Chapter Text
-The Before-
It felt like the lift was descending endlessly into darkness.
Wheatley had been in some very tall buildings before, maybe once or twice on trips into London, though the city was certainly not known for them. He had never however been this far underground. An old salt mine, the brochure had said, repurposed into a science facility by an entrepreneur named Cave Johnson. Well, he supposed weirder things had happened. Like blowing the last of his savings on a plane ticket to a foreign country in hopes that he could get a job here. He must be absolutely mad. Oh, how his mum would have chastised him for it, had she still been alive. In fact, the brochure full of promising information about the company had come in the mail only a few days after her death.
He had gotten all of the affairs in order for the burial and left England as soon as it ended. It kept him from thinking about her being gone, and he didn’t have the money to sit around for too long before things got very dire for him. Bristol could get a bit chilly in the winter, and he didn’t care to spend it outside on the streets.
So instead he’d spend it on a hunch. He had a terrible track record with keeping jobs, but this Aperture Laboratories in Michigan claimed to be hiring regardless of job history, education or background. The pay was three times anything he’d ever earned before and it came with lodging as a bonus. Not that Wheatley was thrilled about living underground, but it was better than not having anywhere at all.
Overall, if it wasn’t too good to be true, it sounded bloody brilliant!
The only notable, bizarre requirement was having a lack of familial bonds. Peculiar...maybe a little invasive, but apparently they really wanted you to live the job, with nothing holding you back. Could be an American thing? Wheatley didn’t know, but with his mum gone, bless her, he didn’t have any problems with it. Might do him good to bury himself in some work. At least for a year or two until he had some savings.
After what felt like an eternity of his ears popping uncomfortably, the elevator comes to a stop and the glass doors slide open. It was a little reception room. White walls, tile floor, little metal waiting chairs. It was chilly and sterile. Not the most welcoming first sight, but Wheatley wouldn’t let himself be discouraged yet.
“Wheatley Pendleton?”
Wheatley quickly fumbles with his luggage to exit the lift as he hears his name, looking up to see a gray haired women reading off of a clipboard in front of him. She was older, maybe in her fifties with some smart business attire and short, clicky-sounding black high heels. He suddenly felt a little underdressed in a pair of gray slacks with a matching vest overtop a white button up with a simple blue tie. It was all he owned that was worthy of an interview. He couldn’t afford a sport coat and he had apparently forgotten to unroll his shirt sleeves off of his elbows too. He couldn’t do it now without drawing attention to it. He had to make it look intentional at this point. Yes, intentional dishevelment. That was a Wheatley idea if he’d ever heard one. His mum’s old code for a bad idea, back in the day.
”Yes! Yes, that’s me! Er, Wheatley. I am Wheatley Pendleton.”
He fumbles with his bags to get a free hand to shake hers, almost dropping all of them as he struggles to loose one. Rather than reaching for his hand, the woman instead picks up two of his bags just as they slip from his grip.
”Aw, y-you don’t have to do that-“ Wheatley starts to protest but he cuts himself off as he watches her. She approaches the wall, which seemed solid enough, but a panel pulls back at her approach to reveal a clear glass pipe behind it. A hatch in the pipe opens and she inserts his bags, letting them get sucked up into the air, just like those little capsule-thingies at the bank drive through that Wheatley would use to deposit his rare paychecks back in Bristol.
”Bloody hell!” He remarks as he runs over. “Now where did all that get sent off to?”
The woman snickers at his ignorance and frees his hands of his remaining bags, inserting them into the gusting winds of the pipe as well.
”Your room. You’ll find them there tonight.”
”My wha-?” Wheatley suddenly realized he must be on the other side of a very bad misunderstanding. He was here to interview today. Rushed himself straight over from the airport.
If he didn’t get the job, shouldn’t he be getting kicked straight to the curb? Ohhh, this was going to be dreadfully awkward to sort out! What if this whole thing had been a mix up from the start? When they told him to come, maybe they had mistaken him for some kind of professional bloke with degrees and sleeves that never rolled and stayed stiff and starched at his wrists. And instead they got him! No wonder this had been too good to be true!
”Mr. Pendleton, you have a room because you’ll most assuredly be accepted as a team member today. We’re aware of your work history. Our staff levels are down, so the interview today is really more of a formality. We’ll test your aptitude to decide what you’re best suited for, and have you sign the necessary nondisclosure documents and then you’ll be free to retire to your room to sleep off your jet lag.”
”Oh...” Wheatley sighs with relief. There he was, making a big deal out of nothing again. It was good news! He liked good news. No need to stress it. “Well alright then.”
”You can call me Miss Baskerville. I’m in charge of seeing to new hires. Follow me.” She turns and heads down a hall, leaving him little chance to hesitate.
He glances back once at the lift and then hurries to catch up. He had a weird feeling, right in his gut about all this. First day jitters, probably.
”So, how come your employment is down?” He chats conversationally. Talking was a skill of Wheatley’s, and he hated silences. “Your brochure made everything out to be rather, well, promising and such with the good pay and all.”
Ugh, there you go Wheatley! You’re not supposed to praise the pay like that before you negotiate your wages! It’s like screaming out, I’m broke and I’ll work for a handful of quids! Er, nickels or something. States and all.
Despite his fears, Miss Baskerville makes no open acknowledgement that she’s read between any lines, and simply answers the question.
”I think most employees struggle to keep up with the hours. We expect to see a full, wholehearted dedication to science from our staff here at Aperture.”
“Science?” Wheatley had never been very good at science back in school, before he dropped out to marginally help the family income along. Physics was all mind boggling and his chemistry teacher considered him to be quite a fire hazard so that was a bust too. And biology? Ohhh don’t get him started! How could he be expected to slice into a bunch of smelly frogs and pick around at their guts until he knew what made them tick? Did that not come across as horrendously barbaric to anyone else?
Of course the brochure was clear about what Aperture was, but considering that university degrees were listed as optional in the hiring requirements he had just thought that maybe he could get by doing a job that was less...science-y.
He clears his throat in an attempt to compose himself. Figure it out later. Don’t sound bad at science in front of the science woman.
”Er, well yes! Science! Of course, science. I mean, science...it’s just...so wonderful! Aperture Laboratories! A science lab! Been my dream of course, since I was just a young lad. To work in a science lab that is. You know...doing science and...stuff...”
Miss Baskerville lets him ramble until he’s petered out.
”We also have a variety of positions available that are...less scientific in nature. Positions for those who are more skilled in...other areas.”
Oh, thank God.
She stops and turns to him, looking him up and down in a way Wheatley was very used to at other jobs. He was pretty sure it was a mix of being indifferent and unimpressed.
“Maybe human resources?”
Wheatley was very quickly starting to realize that working in HR for a company with a bigger staff of robots than people, was a bizarre job indeed.
Apparently they were working on some sentience projects? Artificial intelligence. Big deal apparently. It was all listed in the papers he signed. Talking about it was strictly prohibited. It doesn’t leave the lab.
The one big thing they couldn’t use a robot for however was as a test subject. Or not yet anyway. Didn’t get accurate results according to the big wigs in the lab coats. That job was left all to the humans.
And now the humans were left to Wheatley.
Well, test subjects 1450-1500 anyway. Fifty whole humans. It made Wheatley feel both nervous and swell with pride to have that many people coming to him if they had a problem with anything. Blimey, it was going to take forever just to introduce himself to all of them! He’d get to it though. Starting tomorrow, Aperture Laboratories was counting on him. Him! Wheatley! He wasn’t going to let any of them down, no sir, not this time. They had given him a chance to start over, and he was going to run with it!
Straight into one of the test subjects he was meant to be looking after.
He was looking for his room, exhausted from jet lag and very lost with a map he wasn’t sure was turned the right way anyway, when he smacked head first into her, hard enough to send them both clanging down onto the metal catwalk.
”Aw, I’m sorry, luv. Totally my fault!”
Head aching, he had a mind to scramble up and offer her a hand, in an attempt to salvage his first impression, but she beat him to it. He looks up at her, her hand extended to him, but not looking at him. Her expression was absolutely unreadable.
”Oh, uh, thank you! Yes! Appreciate that. Especially since it was...my fault...and all that.”
He takes her hand up (blimey she was strong!) and she helps him to his feet easily.
Wheatley was sure he had something else to say. He always did. Now, standing in front of her, he was tongue tied.
She had tan skin and dark hair in a ponytail, a stark contrast to his paleness and short blond locks, and the most interesting shade of grey eyes, maybe a tad duller than his blue behind his glasses.
She was wearing an orange test jump suit.
“Oh!” Wheatley realizes. “You’re a test subject, aren’t you?”
With him properly righted on his feet, she turns and heads away without a word.
”Something I said?” Wheatley runs a hand through his hair nervously. This wasn’t a good start.
”I’m in charge of HR for those! Human resources that is. First day, bundle of nerves and everythin’. Dreadfully lost now though.”
At that she stops, slowly turning around to look at him finally, maybe a bit hesitantly.
Wheatley would take that as a win. “You wouldn’t happen to, uh, know the way to the employee quarters, would you?”
She pauses a moment in which Wheatley fidgets awkwardly before she nods.
And then walks away.
“Oh! You’re gonna...yes, well! I’ll follow you then!” Wheatley swallows, hoping he was correctly interpreting that as her agreeing to show him the way and that this wasn’t about to become a bizarre stalking case and she really just wanted to get away from him. He didn’t want to be that guy.
”You don’t talk much do you?” He starts to ramble to fill the space as he walks beside her. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Me? I probably do it too much. Used to annoy allll my mates back in Bristol! Ha!”
She was stoic as she walked, and Wheatley wasn’t even sure she was listening.
Ah, well.
”They’d say the most dreadful things about it! Wheatley, we’ve heard that story! Wheatley, you’re giving me a headache! Wheatley, how did you get into my house? Name’s Wheatley by the way, what’s yours?”
He doesn’t get an answer, but he could have sworn she cracked a smile.
”Ah! So it’s a guessing game then! I should warn you, I’m rather good at those! First rate, top notch! You’re up against a master, you’d better watch out! So lets see...lets see here...”
He purses his lips as he looks her over. My, they were winding through the halls quickly. He had either been very far off from his target when he bumped into her, or she wasn’t taking him where he needed to go at all.
”You look like a...a...a Vanessa! What do you say? Did I get it?”
No answer. Definitely a smile.
”No...no, alright then. Think Wheatley, think. How about...maybe a Mildred!”
She wrinkles her nose at that one. Sharp shake of the head.
Wheatley laughs, proud to have gotten a reaction out of her. “Ah, there we go! Strong no! Firm answer! Was my nan’s name though, don’t bash it. Well, you have a point. You are much prettier than my nan, I’ll concede that one.” He continues to talk, fully carrying the conversation on his own.
He places a finger contemplatively to his chin as he thinks for a moment before looking at her again.
”Alright, I’m going to let you in on a little secret here. I lied. I’m a complete liar. I always do a bung job at guessing things, despite how hard that obviously is to believe. So how about, knowing that little tidbit of info now, you give me a slight hint? Just a slight one. Teeny little thing.”
The test subject stops and Wheatley is forced to stop too. He was before a door now. Employee housing.
”Oh, hey, we made it! Well would you look at that!”
He turns back to his partner, but she was already heading off, back the way they came.
”Hey wait! Your name! I never got it!” He protests, but she won’t turn back.
Trying to think quick before she’s completely gone, Wheatley squints hard at the back of her orange jumpsuit. There were numbers on it. He pulls his tablet from his pocket - a little palm sized screen for accessing databases in the lab - and punches in the number he sees.
1498.
Chell.
”Chell!” He calls out victoriously. She turns around in surprise.
”This is great news! You’re in my division! I’ll get to see you again!”
And with that she cracks a smile and laughs. A real one, not some pity laugh to shut him up. It lasts only a second before she’s gone, rounding a corner and out of sight.
Wheatley pushes through the employee door to search for his room, a wide smile filling his face.
He couldn’t wait to see her again.