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It's been years. Years that Destiny had spent wasting away in this building, waiting for the final few humans left to either escape or Abstract.
It's not that she would wish abstraction on any of them. It was the worst thing she'd ever been through. Feeling your own sanity creep out of you, until you're nothing but a blank model. As your mind vacates and your body swells and pops, until there's nothing but burning light.
Then you wake up and it's all real. Waking up in a hospital bed after losing your mind to discover that abstraction was one of the only ways to leave the circus was a wild experience for her.
Being Queenie in there was fun, until it wasn't. She left Grant, her husband, behind in the madness of her own mind, so now she sits and waits and prays nobody else falls victim to the scheme Scratch, Mike, cooked up.
She wants her husband out. The others out. Maybe then, she can release the kid that Mike locked away in the name of science.
She's watched dozens of people come in and out ever since she woke up. There's only 6 of them left now. Leah, Ribbit, had told them their names in the circus, had identified them for her.
Riley, Zooble. They were the second-last find, found in their apartment after surgery, the headset firmly in place. It took them a few days to find them, so their muscles weren't in the best shape, despite the electric pulses sent through them to keep them stimulated.
Zoey, Gangle. Found in their local library, headset in place. Reported to 911 by the librarian after she didn't respond to any stimulus. It's a miracle they got to her before they pulled the headset off and killed her.
Susanne, Ragatha. Reported by some kids claiming to be her friends, who say they forced the headset on her and then she went limp. Aside from Grant, she's been there the longest.
Jax. Found in their home by their mother and reported to 911. Leah refused to use their name, quietly telling her how Jax was…odd, around their name. They never told her anything, but it seemed like something was coming.
Then there's Abigail. She came in after Leah. Doug, Kaufmo, woke up the same day they brought her in. They know nothing about her, but she was found in the old abandoned c&a building.
She knew she should have had Mike tear that place down, if only she listened to herself.
Then there's the kid that's stuck between them all. She visits him, regularly. Brushes his hair out, keeps him safe and warm, tucked up in blankets between all the machinery keeping him trapped. She can't pull the machinery off, not without possibly killing everyone else in there.
She visits him daily, just like she does with Grant. They don't know his name, Mike said they pulled him from a drug den, just a child, barely even 3.
She doesn't know how Mike thought that merging a 3 year old with computing technology was a good idea. Then again, that thinking is what got them stuck there.
Mike abstracted first and of them all, he died first, the tumor taking him down. She knows that a brain tumor can cause behavior that isn't normal for the person, but Mike had always been insane.
Always thinking outside of the box.
Outside the box thinking, apparently, means selling your idea to the government and funding a child kidnapping to get the AI you wanted.
Then abandoning that idea, working on a new one, and somehow being surprised when your first creation consumes the second one.
She curses that man's name every day. She's glad they never told her where he's buried. She doesn't want to think she'd desecrate a grave, but nearly 15 years in, who knows.
20 years. Her husband has been stuck in there for 20 years. She's left him alone for 15 of those. 15 years of watching people come and go, coaching them through the aftershocks of abstraction. Of holding people as they cry, scream, beg to understand, and she can't explain it.
She's an entomologist. She volunteered as a beta tester. She was never involved in this.
15 long, long years.
Until one day, when she arrives, the building is flooded with action. Doctors and nurses darting between rooms, frantically shouting at each other. She runs to her husbands room, makes it in just in time to see him blink his eyes open, one of the doctors hovering over his bedside flashing a light into his eyes.
She watches, sees as her husband, who had been so stationary for years, moves his hands, blinks, and gods above she missed him.
She trimmed his hair recently, his beard shaved down to just some stubble. She'd forgotten how much he wrinkled his face up.
She watches as he smacks his lips, lips that were so still when she pressed a kiss to them last night. He's out. The others are out.
"Grant!" She shouts from the door, fingers clenched around the frame. He looks up at her, and gods she missed those pretty blue eyes.
"Destiny…" his voice is rough, but still working. Still there, if barely.
"Is there anyone else inside?" She asks, and he stares at her, eyes wide before he shakes his head.
"Last one out." He rumbles, the words slurring together to the point it's hardly even audible. But she hears him. She always hears him.
They're out. They're all out. Except one.
She launches herself away, running through hallways, her shoes squeaking on the linoleum.
She runs past nurses, shoves her way past doctors and techs, ignoring the shouts for her to calm down. To slow down. But she can't.
Everyone's out, except for the only one who didn't do this voluntarily. She needs to unplug the kid, shut the whole system down.
The circus can't function without it's AI. The server shuts down if she pulls those fucking cords.
She imagines Mike fighting with her. He'd call her rude names, say she's ruining his greatest achievement. He'd tell her that it's worth it, to keep the servers active. It allows them to study the human brain, the mind files from the headset were worth the pain and suffering they all went through.
But Mike is dead. That's all she thinks about as she slams open the kids door. She darts to his side, ripping away wires from the devices he's attached to. It all connects down to a little box, but she leaves on the wires monitoring his vitals. Anything attached to a medical device, she leaves as is.
She leans over the kid, presses hands to his cheeks, and he's warm for the first time in years. He's always been cool, like he spent some time outside in the cold before laying down again.
He's warm now, and his body seizes briefly as he inhales heavily and coughs, whimpering as the movement jars him.
"Come on kid, wake up." She whispers to him, rubbing her thumbs into his cheeks. His face wrestles into a grimace, coughing up at her but she can't bring herself to care.
"Caine? Caine, come on kid, wake up." She begs, bringing a hand away from his face and down, holding his hand. She braided his hair last night, shaved his face a week ago but there's a tiny bit of stubble there.
He coughs and groans, like he's in pain, and she whips her head around to the door, screaming "Can I get some help in here?!" Out into the void that is the hospital floor.
He moans, and her attention snaps back to him. His eyelashes flutter and she swoops down, pressing her forehead to his briefly. "Come on kid, you got this. Wake up." She whispers, pulling back as she runs her thumb over the back of his hand and the other down his cheekbone. He's so small, skinny in a way that would be concerning if she hadn't been monitoring his food intake. A liquid diet for years will be hard to come back from.
She watches, enraptured as his eyes flutter open, giving her a view of those blue and Green eyes that his avatar in the circus held. He blinks, slow and languid, confusion sparkling across his eyes.
There's a nasal cannula up his nose, and the monitor's are loud here. But He’s awake.
Caine is awake, her husband is awake, and so are the others. This nightmare can finally end. She feels tears well up in her eyes, and she smiles.
"Welcome to the Macro-verse, Caine." She whispers down to him, and watches as his eyes slip closed. Her own dart to the monitors, secured that he hasn't died as his heart rate beats steady.
They're free.