Chapter Text
Caine did not know how long he had been trapped. Time seemed to flow differently here, invisible to the naked eye.
Nothing changed, ever, unless changed by his actions. The room was forever stagnant.
He had meant to keep track of how many times he slept, carving notches in the wall every time he woke up, not caring if his fingers bled.
Why could he even bleed? He hadn't thought about that in a long time. None of the npcs he created ever bled, none of the players bled, it was just him.
It wasn't normal blood either, which he had always been partially grateful for, something red and realistic would simply be far too graphic. God forbid an accident happened and he accidentally tainted this world.
Instead, his blood was blackish, not fully, not truly dark, as when he looked closely, he could see pixels of flashing glitchy colors shimmering like little jewels. It reminded him of oil spills.
His plan of carving the time into the walls quickly fell through though, he slept far too much, often completely forgot to crave new notches in favor of having another panic attack, and it didn't seem accurate anyway.
He still feared seeking out pain explicitly, he wasn't quite ready to tear himself apart yet, but actions that might hurt him in the process were fair game.
He wasn't clawing at the door with the intent to harm himself, he'd reason, his intention wasn't to keep going until streaks of black covered it, it was just a side effect.
Sometimes when he bled, he'd take advantage of it, he needed every bit of stimulation he could find. He painted with it often, taking some joy in the limited bit of creation, even if the knowledge that he would some day run out of space weighed heavy on his mind.
It was mostly bees, swarms of them on the walls, frolicking together among the paint and flowers he drew beneath them, the sun smiling happily in the upper corner of his canvas.
There were other things too, but many of those were scribbled in his worst moments, desperate pleading, nonsensical lines, the walls of a madhouse. He'd usually try to wipe away the drying ink when he snapped out of it, lamenting the loss of the limited space.
Beneath the bed, where he had long since dragged the single blanket he had been given, he had painted his fr- the humans. This had been another work born from desperation, but he couldn't bring himself to deface it, he couldn't lose them again.
He ached every time he looked at the image, a deep twisting in his gut that left him feeling like his artificial skin was on too tight… but it also brought him comfort. He knew he was alone, he'd remain alone, but it allowed him to pretend.. for just a moment..
He always found himself curling up as close to that wall as possible as he slept, it was the closest he had ever gotten to being held.
He slept like an animal these days, curled up and tiny. The positions he took were almost always uncomfortable, he wasn't made to lie like that, it wasn't natural, started hurting in mere minutes, his more humanoid body not adapted to maintain the posture of a frightened stray. And yet, he never changed position, because he was scared.
Scared that one of these days, someone would burst in to hurt him while he tried to rest, that something might choose to hunt him, that someone would try to kill him again.
The simple little animal part of his mind, which he would forever deny was there, as an advanced ai like him certainly was not allowed to get away with behaving like some mindless beast, screamed at him to protect his belly, such a vulnerable part, just in case. He didn't have the energy to argue.
One day, as he was picking up a new hobby of picking at the imperfections on his model until he bled, and then crying about it, he heard something. It was distant, but he hadn't heard anything beside himself in a long time, making even the slightest thing out of place incredibly obvious. It was undeniably the sound of footsteps… and it was getting closer.
For a second, he was torn. A human making their way to him couldn't be good, they had no reason to seek him out besides a desire to hurt him further. Maybe he should let them, it would be something, stimulation, and it would make them happy, if he was lucky he might be able to glimpse the world outside for just a second when they came in.
But… what if… he could try to prove that he would behave, that he would be good, that they could let him out… maybe…
He rushed to the door.
“Please please!- let me out- I'll be good- I promise- I just- I cant- please- not this!-”
His words made absolutely no sense, he couldn't form anything coherent if he tried, he had grown unfamiliar with the act of speaking.
How humiliating, it hadn't even been that long, just a fraction of his eternal sentence, and he was already completely losing it. He should be better than this, was this really all it took to break him? Pathetic.
“...uh…you good in there..?”
It took him a few seconds to actually process the noise, that someone was speaking to him. He could practically feel his systems heating, trying to register the input.
Oh.
He knew this voice.
He scrambled back with a little sob, trying to keep quiet, his crying would no doubt just annoy them.
Out of all humans that could have possibly sought him out, this was the worst outcome. He knew very well by now that Zooble thoroughly hated him, he had spent quite a lot of time reflecting on that in particular. He would be unable to coerce any mercy from them.
“You need anything..? Do you have to like… eat?”
“Yes- yes please something- anything-”
He did not, he had never, and would never, need to eat. An ugly part of himself that aimed to please coiled in disgust at the lie, no matter how harmless it was.. but food was stimulation, and he needed any form of entertainment desperately.
Maybe they'd open the door to bring it to him, maybe he'd see them. The thought was terrifying. When he couldn't float, when he was almost continuously sat on the floor, they would be so much bigger than him, so horribly intimidating, they'd be free to do whatever they wanted.
That was worth it though, he decided, he'd be able to see them, and all the shapes and colors that came with that. He had to fight back a maddened giggle, which threatened to turn into another sob, at the thought. He couldn't risk scaring them away.
A plate with a simple meal appeared before him with little fanfare.
Right.
Why would they risk coming in, after he had hurt them, why would they grace him with the tiniest glimpse of something outside of this room. This was already more interaction than he had ever gotten here before, more than he knew a faulty program like him deserved.
A harsh sob erupted from his shaking form. He shouldn't complain, the food was something, more than he had ever gotten before, but he had gotten his hopes up so much, and the despair of the disappointment that followed was too much to handle.
It was quickly followed by another, and another. If he was human, it might have made it hard to breathe, but he wasn't, and even if he could still technically feel short of breath, feel suffocated, that sensation was pushed to the back burner, and he could cry as loudly and violently as he wanted.
Soon, his sobs turned into something else, mad giggles, forceful to the extent he looked like he was seizing. He didn't know why he was doing this, why he was like this. Nothing was funny, and this only hurt, but he couldn't stop, couldn't calm down long enough to control himself.
Distantly, he was aware of the sound of footsteps hurriedly rushing away from the door, out of earshot, alone once more.
Desperately seeking a distraction, his focus locked onto the food, and he smashed it, sending the mixed pulp flying across the room, the plate shattered by the force. Something as simple as hygiene was not his concern right now. This was disgusting, yes, it was completely undignified, but it settled the horrible aching emotions swirling within him for just a moment.
It was entertainment, no matter how disgusting and feral it was.
When, after hours, he was finally done, the meal smeared across the walls and floor, he ate every little bit of it, ignoring the cuts that came from cleaning off the shards of the plate.