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I’ll find you, Jax!
I hope so, Pom-Pom, I really—
Next thing he knows, he’s upright in an office desk chair with a headset wrapped around his head.
He screeches, scrambles away from the setup, ripping that damn headset off his skull and hurling it across the room. IT sails in the air for three seconds, before crash-landing on the perfectly polished time.
“What the—” Jax’s lip quivers with the words. He inhales, feeling the air in his nose when it enters, and on his tongue when he exists. It’s such a strange feeling—so familiar and yet, so alien. Jax, if anything, feels like an alien.
He stares down at his palms, and sure enough, they’re his palms alright. Calloused, unevenly tanned and adorned with a couple of rings—none on his ring finger. Shakily, he stands up, eyes darting around the area as he tries to register where he is. The room is perfectly clean and polished, with each tile shiny enough that Jax can see the outline of his face reflected in the stone. The desk setup he’s just stood up from is small, and pushed against a corner of the room, but there’s a larger, more modern desk structure that takes up the centre, with a curved, squiggly sort of design that looks like it was custom-made for the room. There’s a screen behind this table, and surrounding it, a maze of wires and a barricade of cameras and lights on tripods.
“There you are, man,” a dude around his age walks up to him, pats him on the shoulder. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“What? Ye-yes, of course. It’s been an eternity, I guess.”
“Uh, not really,” the guy looks at Jax, confused. “Probably like an hour and a half, max.”
What?
That couldn’t be possible. He’d been stuck in that circus, that prison, for nearly a decade. How…
Jax just exhales. “Sure, thanks…” he stares at the nametag of the guy. “Ryan.”
“No problem, Zach,” Ryan smiles. “I’ll see you next week, then? For our special? We’ve got this important guest lady coming. Better jot down at least some semblance of a script.”
Zach? Is that— “Noted.”
“Cool video game there, by the way. The Amazing Digital Circus. Never heard of it—mind if I give it a go?”
In horror, Jax turns back around him and—lo and behold, the screen in front of him is lit up with a pop-up that reads, Click to join the game: The Amazing Digital Circus!
“No!” Jax rushes, and it comes out loud and high-pitched. Before Ryan can question it, Jax clears his throat. “It’s got a virus. Bad one.”
“Ah, okay then,” Ryan nods, but he looks confused. “Whatever you say, dude. Whatever it is, you should probably head home, it’s nearly nine in the night.”
“Sounds good, dude,” Jax manages. “See ya.”
“Ryan out,” the guy fake salutes at Jax, then turns in the opposite direction.
Jax blinks, stares at his palms again, then at the screen. The pop-up is still flashing on the screen, along with a pixelated Caine smiling brightly, as if to say, you, yes, you the viewer, should join this game immediately!
He’s almost hypnotised by the thought of it, touching that screen, slipping that headset over his head again…trapping himself in the world of the digital circus. How simple would it be…when your only worry is to play your character and survive?
But Jax retracts his hand, bites his lip. He tries to remember what else happened in the circus—fights, abstractions…things that he could never come back from.
Or come back to.
With a shiver, he realises that leaving the circus also means leaving everyone in it. Zooble, Gangle, Raggy, Kinger, and…Pomni.
That last name sends a jolt down his spine. His cheeks heat up and he dismisses the feeling, shoving it right down everything else. But the feeling is persistent—warmth, riddled with a lurch of his stomach, further accompanied by this warmth all over his body. Almost like caffeine, the way he’s jittery enough to be unable to stand still.
Jax shoves his hands in pockets, blinking hard, then retrieves them. He creeps closer to the PC, hands shaking as he follows the back of the screen to where the wire is, then down to the outlet and…
Jax tugs it.
The plug point rips from the outlet, and with a swift click, the monitor shuts down. Caine’s face, the tempting pop-up disappears entirely, and the screen goes black. Thank god.
Carefully, Jax backs away, eyes on the monitor the entire time. Then, when he’s ten feet away from it, he turns and runs. Out the door, down the stairs, into a hallway—and then a bathroom. He slams the door shut behind him and bends over the counter panting.
It reminds him of that one night, the favourite character awards show, and how he fled in the exact same way—but then, he’d been fleeing up his humanity and now…he isn’t sure.
He stares up at the mirror, and…goddamn.
He has hair. Real, human hair—not the rubbery faux fur that Jax had adorned in the digital circus. Naturally brown with artificial platinum highlights interwoven, and his shaggy locks had been artfully parted to the side, accentuating his jawline. His skin was…somewhat tanned, with a few stray freckles near his nose. Most of all though, the heterochromia—one blue eye, one brown one, and both carried eyebags underneath them that could only come from years and years of entrapment.
He rests his hand on his cheek, then his forehead, and lets it slide down his skin. It’s sort, supple and smooth—but not in the artificial way. It’s so, so real.
Jax—no, wait. That’s not what Ryan had called him. He’d called him…
Zach.
Jax—Zach’s—hands reach for his midriff, where a lanyard hangs with pens and ID cards. He picks it up, squints and…
Zachary Alvarez.
Not Jax, not ‘motherfucking purple rabbit’, but…Zach.
“Zach,” he whispers. “Ja—Zach.”
That’s going to take some getting used to.
Ja—Zach shivers. After all that time in the circus…this didn’t feel real. He laughed at the irony. Reality, not feeling real? While a made up polygonal world feels like home? It was tragic—almost funny—in the cruellest way. He reaches for the top of his head and oh—his ears. He doesn't have rabbit ears anymore. And it feels weird. Feels like someone had ripped off his organs and told him he’d be fine, except he wasn’t, because this body doesn’t feel like his and his face doesn’t belong to him and his name—he hasn’t been Zach for seven years. How could he possibly adopt that identity again? Or is he to build it from the ground up? Disappear again, become a character like he always did? Or is he, after reclaiming his humanity, supposed to relish in it? Jax/Zach can’t stand the thought of it. Humanity sucked. And after so long accepting his fate that he’ll never get it back, now that he has…it’s empty. Devoid of anything it’s supposed to feel like. And maybe that’s his own fault, but he doesn’t care.
Jax/Zach runs his hands through his hair, flashes a smile. He played a smug jackass for seven years—what’s stopping him now.
He picks up his ID again, trying to gauge where he is, who he was…and—oh! A title, right next to his name.
ZACHARY A.—TV SHOW HOST FOR: THE ZACH SHOW.
Jax/Zach blinks, then the memories seem to trickle in. The room, the cameras, the lights, what Ryan said—it all makes sense. He isn’t just some random guy in—he checks his ID—Los Angles, he’s Zach Alvarez, host of one of the most popular late night shows.
He cracks a small smile. Makes sense—his job is quite literally, playing a character. Perfect.
He plasters a smug smile on his face but then—the thought hits him, he’s never going to see his fellow circus captives again.
Like, none of them. They’re probably across the country—hell, some could be across the world—and he’ll have to go back to his normal life.
A part of him, the smallest part, mourns it. How could he ever be the same again, knowing and experiencing what he did? A part of him screams that he can’t come back from this. But the louder, more stubborn part insists that he will.
He’s Jax/Zach, the host of a fucking TV show! He’s made it out of tough situations before, he can make it out again.
Oh phew, speaking of tough situations. He bites his lip.
Nope, not addressing that, he thinks to himself. He’s spent the last five human years, with an additional seven Jax years, not thinking about that, his old home and old life, he can do it again. He has to.
Finally, Jax/Zach leaves the bathroom, a little less sure about who he is, and a lot more sure of who he’s supposed to be—and frankly, that’s the more important part.
——
“This can’t be right,” Jax/Zach mumbles to himself as he stares at the house—or should he say, estate—in front of him. This can’t possibly be his.
And yet, it’s the address on his phone.
It’s, to put it simply, sprawling, with a gorgeous garden of well-maintained flowers in front, leading into a mahogany door. He pushes the key into the lock and—sure enough, it fits. He slips on in, feeling severely underdressed, and opens the door. A foyer greets him, with walls covered in tasteful paintings and the floor swept and mopped.
Slowly, the memories pour in.
That show…minted him money. All of LA, all their eyes on him, and he’s able to maintain viewers and thus, a steady income. Jax feels a little perplexed though—why would he ever choose to live here? It’s like living a life that isn’t yours.
But then again, Jax/Zach is familiar with the feeling.
He flicks on the lights and the whole house comes to life. A kitchen, living room, a hallway—furnished and clean. Damn. Mentally tracing his footsteps, he teeters to the bedroom and—finally, a room that feels lived in.
The sheets are strewn across the bed, clothes lie on the floor and a jumble of wires occupy their own corner. The room is large but cluttered regardless. Jax/Zach jumps into bed, tempted to go to sleep immediately. But…a nagging voice eggs him on, telling him to at least brush his teeth and change into pyjamas.
The voice in his head wins.
Sure enough, he freshens up in the bathroom, slips on a pair of pyjamas with rabbits all over it—ironic—and then, crawls into bed, and lets himself fall asleep.
——
Jax—fuck, Zach. He’s still getting used to the name.
Zach manages to get out of bed at 11 AM, still sleepy. He stumbles into the bathroom, stares at himself in the mirror. He’s not nearly as put together earlier, but he still has some saving graces. Despite the tossing and turning, bedhead hasn’t affected him too much—minus a couple sticking up strands that Zach is able to smooth over.
After freshening up, he decides that being trapped in the four walls of this—his—house is the worst thing for him. So, he throws on a godawful graphic tee—‘I like milk and maybe three people’—and some jeans, and heads out into the garage.
He bristles at the vehicle sitting in his driveway, feels something inside him shift. A white Toyota Camry that looked so stark against the large house. Proudly, it sat, luring Zach into its front seat and into a time that he left behind—a time he can never go back to.
Shakily, he gets into the driver’s seat. The controls are so familiar, the seat is just the right height for him. A fuzzy dice charm hangs from the rear-view mirror, completely still as if holding its breath, waiting for Zach’s arrival. Time has frozen in this car, despite Zach’s best efforts to run away from it.
He turns on the car, blinking slow and hard, and backs out of the driveway. Somehow, he manages to get himself on the road with no catastrophes. He’s shaky behind the wheel but he’s an experienced driver nonetheless, so he bites the inside of his cheek and continues driving.
“Hey Siri, directions for Century City,” Zach yells into his phone. A day at the mall could definitely cure his…everything. Right?
When he joins the main road, he’s thrust into a traffic jam. Great. That’s Los Angeles for you, folks.
Zach hates traffic jams. Mostly because they give him time to think.
Zach’s mind runs wild. With the circus at first—damn, he can’t remember most of it. Seven digital years—seven!—and it’s a fucking blur. Faces and names gnaw at him, and a few adventures here and there, but the bigger picture is lost.
Actually, the clearest thing he remembers is their escape.
A plan that none of them carefully thought out, but executed regardless. There were no meticulous layouts and distractions, just a few captives’ quick thinking and desperation to escape. Yes, yes, he remembers now—after all of them refused to participate in Caine’s adventure, because of his ‘escape the circus’ fakeout, he’d crashed. Caine had glitched out before, sure, but this time, the whole circus was coming with him. Zach remembers so well—he thought he was going to die at that moment, which he was perfectly fine with. He’d seen the end a million times and grieved the loss in his head before it ever happened. But Kinger, in a moment of lucidity, managed to spill that the void was the answer, that it always was. It all happened so quickly—Pomni leading them through a series of exit doors, then pulling them into a crumbling code, and then, right as it was all about to fall apart, a blinding light. Then they were out. Pomni’s last words rings in Zach’s mind, along with the sentence he never got to complete:
I’ll find you, Jax!
I hope so Pom-Pom, I really—
And then it was over.
Zach shivers. Everything about it had been so...risky. One wrong step and they could’ve crumbled, just like the code. One second wasted and he’d still be in there, probably along with the abstractions, glitching out.
The light turns green, and slowly, the traffic moves. But Zach almost forgets to move, paralysed by the thought of where Pomni could be—if she was even alive. The very thought of it made Zach want to find the nearest bridge and…he shakes away the thought.
By the time he arrives, it’s noon. After he finally finds parking, he sets out on finding a place to eat—anything except McDonalds (he’s still not quite over his shift at Spudsy’s).
He doesn’t quite make it to the food court. He’s first distracted by all the brightly coloured, flashing stores—but mostly this one department store. But it’s not the store that distracts him—it’s the stuffed toy sitting against the glass that does.
Specifically, it’s the jester stuffed toy.
Zach practically sprints into the store, heart thumping against his chest. He must look like a fucking weirdo, actually, because he heads straight for the stuffed jester and picks it up. It really looks like Pomni. Wide, confused eyes and an adorable frown on its face, as well as a classic blue and white jester costume. He doesn’t think twice, just purchases it. The guy behind the counter looks a bit confused but Zach doesn’t care. When the transaction is completed, he shoves the plush into his bag. If anything, it brings him a little warmth—Pomni was one of the few things in that circus he had to live for. He’d never tell her that, but it’s true nonetheless.
When Zach leaves the store, he’s sort of revitalised, sort of invigorated—and he has mini Pom-Pom to thank.
——
This time, when Zach walks into the big corporate looking building he works at, it’s with (false) confidence and his classic charming, slightly sleazy grin on his face. He wears it like a costume, like the suit he’s donning now—something that’s like sandpaper now, that he’d have to get comfortable in.
“Dude!” Ryan greets him. Zach comes to think of him as a kind, himbo-like goofball. Always a smile on his face, always something nice to say, and always a tad confused about what’s going on. Zach plasters that smile, greets Ryan.
“What’s up?” Zach smiles. “Just slackin’ over here?”
Ryan rolls his eyes. “I. Wish. It has been pure chaos these last few hours. The lady should be arriving around now, so of course everything is in shambles.”
“Who even is this chick, anyway?” Zach mutters. What dumbass is stupid enough to actually do an interview with him? His show is more like a snarky comedy night show, anyway, but this lady had been insistent on interviewing here.
Ryan shrugs. “I don’t really know. Her name is Dana Wu, and she works for Walmart. Some big profit, or some donation—either way, she wants to be on this show. Like, reallllly badly. We just decided to let her have it.”
“So, what? I’m supposed to just ask this chick some stock questions? Pull out some dumb finance bro act?” Zach huffs. Great.
“I don’t know, man. Just be nice, make some notes, and try not to rely on your script too much, ‘kay? I’ll be waitin’ for ya on the outside.” Ryan, who’s taller than a five-foot-eleven Zach, pats his back.
Zach doesn't really acknowledge Ryan as he walks out, only rolls his eyes and hops on his phone, typing dana wu into the search bar.
She’s incredibly successful, that much is for sure. More figures keep popping up and some minor info regarding background. Taiwanese-American. A real up-and-comer, the internet seems to think. Stays off of socials, largely, and is originally from Seattle. Zach slips his phone into his pocket. No use, further scrolling only revealed Walmart’s big numbers, and nothing about Dana in particular.
Then, ten minutes until shoot, he walks into the stage. There’s a live audience too, but the stage is hidden behind a thick curtain.
You’ve got this, you’re Zachary Alvarez, he thinks to himself. You’ve gotten through everything so far, everything else you can survive.
It’s the mentality that has kept him alive this long.
While Zach is amidst his own thoughts, a woman walks in and takes a seat. His eyes flicker to her, and, admittedly, linger there a lot longer than they should’ve. She’s short, like, five-foot-three short, making Zach look like a giant. Her choppy dark brown bob suits her round face surprisingly well—it would look odd on most, but something about the uneven layer seems to accent her sharp eyes and naturally frowning mouth. The thing that catches his attention most, though, is how she’s looking at him—like he’s something between a dream and a nightmare, between familiar and alien and Zach can’t place it, but he feels the same way about her. Who’s she to him? Some random chick working for some fuckass corporate company. But a nagging feeling tells Jax there’s a deeper answer than that.
From somewhere in the background, a cameraperson shouts. “We’re on air in five, four, three, two…one!”
The curtains part, lights go up and Zach barely pulls the charming act together before the eyes of Los Angeles—hell, all of America—are on him. Cheers erupt distantly, excited to see their favourite late night host.
“Hello, America! I’d introduce myself, but I think you know my name,” Zach flashes that winning smile, and out of the corner of his eye, sees Dana’s lips quirk up. “Are we feeling good today? I know I could use some more sleep—and I woke up three hours ago.” Lies.
More cheers. More applause.
“Well, in any case, tonight we have Dana Wu, top dog at Walmart here with us tonight on The Zach Show,” he turns to Dana. “You gonna talk our ears off about stocks or are we going to hear the cool bits?”
The audience laughs. Huh. This is easy.
Dana composes herself. “Oh, I could if I wanted you, but I’m far from boring.”
That voice. It’s the first thing that hits him, the only thing on his mind. The high pitched, yet even tone—it’s so familiar, but Zach waves away the thought. “Sure, then. Okay, Dana, do tell: why should we care about what Walmart’s up to?”
“Because Walmart is all about the people,” Dana emphasises the past word of her sentence. “Which is the most important part. We have our differences and annoyances, but at the end of the day, we’re still people though, right?”
Zach’s face scrunches. Why was this chick going on about how Walmart cares about the people? The huge cooperation, of all things? Where did she pull that out of? More importantly, why do those words sound so familiar? The emphasis, the intonations…it’s so meticulous in its delivery, like she’s picking every breath.
“Yeah, I guess,” Zach’s a bit dumbfounded, to be honest. He’s usually so quick to put his mask together, but it feels so distant now. Who is she?
Dana breathes hard, desperation in her eyes. “Walmart looks to connect people, always and first. You’d think it’s just a grocery store, and then you’ll stumble into an aisle and find something magical and terrifying at the same time.”
What the hell is this bitch going on about? This can’t possibly be about Walmart, anymore, Zach thinks.
Shakily, Dana pulls out a stuffed animal and holds up—but more importantly, holds it right up to Zach’s face. “Sometimes you’ll find a purple rabbit with a stupid smile.”
Zach gasps.
Pomni. Dana Wu is—Pomni. And she’s trying to signal it to Zach.
Zach stares at Dana with fresh eyes. Of course, of course. Why else would a Walmart employee be so desperate to be on Zach’s show, of all shows? The shifty eyes, the random tangents about humanity…it’s Pomni, unpixellated, in the flesh.
Zach draws a shuddering breath. “Sometimes you’ll find a red-and-blue jester with a dumb hat.”
Dana’s mouth hangs open. Then, curls upward in a smile. In the reflection of the bright lights, Zach can see her eyes turn glassy, and he can feel his own do the same.
He hears a cough from behind the curtain, then turns to the audience, blinking hard. Fumbling, he stumbles through a closing sentence. “And that’s all we have for tonight folks. I’ll join you another time but for now—bye!” From behind him, he can hear a confused “CUT!” and mumbling. But the curtains close and he jumps up, stalks toward Dana.
“Jax?” she whispers, lips quivering.
“Pom-Pom,” Zach confirms. “How’s it going?”
Dana stares at Zach with those classic blank Pomni eyes, then runs toward him, trapping him in an embrace. It catches Zach completely off guard, enough so that he gasps audibly but Pomni/Dana keeps her hold on him. It’s awkward: she’s trapped his arms into her embrace, and can’t really move, but this time, Zach doesn’t pull away—no matter how badly his instincts tell him to.
“Told you I’d find you,” She sniffs as she pulls away, wiping her eyes, She looks up at him—like, looks up. “So…Zach? Zachary?”
Zach snorts. “Yeah. Zach.”
She chuckles. “Somehow, that’s entirely fitting.”
Zach rolls his eyes. “And…Dana?”
“Yeah,” she shrugs.
“Suits you. Short name, short person.”
Dana lightly punches his forearm. “Geez, first time I see you again and you’re already making short jokes? Is this our dynamic now?”
“Just us falling into our archetypes. Me, the funny, irresistible TV show host, with my rugged charm and ability to break the fourth wall,” he winks at a camera to his side. “And you, the big accountant for a hot-shot company.”
Dana sucks in a breath. “Yeah, I’m not big on corporate.”
“Figured,” Zach nods. “You gonna go discover your true calling, then? Did the circus reset your perspective or some shit?”
Dana kicks the ground. “Not nearly as much as it should’ve. Not as much as I wanted it to, at least.”
“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Zach mumbles. “So, now what? Is this a one-off meet-up, like ‘hello, we shared this super traumatic experience that no one else can ever understand or know, see you in five years’—or what?”
It comes out as a joke, but there’s fear and earnestly lacing it—a worry that Dana really will never see him again. And then all his fears will come true—and for the worse—because he wouldn’t have just lost Pomni/Dana for good, she would’ve chosen to exclude him from her life.
Dana bites her lip. “Honestly Ja—Zach…I don’t know what to do. For better or worse, we have a past we gotta admit to. And I don’t want to lose you—I wanna know you, Zach, along with everyone else. I guess I just don’t know—just gonna go home, practice some breathing exercises, and hope for the best, I guess.”
“Oh yeah, home,” Zach mutters. “So…Seattle?”
“Stalker,” Dana rolls her eyes. “But yeah, I guess. I don’t know, though. It’s home only in a technical sense. I’m in New York and LA a lot for work.”
“You—you can stay with me,” Zach chokes out, surprised at himself for the offer. “I have space in my house. Us talk show hosts, we make a shit ton of money.”
“Well,” Dana mulls over it. “I do have to stay at least another week. You up for a roommate, Zach?”
“Only if you’re up for ordering an unhealthy amount of takeout.” Zach laughs.
“Deal.”
“Deal.” Zach smiles. “You know, Pom-Pom, I’m starting to think that you being short is a perk.” Zach rests his elbow on her shoulder. “Very convenient.”
Dana rolls her eyes, but doesn’t object—she leans her own head on his shoulder, and the two stay, rocking in that weird position, for some time.