Chapter Text
Somehow, Caine hadn’t felt right all week.
Throughout the adventures, throughout simulated breakfasts, lunches, and dinners, Caine had felt woefully and completely off. It was like there was an immense, ominous pressure in his head, slowing his thoughts and actions to a snail's pace of indecision. He hadn’t mentioned anything, of course. It would ruin the fun- and he hated ruining fun- so he had squashed it down for later, content on pretending like everything was as it should be.
Except, now, even that was getting a little bit difficult.
It started with a glitch, just upon the cuff of his right sleeve. It was a mismatched, ugly thing, creating a sensation he didn’t quite enjoy while it reduced the fabric into a low poly, triangular square. The humans had been around, hardly paying him any mind, of course, but he had stuffed his hand behind his back anyway, desperate to conceal the error in the unlikely event one of them did glance his way.
When he had managed to steal some time alone, a simple snap of his fingers was able to repair the damage, but still. It had been…odd.
Unfortunately, the glitches hadn’t ceased after that. In fact, they seemed to be getting worse, becoming a more frequent, obnoxious, unpleasant intruder in his digital macrocosm.
It was becoming such an issue that Caine noticed it was infringing on his work. Bugs and other errors were starting to manifest themselves in his adventures, tarnishing his carefully crafted environments and high stakes storylines with missing textures, failed collision detections, and weird, sort of off-putting behavior from the NPC’s- all of which were starting to test the patience of the players- and coincidentally, of him.
“Caine, I know you’re trying your best, but…well, I was stuck in the wall the whole time…”
“I couldn’t tell what was what, because the entire world was rendered like a low budget PS2 game!”
“I think I…clipped through the floor at some point?”
The complaints were piling up, and with them came immense frustration from the humans. He hadn’t meant to ruin their experience of his adventures- he really was trying hard! But these glitches? The strange feelings he’d been suppressing for days? It was developing into a huge inconvenience.
Presently, Caine floated above the stage, shaking his leg whilst eagerly waiting for the rest of his troupe to emerge from the most recent adventure he had sent them on. It was something a little mundane, a bit simple, because truthfully? He hadn’t really had the energy to craft anything of note. Besides, the less complicated something was, the less likely chance there would be for errors, right?
He clenched his jaw, fangs clicking together loudly in the empty tent.
Right.
Anyway, he had double, no, triple checked this one for any gamebreaking bugs, and hadn’t been able to find any. Hopefully, the humans would be able to enjoy an uninterrupted evening of fun, and thank him for his extraordinary due diligence!
But, if he had missed something? If they didn’t have fun?
Well…
Caine was sure he’d soon hear about it, whether he wanted to or not.
The portal to his left rippled as his cherished players began to file through, and Caine sprang into excited action.
“Welcome back my glorious groundhogs! How was your time out in the pleasant Woods of Whispering Willows? Was it enjoyable? To your liking? Did anything amazing happen?” He inquired, stilling his flight to get a better look at his crew.
They were covered in small scratches, bits and pieces of twigs, leaves, and dirt creating messy splotches on their formally clean, uniform appearance. Ragatha in particular looked a bit worse for wear, the fabric quality of her frame more easily susceptible to damage.
And as he looked on, something squeezed in his chest at the sight of their expressions.
They looked blatantly unhappy, if a bit…angry? At…at him? But that couldn’t be right- he hadn’t done anything to warrant such a reaction. It was all low stakes! Calming, even! So why? Why did they look at him with so much…disdain?
Surprisingly, Gangle spoke up first, clutching the two pieces of her broken comedy mask in her ribbons. “Um,” she started, blinking tears from her eyes. “It started fine…but then, it all went wrong-“
“How could you do that to us? We were buried alive for two hours long, Caine! It was awful!” Interjected Zooble, who plucked pieces of dirt from between her limbs. “We had to dig ourselves out of the ground, just to end up stuck in the skybox somehow!”
The others all nodded, looking back towards the floating form of Caine.
He was…mildly mortified. All of it, all that he had planned for the adventure, had never happened. Instead, they were tossed around a broken map in a broken world, subjected to more glitches and bugs that he thought he had squashed last night in a frustrated, focused stupor. Apparently, he hadn’t done a good job- in fact, his attempts to prevent any further incidents may have somehow caused this to happen.
He had failed.
“Oh.” He murmured, voice lacking its usual enthusiasm, before he recovered. “Well, I promise that the next adventure I give you all will be the best you’ve ever experienced!” He winked, hand raising as he prepared to snap away all of the former adventures' disarray from the humans' tired frames.
Only, the simple command caused a sudden spasm of…of pain, to spark in his chest, eliciting a soft, almost imperceptible wince to appear. Unconsciously, Caine lowered himself to the floor slightly, suddenly untrusting of his balance.
Pain.
He had never felt it before- in fact, he didn’t even know he could, sure that it was impossible for something such as himself. However, the only way he knew how to describe that devilish sensation in his code had to be pain.
This wasn’t…good.
At all.
“You say that every time.” Zooble sneered, their voice sounding far away and unfocused to the ringmaster.
Caine rubbed at his chest half-heartedly, feeling as that foreign ache disappeared into nothing just as quickly as it had arrived. He hadn’t really been paying attention to the others, confusion evident in his eyes until he abruptly perked up, his focus shifting back to his troupe. He had a job to do- he’d worry about his new issue after he smoothed things over with the players…well, at least as smooth as he could get with these people.
“Well, that’s surely because I mean it-“
“Caine,” interrupted Pomni, “we can’t keep doing this! Every adventure you’ve sent us on lately has been more game breaking- and not in the good way- than the last. It’s honestly really scary to go through.”
“I mean, I spent the whole time clipped inside a stone underground! A stone! I couldn’t see anything for hours!” She continued, the desperation in her voice making Caine pause. “It felt like I couldn't even breathe.”
Jax shrugged. “The quality has been pretty $h!t-”
“Language,” he interrupted quietly.
“-I don’t know what you’ve been doing, but it’s seriously lame. Well, more lame than usual.”
Caine tapped his foot, nervousness squirming into his mind. Shit. This wasn’t good. He needed to address whatever was going on with his code, stop the glitches, before things got completely out of hand. If these problems persisted, there was no telling what could happen to the humans.
He could fix it, right? He had the rest of the day to perform…
He grimaced in realization of what he needed to do, foot gone still.
Ugh, Maintenance.
He had always hated it, digging around in his own programming for who knows how long, but he didn’t have a choice. He needed to fix the problem, so the humans would be happy. They weren’t having fun, they weren’t enjoying themselves, and it was solely because of an error in his system, of that he was sure.
Besides, that odd, uh, pain in his chest was actually extremely worrying. He didn’t know what it could be, but he had enough sense to realize that he needed to check, and preferably soon.
“Do not fret! I will go to great lengths to ensure a better experience. To make it up to you all, how about pancakes for breakfast tomorrow? I know they are your favorite, Jax!” He cooed, jumping back into the air with a faux sense of exuberance.
The humans sighed, looking undeniably defeated and hopeless as they slowly made their way to the couch, off to go mope around in the multicolored cushions. Caine didn’t really know what that meant, but he didn’t have the patience to deal with it any longer- he needed to get to his room, and immediately start scraping through his code. Whatever was wrong with him would be fixed today.
Another sudden ache manifested itself in Caine’s shoulder, wrenching his baton free from his grip in the process. He hissed, softly pressing a hand upon the origin of the sensation in another naive attempt to quell the hurt.
“Ow, ow…” he mumbled. He’d only felt pain in his lifetime these two times, but he decided he really didn’t like it.
Whatever this glitch was, he needed to silence it.
With the snap of his fingers, Caine found himself seeking refuge away from the others in the familiar comforts of his room. The space was filled only with a large bed, a cramped looking nightstand, and a few miscellaneous-perhaps even bee related-items of decor. Usually, he would have preferred the professional workings of his office, but the thought of being hunched over his desk doing…whatever, was enough to make him recoil at the thought. Which was, in itself, odd. He had never really been the type to avoid productivity before- in fact, he could have sworn his code prohibited him from doing so. But alas, his code prohibited a lot of things- things he probably did.
He grimaced, another slight wave of pain emerging from somewhere deep within.
Work could wait- he had a more pressing matter to attend.
“Bubble.” He called, voice lacking its usual gusto, and uncharacteristically tired. How an AI such as himself got tired however, was a question he didn’t necessarily want answers to.
The subtle “pop” sound that usually accompanied Bubble’s appearance manifested from somewhere behind Caine, alerting him to the things' presence. Good.
“Yes boss?” It mumbled, sounding as disinterested as ever. Ugh. Why a creation of his own design was so… unnaturally bland sometimes, Caine hadn’t the slightest clue. He was certain that Bubble was created to be an enthusiastic, positive influence on the circus, but recently, the disembodied sphere seemed to become more, and more, crude- maybe even downright hostile at times.
He narrowed his eyes.
When…had he created it, anyway? For some reason, the memory of Bubble’s creation…alluded him. He thinks it was somewhere between his inelegant escape from.... that place, and whatever came after it. His early days were a haze- lost memories from long ago weren't terribly uncommon, right?
Hm.
“Boss?”
Caine snapped back to the present, turning to engage his assistant. It was no matter- he had things to take care of. The nature of Bubble’s virulent attitude could be dealt with later.
“Ah, right.” He replied, sounding woefully detached from the whole conversation. Dealing with Bubble was the last thing he wanted to do- he just wanted to get this diagnostic over with, cleanse his system of whatever glitch was invading his code, and go on with his life. “I need you to take the reins for a bit while I run some maintenance. Don’t worry, I shouldn’t be too long.” He added, adjusting his bow tie half-heartedly. A glitch rippled across his glove, causing him to pause. Tch.
Not good.
Eyeing him with an unreadable expression, Bubble spoke. “Got some bugs, Caine? You should probably check on that; wouldn’t want a defective thing like you going completely haywire!” It chimed, a falsely sweet sound that grated at something cold and mean in the ringmasters code. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at the soapy apparition with thinly veiled distaste. He couldn’t stand that thing.
“Parasite.” He spat.
His assistant simply floated there, indifferent and unaffected by the reply. It simply stared at Caine, dark, beady, soulless eyes somehow wholly invasive, yet simultaneously completely unaware. It was unsettling.
Another glitch, this time causing his left eye to go blurry, the sound of old static suddenly accompanying the strange error. He flinched, an uncomfortable, stabbing sensation appearing at the site of the anomaly.
Caine pinched the top of his gums- he didn’t have time for this- he’d correct Bubble’s sour behavior later. He needed out.
Rolling his available eye, Caine turned to address the other AI, voice harsh with frustration, and pain. “Just keep things running. I don’t want to come back to find all of my guests have abstracted because of something you did or didn’t do.”
At that, the translucent orb nodded once, then twice, both in an entirely exaggerated manner. “You got it boss!” It droned, sharp teeth turned upwards in a perpetual grin. “I’ll have the place looking just as you left it- with bonus sex appeal!”
“…ugh.”
Caine didn’t say much else, opting to give Bubble an incredulous side eye instead. He really didn't know how much he trusted it, but he didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. He sighed. Whatever- he shouldn’t be long, anyway. Caine would just have to hope that his assistant didn’t completely ruin everything in the few hours he would be out of commission.
Taking a breath he didn’t particularly need, Caine closed his eyes, focusing on the expansive, overwhelming stacks of files, code, and stored data that appeared when he was performing routine maintenance. Lines of programming were set before him, seemingly endless in the way it seeped through his being. He groaned inwardly.
He hated messing around in here.
He opened a file. Then another. Then another. Each one displaying bits and pieces of who he was in a neat, artificial, package. It was endless. Invasive. In fact, the whole experience could best be described as dehumanizing, if the word could even be applied to something such as him- which it didn’t. Not really.
The revelation made something twist in his code. He didn’t want to think about it.
Caine was in the process of combing through another folder when he noticed there, at the bottom of his vision, was a small, inconspicuous looking file hidden in the midst of his organized code. The title of the document was a slapped together sentence of symbols and signs, melded together to create an unintelligible name. However, buried in the randomized letters, was the singular word “ferinus”, in loud, bold, caps lock.
Obviously, this caught Caine’s attention.
He glared at the offending object, all the whilst stroking his metaphorical chin, jogging his mind in a desperate bid to remember when he had placed this here- or if it had ever been there at all. He couldn’t understand why he would give such an unconventional label to something that dwelled in his core folders- it hardly made sense!
…But then again, he did enjoy weird words, and “ferinus” was a fairly peculiar one. Hmm…was there a chance he’d added it without realizing? Was it some mistake he had made many years ago, one he had simply forgotten?
Ai isn’t supposed to forget, he heard himself chide.
Tensing, Caine looked at the folder again. No- if this was an original file, it must’ve been corrupted somehow, and if it wasn’t, then he wasn’t the one who put it here. Perhaps this was the source of his current issue? A corrupted file that was infringing on his code? Or a Trojan tool used to infiltrate his systems?
Perhaps…a virus of some sort?
Ugh. Not the first time he’d had to quell an infectious program, if that was the case. Viruses were nasty things, always appearing when he least desired it- but an AI as advanced as himself was not an easy target for any malicious software. Usually, he would simply disassemble the thing and permanently delete it for good measure. Surely, this time would be no different.
Also, he hoped whoever was using the CnA WiFi would stop clicking on mysterious links. It was becoming a serious pain in the-
Blinding, white hot agony slammed into his head, causing the system around him to glitch violently in a sickening cacophony of digital color. He slammed his teeth shut, the sound of his slight whimpers muffled by the toothy barrier. In the midst of his sudden pain, Caine began to feel something creeping along his code, constricting it, slithering across his ones and zeroes whilst suffocating his perfect design like a wretched, greedy snake. It was repulsive. It was- this was bad.
Cradling his gums in his quivering palms, Caine managed to crack open a spazzing eye. Before him lay that noxious file, only this time, the mismatched, infernal symbols had managed to spread to the folder next to it, corrupting the once pristine code with something else- with “ferinus”.
With fumbling hands, Caine opened the formerly healthy folder, gazing at its contents with hardly restrained horror. There, he witnessed his wonderful, clean, red code becoming entangled by something blue, sharp, and venomous. With each stumbling letter that passed, the awful blue creeped upon his system, clutching his very being in a vile, strangling grasp. It moved like a serpent, slithering between each nook and cranny, exposing every minuscule flaw with such flowing confidence, as if it had always been there, studying him in his entirety.
Whatever this “ferinus” was, it was highly infectious- and undeniably dangerous. He needed to stop it- quarantine the folders, maybe? But how could he do that, when these were… him?
Caine exited the contaminated file, eyes frantically darting folder to folder. What if the virus had already spread? What if it was hiding, laying dormant in each of his own files till the time was right for it? How much of him was being replaced by that horrible, new, other?
Caine snapped his gaze towards a folder furthest away from the rest, just outside of his core code. It was especially marked, almost sacred in the way it was kept separate from every other program in the circus.
The mind files.
If this thing got to them… then Caine wasn’t sure he could undo the damage that would be done to his guests, assuming he himself wouldn’t already be completely destroyed by the viral corruption. Would infection cause them to lose their fragile minds? Or their bodies he worked so tirelessly to perfect? Perhaps…Would they…abstract?
The humans- his friends, were in grave danger.
Another aching throb shook his body, causing him to curl into himself as that awful blue grabbed something important inside of him, and squeezed. He cried out, clutching his stomach with his arms in a feeble attempt to shush the pain. Something writhed in the corner of his vision, and it was then that Caine took hazy notice of another file becoming afflicted with the contagion, the once usual name replaced by endless jargon.
This thing- this virus- it was eating him alive. He needed to be rid of it here- now. Ugh, but how? The previous viruses he’d dealt with had not been nearly as devastating, and hardly even got close enough to his code to cause a problem. This, however, was completely different. It was already making itself at home in his programming, melding with his source material in a way that Caine wasn’t sure he could purge himself of. He’d never seen anything like it before.
He glanced at the mind files, then back to his own corrupted folders, a dangerous thought emerging. If he couldn’t get rid of it immediately, then at the very least he had to stop the spread. He had an idea how, but it wasn’t an optimal fix. In fact, he was pretty sure there was a high probability that some important piece of him could very well be damaged in the process.
Or that it wouldn’t even work, he growled inwardly.
Caine narrowed his eyes, determination wrestling itself to the forefront of his mind- it didn’t matter what happened to his code, so long as the humans remained unharmed. They were the only things of value in this place, and he’d do anything to protect them.
Anything.
Fighting through the consistent throbbing in his body, Caine turned to address his increasingly corrupting code. His idea, and his only option, wasn’t a particularly good one. Truthfully, it was beyond reckless- but if it’s what he had to do to end the threat? Then so be it. He only hoped he made it out of the experience semi-functional- relying on Bubble as the last advanced AI was something he didn’t want for him, nor anybody else. Ugh. Bubble? In his office? Sitting in his chair? Receiving their praise? He shivered at the thought. He was not letting that thing get the last laugh.
Opening a newly tainted file, the ringmaster watched helplessly as that sharp, painful, blue serpent strangled another small section of his crimson code, turning it into something unrecognizable under its awful graze. He swallowed dryly, nervousness causing him to tug at his collar. He could do this. It-it would be fine. Kinger had programmed him with the ability for a reason in the first place, right?
R-Right.
In theory, Caine could assimilate the virus, therefore rendering it useless, if he managed to overpower it with his own code. In a way, he would be reinfecting it with his data, breaking it apart and effectively ending its reign of terror. However, he had never actually done that before- or at least, had never been forced to. Furthermore, he wasn’t totally confident that it would work against something so contagious.
The blue strain slithered further up a line of his ones and zeroes, causing him to hiss in discomfort, feeling it tighten around a particularly tender area in his chest. He rubbed at the spot, wincing.
He didn’t have a choice.
Focusing, Caine located the line of malignant code, consciously grouping the surrounding, healthy programming together in a coordinated effort. With a simple, direct command, his red code instantly swarmed the awful blue, tearing into the virus with unrestrained fervor. The infected data writhed, biting back against the nipping swarm of Caine’s immune system, unable to escape the endless onslaught. Eventually, his bright crimson overwhelmed the foreign, scathing, blue of “ferinus”, and the discrepancy was lost beneath an ominous clot of scarlet data.
Staring, slack jawed, Caine beheld the sight with hesitant, tempting hope.
Was it..was it really working? He blinked, sighing in belated relief all whilst rubbing at a newfound itch at his chest.
Well, of course it would work! He thought, crossing his arms with a confident, approving nod of his gums.
You’re an elite, one of a kind, creative AI, Caine, he sneered inwardly. If you couldn’t deal with a simple virus, then you’d really be useless!
Haha.
Right…yeah.
Useless…
The itch at his chest grew, interrupting his trailing thoughts as it escalated into an obnoxious throb. Caine groaned, once again placing a gloved hand over the area in a pointless attempt to provide relief. It didn't seem to work. Ugh. Just what he needed- a stubborn glitch caused by that virus. Would he need to fix his avatar? Had ferinus done something to warrant such pain?
He rolled his eyes. Perfect.
Grinding his teeth in frustration, Caine turned to leave, but not before he noticed something…odd, ripple amongst the coagulated mass of red code. Narrowing his eyes in a scrutinizing gaze, the AI refocused on the concerning movement, his digital frame stiffening in hardly restrained nervousness.
He scoffed. There was no way that thing was…still active, right?
No. No way.
A pain shot through his teeth, forcing a shocked groan to pry itself from his mouth. The stabbing sensation was so loud, so piercing, that Caine wasn’t able to stand upright anymore, instead crumpling to his knees in a sad heap.
Something had gone terribly wrong, of that, he was sure.
Through a window of clenched fangs, Caine could only stare and watch as the comforting sight of the red defensive code began to transform, dyed a sickening, unusual, shade of purple. The blue underneath the pile was gone, replaced by a wall of suspicious amethyst.
Well, that wasn’t good. Nor was it possible.
Yes, Caine’s programming was supposed to absorb a disarmed version of the virus, but this? This wasn’t right. It was as if his code was interlocked in a war between control, fusing with a still activate ferinus via either accident, or naive desperation. Either way, Caine knew he was effectively compromised- severely so.
It was fine- he could…he could fix this! He just needed to-
An alarm, or a multitude of them, blared in his vision, a cacophony of bright, robotic messages bathed in red, blinking on and off about threat detection, warnings about a compromised firewall, something about a sick car deal, and admin privileges… or lack thereof? That he, the owner of this code, was…in a restricted area?
“E-excuse me?” Caine snarled, disbelief painting the statement.
Then, that awful pain in his core returned, dragging him through lines of unreadable code and back into the familiar realm of the circus- his room, just as he had left it. The warnings in his vision faded, and it was then that the ringmaster was left with deafening, lonely silence. And the realization that he, and potentially all the humans in the circus, were utterly screwed.
