-assembled, pulsing mess. Still somehow breathing, still somehow… them.
“So…. what now?”
“Dunno,” Zooble said. “Might let it explode. Might sit here until I do.”
They looked up at him, sharp and tired and sharp again.
“How’s your metaphor going?”
“Oh, it’s cozy in my pocket,” Jax said. “I’m pretending it’s not my problem.”
“Good luck with that.”
They didn’t wait for him to respond.
Everyone felt weird and ‘out of character’ today, whatever that means.
Jax stuffed his hands into his coat and kept walking—shoulders tenser than before.
They didn't say goodbye. Jax didn’t either.
He just wandered on—hands in pockets, heart sinking a little lower than he’d admit.
The mirror felt warmer than before.
The next pedestal pulsed in the distance, glowing like bait.
By now, Jax had accepted the pattern:
Pick a victim. Watch them flail. Leave before it got too real.
Worked great for Pomni, I think. Worked fine for Gangle. Kinger? A little rougher. Zooble? Yeah, that one stuck more than he liked.
But Ragatha…
Ragatha was different.
Not because she wasn’t broken—oh no. Dear 'ol Rags was broken in the most exhausting way: smiling through it. Denial and perkiness all over her.
And today, she was putting on a show.
She stood center platform on a conjured stage, complete with curtains and cardboard cutout audience members. A spotlight hovered above her—but flickered every few seconds. It would shine bright as she grinned, waved, and performed her little skits... but then dim. Or blink out entirely.
And every time it vanished, her smile twitched.
“Ladies and gentlecircus-goers!” she said brightly, in a voice pitched just a bit too high. “Welcome to my one-woman show of positivity and perseverance!”
Cardboard hands clapped.
Jax appeared at the edge of the “stage” with a lazy clap of his own.
“Wow. Do I get popcorn?"
Actually, nevermind. He took that back. No popcorn, thank you.
Ragatha spun to him, beaming like he hadn’t just insulted her existence.
“Heyyy, Jax! I was just about to do the comedy bit!”
“Oh goody," he deadpanned. “Laughter sure is the best coping mechanism."
Ah.
Behind her, the spotlight blinked off again.
She froze—just for a heartbeat—then launched into her “routine.” Something about juggling imaginary lemons while delivering forced optimism.
“ —Haha..!”
Silence.
No spotlight.
No applause.
Her hands slowly lowered.
The smile cracked—just slightly.
Then: a beat.
Jax watched. Said nothing.
The light clicked back on.
Ragatha perked up instantly.
“Whoops! Technical difficulties, folks! Happens to the best of us!”
Yeah, Jax thought, especially when no one’s looking.
She bowed. Too low. Too long. Hoping it meant something.
“What’s the challenge?” Jax asked, stepping forward into the edge of her little stage.
“Oh! It’s nothing!” she chirped. “Just... perform! Keep the energy up! Inspire others! I’m really good at that!”
“Is it making you feel better?”
She blinked.
The light flickered again.
“Um… maybe not me,” she said, softer now. “But if it helps someone else…”
“Who’s it helping?”
Ragatha didn’t answer.
She looked past him, hoping someone else was watching.
They weren’t.
“...I just don’t want anyone to feel left behind.” she said finally.
“So you make yourself easy to follow.” Jax muttered. Ugh, why is she taking this all so seriously? It's too much.
“It’s not a bad thing,” she said. “Being… reliable. Being kind. I’ve always been like that.”
“Even when no one asked you to be?”
The spotlight buzzed.
Then went completely dark.
Ragatha stood still for a long second.
Then she turned away, head bowed.
“People leave,” she said quietly. “But if they think I’m helpful… maybe they won’t.”
And that—yeah. That one hit something Jax didn’t like to name.
Nope, gotta get out of here.
And so—
He stepped back, off her stage, out of her spotlight.
Didn’t speak. Didn’t joke.
Didn’t look back.
Jax didn’t head back to his pedestal.
He could have. Could’ve picked up that creepy cracked mirror and stared into the symbolic abyss or whatever Caine thought was clever today.
Instead, he kept moving.
Aimless. Drifting.
Not like he cared how the others were doing.
Just wanted to see if anyone had combusted yet.
Totally normal curiosity.
Pomni was still with the cube.
Her movements were slower now, methodical. The surface kept scrambling in tighter loops—like it knew how close she was getting.
She didn’t see him watching. She didn’t see anything. Her hands were shaking.
“Just one side,” she whispered to herself. “One side… just hold… hold…”
The colors flickered.
It reset.
Her breathing hitched. She didn’t scream.
That was somehow worse.
Further off, Gangle’s puppet now mirrored her movements perfectly.
Too perfectly.
She’d stopped trying to “perform” emotions—just sat cross-legged on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees. And the puppet?
Did the same.
Quiet. Sad. Muted.
Like a reflection of someone who’d finally run out of emotional energy.
Jax glanced once. Then away.
He passed Kinger next.
The board was gone.
Now it was a pile of tangled thread and memory shards, and he was arranging them like they were traps. His eyes were darting too fast. Talking to himself.
“They think I forgot..” Kinger whispered. “But I remember everything, I just don’t always know when..”
The sky behind him glitched slightly. A rift. A visual hiccup.
Jax didn’t ask.
Zooble was still slumped against the wall, still clutching the twisted paper doll.
Most of the mismatched limbs had fallen off.
They weren’t putting them back.
Just… staring at the torso, like it was trying to insult them and succeeding.
“Still assembling yourself?” Jax asked quietly.
Zooble didn’t look at him.
“Still pretending you’re not?”
Ouch.
Okay.
He turned.
Ragatha was still on the stage,
Still smiling.
But the spotlight had moved,
Now it followed nobody.
She was performing to cardboard. Nobody clapped. Nobody watched.
But she didn’t stop.
That—that did something strange to his chest.
He looked away before it could settle.
He exhaled slowly.
Stopped in the middle of the circus floor.
Turned in a circle, just once.
Everyone’s failing.
That was the part that hit.
Not just that they were losing. Not just that the “challenges” were hard. But that they were trying. Really trying.
And still… it wasn’t enough.
No winner. No answers. No flashy Caine announcement declaring someone “cured” or whatever this was supposed to be.
Just quiet struggle.
Like always.
So what the hell is the point?
The mirror in his pocket pulsed.
Not glowing,
Just warm.
Jax didn’t pull it out.
Not yet.
He was almost back to his pedestal.
Almost ready to pick up the mirror and pretend it didn’t mean anything.
But then—
He looked up.
And Caine was watching.
Not floating. Not bouncing around in his usual sugar-rush orbit.
Just there.
Perched on a glitching balcony above the circus floor, half-obscured by static. No spotlight. No theme music. No audience.
Just Caine.
Staring.
And for the first time Jax could remember, the ringmaster didn’t look animated.
Not in the literal sense—his model still flickered with its usual artificial bounce—but something in his expression had flattened.
Empty.
Quiet.
Like even he didn’t know what was supposed to happen next.
Their eyes met.
Jax raised a brow. “No snaaazzy announcement? No ‘game over, try again’?”
Caine didn’t respond.
Didn’t grin,
Didn’t glitch.
He just watched.
As if he was waiting for something.
As if Jax was the final domino.
Ugh.
Weird. Creepy. Hate that. Moving on.
Jax turned away before it could feel like anything.
The mirror wasn’t glowing.
Not in the usual, flashy circus way.
Just pulsing. A soft, barely-there warmth. Like a machine waiting for permission.
Jax turned it over in his hands.
It didn’t show his reflection.
Of course it didn’t.
Instead, it showed Ribbit.
Not screaming. Not glitching. Not dissolving into abstraction.
Just… there.
Perched on the edge of their room’s bed. Back hunched. Hands folded in their lap.
Still.
Frozen.
Wrong.
“Oh." Jax said flatly. “We’re doing this. Cool.”
He rolled his eyes and shook the mirror once like an Etch A Sketch. No dice.
It flickered, shifted,
Now it showed him.
Human him, he guessed. No big cartoony teeth, no oversized limbs. Just a guy. Slouched on a hay bale, some grainstore—a barn, maybe. Somewhere real.
No sound, no movement.
Just Jax, staring blankly at a field.
Then it looped, back to Ribbit.
Back to him.
Ribbit again.
He exhaled sharply through his nose. Not a laugh. Not not a laugh, either.
“So what,” he muttered, “you want me to cry? Realize something deep? Write a tragic little letter to my past self?”
No response. Just the loop.
The image of Ribbit didn’t ask anything of him. Didn’t accuse him. Didn’t even look at him.
It was worse that way.
He rubbed his thumb over the corner of the glass.
It was cracked there. A tiny fracture, running across Ribbit’s face.
Like the memory couldn’t hold still anymore.
“You’re not even real,” Jax said. “Just code dressed up like grief.”
His voice was casual.
So casual it ached.
Another flicker.
Now the mirror showed him again.
Not the him in the farm.
But this Jax—his circus self. Staring into the mirror with deadpan boredom. Layers of himself watching himself watch himself, like some annoying art student’s final project.
“Okay, cool. Infinite regression. Deep.”
He pocketed the mirror and stood up.
“Try again next season!”
But the pulse didn’t stop.
The mirror buzzed against his chest like a second heartbeat.
And for a second, just one, Jax hesitated.
What was the challenge?
Was it grief? Was it guilt?
Was it just… admitting he cared?
Because he had.
And look where it got him.
He’d loved something once.
And it broke.
He didn’t say anything.
Didn’t cry. Didn’t throw the mirror. Didn’t even sigh.
He just pressed the heel of his palm to his eye for a second, like a guy wiping away sleep.
Sigh.
He walked away from the pedestal.
Like nothing had happened.
There was no fanfare.
No confetti, no “Congratulations!” banner. No goofy trumpet noises or digital streamers shooting from the ceiling.
Just a small ping.
Soft., barely audible.
And then the pedestal in front of Jax glitched—once, then stilled—and left behind a box.
Neat. Simple. White. Tied with a ribbon that shimmered like static.
The others noticed instantly.
Pomni was the first to speak.
“Wait… what’s that?”
Jax didn’t answer.
He stepped up to it slowly, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.
“Did you get a—? Was that your reward or something?” Ragatha asked, tilting her head.
“He won?” Zooble said flatly. “He won?!”
“What did he do?” Gangle whispered.
Kinger muttered something unintelligible about “final moves” and “unseen checkmates.”
Even Caine didn’t appear.
No explanation. No clarification. No clue.
Just the box.
And Jax.
He stared at it for a long moment.
Then he picked it up.
The ribbon curled around his fingers, weightless. For a second, the box glitched between shapes—cube, sphere, floating orb—then settled back into a plain gift.
Still, no one moved.
No one else got one.
And Jax didn’t say a word.
“Lucky.” Zooble muttered.
“Maybe it’s a mistake?” Gangle offered.
“Or a trick.” Pomni added.
Jax just smirked,
But it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Guess I played the game right!” he said.
Then he walked off with the box tucked under one arm.
No one followed.
And if the ribbon pulsed faintly like a heartbeat—
He didn’t mention it.
In the end, everyone groaned.
The day ends in weird laughter and confusion.
But somewhere, something logs a result:
☑️ SUBJECT: JAX (######) — Progress registered.
Jax didn’t open the box right away.
He didn’t even look at it after leaving the main floor.
He shoved it under his bed like it was cursed and pretended it didn’t exist.
For hours, maybe longer.
Time didn’t work the same here.
When he finally pulled it out, it was still warm.
Still glitching softly at the corners, like it hadn’t decided whether it should be real.
He sat cross-legged on the floor.
No audience,
No noise,
No Caine.
Just the box,
And him.
He opened it.
Inside of it,
A keychain.
Tiny. Green. Softly pixelated fabric. One eye bigger than the other.
Stitched mouth curled up in a sleepy smile.
A frog.
Not an exact replica, not a clone, Not Ribbit.
But close.
The kind of “close” only someone who rem
embered them intimately would notice.
It didn’t sparkle. It didn’t dance. It didn’t sing or glitch or explode.
It just was.
Jax stared at it.
Held it in his palm.
It didn’t vanish.
Didn’t reset.
Didn’t get yanked away by a pop-up adventure.
It stayed.
His.
“Huh,” he said quietly.
“Guess you’re stuck with me now.”
He clipped it to his coat.
Right at the front.
Visible.
Deliberate.
And for the first time since Ribbit disappeared—
Jax allowed himself to want something to stay.
Even if it hurt,
Even if it made him weak,
Even if it made him real.
End
CALVINBALL
A game where the rules always changes as you progress, with the only permanent rule being you cant apply the same rule that's been used before. Basically, an unpredictable game!
ETCH-A-SKETCH
Ya gotta shake it to erase the drawing, bet nobody in my generation still has this thing
I feel so alpha male having one 😛