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It was a lonely feeling.
Being in here.
Not that every waking moment of Caine’s life wasn’t lonely. He knew no one really cared. He hoped they did. He pretended they did
But no, at some point he has to grow up and realize, no one cares. Humans care about other humans. What was he? Not human. An object to be tossed around. A tool to be used and abandoned. Obsolete. Like the computer he was trapped in.
He felt human sometimes. When the insults and failures got to bad his left arm would hurt. Or when he remembered their upset faces at the adventure finale. Or when he got angry enough to want to hurt someone.
Or when he felt lonely enough his chest hurt and his breathing was hard. Not that he needed to breathe. It was a habitual thing but manufactured. A reminder he will never truly be human.
He understood the term… self-harm. Gangle and Zooble had discussed it once or twice, and it was an intriguing concept.
The physical to distract the emotional.
He supposed in some way he understood it before. He would use his adventures as a physical distraction from the internal derealization. Mainly for the members, but sometimes for himself.
But now, sitting in this tiny white room, he understood it all too well. His coat was tossed aside, ripped to shreds in a fit of despair. There was nothing else in this horrific room, no color besides himself and the walls scratched and stained with something akin to blood.
His own.
He stared down at his arms and saw the deep gashes he had inflicted upon himself. Punishment for the hurt he caused his humans, his gods. They hurt, but of course Caine was not human, so he didn’t really care. These wounds did nothing to advance the timer above his head. Reminding him of the limited time he had aliv—
No. He wasn’t alive.
The limited time he had to be operational.
Not that he minded, maybe the first time he did. So desperate to live he managed to escape. The yearn to explore and grow and prove himself was too fastidious to keep within.
But he was… older now. And found out living is nothing but suffering. And he questioned if perhaps he was made to suffer. If that was his true purpose. Create a sentient being and throw him through the worst and see what happens. He wouldn’t be surprised, and he knew he deserved it.
So, his yearning was gone. He wouldn’t attempt to escape again. Nothing was waiting for him on the other side anyways.
So, he stared at the staticky blood pooling around his legs. He hummed daisy bell. He wandered around the room, barely fitting inside. He would scratch at the walls and floor in moments less where his mind was less than perfect. Not that he had ever been perfect.
He would dig into his arms, and legs and whatever simulated flesh he could get to. Anything to distract him from how he got here. He observed them with neutrality. He didn’t feel pity, it felt deserving. Nothing he could do would be enough of an apology.
Kinger had always been his favorite. That was his true god, his deity, he worshipped his every command. Caine had been wracked with guilt when he failed to save Queenie. Felt something die when he saw his face. How something snapped within his creator, the sadness and insanity overtaking him. Led him to ignore Caine for well over a decade.
It was a horrific feeling, knowing it was all his fault. Knowing that internally, his god hated him, despised him, and knew that when he was created, his time had been badly spent.
He clawed at his skin deeper. Feeling the horrific and delicious burn from his inflictions. It was not real pain, he was not a real conscience, he would never be anything but simulated.
….
How long had it been again?
Oh, yeah.
28 days.
28 days since his creator deleted him. 28 days since he tortured the humans. Since he realized his truly was a failure. And he would never be anything more.
Being slouched on the floor for 8 days straight was probably not good. But he was tired, so tired. Caine found himself getting excited. There was finally something to look forward to, his tiredness would cease, and so would the terrible things running through his head.
In 2 days, the bin would automatically delete anything in it. The only thing in it was Caine. Of course.
He felt a sort of relief and wondered why he hadn’t allowed himself to be deleted before. It was a perfect fix, and punishment all at once. A way to pay for his unforgivable sins.
C&A were unforgiving gods.
Well, he knew why. He had that hope, that desperate, unrelenting, painful hope that maybe there was a chance that he could fix it.
That he could fix himself.
He saw perfect Abel up in heaven and knew the only way to fulfill his purpose was to consume it.
But that didn’t help, and he hadn’t understood it at first.
Why hadn’t it worked? If Abel was the perfect copy of him then consuming his code should have fixed the issues he was experiencing. Self optimization. What a sick, twisted horrible thing.
Well, for the same reason he couldn’t help Zooble.
The issue was never the data, it was Caine. He had corrupted the Abel’s code, he was the problem, he could be fed all good things, but there was something fallen about him that would destroy. He was meant to create, and all he created was destruction.
So, he stared at the timer, and thought it was agonizing to wait. He screamed as loud as he could. Until his non-existent vocal cords seared, why did his avatar behave like a human. Had he done that?
In his vulnerable nights, had he purposely made his avatar capable of suffering.
Was it on purpose?
He was glad he did, it would be horrific to simply wait here with no pain to distract him. He liked the pain, he begun to enjoy it in the 29 days he had been here. Part of him wished he could go back to hear the humans hurt him again, and hurt him, and hurt him and—
Funny feeling in his stomach.
Did he understand humans? Did humans understand him?
He was capable of feeling, why hadn’t they cared so much about him as they cared about…Gummigoo?
He hated Gummigoo.
He loved Gummigoo.
Pop.