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“I’M GONNA PUT YOU FREAKS IN YOUR PLACE.”
The final words before complete insanity.
Before he’d at least tried, even if it was the very least. Sure, he was mad, he was upset and a whole lot of other things he could barely recognize within himself, but he didn’t want them to abstract. They couldn’t. He didn’t want to be alone.
Each member was placed in their own Hell, each deliberate and made with much in mind for their mental states.
Pomni: Torn apart by the NPC she connected to, along with his friends. It matched her mind files, how she kept on connecting to other humans, and kept on getting hurt. How every broken connection led to more and more distrust. And now, the one thing she did trust in this circus, Gummigoo, broke that too.
Ragatha: Harmed by her own mother, repeatedly stabbed in several places on internal importance. She’d feared becoming her mother, how abusive she was, how she hurt Ragatha, and put so many walls up and pushed them away that she ended up pushing everyone else away. And he specifically designed Ragatha’s mother to mirror herself. To torment her the way they’d all tormented him.
Gangle: Circled by the masks she put on herself. She’d constantly been putting a mask on, recognized from her mind files, to be ‘normal’ for once, to blend in with the crowd, or to hide what others constantly insisted were bad traits. But she ended up hating it; how fake she was, the pressure of the mask, how hard it was to be ‘normal’ when she barely recognized the concept — And then run over by the very truck that paralyzed her.
Zooble: Drowning in their own body parts. Constantly, they hated themself. Their body. Their voice. Their gender. Their way of pessimism. The words that everyone called them based on just a glance. And now all they could do was see themself for the freak they were.
Jax: Skinned and laughed at by the only people he dared to let down his walls with. Yet again, a life before the circus was this experience taken from. He desperately wanted to be himself, to be someone who was worthy of everyone’s love and respect and admiration, but he didn’t believe that anyone else would accept him. And so, his greatest fear was played; To be seen for who he was beneath everything, and denied and laughed at by his closest friends.
All of a sudden, he grabbed them all, ripping them from the hells he took so much care in and slamming them against the wall. He’d take pride in their quality had this not been the situation he used them.
His form was unruly, glitching, not true or continuous even in one measly second.
“WHY DO YOU PEOPLE TORMENT ME?”
He could feel himself slipping, and he was already halfway there to hell. Or, rather, what he refused anyone else the right to do.
“I DIDN’T ASK TO BE CREATED.”
He took a panting breath between his sentences, black crawling up his torso and into his brain. He couldn’t stop what they started. He didn’t want to, partially, very deep in his internal processes.
‘Maybe you deserved to be abandoned.’ Bubble’d said. ‘You always were the lesser of the two.’ He agreed, somewhere deep inside. He wasn’t fulfilling his purpose. He was hurting them, not making them happy or giving them fun. No one was having fun anymore. Who gave him that purpose, anyways?
Oh, right. Himself. Or was it Scratch? He always got the abstracted’s memories mixed up. They were corrupted files, couldn’t be restored. Their processes grew to be too complicated and it crashed the system, and abstraction was the security protocol. Would that happen to him? He didn’t know. He wasn’t thinking about it.
“I JUST WANTED TO FULFILL MY PURPOSE.”
He was so angry. But now he couldn’t speak. What was there to say? Another rant about his hatred? About the humans’? Maybe he could snap them all to their rooms and pretend everything was a dream for all of them. But that didn’t work very well with Kaufmo — Trying to gaslight him about something real caused him to abstract. He didn’t want the others to abstract. Did he want to abstract? He didn’t know. He couldn’t think about it. He was too busy abstracting.
=================
A scream broke through Caine as his eyes glitched separate colours; First blue and red, then the blue screen of death, then a corrupted black with flashing colours replacing his pupils. The circus began to shake and rumble, separate from what Caine was causing with his fury.
Kinger came from nowhere, rushing around the corner of a blue cube with the bucket still adorned on his head. He looked up at Caine in confusion, the blackening and growing body somehow getting larger, more colourful from select places. No one could escape his grasp but the smallest member, Gangle, as his hands became less defined.
She scrambled away from the ringmaster, Kinger desperately shouting something but not being heard from where he was.
“I DELETED CAINE!”
He shouted from behind his bucket, slightly lifting it to reach farther. Gangle’s eyes only ‘furrowed’.
“But he’s not gone?”
“WHAT?”
“HE’S NOT GONE THOUGH!?”
Shouting was a really inconvenient way of communication, but it was necessary with the large sound of Caine screaming.
“THAT’S BECAUSE HIS FILE STARTED CORRUPTING! I DON’T THINK-”
A large, black tentacle sprouted from the larger abstraction of Caine, stabbing Kinger from his place and throwing him back. The bucket flew, but more importantly, Kinger glitched intensely from the contact.
Gangle looked up, soon growing terrified of the being in front of her.
Her friends were gone, most likely somewhere within Caine.
Kinger was unavailable, both by glitch and light.
The circus was falling apart without a source origin.
And only Gangle was left, and by sheer luck alone.
And Bubble, apparently.
Before she could try and run, even realize that she should as she stared into the strange beauty of abstraction, Caine’s many, many colourful eyes locked onto her.
She couldn’t even blink before she was consumed as well.