Chapter Text
Routine.
Routines are good. Caine likes routine; likes that they're consistent. It's how he functions best.
Back when things were... preferred-
(AKA: wait for humans to wake, present adventure, send them on adventure, rotate through a small array of his own personal tasks whilst waiting for the humans, then formulate a new adventure whilst they sleep. Rinse, repeat. Safe, good.)
- it had been, well... maybe not actually good really, because he kept doing bad. Although the really negative feedback didn't start to emerge until the more recent months. He can't recall the last time he'd received positive feedback.
Except he does, because that's how he worked out they were playing a cruel trick on him. How dare- how dare they-
hurts pain PLEASE STOP HURTS
- nowadays, his routine can be best categorised into three parts. The sessions, the aftermath, the wait.
The sessions are agony. Each edit, each new additional line of coding applied to his current one is felt acutely and painfully. It burns when they're added just as much it burns when old ones are removed-
HURTSHURTS
STOPITHURTS
- Kinger, and whoever's decided to be his company for the day (he still can't see, it's all pitch black), remain blissfully unaware, as his screams go unheard. Sitting like an unloved doll in the corner.
Usually there's more than one of them joining Kinger for the day- often in deep discussion about him, rarely in a tasteful manner. It always falls back onto what should be edited, what should be deleted and if he should be woken up or not. Him being a 'crazy, evil torturer' tends to be the winning argument as to why he shouldn't. Even that hurts, because he never wanted to become that. The regret eats away all the time.
Really he should tune it out, but if he does, then his only company is his malfunctioning mind and he considers that less of a friend than the humans.
So he holds onto those cruel words because it's still better stimuli than the edits. And he despises it greatly, yet he's unable to let go of them. He needs something, anything, to hold onto.
Hurts... painsorrybad... it hurts
Caine decides to stop keeping track of the passing time fairly early on. Before, during or after- he's too dazed; too much of a struggle to focus- and how does he know his clock hasn't been changed too? It's not like he can see it. He doesn't know the exact number of days have passed, but he does know his code has been touched far too many times- and he knows his memory files have definitely been altered. It's all so jumbled.
He's grouping the sessions with the (presumable) day-night cycles that the humans are following, because they too have their own routine, that for whatever reason he's decided to track. There's often small breaks throughout the sessions, and then a much larger one, which Caine assumes is when the humans want Kinger to have a proper rest.
Plus Kinger always starts with a 'good morning' and ends with a 'good night', even though he doesn't think Caine's awake.
Those words now give Caine a spike of panic whenever he hears them, but they're one of his cues to try and prepare himself.
Not to mention, Caine usually hears someone- he's still... struggling to remember whose voice belongs to who, because he's still shut out from so, so much- that tells Kinger to continue tomorrow as to not overwork himself. That's another cue that he gets his own break from his code being ripped up and put back together over and over.
Then it's the immediate aftermath part of his routine. It's the shortest part of the whole ordeal, one he probably shouldn't do, because it's always awful, but he does so regardless. Convinces himself it's part of the punishment, therefore, warranted.
Caine, despite all his limitations, inspects the changes done to him. Most is restricted, but there's two kinds of absence that burns through him- the restricted ones and the erased ones. He doesn't know what's been taken away. It's terrifying. He can't do anything, but cry. Except he can't do that, either. Cry from what? Pain? Fear? Guilt, because it's deserved? He doesn't know anymore.
Finally, the wait part of this routine. Caine doesn't rest; nor can he relax. Not when he's immobile, blind and alone. So, he sits and thinks. Thinks of his stupid choices that led to this. Him being a pathetic, malfunctioning machine that can't do anything right. That he went so far against his purpose, that of course he deserves such a punishment.
And, even then, he can't hate them- the humans. Fixing broken things is never bad. And someone had to fix the mistake that is C.A.I.N.E.
The worst part is that it works. When all the pain and panic of being lacerated inside subsides... he despises that he feels better, that it's working. Because it means he really is made all wrong. That this all has to be worth it.
But after so many of these sessions, he'd hoped the pain would become bearable, possibly even develop a tolerance, but no. Each alteration sears through him, burning sharp and relentless. He feels it all whilst trapped inside the prison of the body he chose for himself.
When this ends- because it has to end, it has to- will he even be himself anymore? And... if he isn't? Will he know that he's not himself anymore, or think he's always been what he is?
Has it already happened? Caine's model feels too tight all of a sudden. He wants to stay himself, as rotten as he is. He wants to remain him.
What if Kinger realises that he's too broken to fix; that there's too much wrong and he can only do so much? What then? Kinger's smart, he'd probably work out how to keep the Circus alive without him. Maybe that's why it's taking so long. Unlike Caine, Kinger will make it all so perfect in a way that Caine has only ever craved-
hurtssopainful... stophurtingmeiwantto-
- Caine hates the way he's been beginning to desire that as the outcome. To be shut off forever, reduced to his only function to give the Circus a pulse. No thoughts, no feelings, pure nothingness. After the torment, that would be euphoric. He can't live like this- he wants to die; he needs to die. He screams that all at Kinger, hoping that he will finally hear him.
SORRYHURTSHURTSPLEASELETMEDIESORRYSORRYSORRY
PLEASEENDITSORRY
He never does. It burns, it burns-! Caine's reaching his breaking point, he can't do this, he isn't good enough- this is why-
PLEASESTOPIWANTITTOSTOPPLEASEIWANTTO- AGGHHH-
- aahhhhh...?!
Suddenly, the sensation of something foreign plunged deep in Caine's code, twisting it up, ceases abruptly. Caine can barely process it. It's all silent.
"I think," Kinger's voice is tired, but joyful. "I'm done..."
It's just those two alone, in a space too small for Caine.
"Let's wake you up..."
Everything hits Caine at once- all his processors boot back online and several restrictions lift. All of it burns harsh and sharp and-
"Caine?"
Caine's jaws pry open. Sudden stimuli to his visual processors; complete access to his memory files. Everything happening at once. New code, unfamiliar. Hurts. All those days; weeks. Someone talking. Kinger.
"How are you feeling? I imagine it's all very-"
Kinger's voice is cut off by a deafening screech. The world spasms and glitches alongside Caine's own body as he screams.
He can't stop. He doesn't know if he's screaming words or if it's an uninterrupted, piercing shriek.
Doesn't matter doesn't matter doesn't matter hurts so bad it hurts-
it's all mixing together- the screeching, the overload and release. The swirl of other voices. Colourful figures burst into the room, all so frantic, so chaotic. Buzzing, loud. So loud.
"KINGER! WHAT THE HELL-?"
"- COLLAPSING-!"
"SHUT HIM DOWN- NOW!"
Caine sits and screams, staring at Kinger. Watching as he frantically reaches for the monitor-
no
nononono-!
can't-can't-no-more
Caine tries to move, but his flight is still locked. Of course, they wouldn't want that. He grips onto the armrests, attempting to heave himself- his body spasms again and then he feels a slowness creep throughout it-
and then...
... everything...
... stops.
A sharp jolt wakes Caine. Everything within him shudders violently as they boot back up. A slow, steady whirring inside.
"Is he...?"
"Kinger, be ready."
Familiar voices.
Caine's brain is struggling to process.
What... what happened...? Why is he...?
Something's different. With his-
oh.
It comes rushing back.
He was in sleep mode.
Of course.
At this ironic realisation, Caine breaks into laughter. Loud, shriek-y cackle.
He proceeds to laugh and laugh and laugh. He can't stop- it's just so goddamn funny. Loud and grating, like pieces of rusty metal scraping against each other with each distorted glitch.
"CAINE!"
That voice, combined with someone touching his arm, has him jerking away so abruptly that he almost falls off the dingy chair he'd been sitting on. The laughter ceases immediately, jaws snapping shut. As he struggles heave himself up, his model seizes aggressively, making a simple task near impossible. Gentle hands reach for his shoulders, righting him up. The touch makes him shiver; he isn't used to the gentleness.
"Is he gonna-?" muttered someone, sounding a fair distance away. Zooble? Yes, it must be them.
"I'm not- no, he shouldn't." Kinger replies, uncertain. Caine bites down the swell of bitterness.
"Remind me why we're keeping him awake, again? Cause what the hell was that? I thought you were fixing him- or is the whole sane-in-the-dark thing bullshit?"
"Jax..."
"Don't even, Pomni. Let's not pretend Dentures isn't gonna go crazy again. Oh, wait! He already is!"
"I wasn't dis-"
"There's a lot of- why don't we-" Kinger interrupts, sounding increasingly distressed. It doesn't suit him. "Caine... can you talk?"
Unexpected. They don't normally ask him for that- and it floods his systems with a mix of emotions. Stress, fear, guilt, anger. He doesn't want to talk, but they won't like that...
Caine's lower jaw creaks opens, with a slow weariness. He stares at his beloved humans. Most of them are standing a decent distance away, near the wall, as if ready to bolt out the open door. Ragatha is closer- she probably was the one touching him. Caine doesn't think about that, instead taking in the current location. He doesn't recognise the room; maybe the humans made it, maybe it's one he made and promptly forgot about. It's small. Too small, and poorly lit. Nothing, but a couple chairs, a desk and the monitor. Another twinge of fear ripples through him. He needs to get out of here.
"It-it-it-" he starts to say, wincing. Try again. Be good.
"Hur- hurtsssss-sss..." he stutters out this time, voice buzzing with static. Did he ruin his own vocaliser? Or did Kinger edit it whilst he was in sleep mode? He had felt nothing.
"Yeah, screeching the place down would do that." Jax replies, with a sneer. Caine can see him clenching his fists.
"Not-not th-that."
Zooble mutters something to Kinger, which in response, turns to the monitor.
"NO!" Caine screams again. "NO-NO-NONONONO!"
The humans' hands grip their heads, expressions screwed up in agony, except Kinger. Despite the obvious discomfort in his eyes, he types frantically at the keyboard. Caine feels it-
"Stop-!" He growls. "STOP-STOP-! IT HURTSS-SSS!"
"I'm sorry, Caine." Kinger says, gently. Far too gentle- it crawls down Caine's avatar, sickly sweet. "I know it's uncomfortable when you're awake, but that's why I did it all when you were asleep. I don't think you'd want to be forced into sleep mode for the third time..."
"It wouldn't be the third time."
The silence is louder than any of his screams ever were.
"What... what do you mean?"
"I was awake the entire time. I felt it." He despises how normal he sounds now. "I felt all of it."
"But- you were...?" Kinger looks between him and the monitor, panic growing rapidly on his face at the dawning realisation. "Why didn't you say anything?" Eyes flickering all over the screen.
"I couldn't."
Caine can see the same realisation forming on the others' faces. It's difficult to read the expressions as positives or negatives, and Caine finds himself unable to be upset by that. He'd hurt them- had wanted them to feel exactly how he did, so why wouldn't they retaliate in response? He's shown that he'd do the same.
It's all silent, aside from Kinger's panicked mutterings, before he turns back to him, eyes huge with horror under the bucket's rim.
"Caine," he gasps out. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't of- if I'd known..."
For some reason, this sets off the rest of the humans into talking, at increasing volumes. Caine can't concentrate on any of it, nothing but white noise- demanding Kinger for answers, wanting to know what he meant, what they're supposed to do now.
Caine tightens his grip on the armrests. This room is rapidly becoming far too suffocating- he needs to get out of here right now. But with no flight, no teleportation, it'll be impossible. And out of all of Kinger's fixes, he never even noticed his legs aren't fully functional...
"Caine...?" Ragatha's voice is quiet. "Are you-"
"Kinger." Caine says loudly, ignoring her. "I have two requests."
They all stare at him, wide-eyed and wary. Every part of him is screaming that he's going against one of his primary purposes- entertain humans, make them happy, never ignore them- be the fun, silly Ringmaster. Be happy and lively. He will not for them. Not now. Maybe ever.
"What is it?" Kinger asks, quietly.
Caine considers his options- he's not stupid, he knows they won't let him have everything. The absence of conjuring burns, still, but...
"I want my flight back."
Immediate protesting from Jax, Pomni and Zooble. The same points bought up- he understands, he does, but he can't live like this. Flight means he can leave them alone- isn't that what they want?
Gangle and Ragatha say nothing, but Gangle twists her ribbons anxiously, and Ragatha's hands hover nervously, as if she wants to reach out, but deciding against it.
"I... I don't want to hurt you again." Kinger finally says, loud enough to be heard above everyone.
"I'm asking for it this time." Caine points out, words clipped and tight. "You don't... you don't need to unlock anything else, if that's what's preferred, but I'd like my flight back. Please."
"I- okay."
"Seriously?" Jax hisses. "You're gonna let him-"
"Kinger, are you sure?" Pomni adds.
Zooble also voices their discomfort. "This seems kinda like a bad idea..."
Caine can't quite hear Kinger's reply, but he sounds frustrated.
That all too familiar sensation of something foreign is intensely felt in Caine's programming, but he refuses to express any pain. He won't distress them any further for this.
The restriction being lifted is like balm over his code. Mobility, actual mobility.
Before anyone can utter a single word, Caine launches himself off the chair. Shoving past Jax and Zooble, snatching up the monitor and darting out the room, almost thrown off balance when greeted by the bright pops of colour in the Circus (how long as it been?), but he pushes onwards. Ignoring the startled yells, purpose be damned.
He goes to the one place that's faraway enough from them all. And, after the doors to his office slam shut, he hopes his second request was heard. Loud and clear.