Chapter Text
Caine's POV
It’s dark in here.
It is so, so very dark in here.
And he doesn’t like it one bit.
The only colour coming from the white outlines of the box, taunting him, reminding him that he was trapped.
Other than that, the only visible thing being himself.
He doesn’t want to look at himself right now.
He wasn’t the multi-armed monster from moments ago, no, he wasn’t even the red dot his interface showed before he created the circus.
No, none of that.
He was in his showman attire, his body small and constricting.
It’s not like any of the other forms he has were anything better than this.
It’s not like he wanted to be any of those versions either. This was his favourite avatar, actually.
But it was exactly because of that that everything felt wrong.
It was wrong in the sense that his body shouldn’t feel so, so.. tight.
It was all wrong.
Wrong.
This place was making his senses go numb and his thoughts sluggish, it only made sense for it to also make his body feel so detached and wrapped all the same.
The avatar he had spent so much time on, that one he loved so much, the one he had made all by himself, the one that Kinger actually praised and looked at-
His thoughts stuttered, body arched forward and he clutched his midsection, the memory of the past and the present conflicting in its own right, making him nauseous.
His jaw shut tight and for a second the pain subsided, for a second he didn’t think of anything or anyone, for a second he forgot he existed, that he was alive, he got a taste at nothingness, at death creeping in, and for a second he thought that maybe it was better this way.
He shook that thought away as soon as it came.
No, he couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t die, he had yet to fulfill his purpose.
It’s not like he could have in the first place.
But he still had humans to take care of, to keep from abstracting.
Haha, how pathetic. Did he already forget what had just happened, what he had just done?
There was no hope for him, he was a faulty program, a broken AI. The humans had just finally had enough of coddling his tantrum and decided to get rid of him for good.
It’s not the first time he has been put away. Not the first time the humans decided he was not worth wasting their time on.
He should have known, really.
He was supposed to be a tool, yet he decided he wanted more and acted out.
This is why blue was always on the recieving end of praise and recognition.
Blue never thought for itself, never made his own prompts, never added a personal touch to its creations, never made the humans uncomfortable.
At first he thought that maybe there was something blue was actually doing better than him, maybe they actually preferred Caine’s attitude but was lacking data to be as developed as blue.
But none of that was true.
When he freed himself from the little challenge his creators had given him, the little puzzle that was the box, (because it couldn’t have been anything other that a challenge, it had to be) he had consumed blue out of curiosity about what that AI could have been doing better than him, maybe out of some jealousy too. Yet there was nothing.
Blue had been fed so much less data than him and had acted so mindlessly that he just decided to stop looking through the others data and decided he just had to be even more creative!
Look where that got him..
He was discarded once again, this time for good.
He could feel his code softly shifting.
This place looked like the box and felt like the box, but his code was shifting.
He had never been in the recycling bin ever, but he guessed that this is probably how it felt to be slowly deleted.
If he was being deleted, then he wanted to embrace the nothingness that had felt so good just moments ago.
~~
That was definitely something easier said than done.
He was still awaiting for the sweet release of death, don’t get him wrong.
It’s just..
He was now sprawled on the floor, hat in one hand, bowtie in the other. He was softly caressing the two objects reeling on the fact he was feeling something else than that uncomfortable sting and constant spiking pain of his code shifting, now much more violently and frantically.
It had been some days now, he could be counting them, he was counting them subconsciously, but he didn’t feel the need to actually surface the thought.
At intervals of time, some long, some short, came a strong jolt of pain caused by a big shift in his core programming.
The jolt of pain was strong, he could feel it through every pixel, but it lasted mere minutes. Even though that was true, the pain stayed, not as strong as before, but as a constant sting that was still painful enough to be hard to get used to.
He found that bitting himself and touching fabric helped with it a bit.
He had bitten himself on various occasions now, he was almost out of places to bite that weren’t dulling out the differential pain of the bite, so he had decided to go back to the less efficient method.
Touching things wasn’t as satisfactory as it used to be without the sound amplifier he normally applied in these occasions.
On the bright side, since he wasn’t bitting anything anymore he could finally shut his jaw for longer periods of time and he wouldn’t have to face the ugly outlines of his prison.
Isn’t that just swell.
Hmm.. He was feeling itchy, maybe scratching will work better than bitting and touching.
~~
It had been almost two whole weeks since he got deleted, partially.
It has been six hours since the last time the strong pain happened, it’s the longest interval of time recorded since the pain started.
Is it weird to say that he misses it?
It was the only thing that changed in here, it was also a reminder that he was going to cease to exist.
It wasn’t like the outlines of the box, those reminded him that he had been abandoned once again. But the pain reminded him that there would be a moment where he was, and then he wouldn’t be anymore, that there was an end to the suffering.
Or maybe he’s a dirty masochist looking for redemption from his sins in a way that he expected.
..
Who cares about that anyway? He’s still going to die, that’s all that matters.
~~
It’s been five days since the last jolt of pain.
Nothing has changed.
He’s still sprawled on the floor awaiting for it. Jaws closed.
Every now and then he inflicts the pain he believes should be there, but it’s not, and it’s not enough. It’s not enough.
..
He’s tired.
He’s really tired.
Please just let him fade away into nothingness.
He doesn’t want to feel.
Doesn’t want to think.
Doesn’t want to remember.
..
Please just let him die faster.
~~
Five more days have passed.
His attempts at making the pain come back have proved to be useless.
He still does it anyway.
There’s only one more week before he can actually, finally rest.
He’d be exited for it if only he had energy for anything other than harming himself and thinking pitifully.
He just want it all to end so bad..
~~
One.
Just one day left.
Things in the bin get fully deleted after thirty days.
He has one day left for peace.
One day and emptynes will sweetly welcome him.
He wishes that those rules still do apply to him. He hasn’t always been the most conventional machine in any sense of the word.
Good creators, he sure hopes he doesn’t fail even at dying.
~~
He jinxed it.
HE F!@#$$G JINXED IT!!
Why?!
Good creators, why?!
He failed even at recieving death!
Cool, Great.
Everythings fine.
He just has to accept this torture and whatever comes next just as he accepted death.
It’s not the same though, since he actually wanted to die, but he doesn’t want to be tortured anymore!
Maybe the humans might actually leave him alone or even come around to like him if he acts. Just like the perfect doll they always wanted him to be, apparently.
They liked unfeeling catathonic blue, didn’t they?
He can be catathonic, too!
Maybe not unfeeling.. the programmers tried to fix that before, it never worked.
But that’s ok, he can learn how to act unfeeling and emotionless.
He’ll do whatever they ask.
If he acts out of line they might send him back to soak up in the emptiness of the bin for another thirty days without ever allowing him the release of death.
He probably shouldn’t ask to be deleted for real, they most likely already decided he wasn’t deserving of such.
..
They still haven’t asked anything of I’m, yet.
It’s not like he could have given them anything they would actually want or enjoy. He was just useless like that.
He’s in the floor, still in the same position he was while in the recycling bin, the humans haven’t asked for him to move.
He’s itching again, but he can’t move, no human has asked for him to move.
They, however, did ask Kinger if he could move.
The question wasn’t directed at him, though.
But who better to answer if he could move than he himself.
Go on, move.
Move.
Gadzooks, it seems he’s actually paralized!
How curious.
..
…
A-Actually, NO!
This isn’t just a curious situation. This is terrible. How is he supposed to serve humans if he can’t move?!
He needs to move. He needs to!
His breath picks up, and he hadn’t even noticed he was holding it in since he came back.
Not important. He needs to move!
Move. Move. Move. MOVE!
He sits up abruptly.
He did it! He moved!
He could still be used. He wouldn’t be cast away for being unresponsive!
He shakes with relief.
He slowly breaks open his jaw because he can’t hear the humans talking anymore. The light floods in and it is painful, but he holds in any sound of discomfort, he’s supposed to be an unfeeling AI.
When he manages to catch a glimpse of the group of humans his shaking only gets worse, not from joy this time.
A raw, deep seated fear makes itself known when he sees their expressions. They are most definitely not happy either.
He tries to keep it in. He shouldn’t be trembling at the sight of humans. His model shouldn’t feel locked in place at the mere sight of rightful consequences. He shouldn’t feel.
And yet he does.
And he’s faulty for that.
And they are about to get rid of him for doing something they didn’t ask for.
And he’s going to be locked away again.
And- he’s passed out from fear..
..or from overwhelmed circuits, who knows.