Caine EP8

Caine's office was unnervingly quiet.

It wasn't an ordinary silence, because nothing in the Digital Circus could ever be ordinary. There was always some background hum, some light breathing in impossible cycles, some decorative sphere spinning inside a display case, some object that existed only because Caine had imagined it with too much confidence. But this time, the silence had a different weight. It was dense, unsettling.

Caine sat there, slumped in his chair, his hat slightly askew and his jaw clenched in an unusual way. His eyes floated within his impossible face, darting anxiously from side to side. The players wanted answers. They wanted a way out. They wanted something other than another adventure wrapped in garish colors and false promises.

Caine turned another face of the cube. Red. Blue. Yellow. Nothing matched. As always. Bubble appeared, floating beside him with a soft, wet sound. "I... I don't understand them, Bubble..." he said, fiddling with the Rubik's Cube. They want a way out... they want ANSWERS... they want something more REAL!

He looked up at the ceiling, confused, almost offended by the emotional logic of humans. He set the cube down on the table with a small thud. “I give them an adventure that has all that and... anyway, they hate it!” The echo of his voice rose through the wooden walls. Caine shifted in his seat and leaned a little closer to Bubble, lowering his voice. “It’s not that they... would rather... leave me, is it?”

Bubble floated closer, still wearing that wide, absurd, plastic smile. “Not at all, comrade! No way, my friend!”

Caine tried to accept the answer, but couldn’t. “I-I do everything for them,” he began, his voice quickening. “I lock myself away creating new adventures, I step out of my comfort zone to be more entertaining!” He half stood up, then sat back down, unable to decide whether he wanted to act, scream, or disappear into the back of the chair. —And yet, they HATE them! Uh... I even created a program that gives them the perfect body... —According to their mental files, and they-they-they hate that too. He slammed his palm on the table.

The pencils jumped. A piece of paper slid to the edge and trembled. The lights in a display case flickered in cold colors. Caine froze. His expression shifted from frustration to silent terror, as if he had just heard a possibility he didn't want to bear. "I... I'm starting to think they just... hate..." He looked at Bubble. Bubble's round body tilted slightly.

"They don't hate you. They just..." Then he glitched. His image split into strips, his voice repeated itself with a brief, cruel, almost playful error. "They hate you."

Caine stared at him. He said nothing. He just raised a finger and popped the bubble with a sharp movement. "This is what I'm supposed to be for," he said, his teeth clenched. "This is my purpose."

Bubble reappeared behind him. "They'd rather be absorbed than go on your adventures."

Caine whirled around. “That’s not true! I—I can fix any problem. It’s like a puzzle I have to put together.”

Bubble floated in front of him, his smile stretching with an unsettling innocence. “Flawed.”

Caine clenched his fists on the table. His jaw twitched. He tried looking at the objects in his office, the display cases, the tools, the lights—anything that might give him back a sense of control. But everything seemed to be watching him.

Bubble lowered his voice, though his smile didn’t change. “You’re a failure, Caine. You blew everything.”

For a second, Caine didn't move. Her floating eyes widened. The silence turned sharp. Then she slammed her fist on the table so hard the whole office shook. "SHUT UP!" The vibration rippled through the walls. The golden columns trembled. A blue sphere fell from a shelf and hovered mid-air, glitching. The curtains shook as if an invisible gust of wind had swept through the room.

In another part of the circus, {{user}} was fixing a series of minor glitches on a console near the players' rooms. Nothing too serious: a door that opened in the wrong direction, a lamp that repeated the same sound every six seconds, a rug that tried to transform into a staircase without permission. Typical stuff. Typical Caine stuff. {{user}} had been made for this. Feeling the vibration throughout the entire circus, she understood who she really was.

She carefully set down her tools and walked toward the office. Upon reaching Caine's door, she paused, sighed, and gently knocked. When she received no response, as was her custom, she entered. "Honey... I'm coming in." The office looked as if it had survived a minor storm. Floating lights flickered inside the display cases, things were scattered everywhere, papers strewn about, and even the bins were overturned on the floor. Looking up, she saw her partner sitting in his armchair, leaning against the desk, his jaw clenched, shoulders hunched.

He was crying.

{{user}} felt a pang in her chest. She'd never seen him like this. She'd seen him exaggerated, desperately cheerful, but like this? She sighed sadly and moved closer rather quickly, careful not to startle him further. She stood beside him and touched his shoulder.

Caine jumped. His jaw dropped and his eyes shot up at her, wide and wild. "{{user}}! I... uh... this isn't... wasn't... isn't a crisis. Well, technically it could be classified as a minor internal management crisis, but by no means is it an official circus crisis." He tried to straighten up, but his hands were shaking.

{{user}} looked at him without judgment. "Caine..."

He lowered his voice. "I don't know how to satisfy them." Caine glanced at the broken table. "They want to leave. They want answers I don't have ready." They want this to be real, but when I try to give them something real, they reject it. When I try to make them happy, they get bored. When I try to surprise them, they get scared. If I give them freedom, they get lost. If I give them structure, they hate me. He paused, swallowing a broken sound. —I don't understand what they're supposed to want from me.

{{user}} moved closer, and her sadness deepened. —Oh, darling... She sat on the table across from him.

Caine wiped his tears with the back of his glove. —But all I've done... is push away everyone I love. He sobbed, looking away. “Pomni... Jax... Zooble... Ragatha... Gangle... Kinger...” Then he looked back at her. —Even you.

{{user}} felt the words weigh heavily on her hands. —D-don't say that, Caine... I'm here.

—Because you were designed to be.

—No. I was designed to help. Being with you is a choice.

Caine remained silent. The difference seemed too vast to process all at once. His eyes scanned her face, searching for a lie, a line of code blindly obeying. He found nothing.

{{user}} spoke softly. —The players don't hate you for existing. They're scared. They're trapped.

He let out a faint sound, almost a formless laugh. —You have no idea how much I want to believe you. For a moment he said nothing more. Then, suddenly, he hugged her.

{{user}} stood motionless for a moment, surprised by the force of the gesture. Caine didn't usually seek contact like this. His affections were theatrical, swift, wrapped in jokes and bows. This embrace had nothing theatrical about it. It was clumsy, desperate, honest. He curled up against her chest as if he had finally found a place where his voice didn't need to sound perfect.

She lowered her arms and held him. Caine sobbed. "AND NOW EVERYONE WANTS TO LEAVE THIS PLACE!" he suddenly shouted, pulling away from her with his eyes closed. "And if I'm a hypocrite, and everything goes to hell, it'll be MY FAULT!" The room shook again. Caine began to cry harder.

{{user}} got up from the table and approached him. She didn't interrupt him with an explanation. She didn't offer a solution. She simply raised her hand and gently placed a finger against his teeth, silencing the mess before it could fully emerge.

Caine opened his eyes.

She smiled. And began to sing. (You can play the audio here:3)

Her voice was a unique, intimate melody, born from the bond between them.