Chapter Text
With the humans all scattered across the tent, proper communication was next to impossible. It could have taken a long time of running around in circles before they figured out that Caine was already found. Key word, could have. But, when everyone noticed the lights in the tent suddenly became blinding, audibly buzzing with excess energy, before shorting out and plunging them into darkness, a few started to get the feeling that the chase was over.
One by one, they regrouped at Kinger's fort. It made the most sense, being the last place they gathered. Some wanted to simply take a break from running in circles and getting nowhere, others were acting their suspicions of the hunt having run its course. Pomni was the first to turn up and, to her confusion and dismay, found Kinger completely out of it. When she found him lingering outside the fort without the bucket, she greeted him as normal. The darkness must have encouraged him to go without wearing it for a while. Made sense to her— she couldn't imagine how uncomfortable it had to be, going all day with a metal bucket on your head.
But no. She wasn't seeing the Kinger they'd grown accustomed to. She was met with crossed eyes and a startled shriek despite being fully visible from a mile away when approaching him. Baffled at first, she spent a good few minutes searching the area for the missing bucket, assuming Kinger had simply misplaced it or dropped it off his head by leaning over too far or something.
When her search turned up nothing, Pomni began to suspect it was less to do with Kinger, and more to do with Caine's little avatar-editing spree. If he could delete her hair, who's to say he wouldn't delete the one thing keeping Kinger's sanity intact? Of course he got rid of the bucket.
Ultimately, Pomni resigned herself to watching over the man until the darkness brought him back. As Kinger took an interest in the firefly she brought with her, ooh-ing and aw-ing as if he'd completely forgotten he was the one that made it, the others started to turn up one by one.
Gangle was first, stumbling towards the fort with an upside-down mask and ribbon colors constantly shifting in a muted rainbow. Pomni ran over to help her upon realizing she was seeing the world upside-down, making navigation incredibly disorienting for the poor woman. But Gangle urged her to follow and help Zooble instead, who was even worse off with limbs all in the wrong sockets. Finding them slumped against a wall nearby, exhausted and miserable, Pomni and Gangle made quick work of carrying them over to the fort and situated them on a couple of blankets.
Then Gangle was bringing over a few pillows to help them sit up properly. They protested weakly to the coddling, of course, but quickly shut up when Gangle shot back to, quote, "please shut up and let me help you."
Jax was next, only making his appearance known at first by calling from around a corner. He was clearly mortified at having to show his face and threatening violence on anyone for saying a word, but nobody was in the mood to poke fun or laugh. Not when he was obviously distressed. That seemed to take him by surprise, and possibly bring some strong feelings into the mix, judging by his half-hearted attempt to make light of his state as if he suddenly wanted them to make fun of it. The unamused looks he got in response put a quick stop to that.
It was with Ragatha's arrival that they finally determined, without a shadow of a doubt, Caine had been found. Not just found— incapacitated. To see Ragatha turn up with the former ringmaster in her arms, clothes burned to a crisp as if he was just dragged out of a fire, Kinger's firefly perched on his shoulder and casting its bright golden glow against her haunted expression… they had a lot of questions.
First order of business, though, was to undo the mess that Caine made of their avatars. It was the worst for Jax, Zooble, and Kinger, which made them the priority. (It doesn't escape them that those three specifically receiving the worst of the changes could be more than a coincidence.) Jax and Zooble were essentially immobilized from all the ridiculous limb alterations, and Kinger couldn't use his hands without getting them mixed up, almost smacking into things every time he moved or tried to gesture in any way.
Thankfully, the darkness began to take effect. Little by little, the haze cleared from his eyes, and they could finally get his help in returning their models to normal. No computer necessary, as he could force the changes to reverse the same way he repaired them during Jax and Caine's ambush the other day.
Jax and Zooble were up first, followed by Gangle, then Pomni, then Ragatha. Afterwards, the group migrated over to the common area, where Ragatha set Caine on one of the couches with a level of care and gentleness that probably shouldn't have been as surprising as it was. After a brief moment of hesitation, she covered his charred body with one of the throw blankets, then went into the explanation everyone was waiting for.
She mentioned that the computer was left behind, but quickly added that it probably wasn't worth bringing back, considering Caine destroyed it. Pomni instantly went to find a replacement via the exit door, muttering something under her breath and shooting Caine's sleeping form an irritated look. The others only had more questions. How did he destroy it and why? Did he say anything when she found him? How did he get knocked out?
And the answers?
Well…
Zooble, stunned, blinks up at Ragatha. "He bit the computer?"
From behind the couch, Jax snorts. Covers it up with a cough. "Bit of a one-trick pony, isn't he?"
"Why?" Gangle asks dubiously.
"I don't know!" Ragatha exclaims, then tenses and looks to Caine. When he doesn't stir from her raised voice, she relaxes and turns back to the others. "Honestly, I think he was just trying to destroy it. Which, if that was the plan, it worked. That thing was completely caved in."
"So like— he just—" Zooble stammers, trying and failing to wrap their head around this, before throwing their hands up. "What the fuck."
"You weren't able to talk to him, I assume?" Kinger prompts gently.
"No. He… when I got in there, I don't know if he was already out or if his body was just. Frozen? Over the computer? Electricity does that, I think. It tenses all your muscles and… someone else has to… pry you off of whatever is shocking you."
Judging by the haunted, wide-eyed look on her face, the others can guess that she's now speaking from experience. Kinger shares a glance with Zooble, both in disbelief. Jax's smile is thin, hardly even there. Gangle's eyes drift to Caine and she shudders, no doubt picturing what Ragatha is describing.
It's during this tense silence that Pomni returns with a brand new computer in tow, panting slightly from rushing all the way back. "Got one!"
Kinger nods gratefully, but when the computer is sat in front of him, he looks worried. He glances up at Ragatha. "I understand if this is too much to ask, but would you be able to bring the old one back here?"
"Um? Sure! I-I'll go do that right away!" She smiles, almost looking relieved to be given something to do, and waves a little mock-salute before running off.
"So…" Pomni seats herself next to Kinger, head tilted. "What did I miss?"
The man meets her gaze with one that radiates endless exhaustion. Before he can get words out, Jax beats him to it. "Caine ate the computer."
Pomni blinks. Pinwheel pupils flick from Jax to Kinger, eyebrow raised, a half-smile on her face as if expecting someone to explain he's joking and give her the real explanation. When nobody does, her smile drops. "Wait, seriously?"
"Yep," Zooble mutters, popping the p. "Tried to, at least."
"Y'know, I knew he was crazy," Jax muses. "But trying to short-circuit himself? That feels like a whole new level of wacko."
Like clockwork, everyone looks to the ringmaster in question. Still knocked out. He twitches once, causing a couple of them to flinch as if he might burst to life then and there, but he doesn't.
Nevertheless, their unease only grows. They fear what will happen when he does wake up. Every day, he seems to get more unpredictable. More unstable. More angry.
"What do we do now?" Pomni's question hangs in the air, not directed at anyone in particular.
…
Kinger sighs. Rubs a hand across his face.
"Leaving him to his devices has… obviously backfired. We need to approach this problem from a new angle. More hands-on, I suppose. And…" He looks to the others, who all regard him curiously. "I think I have a few ideas."
If the universe were driven by a force with an understanding of merciful endings, perhaps Caine would have fried his brain beyond repair and never woken from his self-induced shock therapy. Or, even better, he would have fried more than his brain and fully disintegrated into a pile of ash. Maybe with his top hat unaffected and lying atop, pristine as ever, just to maintain his brand of cartoon-typical silliness even in death.
But, of course, no such being of mercy exists. Or, if it does, it deigned to grace Caine with its presence. Because in some vague stretch of time following his loss of consciousness, he finds himself stirring awake, head filled with swirling smoke, thoughts too frail and fragile to grab onto for long before they slip right through his fingers like sand.
Whatever he's lying on, it's soft. Much softer than most things in the circus. Distantly, he registers voices are speaking in hushed tones nearby. Knowing he'll be far too out of it to act professional if he gets up now, he's satisfied with pretending to be asleep as he regains his bearings. Until the cloudiness clears and he can properly think again, he remains as still as possible. And he listens.
An intense feeling of déjà vu settles over Caine, instantly recalling a very similar situation. Unlike last time he awoke in this scenario, though, he's more aware. He doesn't just recognize the voices, he can put names to them. When he tunes fully into the conversation, there's no question of who is speaking.
"—just hope Ragatha gets back soon," Gangle is murmuring. If his spatial awareness is to be trusted, she's to the left of him, albeit from a distance.
Pomni hums, even further away but directly across from Caine. "Why did you want her to bring the old one back? Is there stuff on there that you needed?"
Hearing Kinger next nearly has him blowing his cover then and there, but he keeps still. The man is about the same location-wise as Pomni, perhaps just to the left. "Oh, no. The files on there don't need to be transferred, per se—"
Zooble's monotone voice with their signature undercurrent of annoyance comes from Caine's left, definitely separate from Pomni and Kinger. "Would it even be possible to transfer anything? You'd have to turn it on for that, and judging by what Ragatha said, I… don't think that's happening."
"In any case, I'm just… curious to see it for myself," Kinger continues, seemingly unbothered by the interruption.
"I'm not," Pomni mutters. She sounds… odd. There's an emotion there that Caine can't pinpoint.
Even more odd is the feeling that stirs in his chest immediately after. The frustration comes, of course: a typical reaction when being presented with one of the many human complexities that he cannot immediately recognize or understand. But it's nothing compared to the far more intense, far more painful ache in his chest that twists his insides into knots. He's unaccustomed to it, but in the sense that he usually tries to ignore or push it down the second it appears. That being, guilt.
Why is he feeling guilt? What is he missing that his subconscious is aware of?
"Well, Pom-Pom, that's too bad!" Jax's voice is moving from Caine's right side over to Pomni. "Check it out."
"Oh-" Shuffling, followed by quick footsteps hurrying in the direction Jax came from, followed by Pomni rushing out, "Uh, here! Let me help with that, it looks… uh…"
"Dangerous," Zooble finishes, all annoyance from before replaced by worry.
"It's fine!" Ah, Ragatha. "Just a little awkward to carry, is all. I have no clue how he got all the way up there with this and the keyboard; it's practically as big as him." The sound of more shuffling follow, then some kind of heavy thunk directly in front of Caine, but there's an oddly distinct detail to it that makes his brain itch. Like… crushed glass.
Then the rest of Ragatha's words catch up to him, namely the mention of a keyboard, and things begin to click into place.
Memories of a mad dash for shelter. A vivid screen blinding him to the darkness of the room. Denials. Scathing taunts. Horrifying realizations. The feeling of glass giving way under his teeth.
Oh.
Suddenly, the guilt is making much, much more sense.
Oh no.
As Caine does everything in his power to remain "asleep" in the midst of an extreme internal panic, processing just how royally screwed he's about to be, a low whistle sounds from his left.
"Well, shit. You weren't kidding, Ragatha."
The ragdoll sighs. "Unfortunately."
"This is…" A shift of fabric and the sound of polished wood dragging against the ground— Kinger's equivalent to footsteps. "Wow. I don't know whether to be impressed or terrified."
"How about both?" Pomni offers.
"He really went for it," Jax chuckles. More glass crinkles, followed by what Caine assumes is a shard dropping to the floor. "You can see teeth-marks. I should be taking notes."
Zooble scoffs. "Taking notes on how to electrocute yourself?"
"I guess this explains the lights going out," Kinger says thoughtfully, and, oh. That's news to Caine.
Though, now that he thinks about it, he does notice a distinct lack of light coming from the permanent opening in the back of his mouth. His eyes lazily swivel around, curious of what he's able to see from this vantage point, only to be greeted with an expanse of purple cushions.
Wait. Is he on the couch? As in, one of the "strictly for players' relaxation" couches??
Curiosity winning over caution, his eyes drift a touch closer to the opening to peer just outside his mouth, taking care to ensure nobody can see his attempt at gauging his surroundings. Thankfully, the only way someone can see him do this is if they're leaning over the back of this couch, which they are not. Makes sense. They always keep their distance from him, and today would be no exception.
He manages to get a glimpse of the tent and, sure enough, all of the lights are shut off. Only the ambient lighting remains, bathing the circus in a dim glow reminiscent of a moonlit night.
Another detail is spotted from this angle, where his back presses against the couch. Some kind of dark fabric is draped over his shoulders, the weight of which finally registers when he realizes it's there. It goes all the way down to his shoes, and the tiniest twitch of his hand against the material confirms that it's soft.
They put a blanket over him.
He… doesn't know what to do with that information.
During these observations, he realizes the conversation has gone quiet around him. Not unusual, but there's a tension behind it that has him on edge instantly. Surely they didn't—
"Caine, we know you're awake."
His stomach drops. Shoulders tense. The jolt of panic sends a small glitch through his body, confirming Pomni's words practically on cue and entirely against his own wishes. Darn it.
Resigning himself to his fate, Caine sits up, blanket slipping off his shoulders and into his lap. A shaky weakness in his arms makes propping himself up more difficult than necessary, but he manages it, and he reluctantly cracks his jaw open to be greeted with six pairs of eyes all staring straight back at him.
He has no idea what to say. A "hello" feels stupid. He's cognizant enough to know that any kind of joke intended to lighten the mood will have the complete opposite effect, and any other options are currently evading him. In the end, he lands on the safest option: staying quiet.
He gets the feeling he'll be defaulting to "safe" options around the humans for the foreseeable future.
As the silence drags on, Caine's eyes dart to each and every face, but never long enough to gather information on what they're feeling. He gets a sense of the arrangement pretty quickly: predictably, he's alone on the couch. Pomni and Kinger are seated across from him, Jax lingering on Pomni's end. Zooble and Gangle are on the middle couch, notably closer to the opposite couch than his own. Ragatha is standing similar to Jax, taking up the empty space across from Zooble and Gangle's couch, close to Kinger. All clustered around each other, as if an invisible barrier sits between him and them. All no doubt wearing negative expressions. All no doubt directed at him.
Caine is accustomed to feeling like an oddity on display. Due to an innate desire for any and all kinds of attention, he oftentimes craves it. This, however, is the worst possible version of that feeling. Less of a ringmaster with an audience, more of a dangerous circus attraction contained behind bars.
In his efforts to avoid eye contact, his eyes inevitably land on the table in the center. His pupils constrict, another glitch rushing through him, when he registers what is sitting atop it.
The computer is turned from him, likely so the humans could better view the damage. Caine doesn't necessarily need nor want to view it for himself, but he can still clearly see evidence of what he did no matter what angle he's viewing it from. There are clear divots in the computer's casing that follow a very specific arc, splintered in some places and the plastic completely broken off in others.
Even without making the connection that the damage would perfectly align with his teeth, the dull ache in his head is enough to tell him exactly what caused it.
"Caine."
He tenses further, fighting the urge to look at Kinger. It's entirely alien to do so— he's never been one to avoid staring, but looking anyone in the eye right now feels far too monumental of a task. The silence drags a bit more, until Kinger seems to understand that Caine won't meet his eyes anytime soon, and sighs. "I think we need to talk."
From his peripheral, Caine can see the man shift in place, seemingly looking around the group. Some sort of silent agreement happens, then, and suddenly everyone is standing and walking away in a move so alarming that Caine's gaze snaps up to watch them leave. Everyone except—
"Pomni, you can take a break," Kinger urges when the jester doesn't budge from her spot beside him. Meeting her eyes, Caine realizes she's outright glaring at him, arms crossed and mouth set firmly. He looks away quickly.
"I'm fine," she insists to Kinger. "Besides, you know the new rules. You made them."
New rules? Is this something they discussed while he was still unconscious? He glances back up, equal parts intrigued and anxious, to see Pomni giving Kinger a pointed, concerned look. Kinger, for his part, is visibly conflicted, but seems to accept whatever she's implying and nods. "I guess that should be the first thing we talk about, after we get the obvious out of the way."
Kinger looks at him again, determination setting his brow. They definitely planned something while he was out. Not knowing what to expect, Caine's hand goes to fidget with the edge of the blanket in his lap as the nerves fully set in, but when Kinger's eyes follow the movement he stops instantly. Bad idea, he looks too flighty, it's probably just going to distract him from whatever they plan on telling him. Clasping his hands is a good alternative. More professional!
(He's kidding himself. Not a single aspect of this interaction is professional, not so long as he has to look at the humans directly over the table where evidence of his most recent temper tantrum is staring him in the face.)
Speaking of. Kinger gestures with a glove to the wrecked computer. "Care to explain?" He asks, somehow in a tone both incredibly light and holding a massive weight behind it that makes Caine's skin crawl.
Mismatched eyes flick to the computer, feigning surprise as if just noticing it. His mind runs wild, quickly determining how he should approach this conversation, and what he lands on should be entirely expected at this point.
"Explain what?"
Playing dumb. Never gets old.
Just as expected is the twinge of frustration he notices from Kinger. Try as he might with this act of endless patience, Caine knows he has to be at the end of his rope. Why he's trying to shake said rope until Kinger loses his grip and falls is beyond even him. Maybe he's trying to push them away further. Maybe it's just instinct taking over when he's already out of his depth.
"Maybe you're just genuinely bad at this!"
That too.
"Explain this." His glove yet again gestures to the computer. "Explain the avatar modifications and deleting the bucket." (Caine doesn't even remember doing that, but he's not entirely surprised about it.) "Explain stealing the computer in the first place. While you're at it—" Kinger's stare grows a degree more intense, piercing through Caine's very core. "Explain what you did to my old room."
Oh, goodie, he knows about that now, too. Caine hums, tapping his chin and looking off to the side. Doing this, he feels tiny imperfections in the fabric of his glove that give cause for alarm at first— small rips and tears that shouldn't be there— but a memory of fingers digging into cracked glass clears up his confusion.
He realizes he's frozen without any explanation, so he quickly shrugs to cover it up. "Why should I? Seems pretty self-explanatory."
Pomni crosses her arms tightly, seething but choosing to stay silent. He can practically see the fantasies running through her head of knocking his teeth in. He doesn't blame her.
"Caine," Kinger shuts his eyes, all energy drained from his body. "Don't do this. Just… please, give me something to work with here."
Frustration fills his chest, searing and painful. He doesn't know how to do that. What is he supposed to say here? The truth? Absolutely not. He doubts that explaining 'I wanted to take back my power, threw a tantrum when I ran into the obstacles you put in place, and nearly went through with something so unforgivable that it made me confront the fact that I'm still just as flawed and selfish and useless as I was before I broke out of the prison you put me in' would go over well.
Giving a straight answer like that, besides being pointless and grossly self-pitying, will end badly. So, instead, he redirects slightly. Fiddling with his hands, eyes locked onto his lap, he asks a question. It's one he's already asked and, ironically enough, been given so little of an answer to work with that it only deepened his curiosity. So, in the spirit of clearing things up, he asks. Even if he dreads whatever the answer will be, even if his voice is far weaker than he'd like when it finally comes out.
"Why?"
A pause.
"Uh." Kinger sounds puzzled. "Why… what?"
Why are you trying to work with me? Why are you being so patient? Why give me your room? Why give me my life? Why create me with a purpose I can never fulfill? Why fill every moment of my existence with misery? Why do I not hate you for it? Why do you not hate me?
He looks up, eyes shadowed by his teeth. Pomni and Kinger are regarding him with equal parts caution and confusion. Like a twitch of a muscle, his form glitches minutely.
"Why am I here?"
Kinger's eyes widen with realization and dread. "Caine, I— I don't—"
Caine cuts him off. Quite frankly, he's sick of watching Kinger beat around this particular bush. His words slow to a crawl, voice dropping. "Why. Am I. Here?"
While Kinger goes silent, Pomni bristles. "Hey, he asked a question first. You can't just—"
"No," Kinger raises a hand to cut her off. His expression is pained, yet resigned. "Technically, he asked this long before my own questions. It's only fair." Dropping his hand back to his lap, clasping them the same way Caine did only minutes prior, he goes quiet a moment. A smile reaches his eyes. It doesn't look happy.
"You're smarter than we give you credit for. You know that?"
Caine's not so sure of that himself, but he's not one to refuse a compliment. Even if the implication of said compliment is already twisting his insides into knots. He tilts his head in silent acknowledgment, urging Kinger to continue. The other shuts his eyes, shoulders tensing.
"I get it. You want to know where you stand with everyone, and part of that involves understanding why we brought you back in the first place. Why we're trying to work with you. Logically, it would have been easier on everyone if we didn't…"
His words die out, but he doesn't need to finish that sentence. They both know what he means. At least they're on the same page in that regard.
"But," He continues, regaining strength in his voice and meeting his eyes with such earnestness that Caine is, yet again, the one to look away. "As it turned out, you're much more integral to the functionality of the circus than we thought. You saw a little of it when you first woke up, I'm sure. All those broken bits around the tent? The holes where you could see into the Void?"
Caine recalls. He never did quite piece together what those odd malfunctions in the tent's model were all about. He nods in confirmation and Kinger continues.
"Right. Well, it was… much worse before you were brought back. The whole place was going to collapse in on itself, and we had no idea what would happen once it finally did. The game could have shut down, we could have been lost to the Void, it could have been— point is, we didn't know."
"And we weren't willing to risk our lives on an unknown," Pomni finishes. Her eyes are distant, visibly shaken from memories Caine is not privy to, nor will he ever be.
That gap in his memory banks is disturbing in its own right, but it's vastly overshadowed by everything else being laid out in front of him. They may not have intended to delete him, but from the way Kinger is talking… they weren't exactly in a hurry to bring him back. Reviving him was less of an immediate concern and more of a last resort.
He should be angry about that, he thinks distantly. If not angry, hurt, or indignant, or something. Something other than completely, utterly numb. Perhaps, at this point, he's simply come to expect nothing less than being picked last. Not to mention, they had every reason to avoid restoring his code until all other options were exhausted. He doesn't blame them.
He does.
But he doesn't.
More silence. They're expecting a reaction. With significant effort, he manages a quiet, subdued, "I see."
And he leaves it at that.
"…Alright," Pomni eventually says, voice wavering. "He answered your question. Now it's your turn. What was the point of this entire mess you put everyone through?"
Caine looks up again. Meets their expectant gazes. He lowers his teeth to hide an eye-roll, doesn't bother with any pep or emotion in his voice.
"Got mad."
"…And?"
…
He shrugs.
Pomni scoffs and throws out her hands, clearly over him. "Okay, great. Great! That gives us so much to work with. Thank you, Caine."
"Now you know how I felt," he mutters to himself.
"What was that?"
Caine has to bite back some very choice words because WOW she just CANNOT take a hint, huh? Instead, he straightens in his seat to put on a brilliant smile and shoot her two big thumbs-up. "I said I'm happy to help!"
The eye twitch he gets in response is a reward in and of itself for putting on that brief little performance. He holds the pose until it feels the moment has passed and he can deflate into the couch again, teeth flattened to narrow his eyes. Pomni looks just about ready to end this conversation, so he feels confident that they'll take the bait when he changes the subject. "Now, what was all that about new rules from before?"
Kinger has been quiet for a while, he realizes. Pomni looks up at the chess piece, more concern shadowing her expression, before she turns to Caine with her glare set firmly back in place and seemingly decides to do the talking for him. "Fine, we'll get to that. First off, we expect an apology. Not just for this entire stunt—" She gestures to the computer. The pit in Caine's stomach worsens, bordering on nausea. "But for everything before that. You know exactly what I'm talking about."
That isn't a question. It's an insistence, a statement of fact that cannot be refuted, and unfortunately… she's correct to frame it that way. Caine isn't stupid. He understands exactly what she expects an apology for. He understands, but that understanding does nothing to lessen the overwhelming regret that comes with being reminded of his actions, causing all defiance to fizzle out like dying sparks in his chest.
It's strange. So, so strange, to no longer feel vindicated in his anger. As if the literal shock to his system from earlier knocked something loose, or perhaps snapped something back in place. Except—
"They have every right to hate you. The real you."
He knows it wasn't that simple. And there's still that underlying, instinctual frustration that comes with knowing he'll have to apologize when he still feels hurt by what led to his outburst. He didn't do all of this for no reason. He just wanted them to… to…
To what? Respect him? Fear him? Submit to his power?
Like him?
No matter which way he looks at it, no answer to that question is a good one. Instantly, any trace of frustration is smothered by yet another suffocating wave of guilt. Apologizing is the least he could do. His feelings on the matter shouldn't be a factor in any of this.
Pomni is watching him expectantly, wariness becoming evident behind the determined glare, no doubt a result of his prolonged silence. The glare softens when he nods, but the wariness doesn't go away. If anything, she looks even more on-edge than before.
While Caine struggles to process what he's doing to cause her that apparent distress— he's literally just sitting here, after all— Kinger finally snaps out of whatever haze he'd fallen into and rejoins the conversation. "Pomni is right. Honestly, we should have done this from the beginning," He mutters half to himself, then focuses his attention fully on Caine.
Logically, the more earnest and open expression he wears should be a reprieve compared to the anger and distrust he's typically on the receiving end of, but Caine has to look away again. Somehow, the disdain from Pomni and the others is better than Kinger's lack thereof.
"I… believe I overestimated just how difficult this transition would be. You're clearly unhappy, and I thought—" Kinger's voice cracks. Something in Caine reacts quite unpleasantly. "I thought giving you space, giving you somewhere to have privacy would help, but… clearly, I was wrong. Or, at least, I went about it all wrong."
Pomni takes over again. Distantly, Caine wonders how this would have gone had she chosen to leave when Kinger insisted. "Point is, as you can probably guess, we've decided to make some new rules. These are not an option. You will have to follow them until you gain our trust back."
As if he ever had their trust to begin with, but he digresses.
"Number one: the computer is no longer accessible in any way. We thought we covered out bases by locking you out of your code, but obviously, we should have just locked you out of the computer itself. So don't bother trying to steal it again."
Yeah, fair enough.
"Number two: Kinger's room is off-limits. We're going to fix the damage you did, and we're giving you an entirely new room that you can destroy to your heart's content." The sarcasm in that last part does not go unnoticed, but the intrigue of having a room of his own is strong enough that he can ignore it. "Kinger set it up, using… uh… what was it, you said?"
The other man blinks back into the conversation. It feels contradictory to say, considering it's Kinger, but he's unusually spacey right now.
"Oh. Uh. It— I made use of that program you designed. It took information from your files and designed something that should suit your needs. If it doesn't, and you don't like the room it generated, we can cross that bridge when we get to it."
He…
Oh.
Caine looks to the side, conflicting emotions stirring inside him. On one hand, a small swell of pride comes from the fact that Kinger, his primary programmer, made use of a program that Caine made rather than just whipping up something to replace it. Something that might have been substantially better or optimized to his preferences. Though, the reason likely has less to do with Caine's program being superior and more to do with convenience. Might as well use what they already have, and the comment following? The expectation that Caine won't like the room it generated? That tells him more than anything that they don't trust the program to create something suitable right off the bat.
On the other hand, knowing they went through the trouble of making a personalized room for him to stay in, as if this arrangement is going to be permanent, as if he's one of them… feels wrong. Very wrong. It feels too good to be true. Like something he doesn't deserve after everything he's done.
Yeesh. This whole newfound guilt thing is getting to be a real problem.
Maybe that's the catch. It's fitting, he thinks, to be given a gift like this and be incapable of appreciating it. Paradoxically, that thought causes the guilt to lessen by a fraction, and he's quick to accept this with yet another nod.
Again, Pomni looks even more tense when he does this. Her mouth works around a few silent words before she sighs and rubs at her head, as if nursing a headache. "Can you… not? This whole silent treatment is really freaking me out," she mutters.
Oh. Oops. He sits up a touch straighter, sweat beading on his brow. "Apologies."
Pomni gives him a look. "That's not much better."
He looks around, eyes wide, now thoroughly confused on what she wants. Maybe it's best to move on. "Was there more?"
She furrows her brow, also confused, then her expression smooths with realization, as if she'd forgotten what they were talking about and Caine had just reminded her. How the turn tables. "Oh! Yeah, uh, we had one more thing." She glances to Kinger, who braces himself in a way that sets Caine even more on edge.
"With everything that took place in mind," he starts slowly, as if trying to reason with a child. "We've decided that it's not… ideal… to leave you to your devices."
Caine's body goes cold. A conversation replays in his mind, all other thoughts and senses fading into the background.
"What's gonna happen when they find you?"
"You think they have anything left to take from me? Name ONE thing!"
"Your freedom."
Bubble was right. He just didn't think it would happen like this. Was making him a room of his own meant to serve another purpose? Is it going to be his prison? Are they locking him away?
Is he going back into a box?
"Caine?"
The alarm in Kinger's voice snaps him out of his thoughts. Both him and Pomni are braced and ready to jump up from the couch, eyes on the circus around them that he now realizes is glitching. No sooner than he processes the visual distortions and flickering textures, it all returns to normal as if nothing happened. The glitching in his own model isn't so quick to retreat, which naturally draws their eyes back to him, which urges Caine to get a lid on his emotions now. With substantial effort, he manages to make the errors subside within seconds, and he shakes off any residual distress with a literal shake of his head.
Professional. Be professional. Stop with the outbursts. Whatever punishment they have in mind, accept it with dignity.
"…Um." Kinger shares a look with Pomni that goes completely over Caine's head. He worries that they'll try to ask what caused the glitching, but thankfully, they decide to move on. Despite maintaining a neutral smile, dread churns in his gut, bracing yet again for the worst. "As I was saying. We have one more rule."
Here it comes.
"You cannot leave anyone's line of sight, and preferably, you'll always be in the company of two people at all times."
Caine's smile drops. What?
"Now, there will be exceptions where one person is enough, because I imagine having two people to keep watch will become pretty unrealistic. This doesn't count for when you're in your room, but everywhere else in the circus…"
Kinger trails off, leaving the obvious unspoken. Still, Caine blinks up at him, stunned. Because, seriously? That's it?
His eyes flick to Pomni, who meets his confusion with that ever-present strictness. She seems to take his silence as refusal because she's quick to add firmly, "Whether you like it or not, we can't trust you to be out of our sight. Every time you disappear, you're either planning something or carrying out a plot behind our backs, and personally, I'm done with your games."
She stands then, stepping around the table and advancing slowly as he continues to stare. "We want this to work out. We want to trust you. You're making it really, really hard, but we're not giving up that easily. I'm no stranger to people who self-sabotage. Whatever is going on with you, it's not going to get any better if you keep taking it out on us." Now mere feet away, she fixes him with a very pointed glare, but the anger behind it is somehow soft. Her voice softens as well; still firm, but no longer accusing. "We didn't ask for any of this, either."
Again, again, there's something there. Some kind of weight or meaning in her words that he's failing to process. Only this time, having it directed at him, the failure to understand stings even worse. Whatever she's trying to communicate is falling on deaf ears.
Caine could try to understand. He could try to let her know that he's missing the necessary information to catch what she's implying, he could shake her by the shoulders and just demand that she say whatever it is rather than playing these human mind games that always fly over his head, but…
His limbs are still weak and shaky, twitching every now and then from aftershocks and reminding him of the near short-circuit he just did to himself. His head feels both too light and too full, and every new input trying to process is slower than molasses. He can hardly look at these people without remembering one torture scenario or the other, eating away at what little remains of his pride and causing surges of guilt like rats chewing on a live wire.
He's tired. He's so, so tired of doing this song and dance. If he asks, there's no telling whether she'll get frustrated or confused or angry or… whatever. And he's already upset these people enough as it is.
Pomni's spiel is accepted with a nod. He can't bring himself to give anything else. Still, it satisfies her, and she nods back as if some kind of mutual understanding has been achieved before retreating back to Kinger, who is watching Caine intensely.
"Any questions?"
Caine shakes his head. Kinger looks pained again, for some reason, but he doesn't push any further.
"Alright. We'll show you to your room in the morning," he says, then covers where his mouth would be as he yawns. "For tonight, you can sleep out here, or next to the fortress. Whatever you'd prefer."
"Don't think of trying anything, either," Pomni warns, then gestures to the general area. "You're restricted to staying here until tomorrow. You're lucky we didn't restrict you to the couch."
He has half a mind to ask why they didn't just restrict him to the couch, but Pomni continues before he gets the chance. "And! To make sure you don't try anything, I'll be here to keep an eye on you."
Kinger startles at that, turning to Pomni in alarm. "You need to rest, too. It's been a long day—"
"I will," she's quick to assure, flipping like a switch to something infinitely more gentle and fond when speaking to him. "But you look like you're about to pass out. I've got this. If I need to, I can swap out with someone else."
"Are you sure?"
Caine tries to not take offense when Kinger shoots him a look. As insulting as it is for them to act like he's a rabid animal that could attack at any second, it would be idiotic to say he doesn't understand where that excessive caution is coming from.
With one more confirmation from Pomni, Kinger relents. He returns to his fort, wishing them both goodnight. Leaving Caine and Pomni to stare at each other, both unsure of how to proceed from here. Finally, Pomni rolls her eyes and goes behind the opposite couch to pick something off the shelves. She finds a book— the title of which Caine can't make out in the dim haze— before plopping herself onto the couch and flipping it open, miraculously looking completely relaxed and unbothered.
Couldn't be him. Caine finds himself staring for a long moment, unsure of what to do with himself. This is a situation he's entirely unfamiliar with. Everything about the current arrangement is so incredibly off to him that any idea he comes up with, any action he should take, is halted before he even gets the chance to act on it.
It's in the midst of this loop that Pomni breaks the silence without looking up, her voice causing Caine to flinch. "If you could stop staring at me and try to get some sleep, that'd be great."
...Right. Well. He can do one of those things, at least. Caine forces himself to look away, instead pretending to examine various objects on the shelf above and behind her as his mind runs wild.
Should he get some sleep? Perhaps, but that feels impossible on several levels at the moment. He isn't tired in the slightest, and he has a long-standing rule that he never goes into rest mode unless the players are too occupied to notice or physically cannot see him doing so. It's unprofessional otherwise, and though he's already acknowledged how little professionalism he has left, he'd like to at least try and hold on to what few shreds of dignity remain in his grasp. In this situation, Pomni is somewhat occupied, but the fact remains that he's fully within her line of sight.
Though, maybe that shouldn't stop him. Supposedly, he won't be leaving the players' line of sight at all with that new rule in place.
Thinking about it, that's going to be weird. Weird, but more importantly, exhausting. He still thinks it's basically a slap on the wrist, but it does have merit as a punishment. As loud and demanding as he may choose to act around the humans most of the time, he does so because he can control how long those interactions last. He's never gone a full day without taking some time to himself. Before his deletion, before losing his title, that downtime was a necessity. If he tried to make himself available and present all day, every day, the constant performance he'd be required to put on in that time would lead to an inevitable crash.
That being said, if the humans stick by this line of sight rule for more than a few days… Caine shudders at the thought.
Pomni looks annoyed, he realizes. Perhaps she doesn't want him staring in her general direction. That does tend to unnerve people. Taking the hint, Caine decides to put her at ease as much as possible. He lays on his back and stares at the ceiling, only bothering with the blanket so he can hold it against his chest, threading and twisting the soft fabric up, around, and through his fingers, over and over.
Maybe it won't be too bad. It could be much, much worse. For a moment there, he thought they would be locking him away, and boy, that's the real worst-case scenario! (A worst-case scenario that feels more and more deserved by the minute.)
And you know the best part? They could still do it.
That thought causes fear to grip him, chest tightening from the constricting feeling that mixes with the now-constant guilt and nausea until he's fallen completely still, stiff as a board. They could. They would be in the right. He would probably fight tooth and nail trying to claw his way out of such a terrifying fate, the same way he did all those years ago when it first befell him, but ultimately he would understand. Right now, they have no reason to keep him around. Just because he has to be here to maintain the circus doesn't mean he has to be with them.
And yet, here he is. Cuddled up in a blanket (not made by him, nor was any of the other additions to the circus in the past two days, further proving that they don't need him.) Relaxing on a couch (made by him, but never made for him, only meant to give the players comfort, and yet he takes it selfishly for himself.) Drifting off to sleep (a function reserved for isolation that he will not receive unless in the privacy of his new room that he doesn't deserve in the first place.)
Actually, that last one isn't happening any time soon. Far too much to think about.
It would only be much later, many hours into the artificial night, all spent motionless as his thoughts torment him with scenario after nightmarish scenario, when he would hear Pomni's light snores emanating softly across from him. Looking over to confirm, he takes notice that she's in a position that would no doubt produce pain in the morning. She's leaned back against the armrest, book fallen closed on her stomach, head against her chest.
Now, Caine doesn't have a neck, but he can recall many instances of players complaining about theirs when they "slept wrong" the night before. And, frankly, seeing this potential problem actively taking place… fixing it himself is far too tempting.
Maybe the reasoning for this is selfish. Maybe he wants to make an effort to prove he's not entirely useless. Maybe Pomni won't even realize what he did the next day.
If all of the above just so happens to be the case? Sue him. He's doing this anyway.
Carefully, quietly, he slides off the couch. His shoes clack against the floor a touch too loudly, though, and he reconsiders. Instead, he takes a quieter detour across the three couches, crawling back onto the cushions and hopping across the small gaps between armrests until he's situated himself on the middle couch, directly next to Pomni. He observes her, head tilting, as he debates on something, before his eyes fall to one of the many throw pillows scattered around the common area that he's now kneeling atop. He scoots over and picks it up, returning his focus to Pomni.
Then, with a surgeon's precision, Caine makes the switch. He slowly slides the book off of her, replacing the weight with the pillow and gently, carefully, pushing it under her chin to prop her head off of her chest. He suspected using his hands, while theoretically easier, would have woken her up instantly. She never reacts well to his touch. A pillow, on the other hand, is likely more familiar and wouldn't raise any alarms in her subconscious.
His plan works a little too well. Pomni is completely out, not showing any signs of waking, so he ends up testing his luck. He nudges the pillow just a touch closer to ensure it won't slip back down, further raising her head, but then gravity takes hold and it pitches backwards onto the armrest. Caine freezes, hands hovering midair, ready to take a flying leap back to his spot on the other couch and pretend nothing just happened if she wakes…
But she doesn't. Pomni only stirs slightly before relaxing back into the armrest. She readjusts in her sleep, arms wrapping around the throw pillow and rolling over to face the back of the couch, before letting out a content sigh.
Contentment. Positive feedback. Solution to problem: accepted.
As if the feeling were contagious, Caine's own nerves settle upon processing what he's just accomplished. Instantly, the edge to his thoughts softens. His shoulders are no longer stiff, attention less scattered. Looking down at himself, he marvels at the change. He hasn't felt this clear-headed in days.
With one last thoughtful look to Pomni's sleeping form, he returns to his spot. The distance between him and the jester suddenly feels tangible when he's back to lying on the couch, but not in an oppressive way. Instead, when he's settled himself against the cushions and turns to look at her, looks at the pillow wrapped tightly in her arms… the distance leaves him hollow.
Still, it doesn't take long before his system registers that both conditions for rest mode have been successfully met, and it allows him to slip into that thoughtless haze that mimics sleep.