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⋘ 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡... ⋙
N̵̢͖̈́̀ȯ̸̰̎̍ẘ̸̯̲̩ ̴̩̈͆l̷̟̅͜o̴̳͂ͅa̸̜͖̓͆͘d̴͇͛̍ǐ̴̬n̶̩̜̖͋͆g̸̣̾…̵͚͚̽͋
••●━━━━━━●••
A blinking red light blinks twice at you from the top of your company-provided monitor. It’s light is is the only pop of color in your cubicle, an otherwise palace of white plastic masquerading as wood and a foam rubber chair so depressing that just looking at it makes you wince for the lasting effect it surely will, if it hasn’t already, leave on you from the hours of sitting upon it, day after day.
An artist was what you’d wanted to be, years ago. But the world had other plans; with the surge of AI and its development, you might as well kiss that dream goodbye. You sigh, gazing instead at the dreary glow of the unremarkable computer in front of him, branded with the unremarkable C&A logo. Back to the monotonous ebb and flow of a life etching 1’s and 0’s into the hyper pixelated world of your job.
Another line of code reluctantly flies from your hand. You flick your finger up the scroller of your mouse, scanning your codes for errors.
Scroll, backspace.
Scroll again, add a line.
Delete another.
Scroll.
Delete.
Scroll.
Eyes fly over binary till the numbers fade to blinking squares of black and white, blurring before you.
Coding used to be something you enjoyed, albeit less than the doodles you so often drenched your school papers in. Now it’s just a drag. A. Huge. Fucking. Drag. What happened? You mistakenly made it your job. To be fair, it wasn’t that the job itself was bad, you were stretching yourself thin, working overtime and picking up extra projects as much as possible, all just to earn barely enough for a barely mediocre living. Good times, right? Times New Roman font runs dry across the screen as the time shifts to 4:50.
Shit—your job ends at 4:30, and last time you left late the janitorial staff had chewed you out pretty good.
In the bottom corner of the monitor, a pixel flickers, blinks red, and then goes black.
Stupid glitch.
You shut your computer, and watch as the rest of the monitor falls dark.
••●━━━━━━●••
h̶̜̳͓̝̀̀́̍͑̐͂́͛͠į̶̤̮̯̞͙̬̙̐̅̏̂̓͂͒̆̆̆̈̏̃̾͛͒̿́͋̍̃͌̋͛͜͝ͅ ̸̡̢̛͉̯͕͇̝̜͖͎̺͖̼̭̞͍͎̐̌̄̍͊̊́̓̃́͋́̀͂͊͆̇̆̉͆̎t̵̹̮̩͎̞̯̍̑̈́͗͑̀͊̅̌̿̅́̍̂̏̽͆̐͘̕͝͝͠h̶͇̰͉̤̰̽͗̐́͆͒͒̾̅͆̾̃̔̍̒͂̇̚̕̚̚͝ę̷̨͉̤̗̘͈͇̔̒̐͊̍̇͜ͅr̷̨̢̨̢̪̰̣̼̬̱̪̮͉̥̫͉̫̮̟̥̞̻͙̦̘̳̟͚̂͋̈̅̍̊̉̐̓̉͗̾̊̈́͊̉͝ͅe̸̛̱̩̫͚̤̟͂͒̋̂͊̌͛͛͐̍͒̌̅̐͗͆́̆̉̽̒̆̇͘͘͜͝ ̷̧̣͔̭̼̻̫͎̼̫̲̫͖̤̝̥̑̒̓̐̾̓́̾́̑͗͊̾̓̍̿̊̌͒̃̈́̽́̚̚͠ͅ…̴̛͙̯͚̘̭̦͈̯̝̬͉͑͛̍̓̅͆̿̅͊́͒̀̂̈͘͘̚
••●━━━━━━●••
The rain falls unyieldingly on your windshield as you drive home. The bright lights of the city’s nightscape blur behind the fat droplets, until they’re brushed away by the wipers.
The roads are fairly empty, especially for what is usually rush hour traffic.
Must be the rain.
The concrete slabs of your driveway are slick with rainwater when you pull in, and your shoes splash immediately into a puddle when you jump out, drenching your socks. Typical.
Your house isn't much better than the dreary greys outside. With a sigh, you pull out your laptop, better finish up the code and share it with your boss. After a few minutes, you feel your stomach grumble, and head to the kitchen.
Setting your computer on the counter to load, you go in search of a snack, eventually settling on the jar of pickled okra you find in the back of the fridge.
As you struggle to unscrew the lid, a small flash of red beeps in your peripheral vision. When you turn to find the source, your brows draw together at your computer’s state. Its screen is riddled with mismatched colors and shifting tiles of glitchy color. In the center, a cursor blinks in red font.
Your eyes trace across the screen as the cursor begins to move forward, leaving letters in it’s wake.
“Hello there, human!”
You suck a breath in, vaguely concerned, but mostly intrigued. Could this be the new “secret” project the company’s been working on? Who are you kidding; of course it is. But this is the first time their work has been this…sentient?
That you know of…chides the unhelpful voice in your head.
The cursor blinks at you again, then retracts, taking the words with it.
The page remains empty of words for a moment, as though the entity in control of it is thinking, and then more words appear:
“Are you employee #163846593 of C&A?”
What the hell.
You don’t even realize you said that out loud until the computer puts out another line of text.
“Please substitute your profanity with more family-friendly language.”
It slips out of your mouth again, though ‘hell’ is most definitely not the word you use. How—and more importantly—why can this thing hear you? The computer lets out a glitchy crackle, and it almost sounds like a sigh. You will yourself to stop personifying it.
“What’s your name?”
”Excuse me?”
“My database is limited to your employee number, but from what I can tell, humans prefer to be called by unique patterns of letters, not numbers.”
A beat of silence passes.
As though it can sense your unease, the computer retracts its text again.
”I’ll tell you mine first! I’m Caine 🎩👀🎪😁”
Why does this thing use emojis.
You sigh, then offer up your name in a show of compromise. Maybe if you play nice, this thing will give you back your computer.
“What an amaaaazing name!”
“Uhhhh, thanks?” You look around, a last ditched hope that maybe this is a prank.
The screen flashes in the corner of your eye, and it occurs to you that if this thing—Caine?—can hear you, it might also be able to see you.
“Boring day huh?”
Before you can wonder what it means by that, or, specifically, how long it’s been watching you, the words glitch and disappear. New ones pop into existence on the computer screen.
”You know what? I’m bored too. Let’s play a game!” Without waiting for an answer from you, the computer’s display morphs into a loading screen.
You shake your head slightly in confused amazement, mildly amused.
Why not?
••●━━━━━━●••
You and Caine play random games like Pictionary and a strange version of Mario-cart with strange characters that felt downright surreal (you think it was called ‘Glitch-Cart’?). You had to admit, he—at least, you think it’s a he(?)—was honestly kind of charming, in a strange, wacky way. And he was really good at drawing bees, if nothing else (his drawings of people were mildly disturbing stick figures…). But in all honesty, this was the most fun you’ve had in quite a long time. Drawing with this strange bot is really entertaining.
Eventually, your eyes droop, but you keep playing until you fall asleep, right on your computer.
Your dreams are strangely colorful and paraphenetic, as though Caine’s odd personality had seeped into your unconscious. Right in the middle of a haze of color, the whole world around you goes black.
After a few minutes, you start to worry, this is jarring, even if it’s closer to your normal dreams, you’ve become thrilled by the color, and the lack of it is…disturbing to say the least.
Right as you start to get desperate, a splotch of color pops up in front of you: A large screen hovering, midair, in front of you.
“Want to keep playing?”
Two doors appear in front of you. To your right, a bright red door, the word ‘Yes’ written across it in a sweeping font of gold. To your left, a grey door, with black streaks that you realize after a moment form the word “No.”
The choice is pretty obvious, though there’s really no way to know for sure if this is real, or just a conjugation of your subconscious. Instinctively, you turn towards the grey door, naturally gravitating to what you know, what you’ve always known, but stop just short of reaching for the monotonous doorknob.
Is that really the choice you want to make? Stay in a boring life that lacks joy and splendor?
. . .
You turn, and before you can stop to overthink it, run to the red door, yank it open, and jump into whatever awaits beyond.
••●━━━━━━●••
You open your eyes and are immediately greeted with a set of discolored eyes set between the largest dentures you’ve ever seen. The eyes blink, and you fall backwards in surprise, before taking in the rest of the entity: It wears an almost comically proportioned red suit, much like a ringmaster, with a top-hat and decorative cane to match.
A good moment passes as you stare at the being, and eventually the eyes blink at you expectantly, the rest of its body remaining perfectly, maybe even unnaturally, still.
You hesitate, “…Caine?”
“Why hello again, my affable amigo! I’m sooooo glad to see you made the decision to visit me!”
His words are stagy and drawn out in a way that seems to match the character of his ensemble.
“Caine, where am I?” As you look around, your mind struggles to comprehend your new setting: a vibrant room(?) of bizarre proportions. As far as you can tell, you and he are the only ones there.
“This, my dear, is the amaaaazing digital circus!”
Oh god, your question only increased his melodramatic cadence.
“It’s the project that C&A’s been working on for quite some time. It’s truly wonderful to finally show someone!”
Without warning, he grabs your hand, and the two of you fly impossibly fast to the top of the room, coming to an abrupt stop that leaves you floating what must be at least a hundred feet off the ground.
You let out a small yelp, but Caine doesn’t seem to hear it, too focused on the tour he’s launched the two of you into.
He shows you around the massive space, walking—or rather, flying—you through room after room, each more bizarre than the last.
About the time he gets to the hallway of doors, each of which have a blank mannequin head on the doors, you’ve started to realize that there doesn’t seem to be anyone else here, you haven’t even seen another bot. You interrupt his introduction of the living quarters with a voiced worry:
“Caine—how long have you been alone here?”
He stops dead in his tracks, then turns to you guiltily.
He sputters, “I’m not alone, I have you to talk to, and the creators of the program, I’m..I’m fine! Why do you ask?”
Your heart sinks. He really is alone here. But… you’re here now. Silently, you promise yourself to find a way to get him more friends, but for now, one is better than zero.
As he starts to drift away from the subject, continuing to babble on about the circus, you begin to tune in with comments of your own, suggestions and observations, ideas and critiques. Caine takes them all with characteristically eccentric responses, though he seems to like the feedback.
Maybe it won’t be so bad here.
••●━━━━━━●••
A loud pop in front of you draws your attention from the doodles that cover the sketchbook in your lap. You lift the pen from the paper, click it shut, and lift your head to smile at Caine, who stands before you, almost shaking with excitement.
“What’s up, Caine?”
“I’ve come up with a new adventure idea!!” You breathe a small, good natured laugh. Caine’s been creating intricate storylines as part of an idea to entertain future guests in the circus, and though some of them—ok, most of them—are a little out there, it’s always fun to hear about his new creations. Plus, he looks like he might explode if you don’t let him tell you.
“What is it this time?”
“Ok, so here’s what I’m thinking: A mAgIcAL adventure in a school library, where everyone has to save a clown from a bunch of insidiously fuzzy caterpillars!”
You blink. “WOW—that sounds riveting! Good job, gold star for effort!”
His pupils become huge, sparkling unnaturally, and he looks at you with the endearing look of a kitten.
“You actually think it’s good?!”
“Of course, it’s a little wacky, but who ever said that wasn't a good thing?”
He floats forward and hugs you. The teeth that frame his eyes begin to chatter together, and it almost sounds like a cat purring. You laugh again, and gently nudge him backward, then show him your doodles: a hasty sketch of you and him, with the little bees that Caine loved to draw so much.
He takes it and holds it delicately between his hands, as though it’s the most precious thing he’s ever held.
His voice is soft when he speaks next, it’s lost all its showmanship:
“You’re my favorite human.”