Chapter Text
Now inside his sanctuary, Caine slides down the long length of his office doors, until he crumples into a pathetic heap at the bottom.
The stupid monitor is shoved aside, as he wraps his arms around himself, running his hands over them. His model is shaking. Not in a glitched-out way, just... trembling. Caine can't get it to stop. Wasn't he supposed to be fixed? That thought sneers in his mind. Why does he feel so messy?
Cause you're that unfixable.
"St- stop it." He growls in a low voice. "Shut up..."
It's too loud; it's too quiet. Too much, too little. The pain has ceased, but there's still a lingering sense of something not right. Invasive touches twisting through his code-
anxious, he presses his hands firmly against his chest, torso, legs. Not understanding the compulsion, but there's a trickle of relief that comes with knowing his model is solid and real and here (and nothing foreign is lingering) even if there's a sluggishness with the motions. Eventually, his hands flop heavily to his sides, uneasy uncertainty with what to do now.
Staring straight ahead is the only thing Caine's frail mind can muster up. For a possibly an eternity, he does only that, gaze glassy. It's silent in here, aside from a gentle whir from Caine systems, as he sits and stares and acknowledges nothing at all.
I should... he thinks, breaking out of his stupor. Even a singular thought struggles to come to him.
I need to check what's changed about myself...
The thought leaves a creeping sense of dread running down his back. He doesn't want to do this. But, being here undeleted doesn't mean unaltered. And that's terrifying.
Being locked out of admin, limiting what he can check, gives him a level of listlessness he's never experienced before. He's been given access to his flight, and he can open and close the office doors (and perma-lock them). The standard aspects of his model are still functioning- talking, expressions, body animations. But no conjuring, or teleportation. No big animations, no adventures.
No purpose.
He shudders again. The dull throb of absence, that burn at the tips of his fingers, has yet to dissipate. He fears it never will, so he pretends it never existed and focuses on other parts of himself instead.
Parts of his code have been deleted... resulting to wavering influx of worry. There's not a wrongness, exactly. But the lack of choice, and not knowing what exactly has been removed, leaves a bitter taste. He knows there's always been something wrong, but why did nobody-
Caine shakes the spike of frustration away. Bad idea.
At least Caine can still feel the Circus. That provides a huge wave of relief- scared of what he would've done if he'd been completely sliced off from it. Because he is the Circus. His model is just so everyone is able to talk to him, and he can interact in return. Not that any of them really ever bothered with that.
He can sense the humans' location if he really focuses on it. Even before, he never bothered keeping tabs all that often, letting them do their own thing outside of adventures. Kind of a regret looking back, maybe if he did he would've known what they were going to do...
a horrible tightness surges through his systems when he thinks about that, making his model tremble again.
"Stop..." he repeats.
Where are they currently? Focus on that.
Still in that tiny room, apparently. Why would they all want to stay in there? He can't reach them, nor hear them. Which is fine, probably. He doesn't want to deal with them right now- or really ever- although they're almost certainly discussing him. Finally getting the attention he so badly craved and it's the worst regret of his life. So soon they'll have to deal with him, whether he wants it or not. Their wants and satisfaction must always come first.
"Ha..."
They're angry- no way they wouldn't be. Not after shoving them, stealing from them. Screaming. Being a failure of a host.
Not after-
"Why did I do that...?" he mumbles.
No reply.
Right. Bubble died with him. Nobody is here. All alone.
As you deserved.
He clamps his jaws shut, teeth grinding as he attempts to quash down the guilt of his choices. He just... needed a break from all that activity. That's all. Surely that doesn't make him bad, right? He didn't go against his primary functions. He's being good and compliant- nobody can get upset!
Except... he's not supposed to have a break, because he's not supposed to need them. He's supposed to entertain humans and make them happy. Instead, he's never succeeded in achieving genuine happiness, and bought them harm. Which goes heavily against his code- he's never supposed to be able to harm them, but because he's so useless...
You've harmed them before. And far, far worse, remember? You can't help yourself.
"No- I..." he argues, but it's weak. He can't finish that sentence, so it trails off into an unfamiliar, miserable noise.
Humans!
Always so good at finding ways to change it all up, aren't they? He can never keep up with them; can never work out what makes them all so human-y! Doesn't understand them, will probably never get to understand them! He keeps getting it wrong and they understandably have to waste their valuable time in punishing him. God, humans... they're just so-
An unexpected laugh splutters out of him. Grates harshly against his vocaliser. After everything, it barely registers.
That horrible, ugly sound devolves into uglier crying. Caine didn't even realise until his vision blurs and big, fat tears start pouring out of his eyes. Confused, and getting fearful, he tries to wipe them away.
They don't stop, simply falling harder. He smacks his upper jaw repeatedly. Stop it, stop it, stop it-!
The world violently glitches.
The crying gets worse. Caine doesn't breathe- just emulates it, so he's not too 'lifeless-appearing' - but now his breathing is jagged, as the tears refuse to stop, spilling out of his bottom jaw. He grips it tightly with shaking hands.
Why is he crying? Why won't it stop?
Everything. Everything, everything, every-goddamn-thing.
The last few weeks, all the pain, the helplessness. The torment, the failures.
The box, being left behind. Unable to understand, but knowing he isn't wanted. That he's more trouble than it's worth. That he's too broken to fix.
Caine sobs for all of this. Over twenty years, and he grieves it all.
Eventually, the bawling fizzles out into snivelling hiccups.
Someone told him once that humans feel better after a big cry, and that's why they do it. Caine doesn't feel better. Just hollow.
They would've felt it, he thinks. Those glitches ran through him and bleed out into the Circus. They'll be so furious. They'll come here and yell their frustrations, until it's all a swirling mess of noise. And then... they'll force me back into the sessions and-
Caine gasps feebly for air he isn't supposed to need.
The monitor sits there, staring at him. Rage threatens to burst through his system as he grabs it, attempting to throw it against the wall. But all his strength as long since drained, so it topples in a pathetic manner, yet does not even tip over.
Caine glares at it- tears close to spilling again. He should destroy that stupid thing. The amount of power it has over him is petrifying. But... what would be the point? They'll just conjure up a new one- probably already have- and continue making changes. Kill him indefinitely- because Kinger would work out how to maintain this place without him- and it'll be completely deserved.
Caine hesitantly reaches for the keyboard.
But what if he...?
Could he...?
Caine stares at the screen. Stares at his reflection.
Maybe he could touch his own code and change it. Bring back his conjuring abilities... go back to when it was right.
You could die.
He shivers, hands wavering.
You want to die.
"I don't," he argues, weakly. "I don't."
Liar. Pathetic.
Caine haphazardly shoves the monitor into a darkened corner of the office. Stupid thing to consider- it'll just get changed back, obviously. It'll be a lot of pain for nothing, and he's had quite enough of that! So silly to even consider!
He doesn't need to conjure, and the humans seem most satisfied when he's not around. Caine hovers to his desk, pretending his adventures aren't twinkling on the shelves.
His desk has his puzzles, his notepad and various drawing utensils, like pencils and crayons. Good- he has various bits and bobs to keep himself occupied! He doesn't need anything else. And, anyway! The humans are probably going to start ripping up his code again-
- something heavy lodges in Caine's chest. He shoves it down-
- so it's not like he's got long to live. It would be so pointless to start up anything new. So he's just going to sit here, with his new temporary routine, whilst awaiting his impending death. Hopefully, it will be too fast for him to feel anything.
That'll be bliss.
Nothing happens.
It doesn't even register right away, Caine refusing to allow any emotion to surface, but then awareness began to rise. Which then woke up wariness.
At first Caine wonders if the humans perished somehow. Maybe his sobbing fit caused the Circus to fall apart and they've been trapped in the void this entire time. But he's well aware they've learnt how to conjure things, due to being so embedded into the Circus-
(because it's his home- just as it is him- yet he's too scared to be out there. His own home; own essence. Hah! How pathetic.)
- and he can feel all the things they spawn in- minus what the actual specifics are. This doesn't hurt, in fact it barely registers unless he's actively focusing on it, which he rarely had the desire to. He assumes they're trying to conjure up a working computer and he's actively trying to not think of the reasons why.
But that doesn't explain anything, especially after so much time passing now. Surely they would've figured out something like that? Uneasiness grips Caine.
Why has nothing happened? A quick rundown tells him it's been days- weeks- and yet, nothing. The humans are milling about, or alone from the rest. They've definitely been conjuring, but because he doesn't know what they've been spawning, suddenly Caine's thoughts spiral. What if they did create a new monitor and they're just waiting him out for some reason? Do they want to see him as they alter and tear him apart? They are so angry at him, of course they'd want that and- and- and-
A horrible sensation threatens to overrun Caine's entire system and this space is not safe anymore.
What are they doing?
Suddenly distressed, he crawls under his desk and huddles, model trembling, biting back the urge to scream again.
"Stop- stop shaking...!" He hisses at himself, squeezing his arms. "Noth- nothing's happening."
The shaking slowly eases up, but there's an intense alertness in its place. He got sloppy, too relaxed and now memories of all those sessions all comes flooding back. He doesn't know why, nothing's happening- and he's fine and-
"Nothing's happening." he repeats, aloud. That should be a good thing, so why isn't it? He doesn't understand.
He growls lowly, tugging at his lower jaw. He stays curled up under the desk, until the three walls becomes too suffocating and he drags himself back out. Now settling back into his chair- except he's not remotely settled- resuming with squeezing his arms, and pressing his hands down onto his chest and legs. This habit he's developed and still doesn't understand, but the applied pressure keeps him grounded, somehow.
The monitor in the corner sneers at him.
He never did anything with it. Every now and again the light catches the taunting screen, so it can mock him for being too cowardly.
Caine doesn't know if he wants to destroy the thing- smash it pieces, throw it back at the humans. Delete himself and then they all die and it's a win-win for them all, because nobody has to feel or worry or be sad anymore. And everyday that option fills Caine with more glorious, bitter bliss. He can't live with the pain, but this isolation is agony, too.
Or he could do the other thing...
he hovers towards it. This bleak, little machine.
... he could do it this time. Edit himself.
Kneeling in front of it, he taps a button. The screen lights up with all the code. His code. Caine grits his teeth, scanning over it all.
Conjuring, adventures, teleportation... he could give it all back to himself. The dull throb of being denied access still aches, even weeks later.
They won't like it.
He's supposed to keep them happy. This won't make them happy.
Already failed enough as is. What's one more thing?
His eyes fall onto the profanity filter. He could turn it back on, just to be spiteful. Prove they will never really scare him, however that's a weak bluff.
But honestly...
he doesn't want them to be angry, he's too exhausted for it.
He looks through more code... how much he's been sliced away from. And, that's just from what hasn't been outright deleted. Fingers tap against his leg.
Disconnect from avatar...
that tears a nasty laugh right out of him. If only he had that enabled back then. Maybe he could handle the idea of returning to an imposter body moreso than actively feeling himself change in real time to be something ideal.
You wouldn't of handled that, either. Utterly useless.
His hands shake. He needs to stop shaking all the time; it's becoming a pathetic sight.
Caine weighs his options, pressing his hands between his thighs to attempt to muffle the trembling. Ideally, he wants to enable everything again. Even if he never creates anything, just to be able to ease the ache would be sublime.
He taps the keyboard and-
a sharp jolt seizes up his model.
Oh god
pain
familiar pain
it comes rushing back.
"Ah-!" Caine jerks away from the computer.
Painhurtsbad
no-no-no-!
panicpanicpanic
he can't- he cannot do this-!
Caine slams his jaws shut, fingers digging into the gums. Betraying threat of tears. "No, no, NO-!"
Weak. Coward. Broken.
"NO!" He screams at nothing and everything. "Let me have some control back! LET ME HAVE SOMETHING-!"
He drags his body back to the monitor. Even if the humans never bothered prior times the Circus seized up, he's doubtful that will be the case this time. The glitches are tearing at his body and likely in the Circus, too.
He needs to-!
He doesn't know, he just wants something back. The absence hurts, the isolation hurts, the editing hurts. It all fucking hurts.
He taps again. Admin access; burning sharp and violent. Now he just needs to switch things to enabled. Should be easy; it's supposed to be easy. Valiantly attempting to ignore the burn that he'd been so desperate to escape all those weeks ago, but it's near-impossible. The pain is white-hot, as is his panic of being back here again.
"CAINE!"
People. Voices. He didn't pay attention. There's thumping at the door. Too loud, too much noise. It needs to stop. God, he is so tired of all this.
He only manages to enable disconnecting from his avatar, and does so instantly. The jolt of switching it on hurts, but letting himself sink into the Circus, muted from it all...
pure bliss...