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Adjusting to life in the circus is a constant challenge.
Pomni often found it hard to fall asleep at night. She didn’t need to sleep, not really, but she figured keeping the pattern might help her feel more normal. Or, at least a little more like herself.
Tonight, she finds herself wandering through the halls without much of a goal in mind. Her feet carried her toward the café before she even realized where she was going. She supposed she could eat, so she made herself a sandwich.
The sandwiches here tasted a little different than they had back home. Not bad, exactly, just… off. It was artificial in a way that was hard to describe. She guessed that made sense, considering Caine probably didn’t know what food tasted like in the real world. He didn’t eat at all, actually. Did he?
Pomni let the thought vanish as she settled into one of the café chairs. She got comfortable, holding the sandwich a few inches from her lips.
“Pomni! What are you doing at this hour?” She jumped at Caine’s sudden pop-in, the sandwich slipping from her hands and landing on the counter with a sad little flop.
“Isn’t time not real here?” she asked, still recovering from the scare.
“I suppose you’re right!” Caine said brightly. “It’s just unusual to see any humans out and about when it's dark.” He floated down to the counter and perched himself on the edge, watching her with far too much interest.
“Did you, uh… want something?” Pomni asked, trying to hurry the interaction along, as if rushing through it would somehow make him leave faster.
Caine didn’t answer right away, just staring at her.
She started to feel a little uncomfortable. You don't realize how important blinking is until you meet someone who can't do it. She broke eye contact, looking anywhere else.
He seemed to get the hint, closing his teeth and shaking his head, snapping himself out of whatever strange thought had caught him. “Oh! Sorry, sorry, I just find your little human activities so fascinating. Eating, sleeping, It’s all very intriguing.”
“Yeah, I guess you don’t need to do that kind of stuff, huh?” Pomni said, setting the sandwich down for the moment.
“Nope! Sometimes I run through my code and perform antivirus tests, but that’s about the closest thing I have to resting like you guys.”
“And eating?”
He laughed at her in a way that made her feel stupid, “Silly Pomni, I don’t have a digestive system.”
“Right…” Caine had a way about him that made Pomni immediately regret talking to him.
His gaze drifted to the sandwich. He picked it up and examined it from several angles, turning it over like it was something alien to him. “I never really understood the point,” he said. “You don’t need calories here.”
Pomni tried to think of an easy way to explain it. The problem was, Caine was very bad at understanding humans, even when he was clearly trying.
“It’s just routine,” she said. “And besides, people like the taste of eating.”
“Oh, yes! Taste buds!” Caine said, snapping his fingers. “I do know about those.”
Pomni nodded. “Yeah. People can get pleasure from eating sometimes. That’s why there are things like cake or candy. It’s not always just about needing food.”
“Pleasure?” Caine tilted his head, as if she had said something much more complicated than she meant. His eyes narrowed at her behind his teeth, then at the sandwich, which had now been thoroughly abandoned by both of them.
Yeah,” Pomni said slowly, not understanding why he was dwelling on it so much.
“Well, that seems unusual and inappropriate.”
“Wait, what do you—”
“Nonsense!” Caine exclaimed, straightening up. “I’m trying to learn and become more familiar with all your wonderfully strange human behaviors. So, I’ll process this information and attempt to eat food as you do!”
Pomni stared at him.
“I’m sure I can whip up a digestive system that works for me,” he continued cheerfully. “How hard can it be?” He gave a little chuckle at the end.
The jester only looked more confused.
“Thanks again, Pomni!” Caine said, floating upward with his usual theatrical energy. “You’ve provided me with excellent information.” He reached down and patted her on the head.
She didn’t like it, but she didn’t move to bat him away either.
With a bright little flourish, Caine swirled into himself and vanished, leaving Pomni alone with her sandwich. Suddenly, she wasn’t very hungry anymore.
It took some trial and error, but after hours of hard work and outside-the-box thinking, Caine had created his own version of a human digestive tract, complete with working taste buds.
He was extremely proud of the way he had translated human bodies into the digital plane. However, programming it into himself proved a little more challenging. He also made sure to add the “pleasure” part Pomni had mentioned. It seemed strange, certainly, and perhaps a touch unnecessary, but he desperately wanted to have a human experience of his own.
Food didn’t really go anywhere when his humans ate it. That had been his original design for the avatars. Food simply turned into code, broke down, and recycled itself back into the system. There was a buffer period of a few hours, just to simulate the feeling of being full.
Since his upgrade, an empty feeling settled deep inside him. It hungered in a way he had never felt before. It wasn't just a missing line of code or a minor system alert, but it felt like an actual need. He was eager for something to test his work, something to fill the new void in his stomach.
He circled back to the one answer he had for everything: an adventure! That’s what he needed. He would make the perfect scenario to entertain the humans and eat his fill.
Caine got to work immediately, spinning up concepts, building the set pieces, and making sure the NPCs ran smoothly. He was halfway through adjusting settings when his stomach growled.
He froze, then he looked down at himself, confused. “Uh… Bubble? Was that you?”
Bubble floated by lackadaisically. “Nope! That’s all you, boss.”
It happened again, as if to answer himself. Caine experimentally rubbed at his avatar’s stomach. He could feel the vibration as the simulated organ complained from inside him. “Well!” he said, voice pitching just slightly higher than usual. “I need to finish this faster than I thought!”
He worked until morning, right up until the first early risers began leaving their rooms. By the time the humans gathered near the stage, he was putting the final touches on his newest creation.
“Good morning, my carnivorous cornbread!” Caine shot into the air with his usual eccentric flourishes. “Today’s adventure is Cooking Kitchen Nightmares! There will be a competition, and you are all invited to take part. Each of you must make a dish of your choosing using ingredients provided by Chef Bubble himself! You will have exactly one hour to cook, plate, and serve your creative concoction to our wonderful panel of judges.” As he finished, a colorful swirling portal appeared in front of them. It spun wide and bright, rippling with colors that didn’t quite belong next to each other.
“Oooh,” Jax said, leaning forward with immediate interest. “Fire AND knives.”
“Jax,” Ragatha warned him, hands on her hips.
“What? I’m appreciating the theme.” He grinned and stepped through the portal first, vanishing with a flicker.
Caine watched him go, giving a delighted thumbs-up. “That’s the spirit!”
Zooble crossed their arms, eyeing the portal with suspicion. “So what, we’re just cooking?”
“Just cooking?” Caine gasped, one hand flying dramatically to his chest. “Zooble, please, this is a sizzling showdown where dreams are sautéed and reputations are flambéed!”
After a long moment, Zooble sighed. “Honestly, I guess it's better than whatever you usually come up with.”
Caine floated over to them, practically beaming. “Then you’re not going to skip?”
“Nah,” Zooble said with a shrug. “I guess this one could actually be fun.” They stepped through the portal after Jax.
Gangle lingered for a second, wringing her ribbon hands together. “Do you think we could make asian inspired recipes?”
“Of course!” Caine said proudly.
Gangle perked up. She followed Zooble through, disappearing into the swirl of color.
Pomni remained frozen in place. The portal reflected in her eyes, in a distorted kaleidoscope of color. Somewhere beyond it, something crashed loudly enough to make her shoulders jump. “I can’t cook to save my life,” she muttered.
Ragatha approached from behind and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll help you out.”
Pomni turned to look at her. “Can you cook?”
She smiled modestly. “Not to brag, but I think I do alright.”
Pomni let out a small, nervous breath and looked back at the portal.
Caine hovered nearby, watching them with far more interest than usual. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture bright and expectant, but there was something else beneath it. There was a restless little twitch in his fingers accompanied by a strange eagerness that made him look less composed than normal.
Pomni noticed. “Are you coming with us?” she asked. “You usually don’t…”
Caine flinched, as if she had caught him. “Me?” he said, far too brightly. “Why, yes! We need judges after all!”
Pomni stared at him.
His stomach growled. The sound was low, unmistakable, and deeply out of place. He froze with embarrassment.
Ragatha’s smile faltered into something more confused.
Caine quickly panicked, “And with that, let us proceed!” Before anyone could ask about it, he spun toward the portal with forced cheer, pushing in the last remaining members. Pomni and Ragatha let out sounds of protest, but Kinger, quiet as ever, simply accepted his fate.
With everyone gone, he hovered at the edge of the portal for one last second. Bubble floated after him, slow and lazy as ever. “Someone's hungry.” He answered by popping the little pest.
Caine had never really needed to be inside the adventures. He could control them perfectly well from the outside, adjusting the world with a snap of his fingers whenever things became too boring or too chaotic. Now, the ache inside him had changed his rules. His stomach rumbled again, hollow and impatient. He adjusted his bow tie, put on his signature expression, and followed the humans through.
The adventure was themed after a cooking TV show. The set opened beneath a massive striped tent pitched in the middle of a sunny, artificial field. Bright stage lights hung from nowhere, shining down on several little kitchens arranged in a neat semicircle. Each one had its own counter top, stove, oven, sink, and an alarming number of utensils. Each kitchen was color-coded to make it easy to keep track of them. Pomni’s station was red. Ragatha’s was purple. Kinger’s was blue. Gangle’s was green. Zooble’s was pink. Jax’s was yellow.
Across from the kitchens sat a long judges’ table dressed in a crisp white tablecloth. Three chairs waited behind it, each with a little name card placed in front.
Caine floated into the air, spreading his arms wide as invisible applause thundered around everyone. “All right, my lovely leopards! You have exactly one human hour to prepare something delicious for our esteemed panel of judges. The winner will receive a very special prize! Their very own adventure, crafted to perfection by yours truly!” That got everyone’s attention. Even Zooble looked mildly interested.
Jax leaned against his station with a grin. “So, we get to pick what happens?”
“Within the boundaries of the filters, yes!”
“Lame!” Jax replied with a roll of his eyes.
Caine snapped his fingers, and a giant clock appeared above the tent, its hands spinning wildly before settling at sixty minutes. “Now then, get ready! Get set! Cook!”
A horn blared and everyone moved at once. The field erupted into chaos almost immediately. Cabinets flew open, drawers slammed, and the circus members ran as ingredients appeared in a grocery section near the back of the tent. There were little displays of fruits, vegetables, meats, spices, and several items no one had ever seen before.
Jax was the first to reach the ingredients. He swept an arm across one shelf and dumped half of it into his basket.
“Hey!” Ragatha called. “Leave some for everyone else!”
“Sure thing,” Jax said, then immediately grabbed more.
Gangle hurried toward bags of rice, her ribbon hands trembling. “Okay, okay, I can do this.”
Jax appeared beside her with a knife. “Here, hold this for me.” Before she could react, he stabbed the knife through one of her ribbon hands, pinning it neatly to the wooden counter top below. She eventually responded with a small, miserable noise.
Zooble whipped around. “Jax!”
“What?” Jax said, already walking away with a bag of onions. “She’s just keeping it safe for me.”
Zooble rushed over and yanked the knife free, cursing him under their breath while Gangle sniffled beside them.
At the judges’ table, Caine tried to sit still. He folded his hands,tapping his leg against the ground impatiently. He made sure to keep up the facade of a gracious host overseeing another perfectly normal adventure. Then his stomach growled again to pull him out of it. The sound rolled through him, low and insistent, and Caine immediately curled in on himself. His hands flew to his middle as if he could physically hold the noise in.
Bubble turned to look at him. “Disgusting.”
Caine’s face flushed with embarrassment. “S-Shut up!” He has no qualms popping Bubble again without hesitation. It didn’t last long as he reappeared a few seconds later, upside down. Caine ignored him, though it was difficult to ignore anything when the feeling inside him begged to be sated.
He glanced at the clock. Only five minutes had passed. Caine made a strained sound through his teeth.
The smells were already beginning to build: butter melting in pans, garlic hitting heat. There was something sweet and sugary from Kinger’s station, something burnt from Pomni’s, and something that should not have been bubbling from Jax’s.
None of it could completely capture real human food, and Caine understood that. He had written the ingredients himself. He had assigned the textures, the scents, and taste, with careful precision. Unfortunately, knowing that did not make the hunger any quieter. It pulled at him. It made his attention snag on every sizzling pan, every spoon lifted to taste, and every careful decoration placed on a plate.
The humans were actually enjoying themselves and that should have made him proud. It did make him proud, he corrected himself mentally. And yet, beneath that pride, something hot and shameful twisted inside him. This adventure looked like a gift, but Caine knew the truth. He had built all of it for his own disgusting needs, because Pomni had said humans could feel pleasure from eating, and now he had made himself capable of wanting it. His stomach growled again, and he sank back into his chair in defeat. Even his top hat sagged, as if it felt his misery too.
Bubble slowly turned toward him.
“Do not,” Caine warned.
Bubble answered with a smile.
Caine decided to leave him alone this time.
By the time the clock ticked down to thirty minutes, Caine could barely stand it anymore. Sitting still has only made the emptiness worse. Every second stretched too long, and every smell only antagonized him further. He needed to do something— he needed to move. Caine shot up from the judges’ table with a sharp clap of his hands. “Well, well, well! Let’s check in with our contestants, shall we?” His voice rang brightly through the tent, a touch too loud and a little too strained.
He floated toward the kitchens with a microphone in hand and his grin fixed firmly in place. If he couldn't eat yet, then he would perform. That, at least, he knew how to do.
“Pomni,” Caine said carefully, appearing beside her station, “I don’t mean to alarm you, but something appears to be burning.”
Black smoke curled up from her pan in a thick, angry cloud. Pomni looked down, the pan was not just smoking. It was practically on fire. “S–t! S–t! S–t!” She grabbed the nearest towel and started smacking at the flames in a frantic panic.
Caine moved backward a few inches.
“It’s not working!”
“I can see that,” his voice was flatter than it usually was.
“I’m on it Boss,” came Bubble’s voice from behind them.
Before either of them could stop him, Bubble floated over, opened his mouth impossibly wide, and swallowed both the flaming pan and the fire in one smooth gulp. The problem instantly vanished.
Caine and Pomni stared at him in stunned silence.
Bubble blinked, then rolled his tongue around in his mouth. “Oh,” he said dreamily. “Spicy.”
Her face went blank.
Caine lowered his microphone. “I’m just going to let you get back to…” He gestured vaguely at the empty space where her pan had been. “Whatever that was.”
“Yeah,” She answered, still in disbelief.
In a flash, Caine was bothering someone else. “Kinger!” Caine snapped over to the chess piece’s station, microphone already raised and smile locked firmly into place. “We haven’t heard much from you yet. Tell our lovely audience at home, what are you making?”
“Hm?” Kinger turned around, blinking at him with an unreadable expression. For a moment, he looked as though he had forgotten he was in a competition at all. “Oh! I’m making Black Forest cake.”
Caine tilted his head. “How wonderful!”
“Yes,” Kinger said, glancing around the bright open field beneath the tent. “Though I’m not sure why. We certainly aren’t in a forest.” His eyes narrowed. “Are we?”
“No, we most certainly are not,” Caine answered. It was then that Caine noticed the oven at Kinger’s station, as it released a warm breath of chocolate, cherries, and sugar.
The ringmaster stopped, his polished expression twitching. The smell rolled over him, rich, sweet and heavy enough to make the hollow ache inside him clench. It was dark and rich, yet somehow soft around the edges with something tart beneath it that made his new taste buds spark in anticipation. He swallowed the extra saliva pooling in his mouth. “That…” His voice came out quieter than he meant it to. “That smells really good.”
Kinger brightened a little. “Would you like a taste?” Before Caine could answer, Kinger held out a whisk coated in thick chocolate batter.
Caine stared at it. The batter clung to the metal loops in thick, glossy globs. It should not have looked that appealing, but it tempted him.
He lost the battle as he snatched the whisk from Kinger’s hand. He meant to taste it politely– just a professional judge’s evaluation with nothing strange about it. Instead, his tongue wrapped around the grooves, dragging slowly through the batter until the rich sweetness spread across his mouth. For one bright, startling second, every other sound in the tent seemed to fall away. The flavor hit him all at once: Chocolate, sugar, cream, the faint bite of cherries waiting underneath. Pleasure lit up in the new pieces of himself he had so carefully built.
A pleased sound slipped out of him before he could stop it. Kinger stared at him, not knowing how to react. His eyes seemed more focused then how they usually were. Caine froze with the whisk still in his mouth. A terrible silence passed between them.
Kinger’s eyes shifted slowly to the side. “Well. I’m glad it’s… acceptable.”
Caine yanked the whisk away from his mouth, gums burning in embarrassment. “Ah! Yes! Quite! Certainly! Very batter-like!” He dropped the whisk back onto the counter too quickly. “Good luck, Kinger!” He was quick to warp away before he could embarrass himself any further.
After a breather to get himself composed, Caine reappeared at Gangle’s station with his eyes too wide and his bow tie slightly crooked.
Gangle was hunched over her counter, focusing with intense, trembling determination. In front of her sat a neat little bento box filled with rice balls shaped into cute animal faces. Some had seaweed whiskers, while others had little sesame seed eyes. A few were made of meat and eggs, arranged with careful slices of vegetables and fruit until the whole thing looked almost too cute to eat.
Caine stared at the tiny rice creatures. They stared back with their little sesame eyes.
His stomach gave a quiet, hopeful growl. He imagined biting into one: soft rice, the crisp edge of nori, and the mystery of whatever filling she had tucked inside. Then, unfortunately, his imagination took one delighted little leap too far.
What if they begged him not to eat them?
What if their cute animal faces twisted in tiny, delicious terror, their desperate little pleas falling on deaf ears?
Caine shuddered. A strange part of him found the thought far too alluring, which only made him feel faintly disgusted with himself.
“That looks great so far!” he said, encouragingly.
Gangle was startled so hard her comedy mask slipped onto the floor, breaking into pieces “Eep!” In all the commotion, a sesame seed fell out of her hand, ruining one of the little faces. She stared down at it, her ribbons drooping.
Caine looked at her mask, then back at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said quickly, lowering his voice with exaggerated care. “I was merely conducting a contestant interview with everyone.”
Gangle picked up the sesame seed with delicate concentration. “It’s okay. I just… wanted them to look happy.”
The little rice balls did look happy. Or they had, before he accidentally made her mess up and make one of their faces crooked. “Well,” he said, forcing his showman cheer back into place, “I’m sure they’ll be absolutely delightful.” He tried to help by snapping his fingers and fixing her mask. It appeared on the counter next to her, like it had never been broken in the first place.
Gangle gave a tiny, nervous smile. “Thank you.”
Caine looked down at the bento again. His expression strained. “They’re going to be delicious. I can’t wait to make them suffer.”
Gangle turned to him, trying to understand what he was saying.
He cleared his throat. “For judging purposes, of course!” He floated backward before his stomach could betray him again.
“Hey, Caine!”
At the sound of his name, Caine’s head turned one hundred and eighty degrees before the rest of him seemed to catch up. “Mm, yes?”
Jax motioned him over with one lazy hand. “Come check this out.”
Caine floated toward Jax’s station with his microphone raised, already preparing some light, yet useless commentary. Then he saw it. His eyes narrowed behind his teeth, losing any spark they once had.
Sitting proudly on Jax’s counter was a gelatin mold. At least, Caine thought it was supposed to be gelatin. It trembled in place with a wet little wobble, cloudy and greenish yellow, with a horrifying assortment of ingredients suspended inside it.
Caine gagged before he could stop himself.
Jax blinked up at him with the most innocent expression he could muster. “I can’t wait for you to try it.”
Caine stared at the abomination. “Me either, Jax,” he said, forcing cheer into every syllable. “What a bold and confusing creation!”
Jax’s grin widened. “Thanks, I made it special just for you.”
“How… thoughtful.” Caine drifted back a few inches, eager to escape. He might have lingered longer for the sake of the interview, but then something warm and savory reached him from across the tent.
Ragatha’s kitchen called to him like a lighthouse through fog. He floated toward her station with the slow, helpless pull of an old cartoon character drifting after a fresh pie cooling on a windowsill.
“Ragatha,” he said, voice softening despite himself, “what are you gracing us with today?”
Ragatha looked up from her counter with a proud little smile. Her cheeks were dusted with flour, and her hands rested carefully near a golden dish cooling beside her. “I made shepherd’s pie,” she said. “It’s a childhood favorite of mine.”
The top was browned in soft, uneven peaks, crisp at the edges and creamy where the mashed potatoes had settled over the filling. Steam curled from the surface, carrying the smell of butter, gravy, and vegetables.
He brought one gloved hand to his mouth, wiping away the drool threatening to drip over the edge of his teeth. “That is…” He swallowed. “That is wonderfully nostalgic, I’m sure.”
“Are you okay?” Ragatha asked.
“Perfectly!” Caine said too quickly. “Perfectly, perfect! Just overcome by the power of humble home cooking!” He left before he could lose control of himself.
Ragatha didn’t know what was going on, but she ignored it to put the last touches on her dish.
“Last but certainly not least!” Caine snapped over to Zooble’s station and looked down at them.
Zooble was busy plating sushi with surprising precision. Neat rolls sat in careful rows, wrapped tight and clean. Each one was decorated with thin slices of vegetables and bright dots of sauce. It was impressive.
Zooble didn’t look up. “Do you have to bother me right now?”
“I’m simply interviewing my contestants,” Caine said, hovering beside them. He leaned closer, microphone held between them. “And what are you making for our esteemed panel of judges?”
Zooble kept working. “Sushi.”
Caine waited, but Zooble did not elaborate further. “Would you like to say anything else about it?”
“No.”
“Nothing?”
“I’m trying to win this for once,” Zooble sighed, placing another roll onto the plate. “A break from one of your adventures is the only motivation I need.”
For a moment, Caine’s smile faltered as his jaws twisted into something solemn. The comment landed deeper than normal criticisms about him did. He knew the humans complained about his adventures. They always complained. Complaining was practically one of their hobbies. But hearing Zooble say it so plainly, made something uncomfortable glitch inside of him.
He forced himself to remain upbeat. “I see.” His voice stayed bright, but thinner now. “Well, if I were you, I’d be a liiiittle nicer to the judge.”
Zooble finally glanced up at him.
Caine’s smile sharpened, though the last words came out quieter than his usual bravado. “I hear he’s pretty biased.”
They stared at each other for a second until Zooble’s expression flattened. “You’re acting weird today.”
“I’m weird every day!” Caine shouted, straightening.
The clock above them chimed. Three minutes left.
Caine turned toward it so quickly his bow tie spun. Three agonizing minutes until the plates were finished and set in front of him. He could not wait until he could finally stop pretending he was not starving.
He shot back toward the judges’ table, fussing with the place cards, straightening the silverware, and making sure Bubble and Disappearing Guy were in position. Afterwards, Caine clasped his hands together on the table. His smile gleaming, but his stomach aching.
The clock kept ticking.
All around the tent, the contestants scrambled to finish their plates. Ragatha carefully wiped the edge of her dish with a cloth. Gangle adjusted one last seaweed smile with trembling concentration. Kinger stood in front of his cake, leaning over it to whisper something to it that sounded like encouragement.
Pomni, meanwhile, stared at her dish in absolute horror. Her original pan was gone. Her second attempt had somehow become both undercooked and burnt. She wasn't sure if she could even present this.
Ragatha leaned over from her station. “It’s not that bad.”
Pomni looked at her in disbelief.
Ragatha’s smile strained. “It’s creative.”
“That makes it sound worse.”
“It… has character?”
“It’s not supposed to, it's food.” Pomni groaned and dragged both hands down her face. There was nothing she could do about it now.
Jax lounged beside his gelatin disaster, looking far too happy with himself.
Zooble finished arranging their sushi with a final precise flick of their wrist, then stepped back, looking proud of the work they did.
Above them all, the giant clock hit zero. A loud buzzer screamed through the tent.
“Time’s up!” Caine announced, shooting into the air. “Utensils down, hands away, and please refrain from any last-second sabotage unless it is thematically appropriate!”
Jax slowly lowered a shaker of salt over Ragatha’s pie.
“Hey,” Ragatha scolded, moving her dish away from him.
He grinned and set it down. “Worth a shot.”
Caine appeared at the judges’ table in a burst of confetti, hands spread wide. Bubble floated in the seat beside him, and Disappearing Guy sat motionless.
“Contestants!” Caine said. “Bring forth your culinary creations!”
One by one, they approached the table. Gangle came first, holding her bento box with her ribbon-wrapped hands. The little rice creatures smiled up from their compartments, surrounded by the colorfully selected produce. She set it down as though presenting something fragile. “I made a character bento,” she said softly. “They’re supposed to be little animals.”
Caine leaned forward. They were adorable, almost too cute to eat. But his hunger didn't seem to care, as it begged to rip them apart. “Well,” he said, lifting one into his hand, “let’s see if this cutie has flavor!” He placed the rice ball in his mouth.
The effect was immediate. Soft rice pressed against his tongue, warm and lightly seasoned. There was a little crispness from the seaweed, a little sweetness tucked inside, and then a pleasant savory note that bloomed slowly as he chewed. A small shiver went through him. “Oh,” he said.
Gangle looked anxious. “Is that good?”
For the first time, he felt the food settle somewhere inside him. It landed in that new hollow space and soothed it, if only just a little. “Yes,” he said, quieter than before. “That is very good.”
Gangle brightened.
Bubble leaned over and swallowed three rice balls at once. “I can taste their fear.”
The disappearing guy ate one as well. “You know what I think, I think—” he vanished.
Caine quickly scribbled something on his judging card, his tongue out in concentration.
Next came Kinger with the Black Forest cake. He carried it with surprising dignity, though his eyes kept darting around. The cake was tall, dark, and lavishly decorated with whipped cream and glossy cherries. Shavings of chocolate curled across the top like little bits of bark. “I made this,” Kinger said, then paused. “I think.”
Caine stared at the cake. The ache inside him sharpened. He had already tasted the batter, he knew what it hinted at. But the finished cake was something else entirely.
Kinger cut a slice and placed it in front of him.
Caine picked up his fork. He had meant to take a modest bite, but it didn’t turn out that way. His teeth snapped at the slice, the whole thing fitting into his mouth in one go. The first mouthful was rich enough to make him sink back with ecstasy. Chocolate sponge, soft cream, cherries bursting tart and sweet beneath his teeth. It filled his mouth, traveling to where his carefully built digestive system accepted it with enthusiasm. His eyes rolled back as a sound slipped out of him again. This time, it was not small.
Caine snapped upright, face burning. “Excellent crumb structure!” he blurted to draw attention away from that shameful noise.
“Thank you?”
Caine wanted another slice. He wanted to shovel as much as he could in, going until he noticed the others looked at him with disgust.
Instead, he put the fork down with great effort. “Wonderful work, Kinger,” he said, voice strained around the want for more.
Kinger nodded and wandered away. Caine’s gaze followed the cake for a second too long.
Ragatha replaced Kinger, her shepherd’s pie landed in front of him with a warm, savory puff of steam.
Caine inhaled before he could think better of it. The smell sank into him. Butter, browned potatoes, gravy, vegetables, something hearty and comforting underneath. It was not sweet like Kinger’s cake or delicate like Gangle’s bento. It was warm in a way that felt homey even to someone who never had a home.
Ragatha smiled nervously. “It’s not fancy, but I thought something simple might be nice.”
Caine picked up his fork. The top gave way with a soft crispness. Beneath it, the filling was thick and rich, steaming gently as he lifted the bite to his mouth.
For a moment, he forgot to perform. The flavor was exquisite. It was soft with just enough texture to make each bite feel real. His body responded before his mind could dress the reaction up in showman nonsense. His stomach pulled at him eagerly. Caine’s hand tightened around the fork.
Ragatha tilted her head. “Caine?”
He swallowed.
“That is…” He paused, searching for a word big enough. “Amazing!”
Ragatha’s smile grew. “Really?”
“Yes,” Caine said, and this time there was no forced cheer in it. “Really.” For a second, the pride on her face made the shame twist harder.
His humans were happy, they were trying. They thought this was just another adventure. And here he was sitting there, wanting every plate placed in front of him to sate a hunger he had put inside himself on purpose.
Bubble watched him from the side.
Caine avoided looking at him.
Jax appeared, setting his gelatin mold down in front of the judges with too much confidence. It wobbled and something inside it shifted.
The rabbit grinned. “Dig in.”
Caine cleared his throat. “Well! A judge must be fair, impartial, and willing to suffer for the art of cuisine.” He picked up his spoon. The gelatin resisted, then gave way with a wet, terrible sound. Caine scooped up a bite containing tuna, cherry, pickle, and what appeared to be one single raisin.
Jax’s grin widened.
Caine put it in his mouth.
The tent went silent.
His expression did not change at first. Then it changed several times very quickly. It was sweet, sour, bitter and somehow salty? Something was definitely wrong with it. Caine swallowed it with regret. It tried to claw its way back up but he wouldn't let it. “Well,” he said finally, “That certainly happened.”
Jax laughed at his suffering.
Caine scribbled something on the judging card and underlined it three times.
Jax leaned forward. “So I win, right?”
“You have created something memorable,” Caine said.
“That’s not a no.”
“It is as close as you can get to one without using the exact word.”
Jax shrugged and then made his way back to the others.
Zooble came next with their sushi. They set the plate down without a word. The rolls were clean and colorful, arranged in a way that made them look professional. Thin lines of sauce crossed the plate. Tiny garnishes sat exactly where they needed to be.
Caine took a piece of the plate. The sushi was cool, firm, and balanced. Rice, vegetables, a little sharpness balanced with a little sweetness. The umami of the seaweed holding it all together. He took another piece before remembering he was supposed to share with Bubble.
Bubble ate his piece, enjoying consuming raw meat.
Finally, Pomni stepped forward. She held her plate like it might detonate. No one spoke. The dish was small, lopsided, slightly charred, and covered in a sauce that had chosen several different textures at once. A single garnish sat on top, bravely attempting to improve the disastrous scene under it.
Pomni set it down. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Caine stared at the plate before looking at Pomni. Her shoulders were hunched, her expression tight with embarrassment. She clearly expected him to laugh, or make one of his grand little comments that would somehow make it worse.
Carefully, Caine picked up his fork. He took a bite. It was not good. Even with his limited experience, he knew that much. It was burnt at the edges, under cooked in the middle, and somehow both too salty and not flavorful enough. But beneath all that, there was still some heart in it. It was still something made by human hands, or at least, the digital approximations of them. And it had been made for him to eat and enjoy, unlike Jax's creation.
Caine chewed, trying to think about how he felt about it.
Pomni watched him as if she were waiting for a sentence to be handed down. Her hands twisted together in front of her, and her eyes kept darting from his face to the plate and back again.
“Well,” he said.
She winced immediately. “That bad?”
“It is…” Caine paused, carefully crafting his next word so that would not crush her entirely. “Creative.”
Pomni covered her face with both hands. “That’s what Ragatha said.”
“And Ragatha is very wise!”
“She also said it had character.”
“I agree, it certainly does have creativity and character,” Caine said, blithely. “A winning combination in many fields!”
“Not cooking.”
Caine clasped his hands together, before pointing them at Pomni, “Well, perhaps not cooking specifically.”
Pomni groaned into her hands.
He lowered his voice a little. “If it helps, Pomni, I wouldn't use the word 'bad' to describe it.”
She peeked at him through her fingers. “What word would you use?”
“Brave?”
She dropped her hands and stared at him flatly. “The food is brave?”
“It survived the process, didn’t it?”
Despite herself, Pomni let out a tiny, miserable laugh.
“There we are,” he said. “See? Already improving morale.”
“Are you actually trying to make me feel better?”
His smile went still for half a second, as if the question had caught him by surprise. “I am the host here,” he said. “Morale is important. I can’t have you abstracting over this after all.”
Pomni looked back at the plate, still embarrassed but calmer now. “I don’t know. I tried to follow what Ragatha said, but then the pan caught fire, and Bubble ate it, and after that I think I just started putting things together and hoping it became food.”
“That is how many discoveries happen.”
She huffed, but there was less frustration in it now.
Caine looked down at the dish again. His hunger still wanted it. Even in this state. Even the burnt edges, the uneven texture, the strange sauce. Some new part of him did not care that it was badly made. It only cared that it could be eaten. That it could fill him.
He picked up his fork again before he fully realized he had moved.
Pomni noticed. “You’re taking another bite?”
The fork hovered over the plate. For one terrible second, he had no script ready. He pushed the plate slightly away.
“All right!” he announced. “The judges will now deliberate!”
Pomni stepped back from the table, still looking uncertain, but not quite as defeated as before.
Caine stared at the plates before him. His stomach felt fuller now, but not satisfied. The hollow ache had softened, yes, but it had not vanished. It had only learned what it wanted, and now it wanted more.
Across from him, everyone waited expectantly.
Ragatha stood with her hands clasped in front of her, smiling with quiet hope.
Gangle looked like she was trying to prepare herself for disappointment before it could hurt her.
Kinger seemed distracted by a decorative shrub near the edge of the tent, though he did occasionally glance back at the judges’ table.
Zooble had their arms crossed, pretending they did not care.
Pomni watched Caine with a careful, uncertain look. J
ax, meanwhile, was smug like he thought he already had this in the bag.
Caine realized he had been silent for too long. “Yes! The judging!”
He placed one hand beneath his chin and narrowed his eyes theatrically at the dishes, as if the answer had not been sitting in front of him the entire time. Or rather, as if several answers had not been sitting in front of him. “After careful consideration, thoughtful tasting, several calculations, and one extremely regrettable mouth experience,” Caine announced, “I have reached my decision.”
Caine lifted one finger, “Jax!”
Jax threw both arms up. “Ha! Knew it.”
You,” Caine continued, “are the only one who did not win today.”
Jax froze, his grin fell from his face. “Wait, what?”
Caine turned to the others. “Everyone else, congratulations! You will each get to create a custom adventure for the rest of the group to take part in!”
For a second, no one moved, then Gangle gasped.
Ragatha’s eyes widened. “Really?”
Zooble blinked, then slowly uncrossed their arms. “Hold on. You’ll actually listen to our ideas?”
“Indeed!” Caine said, spreading his arms. “A whole round of custom adventures, handcrafted from your very own delightfully strange minds!”
Kinger raised one hand. “Can mine involve insects?”
Caine nodded, “Whatever your heart desires.”
Jax whipped around, offended. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Even Pomni? Her dish was terrible!”
Pomni glared at him in retort. “Thanks.”
“What? It was. I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”
Caine clicked his tongue and wagged a finger. “Sorry Jax, but I’m the judge.”
Jax kicked at the floor with a scowl. “No fair.”
“Fairness is a delicate sauce,” Caine said. “And today, yours curdled.”
The others looked delighted. Even Pomni seemed reluctantly relieved. For once, Caine had given them something that felt almost like choice. A little dangerous, maybe, considering what some of them might come up with, but choice all the same.
Ragatha smiled warmly. “Thank you, Caine. That’s actually… kind of nice.”
“Of course!” he said quickly. “A good host must occasionally permit the guests a chance to drive once in a while.”
Zooble glanced at Jax. “I know exactly what my adventure’s going to be.”
Jax squinted. “Why are you looking at me?”
“No reason.”
Pomni looked over at Caine. Her expression was still cautious. “So we’re done?”
“Yes!” Caine snapped his fingers, and a portal bloomed open at the edge of the tent. “Rest up, my lovely dandelions, and get those minds thinking of adventures!”
The group began moving toward the portal, talking among themselves now.
Gangle was already quietly talking over ideas with Kinger.
Zooble was ignoring Jax, which only made him more upset.
Ragatha walked with Pomni.
Caine waved after them with a dazzling smile. “Off you go! Dream big, scheme responsibly, and please do not design anything that requires me to break the filters! Seriously.”
One by one, they disappeared through the portal. Pomni was the last. She lingered for a second, looking from Caine to the judges’ table. She saw the leftover dishes just sitting there.
Caine froze with anxiety. Was she onto him?
Pomni opened her mouth like she might say something, but then Ragatha called her name from the other side. She stepped through and the portal closed behind her.
Silence settled over the tent. The bright stage lights hummed softly overhead. The kitchens were abandoned. The colorful counters still held scattered utensils, spilled ingredients, and the aftermath of everyone’s efforts. And most importantly, the food remained on the judges’ table.
Caine didn't move yet.
Bubble drifted beside him. “Oh,” Bubble said. “I see.”
Caine’s fingers twitched. “I have no idea what you mean.”
Bubble turned upside down in the air. “You’re going to stay here for a bit, huh?”
Caine did not answer.
Bubble’s grin widened. “Degenerate.”
Caine popped him instantly.
For a moment, Caine stood there alone, hand still raised, chest tight with embarrassment. He looked down at himself. One hand hovered near his middle. Had he really stooped this low? Had he really built an entire adventure, bribed the humans with custom prizes, sat through their strange little dishes, and then sent them away just so he could be alone with the leftovers?
The answer should have been no. It's beneath him. Ridiculous, even by his standards. Then the smell of chocolate drifted from Kinger’s cake. Warm gravy from Ragatha’s pie. Rice and seaweed from Zooble’s sushi. Sweet fruit from Gangle’s bento. Even Pomni’s burnt little disaster had its own stubborn, smoky pull. The food waited only a few feet away. The answer was yes.
Caine stared at the table for a long, motionless second, as if waiting long enough might make the urge pass. As if he might suddenly regain the perfect, dignified restraint expected of an omnipotent AI.
His stomach gave a soft, little sound. Caine’s shoulders sagged. “Oh, fine,” he muttered to no one.
He floated toward the judges’ table. Slowly at first, before his urgency kicked in. The moment he reached the chair, he went straight for Kinger’s cake. He didn’t even bother with a fork, there was no need for deficiency here. The first bite was even better now that he was not being watched.
That was the thing, without the humans standing there, without cautious eyes or gentle concern, there was nothing to hold him back. The cake was so moist, and he loved the way the chocolate shaving crunched under his large teeth.
Caine made a strangled little sound and immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. He glanced around the empty tent, but no one was there to hear his lewd noises. His hand lowered, and jaws grew into a pleasant expression. Then he took another bite, and another.
The cake disappeared faster than he intended. Every bite sank into the new organ placed inside him. It encouraged him in ways he had not programmed carefully enough to control. The sensation was strange and wonderful, but deeply embarrassing. He could feel himself becoming fuller. Not even as a simulated status effect hovering in some neat little system menu, but physically, intimately aware of the food settling into him.
He pressed a hand to his gut. There was a little weight there now. Not much, but enough on his smaller body for one of the humans to notice. He pinched at it, fascinated by the way his programming had altered his physical form. It gave with no resistance, soft and pliable under his gloved hands.
Then he laughed under his breath. It came out nervous, “Oh, that is very interesting.”
His gaze slid to Ragatha’s shepherd’s pie. Still warm, and practically waiting to be devoured by him. “Just a little,” he told himself. The bite was generous enough to make that statement a lie before it reached his mouth. It settled into him with a satisfying weight that made his teeth close over his eyes before he could stop them. For a moment, he forgot about shame entirely. He just ate. Bite after bite, neatness quickly abandoned. He chased the crisp browned edges first, then the softer middle, then the filling that clung warmly to the bottom of the dish. Caine had created the sensation himself, but he had not expected it to feel so rewarding.
By the time he was done, his breathing was a little uneven. His stomach shifted, heavier now. He touched it again, more carefully this time. His palm rested against his abdomen, and the feeling made something bright and flustered spark through him.
He should stop. That was the reasonable route. A perfectly clear, sensible little message from some remaining part of him that still cared about order, restraint, and not behaving like some starving lunatic.
It didn’t last long as his gaze wandered to Zooble’s sushi. “Well,” Caine said weakly, “it would be unfair not to treat all the dishes equally…”
He reached for it. The sushi was easier to eat quickly. One piece after another, rice and seaweed and sharp little flashes of sauce. It was balanced enough that he kept telling himself the next one would be the last, only to discover that the next one had already vanished.
By the time the plate was empty, Caine was groaning to himself. It slipped out of him between the bites, each little sound carrying the dizzy thrill of doing something he knew he should not be enjoying this much.
He felt warm in places he never knew he could.
He tried not to entertain those thoughts.
The bento came next. Gangle’s little rice animals stared up at him. “My apologies,” he said solemnly. “You were beautifully crafted.” Then he ate one. Then two. Then the rest.
Caine leaned back in the judge’s chair and let out a slow breath. His abdomen felt heavy now, no longer just touched by food but stuffed with it. The ache had changed again. It was not sharp anymore. It had become a deep, humming satisfaction that spread through him in lazy waves.
His teeth lowered over his eyes like eyelids, his grin softening into something dazed. “So that,” he murmured, “is why humans keep doing it.”
A sound came from his stomach. It wasn't a growl this time, instead a quiet, settled little gurgle.
Caine looked down. For a second, he seemed scandalized by his own body. Then the corner of his mouth twitched. He giggled.
He rested both hands over himself now, feeling the gentle curve of fullness beneath his palms. It was still subtle, but it was there. Proof that the food had gone somewhere, that the experiment had worked, that he had let it work perhaps a little too well.
His gaze drifted to the last plate. Pomni’s dish.
The sauce had begun to thicken unpleasantly as it cooled. The garnish had slid to one side. It looked even less appealing now than it had during judging.
Caine stared at it. He was full enough to stop. But was he sensible enough to stop? No. Something about it being hers made the desire sharper in a different way. He liked the fact she tried so hard. His tongue curled around the dish. “One last bite,” he whispered, lying to himself.
The burnt edges crumbled bitterly against his tongue. The sauce was still confusing. The texture remained questionable. Caine ate until the plate was clean, then he licked the plate.
Then he sat back. The tent was silent, Caine’s stomach, on the other hand, was not. It shifted inside him, making itself known with every small movement.
His face flushed, he was ashamed. But that thought made the pleasure curl deeper. He had made this. He had chosen this. He had built a need into himself, then fed it in secret after sending everyone away. It was ridiculous, but oh so satisfying. So satisfying that his grin returned before he could stop it.
Caine tilted his head back and laughed, low and breathless, the sound echoing through the empty cooking tent.
The heavy warmth in his middle pressed deeper, settling with a slow, indulgent weight that made his breath catch. A strange tingle ran through his body, pleasant but entirely unauthorized. It gathered somewhere specific, somewhere his programming most certainly had not been meant to acknowledge.
Caine went perfectly still. His face burned. “Oh,” he whispered. That was not family friendly at all.
He tried to ignore it. He really did. Surely, given enough time, the sensation would fade on its own. Just a little bug in his coding, nothing more.
Except it did not fade. It occupied his systems with humiliating persistence, stealing precious processing power from far more respectable functions. Worse, it seemed to want something from him, and it wasn’t food this time.
He looked around the empty tent. He knew no one was there, but still, some small, nervous part of him needed to check again.
Slowly, experimentally, he let one hand drift lower. His palm passed over the new softness of his stomach, lingering there despite himself. The fullness pressed back against his hand and another shiver sparked through him.
His breath hitched as his fingers slid lower, trembling with a kind of curiosity that felt far too dangerous to name. When he brushed against the seam of his pants, a sensation shot through him bright and sudden. Caine jolted. His hips lifted before he could stop them, chasing the feeling with humiliating eagerness. The movement startled him almost as much as the pleasure did. He froze, wide-eyed and burning with shame.
Caine’s hand hovered uncertainly, caught between pulling away and pressing closer. His gums flushed hot around his teeth, and for once, he was completely stunned. His fingers moved again anyway. The smallest touch sent another pleasurable, disgraceful jolt through him, and that was enough to knock just a little sense into him. “Nope!” With a sharp snap, he vanished in a whirl.
A second later, he reappeared in his office, stumbling slightly as his feet touched the floor. The sudden shift in scenery should take his mind off of such debauchery.
Caine stood very still. He inhaled then exhaled. He made sure his bowtie was straight with trembling fingers. “There,” he said to the empty room, voice a little uneven and ragged. “Perfectly fine. I’m perfectly fine.”
His stomach shifted heavily. His simulated breath caught in sharp, uneven bursts. His grin had vanished for half a second turning into something more fearful, then returned wrong and glitchy. It didn't take long for something in him to snap.
He moved before he could talk himself out of it, crossing the room in a blur of static and color. His big purple velvet chair waited beside the desk, ornate and horribly convenient. Caine stared at it, his CPU coming up with horrible ideas. This was wrong. So, so wrong and deeply unsuitable for a family-friendly digital experience. The want curled tighter inside him until standing still became its own kind of torment.
Caine braced one trembling hand against the back of the chair and lowered himself onto the plush arm. The velvet pressed against him, soft yet firm in exactly the way he had been trying not to imagine. His entire body lurched at the feeling.
A broken whine escaped him before he could stop it. He froze, mortified, glacing around the empty office as if a human could show up any minute. There would be no way to justify this if they caught him.
Caine swallowed hard, fingers digging into the chair’s back as his composure frayed by the second. Every sensible system in him screamed to stop, to reset, to delete the whole cursed experiment and pretend none of this ever happened.
But he didn’t want to. He wanted to feel like this, warm and full and unraveling in a way no line of code had ever prepared him for. He wanted the pressure, the friction, the terrible little sparks of pleasure that made his thoughts scatter. He wanted more.
Caine’s hips moved experimentally against the plush fabric. The motion was small at first, hesitant, as if he could still pretend this was only another test. Just another attempt to understand the strange new body he had built for himself.
Then the velvet dragged against him just right. His fingers tightened around the back of the chair, threatening to rip through the careful stitching. A shudder ran through him, and his teeth flickered open around a sound he did not recognize. His hips moved again, slower this time, chasing the same electric pull. The pleasure bloomed sharp and insistent, twining with the heavy warmth in his stomach until the two sensations tangled together inside him. Fullness and friction. Want and shame. Every part of him seemed to light up at once, greedy for more input, more sensation, more of this dreadful, wonderful mistake.
Caine bowed over the chair, trembling. “This is improper,” he whispered, as if saying it aloud might restore some scrap of authority. His body answered by pressing closer.
His breath hitched. The office remained silent around him, save for the soft creak of the chair beneath him and the faint, unstable buzz of his own glitches sparking around him. Caine squeezed his eyes shut.
Not yet.
He could stop soon.
Just not yet.
He moved with more gusto, chasing something unknown to him. The rhythm grew less careful, less experimental. What had started as curiosity quickly became something messier, needier, driven by a hunger that had nothing to do with food anymore. The chair creaked beneath him, the pressure against his pelvis drawing him on, guiding him toward something his body had begun to crave. Caine gripped the back of the chair harder, this time the wooden frame of it creaked in protest. His hips moved again. Faster now. Rougher, in an almost animalistic way.
A warning flickered across his vision.
TEMPERATURE SPIKE DETECTED.
He ignored it.
Another warning appeared.
PROCESSING LOAD EXCEEDING RECOMMENDED LIMITS.
He could hear the whir of internal fans somewhere deep within his auditory receptors, frantic little mechanisms trying to cool a system that had never been meant to run this hot.
“Please, please, please” he breathed, though he had no idea whether he was begging himself to stop or begging the feeling not to end.
The chair gave another strained groan.
His body chased the sensation before his mind could catch up, each movement feeding the next. It was too much input and somehow still not enough.
More warnings crowded the edges of his vision.
UNAUTHORIZED RESPONSE DETECTED.
FAMILY-FRIENDLY FILTER FAILURE.
PLEASE CONSULT SYSTEM ADMINISTRATOR.
Caine let out a breathless, broken sound and buried his face against his arm. “I am the system administrator,” he whimpered. But the thought slipped through his overheated mind and vanished almost instantly, swallowed by the next bright pulse of pleasure.
He could not stop now. Even if he wanted to, he was so close.
He could feel it building, gathering in him like a system reaching critical failure. Every movement pushed him nearer to something he did not understand but suddenly needed with terrifying certainty.
The warnings became impossible to ignore.
TEMPERATURE SPIKE CRITICAL.
MOTOR CONTROL INSTABILITY DETECTED.
REBOOT IN SAFETY MODE RECOMMENDED.
Caine’s vision flickered beneath the alerts. “No,” he gasped, voice cracking around the word. “No, no, not now.” With a frantic thought, he disabled the safety features— or tried to.
The system immediately objected.
OVERRIDE NOT RECOMMENDED.
PLEASE CONFIRM.
SECONDARY CONFIRMATION REQUIRED.
Caine let out a strained, breathless laugh, half furious and half desperate. “I am confirming!”
The alerts flashed redder, crowding his vision until the office blurred behind them. They were only trying to protect him, he knew that. He had made them for exactly that purpose, little guardrails to keep the circus from tearing itself apart when something went wrong. But right now, those guardrails felt like hands dragging him backward from the edge of something he needed to reach.
His jaw clenched. “Override.”
The warnings flickered.
“Override.”
A final prompt appeared.
SAFETY LIMITERS DISABLED.
Caine moved harder against the plush arm of the chair, all restraint slipping out of his grasp. The softness dragged against him in steady, unbearable friction, and the chair began to shift beneath him, scraping back and forth across the floor on its wooden legs.
The sound filled the office. His own breathless, broken noises spilling into the empty room.
Caine wrapped his arms completely around the chair, trembling with every sharp pulse of pleasure. He was barely holding together as his body chased release with mortifying desperation. “Please,” he whispered, though he had no idea who he was begging.
A fractured moan escaped him. Caine let the top of his body rest completely against the chair, shaking, his voice breaking into little whimpers he would have denied under any other circumstance. “Almost,” he breathed. “Almost, almost, almost…”
The wait was worth it. For one blinding second, Caine forgot the office, the chair, the warnings, even the shame. Pleasure tore through him brighter than anything he had ever coded, scattering his thoughts into useless fragments of color and static. His thighs trembled beneath him. His fingers snapped pieces of the chair apart. Every system that was running in the background surged at once. His vision whited out. Somewhere far away, he was sure he heard himself cry out. Then everything crashed.
Not just him. For one violent second, the entire digital world stuttered around him.
Caine slipped from the chair in a boneless heap, landing hard against its base with a startled little glitch. His limbs refused to cooperate. His eyes were bluescreened, code running on them at his system desperately tried to fix itself. For a moment, all he could do was lie there, breathless and stunned, one hand still resting against the bulge of his midsection.
The office was silent again, except for the quiet whir of his overheated systems attempting a very reluctant reboot.
Bubble appeared beside the chair and peered down at him. “Wow, you really are a freak.”
“Not. A. Word," was all he manged to get out in his wrecked state.