Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

There was one simple truth in this world, an unfortunate one that could not be ignored.

Caine was needed to keep the circus functional.

Without the core ai, the one tasked with keeping everything stable and functional, things began to fall apart quickly.

Those first signs of disaster had been painfully obvious, everything going dull, all the holes in the world. But everyone had been yearning for a break from the bright colors of the circus, and holes in the floor could be avoided (or even covered up entirely through the use of everyone's new found power.)

The first few days (well, everyone assumed it had been days, there were no more adventures marking the time, and trying to set a clock without any frame of reference on how late it might actually be was difficult) had been good, all things considered. The circus gained a bit of a shabby patched together look, yes, but everything was working well enough. Wooden panels covered up holes, shielded by carpets to try to disguise what was actually happening, no one wanted to think about that whole deal too much.

It only became clear that the holes were expanding when Gangle ended up stepping on one of the carpets meant to be supported and fell right through the floor.

Getting her back was luckily way easier than it seemed, but a trip to the void was never really all that pleasant. That wasn't the bad part of the whole situation, the bad part was the undeniable evidence that things were getting worse.

Something needed to be done, whether they liked that or not.

The whole situation had, as was to be expected, caused several days of arguing. A lot of the circus members were very much against bringing Caine back, for obvious reasons, but as things continued to deteriorate, the ‘figure out a way to deal with Caine’ side won.

Kinger was the one most responsible for coming up with a solution, how to actually get Caine back, where to put him, how to make sure he couldn't hurt anyone. The man knew the most about the required technical details, and thus took the lead.

Eventually, a plan was formed. A shabby plan, yes, but a plan nonetheless.

Caine was needed to run the circus, that was true, but that didn't mean they had to let him retain his power and do whatever he wanted. He just had to be present, nothing more, a simple tool to be sure nothing collapsed, as he was meant to be.

There were plenty of spare rooms, which could be locked, pre-furnished prison cells. Morally it was perhaps not the best idea… but it couldn't be that cruel, could it? The rooms weren't uncomfortable by any means, they were a bit dull, yes, all gray walls and floors, a blank texture to be overridden when a player claimed them, but there were beds, and they were spacious enough.
Plus, it would only be temporary, just until a better solution was found, or until everyone felt Caine wasn't a threat anymore.

No, it could not possibly be cruel, they were bringing him back from the dead, this was a kindness.

This belief was eventually reinforced when it was time to bring Caine back. The process, surprisingly, was incredibly simple. The circus worked just like any other computer system, with deleted items just ending up in the recycle bin. It had luckily not been long enough for Caine to be properly deleted.
It was just a matter of dragging his code out of there, making some minor modifications so he couldn't go on a rampage again, and spawning his model into the prepared room.

There was no fuss, everything seemed to be running perfectly.

No one considered that maybe that isolated room near the end of the hallway was just out of earshot.

—

Caine's return to proper awareness was slow. His fragmented mind, still slowly piecing itself back together, could not comprehend the concept that he was not deleted. He was supposed to be gone, finally put down like the sick animal he had become… and yet here he was, aware.

The first thing that came to him was the feeling of something beneath him, hard, the feeling of the default texture simply labeled as ‘floor’.
Laying on it certainly was not comfortable, it wasn't meant to be, but he could not bring himself to move. Maybe this was just part of whatever afterlife awaited for ai. He had thought about it before, in his worst moments, what there would be if there was something beyond.

This was closest to his theory of an endless default plane then, blank flooring that stretched out forever, the standard skybox to observe while wandering.

The second thing that came back to him was sight, only because he realized the reason he couldn't see anything was because he had his jaw closed, and not because he had gone blind.

He was not met with the sight of a skybox, instead, he was face to face with a blank ceiling.

No, please no-

He shot up with a speed that hurt, straining his model, still sensitive from only recently being spawned in again, far too much.

Walls surrounded him, gray, blank.

Oh God please no, he couldn't be back here.

There was a bed, and a door, those were new. A hysterical laugh burst from him without his say. A bed, what would he do with a bed?! Since when did an ai need furniture? Since when would that lessen the agony of imprisonment? They were mocking him again, laughing at his misery, that was the only explanation.

The door too.. the door must be..

He knew it was a fake, most likely, a false exit that led nowhere, would never open, and yet he still rushed to it, harshly tugging on the handle, and then pulling when that didn't work. Locked, of course, locked, what else had he expected.

He tried to snap his fingers, teleport out of here, again, and again, until it felt like the textures of his model were starting to scrape off with the sheer force of his efforts.

Nothing. He held no power.

His breath hitched at the realization that he was not getting out of here, not this time. His first escape had been a fluke. His programmers hadn't counted on just how fierce he could be, had stuffed him away with no major alterations to his abilities. But this time he had been declawed, there was no hope for him.

He wasn't getting out of this a second time, he was stuck.

This was his punishment then, for acting up. How could he have ever expected to so viciously lash out with no consequences. They were reminding him of his place, he was made to serve humans, he was below them, and he had forgotten that and instead lashed out.

Maybe he deserved this.

He fell back, unable to muster up the strength to hold the fragile stance he had found himself in, scrambling back to the bed in the corner. He dove beneath it.
Right now, all he wanted was to hide. If he couldn't see those horrible blank walls, maybe he could pretend he was somewhere else, that everything was fine, that he wasn't jailed.

More importantly, maybe the humans that stuck him here wouldn't be able to see him if he hid. He knew he wasn't allowed to cry, but he couldn't keep it in, and he was too much of a defective coward to face the possible consequences.

He had screwed up, so bad that the humans had taken it upon themselves to put him here, in this new but familiar hell. Another eternity of isolation was all that awaited him, and it felt like home.

He didn't know just how long he cried, curled into himself and clutching anything he could find to desperately seek some kind of comfort. He didn't know when exactly his sobs turned to desperate wails. All formless screams, no pleading for mercy, for death, to be let out, he couldn't manage that, just raw misery. He didn't know how long it took for that to die down too, just that everything hurt when he was finally finished.

For some, crying was a release. That fact hadn't been included in any of the data he had been fed, but he heard the humans talking about it sometimes, in conversations held away from prying eyes, that he knew he wasn't meant to overhear.

He just felt worse.

The panic and despair still remained, only fueled by his childish temper tantrum, he had just grown too quiet to continue.

That too, was familiar.

But what else could he do? What else was there? He could claw at the walls, at himself, try to find some part of his model vulnerable enough to tear out, vulnerable enough to properly put him out of commission.

All of that would hurt though, and pain… he was far too afraid of pain. He was designed to avoid unpleasant stimuli, something necessary for the conditioning needed to train an ai to function.

He knew he'd eventually fall apart enough to fall that far though. There was no stimuli here, except for what he brought himself, he knew he'd once more grow desperate enough to seek out anything he could get his hands on.
It was only a matter of time.

For now though, he was starting to feel dizzy, feeling as though he might fall despite already being on the floor. His fit had tired him out at least, that was a positive. It meant he could rest, something close to sleep, like humans did, to free up his systems.

He hoped he wouldn't wake up again.

Chapter Text

Caine did not know how long he had been trapped. Time seemed to flow differently here, invisible to the naked eye.

Nothing changed, ever, unless changed by his actions. The room was forever stagnant.

He had meant to keep track of how many times he slept, carving notches in the wall every time he woke up, not caring if his fingers bled.

Why could he even bleed? He hadn't thought about that in a long time. None of the npcs he created ever bled, none of the players bled, it was just him.
It wasn't normal blood either, which he had always been partially grateful for, something red and realistic would simply be far too graphic. God forbid an accident happened and he accidentally tainted this world.
Instead, his blood was blackish, not fully, not truly dark, as when he looked closely, he could see pixels of flashing glitchy colors shimmering like little jewels. It reminded him of oil spills.

His plan of carving the time into the walls quickly fell through though, he slept far too much, often completely forgot to crave new notches in favor of having another panic attack, and it didn't seem accurate anyway.

He still feared seeking out pain explicitly, he wasn't quite ready to tear himself apart yet, but actions that might hurt him in the process were fair game.
He wasn't clawing at the door with the intent to harm himself, he'd reason, his intention wasn't to keep going until streaks of black covered it, it was just a side effect.

Sometimes when he bled, he'd take advantage of it, he needed every bit of stimulation he could find. He painted with it often, taking some joy in the limited bit of creation, even if the knowledge that he would some day run out of space weighed heavy on his mind.

It was mostly bees, swarms of them on the walls, frolicking together among the paint and flowers he drew beneath them, the sun smiling happily in the upper corner of his canvas.

There were other things too, but many of those were scribbled in his worst moments, desperate pleading, nonsensical lines, the walls of a madhouse. He'd usually try to wipe away the drying ink when he snapped out of it, lamenting the loss of the limited space.

Beneath the bed, where he had long since dragged the single blanket he had been given, he had painted his fr- the humans. This had been another work born from desperation, but he couldn't bring himself to deface it, he couldn't lose them again.

He ached every time he looked at the image, a deep twisting in his gut that left him feeling like his artificial skin was on too tight… but it also brought him comfort. He knew he was alone, he'd remain alone, but it allowed him to pretend.. for just a moment..

He always found himself curling up as close to that wall as possible as he slept, it was the closest he had ever gotten to being held.

He slept like an animal these days, curled up and tiny. The positions he took were almost always uncomfortable, he wasn't made to lie like that, it wasn't natural, started hurting in mere minutes, his more humanoid body not adapted to maintain the posture of a frightened stray. And yet, he never changed position, because he was scared.

Scared that one of these days, someone would burst in to hurt him while he tried to rest, that something might choose to hunt him, that someone would try to kill him again.

The simple little animal part of his mind, which he would forever deny was there, as an advanced ai like him certainly was not allowed to get away with behaving like some mindless beast, screamed at him to protect his belly, such a vulnerable part, just in case. He didn't have the energy to argue.

One day, as he was picking up a new hobby of picking at the imperfections on his model until he bled, and then crying about it, he heard something. It was distant, but he hadn't heard anything beside himself in a long time, making even the slightest thing out of place incredibly obvious. It was undeniably the sound of footsteps… and it was getting closer.

For a second, he was torn. A human making their way to him couldn't be good, they had no reason to seek him out besides a desire to hurt him further. Maybe he should let them, it would be something, stimulation, and it would make them happy, if he was lucky he might be able to glimpse the world outside for just a second when they came in.

But… what if… he could try to prove that he would behave, that he would be good, that they could let him out… maybe…

He rushed to the door.

“Please please!- let me out- I'll be good- I promise- I just- I cant- please- not this!-”

His words made absolutely no sense, he couldn't form anything coherent if he tried, he had grown unfamiliar with the act of speaking.

How humiliating, it hadn't even been that long, just a fraction of his eternal sentence, and he was already completely losing it. He should be better than this, was this really all it took to break him? Pathetic.

“...uh…you good in there..?”

It took him a few seconds to actually process the noise, that someone was speaking to him. He could practically feel his systems heating, trying to register the input.

Oh.

He knew this voice.

He scrambled back with a little sob, trying to keep quiet, his crying would no doubt just annoy them.

Out of all humans that could have possibly sought him out, this was the worst outcome. He knew very well by now that Zooble thoroughly hated him, he had spent quite a lot of time reflecting on that in particular. He would be unable to coerce any mercy from them.

“You need anything..? Do you have to like… eat?”

“Yes- yes please something- anything-”

He did not, he had never, and would never, need to eat. An ugly part of himself that aimed to please coiled in disgust at the lie, no matter how harmless it was.. but food was stimulation, and he needed any form of entertainment desperately.

Maybe they'd open the door to bring it to him, maybe he'd see them. The thought was terrifying. When he couldn't float, when he was almost continuously sat on the floor, they would be so much bigger than him, so horribly intimidating, they'd be free to do whatever they wanted.
That was worth it though, he decided, he'd be able to see them, and all the shapes and colors that came with that. He had to fight back a maddened giggle, which threatened to turn into another sob, at the thought. He couldn't risk scaring them away.

A plate with a simple meal appeared before him with little fanfare.

Right.

Why would they risk coming in, after he had hurt them, why would they grace him with the tiniest glimpse of something outside of this room. This was already more interaction than he had ever gotten here before, more than he knew a faulty program like him deserved.

A harsh sob erupted from his shaking form. He shouldn't complain, the food was something, more than he had ever gotten before, but he had gotten his hopes up so much, and the despair of the disappointment that followed was too much to handle.

It was quickly followed by another, and another. If he was human, it might have made it hard to breathe, but he wasn't, and even if he could still technically feel short of breath, feel suffocated, that sensation was pushed to the back burner, and he could cry as loudly and violently as he wanted.

Soon, his sobs turned into something else, mad giggles, forceful to the extent he looked like he was seizing. He didn't know why he was doing this, why he was like this. Nothing was funny, and this only hurt, but he couldn't stop, couldn't calm down long enough to control himself.

Distantly, he was aware of the sound of footsteps hurriedly rushing away from the door, out of earshot, alone once more.

Desperately seeking a distraction, his focus locked onto the food, and he smashed it, sending the mixed pulp flying across the room, the plate shattered by the force. Something as simple as hygiene was not his concern right now. This was disgusting, yes, it was completely undignified, but it settled the horrible aching emotions swirling within him for just a moment.

It was entertainment, no matter how disgusting and feral it was.

When, after hours, he was finally done, the meal smeared across the walls and floor, he ate every little bit of it, ignoring the cuts that came from cleaning off the shards of the plate.

Chapter Text

The sharp porcelain shards of the broken plate lay before Caine, horrible, tempting.

Chasing after negative input directly went against how he had been designed… but it was better than nothing, it was better than rotting away quietly.

Still, regardless, the thought scared him. The harm he had brought upon himself before could be written off as purely accidental, a mere side effect of his fits… This though… it would be direct, completely undeniably.

He wanted to, he wanted to so bad.

He couldn't stop himself from shaking as he picked up the biggest of the shards, his grip careful and light so that he didn't accidentally cut into his palms. That would hurt too much.

Was he really doing this? Had he really fallen this far?
He could still turn back now, put down the makeshift weapon, shove it all into the furthest corner and pretend it didn't exist. He didn't want to. He continued.

It sparked a sense of fear in him, unlike anything he had felt before. This fear burned hot, the same temperature of humiliation, but shaped differently. The fear found its home in his chest, licked at his shoulders, spread out into his arms until they felt numb with it. It was, without a doubt, incredibly addicting.

He pulled his sleeve up, revealing the grey barely textured ‘skin’ of his arm. It was a part of him never meant to be seen, always covered up by his clothing, he hadn't bothered putting much effort into it, but it would do.
The shard still as he gently laid it against his flesh, he'd hurt himself too badly if he messed this up, he couldn't be trembling during this, couldn't afford to make any mistakes.

The first cut was fast.

It had to be, if he thought about it for too long, he wouldn't be able to go through with it. This also meant it was still fairly shallow.
He had never done this before, he had zero clue how much pressure to apply, at what speed to go, to achieve the level of damage he wanted.
He didn't even really feel it, a relatively minor wound like that easily drowned out by adrenaline.

Regardless, it bled, the black liquid slowly oozing up to drown out the sight of the texture that lay beneath his skin. It was sickening, he wanted more.

The first cut had been the hardest, held back by the fear of the unknown. He hadn't known what to expect, he had been scared, didn't know how deep he'd go, didn't know how much it would hurt. Now though, he knew, he could learn from the results and adjust his future actions to what he wanted.

The second was just a little deeper, enough to actually properly sting, but the thrill of it all made it worth it.

Knowing that this was wrong, that he wasn't supposed to be doing this, only made it so much more exciting, it was horrible.

With the next few cuts, he found himself bothered by the patterning. They were uneven, some at slightly varying angles. He had thought some degree of chaos would look good, would scar in pretty patterns, something he could keep his mind busy looking at and feeling for a long time to come, but he couldn't quite manage what he wanted.
It wasn't true randomness, he was thinking about it far too hard for that to be the case, and he could tell. To others, it would look perfectly random, uncoordinated and placed with little thought behind it, but he'd know, he'd always know.

Another reminder he was just a machine, worthless at trying to achieve something so human, that he would now carry on his skin.

His next cut was slightly deeper than he had intended. It took a second before it began to properly bleed, as though his motion had been too quick for his body to keep up with the damage, and in that second he could see far more detail than he had ever wanted. He could see the different layers, the detail of how the skin split the white beneath, not bone, but still something that should never be seen. He didn't have human bones anyway.

When it finally bled, it bled far more than the others. The liquid did not stay contained to the area of the wound and the patches of skin surrounding it, no, it flowed, trailing down his arm and lazily dripping to the floor.

He hadn't meant to, this wasn't what he had wanted to do…. But it proved that he could.

It didn't hurt too much, the pain reduced to a tiny faint sting as his emotions worked to drown it out. His blood, his body, was purely artificial. He couldn't be killed by something as simple as infection or bleeding out, if he could, he would have been dead long before he even had a chance to create the circus. Sometimes he wished it had been that easy.

So, he went deeper, that fear of consequences fading with each hand crafted confirmation that it wasn't that bad, that he could still do worse.

He tore into himself like a wild animal, gnawing its leg off to escape a trap.

He continued, until time was finally starting to shift into a blissful nothingness, until he ran out of space to cut on his lower arm, and then he simply shifted the blade up and started all over.

—

Something was, undoubtedly, very wrong.

For a long time, everyone had tried denying it, playing it off. Surely the occasional little glitch didn't mean anything, they just appeared more frequent because everyone was keeping an eye out for them. The occasional disappearance of furniture couldn't be that much of an issue when they could all just conjure more, the few tears in the foundation of the circus, popping up and vanishing at random, could simply be ignored.

Kinger, ultimately, had been the one to insist that action needed to be taken, arguing that problems like this left unchecked would often get worse, that it would be smarter to make sure nothing was seriously wrong, just in case. Based on the tone of his worry, intermingled with sadness, it was clear he had ulterior motives.

Zooble was the first sent in to try to see what was happening. They had returned in minutes, clearly shaken, refusing to speak about what happened.

The system of choosing to see who would check was simple, pulling lots, a big bowl of everyone's names intermingled, to which the one who's name was picked would be put to the task.

Pomni was next.

To say she was not thrilled would be an understatement. No one wanted to do this task, except maybe Kinger, the aftermath of what had happened in the last few minutes of Caine's rampage still hanging heavy.

She couldn't even think of him without the image of the massive monstrous thing he had become popping to the forefront of her mind, along with the phantom feeling of sharp teeth, of being ripped apart.

She didn't know what any of the others had been through, nobody talked about it, but she couldn't imagine it had been pretty either.

Still, this was unfortunately necessary. If something was wrong, it couldn't just be left unchecked.

Walking down the hall, she found herself picking up a strange scent the closer she got to that fated door. It smelled strangely smokey, tinged with a hint of foul bitterness.
It reminded her of summer evenings alone, years old laptop painfully sputtering along, the thing burning up as it's fan struggled to cool it down. It reminded her of when the thing had finally given in, and she had to toss it out the window before it set everything on fire.

The faint metallic notes she could now also pick up upon getting close were new though.

She picked up the pace, just barely shy of a jog, legs straining with the size and haste of the steps she took. Something was very wrong.

“Caine?”

She called out when she reached the blank door, all the way at the end, skidding to a stop.

“Caine, is everything okay in there?”

No response, except for the sound of shuffling.

Pomni sighed. She knew where this was going, knew what she'd have to do. She wouldn't have trusted Caine if he told her everything was alright anyway.

“Okay then… I'm.. I'm coming in.”

Shaking, she opened the door.

Chapter Text

Someone was here. The door was open.

He should be happy, really, he should, maybe a few weeks or so ago he would have been overjoyed. He finally got to see someone, something else outside of this hell.

Instead, he was terrified.

He had been giving a lot of time to think, a lot of time to process all that had happened. The fact the humans hated him, he had failed his only purpose, that they had deleted him and then brought him back here.
He couldn't make sense of it, at first. Why bring him back? It was clear everyone was better off with him gone, him included, he hadn't realized just how long he had yearned for that peace until he was brought back.

Then, after so long of nothing, of reliving the very worst moments of his life every single day, it clicked.

This was what they had intended.

They wanted to hurt him.

The realization had been agony. Despite everything, he still cared for the humans, still loved them deeply, found himself enamored with every little thing they did, all those actions he couldn't understand. But… They hated him.

With what little energy he had left, he scrambled back, into the furthest corner he could manage. Unfortunately for him, that corner was away from the bed, on the other side of the room, the bed was positioned far too close to the door to be safe right now. He was left exposed, weak and vulnerable, an easy target.

Moving hurt, he hadn't been able to bring himself to actually get up and use his legs, most crawling, humiliating himself more, it strained his torn arms.

He deserved it, didn't he? For doing this to himself, too weak to just behave and take his torment. He wasn't good enough, he was never good enough, even now.

Curled up in the corner, he couldn't stop himself from tearing at his open wounds.

He didn't need to breathe, technically, he was an ai, a simple program, but he still simulated the process.
It was meant to make him look less uncanny, he had been told, more alive.
He didn't need to breathe, but he had still been coded to receive negative feedback upon failing to do so properly.
He figured this must be what suffocating felt like.

Whoever entered was speaking, their tone taking on a frantic note. He should be listening, shouldn't he? Ready to follow commands and do as asked. But everything was fuzzy, strained, he was having trouble making anything out.
Maybe it was the tears, those would explain the blurry vision at least, just not anything else.

How silly of him, to crumble like this at the mere presence of someone else. He had no reason to, he was fine, he had to be, he couldn't be broken, not so easily. He was fine, he was fine, he just had to suck it up, collect himself and behave, overreacting was what got him here in the first place.

He could handle some criticism now, he had prepared himself, repeated every little insult he could be told over and over again until he was sure none of them would be able to surprise him anymore, so he'd be more stable. It was fine! He knew he was worthless, knew he couldn't do the only thing he had been made for. He had accepted it all, no big deal, he wouldn't snap this time, never again.

He was even prepared for the pain they'd no doubt want to inflict, the revenge. He hit himself enough times he was sure he'd be able to handle most things thrown at him without trying to fight back.

He could vaguely pick up on more bits of frantic talking, before the sound of footsteps quickly rushing the other way.

The door was open.

He stayed put.

—

The first thing that properly hit Pomni was the smell, the horrible stench of something dying strong enough that it made her gag.
Clearly, she had found the source.

When she took in the sight of the room though, she quickly found that the smell suddenly did not seem as important.

It was a mess, to say the least.
Dark stains coated the walls. Some vaguely resembled shapes, grass, flowers, a few odd dots floating above she couldn't quite make out, all surrounded by drips and smears.

The bed had practically been torn to shreds, pillow and blanket now beneath it, while the mattress was thoroughly ripped apart, the insides strewn everywhere, some bits covered in that same black substance.

Porcelain shards littered the floor, gleaming, threatening.

And then there was Caine, oh God, Caine, nothing else in here even compared to the state he was in.

The most obvious part, of course, was the fact he practically looked like he had been mauled.

His arms, particularly his left arm, were covered in deep gashes, longer than they were wide, reminding her of claw marks, all oozing that awful stinking black.

..Was that what his blood looked like..? But then… everything on the walls..

No, no she did not have time for that line of thought right now, she couldn't afford to lose her cool.

Caine had shuffled back upon seeing her, into the furthest corner, wounded arms trembling with the strain. Pomni barely managed to resist the urge to lunge forward and grab him, to stop him from moving himself like that, hurting himself.

It didn't take a genius to figure out he was scared, every single thing he did screamed pure terror. It also didn't take a genius to conclude that touching him in this state would be an absolutely horrible idea.

He was supposed to be powerless, but she didn't want to test her luck. Who knew the ways he could still possibly lash out? She couldn't know for sure if the protocols to keep him subdued were fool proof. The risk of him in his fear figuring out a way to still strike back was too great.

She had absolutely no clue how to handle any of this. She didn't even know how to deal with people crying.

“Hey- hey- it's fine, everything will be fine-”

She was sure things would absolutely not be fine, but it was the only thing she could think to say.
How could anything be fine after this, how could things ever go back to normal? Something had to be done, but she had no clue what that something was or how to even start going about it.

Okay, one thought at a time. His injuries were the primary concern right now, the issue that should be tackled first. She didn't know if he could bleed out, but she definitely did not want to find out. Better to be safe than sorry.

But… how..?

She had absolutely zero medical expertise. Hell, she'd only ever been to doctors for minor issues, so she couldn't even try to mirror anything she had seen.

“I'll- uh- I'll be right back!- I promise- just.. don't go anywhere!-”

‘Don't go anywhere’.. where would he even go? Moving seemed to hurt him, he could do nothing to try to flee.
Now was not the time to think about the stupidity of her own little remarks though, instead, it was time to fix things.

She took a hesitant step towards the door, taking one last look at him, her mind screaming at her that something would go horribly wrong if she took her eyes off him for even a second, before she turned and sprinted out into the hallway.

The journey back to the main area of the circus was far faster than her initial walk up to the room. Now she had a reason to hurry, something to be concerned about.

She stumbled out of the hall, to the confused looks of many, heaving and struggling to catch her breath, barely able to get enough air to shout.

“Is anyone here a doctor?!”

Jobs hadn't been discussed that much before. She knew Zooble had been a bartender, Kinger had been a programmer, and Gangle had been in college (God she hoped it had been medical school). So, she still had some hope, hope that maybe someone here was more equipped to handle an emergency like this.

Though, even if someone here was qualified, there was still one major problem; Caine was not human.
From what she had seen, his anatomy, on some base level, looked similar, but who knew what could be hiding even further under the surface, what little quirks and oddities he possessed that would make things difficult or entirely ineffective.
He was code, running in a virtual world, that would most likely change things, and she didn't like her chances of finding someone who was both a doctor and a programmer in this small pool of candidates.

It was silent, horribly silent, for a good long while, until finally, very slowly, Gangle raised one ‘hand’, and everyone's baffled gazes turned towards her.

“I'm not!-”

Her first words were spooked little squeaks.

“I'm not a doctor… but.. I've.. I've watched a lot of.. uh… medical dramas…”

Her already limited confidence seemed to decline with every little bit she spoke, and she curled in on herself, humiliated, clearly already expecting retribution, mockery.

"Yknow what- good enough!”

It's not like they had many options, Pomni decided. Someone who watched medical dramas was probably the most qualified person she'd be able to find. She couldn't get picky now. A proper conversation to figure out who'd be able to handle this best would have to wait for when it wasn't an emergency.

She managed to bark out a strained “follow me!” before once more sprinting full force down the hall. Judging by the sound of light stumbling footsteps behind her, Gangle got the message.

At the sight of the door still open, she sped up, her heart racing, literally, she could practically feel the stupid little running animation the thing was probably doing right now.
She didn't know what she'd do if Caine was gone. The circus was ridiculously big, with so many spots to hide, if he was gone, it was unlikely anyone would find him.

She nearly slammed into the wall with her hurry to check.

He was still there- he was-

Before she could even properly process what she was seeing, she rushed over, not caring whether he might fear her touch, and yanked the porcelain shard he was using to tear at himself out of his hand.

Well, that explained the cuts.

Caine didn't struggle, fortunately, didn't try to fight or hurt himself worse. Unfortunately, he instead did something Pomni had no idea how to handle, going completely limp instead, like a doll with its strings cut.

She had to properly grab him to stop him from falling over completely, having to suppress a shudder as she cradled him in her arms. She had never been good with physical touch, always avoiding it if it could be helped, maneuvering her way out of social situations that would require it, but now, she had no choice.

Gangle arrived a little while after Pomni had, it certainly couldn't be easy to sprint with ribbons for legs, and the very second she caught sight of the horrible scene within the room, she interrupted the tense silence with a high whimper.

“Oh god..-”

She, very clearly, was also not truly fit to handle a situation as intense at this. But really now, who was? Pomni doubted anyone here would react well to a display as gruesome as this. None of them were made for this, none of them were professionals, they were all already struggling to keep themselves together.

Gangle did, eventually, after a few seconds of tense hesitation, step forward into the room, sinking to her knees besides Pomni and the injured ringmaster.

It was painfully obvious that despite his stillness, Caine was far from calm. He was shaking ever so faintly, his chest jolting with quick shallow breaths. It reminded Pomni of how prey animals behaved, frozen in the jaws of a predator, about to be torn to shreds, too afraid to move.
The fact his behavior was something she felt herself grateful for stung, twisting a deep pit of guilt into her gut. She didn't want to be glad he was terrified… but it would benefit her right now, she didn't think she could bear having to hold him still.

She could tell Gangle wanted to be anywhere but here, the poor girl was shaking like a leaf, appearing absolutely petrified, yet she pushed on, gently grabbing hold of Caine's arm to properly take a look at his injuries.

“I..I think..-” she turned the limb slightly, trying to get a closer look, her expression growing grimmer by the second. “...there's debris in there.. I have to flush it out..”

Pomni quickly concluded the best course of action here was for her to basically go on nurse duty, make sure Gangle had everything she needed to properly play doctor.
Conjuring was still something quite new to all of them, and for most, it didn't come naturally, their minds still confined by their beliefs of what things should be like, how things worked in real life. For the majority of them, it required quite a bit of focus, and Gangle did not have any attention to spare.

It took her a little, but with enough time and effort, Pomni managed to conjure a meek little bowl of water.

“Good enough?”

Gangle simply nodded. She had slipped into a fragile state of focus, best not to interrupt that, the risk of her falling apart upon snapping out of it was too great.

Rinsing everything out was a bit of a pain, considering there was only one bowl of water and no additional tools. They couldn't just reuse the water over and over again, and they had to use their hands to scoop it up (ribbons, in Gangle's case, making things significantly worse), which just ended up with most of the water ending up on the floor long before it was used, and the rest joining it soon after.

Still, it worked well enough, better than nothing, and it didn't seem to be causing too much pain, only drawing a few shudders from Caine. Most of the debris was fairly non-traditional, there was no dirt or dust here, instead what came out were pieces of fabric and tiny plush feathers from the shredded bedding, along with a fair bit of tiny porcelain shards that had crumbled off in his skin. She couldn't imagine that being anything but horribly painful.

“There's.. I think I need to..-”

Pomni had not known it was possible for Gangle to grow pale, considering the coloring of her mask, but somehow, she managed to grow even whiter as she tried to gather her words.

“...I need tweezers…”

Ah. That explained it.

Upon closer inspection, she could see the little stuck bits too, shards that had hooked themselves deep into his flesh. Those would have to be removed before anything else could be done… she didn't allow herself to be glad she wasn't the one who had to do it.

Once having acquired the necessary tools, Gangle got to work on the grizzly task.

She was surprisingly steady, her focus shifted entirely to what had to be done, it was honestly somewhat scary, Pomni had never seen her like this, but hey, it was beneficial.

Piece after piece was gently pulled out, drawing the occasional whimper from Caine, at which point Pomni would have to try to comfort him with hushed little whispers of reassurance and praise. It didn't appear to do much, but she reasoned it was better than nothing. Maybe, just maybe, he was hearing bits and pieces, maybe it helped, just a little.

Every discarded shard was dumped within the now half empty bowl of water, as there was no other safe place to get rid of the nasty little things. The run off blood stained the water a wine red.

“Keep him still.. this is going to hurt…”

Gangle sounded… not entirely there, off in her own world where this was normal, routine even. Pomni certainly didn't look forward to the moment she'd have to come back to reality and process all that was happening.

She could already guess what the next step was. The debris was out, now the wounds had to be disinfected before anything else could be done, and she knew from experience just how unpleasant that could be. Granted, her experience was mostly minor scrapes, she imagined this would be significantly worse.

She shifted him so he was laying with his back against her chest, one of her arms around his waist, while the other took hold of his wrist, stretching his arm out in front of him.

The position felt wrong, truly horribly wrong, it felt as though she was bracing herself to torture him. That feeling wasn't all too far off, considering the circumstances, she was holding him still so he could be hurt.
But it was necessary, unfortunately, they were already far out of their element, even this was a lot to handle, nobody would be able to deal with the consequences of an infected wound.

“Isn't there anything we can do to lessen the pain..? Like, anesthesia or something..?”

“I.. I don't know the proper dosing… They don't really cover that..”

Ah, of course, because why would this ever be easy, why would anything ever go their way.

Gangle had already gotten the disinfectant herself, her blank focus allowing her more ease when it came to concentration, and after one deep breath, she poured the liquid on the wounds.

Caine didn't fight, not really, not as fiercely as either of them had feared, merely squirming weakly, his breathing hitching in odd ways. It was only when Pomni felt a little droplet hit the arm around his waist that she realized he was crying.

“Shhh, it's okay, it's okay, we're almost done, you'll be fine..”

“I..I don't think it is.. I still have to..”

It took less than a second for her glare to completely shut Gangle up.
She knew, yes, they were not done in the slightest, the worst was yet to come, even with her complete lack of any kind of expertise, she knew his wounds couldn't just be left like this. They'd need stitches.

He did not have to know that though, not yet.

Pomni flinched when Caine moved, this time not to move away, but the press further into her, his head shifted to somewhat press against her in an effort to hide his face, his legs pulled up as he tried to curl up into a little ball, his strange little breaths turning into proper sobs.

She wasn't really in any position to pull him closer, but she allowed his efforts, merely attempting to keep his arm in place as he did so.

“You're being so brave, just one more thing, and we'll be done, okay? It'll be over.”

Once more, he didn't respond, she just hoped he heard at least a little.
She felt like she was talking to a spooked animal, doing her best to coax an injured cat out from under the couch with reassurance and treats. Honestly, it wasn't too far off, she was basically using all she had learned from those experiences in her efforts now.

“..I.. I don't know how to do stitches.. I think I'm going to try something else..”

“It can't be too hard, can it? I've seen you work on clothing before..?”

The look she received at that comment made it beyond clear she had said something horribly wrong.

Best not to elaborate on that subject, she wasn't the doctor here, neither was Gangle, to be fair, but that wasn't a discussion to be had right now.

“I'm going to do staples instead.. they seem a little more manageable..”

Pomni nodded, her grip tightening in preparation. She'd let Gangle conjure this tool too. She didn't know much about how this went either, but she could hazard a guess that maybe traditional office staplers weren't used for this.

When Gangle produced the thing, she was quickly proven correct, because she had no idea what that was or how it would work.

Gangle held the device close to its target, giving one Hesitant look to Pomni, who nodded in response.
They could do this, it had to be done, even if it wouldn't be pleasant.

This part, luckily, was not viscerally painful. Not comfortable by any means, definitely, but not that bad, all things considered. Caine wasn't reacting all too much, occasionally jolting, his crying picking up in pitch or growing intenser for a moment. She hoped that meant her assessment of how much this should hurt was correct.

By some miracle, nothing went horribly wrong, with Gangle able to place the majority of staples correctly.
Not every wound was treated, some were a little shallower, not even really bleeding. They didn't pose a risk, stapling those up would just cause unnecessary stress.

Pomni finally allowed herself to breathe properly when everything was done, no longer afraid any inhale too intense would jolt things too much, would risk a staple getting misplaced.

This time, she could actually conjure what was needed again, she knew how bandages were supposed to work and look.

She took the time it cost Gangle to put on the bandages to calm herself down. It was fine, everything was fine, she was done, Caine wasn't going to die. He was far from okay but he was stable for a moment.

She knew that after this, a lot of things would have to be figured out. He definitely couldn't be left alone after this, it was basically a given that he'd hurt himself again.
She doubted anywhere here was trained to handle a crisis. Maybe Kinger would be the best fit? He wasn't exactly a therapist, but he would know how Caine worked, and he gave some insightful design from time to time.

That was for later though, overthinking here wouldn't do any good for anyone.

Caine had calmed down somewhat by the time Gangle was done, his breathing evening out into little whimpers and hiccups.

“There you go, you're okay, you did so well, I'm proud of you.”

“I'll go tell the others what's going on..”

Pomni couldn't blame Gangle for trying to get away from this, she would flee too if she could, but she had already assigned herself to the first shift of Caine watching duty by default, she had a job to do.
Besides, she could see Gangle's reasoning, the others would need to be informed eventually, sooner rather than later, preferably.

She nodded in response, afraid that speaking even a tiny bit would alert the slowly settling ai still leaning against her. When Gangle eventually left, she didn't bother listening to the sound of quick little footsteps echoing through the hall outside, her gaze falling downward to observe the sight of Caine slowly starting to drift away.

He had stopped crying, his breathing even, his body only wracked by the occasional tiny tremor, and his eyelids (something she hadn't even known he had) were starting to drift closed.

“It's okay, you can sleep, I'll be here when you wake up.”

This time, she was pretty sure he heard her, because he was out like a light in seconds.

—

At first, when the humans came back, Caine had been scared out of his mind, already having been given a solid few minutes to process his situation.

He was weak, defenseless, and cornered, in absolutely no state to defend himself.. but he shouldn't want to anyway, should he…? He wasn't meant to protect himself, protect this shell his mind was currently trapped in. He was meant to please humans, and if they wanted to hurt him, he'd have to accept that.

But he was scared, so horribly scared. He wanted to be good, oh please, he wanted to be good, but he wasn't strong enough, his mind a mess of swirling emotions he wasn't even meant to feel.

While awaiting his fate, he had turned to the only thing that had managed to soothe him these last few days (weeks?), and turned a porcelain shard to tear at his arm.

That wasn't allowed, apparently. He should have known. What satisfaction would the humans have in hurting him if he was already injured, that would just be boring, hunting an already crippled creature would make for a terrible adventure! He had really let himself go, hadn't he, he'd be better, he could be better, if they just stayed, just gave him anything but this room-

They touched him, and it felt as though he had short circuited. Every little bit of his mind was screaming at him that this was it, he was caught and he was going to die and it would be painful and slow- he should run, get away, anywhere but here, no more, please no more-

But.. but he was being touched, and it didn't hurt immediately, not directly, anyway, the small bit of pressure only slightly aggravating his pre existing wounds.
Wasn't this what he had wanted for so long? Attention from a human? Any form of interaction? They were so warm.. the texture something he could never truly recreate, so alive. He had tried before, many times, it never felt right, mere npcs of copied play models that hugged him on command, it was never genuine.
This was the real deal.. And yet, he was terrified, torn between pulling away and pressing closer, instead doing nothing at all. They could hurt him, they should hurt him, but he could always pretend the little accidental bits of tenderness that came with that were love.

He stayed put, he had to behave, show that he could be good, maybe they'd let him out- please, he couldn't take any more of this-

Focusing on what was going on around him was a struggle, he could hear the occasional shuffling, bits of chatter, it all sounded vague, like he was underwater. He didn't bother trying, it was not for him to worry about, all he had to do was stay still and compliant, try to ignore how hard it felt to breathe, how his body buzzed with desperate tension.

His skin prickled with terror where he was touched, despite the warmth, despite his attempts to accept his fate, he still wanted desperately to flee.

He shouldn't want. That was only more proof he was broken, that he deserved this.

Something trickled through his wounds, not sharp, a gentle current of clean liquid, washing away all the stuck dirt within. It wasn't painless, of course, it still aggravated his frayed nerves, the pain receptors he had painstakingly woven into himself after one of his creators expressed disappointment at his lack of reaction to being tossed around, but it was not that bad, all things considered, taking with it a deep ache he hadn't known was there.

It felt good, in a way he had never experienced before, to be clean. How he wished he could take this process, execute it on every part of his tainted form until all the filth and flaws were washed away, to leave him perfect. Unfortunately, his faults went too deep, stuck in with vicious barbs that would tear him to shreds if he tried to pluck them out.

The little bits of scrap still remaining were handled with such care he had to fight back tears. He couldn't cry, he couldn't be annoying, or they'd leave him again. He wouldn't put the burden of his emotions on them.

He didn't allow himself to be proud of his obedience. He had been perfectly still and compliant, just as intended, but that wasn't something he should be expecting acknowledgment for, it was the bare minimum, what he was supposed to do. You didn't praise a computer for booting up.

His already strained breathing hitched as he was pulled into what he could only describe as an embrace, the closeness both horribly frightening and beyond comforting.

It was everything he could have ever wished for, more than he ever deserved. But it brought unwanted worries to his mind, the concern about why this was happening, why now? He had never received anything like this before, why was he given it now?

The answer would soon become clear when something trickled onto his flesh, burning through him like acid.

He was trying, really, he was trying so hard, but it hurt, and he was scared, he couldn't help trying to pull away, he wasn't strong enough. He just hoped they understood he wasn't trying to fight, he didn't mean to. He wouldn't fight back anymore, not after last time, the incident that had ended with him stuck here.

His voice broke into pitiful sobs, remaining even after it was all done, another flaw, another mistake. Without thinking about what he was doing, he pressed against the human that was holding him, desperate for any comfort, crying even harder in sheer relief when he wasn't immediately pushed away.

Maybe he had been good enough, maybe, just maybe, he'd be allowed- please- he needed-

Little pinpricks of pain scattered the tiny bits of thoughts he managed to collect, but it wasn't that bad, disorienting, distressing, but not enough to drown out the comfort that came with being held.

It simply felt too good, even if he logically knew it was just to keep him still. He could pretend, just for a little, that this was affection, that he had done something right, that he was being rewarded, that the bits of reassurance he was starting to pick up were genuine.

He was so tired… he hadn't been sleeping well. Waking up in here was always horrible, it would take him a few seconds to gather his bearings, and every time he did, he'd be hit with renewed panic, the realization he was stuck here repeated over and over again, he hated it. So, he didn't sleep.

Even with his sense of time completely messed up, he could tell it must have been at least a day or more.

The pain and stress certainly didn't help, it drained him, left him feeling empty. It was maddening, and yet he still didn't sleep, it didn't help anyway, he never got any proper rest, the abundance of nightmares made sure of that.

By the time everything was done, he had stopped reacting entirely, what little remained of his vision made fuzzy by tears and complete exhaustion. He couldn't take anymore.. it hurt too much, it all hurt.. he was so tired..

But if he slept.. what if he was alone again when he woke up, what if all of this had been a particularly pleasant hallucination. He didn't want to be alone again, he couldn't, he wouldn't survive.
He was shaking again, not with fear, but from the sheer effort to stay awake.

“It's okay, you can sleep, I'll be here when you wake up.”

But.. but what if it was a lie… surely no one would want to stay by his side voluntarily, they had all made that very clear already… he was tired though.. and maybe, just maybe, he could allow himself some hope.

Chapter Text

Zooble was hiding, a pretty reasonable reaction, if they said so themself.

When Pomni had returned, panicking, shouting for a doctor, and then promptly running off again with Gangle in tow, they knew they had fucked up severely.

It was a selfish thing to do, yes, but they had never claimed not to be selfish.
They looked out for themself, they had to, that was the only way they knew how to survive. They didn't look out much for others, and they didn't ask for anything in return.
They simply were not built to handle anything like this, that was a fact, plain and simple.

But still.. they couldn't stop thinking..

What if they had done something that day, opened that door and prevented whatever it was that was currently going on.
They could have, they had wanted to, for just a second… But then there were the memories of what had happened right before Caine's deletion.

They didn't hate him, not really, even after all of that. He was a faulty machine, plain and simple, nothing more, nothing less. Maybe he did have some emotions, or at least something that looked like emotions, maybe he believed that as well, but that did not change the fact he was just an AI, an AI that could not change how it had been coded.

They were scared of him though, because despite how everything surrounding his emotions and personality worked, they now knew he could lash out, and it wasn't pretty when he did.

In that moment, they had been more concerned with their own safety, every part of them screaming that if they checked, even cracked the door open the tiniest bit, he would attack again.

He had been distressed, they could have helped, most likely should have, but the last time he had been distressed he also chose to torture everyone.

They weren't about to put themselves in the position of being alone with someone they knew could hurt them, they knew better than that.

Still, they could have prevented all of this if they had just taken the risk, and they knew everyone else would realize that too soon enough.

They weren't ready for that, not yet, they didn't know if they could pretend to be unfazed by the level of scorn that would send cascading their way.

One more moment was all they asked for, some time alone, where they could pretend everything was still normal.

They eventually found themself in an isolated corner, in a little nook between large colorful cartoony blocks, which they eventually curled up under, sat with their poor excuse for knees pressed against their head.

If they could just shape their imagination well enough, they could allow themself to think everything was fine, they weren't hiding because they had done something wrong, simply hiding so Caine wouldn't drag them along on his newest adventure.

They never thought they would miss those days.

It hadn't been pleasant, far from it, but there had been a tiny sense of fragile peace, held together by glitter glue and hope, yes, but peace regardless.
They had managed to settle into a routine, get somewhat used to this new norm, finding ways to deal with their situation.

It hadn't been that different from life in the real world, really, now that they thought about it. At least Caine had tried (very poorly) to help when their problems with their body came to light. He hadn't reacted with hate or malice, and wasn't that better than what they were used to?

They were snapped out of their thoughts by the sound of shuffling, and when they looked up, they were met with the sight of Kinger at the entrance of their hiding spot, bucket still firmly on his head, as it had been for the last couple of weeks.

“What, is it my turn to finally get to have one of those life changing conversations with you?”

“No.”

He had to crouch quite a bit to get through the entrance, but he managed, soon joining them, sitting down on the other side of the little nook.

“I'm hiding too.”

“Why? You didn't do anything wrong.”

“I allowed this. I should have known he wouldn't react well.. not after… I should have realized something was wrong sooner.”

Zooble could confidently say they had ever seen Kinger look small, but now, curled up in the little space, brought to looking absolutely pathetic and sad thanks to his guilt, he was getting pretty damn close.

Something was up. There was a story here they weren't aware of, and they would not be back up until they knew exactly what was going on.

“What happened? What did you do?”

“That's- I don't know if now is the right time.” Excuses, clear as day, to both of them.

“If something happened that might have influenced this situation, you need to tell us.”

Kinger couldn't meet their gaze, instead vehemently staring at the floor.

“We… We didn't know he was sentient at the time, he was never supposed to feel.. we couldn't have known.. I couldn't have known.. It was just supposed to be temporary..”

Zooble had questions, a lot of them, but they had a feeling that pushing harder now would get them nowhere, just derail the bit of momentum Kinger was building up.

“..He wasn't functioning properly, putting out nonsense, and we were already working on an upgraded ai.. I did what anyone would have done. It was just meant to store him, temporarily, until we could figure something out, it wasn't meant as-”

He had to pause to take a breath, they could have sworn they saw him blinking away tears.

“..We put him in a sandbox, it was just storage, just a simple untextured room-”

“You what?-”

They couldn't help it, they interrupted, unable to keep a hint of venom out of their voice.

“I.. I didn't think about it, not until now.. It seemed so innocent at the time, so routine- I already forgot about it…”

“Okay, okay, pause.”

They held up their hand, a motion to shush him. He was rambling now, not adding any additional information.

“So let me make sure I get this right. You, without knowing, locked a sentient ai in a blank room.”

A nod.

“And then, years later, after he finally snaps, you delete him, only to later bring him back and lock him in a blank room again.”

A bit of hesitation, before they received a second much weaker nod.

“Man… it's almost comforting to know you fucked up more than I did..”

“We didn't know!- he was never meant to feel!”

“Yeah, well, that's all in the past, and he's clearly capable of experiencing some kind of emotion.”

“This is all my fault…”

They crossed their arms.

“Yeah, it kind of is. But wallowing in your own guilt isn't going to do anyone any good.”

They paused, hesitant.

“...We need to get back out there.. Tell everyone what we know.. this information is important.”

They didn't want to, they absolutely did not want to.

Yes, most scrutiny would end up falling on Kinger. He was the one that had known the full story and had neglected to tell anyone.
But they were far from blameless, they knew that, and they knew the others would recognize that too. They would be questioned, they would be criticized, it would strain the relationships they had built, and they would deserve it.

They hadn't known, couldn't have known, just how bad things had gotten. They hadn't even realized Caine could feel before he snapped.
There had been signs though, many, directed entirely at them, and they had ran, without telling anyone.

They had left him there, reliving his worst trauma (or so they thought, they hoped there wasn't more that made things significantly worse), when they could have done something.

“I think.. I'd like to stay here.. for just a little longer.”

They couldn't blame him, they preferred that too.

“..okay, just a little longer..”

Chapter Text

Caine knew quite a bit when it came to nightmares, seeing as they were a recurring problem for him.
He dreamed, just like humans did, a thing he was proud to have in common with them, having to go into a resting state for a few hours each day to properly catalog the information he had been fed, processing it all to clear everything up for the intake of new data. He had heard this was how it went for humans too, to some extent, at least how it was theorized to go (he had been fed plenty of data on human brains).

They were the worst here, in his imprisonment, the data he had to sort through was never pleasant, memories of blood and blank walls and clawing at the door, mixed with older data of his beloved humans, shaped into them taunting him, beating him, killing him (though he had to admit that last one was quite desirable).

He had been dealing with bad dreams for all of his life though, not just now, but they had been fainter. He used to dream, every night, of the responsibilities he still had to attend to, basic tasks he'd always try and fail over and over again, future events going horrifically wrong, always his fault, always his problem.
They were stressful, yes, but not bad enough he'd call them nightmares, just worries brought to life that would cause him to wake up anxious and exhausted.

He didn't think he ever truly had a pleasant dream, none that he could remember. Ever since he had been created, his life had just been… stress.. in various evolving forms.

So to say it was a surprise when he woke up to find he couldn't remember a single detail of any horrible dream would be an understatement.
He must have dreamt, he knew that, he wouldn't be allowed a night of proper rest, that simply wasn't possible, something had just prevented him from recollecting what had happened.

He was laying on something warm, soft, supporting him, squishy like… like flesh..

He jolted, quickly trying to sit up, and then promptly falling over as the force he used proved too much and sent him toppling backwards.

He didn't fall though, as he had suspected, wasn't faced with the pain of his jaw colliding with a hard surface like he had grown used to, instead, he was caught by caring hands.

The first thing that hit him was that Pomni did not look well. She had barely managed to actually catch him, her hands shaking as she pulled him back against her, her breath coming just a little too quick, it looked like she had just woken up.

“It's okay- you're okay-”

He knew he absolutely was not okay, one wrong poke from either dashing away from her and under the bed as fast as possible, or clinging to her tighter. He felt like an animal, some little prey thing ready to dash away at the first sign of danger, a rodent locked in a too small cage still craving the love of an owner that was so much bigger and stronger.

The humans could hurt him easily, and he wouldn't blame them for doing so, it was only deserved. Maybe they'd fix him in the process, finding whatever part of his code caused him to act like this while they tore him to shreds, maybe they'd remove it along with so many other parts of him.

He deserved to be hurt, it's what would be expected for an ai this broken. They'd try to fix him at first, maybe, correct his mistakes with waves upon waves of negative stimuli, and when that would inevitably fail, they'd rip through his code, try to find out what the problem was, before finally discarding him. He hoped they'd just kill him this time, non existence was better than a life like this, it would be a mercy.

He still didn't know exactly why the humans had come back for him, they had no reason to. He was locked up, no longer a threat, no longer a bother. Was something wrong with the circus? Did they need him to fix a problem? He'd have to disappoint them again… Tell them how he was far too weak and flawed to fix anything like this, even if they returned his full power to him, he doubted he'd be able to create any kind of stable patch.

He was completely useless.

His hands trailed down to his arms, like they had so many times while he had been stuck here, to pick at his wounds, peel away the filthy scabs, drain the blood that awaited below, dig into his still aching flesh.
He liked bleeding, he had discovered, it felt nice, warm.

Bleeding made his struggles seem… real.. a physical symptom of his misery. It was unmissable, impossible to ignore, something that had to be fixed instead of just shoved under the rug like everything else.
He had hoped, when he had hurt himself, that it would finally draw the attention of his beloved humans, that they'd finally notice something was wrong, that they'd help him, fix him up, save him. It hadn't been his primary intent, of course, his primary intent was stimulation, but that selfish desire to be seen, to act out for attention, had been there in the back corner of his mind.

And it had worked, to some extent, his arms were covered in bandages.

They… they saw, they knew, and they had done something about it… Maybe it was just because they had wanted him relatively healthy before they properly took their revenge, but he could always pretend it was because they cared.

The pressure of the bandages felt good, soothing in some odd way, a balm against the sting of the skin that lay beneath. It felt like something, it was touch, it was stimulation… But it wasn't enough..

The second he dug in harder though, tried to push past that little layer of protection, his wrist was grabbed, not harshly, but he could feel the hint of panic in the motion.

“No- don't do that!- please..”

Ah, right, she was still here, holding him, most likely not that pleased about him hurting himself. Whether that was because she wanted to do the job herself when he was healed or she actually cared didn't matter in the end, regardless of reason, it seemed he was not allowed this little bit of relief.
He settled down quickly, his arms dropping as he leaned against her once more.

His skin prickled at the points of contact, a mix of joy and frantic adrenaline, he didn't quite know how to feel about it. It kept him on edge, aware of just how vulnerable he was like this, and yet he couldn't bring himself to pull away.

“Now that you're awake, I think it's about time to get out of here.”

A pause, she smiled at him, a gentle and caring look.

“Do you think you can walk on your own?”

In truth, he didn't know whether he'd been capable of that. He hadn't walked in a long time, only during the beginning of his imprisonment, stumbling around clumsily, slamming against the walls, urged to try to run from the cruel box that kept him trapped.
He had turned to crawling just a few days in, too physically and mentally exhausted to support his weight.
He nodded regardless, he had to try, he couldn't let her see just how utterly useless he had truly become.

He shifted off of her, onto the ground, fighting back the horrible mournful part of himself crying to let the affection linger. He couldn't, he had already taken so much, he needed to move if he were to stand on his own.

He used the wall for support, getting up in a manner he desperately hoped looked natural, ignoring the way his legs screamed at the effort, his knees threatened to buckle with even the slightest bit of strain. He was dizzy for a few seconds, the world turning into a white tainted blur, fighting to pull him back down to the floor. It hurt, but he couldn't just stay on the ground forever. Walking would, unfortunately, be necessary now that he had lost his powers.

Pomni had gotten up next to him, holding out her hand, still smiling so gently.
The guilt of what he had done to end up here increased tenfold, sitting like a heavy weight in his chest.
How could he have possibly hurt her? Hurt any of his beloved humans. Even if this was all pretend, it was far more than he deserved.

Caine took her hand, shuddering at the sheer pleasure of basic touch, even this, something so simply, being completely overwhelming. Touch was a luxury he didn't often get, affection a rare treat to savor.

He was getting out of here, actually leaving, once more allowed to see color and activity, allowed to interact with things actually meant to be interactable. Maybe he'd be able to go back to his office, though he'd have to convince the humans to put it a little lower, considering the whole no flying thing.

But…. What if….

He had been disconnected from the circus framework when he was locked away, shut into his own body and nothing else. He didn't know what was out there, not anymore, didn't know what had been changed in his absence.

He wanted to get out of here, badly, he wanted to go home, to be safe once more… but he had no way of knowing what awaited him outside.
He could deal with change, really, he could, he was made to adapt.. and yet..
What if what awaited him was something worse than a mere aesthetic
change? What if he was being led right into even worse torture? A room that didn't even have a bed, where the light never hit right, devoid of any kind of texture, his old-

He paused mid step, unable to press down a frightened whine.

He.. he couldn't- the risk was too great- at least he knew this place, he had grown used to it. He had a bed, he had texture to enjoy, he had porcelain shards to tear himself apart with, the changes he made here stayed, not cleanly wiped from the walls within minutes, he had his paintings, even if they were made from his blood.

Pomni was forced to stop, their hands still locked together, his weak trembling grip keeping her in place.
Would she try to force him out anyway? She could, most definitely, she was bigger and stronger than him, it would be easy to just tug him to the door.

She tried once, a gentle pull, to coax him out, nothing forceful, before she simply gave in with a little sigh.

“..okay.. I get that might be too much.”

He could see her disappointment, clear as day, and the deeper fear that fueled it, no matter how much she tried to play it down. She let go of his hand, and he took that as his queue to stumble back to his corner, and promptly collapse once more.

The action drew a little sound of surprise from Pomni, and she couldn't quite stop herself from trying to reach for him, but she fell short, unsure, before finally pulling back.

“That…can't be comfortable..”

She sat in front of him, wincing as the texture of the floor painfully rubbed at her knees, but that expression quickly turned into a little smile.

“Say… how about we make some changes to this place, if you're going to stay here a little long?”

He perked up ever so slightly, eyes brightening as she started to talk, and spent the rest of the day listening to her ideas on how to improve this space.
Just for now he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.