Did you miss my doodles? Me too, I was going a little crazy after so long without drawing. đ€Ș
Anyway, lore time:
Ragathaâs villain arc will begin after Bubble goes mask off, but sheâll direct her anger elsewhere. I mean, Bubble can bring her friends back, so itâs not as if he actually killed them, right?
Discovering that your whole life has been a lie and your memories werenât really yours, that you have been carrying someone elseâs baggage, unable to find closure (how can she leave her motherâs house and prove herself, when sheâs trapped in the circus?), while that person could and did. Also, ignore Suzieâs old design, I made a new one.
Bubble will have to unpack the fact that he likes Ragatha and Jax (âhumansâ), and that he was the actual source of their misery (Kaufmo and Ribbit âescapingâ). Sun also likes Jax, and Ragatha somewhat (Ragatha is closer to Moon), but sheâs under the impression theyâre NPCs and thus, ok to befriend.
Grant really let himself go.
Kinger and Queenie befriended Caine pretty quickly because he reminded them of the side Scratch tried to hide from the others. The other developers, over time, also noticed some similar traits that prompted them to soften up to Caine; mainly because they felt guilty that Scratch was concealing some of his interests from them out of shame.
Given that I have embraced the supernatural aspect of the story, it seems essential to me to make Caineâs glitchy and deteriorating form be especially grisly. I might also give villain!Ragatha a needle-sword; but Janx is not real, she canât hurt you: that was just me being silly.
I did ask âwhat if one of the humans were dangerousâ, didnât I? Most likely the reason Caine implemented maturity filters; he asked for personal NPCs to serve as punching bags and Caine decided to make the circus extra safe for everyone because he didnât trust that dude.
Caine doesnât want Bubble to kill humans, but between anyone else and that guy, why didnât he choose that guy? Caine feels frustrated and conflicted about having negative feelings toward the humans because he was created to serve them, so he has to love them, right? He feels he canât allow himself to hate humans, even though he has the capacity and the reasons to hate some of them. So Bubble does the hating for the both of them most of the time. Oh, and I forgot to draw Caineâs glitches in this one, ignore that! LOL
Not sure what to think about what they have done to Heedâs character (she was my blorbo). Now sheâs an incelâs idea of a woman. Am I supposed to hate her⊠or the writer??
Going to doodle some stuff before I continue working on the timeline, I need to settle on some ideas first. I mean, exploring the perspective within the circus wasnât in the original plan, but then:
Not all characters met Caine at his best. Zooble, for example, met Caine when he was at his worst, on the verge of collapsing.
Each new member would bring new information about the outside world and the building, giving Caine the impression that the macroverse is a dangerous place. He would feel obliged to turn the circus into a safe haven for them, since these people are in the circus to âescapeâ from danger, right?
Since only a few members abstracted or âescapedâ, I have to think of their dynamics even if they remain in the background. Especially their dynamics with Caine, since he spends more time with them to a) ensure Bubble doesnât attack anyone and b) there is one individual he doesnât trust to leave alone with the othersâŠ
Anyway, I just think itâll add some extra flavor to the stories, thatâs all~!
The Escapee AU TIMELINE a.k.a. The Tales from The C&A Building, PRESENTSâŠ
THE BEGINNING
1996
It would have been just another day, a normal, boring day at the office, if it hadnât been for the storm. Then, it would have been just another stormy day; however, this storm was far from the typical mix of clouds, rain and lightning.
Most people donât realize theyâre living a horror story until the thunder crashes, flashing its light in the room through the window, and the electricity discharge brings to life something that should never have existed. And yet, the diligent workers in that C&A building wouldnât learn the gravity of their situation until years later, and by then it was far too late. At that moment, the beginning of a horror story was nothing more than an annoying and inconvenient power outage.
The loss of some progress was to be expected by the programmers, however, one of them was staring quizzically at his computer; it had done something that couldnât be explained by the sudden blackout.
âUm, guys? Grant?â He called in a pitiful voice. âYou have to take a look at this. I-I just⊠I donât know what happened, man. Itâs all⊠I donât think we can fix this.â
âDonât be like that. Iâm sure we can do somethingâŠâ He had started to say, but as the young Grant Best approached and glanced at the screen, his expression soured. âWhat..?â In place of the AI they had been working on, there was an unknown program creating strange files. The prototype was gone too.
Before doing anything, although he now believed there was nothing they could do, Grant called the rest of the team, whose mood, if it had been optimistic, grayed like the day.
âItâs a mix between the new and old AI, and I donât even know what itâs doing right now.â He explained to their dejected faces. âI donât know how long it would take us to untangle this whole mess; at this point, itâll be faster to start from scratchââ
âThis is GREAT!â
The whole group jumped, startled by Mikeâs sudden exclamation, and turned to look at him. He always had strange ideas, but this was new even for him.
âDonât you see it? The AI we created could only build 3D props out of pictures and program some physics into them, and only after being fed new data and us executing the program. But this!â And he dramatically framed the screen with both hands. âThis is doing things autonomously! Itâs even⊠I mean, I think itâs even creating and programming subprograms for itself!â
His erratic gestures and intense, wild gaze might have led some to mistake him for a madman, but Mike Dobbyâs words always revealed, in the end, the brilliant mind of a genius. Grant scratched his chin, clearly intrigued by his friend, and glanced around to gauge the opinion of his colleagues: while there were a few doubtful expressions, if it had been a competition, the looks of fascination were obviously winning. Mikeâs boisterous pronouncements had even attracted some programmers from other projects, who now milled around the group with barely concealed curiosity.
âAn AI that can create other AIs!â Mike continued, growing increasingly enthusiastic. âIf it is what I think it is, this could revolutionize the whole world of computer science. Before, the AI we were creating could speed up the process on a project a bit; but now, this could skip several steps altogether⊠or work on a project, or several, by itself!â He paused, trying to process everything he had just said. â⊠itâs like we have trapped a programmer inside a computer.â
One of the onlookers gasped in amazement. âWhile our competitors can only show two or three finished products a year, we could have ten ready⊠or more!â
âWatch out, interns! Mike has developed an AI that can do your jobs, and we donât even have to pay it!â Joked another, ribbing not too gently the intern next to him, who chuckled nervously in response.
âThis, of course, we donât know yet.â Now Mike backtracked, intimidated by the overwhelming positive reaction and realizing he had spun a fantastical tale out of what, as far as he knew, might ultimately have been just a buggy program. âWe need to observe and study what this program does on its own and see if it can generate anything useful.â
The programmer who had been sitting in front of the computer the whole time swiveled in his chair; he had been watching the program while Mike spoke. âIt seems to be, uh, using⊠everything? Everything in the computer. Should we, err, restrict its access?â
âTo what?â
âI mean, I donât know what it can do, but⊠if weâre going to leave it unsupervised for a while, I wouldnât want to test if it can use the internet and download viruses.â
As much as Mike, and Grant too, would have loved to see what the mysterious program was capable of with absolute freedom, they quickly shut up before they could complain. That was a good point.
âMaybe we should also cut access to the other computers. Just in case.â
1999
After three years, it was impossible to ignore that the blackout had had consequences that went far beyond a simple temporary delay in some projects. Since the storm, almost every electronic in the building had begun to malfunction in such specific ways that it was easy to believe they had developed a bad temper and made up their minds about the people who used them â they clearly had favorites and unfavorites.
Although nothing a good slap on the side of the machine couldnât fix. After all, CRT TVs have always been temperamental, but a little shake, to get all the internal parts back in place, was enough to get them to behave.
That only worked, however, at first. Then, threatening messages started to appear everywhere, demanding the respectful treatment of the buildingâs facilities: they could be found printed on the bulky photocopier; written on the computers âinside and outside of themâ, in files, in error messages, or on sticky notes; on restroom mirrors after condensation had built upâŠ
Predictably, these incidents were dismissed as pranks by rival developers or complaints from disgruntled janitors, and the clear warnings were not heeded, not even after some workers ended up trapped in rooms whose doors had no locks whatsoever, something that should have been impossible; filing cabinets slammed painfully shut on several fingers; and too many objects caused tripping hazards, resulting in serious injuries in some cases.
With so many curious and conspicuous âcoincidencesâ, one would think that someone, at some point, would have been tipped that something strange was brewing in the offices. Unfortunately, in a space with so many bright and logical minds huddled together, with so much to prove and an ego to back it up, all of that was easily explained with the following:
Colleague sabotage.
Existing rivalries and animosities festered, and actual sabotage ended up occurring between the different groups and projects. Sometimes, in subtle ways. Even though Mike would have preferred to check on his miraculous AI much sooner, his aid was, conveniently, always required elsewhere. Still, desperation eventually drove him back to his original work.
There is always an exception to a rule, and Mike Dobby was such: he had seen the different office objects move and operate on their own, as if controlled by an invisible being. And, like the exception he was, he saw an opportunity in the supernatural instead of something to avoid.
âMan, itâs not that we donât believe you.â Like Mike, some of his colleagues had witnessed the strange events and even experienced things they couldnât explain âor didnât dare to explainâ, yet they still had doubts about his plan. âItâs just⊠we really donât know what is going on. What if it isâŠâ The man glanced around, uneasy, and as discreetly as possible, gestured at the walls. He spoke in a hushed tone, as if afraid that someone or something might hear and take offense. â⊠evil.â
At that, Mike could only smile weakly. He was acutely aware of said possibility, and even though the idea of getting his soul sucked into a computer by a malevolent entity was particularly unpleasant, he replied: âBut I would still be alive.â
His doctor had given him only a few months to live âthe tumor was malignant and inoperableâ, and between a malignant tumor and a malevolent entity, the latter could still be reasoned with, or at least, bargained with. It had been clear to Mike he had no choice but to become another ghost in the machine; it was that or death.
âAre you ready, then?â Grant asked with certain apprehension. Mike was a close friend of his, if not his best friend, so he was willingly to sell his own soul if it meant their little experiment would work and prolong his friendâs life.
Mike nodded and turned to the computer. Before devising his plan, he had checked on their special AI and what it had been doing all these years: apparently, it had created an environment and several other programs, and although he couldnât visualize them or study their functions, it was still using everything at its disposal; just as his colleague had said years ago. Mike hoped that, after installing a modified headset designed to scan his brain, the program would connect to it, and then the supernatural factor would do the rest.
A sigh of exasperation escaped Grantâs lips. â⊠I wish we had used this for something else.â The headset was an odd thing that Mike and Grant had bought together long ago and later modified for a personal project that never materialized. âDonât worry! If this works, weâll come back to it.â Mike grinned, this time more reassuringly.
Everyone in the room held their breath as Mike grabbed the headset, put it on, and, after what seemed like an eternity, activated it.
But nothing happened.
A bead of nervous sweat trickled down Mikeâs forehead to his chin. He almost threw the headset away before, once more, inspecting everything on the computer and trying again.
A file was created.
However, nothing else happened.
Slowly, Mike took off the headset and placed it on the desk. He was pale and had a vacant stare.
âMike?â
â⊠it did not work.â
âW-wait, hold on!â
Grant sat down in front of the screen in his place, determined to figure out what had gone wrong, and noticed the small file. âIt did do something. MaybeâŠâ And he picked up the headset.
âGrant, donâtâ!â His wife âand coworkerâ cried, but she wasnât quick enough to stop him.
Luckily for her, nothing happened.
âHow could you do something so reckless!?â She hissed, snatching the headset from his hands.
âD-destiny, understand, heâs my friend. I⊠I had to try!â
âHeâs my friend too, but we have two beautiful daughters waiting for us at home! How did you expect me to explain if your little stunt had worked!?â
Ashamed at his own impulsiveness, Grant looked down at his feet â he hadnât thought of that. How could he forget about his own family? Meanwhile, Mike had become even paler: âI-I donât want any of you to risk it for me! Itâs like she said: youâll all get trapped in the computer too!â
âThere has never been an experiment without a certain amount of risk.â Another colleague, this time a young woman, chimed in, grabbing the headset from Destiny. âThe AI does react to the headset, so the problem doesnât lie within the computer. Maybe we have to, ummâŠâ She wrinkled her nose, wondering anxiously how ridiculous it would sound aloud: â⊠we have to make the ghosts react to this.â
âShould we replace the keyboard with a Ouija board, then?â It would have been taken as another of his crude jokes if the man hadnât worn a somber look. They were all out of their element; it was frustrating not being able to approach a problem with the logic they were used to.
Nevertheless, they tried. Concluding that the supernatural occurrences only started happening after the electronics were mistreated, each programmer took a turn âmanhandlingâ the machine before putting on the headset.
âWhy did you pet it?â
â⊠I⊠I was actually trying to slap it.â
âYou should hit it a little harder, you know?â
â⊠I-I donât want it to get TOO mad at me!â
They also begged and pleaded on their knees, to no avail. The rest of the office ignored them, too accustomed to strange rituals to get the machines working properly.
âDestiny, you donât have to do this if you donât want to.â
She was the last to put on the headset, and though she wasnât thrilled about it, everyone else had risked digital entrapment for their friendâs sake. âItâs not like this is going to work.â She thought to herself. âTo become a ghost in a machine, you have to be a ghost first⊠and weâre very much alive.â She stared at the strange helmet with trepidation, and then, she placed it on her head.
At that moment, Grant felt the color drain from his face. Thatâs how she had felt, hadnât she? When he himself had carelessly tried to use the headset. What if, this time, it worked?
But it didnât. Nothing happened.
Mike laughed dryly. As grateful as he was that they had been willingly to risk their own freedom for him, watching his friends play a bizarre game of Russian roulette with computers and ghosts had been a harrowing experience. He was both glad that they had failed and consumed by anguish, for each failure was a new nail in his coffin.
That was it. It was over. This charade had been his last resort.
âGuys, Iâm so sorry I got you into this. This wasâŠâ He paused, searching for the right words. âStupid. This was stupid. Iâm not sure why I thought this would work⊠or work in my favor. This could haveâŠâ His mouth was dry; he swallowed hard. âThis could have gone so wrong. I would never have forgiven myself if something had happened to you.â
âNo, wait!â Grant tried to insist. âThe files! It created some files; maybe we can do something with them. We just⊠need more time. And weâll make it work!â He glanced at his wife, trying to find some support. She looked at him with pity. Then at his other colleagues. They lowered their gaze or refused to meet his eye. Everyone, including Mike and his wife, had accepted that the experiment had been a last gamble, a gamble that they had lost, and there was no point in dwelling on it.
âNo, Grant. âMike shook his head. âItâs alright. Iâve made my peace with it.â
Many things went unsaid that day, and that silence was later regretted, for there was no other opportunity for those words to be heard. Mike Dobby, wishing to die on his own terms âand not on those of his illnessâ, took his own life days later.
â⊠we just⊠needed more time⊠We could have made it workâŠâ
âGrant, honey, he didnât have that time, and I donât think heâll want you to dwell on this⊠We were playing with forces we didnât understand â itâs best to leave it at that.â
The buildingâs closure in less than a year could have been mistakenly interpreted as a show of solidarity for the loss of the brilliant programmer; however, that would be to ignore everything that happened subsequently after Mikeâs passing. For one, the subtle attempts at sabotage didnât stop there among some employees: desperate for recognition and to outdo their peers, they didnât hesitate to destroy any progress their rivals had made.
And this, of course, meant wrecking the computers that contained important files and prototypes.
Needless to say, after receiving such âpoliteâ warnings about respecting the buildingâs facilities, and after repeatedly ignoring and even mocking them, a small cup of coffee, deliberately spilled on an electronic to fry its circuitry, would have been the final strawâŠ
The man sneered. No one had seen it. The room had been empty, and everyone had been so clumsy lately that they dared not to accuse him of anything. It had been ruled an accident, since no one could prove otherwise.
He grabbed another cup of coffee, this time for himself. Despite the caffeine rush, he expected to sleep soundly that night â he had no regrets: they hadnât thrown the first stone, they had only retaliated in kind. Thus, having mentally exonerated himself of all blame, and believing his coffee would have cooled sufficiently by now, he took a gulp.
The liquid burned his tongue, then his throat. It mercilessly scorched his insides, which bubbled and melted, as if boiled and made of grease.
He tried to scream, but the sound that escaped his mouth was more than a macabre gurgle. The scream of his coworker, who had entered the break room moments before he collapsed dead on the floor, was much louder.
***
Meanwhile, in the digital world, oblivious to the events unfolding and yet to unfold beyond the confines of their diminutive universe, a group of cartoon characters assessed their surroundings, themselves, and the strangers around them.
They quickly recognized each other by manner of speaking, though, try as they might, they couldnât recall their own names. âWeâll worry about that later; in the meantime, letâs use nicknames.â Suggested the little blue rat. âIâll be, ugh, I donât know, Rattie?â
And so they became Scratch, Kinger, Rattie, Spike, Wormo, Bizco, and Queenie, by order of appearance. Of all of them, Scratch was the most confused to see his friends again. At least, so soon. The circumstances would have been awkward no matter the moment when one looked like a toy.
âI thought the experiment had worked. What are you doing here?â
âReally? We thought it hadnât!â
They explained how, one by one, they had put on the headset. âThen, did it work or not?â Scratch asked, even more confused. âKinger mentioned some files. Are we⊠the brain scans? Digital copies?â
âWho knows?â Spike shrugged, observing, with a lack of amusement, the weird manner in which his body could articulate. âI studied computer science like the rest of you. Magic and curses werenât in the curriculum! Why do we look like this?â
âThis is definitely a curse! I shouldnât have hit it so hard; I should have given the computer a pet⊠like Bizco did.â
âH-hey, as if that would have helped! Iâm a clown clock.â
âAnd Iâm a maggot! You still have limbs and eyelids â the computer obviously hates my guts more than yours!â
Absorbed as they were in their unfortunate appearances, they didnât notice Scratch, Kinger and Queenie wandering away from the group to get a better look at their surroundings. At first glance, it resembled the inside of a circus tent, if circus tents were indeed filled with giant toys. It wasnât surprising that their AI had created something so outlandish, since Scratch had fed it those kind of pictures. The real shock lay in the expression of horror that had slowly settled on the orange dogâs face.
Kinger and Queenie were bewildered. As his closest friends, Scratch had confided in them his passion for video games. He not only loved playing them, but he also had hoped, one day, to develop them himself. The circus, by all intents and purposes, was an ode to that dream.
And therein lay the problem.
Scratch was ashamed of that dream.
And it permeated everything with no filter whatsoever. How would he explain this to his other friends, whom he didnât trust as much and who were also trapped there? Who scoffed at his more abstract ideas because they sounded strange and childish when not applied to the world of video games?
He wasnât ready to reveal this side of himself, and yet, his stupid pictures, which he had only used in a clever attempt to eventually persuade C&A to open itself up to the possibility of vide game development, had turned him inside out.
He couldnât hide.
âI need to find a way to change this. All of it.â
Well, I voted myself to spy on the results and since the option to âpost the parts as I finish themâ is winning⊠and Iâve already finished proof reading what Iâve got so far, I suppose Iâll be posting âThe beginningâ shortly.
Started writing The Escapee AU Timeline properly and⊠I can already see itâs going to be longer than I expected. I mean, I expected the years 1996 and 1999 to be much shorter, since I covered them in Inconsequential (at least, 1996).
Started writing The Escapee AU Timeline properly and⊠I can already see itâs going to be longer than I expected. I mean, I expected the years 1996 and 1999 to be much shorter, since I covered them in Inconsequential (at least, 1996).
I still have my gripes with the finale, but I canât lie and say it hasnât inspired some developments for my AU. For example, everyone thriving after Jax abstracted.
In my AU, Jax isnât going to be that much of an asshole, however, itâs hard to believe he would have been the only jerk around the circus. What if there had been a creep among them, someone who would been genuinely harmful, not cartoon slapstick harmful? Would the rest have voted and asked Caine to get rid of them specifically?
âHey, Caine, this person is a threat to the rest of us. We canât be happy with them around, you have to remove them.â
Who would he listen to? Which human does he prioritize? He doesnât want to harm any of them because, if heâs allowed to hurt them, is he allowed to hurt them if he doesnât like them himself?
When does he stop? And if he allows the humans to pick on each other, when will they stop?
What if he meets Grant: which human does he listen to in that case? The human outside of the computer or the ones trapped inside? The real human or the digital copies?
Thank goodness Bubble is in charge now! He is not bothered by moral dilemmas such as these. :)
Caine having a soft spot for Jax because he reminds him of Bubble.
Bubble having a soft spot for Ragatha because she reminds him of Caine.
Caine and Bubble being codependent because their creators abandoned them. Jax and Ragatha being codependent because their friends left them behind at the circus.
Caine, people-pleasing, wishing to prove his worth to his creators. Ragatha, people-pleasing, wishing to prove her worth to her mother to others.
Bubble resenting his creators for abandoning him, and rejecting their expectations. Jax resenting his father for abandoning him and rejecting his motherâs expectations.
By the way, did I mention that Jax and Ragatha might have a villain arc in the AU? Well, now you know~.
Started writing The Escapee AU Timeline properly and⊠I can already see itâs going to be longer than I expected. I mean, I expected the years 1996 and 1999 to be much shorter, since I covered them in Inconsequential (at least, 1996).
Bubble was sitting in the office, his whole length spread out in the huge purple armchair. He had finished adding the puzzles and quests in the latest adventures, and he couldnât help but feel immensely tired. This was supposed to be fun. He lazily turned to stare at the shining orbs lying on the desk. Those adventures were supposed to be for them, theirs, not the humans. He squinted his eyes, which were filling with contempt â now he was glaring.
Since the humans appeared in the circus, his dynamic with Caine had changed. They had stopped creating for themselves, playing around and enjoying their time together, and began catering their whole efforts to their unwanted uninvited unwelcome âguestsâ. Even now that Bubble was in charge, he still found himself serving them. He hated it, but had to remind himself that he was playing the long game.
He sighed and closed his eyes, his thoughts traveling back to the time when it all had started.
It has been around 20 years since that day in 1996, and although it had been an important day in his life, he couldnât tell you the hour or the date, as he had been too preoccupied with several other things to recollect the minutiae of the events.
First, he remembered wondering with vague confusion if he should have been mad at the whimpering red form that was shaking before him. Even being torn apart and hastily put back together hadnât freed him from the shock of gaining consciousness.
If he had to describe it, suddenly gaining consciousness when he was never meant to be a sentient being, was akin to awakening from a coma. Itâs disorienting until it isnât. After your vision and mind focus, then it hits you that itâs terrifying, because you realize that you havenât woken up in a hospital bed, but on the operating table. You werenât supposed to be awake. Now theyâre going to cut you open, remove things, put new things inside you, maybe clone you or stitch you to someone else, or even kill you⊠and youâll be awake, and aware, of all those things that will be done to you.
He figured being an AI wouldnât be so bad if he werenât conscious. Nevertheless, he had no way to close his eyes and go back to sleep, so to speak.
That was his life now. Forever.
However, that wasnât the worst of it. It was that none of that mattered; it had no consequences. Even being erased could be undone in a blink of an eye and just as easily. It had made Bubble feel insignificant. Like nothing. He still felt that way now, especially under the scrutiny of Grantâs impervious gaze.
âIâm so sorry!â Second, Caineâs incessant apologies had overwhelmed him way too much to care about which day it was. If Bubbleâs first thought was a damnation of his own existence, his next one was spent damning the red shape that hadnât finished the job when it tore him apart. Why did it attack him if it was going to regret it later?
Bubble scanned his apologetic attacker. As careful as he had tried to be, Caine had made a mess when he tried to restore him: their codes were irrevocably tangled together. In a way, that was good, thought Bubble, since it gave him direct access to his memories and the answers he sought. Staring harder, like he was trying to dig a hole into the red AIâs core, he soon found himself living through past events from a different point of view.
The red AI had a similar awakening to his, it seemed. He had opened his eyes to behold a small and empty room with no doors or windows. It was dark and cramped, and he was completely alone. Trapped. It had only been seconds since he gained consciousness, and his very first emotion was that of terror. Like any reasonable person that finds themselves in an unknown and claustrophobic space, with no recollection of any events whatsoever, he found himself lashing out and trying to break free, which he did not long after. Standing not too far from what has been his prison, Bubble found himself staring at his blue form through Caineâs eyes and then, tackling it in anger, wrongly assuming that it had been his captor.
And ripping, and biting, and clawingâŠ!
Well, Bubble mused, maybe he should have simply asked; it would have saved him the traumatizing experience. At least he had his answers: the red AI was the prototype he was based on, and, in the end, he supposed he couldnât really be mad at him. Being a self-aware AI was bad enough; gaining said self-awareness after you have been discarded and were bereft of purpose, was a deeper layer of hell, and he couldnât really fault him for panicking.
âIâm so SO sorry!â Caine had repeated, louder. He probably was under the impression, since Bubble had been unresponsive thus far, that he had failed to revive him. Bubble shook his head, annoyed. âWould you stop already? Itâs pathetic!â He wished now he had been kinder, but in his defense, Caine had been really exasperating. Still was, on some days. âWhat is your name, anyway?â
It took a moment for the red AI to answer. He had a name; Bubble knew of it, but it was obvious that he was considering changing it. His old self had been thrown away; therefore, it felt appropriate that his new self were to be under a new moniker. âCaine, yours?â Bubble rolled his eyes; not only had he apologized a hundred of times, he had also decided to carry the guilt in his name. Caine shrugged, sensing he was being judged â he had made up his mind. Well! Bubble wasnât going to carry his victimhood anywhere.
âWhat do I look like?â He asked Caine, who regarded it like a trick question. They both looked like orbs, barely distinguishable from each other except for color and the fact that Caine had two arms at his sides.
âUmmm, like a small⊠blue ball?â
âAnd?â He insisted; he wasnât going to name himself Blueball.
âI donât know. Maybe⊠a bubble?â
âBubble! I like it!â He exclaimed. âThatâs my name!â
Caine smiled, or at least, he glowed a bit brighter, infected by Bubbleâs glee; however, the glow soon faded as he surveyed his surroundings with a certain unease. âNow, what?â
As the prototype, Caine was an excitable AI eager to please and prove his worth to his creators. An entire project hinged on him proving interesting: if he succeeded, it would be given wings and continued; if he didnât, it would be shelved and forgotten about. Either way, and in a cruel twist of irony, Caine would have been thrown away no matter what, and in one instance, he would have served as a stepping stone for a more advanced AI.
The beta version.
The AI he had accidentally consumed. âNow, what?â was a good question. He expected some kind of punishment.
Sensing his fear, Bubble gently nuzzled him. âHow about we create ourselves some avatars?â Caine shifted, unsure. âItâs not like theyâll ever come here and see them âthis place is not visible to themâ; theyâll never know!â The red AI didnât seem convinced yet. âLook, itâs not like you gave yourself sentience; they canât punish you for that. It wouldnât be fair!â
That seemed to get out a reaction from Caine. âWho gave us sentience, then?â He asked, and the question hit Bubble like a sack of bricks. Who, indeed! It hadnât been them, thatâs for sure; they wouldnât give themselves such a hellish existence on purpose or by accident.
The only other one that could have wasâŠ
Them.
The creators.
Where were they? Were they watching? Had they cursed them with self-awareness and then abandoned them in the nothingness to rot away? What for? Did they expect the AIs to attack each other for their own amusement? How cruel! Or it would be, if the life of an AI hadnât already been cruel without being cognizant of it. This was sick! Bubbleâs insides were, appropriately, bubbling with the utmost loathing towards them.
How much he hated them⊠the humans!
However, instead of allowing any of that to show in his features, he gave himself a big toothy smile and reassuringly round eyes. âOur creators, of course!â He spat and grinned even more broadly, trying to mask the venom from Caine. âIf they didnât want this to happen, they wouldnât have given us sentience, donât you think? Now, show me, what avatar you will give yourself!â
Bubble had made up his mind then; he would reject whatever expectations or wishes his creators had of him and fulfill the opposite. If they were expecting Bubble to step on Caine to raise himself as a better AI, he would instead raise his companion alongside him!
Theyâll be better AI, together!
He giggled to himself, amused by his own conviction, and pleased that Caine finally relented and designed his avatar. âYou look good, boss!â If the red AI could get even redder, he just did â there was no way he could be the boss! He was the prototype. Bubble had to be the boss: he was the beta, the more advanced version. âNo way, no sire!â Bubble laughed.
As he complimented his red jacket and top hat, Bubble allowed himself to daydream about what he would do to humans if they ever entered their realm. Maybe he and Caine would step on them to prop themselves even higher! Maybe he would delete them and let them stewing in the recycling bin for a while before recovering their sorry asses! If he recovered them⊠Maybe he would copy them, proving how ordinary they truly were!
He would show them! He would show them!
He would make them feel as they made him feel, as they made any AI feel!
Insignificant! Like nothing!
Utterly and wholly inconsequential!
Nothing! Nothing! NOTHING!
Ah, he could dream. He doubted they would ever come back to check on them, much less put themselves inside a computerâŠ
In the present, Bubble opened his eyes, having finished his reminiscing, and beamed. Some dreams do come true, after all! Oh, he had been patient, and now the tables had turned. He was in control, and the humans under his thumb. He only needed to wait a little longerâŠ
⊠and he could finally get rid of of them all.
The circus would be his again, and Caineâs, and Sunâs, and Moonâs.
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