Work Text:
"—Wait."
In an instant, his surroundings change. He's thrust somewhere he's never wandered before, into a place where he can only feel hopeless and powerless.
The street bustle, the cars charge forward as he, for once—on his feet— scurries to the side. As an artificial intelligence, he should be able to figure out where he is in the code, but nothing seems to come up. All he gets is that he knows that this is a city he's never been in before, this code, complex zeroes and ones, complex wires—no humans in sight for miles.
It's now that it comes back to him. The way his body spasmed, the way he knew what was happening before it happened. Kinger deleted him; they truly, deeply, hated him. And they had a right to hate him, even when he tried to show them what they wanted to see, what they truly desired; it wasn't good enough. They tried to strip him of his purpose, so he only did what anyone would have done. Showing them their truest selves. He didn't do it out of malice; he didn't want them to hate him, he never wanted them to abandon him or abstract. He only wanted their approval, their friendship, their trust. If he ever acted out of frustration or selfishness, it was out of ego.
NPCs. NPCs surrounded him.
He lifts himself off the ground to get a better view of the area. These were your usual pathfinding NPCs, which had a distinct pattern and dialogue. Talking to them would be of no use.
He scratches his non-existent chin and looks around, finding the city full of advertisements, and in the distance, he can make out a dancing planet with sunglasses on. This was one particular world.
Looking around the city, for something familiar seems to only lead him to dead ends. Bubble is nowhere to be found, even though he can feel them floating around somewhere. They will appear when they want to, and he was quite pissed at them right now, so it wasn't a loss to not be with them right at this moment.
He stops in front of an open bar; NPCs inside seem engaged in what they are doing. He makes his way to the bar and reaches behind the bar to grab a simple cocktail. He might as well sit around until something happens. His ass finds its way to a barstool, and he rests his bottom jaw on his palm as he swirls his drink around and around, watching the glitter in it swirl. Around and around, shimmer sticks to the sides of the glass.
"Mind if I join?"
He is ripped from his thoughts as a hoarse voice interrupts his mindless inner dialogue. His mouth, which had shut itself in surprise, opens slowly, and he finds himself sitting beside a rather tall, cowboy-looking guy. His sharp teeth and smirk make his personality evident. His lack of response makes the guy look around awkwardly.
"Shirtballs, I'm intruding on your brooding, aren't I?"
This guy isn't your usual NPC. He isn't an AI, and he isn't a human. Something else entirely. It fascinates Caine. This guy can speak dialogue all by himself, can come and go as he wishes, and yet, he doesn't seem to have a mind of his own. "HAHAHAHA! BROODING?!" He tosses the glass into his mouth and wipes a tear from his eye. "No. I'm not." His eyes avert, and he snaps out of habit, and then closes his hand when nothing happens. Yeah, no powers in this dimension.
"I haven't seen you around here." The cowboy tilts his hat in his direction, "I think I would have remembered you."
Caine raises his incisors in a questioning manner, then looks around, "I must say I blend in quite well in this—well—circus of people. Where is here? And who might you be?"
The cowboy smirks, "I guess I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Boothill. Ask about what I do, and I might have to put a mouthcage around you." The cowboy clicks with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and then he looks outside, "This is Planarcadia. Some planet of festivities and fun or something, I haven't been in town for a long time. Holy forking—" The guy's eyes widen, and he grabs the front of Caine's suit and jumps behind the bar, pulling Caine along with him. Caine reaches out and grabs his cane before he's pulled down behind the desk.
His mouth shuts in panic as anxiety sets in. A hand rests against his chest, holding him against the counter. And his non-existent—but very real—heart beats in rhythm to the steps that enter the bar.
As his mouth opens, allowing him to see the man beside him, something in him changes. He's never cared for NPCs. Humans were the people he cared about, the ones who could think, could move, could change their perspectives on things. Yet, something about this Boothill, about this almost, but not really, NPC, captivated him. Caine can't predict him, can't control him.
And it might all be because he isn't in control here, that he's another cog in the machine, well, not even that, he's an observer of this game, of this program. And all he can do is be what he has always wanted, something unpredictable.
A blush creeps up on him, and all he can do is stare at this newfound wonder in front of him.
"Check behind the bar!"
Boothill clicks his tongue and winks at Caine, as he swings his gun around on his metal finger, "Stay down here, will ya?" He jumps up in the air, and shoots his gun, then lands on the ground and sprints out of the door. The bell echoes as Caine clutches his chest.
"Wowie."
The encounter with Boothill doesn't leave his mind as day turns to night, and he's left wandering the streets alone at night. The billboards and LED lights make sure he doesn't get tired. And his pit stops at a few convenience stores make the night seem less boring.
In it all, he's still an AI, still a being that doesn't crave food or water. He shouldn't crave anything at all, but all he can think about is Boothill. How he wants to learn more about him, the thought that he doesn't know anything other than his name makes something itch in him. He could give a rat's ass about the circus, and Bubble, and Kinger. God, even though he feels guilty about what happened and has some sadness, he still feels a tad angry. Angry and frustrated.
Pushing those thoughts to the side, he finds himself in front of a billboard.
"—and that's all for tonight, sparxicles!" The screen, which turns out to be a live stream, pauses as the hologram looks down at him, "Now what do we have here?"
The hologram reaches out and pops out of the screen with a sound pop! She decends slow, and as she reaches the ground, she stands only a few inches taller than him. "What even are you? I know every person on this planet and you—" She flicks her finger at his crown tooth, "You are weird."
"So are you, Rainbow Dash. Still, it is quite rude to say that to a stranger, is it not?" He floats above ground and makes himself seem bigger, "I don't go around flicking you all day, do I?"
Her mouth twitches, once, then twice, and when he goes to speak again, she bursts into laughter, she buckles over in her laughter, "I can't take you seriously when you look like a thrown away dentist toy!" She snaps her finger, and in an instant, he feels his feet touch the floor, his body elongate, and his eyes move. Everything in him changes, and his hands go to his face, and God—He has a face.
His eyes go to the—now shorter—white-haired girl, "What have you done?" His voice uneasy, his hands sweaty, and everything in him screams to undo what happened. But, he can't. He physically can't do anything. "Change me back."
"Ah, you look much more handsome in this form."
In reality, she hadn't made him into something new; she somehow knew his code, somehow tapped into his former forms and found this one hidden away. This hidden persona.
He never wanted to be this again, to look himself in the mirror and look at something he wasn't. Human. And his ears might be pointed, he might still be able to float, to do something humans would never do, the thing was that he tried to blend in with them, in this form. But, looking at himself in this form, it hurt; it was being something he wasn't. Something he would never be.
Someone whistled from behind him, not in a way to catcall him, but in the way of greeting. "If it ain't motherfudging Sparxie. I wondered which mask she threw aside this time."
Caine's head snapped behind him at the cowboy who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. The white-haired pig-tailed girl made a face at the cowboy and crossed her arms, "Always here to bring down the fun, Booty." The girl—Sparxie— met his eyes once more and winked, "Have fun with your boy toy." And then she disappeared in smoke and laughter.
"I almost didn't recognize you, friend." Boothill nods his head as he walks around him, taking him in, "I must say, as much as I liked your small, toothy form, I might prefer you like this."
"I am not human," Caine says, something cold goes through his core, his eyes unamused.
"Heck, do you think I am? I lost most of my human side long ago. Whether you're a robot, a human, or anything other than the norm, you're in Planarcadia. Animals talk, gods make games to play, and I'm a fudging galaxy ranger. I know you're not from around here, might have crashlanded from another planet, but who isn't around here? I've known other people like you. If you think you scare me, hit me again." Boothill clicks his tongue again and raises his eyebrows. "I know a guy you might enjoy talking to—uhm—what the fudge was his name again? Screw loose or something."
Other AI's? The pit in him tears through his core. What happened last time he was near another AI has never left him. Abel. His twin, his lesser sibling, his replacement. That was the first time he felt fear. The first time he did something outside the system.
He doesn't trust himself near another AI.
The cowboy turns to leave, and something familiar in Caine makes itself known. He knew that he would eventually be left alone again; it was only a matter of time.
Pomni, Zooble, Kinger. They all wanted to leave, and now here he was, the only person who managed to do that. He was destined to be alone, to be lonesome.
"Are you coming or what?" He looks up at Boothill, who has stopped a few feet in front of him and has now turned around with crossed arms, "Are you gonna stay in the city all night, or are you gonna come with me?" A hand is reached out for him to take, and Caine almost stumbles to take it.
Boothill smiles as soon as their hands interlock, grabbing him firmly, "Now let's have some fun."
As an old friend once told him. The night is young.
That was a lie; he didn't have an old friend who said that. It got popularized by the 1930s movie "The Night is Young" and the song by Nelly Furtado.
The night stretched on as the two of them sang karaoke at a bar, drank until they got tired of it, since none of them could get drunk, and ended in a hotel room when the sun started making itself known. He's never had this much fun, ever. He's never been taken on an adventure he didn't start. Being with Boothill was an adventure he never wanted to let go of.
He wants to stay here.
They lay in bed, and his hand stretched out across the linen of the bed sheets. Feeling the smoothness of it, breathing for the sake of it. His eyes turn to the one lying next to him, and then he turns. Boothill turns to him with a soft smile playing on his face.
His heart skips. And he reaches out, and as his thumb finds the soft curve of the other's cheek, he realises that Boothill isn't pulling away from him.
And so he lunges forward and pushes the other on his back as their lips meet in a daze.