Chapter Text
And the screen. . . flickered.
The dim light of the computer filling the old abandoned room. The chair seemed like it was shoved away from the desk the old computer box sat on. It was silent, desolate. The faintest of buzzing emitting from the machine. Kinger sat there, against the ground like he’d just fallen over, staring at it in disbelief. The headset sat next to him on the ground. He raised his arm, looking at the palm of his hand. It had five fingers, flesh and all. He was. . . physical again? No that shouldn’t be possible, he should be dead or worse. How–
A click sounded from the computer, and the program ended. The interface turned off. All there was left was the black of the screen, joining in on the darkness of the room. He felt. . . tired, sore, fatigued. Like he was starved or… No matter how much he tried to wrap his head around how this could be possible when he had spent years trapped in this program, in the digital circus, he couldn’t land on anything that could be feasibly possible. He was right back at his old office where he first made Caine. Alone with no traces of anyone.
His consciousness started to slowly settle in his head along with a faint light headedness as he stood up. His balance was a little wobbly, like the feeling of how people’s legs or arms go numb. He collapsed down on the chair, having to take a breath. It stinged, this feeling of being again. Kinger took a second to look down at himself, his form. His clothing aged and worn like he’s been here the entire time. He gently poked at the skin on his arm, somehow surprised when he was able to feel that sensation of being touched. A cloud lifted from his head.
Human again. Huh.
And he sat there for a moment or two, a million questions and thoughts racing through his head. Kinger then stood up again, this time a little more stable on his feet. He groaned slightly, stumbling his way to the computer. He tried to turn it on, and nothing. Check the plugs, and all the ports to the computer. Nothing. No matter how much he tinkered with it, the computer seemed to not turn on. It was an old computer afterall, and through all the time he’s spent in the circus, who knows how much technology advanced while he was gone. Or half gone, apparently.
He stared at that computer and emptiness started to pour into his chest, like his world just crumbled right beneath his feet. Or in a way, it did. He was no longer in the circus where he had his friends, the place he was in for years. A place he was forced to call home. And now he’s faced with a sudden change, hit with a hard reality. Though, it wasn’t quite the circus he was trying to get back to. Kinger glanced over at the headset laying on the ground, then back at the screen. He sighed, pressing an eject button, and out came a floppy disk. He stared at it, the faded writing on the disk itself, with such longing. He then shoved the disk in his shirt pocket and headed out the room.
–
Kinger laid awake staring at the blank ceiling of his hotel room. Being in the new age was strange to him, seeing all the advancements and things that human kind had made felt. . . weird. 2026, what a year. And he looks like he hasn't aged a day from 30 years ago. Two days had passed since he left his office. The place was completely abandoned. The building itself was even fenced off from the public, with dozens and dozens of warning signs plastered all over it. Probably for the better.
He managed to earn some money by trading in things to a pawn shop in town that was considered “old and unique”. Well, I guess to people in this day and age, some items were just simply rarer and cost more to collectors. Like old dollar bills, watches, and the like. He had enough to keep this hotel room for a couple nights at least. And also to get his old phone repaired despite the weird looks people would give him for having one as old as it.
But he stared at that ceiling, some rays of lights hitting the roof from the window as cars drove by in the night. Heh, cars. They were even slightly different from back then. Kinger was kept awake by all his thoughts racing through his head, this time he really couldn’t ignore it. What happened to his friends? How is he even alive right now? How is he going to adjust to life again? Are his friends out there somewhere in the world? Are they still trapped in the circus? If they are, then did they get deleted when the program closed? Are their minds forever stored in a computer somewhere? What happened to–
Kinger gently placed his palm over the floppy disk which was still in the inside of his shirt pocket. He took a breath, sitting up on his bed. He grabbed his shoes which slightly poked out from under the bed. He put them on, grabbing his keys that laid on the nightstand and started to head towards the door. If he can’t sleep then mise well get a move on. Spiraling in bed won’t do him any good. Maybe a midnight stroll could be what he needs for his head. A good breather to quiet his thoughts.
And he headed out.
The breeze whipped through his clothes, sending a slight chill down Kinger’s spine. A small smile cracked across his face as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Another feeling that comes with being alive. Temperature. He then pulled his arm out of his pocket for a moment to pull up his sleeve, seeing goosebumps lining his arms. He then pulled the sleeve back down, shoving his hand in his pocket once again. Breathing in, he could smell that unique smell of night. The cold air slightly trickled the inside of his nose.
Kinger stopped walking, taking a second to look up at the sky. It was cloudy, the sky threatening rain. Just as he noticed, the rain came, lightly coming down from the clouds. Those droplets hitting the bare skin of his face and trickling down his cheeks, dripping from his chin. Though cold as it was, he really didn’t mind the sensation. And he laughed to himself. Actually laughed, a full drawn out one, making his lungs burn a little from how hard that laugh came out. Kinger felt full of himself, thinking he would have never been appreciative of these little things thirty years ago. He would have probably grumbled at the sign of rain, fear of his clothing getting wet without an umbrella.
He’d probably curse under his breath about the cold, and yet, here he was smiling.
He continued walking, slowly taking in everything around him. The smell on the air, the way light bounced off the rain and puddles creating such a beautiful reflection. Though it did help to stop the racing thoughts through his head, they were replaced with a new feeling that settled on his mind. Longing. He missed the people in the circus. He could only hope the same happened to him that happened to the others. Somehow ejected out of the program into their bodies which should probably be dead. He would feel guilty if they were still in there after what he has done.
Memories started to replay in Kinger’s mind as that feeling grew heavier. In a place with so much activity one second and the next, alone. But that wasn’t all, the feelings continued to dwell as he started to miss–
His hand was brought up, hovering over where the disk was in his shirt pocket.
In the corner of his eye, Kinger saw a figure move. He shifted his stance, to look towards this person. This has been the first person he has seen out here this late, though he hadn’t been outside for that long. The figure got closer and–
Within the next second Kinger found himself with a knife pointed towards his throat, and a pair of eyes staring back at him. “Wallet, now.”
“I–” Kinger was baffled. He was shocked more than anything at this gesture. He was unfazed to be threatened like this. After all the years at the circus, all the years of getting hurt, being torn and sliced apart, being shot at and it not mattering, this almost seemed. . . silly.
“I said, give me your wallet.”
Kinger chuckled, “I don’t have it on me. I left it inside.”
The robber came closer. “I will be the judge of that.” he reached forward, towards Kinger while still having the knife directed towards his throat.
And Kinger took a step back. “Woah, hey has anyone taught you anything about personal space?”
“What, you think you’re some wise guy?”
“Well– no, not really–”
“Listen, I’m going to slice your neck open if you don’t give me your wallet. So how ‘bout you stop lying and hand it over and you can leave with your life.”
“I um, I wouldn’t really do that if I were you.”
“Yeah?” and the man stepped forward, getting ready to slash the other’s throat.
And. . . the next few moments were a blur. An unconscious maneuver followed by a few strikes, and now this man was collapsed down on the ground. The rain poured down heavier, like it knew the heaviness of this moment. Kinger came back to his senses, looking down confused at the man before realizing what he was holding. The man’s knife, now stained with blood along with Kinger’s hand and fingertips. He panicked, frantically looking around the area. He just stabbed this guy. It was almost hard due to the rain washing it away almost immediately, but he could see blood slipping through the fingers where the man clutched his wound. His legs almost looked misshaped, like Kinger had done a number to him besides the stabbing.
Kinger stared, thoughts racing through his mind once again. Kinger, what have you done!? I need to help this guy. I need to– No no, if I get the cops, or an ambulance, involved they’re going to arrest me. But I can’t just leave this guy bleeding out here. I need to– I need–
His eyes peeked up, seeing the top of a building in the distance. The top of a very old and run down building. His old office. Guess he didn’t get as far as he thought from it. And that’s when a wicked idea started to plague his mind.
His fingers brushed his pocket again.
Kinger closed the knife, shoving it in one of his pants pockets before wrapping his arms around this man, lifting him up and off the ground. He looked at his face, it seemed pale, slightly sick like. He’s unsure how long he’d been laying on the ground for. He quickly carried the other down the street, slipping through a cut in the wired fence from the back of the building. Kinger then entered, the sounds of the belting rain now muffled by the walls. He scanned the room, taking a breath. Barely any light leaked into the building, but it was just enough for him to make his way up to his office, most of it him navigating there through muscle memory.
And there he was, back in the place he was two days ago. The computer was still out. He settled the man, now unconscious, in the chair fiddling around in the draws of the desk. And that's when he found it, a basic first aid. Though it was old, it was all he had right now. Hopefully it still would do the job. He turned his attention back on the other, lifting up the man’s shirt, glancing at the wound. He couldn’t make it out fully. Kinger then started cleaning up the wound, wiping it down with disinfectant, before stitching the wound with untrained hands. And last came the bandage.
Once done, he backed up, staring blankly at the man. And those thoughts came back. What if when he wakes, he tries to kill you again? What if he goes to the cops? You’d be arrested anyway. You need to get rid of him. You need to make sure he doesn’t know you or your face.
And Kinger’s eyes glanced over to the computer screen. Doesn’t know you. . . More wicked ideas started brewing in his mind.
He pulled the chair closer to the desk, grabbing the headset from off the ground and secured it over the man’s eyes. Kinger then faced the problem of the computer not working. He tried the power buttons again, tried to fiddle with it, but nothing worked. It still didn’t work. Out of frustration he slammed his fist down on top of the computer and the screen flickered on again. He blankly stared at it, stunned that it was on, just like that. He then shook his head, getting to work.
If putting their minds into the circus made them forget things about themselves and certain memories, then maybe, just maybe, this could erase this person’s memory of him. Surely that’s a logical way to handle this. . . right? And just as Kinger was about to run the command saved on this computer to start the program, an error popped up. Missing input.
Kinger brought his palm back up to his chest, right where his pocket was. The floppy disk that was still there. Input. He reached to the inside of his shirt pocket, taking it out, giving it a quick wipe on some old papers, to try to dry it out some. He then stared at the disk, his palm slightly shaking. He carefully slid the disk into the port. And he tried the command again, starting the program. And a new mind file has been imported.
He sat there, staring at the screen as a stream of code filled the page. And that’s when he paused, eyes glued to a word on the screen. Or rather, a name. Caine. His eyes glanced over towards the limb body then back at the screen. A deep feeling started to settle in the pit of his stomach, a wrongness of morality. And even though he should have known better, he started to type. The more that time progresses the more the screen starts to stutter, pixels start to glitch. It wasn’t like this person was using their body anymore.
The computer started to make a noise, one that it shouldn’t make. Kinger began muttering beneath his breath. “Come on, come on. . .”
He was nearing the last line of the needed code, and the computer really started to malfunction, it being almost nearly impossible to see what’s on the screen. Nearly. Kinger hit enter and a surge of electricity sparked through the computer, through the headset. And this time, the computer was off for good. Shit. He ejected the floppy disk once more, seeing that it had also been completely ruined. Kinger looked over to the person’s body, as reality started to settle in him again. You just erased this man’s memory. You completely brainwiped him and now he’s trapped in a broken program. He started to breathe heavily. You didn’t even do what you had wanted, you didn’t–
The body twitched. Kinger’s eyes were glued on it. And the body moved again, this time each movement looked painful. The hands wrapped around the headset, pulling it off the face. And through dazed eyes, he stared back at the other. Kinger tried not to panic at the sight of this, trying to figure out what to say, but each word caught in his throat. Only a question managed to escape his mouth. “Are you. . . okay?” Stupid question to be asking in this situation.
The man’s expression lightened up in recognition. He recognized that voice. He heard that voice for years, he– “Kinger?”
And Kinger’s voice trembled. “Caine?”