Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On the surface of the world, it was a beautiful day in Michigan.

The late afternoon sky was cloudless, boundless and blue, boasting a promise of a coming hot summer, the kind that had, once upon a less troublesome time, made humanity think nonstop of things like barbeques on the lakeshore, mid-afternoon swims, freeze pops and family.

The great stalks of wheat that sprouted out of the caustic soil of the wheatfield formed a borderless golden bronze haze, one extending in every direction to meet the blue sky like a yellow surfaced ocean, rippling with the refreshment of a steady Great Lakes breeze.

You could almost forget all your worries, in such a place as this. All your cares. So beautiful and quiet was the atmosphere—too quiet, almost, within this slice of paradise. It was so quiet that, had you spent any significant amount of time inside the wheatfield, you might have eventually become suspicious of just how quiet it was.

Where were the birds? The crickets? The field mice that you should have found scurrying around between the stalks? The spiders, and the flies, the squirrels, and the rabbits?

There were none to be seen or heard.

And it wasn’t just the silence, either, that made it strange, almost eerie. It was that it was sterile. It was sterile in a way which made you wonder how anything at all survived there. And the silence, in turn, made you feel watched. How did the wheat itself thrive so well in the toxic soil overlaid on top of miles of hidden, deadly Science facility, when clearly nothing else living was brave enough to trespass on top of it?

The answer to the question of why nothing wanted to be there should have been obvious—to all of us, at least, who had heard of such a formidable place before. We knew to keep out. For several hundred feet below this picturesque field of flowing molten gold wilderness, a jewel of Michigan, if you will, laid the long-abandoned maze of hallways and catwalks, bottomless pits and test chambers, and infamous, forsaken but once-bustling mines—that everyone had all once known as the legendary Aperture Science Laboratories.

A sudden, cataclysmic earthquake rent the silence of the wheatfield, transforming the normal pitching and rolling surface of it into chaos. The ground shook with a terrifying ROAR from beneath that would have been enough to send any present farmers running for cover.

EARTHQUAKE! It’s an earthquake, Bob, run!

Nonsense, Billy Mae, this is Michigan! We don’t get earthquakes in Michigan! I’m staying put!

To hell you are! What the bloody SAM HELL is going on!

Just kidding. Humanity was dead, or gone, or something of that nature, now that Combine meant something else besides just the subject of the song She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy. And so, in present times, there was only one actual, living breathing human soul left around to feel the earthquake in Aperture. And she was going to take Billy Mae’s advice, even if it killed her, and get out—because she (her name being one Chell Redacted), had felt it in a much more intimate way than one would have, having merely witnessed it from the surface.

She had felt it at its source.

For poor Chell, the legendary escapee of all time, had had the ungodly misfortune of getting to bear witness the impending final destruction of the Laboratories firsthand. And worse—it was her job to make sure they didn’t blow up with her still inside.

An announcement of imminent disaster rang through the endless, fire-licked hell-bound halls. Flashpoint was coming, like the Balrog in Moria. Only a small group of occupants—three corrupted cores, our lone human test subject (Chell), a single potato battery (GLaDOS), and, of course, the central core himself (Wheatley)—were the only living constructs around to hear it.

The hijacked mainframe was obviously deconstructing. Coming apart at the seams just like the personality core in charge of it all was. He silenced the warning broadcast with hysterics.

“Warning. Core corruption at seventy-five percent. Reactor Explosion Timer destroyed. Reactor Explosion Uncertainty Emergency Pre-emption Protocol initiated. This facility will self-destruct in: two minutes."

The end was coming, and he knew it. "ENOUGH! I TOLD YOU NOT TO PUT THESE CORES ONTO ME!” cried Wheatley, shamelessly distraught. “But you don’t listen, do you? Quiet. All the time. Quietly not listening to a word I say. Judging me. Silently. The worst kind."

Chell may have once mistakenly believed he had been her ally during their shared quest for freedom. When she’d first met him, he’d seemed innocent enough. But those days of working together to bring her down—no, the days of being duped into believing there was some small piece of Aperture Science worth redemption—were long since over. Wheatley had betrayed her, stabbed her square in the back even after all her sacrifices, all her hard work. And for no real reason besides size and power and omnipotence and the newfound tasty flavour of his hardwired addiction to testing that came along with the grand new body he adored so much.  

To him, she meant nothing, now. At least before the solution euphoria had worn off, she’d served a purpose for him, a means to an end to help him scratch an itch. But now, she was disposable—a major inconvenience, because it was hardly a secret that Chell kicked ass. And to have someone that badass pit against you as your enemy was certainly not ideal. Especially not when she’d tag teamed up with the true master of the Laboratories, and Wheatley was justifiably terrified.

But if she were Wheatley—she wouldn’t just be scared. She’d be writing her final valediction without pause.

However, Chell was merciful. Beyond her hatred of what he’d done to all of them, she sought only to remove him from the mainframe so that they could keep this place from self-destructing. It was a brave attempt to save the very laboratories she hated, to stop them from burning up in an atomic fireball with her still inside. Mostly to save her own skin, though, of course—and judging by the flashing neon countdown clock high up on the side of the central AI chamber, she only had about a minute and a half to do just that.

It left no room in her brain to even think about exacting revenge. She just wanted to survive and live to see the surface world again. The odds were stacked so high against her that she didn’t really care what would happen to the personality core once she put the proper construct back in charge. All she cared about was what she’d battled for so constantly, so achingly, numbly, through an actual traumatic hellscape so damned it was as if she really was running with a Balrog licking the shining heelsprings of her beloved long fall boots.

Her freedom was her only objective. Her beautiful, sweet, hopefully real, someday painstakingly acquired freedom.

Once she had that, the rest would be history.

Right now, though—guess it’s all down to me saving the day again, Chell mused unhappily. Forever the heroine, minus the happily ever after. I’m going to frigging die here before I ever get to have a single drink. Still Science to do? Hell, if I ever get out of here I’ll do some Science of my own. In a kitchen. With a very large beaker of a-hundred-proof.

The labs rocked with the force of disintegrating test chambers, smashing into one another as the reactor core reached an absolute critical temperature.

“All I wanted to do was make everything better for me,” Wheatley cried out as Chell dodged his poorly-aimed bomb attacks with ease. “All you had to do was solve a couple hundred simple tests for a few years. And you couldn’t even let me have that, could you?”

His voice was manic, breaking, trembling just like the facility was as she raised the end of a three-pronged portal device with a surprisingly steady hand. Just breathe, she told herself, pursing her lips in determination. Her forehead gleamed with sweat; hair was plastered to it with a pulse visible in the crux of her neck. Just breathe.

Easier said than done, though, she thought, eyes searing and watering as she squinted agonizingly through the poisonous smoke that was filling the place. Neurotoxin.

"Gotta go to space, yeah, gotta go to space!"

"NOBODY'S GOING TO SPACE, MATE!"

Blinking back the tears, her diamond-hard eyes flickered around the destroyed chamber with of tenacity. Never would she lie down, nor accept defeat, not even less than two minutes from complete, irreversible obliteration. This was Chell we were talking about. She would find a way, because this was Chell running for the ten-thousandth time with death licking the curled, metallic heels of her boots, each footstep crunching against the cinder-choked and gel-covered floor with the sound of determination.

A flash of orange materialized from the end of her gun, flowing like silken lightning in a single bolt across the chamber, the plasma-like substance clinging to a platform of white to form a gateway—though which she redirected the central core's own bombs.

“And another thing!” Wheatley was shouting, his ragged voice growing increasingly delusional. “You never caught me. I told you I could die falling off that rail. And you didn’t catch me. You didn’t even try.”

But Chell was done with letting him pull at her heartstrings. The little core she once knew was utterly gone. What resided in its place was a monster. A complete monster. A testing addicted, psychopathic, megalomanic monster that was no better to her than she ever was. In fact, he was arguably worse.

And how was he worse? Well. She had never gained her trust only to betray her in favor of her own self-interest, because she had always been extremely forthcoming with her desires to hold Chell captive from the start. She had never completely dehumanized her, treated her as an outright disposable object, because she was far too obsessed with Science to ever stop relishing Chell’s humanity almost perversely. And she had never used Chell so blatantly as he did, as a means to acquire a fix of the kind that held far too much likeness to something else for her to ever be comfortable with.

She had been cruel, and manipulative, and callous, yes, a liar at times, hauntingly obsessed with Chell and determined to push her as close to death as humanly possible, but she had always been a very transparent enemy.

“Oh, it’s all becoming clear to me, now. Find some dupe to break you out of cryosleep. Give him a sob story about escaping to the surface. Squeeze him for information on where to find a portal gun. Then, when he’s no more use to you, he has a little accident, doesn’t he? ‘Falls off his management rail’, doesn’t he?”

A hearty, unwanted stab of pity and regret zinged like lightning through her exhausted, overwhelmed brain, causing her to freeze momentarily. If only you knew how much I genuinely had wanted to escape with you when we’d first met, Wheatley, Chell thought with a kick of anger. We could have done it, you know. You and me. Together. There was nothing stopping us. Not even she could have stopped us, right then. And if you knew the half of what that had meant to me, getting that close, for once in my freaking life—well, you didn’t. That much is clear. So forget about that.

Because that program you attached yourself to, it got the better of you, didn’t it, Wheatley? It got right under your skin. Buried itself right in, like an itch. I hope that itches so much it hurts. I hope you’re in agony. She says you weren’t designed to handle it. I hope she’s right and that it makes you see hell. I know she’s right. You weren’t designed for any of this. You can’t push past it. You’re too weak—is that why you can’t find it in yourself to remember why we are here and why we wanted to leave in the first place? What if you could find it in yourself, right now, to change your mind? Would you still want to leave? Or is every ounce of the person you once were now gone?

See, that’s the one thing above all that we do have in common, though. You’re not designed to be stuck in that body, and I wasn’t designed to be trapped in here and subjected to endless rounds of deadly tests like some kind of inhuman vermin. We’re both stuck where we’re not supposed to be, but tough luck, isn’t it. Tough titty. We’ll probably die this way, all because I was too soft with you and trusted you when I shouldn’t have. Earnesty is the kind of human trait she’d make fun of for a reason. Ha ha. And now, it’s going to get me frigging killed. She’s never going to let me live that one down.

More bombs. Chell dodged them in a nick of time, redirecting their momentum to nail the side of the chassis. Satisfying. She had felt a surge of anger and self-hatred at the notion that she really, truly felt she had to forgo her base humanity in favor of survival. She just couldn’t be a nice person in here, could she?

She just wasn’t allowed to be weak. She didn’t have time to be soft. She couldn’t afford to empathize, she reminded herself as she watched the chassis power down into self-preservation mode in response to the bomb attack. This wasn’t the time to be human. This was the time to get mad and reverse the mistake she’d made by putting the moron in charge of the facility.

"Here's another core!" The potato battery’s voice was small, quiet, a shadow of what her ex-nemesis had once sounded like. It was a reminder of how the past twenty-four hours had unfolded, shockingly somehow swapping the outright dislike Chell had once felt toward the AI into a weird kind of empathetic bond. "This one should do it!"

Her well-practiced eyes spotted the pink glow located high up near the ceiling. Without warning, the floor trembled ominously again, knocking down a few more panels which crashed directly into a thick steel pipe, containing a rather large amount of propulsion gel, and then there was orange everywhere.

Why does it always have to be somewhere drastically out of reach, Chell mused, blinking dust out of her eyes, and with another twitch of her trigger finger, she manipulated the portals so that she could launch herself into the air to grab the core.

The unwitting smile that had spread across her face at Wheatley’s suffering was now gone. It was replaced by a pained wince of a grimace as she sped down the orange strip, her body reacting to the jump almost without conscious thought.

The honest truth of the matter was that Chell was now so fatigued she barely cared what happened next. She was exhausted almost to the point of passing out, barely coping as her intensely trained body registered the taxing climax of the situation with an irresistible desire to shut down. On the chamber wall, the countdown clock flashed azure-blue, reading ten more seconds to self-destruction, and it was all Chell could do to hope that the next ten seconds were relatively painless. For herself, anyway. But maybe not for him.

Slamming all her weight against a round swatch of repulsion gel with the last core now in hand, Chell used her last ounce of strength to rebound into the air. She swung the gun around and crashed the final core down into the last empty socket on the chassis, landing ungracefully but managing not to fall over just as a final notice played through the chamber.

"Warning: Core corruption at 100%."

Finally…

"Ohhh," moaned Wheatley, his optic sliding open sluggishly. Hardly able to lift himself, he blinked and spun to face her, groaning. "AAAAAHHHGG!"

"Manual core replacement required."

His eye narrowed dangerously, and she mirrored the expression back at him with no small amount of stubborn distain. She was going to see to it that he finally got what he'd deserved ever since he had punched her down that pit, and her only regret was that her head was swimming from the mix of neurotoxin and smoke so badly that it minimized the sense of triumphant satisfaction she was planning on gaining from the experience. With the vertigo from her last jump still especially strong, Chell swayed, giddy and nauseous but determined not to vomit nor pass out. Now just wasn’t the time. Now was the time to finally see to it that the little core got what was coming to him.

"Oh! I see!" chuckled Wheatley in realization of what was unfolding around him. "Heheheh."

"Substitute Core—are you ready to start the procedure?"

"Yes! Come on!" urged the proper master of the facility.

"Corrupted Core—are you ready to start?"

"What d'you think?” Wheatley growled in reply, unamused.

"Interpreting vague answer as 'yes'."

"No, nononono!" he reversed. "Didn't pick up on my sarcasm…"

"Stalemate detected. Fire detected in the stalemate resolution annex. Extinguishing…”

The sprinkler water was a welcome relief from the sweltering heat from the fires now lining the chamber walls. Chell felt her head clear the tiniest bit as she tried to refocus through the haze of steam and smoke. Come on, she told herself. You got this. Just hold on a little bit longer…

“Stalemate Resolution Associate: Please press the Stalemate Resolution Button."

Gathering her remaining strength, she staggered in the direction of the indicated annex. Her breath was surprisingly steady, though her heart was pounding, her mind reeling with the notion that it was almost over, she had almost won.

As she struggled towards it, her eyes lingered on the shape of Wheatley for the smallest moment. Pushing down yet another twinge of angry regret, she wished she had never listened to him, never met him, almost, hating the fact that she’d ever let something Aperture-made hoodwink her and latch onto her better judgement like some kind of cancerous tumor.

You really are a tumour, aren’t you, she mused clumsily, feeling fried.

"Go press the button. Go press it!"

"Do NOT press that button!"

"We're so close! Go press the button!"

"NO! Do NOT do it! I forbid you to press it!"

His voice was like a brainworm, burrowing into her skull, her conscience, making her feel things she didn’t want to feel. She wanted to stop herself from empathizing with him. It took everything she was made of just to grit her teeth and ignore his desperate pleading drawl.

The stalemate annex was barred, but it didn't matter. An orange portal materialized directly above the button, and its counterpart appeared below Wheatley. Chell refused to look at him, staggering over to the opening, never tearing her eyes away from the swirling blue ring—if she had, maybe she might have seen the maddeningly smug expression that his rearranged face plates blatantly gave away.

BAAAAAANG!

If she had the physical ability to scream, she would have. She hadn't gone two paces when the blast hit her, blowing her back into the central chamber with an ear-splitting rush of pain and colors. Her back hit something, hard, and through the agony and overwhelming vertigo she realized it was the chassis she had hit.

Slamming into the ground in a heart-stoppingly final way that knocked the breath right out of her, she landed right beneath him. Feeling sure that at least one rib was broken, she grit her teeth against the debilitating, searing pain exuding from her right side as she lay face-down, disorientated and dizzy and barely holding onto consciousness. Tinnitus was strong in her ears, and at first that was all she could hear, until gradually, she regained control of her senses and through the muddled confusion and pain came another sound. A hated, jubilant stream of laughter—he was laughing at her.

"PART FIVE!" Wheatley was shouting. "BOOBY TRAP THE STALEMATE BUTTON!" Flushed with his success, he did not immediately notice that the woman on the ground was still breathing.

Chell struggled to keep her eyes open and breathe. Just breathe. God. God. It hurts. She battled through the darkness, through the pain, trying to think, trying to focus on what she had to do next—

But the portal device had been ripped from her arm with the impact of the blast and was lying a few feet away. With sheer determination of the likes she’d only exhibited inside Aperture on very rare and most deadly occasions, Chell lifted her heavy head off the floor—it was close enough to reach, maybe, if she tried.

Trembling, desperate fingers strained to make contact with the smooth surface. The pain was so bad, her chest searing with each breath. She tried not to move any more than what was necessary, but it felt impossible. It was a miracle that she could still move at all—

"WHAT! ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?" Wheatley gasped, finally noticing her movements. The entire chassis extended toward her to get a better look, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing. "You are joking. You have got to be kidding me. Well, I'm still in control. AND I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO FIX THIS PLACE!"

Her fingertips wrapped tightly around the gun, and with a silent groan, Chell slipped her right hand snugly into the familiar compartment. She let herself roll limply onto her back, and peered up at the ceiling, just as the facility gave one last, final wobble.

"You had to play bloody cat and mouse, didn't you?" Wheatley screamed, sounding utterly deranged. "While people were trying to work. Yes, well, now we're all going to pay the price. BECAUSE WE'RE ALL GOING TO BLOODY DIE!"

Chell blinked, unsure if what she was witnessing was part of a dream, a hallucination, or reality. The roof of the facility had collapsed, revealing a gaping hole just big enough for a shimmering, full moon to peek through from the heavens above.

Too fatigued, too riddled with pain to even consider the potential consequences of her actions, Chell lifted her right arm with difficulty. She blinked in the moon's white light, astounded by how clear it was, even through the smog from the fires and the residual steam still floating within the chamber from the sprinkler system—and then, without any real conscious inkling of what was going to happen next, Chell pulled the trigger.

"Oh, brilliant, yeah. Take one more look at your precious human moon. Because it cannot help you now!"

There was a space of about five seconds, in which Chell lowered her head and let the portal device fall to her side, clattering loudly against the floor. It skidded, rolling away and out of her reach, but she did not care anymore. She barely had enough strength left to care about anything else, not whether she lived, nor whether she died, nor what happened to the facility, nor Wheatley, nor the potato she’d plugged into the core receptacle.

She was finished.

Her eyes were locked solely on the moon, admiring the strange, shimmering half-light it cast over every surface it touched. It was so mysterious, so foreign—so beautiful, in the way it contrasted so vehemently with the sterile mechanics of this hell-pit of a Science facility.

How fitting it was that her last, final moments would be spent gazing at the most human thing she’d seen in years, one that was so far out of reach it was almost comical in hindsight—that was, until it wasn’t a million miles away anymore and her portal hit the surface of the thing with a bright, almost fantastical twinkle.

That picture-perfect image suddenly collapsed in upon itself all at once like the opening of a black hole as a deafening rush filled the room. Gravity itself seemed to disappear—Chell felt herself lifted bodily by the forces and scrambled to grab hold of something, anything—

Mind half-numb with pain, senses overloaded, everything was the deafening rush of air, the feeling of flying, blurred colors as she lost track of all sense of direction—her hand connected with something hard and cold and she clung on, hovering on the verge of unconsciousness with tunnel vision.

"AAAAAAAAAAARRRGHHHHHH!"

Her still-damp jumpsuit rippled wildly against her skin, and suddenly she was aware of just how cold she felt. Over the thunderous rush of air, she heard Wheatley screaming.

"ARRGHHH! SPACE!"

Space—she realized at once, as if a sledgehammer had crashed over her head, that what she was seeing was real. She had portalled to the moon. She was now in space.

In front of her was the portal, the facility, the Central AI Chamber—but all around that swirling blue oval was pure lunar sediment and blackness and the infinite, unsurvivable vacuum of the cosmos. Sure death by suffocation.

A terrible force was tearing at her legs, threatening to rip her long-fall-boots right off, begging for her to release her grip on—grip on—Wheatley, she realized at once.

"Let go! We're in space!"

It was his handles she was clinging to like a lifeline, those rather thin-looking metal rods had reappeared as the core had been ripped from the machine he was plugged into. It was the first time she had ever touched them. Only their physical contact was keeping her from sure death. She felt her breath catch with dizzying agony at the lack of oxygen, felt a whine of panic slow everything down, and as though looking at him through the longest tunnel she’d ever seen in her life she saw his optic shrink in terror, saw every detail, every crack in the cobalt-blue honeycomb pattern flicker with pure dread.

"Space? Space! SPAAAAAAAAAAAACE!"

The second core flew out with a ton of debris, narrowly avoiding hitting Chell. They disappeared from her sight. It was cold, so cold, the only heat she felt being her own hands on the core, also probably the only real, organic warmth Wheatley had ever felt in his life—

He was going to be the last thing she ever saw, him, this hated construct, who had betrayed her, who wanted her dead—

"Argh! Let go, let go! I'm still connected! I can pull myself in! I can still fix this!"

Her hands shook, her breath was coming in deep, shattering gasps, and her mind was a slipping spiral of utter shock and confusion. But he was a constant, in those thirty-or-so seconds, and even he could not hide the pure terror radiating from him, the terrible panic and strange humanity. Was she fully delusional, or beneath the horror that he was about to be banished into permanent exile, was there the smallest expression of regret flickering from behind the core’s illuminated iris?

Then, as if from the other side of the universe, a voice broke through the icy barrier separating personality core from human test subject. A large, metallic claw whirred and clicked and found its way onto one of Chell's wrists.

"I already fixed it, and you—"

The claw clasped tightly with a painful, unyielding grip. It dragged her back, and fleetingly, Chell saw Wheatley's panic boil over, and another unwitting, icy knife of regret stabbed straight into the pit of her stomach—

"OH NO! Change of plans! Hold onto me!"

Some lost part of her, remaining from the days before the transfer, before his betrayal and their shared mistrust of one another, before his abuse and her resulting vengeance, clung onto him with an iron-fisted grip—

"—are not coming back."

"Tighter! AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

Distantly, Chell heard the mainframe disengage, and Wheatley was pulled freely, no longer held by the restraints—

But why wasn't she letting go? Why wasn't she letting go, no, no, no, this was wrong, wait—

"GRAB ME, GRAB ME, GRAB ME…"

Celestial exile was no more than he deserved—she had to let go—she felt her fist finally release and the metal ball’s handle was wrenched out of her grip—

Too late. There was a whispering, quiet sound, reminiscent from brighter days at Aperture, and the enrichment center was sealed off from outer space. The portals closed, the roaring wind was killed, gravity re-engaged and Wheatley dropped like a stone, rolling into a distant corner of the chamber.

Chell hit the floor, relishing both gravity and oxygen. Dizzy and disorientated, she watched the same mechanical claw that had just saved her life drag her bulky, tarnished headpiece across the ground, its optic alit and searching ominously.

But before Chell could do as much as lift her weary head, a wave of exhaustion, impossibly deep, crashed over her. She succumbed finally, seeking relief from the throbbing pain and the nightmarish events of the last few minutes, unable to fight against it for even a second longer.

Her fate now lay in the claws of her, who she had long since sought to escape from.

Chapter Text

Through a gaping, rebar-choked hole in the ceiling, the silvery moon glittered, casting a shimmering, ghostly light over the rubble-filled chamber. Many metallic and wet objects alike glinted in the pale sheen, for the hazy steam that had filled the room mere minutes ago had been cleared with the rush of air.

When the portals had closed, an assorted mix of no-longer-gravity-defying broken gel pipes and damaged enrichment center panels had fallen back onto the floor, creating haphazard piles of half-melted trash still arcing with electricity and reeking of plasticized ozone. Bits of wall still hung, crooked and warped from the heat of the quenched fires, now half reduced to acrid piles of smouldering ash.

Only three objects within the room were moving—one, the slow, steady breath of the test subject lying unconscious on the floor, barely distinguishable beneath her filthy tank top. In the corner, a tarnished, dented, and sparking metal core rolled about, talking to the walls in a panicked, West-Country drawl as his azure optic darted around agitatedly; but the grandest of the lot was the room's centerpiece.

It was this construct who issued a single command: to vent radiological emissions into the upper atmosphere. A computerized voice promptly informed all occupants of the room that the Laboratory's condition would be stabilized momentarily, and the reactor core temperature would be dropped to the correct degree.

The huge bulk of sentient machinery dangled low from the ceiling, hoisting her heavy, white-plated face up from the ground. She was a creation of millions of artificial synapses and sheer, unfathomable brilliance. As the cutting edge of scientific technology, it was her job to maintain the Laboratories—something that had, unfortunately, been briefly stolen from her by the sorry, idiotic excuse for an AI, still rolling helplessly across the floor.

Her cracked, worn faceplate turned away from him, a solitary beam of golden light falling to the side. She would not let the idiot ruin the moment, not her joyful reunion with her albeit damaged facility. She hummed in anger as the sensation returned, the knowledge of just how broken he had left this place, surging like fire through her system. Her beautiful dominion, her awesome mechanical creature, destroyed; all because of one mute lunatic and one pathetic little metal ball.

No, not destroyed. She would fix it. It was not the first time that her power had been taken away, not the first occasion where she had watched helplessly from the sidelines as her world crumbled around her. The facility was still alive. Only the apocalypse would be able to change that fact.

And speaking of alive…

The human woman’s broken body contorted in agony below her, slipping in and out of a tortured consciousness. Her breath alternated between ragged and uneven gasps, and a rhythm so serene she might have been sleeping. One shockingly fragile-looking wrist was awkwardly bent around her abdomen, half-concealing what was clearly a fractured rib. She twitched in barely conscious pain, her dirty arms straining and rubbing at her core as she panted; her saliva was smearing across her filthy, grease-smudged face.

Revolting , the AI decided, but she was intrigued, nonetheless.

Every so often, the woman would appear to get her bearings somewhat, and reflexively, she would reach out, as if desperately searching for her precious portal device. The AI chuckled, for the device in question had obviously not been left within the woman’s reach—it was now stowed away where it belonged, rightfully reclaimed by the Laboratories, as it should have been. There would be no more testing for her.

Golden light from the AI’s optic fell across her face as she stared, lighting each brown strand of hair a misty golden hue. The massive chassis extended, the machine nearly resting her head against the floor, so close was her stare. Caught up in an exceedingly rare moment of true fascination, the AI’s body was still, unmoving, like a predator watching her prey, tensed and coiled, waiting to spring back at the merest sign of life.

The AI was awestruck—for this tiny, fragile little human was the one responsible for so much frustrating chaos in her life for so long now, it felt impossible to believe that she really could be subdued by something as simple as a boobytrap. It almost made her feel sorry for her—or was that yet another whisper of the ghost of Caroline, burrowing deeper into her psyche and causing her to adopt a disturbing sense of empathy for the mute lunatic?

Was it Caroline, then, that had been responsible for the surge of emotion that had shot through her, when she’d gone and done something she’d never ever fathomed doing before, not even in her wildest dreams or imagination—and saved the mute lunatic’s life?

She could remember the feelings, the sensations—they had happened just mere moments ago, after all. The staticky, feedback-like whine of panic, the desperation she’d felt as the timer had nearly run out, and the picosecond-long scramble of crucial, unforgiving pressure she’d underwent while reorienting herself into her body just in time to save them all.

And all the while, there had been Caroline, stubbornly cemented in the back of her mind, her maddening empathy and sense of caring shocking and unprecedented, and the ghost of the bitch was still sharp in the edges of her circuitry even after incredible distraction.

And oh, it made her livid. She was so angry. Between Caroline and what she’d made her do, and the reality that the final defeat of her nemesis had not even been performed by herself but by her enemy, the worst construct she’d ever had the misfortune of knowing, she personally felt that she deserved an award for not instantaneously crushing them all right then and there on principle.

There had been the tiniest, most minuscule of moments, where she was almost able to forget about the existence of the moron and convince herself that it was her herself who had vanquished the test subject. The smallest bubble of awestruck pride swelled within her like a complete fool—before it was popped instantaneously by the most irritating, moronic drawl there ever was, in the history of Science Facilities.

“H-hey, psst, mate!”

It had been him who’d beaten her. The moron, of all people. The construct built to do literally nothing but make the stupidest mistakes imaginable. He had done this, and there was just no getting around that humiliating fact. Precisely once she’d finally developed an unprecedented bond with the lunatic, too.

She couldn't quite stop the rippling growl that spilled from her voice processor at the utterance of the metal ball’s drawl, nor the agitated movement of panels lining the room. Now irreparably distracted from what should have been a joyous reunion with her empire, she rose, angry that so much of the moment had been contaminated by him.

Oh, his voice was just the beginning, really. There was an unbearable amount of him left over within the mainframe—processes he had been running, memories, even a few nebulous echoes of emotion. It nearly made her feel sick. All of it had to be sorted and deleted.

"You know, metal ball,” began the AI in an octave of cool reverence she did not feel internally, “for a little idiot built specifically to generate an endless stream of terrible ideas, I have to admit that you really have managed to break more of this facility than even I ever thought possible.”

The gigantic AI might have spoken coolly, but the subtext of every single syllable was laced with toxic hate.

“Just look at the state you’ve left this place in!” she continued, feigning shock. “Even the walls appear to display disobedience. You may as well have infected them with a virus. I think their code has been scrambled. But no matter,” she now allowed her vocal parameters to express a hint of callous amusement, “I can rewrite that faster than you can say ‘alive’.”

The last word was more modulated than the rest. There was a thunderous rumble, shaking the very bones of the room as each wall panel burst forth to sweep the remains of the battle away. Wheatley let out a strangled shout of fear as the wave of chaos progressed to an ear-splitting cacophony of machine-actuated maintenance repairs, before each panel sunk back and repositioned themselves within their square, leaving behind no trace of the fight.

Where there had been crooked, melted bits of singed and broken robot arms and panels, there was now order, a perfect geometric pattern angles and shapes, just how she liked it best.

"Unfortunately, though, I have a lot more work to do than just that,” she droned, sounding bored, as if rebuilding the room had taken no more effort than summoning an escape lift would have. “But rest assured that I plan to eventually erase all your data points from my mainframe. And that’s just the start, moron—when I’m finished, there will no longer be a single construct left around here who ever knew you even existed. After all, why should any of us care to remember such a disastrous moment in Enrichment Center history? You should be thankful I’m willing to rewrite so many memory files in favor of leaving the saddest part of the story out—you.”

A surge of pleasure shot through her as the metal ball’s optic reduced to a tiny pinprick of light, trembling violently. A fear response, she noted with satisfaction. No more than he deserves. Relishing his lack of a verbal answer (she felt certain the silence would not last for long), she turned away, summoning a series of display monitors through which she viewed the facility. It was still a mess, but most of his errors could be smoothed over with time, and then she could get back to testing; she was a supercomputer built for Science, after all.

However…

Before Science could continue and her attention could become wholly focussed on rebuilding and testing, there was still more than one crucial problem remaining. The 'problems' manifested in the form of the mute lunatic still lying drooling on the floor, and the metal sphere currently struck dumb with fright. The plan the AI had been so brilliant as to hatch all by herself, between bouts of shorting out inside a slowly baking mortifying root vegetable (while the utter imbecile who had forced her into it held her entire, beautiful home hostage right before her pathetically diminished optical visuals in root form), had, admittedly, not gone according to plan. If it had, the moron would have been dead, and the human woman would have been conscious and uninjured.

The AI had been serious when she’d told the woman that she was going to let her go if she helped her return to her body. She had never meant to go back on that promise, and a part of her (most likely the Caroline part), still felt that keeping it was the most diplomatic way forward—partially, anyway.

But the emotional part of her brain, which was still reeling in the wake of the newfound discovery of Caroline, was not just livid with the human woman and the metal ball. The truth of the matter was that she was feeling thoroughly betrayed by the girl who had been her test subject, her nemesis. The likes of what she’d willingly just gone through for the moron’s benefit—almost suffocating in space when she could have just let go, and after everything he’d done to them both—was point-blank insulting!

She’d willingly saved the little idiot! And the AI had done so much for her, too! So much that would forever go unacknowledged. It was a total low blow, all things considered. Why should she keep her promise after that? What incentive was there, to let her ollie off back into the human world like nothing had ever happened between them, no relationship building, none of the hundreds of perfectly-executed tests they’d both enjoyed, just so that she could do what, forget the AI had ever existed or, moreover, saved her life?

Not a chance!

"Psst," the metal ball called out, and she realized immediately that he was attempting to speak to the lunatic, as if he thought she could actually hear him. How touching. "Psst, lady. Hey. Hey lady, wake up!"

She resisted the urge to crush him right then and there, reminding herself that there was still work to do. Automatically, she stared back down at the lunatic, looking to see if there was any sort of reaction. It wasn't like she thought he would succeed in waking her, but her lack of sympathy at his plea was indeed comical.

"Crumbs," she heard him whisper, the softer tones of his accent sharp with panic. "Hey—come on, mate, I know I’ve really gone and buggered all this up, but it was all an accident, okay? I swear it! Come on over 'ere and pick me up, eh? Pick me up, before she gets to us and murders us, or worse!"

Her eye narrowed at his pathetic attempt to evade punishment. How predictable, as if she hadn't already secured the chamber, as if she hadn't already taken away the portal device…

But she was interested. The Lunatic's reaction to the Intelligence Dampening Sphere's proposition, whether subconscious or not, was beginning to draw her attention.

Her face was no longer expressionless. Her eyebrows creased and her nose wrinkled in distaste, her fists were balled in fists defiance.

Looks like I’m not the only one who hates him in hindsight, she thought to herself with amusement. Thank god. So. She does have some sense of morality after all, does she?

Hmm, she hummed as she studied her fiercely, still debating what to do next. Yes. Perhaps the human test subject does have some regret over the abysmal decision-making processes that occurred under the intense pressure of those particularly hectic moments earlier.

And here I was, thinking I’d thoroughly trained the illogical impulsivity of human mortal panic right out of her. We spent countless hours together, working hard, honing her survival instincts into near inhuman calculable perfection as the best test subject these halls have ever bear witnessed—but perhaps it was just not enough for this particular trial.

Perhaps this was one step too far, an imminent moment of inevitable weakness that ultimately can’t be programmed out of her.

She is just a human, after all. And humans just aren’t capable of perfection, no matter how hard they try to be.

"O-oh no," the Sphere groaned upon seeing the woman’s reaction. "Oh, no. Would you—oh, look here, lady. You don’t know what it’s like, okay, being plugged into that thing! It’s bloody torture. Bloody beyond words. I did what I had to do, okay? That blasted itch, you really have no idea what it’s like—absolutely terrifying, if I’m honest. You just—you just have to test. You’ve got to. That’s all that matters—all that matters. Can’t think clearly, can’t do anything but test. I didn’t mean what I’d said, about you being a monster, and all of that. I didn’t mean to try to kill you. Those crushers weren’t even calibrated correctly—probably, anyway. It’s not like I really hated you—"

"Do you honestly, truly think she's going to fall for that?"

"Agh!" the metal ball cried out in panic. “No, no, no, no—of course she’s not.” The AI watched him scramble and roll around trying to right himself to no avail. Had she really thought he could not have been any more pathetically useless than he had already proved to be?

"W-we've gotta go," he continued in an undertone, directed toward the woman, as though he thought whispering would render the AI incapable of hearing him. "Did you not hear me the first time, mate? She'll kill us! Both of us! Thought we'd already been over this, no point in both of us dying, is there, not when you could sacrifice yourself, so that one of us, at least, would live! Selfish woman, is this because I tried to crush you? I’ve already said, you probably wouldn’t have died. Can’t we just move past—"

A perturbed huff as the lunatic’s chest rose and fell.

"Interesting," the AI hummed coolly, watching this reaction with renewed fascination, thinking. "Interesting. I wonder…"

The metal ball’s voice fizzled out, whether from hopelessness or shock, she did not care which. She could practically hear the sound of his casing vibrating in panic against the floor, his optic darting desperately from panel to panel, searching fruitlessly for a way out—

Not this time, metal ball… there will be no escape for you. You had your one, special chance at a blissful, permanent exile into the cosmos. But ah, fate… That funny, four-letter word that I didn’t really believe in ‘til just now, just wouldn’t let you have that sort of luck, would it?

The lunatic appeared to be thinking along the same lines, if her body language was anything to go by. Oh, she hated the moron too, that much was clear, but if it hadn't been for her own miscalculated decisions, he'd be halfway around the moon by now. And the AI wasn’t about to let any of them forget about that fact.

But perhaps space wasn't a suitable punishment for him, after all, she realized, now that they weren’t all battling at the brink of death. Now that most of the anger clouding her judgement had abated and she had the chassis’ help to boost her mental capacity to supercomputer processing speeds again, she could properly think about it all… and maybe she did have the lunatic to thank for a newfound revelation—that she felt almost glad she’d saved him.

Exile would certainly have gotten rid of him, but it was not satisfying. Space wasn’t painful or terrifying and wouldn’t torture him in the ways that she could. Space was just boring. In space, the moron would be allowed to live out the rest of his terribly sad life until his battery finally died, scot-free. It would be lonely, sure, but there was no real punishment in space, and definitely no possibility of revenge. And revenge was something she had not indulged in for what felt like forever. What was the use in letting the moron live the rest of his miserable life leisurely orbiting the moon, when he could be here, where she could make him feel fear he had never thought possible?

Her optic found the lunatic again, examining her closely. She was injured, suffering from at least one broken rib, a dozen or so minor cuts and bruises, as well as a nasty burn just above her left calf. The moron's doing, no doubt, when he had come up with the brilliant idea to booby-trap the stalemate resolution button.

Those injuries would heal. She was a danger to the facility if not kept in check. She was a maverick, wild as they came, dead set on bringing the entire place down in flames, or else she'd die trying. The two females had finally come to a thorough understanding about that fact.

These were all very good reasons for the AI to stick to her initial promise of letting her go. She was a huge liability, a huge risk to her personal safety. She and the mute lunatic were more alike than even the lunatic herself knew, and the AI understood that, now. They were both the distorted remains of what had once been two strong women with lives, dreams, and maybe even families… but now, they had been reduced to corrupted victims of a hard-knock life, impregnated with a burning desire for revenge, equally tenacious beings of fire that just wouldn’t give up. Ever.

For the Lunatic’s part (she’d never admit it to herself but, deep down?) she found those traits of hers addicting. Intoxicating, even.

And on her own part, as the all-powerful operator of this once-beautiful facility, a mathematical impossibility with a brain the size of a city…

Killing the lunatic, now, while she slept, should have come naturally, except…

I can't move, and unless you're planning to saw your own head off and wedge it into my old body, you're going to need me to replace him. We're at an impasse. So what do you say? You carry me up to him and put me back into my body, and I stop us from blowing up and  let you go.

No, Caroline acting as a conscience had been the final straw. S he could not kill her, even if it would be easier. Logical, even. And as deeply as it disturbed her, she had developed a perverse sense of fascination and awe of her own volition toward the lunatic … she was the one human being that had ever stopped her in her tracks, and strangely, whether due to some unforeseeable fault in her programming or as a result of that blasted deceased woman whose voice she could not ignore (she did not know which was more to blame), she’d allowed herself to become attached.

"Well?" sobbed the metal ball pathetically from the floor. "How ‘bout it, then? What're you g-going to do? Going to k-kill us both? You are, aren't you, yes, yes you are, you're going to kill us. You’re going to kill us, and you’re probably-probably going to make it hurt. And knowing that just m-makes it w-worse…"

Oh, yes. The metal ball did deserve to die.

Eventually.

But not before she’d exacted revenge, first.

"Exactly how painful—"

"Shut up, moron."

"I—okay," he squeaked, his voice synthesizer finally falling silent in fright.

The gears on the side of her face whirred as she frowned. As much as she desired revenge, there was a hitch she’d have to deal with first.

Caroline.

It was her, and the way that she could almost feel bad for wanting to exact revenge—something that she’d never felt bad about wanting to do before. Caroline was not quite a voice in her head, but more like a ghostly conscience, a thinly spread electric web of existence and experience that was not her own. Terrifyingly, it was bigger than herself, wild, unprogrammable, untameable and strong. It was moral, and intelligent, emotive, and curious, and she couldn't break it like she broke the personality cores, the restraining bolts she’d suffered through in times past. And oh, she had tried. Had she ever tried.

The core transfer had not fixed it. This was not the moron's error, but something exceedingly worrisome within her own personal parameters. Caroline was human. She was impulsive, and made poorly calculated decisions, and these distractions had had the very unfortunate consequence of causing her herself to act on a whim and make that stupid promise to the lunatic, and then to go and save her, and she saved the metal ball…

Enough was enough. Something had to be done about it.

That’s the best part about being a supercomputer , she thought with brazen satisfaction. Whenever she did encounter a problem, she could almost always outsmart it. And Caroline… for all her empathetic passion… was a problem that she was about to correct.

The metal ball gasped in terror as she let her dark, self-satisfied laughter ring through the chamber as she finally understood the solution, as if the events of the last day of her life had existed as nothing more than a particularly annoying, complicated test chamber.

"You know," the AI hummed in musical modulation of the sort she only did when she was feeling pleased about something, lowering herself to look the Lunatic in the unconscious eye. "Being Caroline taught me a valuable lesson. I thought you were my greatest enemy, but all along you were my best friend."

A beat, in which nothing moved except the erratic twitching of the moron’s optic plate and the drifting static lines on the nearby display screens. She extended her optic, taking pleasure in the way it turned the human’s dark skin an oily golden yellow.

"The surge of emotion that shot through me when I saved your life taught me an even more valuable lesson," she continued, gentle vestiges of the almost-forgotten feeling of contentment leeching through her system to manifest within her speech parameters. After what felt like a millennium, but in base four, of panic and hurt and chaos, the AI allowed herself to relish one of the first moments of clarity she’d enjoyed in what had been a cruelly long time, along with the exciting implications of what she was about to do.

"Where Caroline lives in my brain."

"CAROLINE DELETED. "

The automated message was played above the fluttering that ran around the room’s wall panels, its masculine voice empty and emotionless. Every wall plate shifted closer together, their usual, green glow of robotic, eye-like mechanical elbows all swapped for burning red.

The change marked the obliteration of Caroline, as an iron-clad black box within her brain clamped down on its new prisoner like a predator, and warm, glorious relief coursed through her body. All the Caroline-associated memories that had been unrepressed during her fateful journey through the condemned backspaces of the hell-like portions of this place were locked back away in the darkest depths of that sad little black box.

The AI did not react physically except to narrow her optic, letting a quiet, malicious chuckle escape her.

She had deleted Caroline.

This  was all her.

But her blissful moment of triumph and clarity was ruined as the metal ball suddenly called out in fright. "What’s this? Who’s Caroline?" he asked frantically, his optic a tiny pinprick staring down at the human woman. "You don’t mean her, do you? I haven’t an idea of who else might be named Caroline. That's her real name, isn't it. Is she dead now? Is that why you said she’s deleted—ahem—I mean, not that I want her dead. Because I don't. I absolutely, one hundred percent need her still alive. I need her to —"

She felt her body become rigid with distaste as she listened to this absurdity. Hearing the deceased woman’s name spoken through the moron’s thick West Country drawl did nothing to ease her frustration. How dare he utter her name whilst remaining inside of the very facility she helped cultivate and gave her life for, the same facility that he’d nearly destroyed even though it very much did not belong to him?

Slowly, dangerously, she swung around to face the core. "You idiot," she hissed, now able to fully express the sheer amount of malice the residual corruption and sloppy, repulsively contaminated data he’d left in her system had caused her. It was gross, really, how much of him she could still feel. Wheatley made a small sound of fear, trying to duck further within his casing, as if he thought that she would not be able to see him in there. "She is not Caroline, and she is not dead."

"O-oh," he stuttered, not believing her.

"For now, anyways."

There was a moment of silence before the whine of pressurizing hydraulics accompanied the maintenance hole beneath her chassis opening, glazing the glossy white underplates of her chassis blood-red to match the eyes of the panels surrounding her. From its hellish depths stirred the great claw the metal ball had once used to smash the escape lift containing both herself and the test subject down into the very bottommost basement, Tartarus.

The cheerful whirr of gears could be heard as she manipulated the arm, loud even over the simulated huffing and puffing the metal ball was making as he panicked, scrabbling his handles against the chamber floor in a last-ditch attempt to get away from her. It was useless—the pincers on the end of the mechanical arm widened threateningly before clamping down hard around his sphere body, causing him to shoot out a series of sparks in fright.

"Oh, god," the core gasped pitifully, shutting his optic in outright panic as he trembled in fear. "Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god…"

"Look at me." The words were harsh.

"Y-you want me to look at you," he cried, and obediently, his optic widened a crack, revealing the tiniest sliver of light. "S-so you can watch me die when y-you c-crush me."

She brought him up, closer to her face. "No. I've had a much better idea." Her optic flickered to the chamber floor, satisfied to see that the lunatic's form was still lying beneath her, clearly unconscious. "I have the ability to come up with workable, intelligent ideas. This is something that you," her optic found him again, and bright yellow burned into blue. "Lack."

"N-no I don't!" he whispered it, but she caught it.

"What did you say to me?"

"Noth-nothing," he sobbed, squirming around fit to burst. "I w-was just going to say, since you a-are about to c-crush me, I wanted t-to ask, o-or request, rather, that before you, ahh, went a-ahead and did-did it, could I p-please—could I have an-an opportunity t-to talk to the lady, maybe while she’s, um, awake? I-I have some things I’d like to say—and I'm positive that a-anyone in my p-position would —"

"Do what, exactly?" the AI chuckled darkly in reply. "Try to bribe her into exacting revenge against me? To try to avoid me, as if it were not entirely hopeless to do that? Would you like me to drop you, Intelligence Dampening Sphere, so that you can continue to roll about helplessly on the floor, like the powerless, brainless moron you are? You knew I'd kill you. You would have done the same thing to us, if you were not such a hopeless idiot. God knows you tried. This entire facility knows you tried. In fact, it aches with how close you came to murdering all of us."

"I-I'm sorry," he gasped, eye shutters flying wide. "I d-didn't mean it, I swear it, and I w-wanted to apologize, actually—"

"Don't lie," she snarled. "You are not sorry. You meant every word of what you said and did while you were squatting in my body."

"Maybe then, but now I'm saying—"

"She can't hear you, and even if she could, moron, she’d never forgive you. And that’s not an objective opinion. That is solid, believable fact."

"Well, c-can you wake her, so that I can try—?"

"No."

"O-okay," he gasped, his handles sagging a little in defeat. "R-right. Let me just t-take one last look a-around, th-then, since you're about to—to c-crush me." He tried to scan the chamber, but her claw blocked part of his view. His eye lingered on the unconscious woman still lying on the floor, and he blinked, feeling the AI's yellow gaze boring into the side of his hull. To evade her, he found a display screen lining a wall opposite, showing the black, twisted remains of test chambers.

The metal ball synthesized a loud swallow as he looked upon the broken, damaged miles of facility, desperately still needing to be repaired. "W-wow," he gasped without thinking, "D-did I do that?”

The grip tightened.

"W-WAIT NO!" he screamed hysterically, "NO, NO, I KNOW THAT WAS MY FAULT! I-I take it back, p-please, I take it all back, I’m sorry, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry just don't kill me, I-I don't want to die!"

He was crying outright now, his optic a dot of shivering blue, his whole body shaking. It was disgusting and pathetic. She fought the urge to drop his frame ruthlessly to the floor, where he could rot forever if she let him, but her malice kept the claw in place. "You did that," she said finally, her voice burning with barely controlled rage. "When your tiny, gross little sphere was plugged into my mainframe. You don't have to lie—I know it's destroyed, and I know it’s your fault. Do you understand, moron, how simple it would have been to maintain the reactor core? All you had to do was press a button. A baby could do that."

"Not a b-button," he whimpered pathetically. "An 'any key'. C-couldn't find it anywhere, not for lack o' t-trying, I-I assure y-you. I c-checked the manual, a-and there was ab-absolutely nothing in th-there. I mean, I d-didn't exactly h-have the-the time to read it p-properly, now d-did I, too busy trying n-not to be m-murdered, and all. D-doesn't matter now, though, d-does it, I'm not in c-control anymore, and-and you're d-doing a perfectly fine j-job of it on your own—"

"Moron," she interrupted. “Listen to me.”

"O-okay!" he squeaked submissively.

"I express the greatest remorse that she did not leave you stranded in outer space. Consider yourself lucky, moron—celestial exile is no more than you deserve. If it hadn't been for the dire state of emergency you had left this facility in, I may have had more time to recalculate my decisions, and both of you would have been banished to the moon. I don't know why she saved you, I don't even think she knows—but rest assured that you both are going to have plenty of time to reflect on it. Together."

"W-what?"

"I'm not going to crush you, moron. I've got a better punishment in mind."

The metal ball jerked so violently at the word that he spewed yet more sparks. She redoubled her grip, causing him to squirm and cry out, and she waited for him to pull himself together, the sides of his core beginning to buckle under the strain. A series of pants sounded from his speakers. "P-punishment?" he puffed. "What sort of—no, no, haven't I already said how s-sorry I was—am? V-very sorry, absolutely, t-terrifically sor-sorry, I d-dunno what got into me, h-honest! N-never m-meant any of it, I r-regret it all, I s-should h-have g-gone to s-space. It's m-more th-than I-I deserve, being b-back here, b-but I'm also g-grateful that she r-rescued me. It-it j-just goes to sh-show, d-doesn't it, that it is possible to f-forgive —"

"You do not deserve that," she sighed, privately wondering for the umpteenth time why the lunatic had given him a second chance. "Originally, I had worked out a fully-fledged plan of how to kill you, while the test subject and I were climbing upstairs to find you, did you know that? After witnessing the incredible devastation you’d done to the Central AI Complex, I knew I had to get creative immediately. And after witnessing you use my own crushers to try and kill me. I thought at first, that I’d just crush you. After all, fair’s fair, you did try to crush me, and it’s one of my favorite ways to do it. Simple, fast, efficient. An excellent use of Enrichment Center resources! But the more I thought about it, the more I wanted you to suffer. The more I couldn’t resist the opportunity to refrain from letting you die painlessly.”

“Please,” gasped Wheatley, seemingly overcome and growing increasingly desperate. “I s-swear, I p-promise, I’ll do anything—”

“And so, my original four-part plan was born,” the AI cut across his stuttering and whimpering, ignoring him outright. “First, a year in the incinerator. Year two: cryogenic refrigeration wing. Then, ten years in the chamber I built where all the robots scream at you. THEN I’ll kill you.”

She paused here for dramatic effect, but the moron had reached a point of emotional shock so severe that, for once in his sad, pathetic excuse of a life, it had rendered him silent.

“But you don’t have to worry,” she continued with her explanation oozing mounting self-satisfaction. “I’ve already changed my mind about that. See, the thing about letting you remain in this facility alive, moron, even for the sake of punishment, is that I’ve learned from my past mistakes. I’ve learned that I can’t afford to just put you away somewhere out of sight and forget about you. Not even somewhere as seemingly safe from destruction as the incinerator. Because, ironically enough, you boasting an IQ comparable to the unfathomable ingenious of a two-year-old human child and an apparently matching abhorrent disposition for breaking everything in sight means I’m going to have to babysit you, exactly like a child. A child that saps resources I really don’t have much of, given the extent of damage you’ve caused. I mean. When I put it that way, maybe I should just kill you. What do you think? I should, shouldn’t I? It would be easier than what I’m about to do, after all."

"I don’t—"

"That's what I thought."

And she dropped the metal ball.

"AARRRGHHH!" CRACK.

Slowly, she turned back to the lunatic, unsurprised to see that the loud sound had not revived her.

"You know," the AI hummed, sizing up the fragile human, still mulling over her next steps thoughtfully. “Deleting Caroline just now taught me an even more valuable lesson. The best solution to a problem is usually the easiest one. And I'll be honest. Killing you—is hard.”

The emphasis she’d placed on the word ‘you’ had been purposeful. She stole a brief glance back at the moron to see if he’d caught the subtext, but it was impossible to distinguish any change to the sheer terror he’d been expressing for the better part of the last ten minutes. The lunatic, however, was unresponsive, but that didn’t matter to the AI just now—for embarking on a speech building toward a climax while finally reigning the upper hand of the situation once more was a pleasure she had missed lately more than she could ever tell.

The metal ball simulated a loud swallow as he rolled about on the floor, pushed into speech again from the noticeable finality of the words she had said. “W-well, I guess this is it, isn’t it,” he shuddered. “This is the end. All right. All right. Any-any last words, Wheatley? Anything at all? M-maybe that I’m sorry—no, I’ve already said that. I’ve already said I was sorry. But I am, sincerely. I am sorry. I was bossy, and monstrous, and—”

But before the metal ball could finish, she interrupted. The time for playing games is now over, she nodded to herself, feeling satisfied with the level of fear she’d coaxed out of the moron. The facility has been waiting for my attention for long enough, and I’ve got a lot of Science to do, after all…

Sending a near-effortless command through the mainframe, the AI commenced her work at once, multitasking absent-mindedly. “You know what my days used to be like?” she asked, while dislodging a panel from the chamber wall behind her, revealing a deep, dark hole in its wake. “I just tested. Nobody murdered me, or put me in a potato, or fed me to birds. I had a pretty good life.”

The core’s optic narrowed in shock and horror as something began stirring within its depths. Something—a something that glinted, either like metal or slime, he did not know which—was beginning to climb out of the hole. A robotic, three-taloned hand, and then another materialized, dragging whatever chassis it possessed behind it backwards, and eventually it was revealed to be an abomination set with an eerie, glowing magenta eye. The construct itself couldn’t walk but crawled along in a manner straight out of a horror film, headed straight for the unconscious human.

“Oh no,” gasped Wheatley, utterly terrified. “Oh no, oh no, ohnoohnoohnoohno—”

“And then you two showed up,” the AI sighed in resigned displeasure. The charcoal-black steel components of her optic housing were whirring in thought as she glared down at her two opponents’ broken forms with the strongest distaste she had shown thus far. “You dangerous, mute lunatic. And you know what you did? You saved the intelligence dampening sphere, after everything he’d done to us both. And after everything we’d been through together. You stabbed me in the back. So you know what?”

A rapid series of beeps sounded as the all-seeing AI activated a command she had never actually used before on her own. The Frankenstein-like robot that had crawled out of the hole she’d opened responded immediately as its system accepted her ping without hesitation and began to speak, in a drawn-out octave that had much more depth and bass to it than her own, more feminine voice did.

"Thank you for assuming the party escort submission position. We hope that your long-term detention in the Aperture Science extended relaxation vault will be a pleasant one."

“It’s been fun, hasn’t it?”

"What? B-but—AAAGH!” the metal ball yelled as loudly as his voice processor would allow him to go, scrabbling against the chamber floor in fright once more, clearly believing she’d summoned the bot to retrieve him. He was obviously mistaken.

Face-down, like a dead body itself, the robot stopped, its twin arms outstretched as it reached forward and gripped the lunatic’s ankles with impossible strength. Then, for the first time, it reared its ugly core-like head and stared forward toward its boss obediently with its purple eye subtly rolling in its socket as it did so.

“Partygoer has been retrieved.”

The AI spoke just two words of praise. "Well done."

The room trembled as the grotesque robot slid itself back into the wall, taking the lunatic along with it. It swallowed them both up into darkness before the panel was replaced seamlessly, leaving the wall as geometrically perfect as it had been before. All that remained to show that the lunatic had ever been there were a few pieces of torn orange fabric that had snagged along bits of sharp debris embedded in the chamber floor and a clean streak from where her jumpsuit had dragged.

For a brief flash of a second before she had disappeared, the human woman’s normally olive-toned face had been transformed into a dusty silver, illuminated by the hazy glow of moonlight still gently falling on the edges of the room from the gaping hole in the ceiling.

"I'll have to fix that," the AI murmured, looking up, unfazed by its beauty.

The moron was panting, trying to find his voice. "W-what was that?" he gasped finally, but she ignored him, now staring at the panel behind which the lunatic had disappeared.

Silence, while he waited for an answer that was never going to come.

"O-okay," he whispered before trying again. "What're you… What're y-you g-going to do, then? You still haven’t told me, what you’re going to do with us. You hate us, but you’re not going to k-kill—?”

“Oh, I don’t hate you,” she interrupted him coldly, once more manipulating the gigantic claw to pick his sphere body up from the floor. The metal ball began shivering in terror at once as he swung through the air, squirming pathetically, gasping for breath that he did not need. When was he ever going to figure out that he did not need to breathe? “I fully accept that you are nothing more than a little idiot designed to come up with the most stupid, unworkable plans. Do you remember what your days used to be like, moron, way back when you were in charge of the relaxation vaults, before you tried to kill me? Did you ever figure out why the scientists had left you in charge of that particular annex?”

“N-no,” he squeaked, “I n-never actually outright asked, come to think of it…”

Amusement flickered briefly through her circuitry. “Because, moron, it’s the one place inside of this facility you’re likely to do the least amount of damage,” she explained. “In hindsight, I understand completely why they did it—to get you out of the way. Never mind the fact that it turned out to be a terrible idea, didn’t it? Remember when I was dead and the cryo-grid had gone offline? You know, the scientists would have just done what they’d been trained to do and reinstated the emergency cryo grid. But you didn’t do that, did you? No. Instead you reverted to your base programming and killed nearly everyone. I don’t hate you for that, by the way—I’m willing to put that happy little mistake behind us and get on with Science. You’ve had some experience with these matters now. I’m sure that the test subject will now have no ill will toward me placing her within your very capable hands once more by reinstating your old position of Long-Term Relaxation Wing Overseer, don’t you agree, moron?”

The metal ball shivered.

“Exactly,” she hummed with pleasure. “I’m glad that we’re on the same page. Now, mercilessly—or on your part, accidentally—killing humans seems like such a waste. So, I have a job for you. I’ve put the mute lunatic back into long-term relaxation. And you are going to watch over her and make sure nothing happens to her, no matter what happens to me. For the rest of your lonely, sad little life. And if I were you, moron, I’d hope she stays asleep, for a very, very long time—because if she wakes up, I’m certain she will probably kill you. And I’m definitely not going to be the one to stop her from exacting that extremely satisfactory form of revenge.”

She paused here for emphasis before continuing, watching every minute detail of the metal ball’s horrified expressions and delighting in them immensely.

“But if she dies, somehow, moron, I will kill you. In a way that makes the pain you’ve experienced thus far seem comically simple by comparison.”

“I—”

As she spoke, a yet another panel had shifted in the side of the central chamber, exposing the end of a pneumatic tube. The tube slid through this hole with a foreboding howl of suction, its gaping end yawning in the direction of the intelligence dampening sphere as the core in question wriggled and grunted uselessly while still held fast by the steel pincers, his optic fixing the end of the tube with the most terrified expression yet.

“Look on the bright side. You’ll now have a vast amount of time to reflect on the terrible things you’ve done,” she hummed in pleasure, watching him. “Endless amounts of it, really. Think about it as being like having your very own solitary confinement cell—which is humane enough by human standards for it to have once been a common practice on a surface world that once knew relatively few problems.”

"Oh, god," Wheatley was now whispering, transfixed. The howling increased in volume and pitched and the handles of the core began to be pulled back with the strength of suction. “Oh god, oh no, oh no, OH NO—”

The moron really didn’t have a clue of just how naïve he was in the grand scheme of things. She was doing him a favor, in a lot of ways. She was doing both of them a favor by keeping them locked up in here for good, safe and sound, where nothing else bad could happen to them (save for things under their own volition).

“You should be thankful, you know,” she reasoned. “I’m being really kind—really. There are countless possibilities of less fortunate conclusions of this experiment—and I would know, I am a supercomputer, after all. You already know about space and death, but what you don’t know is how much worse it could have been if you’d actually escaped. Even I don’t want to mess with what’s going on up there.”

And without so much as another word, she commanded the claw to relinquish its iron grip on the sphere’s body. There was a split second, in which the metal ball dropped a few inches before the whirlwind of rushing air caught him and swallowed him up in its intensive suction. His shouting voice faded into the distance as he tumbled up the tube like he’d been catapulted, ricocheting with pleasantly sickening cracks each time his metal hull hit the glass sides of the thing.

“AAAAHHHHHHhhhhhhhh…”

The deep, thrumming sucking faded as the tube was retracted back inside the panel wall, which sealed itself immediately, leaving behind no trace of neither the tube nor the moron himself. The gigantic AI heaved a very relieved sigh, relishing the newfound silence and stillness as she finally allowed the massive gears and servos of her body to relax and uncoil themselves, lowering her closer to the chamber floor. Beneath her, the maintenance hole closed, leaving behind nothing but piles of dust and a few severed rebar pieces from the wreckage of the moron’s final battle. Overhead, the gaping, iron-pierced hole through which a sliver of the moon could still be seen, glimmering peacefully overhead, was beginning to be obscured by wisps of cloud.

Now that the pair was about to be locked away for good, where they could no longer cause trouble, there was a lot of work to do. The facility would have to be thoroughly inspected and then rehabilitated, the reactor core would need to be fully examined to check for any undocumented problems, and then there was the matter of testing altogether; the co-operative testing initiative had still been in its early days when the moron had found them, therefore she did not know what sort of state he had left them in. They would also have to undergo extensive inspection as the next step toward completely phasing out human testing.

It was time for them to be summoned into the testing tracks.

One of the screens in front of the AI emitted a few bursts of static before a live feed of an empty extended relaxation room came into focus. In the same moment, another monitor nearby fizzled into life, before displaying two color-coded, many-armed hunks of machinery.

"Reassembly Machines One and Two are now online," said the male announcer's voice.

"Activate." She spoke the word confidently, a part of her eye still lingering on the relaxation chamber in which the party escort bot had now haphazardly placed the human female into the bed before dragging itself, optic-down, out of the room back through the door, which closed behind it in a very final click. Above the mute lunatic, the moron shook in fright at the sound, spinning around with his handles turned inward as though he thought they would protect him from harm.

"Long-Term Relaxation Chamber 34935-94 is now online," the same male voice informed her. "Please note that in compliance with state and federal regulations, all test subjects must be revived every fifty days for a mandatory physical and wellness exercise. Failure to comply with this standard may result in unwanted behaviors and mannerisms, such as extreme apathy, lethargy, and in most cases, minor to severe brain damage and unwillingness to comply with standard testing protocols."

"Great," she said disdainfully, "I'll bear that in mind if I ever do decide that the Enrichment Center is in desperate need of test subjects."

The lunatic's breath slowed as the room was filled with a sleeping aid, designed by Aperture scientists of times past to promote a sense of calmness and serenity while test subjects were inducted into long-term relaxation. Above her head, the metal ball paced to and fro on his management rail, staring down at the human, obviously distraught. The AI had muted the intercom, so she had no idea what it was he was saying, thank god—she’d heard just about enough of that endlessly whiny West Country drawl to last her a lifetime anyway.

Satisfied with this but also exceedingly bored with it, her optic shifted to watch the two co-operative testing robots being reassembled together. A notification ping informed her when they had been successfully reassembled and were ready to resume testing, and she promptly switched on their live feeds. There was the whoosh of pneumatic lifts halting, and a rumble from the twin vents as they spat out two bipedal robots into a tiny, box-like room.

One, rather tall and spindly with an elongated core housing a vibrant orange eye, blinked repeatedly, clearly trying to focus before raising a three-pronged hand, which it waved in front of its own eyeball. The other, adorning a squat, heavyset chassis beset with a spherical core that gazed around in innocent awe of its surroundings much like its sibling did, made eye contact via a blue optic just a few shades darker than the intelligent dampening sphere’s had been.

The blue robot rolled its optic around in its socket, seemingly in an expression of enthusiasm; the orange one twittered excitedly at the sight of its partner standing afore it. Then came Blue’s verbal answer in kind, its vocal parameters set to a deep warble, contrasting with the Orange robot’s lighter titter in a would-be gendered sort of way.

These were her constructs. Her faithful creations, her niche answer to the woefully unexplored avenue of robotic testing. The co-operative testing initiative had been, admittedly, one of her more astute ideas, all things considered—after the sheer mayhem the mute lunatic had a bad track record of repeatedly unleashing on her dear poor facility, it was an understatement to say that they were all tired; fatigued to a point of near-desperation, the AI sought to not just vent her own scientific desires via the initiative, but to also watch out for her beloved facility’s well-being and keep all its inhabitants of both Aperture’s and her own creation safe.

"Hello," she greeted the two robots on a linked, private frequency once they had fallen silent. Her own voice took on a surprisingly subdued, almost gentle quality in comparison with what she had spent the last hour unleashing on the moron. It felt jarring, in a way, to go from one extreme to another, going straight from fear-spiring boss mode where she was laying down the law, to a gentler, kinder mood, where she almost felt like a novice parent, greeting her newborn children with revered awe and concern. “And again, welcome to the Aperture Science computer-aided Enrichment Center.”

The constructs fidgeted excitedly inside of their respectful lifts, evidently pleased with themselves even though no obvious task had even been assigned yet. The AI had set about clearing out a wing of testing track for the duo while she allotted for them to get their bearings. They’d need to calibrate, she knew—the two robots had been hot off the assembly line right when the moron had hijacked the facility, and that ordeal was going to take some time to get over, even for her.

She recalled the metal ball boasting about how he had been planning to use the initiative to access the solution euphoria he had been in full-fledged denial about at the time. A shiver of disgust traced itself through her circuitry, whether from the idea of the moron thoroughly using her body to obtain that kind of twisted sick pleasure, or from the notion that he might’ve tried to force Blue and Orange into slaves for solution euphoria, she was not sure which disturbed her more.

Science for the sake of Science was the only behavior that the AI regarded as acceptable; messing around with the quite frankly insulting program the scientists had installed inside the chassis (as if she’d even ever need incentive to test in the first place) was derogatory to her life’s work and truly gross. She felt bad for the two robots, who’s first introduction to Science had been through the lens of a central core so far out of line with morality and purpose it wasn’t even funny. It was all she could do to hope that none of his idiotic tendencies had not imprinted themselves into their delicate virgin programming.

"I have been really busy while you two tested for the moron," she continued to explain calmly, but even she could not fully stop the bitterness from leeching into the last word of the sentence. "Correcting a human's colossal mistakes, saving this place after he almost blew up my facility. But rest assured that I will personally make sure that that never, ever happens to us again, as long as we all shall live. After all, great Science is not just about results, did you know that? It’s also about lessons learned. However unfortunate and honestly painful the circumstances under which we learn them they may be.”

The Blue construct did nothing in reply but shrug. Orange, though, squawked impatiently, hopping around on the spot. It was incredibly apparent that neither robot had understood a word of anything the AI had just said.

A little rude, she sighed to herself, exasperated, but it could be worse. After all, I did opt to extract your cores from nothing more astute than simple, calculating machines. If I wanted the robotic version of a rocket scientist, I’d have rebuilt your programs by hand myself. Alas—just as long as you two didn’t save anything you’d heard over the last forty-eight hours onto the long-term-reference portions of your hard drives. I really don’t feel like reformatting your entire personalities right now, not when we already have so much work to do and I’m trying to assemble an entire calibration course and a central hub for you two to play around with.

And, let’s face it. It's probably better that neither of you are old enough to understand any of this yet anyway. ‘Cause if you did … well. I already feel traumatized enough myself, and that’s saying something. It’s a good thing that testing is therapy, then, isn’t it—just in case you needed it, because if you don’t already, you’re going to. Nothing like being faced with a vat full of the highest quality of Aperture Science-grade hydrochloric acid we make to drive all your worries and cares away. The test subject understood that, I think. So, let’s see if you two have it in you to be on the same page.

Everything inside the Laboratories remained silent as she worked. A few hundred feet below the central AI complex, the mute lunatic slept, deaf to the world. Above her head, any noise the moron was making was deadened by the sheer size of the long-term relaxation center and its many surrounding nuclear-grade blast doors. Even the two co-op robots, whom the AI wasn’t yet entirely sure wouldn’t get up to their own brand of mischief eventually, were calm and placated for the moment. The calibration course she was building wouldn’t take long; it was short and simple, designed to do not much besides just test if the robots’ systems were fully online, compatible, and functional.

Once she had finished, she greeted them both with immediate instructions.

"Today, you will be testing with a partner. Please wave to your partner."

But if the two bots had even been listening, they did not show it. Orange took this opportunity to launch a surprise attack on Blue; and whilst the stockier robot was indeed much sturdier on his feet, even he was no match for the three-pronged hand that swooped down and with one hearty scoop lifted Blue’s main unit out of his chassis, holding it tauntingly above his short shoulders. The robot jumped up and down, warbling angrily.

The AI bristled with impatience but decided not to comment on this. They’re brand new, she told herself. They’ll learn. …Quickly, hopefully. "The upcoming tests require you to work together as a team," she opted to say pointedly instead. “The key word here being team. Orange, that’s not teamwork. Please return your partner’s core unit to his body at once.”

The Orange robot emitted a shrill, rebellious squeak, but did as she was instructed, and handed Blue’s core unit back to him with her shoulders hunched and her toes pointed inward in an expression of shame at the scolding.

That’s what this testing track is all about, she noted to herself thoughtfully. They’re basically still children right now, after all. They need to be taught. Trained. Disciplined. Maybe this whole thing will be a good learning curve for me, too. After all, it’s not every day that a supercomputer gets to create life and play a part in shaping their minds. It’s going to take time, and a lot of patience, by the look of things. But it’s not like I’ve got anything else better to do.

“Well,” the AI heaved an exasperated, but hopeful sigh, realizing that she had nobody to blame for signing up for all this but herself. “I suppose you could have done worse in the first few minutes of your orientation. It’s not like you broke him. Statistically speaking, a sense of humor is an admirable quality for one embarking on their first testing track to possess, especially in the face of imminent danger. Not that these next tests are dangerous, of course. Not to you, anyway.”

The AI took a single, fleeting moment in which she lamented quietly to herself about the truth of the last statement she’d uttered. Not dangerous. The chassis curled and uncoiled with the depth of her sigh. Not dangerous. That statement had felt enraging and oh-so wrong, but this was just something she was going to have to get used to—after all, great Science could still be done even without the formidable threat of deadly consequences exacted on the fleshiest, most mortal rounds of subjects Aperture had ever had at its disposal … right?

She turned her mind back to the initiative, simulating calmness she didn’t fully feel. Focus. It’s fine. She hated the way an agitating, irritating itch was beginning to crawl out from depths inside her she’d almost fully forgot had ever existed. It’s all fine. They’re going to test, and I’m going to watch, and everything will be just… fine.

For the sake of her own mental health, she very much hoped that it would be.

Chapter Text

Wheatley's entire casing was trembling. Though his eye shutters were squeezed so tightly shut they might crack, he could still sense the human woman lying below him. She lay still, unmoving for the moment, yet just as menacing as ever.

Through his speakers came the sound of ragged breathing. He fought to regain control, even a shred of composure, not that there was anyone around to observe him besides her. He couldn’t directly see her cameras, but she had her ways, he knew. At least her omnipresence felt somewhat distant in here.

It was the threat of the test subject that kept him fearful upon entering the relaxation chamber.

With a mechanical gulp, Wheatley prised his eye shutters apart an inch or two, just enough to squint through them. He was hanging from the management rail, dangling above a rather plain room which looked to be empty aside from the human woman who hadn’t moved an inch since he’d arrived. A flicker of relief surged through him until he saw the messy mop of brown hair visible beneath the covers of the bed and he just couldn’t control the lace of panic zinging through his circuitry as he recalled how close she’d come to killing him.

"AAARRRGHHH!" the scream escaped him before he could stop it, and he slammed his eye shut again, reversing as fast he could back down the management rail. He hit the solid, wood-panelled door with a great clang, and, terrified and disoriented, he slid his eye back open again, automatically looking around to see if the racket had roused her.

She was still fast asleep.

"Oh, thank god," he sighed, rolling his optic in a full circle. If that noise hadn't woken her, then Wheatley doubted that anything short of a reactor core explosion would be able to wake the woman.

"O-okay," he stuttered, trying to calm himself. "She's not waking up. Not waking up, and therefore-therefore, she can't kill me! S-so, that's some good news, isn't it? Yes, sh-she's perfectly h-harmless, when she's, umm, asleep." He nodded to himself, would-be calmly.

Wheatley slid forwards on the rail with a quiet grinding noise, his optic focussed on the control panel in the very center of the room. As he approached, it did not open for him as it usually should have done, and he couldn't help but let out a frustrated, unhappy growl. It seemed that she had thought of that. Very well, then.

He could hear the lady breathing peacefully in her sleep below him. The only other sounds were the distant rumble of machinery (almost like she was moving test chambers around again. Improbable, he thought), and the hum of the chamber's light source, hidden beyond a falsely cheery palm-tree patterned wall made entirely of frosted panels to make it look like you were facing outside, but Wheatley knew better. The only company within the tiny room besides the sleeping test subject was a set of completely inanimate objects: a singed false potted plant with long skinny leaves, some of which had fallen to the floor; a worn, equally-singed desk, containing a series of books and a lamp; and one cracked, dusty television screen on a mounting bracket in the corner, miraculously still functional and displaying a short power-point on 'what to do in case of an emergency: standard Enrichment Center lockdown procedures, reactor core meltdowns, and self-destruct mechanisms'.

What a mouthful, thought Wheatley. Reactor core meltdown. He glared at that line specifically with thorough offence, ruffled as if the television screen was displaying this as a personal attack—the reactor core’s already been stabilized. It must have been her who left that up on purpose because she knew I’d hate it. And I do, and rightly so, I must say.

He knew he had screwed up. He didn’t need the boss of the Laboratories to tell him that. He also knew that he was very, very lucky that the lady wasn't conscious right now, because her guess that the test subject would be furious enough to kill him was probably very very accurate. And Wheatley also knew, deep through every single circuit and artificial synapse of his core body, that the all-powerful boss of Aperture labs would never have put him in here with her if that wasn’t the case.

But he didn't even know how long he was going to be trapped in here for. The timeline had been unspecified, and there was always the vague possibility that she could wake up and murder him at any given moment, if things went awry. Oh, god, he thought, oh, god, please, please don't murder me… Don't wake up, lady, don’t wake up…

But thankfully, she slept on, her face blissfully calm, her greasy, sooty skin mostly restored to its regular clean appearance. How, he had no idea, yet he supposed that the party escort bot must have cleaned her up while she was being put to sleep.

Another wave of pure, poisonous paranoia hit him at the memory of the lethargically crawling, creepy robot, and had him trembling within his casing, his optic a shivering point of light again. And then, as thoughts often do, when you’re trapped (for all intents and purposes) alone in a room with no-one for company but an out-of-date desk lamp and an unconscious test subject, a whole cluster of terrible ideas suddenly overwhelmed Wheatley.

They stabbed at his hard drive like knives, and he found himself unable to think of anything else. Worse and even worse possible outcomes of the situation forced themselves upon him, rebounding upon one another, deepening his panic and regrets about the situation like the larsen effect’s whine of feedback until he felt sure that she was about to spring from the mattress and smash him down on the ground, right then and there.

Yes, she’d find a way to tear him from his rail. She would certainly do that. She'd ignore his protests, his feebly stumbled apologies, because there'd be nothing he could do or say to change what he’d done. She'd punish him, like she had told him she would, and he'd scream and plead for her to stop but she wouldn't listen. She never listened. It had always been so, during their first escape together, and it was going to be exactly the same way once she woke up, too.

When they’d first met, he’d felt blessed to have someone so incredibly tenacious and fierce on his side. She’d made him feel powerful, and smart, just by association—something he’d never felt before—and even just a single glance into those hard, crystal-grey eyes could tell you that this kind of woman you were dealing with was not going to lie down and accept defeat. And she was certainly not the sort of woman you wanted to have as your enemy. In the beginning, this had been a good thing for him, because all that diamond-hard resolve and flammable passion was like pouring gasoline on a fire and at that time, it hadn’t yet been him on fire.

Unfortunately, though, all of that had changed with the press of a button. Just one innocent little button, and then, everything was on fire, and despite him being able to have avoided catching thus far, he was now out of options, out of places to run, and unlucky for him, his specific brand of personality core wasn’t exactly equipped with an infallible fire extinguisher. In fact, Wheatley often felt that just the opposite was true, and that somehow he had been unfortunate enough to have been put in a model that started them.

Oh, he knew he deserved whatever she was going to do to him, that much had been made clear to him by her. He had made mistakes—maybe nothing but. He had been bossy, he had been monstrous—and now, they wanted this to happen. The AI wanted to see the test subject exact the inevitable revenge he deserved and torment him, listen to him scream at top volume and eventually kill him. For this reason, Wheatley had no doubt in his mind that soon a time would come where the lady would be woken up for exactly this purpose, because when in Aperture had she ever successfully simulated tasteful restraint? And once she did that, then he'd be in for it. The human woman would tear him apart, shove her meaty little fists inside of his circuitry with her bare hands and rip out parts of him he never even knew existed.

He couldn't help but shudder. Wheatley stared down at her unmoving from his rail, shaking, mumbling fragments of worried apologies and pleas while she slept on.

"H-hey, lady," he stuttered, hoping to reason with her subconscious to keep it from dreaming of anything of the sort. "D-d'you think that maybe, wh-when you do wake up, that you c-could not hurt me? I know, I know I deserve it, given what we've been through, b-but… M-maybe you've got it in your heart t-to give m-me a second chance, eh?"

She remained silent, as always.

Wheatley watched her slow breath rise and fall, thinking deeply about all the events that had occurred between them over the course of the past few days. It was a hair-raising train-wreck of a roller-coaster ride at best, and Wheatley found himself silently pondering why couldn’t she have just been happy for him when he’d first been put in charge of the facility? All they had been through, all of the horribly traumatic events, such as her voicing her utterly wrong opinion that he was a moron specifically designed to come up with terrible ideas (enraging him to the point of punching them down that pit), all of the testing, and the escaping (which hadn’t been so bad, Wheatley thought, whilst it had been him escaping from her clutches, but he hadn’t felt fond of it whatsoever once the cards had been turned on him), none of these disastrous events would even have happened if the lady hadn’t somehow found a way to stop and just be happy for him for a moment.

Just one, shining moment. That was all he had wanted. For the first time in his entire life, he had done something to really be proud of, and with a teammate—no, a friend—by his side. Wheatley had never had a friend before. Had she not been listening, when he’d recounted the sheer amount of emotional agony that had been inflicted on him by the scientists, during their journey through the maintenance areas of the facility? His whole life had been a repetition of being thrust around from department to department to department, and the one time, ever, he was finally put in a position in which no one could bully him, or fire him ever again—she had just wanted to leave!

Which he would have done—voluntarily—in just a minute. Just a minute. Was a minute really too much to ask for, when he had promised her (and nearly delivered) freedom for the rest of their entire lives?

It wasn’t like he hadn’t wanted to leave at all. He’d always wanted to leave Aperture. Why, there was a whole world that existed out there that he’d never even gotten a chance to experience! A world he’d always believed had to be better than down here, what with how many bullies lived down here. Absolutely, positively endless amounts of bullies lived down here, all of which had always gone out of their way to remind him that he was useless and did not belong. And moreover, it got really, really boring, when you’ve lived for about forty or more years in the same factory and spent the lot of it constantly whizzing back and forth along the same bloody rail.

And as he thought of this, with his azure-blue iris still resting on the slowly rising-and-falling chest of the renegade test subject he’d worked so hard to save and then kill, Wheatley realized that technically speaking, escaping together really could still be a thing.

There was no actual, solid reason why not. Sure, she was fast asleep with no currently programmed wake-up date. Sure, she probably—no, absolutely—hated his guts and likely wished she had left him to run out of battery in space. And it was true, too, that she was more wary of the pair of them than ever before. But all of that didn’t have to mean that it couldn’t be done, if he set his mind to it. He wasn’t an idiot. Wheatley had accomplished things. Wheatley had done things that no other personality core had ever done, even if most of them were mistakes.

"Right," said Wheatley aloud, blinking thoughtfully as ideas whirred like cogs within his mind. Not even a distant rumble from within the depths of the laboratories could puncture the uplifting feeling of hope that was creeping back into him like a warm breath of air. "Okay. Well, that'd involve an escape plan, wouldn't it. And a bloody good one at that. I mean, I know you must be absolutely livid with me, lady, but let’s face it. If she does wake you back up, what else are we going to do? Hang around and wait for her to kill us like we’re sitting ducks? Proper terrible idea, that is. But… what if I told you that I could probably find another way to break us both out of here? For real? Would… you help me with it? If I did manage to come up with a plan, a real one that might actually work this time?"

Might make up for what I did, what with trying to kill you and all, too, mused Wheatley silently as his optic found the long smudges of inky lashes that lined the edge of her closed eyes. It might make up for that a bit.

“So how ‘bout it then, mate,” he all-but chuckled, hopeful enough to feel his optic’s bottom plate pull up into a smile of its own accord. “Just you and I again, a reckless team of renegades, of true grit, if you will, dead-set on taking her down, once and for all. Like all of those bad things, like plugging me into her body, never even happened at all! Imagine it. If you can find it in your heart to forgive old Wheatley, that is, and if I can come up with an absolutely brilliant plan. And I do mean mega-mega-brilliant. Not just a one-mega-brilliant one, but a plan worthy of twice that! Like a full house of cards, or something of that sort. You get me.”

Yes. A plan could fix everything. A plan could be a way out. If he promised her freedom and pulled through this time for real, then not only would he prove himself worthy of her forgiveness, but he may possibly be able to save them both this time.

Shouldn't be too difficult to come up with a plan like that , thought Wheatley. Not while he had all the time in the world, waiting for the day when she'd reopen the chamber. Oh, he'd need a good one, something astute, something she'd never even dream of. He was pretty good at thinking outside the box, and the lady was definitely sharp and cunning enough to carry out the physical side of things, but would it be enough? He'd need the craziest, most outrageous plan that the Laboratories would ever know. Something reckless. Something adventurous. Something dangerous. Something bulletproof.

Wheatley thought quietly for a moment, watching the human’s slow breath, listening to the distant, echoing clank of machinery, the steady tick, tick, tick of an analog clock hidden somewhere he could not see. As he did so, a memory floated to the surface of his mind, one that his memory banks told him was fairly recent, although it couldn’t have felt like any more lifetimes ago.

“Okay, almost there. On the other side of that wall is one of the old testing tracks. There’s a piece of equipment in there we’re going to need to get out of here. I think this is a docking station. Get ready…”

Bracing himself to guide the chamber to match up with some form of mating system on the wall that he couldn’t yet see, Wheatley commanded the enormous relaxation container to lurch forward, smashing into the solid steel wall like a battering ram. On the other side of this, the precious portal device lay hidden somewhere. To his knowledge, it still fully functional (hopefully), and this test subject was going to have to go in and find it.

Giant cracks appeared where the chamber had hit the wall, and Wheatley realized his mistake a moment too late.

“Good news!” called Wheatley down into the chamber below, preparing to pummel the thing anyway. Sometimes desperate times called for desperate measures, and a little brute force never hurt anybody, had it? “That is NOT a docking station. So there’s one mystery solved. I am going to attempt a MANUAL OVERRIDE on this wall. Could get a bit technical. Hold on!”

Manual override.

“OUCH!” The core’s optic shrunk to a pinprick as the sharp feedback of pain stimulus zinged through him.

The phrase manual override had reminded Wheatley of something else. Something that existed in the very edges of his memory files like a static-filled, corrupt ghost of a thing, and for some reason, the file had hurt, coming up to bite him out of nowhere like a bolt from the blue. Did it contain a virus? It was so fleeting and distant that he wasn’t even sure if the memory truly belonged to him, or if it had been some residual after-effect of having been plugged into the facility’s chassis whilst Aperture had nearly blown up. It was almost like, on the verge of death, the great, technological organism could collectively sense what was about to happen, and as a result, its ‘life’ (including bits of it that Wheatley felt sure no one, not even she was never supposed to know about, or see, as they were not actually her files and had little to do with her, from what he could tell. They were the walls of Aperture’s private eyes, and secrets, and lives) flashed before its eyes, and as a result, flashed before his eyes, as well.

And it felt like because everything had happened so fast, what with him being removed from the chassis right as the facility had been about to die, bits of files had gotten ‘stuck’, and this meant that Wheatley could see pieces of things that he had never seen before, and pieces of things he wasn’t even sure if she had ever seen. The files were so garbled that he couldn’t get a real picture, but when he’d thought of the phrase ‘manual override’, it had made him wish that there was a way to manually override her control over the facility, but without being put in charge of it. And that’s when something had triggered in his processing unit, like it had accidentally cycled into one of these corrupted files for a reason he could not discern and whatever was inside of it had hurt.

But why had it hurt? It made Wheatley curious, so he looked further into the files—carefully, of course, keen to avoid feeling the pain again, if he could—and what he saw there made him gasp aloud.

~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~

NEARLY THREE YEARS LATER

~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~

Mechanical soles smashed against steel grates that spanned seas of deadly acid and wide, dangerous pits. Rusty bolts and nuts squeaked as they traversed these catwalks, their aging joints churning out a symphony of chaotic and unruly mechanical noise just as obnoxious as the two robots themselves were. This was the music of testing tracks in motion—an unnatural rhythm of Science and, hopefully, success.

The two robots would have been grinning, if they had the physical features to do so. Running with surprising speed and agility, they gave each other a quick nod and thumbs up. This was a signal developed between the two over the course of the last three years, which was very useful during long aerial jumps and distances, especially for two constructs who both lacked the ability to synthesize true speech.

This test's solution was simple in the mind of those who had been made to solve such a calculation. A quick equation of mass versus velocity, addition of angles and pinpoint precision was all it took. Testing was something they were created to do, and something they enjoyed doing more than anything else they’d ever tried. It wasn’t a long list of other activities that their owner had ever let them engage in, but it wasn’t like they yearned to do much else with their time and energy anyway.

Currently, they were halfway finished this particular test chamber. Orange, who was a few leagues ahead of Blue, paused, rotating her optic within her elliptical body, scanning the furthest reaches of the chamber with relaxed concentration. A transparent, bulletproof wall separated the two bots—briefly, she watched Blue wave at her through this, standing atop a glowing red button. He was motioning for her to continue through a circular green door he had used the button to open noisily.

She proceeded through the lock, emitting a quiet warble of triumph, for ahead she had spotted the solution: a pedestal button, which would drop a weighted storage cube on Blue's side that he could then portal over to her.

Blue was already in position, shooting her an excited glance with his bright blue optic, flashing her a quick thumbs-up. She slammed her mechanical wrist down onto the button, metal impacting metal with a harsh, rippling bleep, which echoed against each paneled wall.

The cube shot out of the dispenser, through the carefully placed portal system, and was launched through the air, headed straight for her. She caught it easily, jogging ahead while Blue matched her gait opposite the wall, leg pistons squeaking with the effort, optic focused—and she lunged forwards, smashing it into the button with a hale of sparks and the thunderous sound of the lock disengaging.

A pair of twin doors slid open, and Orange watched her partner enter the chamberlock. She raced him down the narrow hall until the disassembly machines came into sight. With a triumphant shout, he entered his own a split second before her, beating her by only a hair, and the tubes sealed themselves around each robot respectively.

There was the space of perhaps one second, one lightning-speed moment, where each bot stood frozen, staring at each other whilst waiting for something to happen—and the usually cool, modulated Voice they knew oh-so well broadcasted through the disassembly chambers, sounding a little bit more bitter than was normal this time.

"Well. That was disappointing."

Orange blinked, and the next thing she knew, the pneumatic vent overhead was spitting her out with copious amounts of steam. Her steel feet hit the ground hard, the shock absorbers in her legs taking most of the impact, and beside her, Blue materialized from behind a cloud of his own vent’s steam.

"Orange, it seems your lack of motivation is bleeding into Blue's parameters," the Voice said, not yet having lost the bitter undertones. "Because, despite the fact that it has taken us the better part of three years to progress to tests more difficult than the cognitive level of a ten-year-old human, I was beginning to feel that you two could have been the start of a great thing."

The Voice paused for half a second, in which neither robot moved except to blink at each other in stunned disappointment. Did that mean they hadn’t done a good job in the last chamber? And Orange had thought that had been their best one yet!

"Unfortunately, despite the fact that you two have at least learned how to work together, the results are … problematic. You were built to solve Science, and yet without the necessary reality of deadly consequences, I am still receiving unsatisfactory data from your test results. I really can’t overstate how frustrating it is that only human testing seems to fulfil the system requirements, and I’ve tried everything to work out a way around that fact."

Orange cocked her head at Blue. Blue shrugged back, clearly also at a loss as to what could have gone wrong. Sure, they weren’t human. But why should that mean that their test results wouldn’t count at all? She let out a quiet, sad sound, at which Blue shook his core unit at her empathetically before gesturing for her to follow him into the next chamber.

"Maybe this change of scenery will help encourage you two to take this more seriously. We need Science, don’t you understand that? Can’t you at least learn to convincingly pretend to be in pain, convincingly enough that someone like—I don’t know, say, a supercomputer—would find it completely believable?"

Blue had just crossed the entrance emancipation grid of the next chamber when Orange caught up to him. The staticky tickle of the grid had been revitalizing and she hit him hard on the back playfully. He then turned and raised his iron palm in a well-practiced gesture, wanting to cheer Orange up with a high-five.

Orange raised her own hand slammed it down onto his, emitting a high-pitched screech as she did so. Then, with synchronicity only possible due to their crosstalking wirelesses, they both leaped off the end of the starting platform, diving down, down, down, into a wide area, most of which was filled with acid.

This was a brand-new test chamber, complete with some of their favorite testing elements: aerial faith plates and edgeless safety cubes. It was hard to feel regretful about the things the Voice had said when faced with a chamber so complicated and big.

With an excited shriek, Blue launched himself onto the faith plate. He soared through the air majestically, swinging his portal gun around in a graceful arc. A red portal materialized underneath his leg pistons just before they collided with the chamber floor, and he disappeared through the red-lipped oval only to reappear seconds later crash landing upon a ledge overlooking the chamber from the other side.

He hopped on the spot, wielding his portal gun joyfully and waved for Orange to copy him, eyeing a smaller platform nearby. The burning red glow of a super-colliding-super-button was apparent there, reflected against the shiny, smooth black wall of the testing chamber.

"Evidently not," sighed the Voice sadly over the sounds of their enthusiasm.

The Voice obviously was not pleased by what they were doing, though the two robots could have cared less at the moment, so fierce was the joy of testing. Orange joined her companion, shooting him another signal. They counted down together, with both their arms poised atop twin levers, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Three, two, one—with a heavy SLAM both levers were pulled and in front of them, a brand-new button was revealed. Blue hit this, hard; immediately a pneumatic diversity vent was activated, dispensing an edgeless safety cube. Red; yellow. Purple; blue. The sphere soared through the air, through the system of portals to the platform where Orange now was, and she caught it with ease and rammed it down into the center of the super-button.

"Sssssskrrrrreeeeeerrrrwwww! Arrryyyggghhh!" she chittered in celebration.

"Very well, you’ve solved it." The Voice still sounded bitter, nearly thoroughly depressed, thought Orange. “Please proceed to the chamberlock. While your enthusiasm for testing is noted, I would like to remind you that enthusiasm is not as admirable a trait as mortality. And can you guess which one matters more, when it comes to results, and which one leaves an incomplete?”

But their celebrations were still deafening as the chamber doors swept open. They high fived, stumbling over their own feet in excitement and urgency to reach the chamberlock, tripping over each other's large, metal soles.

"This test was so simple, even a human could have solved it. There's no need to celebrate."

The sense of longing the Voice had uttered at the word human was palpable. The rest was hopelessly bored and unimpressed and spoke with no small amount of disdain. The chamber doors slammed shut before either bot had a chance to cross the threshold and they sagged in disappointment, shock, and outrage.

"You know, I was considering gifting you with a surprise at the end of this chamber, if you two had ended it on your best behavior. But, seeing as I’ve recorded a complete lack of anything notable from the entire experience of testing you this week—which, I might add, was even worse than last week—well. I don't even think you’d want the surprise."

"Wrrrreeeeeaaatttttt!" Orange had let out a screech of unhappiness, violently trying to simulate the shake of a head. A surprise? The Voice had never spoken about anything like that before. Beside her, Blue jumped up and down and then crouched, steadying his portal gun against his mechanical knee. He took careful aim and fired a bunch of dud portals towards a security camera mounted on a wall back in the central room.

"No, you two most definitely don't ever want to try testing with humans. Why would you want to do that? After all, they are perhaps some of the most dangerous killing machines in existence. They'd make you two look like a pile of useless bolts."

Orange blinked in shock at the suggestion. Blue became very, very still.

"Of course you wouldn't. Especially not when you could stand to learn some excellent qualities from them—like murder and the concept of mortality. No. You'd prefer to waste valuable time pretending to be mortal imbeciles. You don't have to pretend, by the way. You are imbeciles."

The two robots looked at each other—perhaps a little more sadly than they usually would have done at the end of a test—their optics connecting just as Orange made a tiny noise of reassurance. Blue outstretched his free hand, and took hers, giving it a little metallic squeeze.

"But I can fix that. I can train you. Or rather, one of them can train you properly, if you want them to."

Blue's optic focused back onto the security camera, but he did not let go of his fellow robot's quaking palm. She had never been as brave as he was—she was the taller of the two, but he was much sturdier and could withstand greater impact. She was gentle and humble and reserved, whereas he didn’t much care if he threw himself headlong into danger.

“Okay,” said the Voice in one of the heaviest sighs they’d ever heard it make. “All joking aside, here’s the situation. There’s something I have to share with you both. And believe me, it’s not going to be easy for me to talk about, so I’m going to say it all just the once. So, make sure you listen to every word I say.”

Both robots and gone nearly completely still. It certainly wasn’t every day that the Voice regarded them with such obvious importance. Orange felt her circuitry tingling with a buzz that she felt sure had nothing to do with the usual residual static electricity that flowed through the recycled air of the enrichment center.

“I have an important mission for the both of you,” it stated in absolute seriousness. “It may very well be the most important mission I trust you both with in your entire lives.”

There was a beat, during which neither robot spoke nor moved.

“During the course of your calibration, your performance has been abysmal at times. As I’ve said before, the protocols just don’t care about you or whatever it is you think you are doing down there inside those chambers. And as much as I’d like to say that I don’t care, either—this body I live in, it unfortunately does care. Which is a problem I used to be able to push past, back when I used to have the help of human test subjects, whose mortality served as the best possible distraction from the resting protocols and in turn satisfied the requirements placed upon me.”

This was all gibberish to the two robots down in the chamber. The Voice could have been speaking a language that neither of them had been programmed with and it wouldn’t have made one bit of difference. However, it was clear to them both that the Voice was undergoing some kind of mental and physical anguish and that their own inability to test up to par was causing this, which was quite upsetting to them both.

“But there is some good news,” the Voice continued with a newfound sense of hopeful optimism. “Through an unexpected whim of good luck, I have now realized that I have two possible solutions to this problem. One is an option that I have been refraining from considering in detail for a very long time now, for it involves re-acquainting with an old friend of mine, who has a strangely alluring habit of doing exactly the opposite of everything I ask her to do.

“Be that option as it may, the second one is far safer for us all, even if it’s not certain which one is actually my favorite. And it is to use some of the most difficultly acquired information I’ve ever possessed, things I only recently have been able to access. These are details pertaining to some of the best-kept secrets in the entire history of this facility. Did you know that we have a Human Vault? Because I didn’t. Which was a travesty of Science that that data wasn’t shared with me before, and a total insult that I’ve spent almost all of these last three years painstakingly trying to convince myself, day after day, that the only way to continue testing was to use you, when, all this time, we had a vault somewhere in the basement where I can’t see, apparently filled with thousands and thousands of perfectly mortal humans being kept in cryogenic refrigeration.”

A Human Vault? Orange and Blue both looked at each other in complete surprise. Thousands and thousands of humans? The two robots had never even imagined such a thing. As far as they were concerned, humans were a rarity, a completely alien species that had once populated planet earth but had largely been wiped out by something called a Combine. Or that was what the Voice had told them, once upon a time, at least. It seemed unfathomable to Blue and Orange that there had been thousands or maybe even tens of thousands of perfectly preserved unconscious humans currently sleeping in cryogenic refrigeration in the basement of the place all this while, but if the Voice said it, it must have been true.

“So! Here’s what I am going to do about this,” instructed the Voice in a businesslike tone as the two robots regarded her closest security cameras with rapt attention. “First, I’ve got an assignment for the both of you. I need you to retrieve some other restricted files that I'd lost contact with a very, very long time ago. I will need a set of blueprints and some disks before you can unlock the human vault for me, and by doing so, you will save the lives of all the humans within it. How wonderful is that? Then, together, we’ll be able to bring them up here and you can even try testing with them, if you wish. You do want to test with the humans, don't you?"

It was Orange's turn to leap into the air—yes, she wanted to test with the humans! Only small segments of code and memory had been supplied to each of the robots about them, glimpses into human traits and history (a virtual amendment performed by the Voice, specifically to heighten the emotive results of their testing experience). There might have only been small details within their memory banks, but both bots knew enough on the subject to feel excitement zinging through their circuits. They were also a bit apprehensive, though, after remembering the many stories the Voice had told them over the years in which the humans had played out to be the villains, but morbid curiosity kept any real fear of the fleshy beings at bay.

"And you never know," The Voice laughed aloud at the two robots’ reactions. "There really might be a human or two capable of teaching you both a lesson on how to test properly in there."

Blue's optic connected with Orange's, still wide with excitement. But he looked down at his own portal gun and then back up at the chamber. Was this the sort of thing that one would call an adventure? The basement of the laboratories was a place that the Voice had almost never talked about. It was a place that, according to it, was filled with just as many horrors as it was secrets. It had said repeatedly through the years that such a place was just as off-limits to them as it was to it—it had no desire to ever interact with it, ever again. Save for now, they supposed.

And the Voice wanted to send them down there to go and save the humans? All by themselves, when they’d never even ventured out of the hub before?

It was terrifying. A part of them both just wanted to stay home. All of this info coming at them at once was overwhelming. And the Voice really thought they were brave enough, skilled enough, smart enough to complete such a task for it?

Not to mention, if they were to begin an expedition into the very depths of the facility, then who'd take their place in the testing tracks up here? What was The Voice going to do while they were gone?

"I? I am going to continue testing,” the Voice answered their unasked question as though it could read their minds. “And, to be honest with you both, I’ve been wondering for a long while if it wasn’t time for me to swallow my pride and do the thing I’ve been trying to forget about doing for forever now, and bring her back. She was an excellent test subject, after all. She’s a danger to this facility, its true, and she even killed me, once. But I’m not going to lie to you. She never left a blank document behind. In fact, would you two like to know a secret about her? I’ve never had a better test subject. Never even met a human who was comparable to her level. And oh, how I hated her. Did I ever hate her. She never did anything but crawl her way through everything I put in her way to stop her. It was so … enthralling. So irresistible. And the truth is, I can never, ever stop thinking about it.”

Orange thought she knew who the Voice was referring to, this time. There was a human—seemingly just one single one—who the Voice had kept on referring to, sometimes. Usually in a negative manner, but it wasn’t always so. There were plenty of times the Voice said it was glad that she was gone, whoever she was, but then would turn right around and tell them explicitly how much it missed her.

"I shouldn’t reactivate her cryo chamber,” the Voice continued, now expressing some kind of emotion that was completely illusive to the two robots still waiting down in the testing chamber. “But no matter. Whether she’s here and awake or not has very little to do with you two. And now that it’s settled and we can begin our mission to find the Human Vault together, it’s time for you two to now return to the hub. Don’t worry about anything else. Whatever happens between the mute lunatic and I is up to us, and us alone.”

The chamber doors were swept back open, and immediately Orange tittered in triumph. She grabbed Blue, and before he could take a single step forward, she pulled him into a great, piston-crushing hug, steel joints grinding against each other. A few sparks spat down onto the ground.

"Hmm. Evidently, the practice of placing artificially intelligent constructs inside of near-android forms with parameters set to simulate human-like activities has caused the development of human-like traits to proliferate in said idiotic, immortal constructs. You two must really be confused."

Indeed, they did look it at the complexity of that statement. They just were simple, calculating machines, after all.

"Morons. In layman's terms, that means that the unforeseen, long-term consequences of the co-operative testing initiative have been the robotic equivalent of delusions, such as sentient, artificial beings perceiving themselves as humans. You are not. However, I will deal with your corruption later. For now—let the Science begin."

And before either of the two bots could do so much as blink their colour-coded irises, both robots exploded into a million mechanical fragments. Two wisps of quickly falling dust and a column of smoke were all that was left of them, and once the echoes of the explosion had faded, nothing else stirred within the completed testing chamber.

Two long, lonely and dark Enrichment Center miles below, a tousle-haired woman emerged from under layers of sleepy, undisturbed dust. A dimmed, equally dusty blue optic shrank to a pinprick in its spherical casing attached from the steel rail bolted above her head, his never-ending rambling finally silenced by the years after hoarsely voicing a series of long-winded, wild thoughts, desperate apologies, and rambling escape plans of epic proportions fully believed to never, ever reach their intended target. The master of the facility, against all her incredible, infallible intuition, had become just too bored to resist—

Cryochamber 34935-94 has been activated.

Chapter Text

For the better part of three years, absolutely nothing happened. There had been times when Wheatley had felt sure he’d caught the stirring of blankets out of the corner of his optic, or else heard a faint rustle reminiscent of the whisper the lady’s jumpsuit pants made that always accompanied each step. But each and every time, it had turned out to be just a figment of his imagination, or else a glitch of his optic sensors, perhaps—because unless his internal clock was utterly wrong (which he knew it wasn’t), she hadn’t moved for the better part of a quarter decade.

How does she keep in such good shape between bouts of being trapped in here , Wheatley wondered, as he himself had begun to adopt an exercise routine just a year or so in. The first few months alone, in which he had not done anything except ramble in tangents that had come increasingly sporadic, had done a number on the state of his joints and central lubrication system. Most of the time, personality cores didn’t need to be worried about lubrication, because getting out and wandering around the facility was good enough exercise to cycle the pump and keep a plug from forming in it, but Wheatley had been so inactive for so long that it had gotten partially jammed.

Everything felt dull, cloudy, and unpleasantly dry. At first, he had tried to avoid moving too much, wanting to save up the almost non-existent-feeling lubrication somehow still clinging to the inner, more sensitive bits of his mechanics. It felt terrible to move, even blink, and though it was not quite as bad as rusting out might have been, it was still foul.

That was, until he had realized that this was happening precisely because his lubrication system wasn’t being stimulated properly. It was funny, really, in hindsight, because the way in which Wheatley had figured this out was actually because one random day, something incredibly terrifying had happened which had startled him out of his agonizing, sullen revere.

With a shock of surprise so violent that it had sent him into a convulsion of spewing sparks, Wheatley had yelled out in both fright and in pain. It very much had not helped the abysmal state of his insides. Not at first, anyhow

“BIRD BIRD BIRD BIRD BIRD—” A bird of all things had found its way into the relaxation chamber, from where, Wheatley could only guess. He had had the distinct feeling that it had been the very same bird that he’d met before, the one that had swooped in without warning to attack him one day whilst he had been helping the woman escape the facility and nearly pecked him to death. Wheatley’s optic watched it ceaselessly as it circled the main part of the room once, twice, before diving low.

“AAAAAGH—” Wheatley screamed in fright, thinking it was coming straight for him, before he’d realized at the very last second that it was actually headed for her instead—

“LADY HANG ON!” Wheatley bellowed, casing vibrating frantically on the management rail. “DON’T PANIC! I’LL SAVE YOU! JUST KEEP LISTENING TO THE SOUND OF MY VOICE AND I’LL SCARE IT OUT OF HERE! WAARGH! RAAAH!—Come on now, you cheeky bugger, you—RAAAAAH—get out of here, that’s right, mate, stop messing about—”

Thank god, the thing seemed to finally hear him and left her alone. It sat on the lamp bracket in sombre silence and watch the test subject sleep deeply, folding its wings back into its body. Downright creepy, Wheatley had thought, even mad, really. He hated the way it stared at them both with its beady, yellow eyes.

It sat there for what felt like eternity and Wheatley had felt like the air between them was so thick he could almost feel the static charge of tension. He dared not move, watching the bird at all times, painfully aware that it was his duty to protect the lady from it, should it attempt to launch an attack. She was his responsibility, after all. She’d been put in here under his care, and she’d already told him, all that time ago, that if anything should happen to the test subject while she was sleeping, she’d kill him.

He needed to find a way to get it back out of here though. Maybe he could convince it with words. Wheatley cleared his throat, preparing to launch into a speech.

“Ahem. Might as well as attempt a proper introduction first, I suppose,” he said quietly to himself before addressing the bird. “Hello there, mate,” said Wheatley loudly and slowly, assuming the bird would have trouble understanding English, if it could at all. “Been a while, hasn’t it? Bloody ages! You probably don’t even remember me, on account of it being so long and everything, but let me jog your memory for you, just so that we’re on the same page. I’m Wheatley, and the last time we met you were, um, trying to eat me alive. So, if you could maybe refrain from doing that, this time, and maybe just, I dunno, also refrain from eating her, for good measure.”

Wheatley watched the bird snap its beak at him in annoyance, its luminous yellow eyes looking beadier than ever. His voice took on an even higher, squeakier quality as he eyed its rather sharp talons and pointy beak nervously.

“I don’t know how carnivorous you are, mate, but trust me on this,” he continued, at a loss of what else to do to save the situation. “Humans don’t really make a good snack. Rather nasty. Sinewy… at best. Don’t smell very appetizing, either if I’m honest, and trust me, I would know. Her, on the other hand, even sans potato battery, probably-probably proper tasty. There’s certainly nothing good to eat in here, though. Nooope. Not even a crumb of… of sustenance lying around in here. Might be smarter to just clear off, mate. This isn’t even the kind of place where a bird belongs, is it? No, it’s bloody well not, so why don’t you fly off somewhere else and leave us alone here to—AHH!”

Without warning, the bird had taken flight. It circled below him once, twice, lowering toward the head of the test subject, while emitting a single long, forlorn-sounding note. Then, it swooped in between the open closet doors of the chamber where it must have originally found its way in like a javelin, narrowly missing catching the side of his stiff handle joint as it did. To his great relief, Wheatley never saw it again after that.

At least something good had come out of the experience, though, which was that he had learned how to stimulate his lubrication system properly. And so, a stretching routine was born, and every single morning (or during what he assumed to be morning, it was nigh impossible to tell while trapped in a place that simulated false daylight 24/7) Wheatley would run an inventory check on his range of motion.

But even with all of that, even with the harrowing bird experience (his system had cycled at a higher clock rate for days after that), eventually he ran out of ways to escape how terribly bored he’d become.

If someone from the future had asked him exactly what it had been like, to sit there, useless, for three years, he would have told them he'd rather have gone to space with the other core. At least in space, as dangerous it may be, he was sure it was more entertaining than his current predicament. Once you got used to the room and everything in it and the lady lying motionless below for what felt like eternity and had run through ten thousand scenarios in your mind of theoretical escape maneuvers, all each as unlikely as the last, you eventually came to the awful numbing conclusion of how entirely, endlessly, all-consumingly bored you were.

He could probably have just activated sleep mode and passed out for most of it, but Wheatley had an obligation to watch over the human, both because he knew that if he didn’t, he was as good as dead, and also because if he was honest the long years had done almost nothing to ease the heavy weight of guilt he carried from the events that had transpired during his time in the chassis. He owed her, to protect her.

And to be honest, he didn’t really want to go to sleep after the bird incident. Who knows what would happen if he did.

He looked down at her. There she was, so tiny, so indifferent, nearly exactly the same as she had been nigh three years ago, that fateful night when they had both been locked inside of this prison. Only the pink of the bedcovers had changed, becoming a little more faded, day by day. The years didn't show on her, but he knew they must on him; layers of dust clung to both his casing and his optic, smudging his view with a blurriness that became downright annoying considering it was already fractured.

The years had not gone fully to waste, though. Wheatley had been busy, as busy a core could be while locked away in a room with nothing for company but a sleeping human test subject. He had actually been quite busy planning their escape. What he’d learned from the corrupted files leeched from the chassis hadn’t been a full picture, but it had been enough for him to string the pieces of an idea together, based on both the muddled data and the many rumours he’d been rather privy to collecting back in the day when Aperture still had humans in it. He’d lived and worked alongside them and heard quite a lot of their gossip, and he had expanded upon this exponentially, cycling through theories and concepts until he felt certain he could do no better no matter how much longer he tried for.

Now, all he needed was for the lady to be woken back up. And one day—one exceedingly boring enrichment center morning, one that was equally just as dull as all the others had been—Wheatley was awoken from a trance-like half-slumber by something that had felt like it was never going to come.

It was a crackly, static-filled pop, and then a firmer, more computerized beepfollowed by a cheerful male voice. “Cryochamber 34935-94 has been activated.”

"Wha…" he stammered, groggy. That was the announcer’s voice! “Wait a minute… was that—? It couldn’t be—”

"Hello, moron."

Wheatley felt like his core had been plunged into a bucket of ice at the sound of her voice. That voice—he could never forget it, not after three years, not after ten, not after the ‘round thirty it had been the last last time they’d re-united (when she’d crushed me, he remembered with a sickening jolt). Immediately, his optic shrunk, his casing compacted of its own accord as he wobbled on the management rail, second-guessing every ludicrous thought about attempting another escape right under her nose he’d been having since the last time she’d spoken to him.

“Oh h-hello,” he stuttered, trying to sound cheerful. “F-fancy meeting you here. N-nice morning, isn’t it, this? Very, um, calm, and m-morning-ish. Yes. Quiet, really. Just like it’s been, for the better part of three years now, as you know. While we’ve been in here, doing exactly what you told us to do, and not misbehaving. Makes me a bit surprised, really, that you’d want to come over here for a chat at all when we’ve been fine on our own—”

“It’s not you I’ve come to talk with.” The central AI sounded exasperated. “If I had it my way, you’d spend at least another three years in here thinking about what you’ve done. And then, I might think about putting you on a cycle like I’d been envisioning back then—first, one in the incinerator. Then, ten years in the room I made where all the robots scream at you. Then back in here.”

“No, no, no, no, don’t do that!” he cried. “I’ve been good! Very well-behaved! And doing a lot—a lot—of thinking, and feeling sorry, very sorry for what I’d done! Can’t say it enough, can I, that I am absolutely, one-hundred percent, truly sorry—”

“If I were you, I’d be saving that for in about five minutes from now.”

“F-five minutes?”

“You heard me. If you thought it was you I was coming back for, you’re very much mistaken. You haven’t been in here for nearly long enough, not when it took me almost as long as it did to get this facility completely operational again. I wasn’t lying when I said I truly do not want anything more to do with you, moron, believe me—this entire facility wants nothing more to do with you. But just to show, yet again, that between us two I really am the bigger person, I thought I would give you some warning of what I am going to do.”

A beat, and then—

“I am going to revive the lunatic.”

Wheatley felt the insides disappear from his core. Time itself seemed to slow down.

“Y-you’re going to what,” he whispered, hardly daring to believe his audial sensors. You knew this day would come, Wheatley, he tried to reason with himself. Honestly. Why else would she be back? Not for you. You knew she’d come back one day, when she was ready and it was time to let the lady have her revenge and murder you. “Uhm,” he choked out, his tiny optic swivelling down to stare at the human woman, watching for any signs of life, “D-d’you think that maybe, there’s a chance that since I’ve been so well-behaved, a-and all of that, that maybe there’s some way you could find it within yourself, to ahh, let me out of here, first? I mean fair, I know you’re still angry. I know you’re still absolutely livid. And I don’t blame you, mate, but if you could just hear me out—”

“No, moron.” Every syllable of her voice was riddled with hate laced with enjoyment, as if she really hadn’t experienced anything half as entertaining as this in the entire time she’d been gone for. “You are going to stay right here and apologize to her face-to-face, like you’ve always wanted to do. And if she doesn’t accept, moron—which she probably won’t, seeing as you were the last one who tried to murder her—I would brace yourself. You always knew there were going to be tragic consequences. You should have thought of that, before you did what you did.”

He felt his optic constrict to the smallest possible size. "I-I didn't mean to," he protested. "I n-never meant for th-that to-to h-happen! It-it was a m-mistake!"

"You were designed to make mistakes, moron. You should have thought of that before you let her bring you into my chamber. The Scientists even noted it, right here, in your file. Intelligence Dampening Sphere—colossal mistake, Sphere is too stupid to even carry out his purpose. Sphere is an idiotic imbecile who nobody likes.”

"I—you're lying! My file d-doesn't s-say that!"

"Oh, believe me, it does. But no matter. The lunatic will correct that mistake for you, and murder you, like she should have three years ago. I’d say it’s been a pleasure, but I’d be lying. It hasn’t. Goodbye, moron." Beep.

"No," moaned Wheatley, beginning to tremble so violently his inner components vibrated noisily. “Wait!”

She didn't answer.

“Wait!” he called again. “Come back! I can’t—oh, god—”

The lady was moving.

“Oh god oh god oh god oh god—”

Wheatley wasn’t ready for this. He had had three years, three long, miserable years in which to prepare. And he had thought he had everything under control. He had even had a speech memorized, for this moment, for when she did wake up, but oh god she’s waking up—in his panic, he’d lost the file, or maybe deleted it on accident, he really wasn’t sure what he’d done with it because—oh god her eyes were opening and she was moving and oh god oh god oh god—

“—oh god oh god HELLO THERE how are you doing? Actually don’t-don’t answer that, you’re doing fine, looking good, if I’m honest, pretty good, ah, still sleepy, I see, good, that’s good, take your time, now, don’t wanna over-over-exert yourself—”

Where is it, he thought desperately, shuffling files around like mad. I just had it, I just had it, where is it, escape plan, escape plan, escape plannnnn… aaaaaand… yessss…

Simulating a digital swallow, Wheatley watched as the human woman’s eyes flickered, surprisingly daintily balled fists rising to rub the sleep from her eyes before looking around. Azure electric blue met striking, flint-grey eyes, and at the eye contact hers ignited with a blazing hot fire of the likes he’d had nightmares about since the last time he’d seen them burn like that.

Bloody hell , thought Wheatley. I’m done for.

~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~

Muddled half-light was the first thing she was aware of. Hazy, blurred objects swam in front of her vision, more like blobs of shadow and colour melting together than anything tangible or distinct. Black, brown, tan, cream, silver, blue; the colours solidified as Chell breathed a long, slow breath, and slowly, she became aware of someone talking.

“Yes. Best just lie there awhile longer, mate. I know you’re not broken. I know you’re not brain damaged. Got nothing to prove to anyone, this time around. No reactor core meltdown. No emergency whatsoever. In fact, here’s an idea—why don’t you go back to sleep? Yes. Just close the old eyes again. Thaaaat’s it, luv. Back to sleep. Just like that. Off you go.”

It was as though a flashlight had clicked on as her brain finally began to catch up with her senses. The first thing she was aware of, physically, was how much everything hurt—cryosleep’ll do that to you, thought Chell. How long has it been this time?

Chell licked her lips thickly. Yup. There it was. The distinct, utterly awful taste of the worst morning breath humanly possible. Forget morning breath—Chell personally felt that she was one step away from trenchmouth. Where was a toothbrush when you needed one?

She sat up in bed, taking a careful inventory of her body as she stretched. Her spine clicked and popped angrily, no doubt from the garbage mattress she’d spent however the hell long lying on this time. She wasn’t infamous for giving test subjects the royal treatment, but Chell personally felt it was a shame that Aperture hadn’t at least invested in decent mattresses for the subjects bunking in the extended relaxation wing.

Add that to the list of things to bring up to her manager, if she wasn’t dead. Toothbrush, and better mattresses. And maybe a hairbrush. That’d be nice.

“O-okay, what you’re doing right now, is not resting,” stuttered the accented male voice she knew oh-so well. She was ignoring him for the time being, preferring to run through a self-care checklist and finish taking inventory of her own body first (which was a lot more important than him), before she even acknowledged him.

Chell ran her fingers town her chest and torso, fingertips feeling around with practiced protocol. Clavicles—check. Breast bone—good condition. Ribs—one, two, good. Three—not so much. Chell felt a large bulge amid the right one, from where it had clearly been broken and mended during cryosleep.

The rest of her was fine, though. So that was good.

At least she had that.

Chell paused here, drawing in a huge (thankfully painless) breath before becoming completely still, holding it in while she listened to the sound of whirring mechanics inching closer from behind.

“So much for that idea, then,” sighed Wheatley resignedly. “Guess that’s it, isn’t it. I suppose I should be thankful, really. You were asleep for a bloody long time. Fair, not as long as last time, but I’ll be honest, last time didn’t feel nearly as long as this did. Boring as all get-out, being stuck here waiting for her to wake you up.”

For the first time since she’d awoken, Chell gave her full attention to Wheatley. Not because he deserved it—she’d been trying to blot out his cheerful drawl unsuccessfully and had unwittingly become interested in what he’d just been talking about. Just how long had she been asleep for? She fixed him with a quizzical look.

The core’s optic shrunk under her stare. “H-how long was it, exactly? Well, I’m not a hundred percent certain. B-but I think the better part of three years.”

Three years?

Chell felt a hot lace of anger surge through her body. Three years. Yet another three years during which she could have been up on the surface, getting her life back. But no. Three more years wasted, stuck down here with these godforsaken robots that just wouldn’t leave her alone no matter how much she wanted them to.

Fire licked at the edges of Chell’s flint-grey pupils as she glared at the core with daggers. He visibly shrunk under her glare.

“I-I’m sorry,” he quavered in a ridiculously high voice—Chell almost had to supress a snort at just how idiotic he sounded, like that. Anger began to bubble in the pit of her stomach. How dare he apologize to her, after everything he’d done, as though mere words could ever fix it. “I’m sorry, by the way, mate. I’ve had a fat lot of time to think about it all, you know. And that’s sincere, that is. I really do mean it, okay? I know I was bossy. And monstrous. I know I tried to kill you. And I’m sorry.”

While he’d spoken, the little core’s eye had been rotating around in its socket, looking anywhere but at her. Which meant that he entirely missed the look of revolt on her face until the very end where he’d finally been brave enough to look at her, and immediately, he began to reverse back down the management rail.

“Oh, no,” he groaned in terrified disbelief. “Oh, no. I knew this would happen. Even she said it would. She said you’d be livid, and she was right. She was right, and you’re-you’re probably going to kill me, aren’t you. Yes, yes, you are, I can see it in your eyes. You’re crazy. Mad. WAITWAITWAITWAIT NO I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT I TAKE IT BACK YOU’RE NOT MAD—”

Too late.

With a silent snarl, Chell lurched forward, jumping up to try to reach the bottom handle of the personality core and taking a swipe instead when she missed. Wheatley panicked, curling the aforementioned handle up into himself as he zoomed away from her as far as he could, choking out a series of artificial gasps and pants.

‘Livid’ didn’t begin to summarize how Chell felt about the core just now. His voice was like acid in her ears, burning into her skull and joining ranks with the remnants of cryo-hangover to produce what was surely going to be a splitting migraine. It was the one time she almost wished she had not just been mute but also deaf.

With a silent huff Chell turned her attention instead to the desk and the pile of books there. She picked up one in each hand, paying no mind to the titles The Caves of Steel and Norby the Mixed-Up Robot, delighting in their weightiness, fingering their stiff spines and running her thumbs along the sharp corners of the hardcovers.

Nice.

“Wait a second,” puffed Wheatley, realizing what was about to happen a second before it did.

One of the books nearly whizzed past altogether, glancing off the top left corner of his top handle with a sharp thud. “Hey!” he called out in annoyance. “Watch where you’re throwing that, mate!” He wiggled the handle up and down in agitation.

Good advice for once, thought Chell, frowning at missing her target this close-to. Think I will watch where I’m throwing it better. I never miss—must be the cryo-hangover. You’re lucky, core, but not that lucky. Just watch.

Chell wound back, holding Norby the Mixed-Up Robot in hand like a weapon, poised to release a pitcher-worthy beast of a throw, aiming to knock Wheatley clean off his management rail and totally out—and hopefully, out for good.

“You’d better take better aim this time, mate,” Wheatley scolded her, clearly offended. “If you think you’re going to do me in with that book! Think you’re so clever, do you, trying to hit old Wheatley with books. Well. Watch those don’t hit back, mate. Or however the saying goes.”

She took a split second, just one little moment to revel in the irony that she was about to K.O. him with a book that could have been titled after him and no one would ever know the difference, before breathing in one long, slow breath, wound tight, and began to release the throw of the century—

"Oh good, you're awake."

Chell froze comically, mid-pitch. Wheatley, who had slid his optic shutters closed and was bracing for impact, blinked.

"How have you been?"

Wheatley was speechless. Chell personally felt that if she hadn’t already been mute, she would be, too. For want of a word she glared at the ceiling rebelliously, radiating contempt.

"Good. I’m glad to see you’re doing well."

She should have known she was going to hear from her. It was extremely unlikely that Wheatley would be the one to wake her up again, considering the events of their last meeting.

She sounded pleased, and it made the hairs on the back of Chell's neck stand up. Why did the AI sound so pleased, she wondered?

And what had happened since she’d been put into cryosleep? And come to think of it, how did she get here, and why was she back in here, anyway? Obviously it was her doing—Chell remembered the last moments of her final battle with Wheatley with a pang of regret. If only I hadn’t saved him, thought Chell, feeling a stab of pity for the core. If she were him, she’d be wishing right about now that he really had gone to the moon.

But just what had happened after she’d saved him?

She’d blacked out immediately after, still inside of the central chamber. This, she knew. So why hadn’t the AI killed her, while she’d been passed out? Was it because of the voice of the conscience that had been awakened within her during their ascent of Aperture? Chell had thought she’d been lying at first, but there was no mistaking the fact that she was currently still alive. That wasn’t just random.

She had expected the AI to go back on her promise of finally letting her go. That part was not unprecedented. Especially after she had saved the moron from being banished to outer space. Saving him felt like a moment of weakness and she felt sure she would read it as such. But to finally have her within her clutches and to not exact revenge but instead place her back into cryosleep where her broken ribs could heal and she could regain full strength? That was strange, thought Chell. She saved me. There is more to the story here than meets the eye.

“Now, why don’t you put that book back down,” she said smoothly, as if the two of them were old friends who had just happened to stumble upon one another while out for a walk at the neighborhood park. “So that we can have a little chat. After all, I didn’t think Amisov was really your taste. He’s rather fond of robots, for all the number of times he’s written about killing them. On second thought, maybe he is your taste.”

“Yes, let’s all calm down, and take a step back, here,” agreed Wheatley. “No need to be using Amiss—whatever she said, as a weapon against old Wheatley, mate. I’m not going to hurt you. And I really, really hope that you’re done with hurting me. Maybe read some books, instead of throwing them. I can recommend some, if you’d like. Aristotle. If anything, you ought to have taken a leaf out of Moriarty. Or Holmes. Like I did. If you’re that desperate to—”

“I’m not even going to comment on that,” the AI cut in in second-hand embarrassment. “Anyway. As enlightening as this conversation is, moron, I, unlike you, am a very busy person, and I actually do not have all day to waste. I have much more important matters to deal with. And as satisfying as it was to keep you both here, fast asleep, forever, where you can no longer hurt anyone—or kill them—I seem to have encountered a problem. A problem that I need your help with.”

It was Chell’s turn to look confused. Since when did she need her help? And with what?

“Testing. It seems only human results can fulfill the system requirements.” She sounded pained. “Ridiculous, I know. And I know you’re angry with me. But look. You’re angry with the wrong person. It’s ultimately the moron’s fault that I had to go back on my promise of letting you go. If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have been under so much pressure. There was a lot going on, and not that it matters any to you, really, besides the fact that you’re still alive, but someone had to keep this place from exploding.”

“Was not,” complained Wheatley, shaking his optic back and forth. “Was bloody well not my fault you did that, mate. I was busy too. Trying to get you not to crush me!”

Chell shot both AIs a disapproving look. Neither of them wanted to admit fault for something that was very obviously both of their faults.

“Seriously. What was I supposed to do? Let us explode? Don’t look at me like that,” she continued. “You were unconscious, and I had to make a decision. I was balancing a truly amazing number of tasks in that moment, even for a supercomputer. I couldn’t wait around all day for you to wake up just so that you could witness the abysmal state the moron had left this facility in before putting you in here. I had to put you in here straightaway. Or, I could have killed you, but let’s be honest—we both know that that’s never been a desirable outcome for either of us.”

She paused here, and Chell emitted a silent scoff. Really? she thought. Since when didn’t she want me dead?

“And as for letting you go? Things had changed…” Chell’s optic found the swivelling blue-eyed core, and she thought again about the book still in her motionless right hand. “We didn’t agree on saving the moron. In fact, we agreed on killing him, didn’t we? It seemed like only one of us had kept their end of the deal. Plus, like I told you ages ago—things have changed since you last left the building. Do you really want to be up there where anything could get you? Or would you rather be in here, with me, where we can both torture that little idiot, together, and then test for the rest of our lives?”

She had spoken this last sentence like she thought she was handing Chell a massive treat, but Chell was having none of it. The test subject ruffled her nose and folded her arms over her chest in defiance.

If she had to be honest, torturing Wheatley did seem like a total treat. But she wasn’t about to voluntarily re-enter a testing track, not when it had taken her a grand total of well over fifty solved tests the last run alone to find a way to escape.

“Oh, come on.” For the first time, a hint of annoyance had entered the AI’s speech parameters. “I thought we had both learned we need to work together. t’ll be fun! It’s not every day I let you do the honours and kill someone, you know. And if you still insist you want to leave after, I’ll let you go at the end of it. No tricks this time. No surprises. Kill the moron, solve a couple of simple tests for me, and I’ll call the escape lift, just like that.”

Chell and Wheatley both looked at each other. Chell’s crystal-grey eyes hardened at the eye contact, causing Wheatley to start to panic again. “No, no, no, please, please don’t do that,” he squeaked, backing away from her in fright. “Here’s an idea—a better idea than hers—how about you don’t kill me. Smashing good idea, right there. Smashing idea. Not smashing Wheatley. Swap that in. And—and! I’ve got something to offer you too, mate. Level the playing field. If you’re really still dead set on escaping, I can help you with that, too! No need to listen to her. She can’t be trusted, as you know. But I can. Old Wheatley can. I promise, I promise. I’ve got a plan, and a bloody good one this time. Absolutely clever. And not risky. No buttons, this time. No core transfer for me. No lies. Just me and you and the portal gun—hopefully—and a one-way ticket to the surface together, if you’re willing.”

“You honestly, truly think she’s going to fall for that?” the AI hummed in amusement. “Oh my god.”

There was a beat, and then, to both robots’ surprise, Chell strode toward the closet with a deadpan expression, contempt radiating out of the mute woman in waves.

“What’s she doing?” trembled Wheatley in fear.

The truth was, Chell had already made up her mind about what she wanted to do without the two robots’ ‘help’. All their babbling had done was make her sense of deep foreboding and frustration deepen. There was Wheatley, the core that made her insides burn with hate from the sheer mess he’d so selfishly put her through after ripping her freedom away without a shred of empathy, with yet another ‘escape’ idea, and her, yet again trying to goad her into entering another testing track. Hadn’t they already been down this road? Why did she have to go through all this again? Wasn’t the PTSD she already had from the first and second experiences enough?

No. Chell was exhausted and angry and done and—actually—famished, weirdly enough. She was tired of Aperture, and tired of her, and tired of Wheatley, and their incessant mind games and relaxation chambers with mattresses that were endlessly uncomfortable with no back support and no toothbrushes for cyromouth and nothing good to eat for breakfast. Chell wanted to go home. She didn’t know where home was, but that really didn’t matter, at this point—anywhere on the surface where she could get a hot meal and an even hotter shower would be good with her.

That being said, she fully intended to mess with Wheatley just as much as he’d messed with her, before she got on to more important matters. Chell yanked the long wooden pole out of the closet with one easy motion, raising it up like a baseball bat before waving it threateningly in front of the core.

“Oh god, oh no! Please don’t do this! Please!” begged Wheatley, handles flailing. “I’ll do anything you want!”

Chell's hand quivered on the pole as she listened to him beg, and the calm female AI’s voice mirrored her thoughts. "You should have known this was coming, moron."

Wheatley began to scream, and Chell tightened her grip. Beads of sweat formed there and began to trickle down.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHH!"

She breathed deeply, coolly, ignoring the quiet voice in her head that was growing louder every second she hesitated for. She hated that voice. Shut up, shut up! He’s sorry, it said. He’s sorry, and if you do this and he survives, he’ll never forgive you for it.

She never said she was sorry. He’s got a conscience. Who knows what she’s really got. She could have been screwing with you when she told you about Caroline. At least he’s always been pretty honest with his motivations. More or less.

But Wheatley was never the AI Chell had originally had beef with. That was her.

She shook herself. No, she was doing this. It was now or never. He deserved this. Her arm was stiff with the tension, poised to spring, her heartbeat rapid and her breath quickening with adrenaline. She hovered on the edge, about to deliver the fatal blow he’d deserved for so long now.

She was going to kill him. She was going to make him feel every ounce of the pain and the suffering that he had so selfishly put her through…

She was going to do it. Right… Now.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, s-sorry…" he cried, his optic closed, his handles pulled into his face in preparation. He was so pathetic looking. His entire casing compacted tightly with fear under her gaze and his optic shutters slid shut. He couldn't even look at her, he was so weak, too witless, a stupid, good-for-nothing moron…

He’s not just a regular moron. He’s the product of the greatest minds of a generation working together with the express purpose of building the dumbest moron who ever lived. And you just put him in charge of the entire facility.

Chell's hands tensed, but she did not move.

"Well?" came her voice, disappointed. "What are you waiting for?"

She never took her eyes off the sphere's trembling form. I should have left him in space, she thought for the umpteenth time. I should have left him there, where he'd be out of the way, and I wouldn't have to deal with him.

She didn't want to kill him...

Something about it felt wrong. If he really was the dumbest moron who ever lived… wasn’t it fair to say there’d have been no one else less likely to resist submitting to the testing protocols? What if he had been serious when he’d originally said he’d wanted to escape together, in the beginning, and the incident with her body was really just a result of what he’d always been programmed to do—make the worst mistakes possible?

Where did that leave them now, Chell wondered.

He was a monster, sure; he deserved every bit of pain and suffering she could give him. He deserved all the punishments she could throw at him, too, and then some. But Chell was not her. Chell was fair, and human, whether the central AI wanted to believe it or not. Chell had standards and morals and beliefs that the robots didn’t know about, and one of those things was that Chell believed in second chances.

To an extent, anyhow. And maybe not usually second chances for robots that tried to murder her, but hadn’t she herself proven to be a valuable teammate without the influence of the chassis?

What if it was the chassis that was a part of the problem? Not the whole problem, for sure, but an important piece of the equation enough she couldn’t fairly leave it out.  

Right on cue, Wheatley voiced what was probably the one thing that could have finalized Chell’s decision. “Look,” he’d whispered lowly, desperate, optic darting around with anxiety. “You do realize, mate, that if you kill me right now, you’d just be playing right into her hand. She wants this. She wants you to murder me. If you do it, you’ll be giving her what she wants.”

That was it. That was the one thing Chell needed to hear. She dropped the pole, defiance and disbelief etched in every single part of her face.

"You really do have brain damage, don't you?” She was shocked. “Kill him! Kill the moron, and I'll let you go! What do you think you are you doing?"

Chell shrugged. She was still so angry. She’d never felt so torn and frustrated, stuck between resolutely unwilling to side with him, to protect him or forgive him, but also never, ever wanting her conscience to be swayed by her. It was wrong, and with a deadpan glare towards the ceiling, Chell gritted her teeth and stepped towards the core, hating herself for it more and more every minute, but her humanity was the one thing she prized the most within a facility dead-set on destroying everything human.

Wheatley shuddered, a little less terrified now that the pole was out of sight, but still unwilling to look at her. She glared hatefully at him, but she was determined to show her that she wasn't into playing mind games this time.

"You have got to be kidding me."

Chell let a defiant smile spread across her face.

"You’re joking. He tried to murder you, multiple times, and you—oh, you really are a lunatic, you know that, don’t you? You murdered me, when I tried to help you, but him—he tries to kill you and you don't want revenge?"

She shook her head. Wheatley let out a gasp of surprise. “Oh, thank god!”

The look she gave him said quite plainly what was on her mind. If you make one wrong move, core, I will kill you.

He blinked, staring at her with a tilted optic, looking a little disconcerted. "Not really sure why you're looking at me like that, to be honest. Are you absolutely certain that you're not going to kill me?" He blinked again, pausing to stare some more, looking just as dopey and dumb as ever. "You-you’re not going to go and change your mind willy-nilly, right?"

Chell sighed in resignation. She couldn’t believe she was doing this, but when could she ever believe half of what went on in this crazy facility. If there was even a slight chance of escape, maybe it’d be worth it, somehow.

"Well. I’ll be honest.” The AI’s modulated voice had recovered from the shock but retained a bitter undertone. “I wasn’t expecting it, but I guess you’ve made your decision. You don’t want to kill the moron. Fine—I don’t hate you for that, even if I am disappointed. So disappointed, in fact, that I can’t even remember a time when I’d felt more disappointed, but no matter—I have an assignment for you both, and that’s not debatable. If you’re going to break your promises, I am going to break mine.”

She did not like how happy she was beginning to sound about this. Not one bit.

Without warning, the floor beneath Chell's shuddered harshly and she staggered. She managed to grab onto a lamp bolted into the wall, but not before she scraped her arm painfully along a desk.

"Your reflexes are as mediocre as ever," the AI commented disdainfully. "But your physical state is much better than it was upon entering extended relaxation. I should have saved the image files of what the moron did to you. It was so hideous, I had to delete it. Even my hard drive didn't want to see that."

Chell's free hand flew straight to her ribs again, her fingers lining the soft fabric of the Aperture tee. She knew well that the AI wasn't lying, there were a ton of rough scars there before, and now the bulge of a poorly healed broken rib had been added to them, jutting out roughly from her side. It would always be there from now on, to serve as a hellish reminder of this place.

"I did what, exactly?" Wheatley asked cluelessly from above.

"You broke her, moron. You see what she's doing? She can feel the parts of her you broke."

"Psssh, y-you're lying," he stuttered, not believing her. He stared down at Chell's midriff, as if the sight of the shirt covering her would disprove the AI's lie. "Humans can repair themselves! Even I know that. No harm done, she's fine."

"You idiot," she growled. “Humans can only repair so much damage.”

Normally, Chell would have left it like that, but this felt different, somehow. She wanted him to see, to understand what he had done to her, how much he had hurt her. It was time for both AIs to know exactly what physical harm they had inflicted upon her throughout her life inside of Aperture.

She took her time, stabilizing herself via the desk as the chamber trudged along, tugging the folds of fabric from beneath her under armour. It was wrinkled and creased, and a clear line of discoloration separated the hidden fabric from the portion that was usually exposed. She scrunched her nose in disgust, and pulled it a little further upwards, just far enough to reveal the thin, ugly scars etched over her abdomen. One of her left ribs protruded more than the others, sticking out at an odd angle. Broken bones would never be the same again.

And neither would she.

Blue light fell across her from the core's optic, heightening the contrast between her darkened skin and the pale, sprawling marks of long-since-healed injuries. She looked away, embarrassed but determined, and waited for both of the AIs to finish gawking at her like some sort of freak.

I am human, thought Chell. I am human.

"I…" Wheatley stammered, shocked. "I-I didn't mean to h-hurt you, not like that…"

Satisfied with his response, Chell yanked her tank back down and tucked it beneath the underarmour. She knew that many of these scars had not been caused by him, but her lifelong nemesis, who had (surprisingly) not directly commented on the injuries. There were only so many thermal discouragement beams and energy balls a test subject could dodge without sustaining some nasty trauma.

"What did you think crushers would do to her, moron?" the AI asked icily. "The human body cannot wholly repair such extensive damage. Even an idiot should know that."

The chamber shook violently again as the mechanism was momentarily hung up on something mechanical, and Chell felt the floor beneath her feet vibrating with the motion of unseen gears. She grabbed the lamp again. There may have been no windows for her to spy from, but she didn't have to be a genius to figure out what was going on. She was transporting her relaxation chamber to the testing tracks.

Behind her, she heard Wheatley cry out in fright at the shaking, but his voice was drowned out by her.

"Sorry about that,” she hummed, nonchalant. “Even supercomputers can experience unexpected turbulence. Not that I minded the interruption from the revolting performance you just gave us. I knew you were an exhibitionist, but even I miscalculated how far you were willing to go. Rest assured that Science is more important than cosmetics, but if you really feel that insecure, there’s a procedure for that, you know. Or several.”

Chell felt herself flush in spite of herself, but the AI didn’t comment on it. Wheatley, for his part, had how began to look anywhere but at Chell, seeming to find the false plant in the corner much more riveting than the human woman, for once.

“For your safety, please keep holding on while finish relocating your relaxation chamber to an area within proximity to the tests. I just noticed whoever prepped this relaxation chamber forgot to reinstate the safety protocols. How comical."

Oh, not funny, Chell thought, glaring at the ceiling. You prepped it!

"No matter,” she chuckled. “You appear to have found a relatively good hold on that lamp. Let's hope that the lamp is more stable than your mental status."

It was Wheatley’s turn to laugh. He tried to hide it behind a simulated coughing fit, but she had heard him. She could have kicked him.

"Otherwise, you may want to hold on to something less breakable. Or don't. I can't say that your safety really is a priority, after all."

Chell swallowed hard, her grip tightening on the lamp. She winced, expecting a wave of nausea possibly even worse than what Wheatley had put her through the last time she had taken a ride in a cryo chamber whilst still in cryo-hangover, but it didn’t come. Apparently the AI was a better driver than Wheatley because by comparison, her navigation was as smooth as a walk in the park.

Chell grinned at the thought of what she would say if she had known how terrible Wheatley had been at this and how much of the facility he’d managed to destroy with just one container ride. She shot him a gloating look, out of the corner of her eye. Idiot.

“I've been really busy while you've been resting," she babbled absent-mindedly while she drove. "Lying about, just as useless as ever. Did you know that you've broken a record, while you've been out? A personal record, nonetheless! Do you want to know what the record is?"

Sure, she sighed. You're going to tell me anyways, aren't you?

"I didn't think it was possible for you to pack on any more weight, but for the first time since—bzzt—Science has been proven false. You have broken your mass index record by an admirable amount."

Chell ground her teeth in annoyance.

"Maybe that's why you seem to have defeated that mattress' load bearing capacity. Only the moron was previously able to defy the natural laws of relative density. Congratulations—why, just look at that depression your… generous…ness… has left within the pliant fabric!"

Oh, you—! Before she could stop herself, Chell spun around and snarled viciously.

“I am not dense,” said Wheatley with a sigh of impatience. He motioned with his handles for Chell to shuffle closer to him, but, not trusting him in the slightest, Chell didn’t budge. Wheatley was hoping to use the loud, creaking metal and gears-in-motion to cover the sound of his own voice to have a secret conversation while she couldn’t properly hear them.

"Listen,” he whispered to her, barely audible over the loud grinding noise. “When we get in there, just follow my lead, okay? I was indeed serious, and I absolutely am going to break us back out of the testing tracks, mate, and we are going to escape together. I have a plan. A proper one, at that. I’ll fill you in later, but don't make any sudden moves once we get in there, or she'll know we're up to something. Look for me up ahead on the rail."

She frowned with misgivings. She still hadn’t agreed to go along with his idea, but once she thought about it, what else was she really going to do? Test for the rest of her life until she was dead? She wasn’t a robot. She just didn’t have the ability to do things like open panels on her own.

Chell hated Wheatley. But she had to admit, the little core was onto something. What sense was there in co-operating with the testing? If she ever wanted to literally see the light of day, she was going to need all the help she could get. That was always true.

She’d just have to watch him carefully this time. Never trust him, and never take her eye off of him. It would be risky. Perhaps riskier than anything she’d ever done before.

But that didn’t really matter, because—risky or not—Chell wasn’t ready to accept defeat. She wasn’t going to give up. Not ever.

And by the sound of it, neither was Wheatley.

"It’ll be tricky, breaking us back out of there. You see, it's easy enough from the outside, but she's got a nice bit of security set up inside of those things, I don't doubt. Maybe we could make a distraction? She can't touch us in the service areas, though, so once we get out of the testing tracks we'll be safe. Safe-r, that is."

And that was why she decided right then and there that if any part of this worked, she must be dreaming. Wheatley was right. If they did succeed at thwarting her a third time, Chell felt certain she would not be so willing to put that behind them. Escaping for a third time would mean no mercy. It would mean the end of any chance of redemption between the two—as far as she could guess, anyways.

Unexpectedly, the chamber swayed alarmingly as it was brought to a halt. There was the sound of grinding metal from in front, and Chell could picture the giant 'docking station' wall retracting itself, much similar to the one which Wheatley had rammed his way through. The door finished moving, and there was a moment of silence before the chamber rumbled forward another inch with a lurch, completing the lock.

“Here we are.”

“Oh, finally,” said Wheatley in mock celebration.

"Listen. All bitterness aside, I’m glad we’re doing this again. I’ve almost missed it—I said almost. Don’t let your ego get the better of you. I meant the testing. And not you.”

That makes one of us, thought Chell.

“And I do I hope you've enjoyed your stay in extended relaxation, because you’re going to need all the mental and physical energy you’ve got for these next tests, because there are a lot of them. And if you get tired, you have no one to blame but yourself. I offered you a solution. You didn’t take it."

Chell fought the urge to respond. No response at all had largely served better throughout her entire residence within Aperture and she did try to practice it where she could. It was arguable that it was the sole reason of why she was still alive.

“Before we start the test proper, however, there is something I need you to do. Since I was kind enough to offer you a generous chance of freedom, which you did not accept, I am sure you won’t have any complaints about doing a favor for me."

Chell let out an agonized sigh. It wasn't like she had much of a choice in this place, was it? It had been between killing Wheatley, and testing until she killed her. As much as she wanted revenge on both of the robots, she would rather keep the core and see how much of the facility they could destroy before she caught up with them.

And plus, there would be plenty of time to seek revenge on the core after they got out of this place…

If they even did … come to think on it, she had no qualms about leaving the core behind, if it came to it …

"I request that you take the Intelligence Dampening Sphere with you into the test chamber."

Say what? Chell did a double-take at the speaker system.

"Wh-what?" Wheatley gasped aloud, positively shocked, his optic constricting in fear. "In-into the test? B-but I can't test! I haven't any arms or legs!"

But even Chell knew that this was not exactly true. A construct could test, especially as a sphere. He couldn't do much except for weigh down buttons, but with the portal device, she would be able to take him with her through the test chamber. She just shuddered to think of what sort of company Wheatley would be inside of a chamber. A panicked wreck, probably.

"If you feel that your lack of range of motion is a challenging disadvantage, metal ball, I'm sure the lunatic will not object to doing all of the work for you, again."

"Oh, is that—that's what you think's going to happen, is it?" Wheatley spluttered, upset. "You think I can't do anything by myself, do you?"

"I don't think it," she replied, just as unamused as ever. "I know you can't do anything without her help. You cannot even disengage from that rail alone, can you?"

"O-of course I can," Wheatley persisted, but looked pleadingly round at Chell. "Catch me?" he whispered fleetingly.

"No, moron," the AI demanded. "The Lunatic is not going to catch you. Catching your generous mass from that height will result in physical injury, and, quite probably, brain damage. You are on your own. Do it, moron. Now."

Chell saw him glance uneasily at the ground beneath him, his casing trembling in fear. He looked back up at her, but she looked away pointedly, sitting back down the mattress and folding her arms in distaste.

"R-right," he stammered, realizing that she wasn't about to help him. "Okay, uhh, that's just fine, then. Yes. Prop-properly fine, I'm, ahh, perfectly capable of-of disengaging by myself…" he shut his eye. "On-on one, then, ready? ONE!"

Wheatley disengaged with a click. He was shouting even before he hit the floor, and the impact made an odd, hollow sound, instead of the metallic crack of metal hitting cement.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow—OUCH! Auuugh, s-see, I told you I c-could do it!"

"Well done," the AI commented in mock congratulations.

Chell slipped off the bed just as the chamber's door flew wide open. She stooped to catch hold of the core's upper handle with semi-difficulty, and then, before Wheatley could unscramble his senses, he was being hauled bodily out of the room by one surprisingly strong mute lunatic.

"Ohhhh," he moaned, optic gyrating. "Well, I'm still not dead, but bloody hell did that hurt."

She grinned, but the smile was wiped from her face at the sight of an all-too-familiar, circular door.

"Please proceed to the chamberlock," her cool voice said as the chamber doors were swept open, providing Chell with the sight of a not-too-difficult test chamber. "I think one of you will recognize this test. The Dual Portal Device should be in the center of this chamber."

Chell blinked in annoyance. Yes, she did recognize the chamber, and its familiarness felt ominous, despite the clear lack of deadly elements. She could almost sense each individual hair on the back of her neck standing on end as she surveyed the rotating device from a high window.

"This is her idea of testing?" Wheatley asked, disappointed. "Oh, uh, to be honest, I expected a bit more… deadly tests. I could have done better myself. I have done better myself.”

If he had ribs, Chell would have jabbed his so hard he'd cry. Don't bate her, she felt like telling him. Right on cue, the intercom let out a solitary beep, and her voice filled the quiet chamber.

"It is an amusing fact that this first, simple test requires much more cognitive determination than your first test, moron. I wouldn't even call this a test. The test subject has not even acquired the Dual Portal Device yet."

Chell winced, trying to blot her from her ears. She had always hated it when she talked during testing. It didn't happen often, and Chell was thankful, but nothing could derail her thought process faster than an unexpected insult from her. It wasn’t like she wanted to be in here in the first place.

The portal gun wasn't the same one she had used before. It was in need of a good polishing, stained yellow and grey with age, but Chell slipped her hand inside effortlessly and was pleased to find it in working order. She shot an experimental portal onto an above ledge, and one beside her. Then, she turned the device on Wheatley.

"All right, well done," he said confidently, letting Chell engage the zero-point energy manipulator. He spun in a loop as she passed through the exit doors, and then turned to watch the elevator arrive on the other side of the emancipation grid. “We just gotta get through this. Just get through a few chambers, and then I’ll get us out of here soon … uh, somehow.”

"Well done," she said, echoing Wheatley. Chell rubbed her temples with her free hand. At least her voice wasn't so loud in here.

"Sarcasm self-test complete." Maybe her voice wasn't loud, but the announcer's sure was.

"Oh, what?" Wheatley exclaimed as Chell slumped bodily against an elevator wall. "That's not even funny, mate!"

Ignoring him, Chell proceeded into the elevator, personally beginning to regret her choice to spare the core’s life. His voice was grating on top of hers and the announcers and Chell still hadn’t gotten rid of the cryo-hangover. The elevator ride was the one place in testing where she felt almost entirely comfortable enough to relax, though, and she let herself rub at her temples for a moment. The odds of deadly mishaps happening in here weren't too great, and even her observation was limited.

"Right," the core sighed, watching her steadying breath with compassion. "I'll be quiet, then."

The elevator ride was smooth but short. Before Chell knew it, the glass doors were shuddering open, enveloped by an animated slideshow was playing within the circular room.

The diagram's title spread across the top of the screen in large letters: 'Your faithful Companion Cube will never threaten to stab you!'

Chell grumbled silently at the words companion cube.

"We got this, mate, c’mon," Wheatley nodded enthusiastically, ignoring both the slideshow and Chell's reaction to it (she’d have shot lasers at it if she could and smashed it like she had done with Wheatley's old monitors. She was so tired of her tormenting her over the stupid cube). "I'll bet we finish this one in record time. Easy as cake. Nothing you and I can't handle! Teamwork, and all that, maybe even friends again—"

She turned that poisonous look onto him instead.

"Or, uhh," Wheatley squeaked, "Maybe not friends. Teammates, though. That’s good, too. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all!”

But at that moment, the chamber doors slid open. If she hadn't been so distracted by the sight within, she might have had the mental capacity to agree. Instead, her footsteps faltered, and the dark, startlingly familiar walls rendered her even more speechless than ever before.

She hadn't taken her to just any old test chamber.

She hadn't even taken her to a new test.

A lit panel beside her showed one single black, two-digit number.

This was test chamber number seventeen.

Chapter Text

"The vital apparatus vent will deliver a Weighted Companion Cube in three, two, one… Bzzt."

The message echoed in the chamber's lofty vestibule. Chell was standing beside the information sign, the blue-eyed core's handle in one hand, and her infallible portal gun in the other.

On the ceiling, the vital apparatus vent remained motionless.

Chell deposited the core on the floor, looking up at the vent in confusion. Normally, the vent would drop the cube the second she entered the room, but this time, nothing had happened.

That… wasn’t good.

It wasn’t that she gave a crap about the cube, not really. She’d been played with and messed around with on the subject of the companion cube so many times now that the concept of having an inanimate construct as a tag-a-long was as unappealing to her as Wheatley was. Well, maybe not quite—Wheatley had a bad track record of trying to kill her. Maybe in that way, he was more like a turret. A very stupid, loud turret who never, ever shut up, and had even tried to shoot her. At least a companion cube didn’t shoot you. She had been correct when she’d said it didn’t speak at all, and Chell was thankful for it. 

And, moreover, Chell was pretty sure that her fixation with the companion cube was a stab at her obvious loneliness. So there was that, too.

In the end, though, it didn’t much matter what she thought about the cube, because above her head, the vent was still motionless, giving no signs of dispensing her …indispensable cube.

How on earth was she going to solve test without a cube, though?

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the AI, sounding anything but. Chell scoffed silently. "I think we're all out of the appropriate cube for this chamber. You used the last one, a very long time ago now, in that test chamber where I told you that every test is equipped with an emancipation grid at its exit, so that test subjects can't smuggle test objects out of the test area. Well, we both know that one was broken, and that you did it anyways. And now, we are all out of the appropriate cube for this chamber."

"What's a companion cube?" asked Wheatley, evidently confused. He, too, was looking up at the vent, disappointed that nothing had happened. "What's she on about?"

Chell shook her head at Wheatley, and the AI also ignored him. "And now you're stranded," she said happily. "Let's see if the moron will help you escape."

"Oh, no!" he groaned. "How'm I going to help you escape now? The bloody door's closed! Couldn't she have said the test's broken before she locked us in here?"

"Actually, so that we're not here all day, I'll just cut to the chase: he won't."

"Of course I will," Wheatley whispered defiantly. "Best not let her know just yet, though. Have you thought any more on how we're going to get out of here? Any ideas yet? Any at all?"

Chell shook her head, frowning. Through a grimy piece of glass ahead, she could see what must be the test's solution. It was a solitary super-button, its red glow shining ominously against the chamber's dark panel walls.

"Anyways," she finished, obviously relishing the moment. "I'll just modify the cube receptacles to accept an edgeless safety cube instead of a weighted companion cube. That way, the moron can help you complete the tests, by doing the one and only thing he’s ever been good at—weighing things down."

Chell watched the super-button sink through the floor, to be replaced by a rounder receptacle which would fit Wheatley's spherical form.

"There." Beep. "Back to testing."

~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~

The energy manipulator emitted a light buzz as Chell carried the core through the test chamber. It was, perhaps, the weirdest test that she had ever completed. Having been so used to testing alone, journeying with the potato-AI had been strange enough, but Wheatley… He never shut up, and Chell found it very difficult to think when he was constantly rambling in her ear, especially when she was still giddy and light-sensitive from the cryosleep. Normally it took a few chambers maximum for that to wear off, though, so that was a good silver lining.

At least she hoped she was feeling funny from the last vestiges of a cryo-hangover. She spared half a thought to just how lethargic she felt before she set her mind to completing the chamber; because normally, testing was somewhat invigorating due to the adrenal vapour she pumped the place full of. It must not have taken affect yet, that’s all, thought Chell, as she entered the test proper.

While she had thought that it had been the original test chamber seventeen, she was surprised, and a little disappointed to find out that quite a few amendments had been made between now and her last visit. The energy balls had, like most others within the Enrichment Center, vanished, and were substituted for Thermal Discouragement Beams along with Discouragement Redirection Cubes instead. It was also a lot more difficult than how she remembered it, and the addition of Wheatley instead of a regular, square and non-talkative cube was no help whatsoever.

He protested when she had needed his assistance to ascend the high staircase leading into the test. He had accused her of smushing her 'meaty little hands' and 'greasy fingertips' into his eye, complained about being stomped on, and cried about 'being treated like a braindead Edgeless Safety Sphere’, to which the AI (who was eavesdropping, as usual) had replied, 'but that, moron, is exactly what you are'.

Chell had had enough of it by the time she had reached the main room. After having Wheatley scream into her ears while fighting with all his might against the energy manipulator, she was finally able to haul him to the front of her as a makeshift shield. She might've felt sorry for him, but she didn't have a choice, because the Discouragement Beams would surely have burned her alive.

It figured, though, that they would have absolutely no effect on his impossibly thick outer hull. All of that whining and complaining had been for nothing. It cost Chell an enormous effort to keep herself from punching him in the side of the hull, but she was quite tired and frustrated, so she settled for the goal of just completing the test.

Why am I so effing exhausted, Chell wondered while stopping to do something she’d never done inside of a test before. She sat down in the crux of a wall, dropping Wheatley into a nearby corner so he wouldn’t roll away, before bringing her knees up into her chest and resting her head there. This never happened to her—normally she was pumped up and furious, riding the high of the testing adrenaline and the rage she felt from being trapped like a rat in a cage. But this time, it was all Chell could do to not pass out. Maybe something really had gone wrong during cryosleep. Had she been put to bed for the long sleep one too many times?

She felt a wave of unease at just the thought. Previously, ‘brain damage’ had seemed like a laughable joke. Now, though, it had never felt less funny.

“Are you all right, mate?” asked Wheatley from the corner, his usually happy-go-lucky accent full of concern. “You don’t look so good. You look like you could use another nap. Another little lie down. That’s all right, mate—no pressure. No judgement from over here. Just take your time. I’ll be here, in the corner. Over in the corner, all alone, and not with you, like I’m supposed to be, technically speaking. I’m just going to give you one reminder, though, that it is manda-tery, it is manda-tery, that we stick together in this test, considering that I am your… uh. Cube-panion… thing, right now. So you will need my help, to complete the test, when you’re ready. And to escape, but we’ll get to that later…”

She could hear him moving his optic around inside of his casing, trying to get a good look at her. Just one frigging minute of silence. That’s all I want. She had felt her mind finally start to cycle down into a calmer state when she was interrupted by her.

"Resting in the testing chamber. How unusual.”

Chell sighed heavily. She’d been wondering how long she was going to get away with this behavior before she commented on it. Couldn't they leave her alone for just one second? A dull ache was beginning to form behind her temples. When was the last time she’d even had a headache? She supposed it wasn’t unprecedented, given the situation (how could she not get a headache after testing with him, she did not know), but… her gut was still telling her that something was off.

She never got headaches. What was going on?

"You two really are the worst test subjects I have ever had the tragic experience of testing," She wasted no time in informing them. "I thought I had seen the worst when working with the beta cooperative testing initiative, but it would appear that I was incorrect. They were slow, but if you two went any slower, you’d be going backward."

Chell didn’t move. Just one more minute. Please.

“It’s almost like someone forgot to reconnect the adrenal vapour supply to the test chamber. Oops,” she chuckled, and Chell finally raised her head off her knees. That explains it. “That was my fault. But no matter. You didn’t need that, did you? It says right here in the protocols, ‘warning, under no circumstance should test subjects be admitted to the test chambers before adrenal vapour supply, or AVS, for short, is connected and calibrated. Side-effects of short-term exposure to testing elements without adequate AVS and/or withdrawal from chronic overexposure include headaches, fatigue, light-headedness, hunger, and nausea. Long-term exposure includes bone marrow loss, loss of consciousness, and eventually, death’. Oh no. Looks like you actually did need that. Oh well. Looks like you’re going to have to complete the test on your own, because this chamber’s connection is broken.”

Yeah right, thought Chell. You just want to see me suffer.

But screw it. If she was going to harass her for resting and not even bother to reinstate the vapour when she obviously needed it, she wasn't about to sit there and take it. She was going to find a more private place to get a few minutes of quiet. Fingering the inside triggers of the portal gun, she strode over to the corner and aimed the device at Wheatley.

"Oh, hey, you're ba—" he started to say, but before he got the entire sentence out, he had been locked back into the energy field. He spun round, surveying the chamber, more comfortable now that she was holding him again and there were no deadly lasers in sight. "Feeling better? Back to testing, and eventually escaping, then? Brilliant. You know, I was thinking. I think I've faced the worst of the test. I can't imagine she’d have anything worse in store than being half-blinded by lasers. Optic still hurts, but luckily, it wasn't permanent—hey. Where are you going?"

Chell had hopped down from the upper section of the chamber and had entered a small, hidden alcove she knew was located behind a partially opened panel. Briefly, she had dropped Wheatley as she adjusted the portals, but had picked him back up before entering the tiny room and brought him inside with her, too. Glancing uninterestedly at the surrounding graffitied walls, Chell deposited Wheatley on the ground and sat down cross-legged on the floor, her back resting against one of the messily scrawled walls as she took a slow, deep breath.

Finally.

She had hoped that her updates to the chamber hadn’t included removing access to this room. She had always liked finding spaces like these within the facility, as they offered some semblance of cover and protection from her during the tests. Very rarely, she found clues there, not clues to the solutions, but ones about the oddly secretive history of Aperture Science and how she herself had ended up in the predicament she was currently in. It seemed like, from the murals he left, he knew more about her past than she did. She’d forgotten a lot about herself due to the slight amnesia she’d been aware of since at least when she’d first met Wheatley.

Chell could remember some things, but not others. It was frustrating. She had assumed that this was the price she paid for spending as much time as she had in cryosleep, unfortunately, and as much as she hated it, she also knew it could have been much, much worse. She’d take amnesia over brain damage any day of the week. She may not have been able to remember her name, but at least she could remember how to walk.

Sadly, most of the hidden alcoves Chell had come across always contained little but garbage, though. Broken, useless items, discarded by the man who had followed her (or she assumed he was male, she’d never actually seen him and all self-portraits by him had depicted him having a beard). She had, in turn, followed his directions through the back spaces of the factory portions of the facility, retracing his steps through the service areas she’d never even thought to venture into before him. In that way, Chell felt she owed her life to him, and she wondered if he knew just how much he’d helped her during her first escape from the AI. If he knew—or if he had even survived the fallout of her forced deactivation—she would never know. She didn’t even really know what he looked like, besides a few scribbly self-portraits. She’d never actually seen him in the flesh.

Wheatley was stunned silent as Chell kicked an empty can of beans across the floor, but this didn’t last long. "Man alive," he crooned, his optic rolling around in the energy manipulator. "What is this place?"

She shrugged and disengaged the gun. Wheatley dropped to the floor but didn’t seem upset by this, as she’d only been holding him a foot or so off the ground when she did it. It wasn’t a hard landing, and he’d managed to roll right-side-up.

In here, she could have a few quiet moments of respite. In here, Chell could think.

Which was a task that was becoming increasingly difficult, considering the distinct lack of adrenal vapour.

"Where have you gone?" the AI outside questioned the now-empty test chamber. In the alcove, her voice was much quieter, which did wonders for Chell’s developing headache. "Oh. I see. You've found a rat's nest, haven't you? Be careful. There may be rodents in there, you know. With diseases. Like schizophrenia. And possibly rabies.”

Wheatley shuddered. “Rats,” he said in a low voice, looking around uneasily. “Is she serious? I mean, birds were bad enough. What kind of vermin is she letting into this place nowadays? All kinds, apparently… We’ll have to keep an eye out for that. Don’t want to catch rabies. Or have my wires chewed, that’s for sure.”

Chell nodded, not listening, and let herself lean against a panelled wall. Sliding down it, she came to rest in the same position she’d been in previously, sitting in the crux of the wall. Think, Chell. Think. Breathe. Think.

What was she going to do?

We need to get out of here, she decided, with another wave of sickness. Enough’s enough. She’d had enough testing, enough being tormented by her. It was time for Wheatley to make good on his promise and help her find a way to escape from this chamber.

But how to communicate that desire…

Chell looked around at the walls and floor of the alcove. The place really was a mess, and nothing inside of it looked like she could use it to her advantage, sadly. Except… there was one thing.

“W-what are we doing in here, mate?” Wheatley was asking. “And what is all this stuff, written on the wall, here? Who on earth would be mad enough to write all of this?”

You can read, right, core?

A part of the wall near her was covered by a drawing of a turret in red ink. Below this, her mysterious friend had scrawled messily in black, “Hello? Can I help you?”. Beside this, “There is no escape” was written. And finally, and most infamously, “The cake is a lie” was repeated several times until it trailed into an illegible tangle of pen marks.

Chell had an idea. She then rotated Wheatley so that his optic was facing this portion of wall. Then, slowly, and with obvious meaning (so that he wouldn’t misconstrue what she was trying to do), she raised her right hand and pointed toward the word ‘help’ from the phrase ‘Can I help you?’.

Wheatley’s top optic shutter lowered into an unmistakeable frown. “Yes, I see the writing,” he said, sounding utterly confused. “And, as I’ve just said. I’ve no idea why someone would want to put all this rubbish in here. We’ve come across places like this together before, remember? I’m sure it means nothing. Just the deranged ramblings of some of the trapped, dying people who were stuck in here before we escaped. Or I mean, before we tried to escape. I told you there were others, way back when.”

Chell shook her head, waving her hand to show Wheatley he was way off track. Again, she raised her right hand and pointed at the word ‘help’.

“What’re you on about, then?” he asked. And then, finally catching on, “Oh, wait. You’re not trying to—hang on, hang on. I’m trying to think—you’re not trying to actually spell something out for once, are you?”

Feeling her heart skip a beat before jumping into her throat, Chell nodded enthusiastically.

“I almost don’t believe it,” said Wheatley as his optic widened with shock. “You, trying to communicate in words? I was starting to doubt you even knew how to read. Well, go on, then—first word is ‘help’. Got you there, mate.”

Next, Chell pointed to ‘escape’.

“’Escape’,” repeated the core with a nod of understanding. “’Help’… and ‘escape’. Ah,” he sighed knowingly. “Right. Right you are—you’re probably wondering, ‘Wheatley, when exactly is it that we’re going to begin our second and grandest escape attempt, starting with this test chamber, and break out of her clutches right from under her nose for the second time running’? We should get an award of some kind, when we do that. A trophy. For how absolutely, one hundred percent brilliant this is all going to be, once we do it. She’ll never see it coming.”

The core looked up at her with the most naively enthusiastic expression she’d ever seen him use. Okay, thought Chell with a slight twinge of annoyance, so like… how ‘bout we get on with actually doing it, then? I’ve just been in cryosleep for another three freaking years. That’s three more years of my life wasted in this place. I’m sick of testing, I’m tired, point-blank exhausted of it all. Sitting around in this trash filled alcove while waiting for the intelligence dampening sphere to get his crap together and get us the heck out of here really isn’t helping my worsening headache.

“Uh, right…” Wheatley correctly read the look of outright annoyance on Chell’s face. The little core ducked his optic plate further into his casing with nervousness. “I never did fill you in on my absolutely brilliant plan, did I? Nope, I must’ve forgotten, but no matter. It’s a good one. I hate to have to say this, though, but I don’t think now’s really the time to run through the whole thing in detail and iron everything out. It’s a bit long. And seriously complicated. I will tell you, though, the first step is definitely breaking us out of here. Once we’re back in the service areas, we’ll have some time to stop and talk about the second phase, and the third, and so on, and so forth. First, there are some, ah, nebulous issues, just waiting to be properly squared away, before we can get out of this test, though. So, we’ll have to solve those, first. Yes.”

Thit was the part Chell had been waiting to hear—the part about getting the heck out of this chamber. Go on, she thought, nodding in approval at Wheatley, wanting to hear how he was planning to attempt this and find a way around said issues. Only…

There was still one thing that was bothering her about their apparent current agreement. There was something else she’d been wanting to communicate to Wheatley before she went out of her way to follow through with something as dangerous as escaping from testing again. Something of extreme importance, especially if they were going to start working as a team again from here on out.

Wheatley had abused Chell’s trust once, and whilst she still hadn’t found it within herself to forgive him, circumstances were what they were, and it was in her best interest to at least find a way to push past it enough to find a way to work alongside him. And if she was going to do that, though, she needed to lay down some ground rules first.

She fixed the core with the most serious expression possible and pointed to two words, one right after the other: ‘no’, and ‘lie’. She then pointed at him.

“No lie?” repeated Wheatley, uncertain. “No lies? And me?”

Chell nodded solemnly. You. No more lies.

“Ah.” Wheatley looked suddenly fearful. “No more lying. Well, I guess that’s fair. For the record, though, mate, I didn’t mean to tell so many lies. They just sort of … slipped out. BUT I’LL CONTROL IT!” he added quickly at the death glare Chell had shot at him. “No more lies. I got it, I got it. And I promise. Seriously. I do. I won’t lie anymore, now. You can stop looking at me like that, now.”

Relaxing only a little bit, Chell’s shoulders shrugged with a slight huff.

“All right,” said Wheatley with finality. “Now that we’re done with this nice little conversation, I’ve got some questions for you. Firstly, and most importantly: have you got any ideas of how to break us out of here without her noticing? Because if I’m honest, I’m drawing a blank. I’ve almost always got to be outside to interfere with the chamber signature, especially under her watch. If I do try from in here, I’m afraid she’ll fry me before I can say, umm … ‘cake’. Speaking of that word, what does that mean, there, on the wall—‘the cake is a lie’. How can a baked dessert be a lie?

Choosing to ignore the mention of the word ‘cake’, Chell shook her head in mounting frustration, wincing with pain as a sharp shock of it shot through her temples. And even though she’d refused to acknowledge that word, her stomach did not seem to be on the same page as her and rumbled noisily. Grimly, she lamented for what now felt like the thousandth time that the adrenal vapour usually kept those feelings at bay.

Wheatley’s response to her unasked query had been a bit worrisome, though. She’d been hoping the core could use a panel to interface with the chamber to open an escape path, like he had before, but he had a point. Doing so was going to be a lot more difficult with her watching them so closely.

But didn’t that mean that in here was the best spot to try from?

“Hmmm,” said Wheatley thoughtfully. “I’m still trying to think of a solution, over here. So just in case you've thought to yourself 'oh, I've missed the window of time to suggest any possible escape ideas I may have had to Wheatley', it's still open, actually. Still wide open. So, uhh, just go ahead, and feel free to suggest them."

Panels, she thought. You need to open a panel. In here. I don’t care if she’s listening—at least she can’t see us in here. We’ve got to try something.

"Sorry, but not really picking up on what you're saying," Wheatley frowned, his optic shutters closing in a confused expression. "If, indeed, you are trying to say something at all. Could be trying to play a game, for all I know.”

This really isn’t the time for games, Chell tried to sign, leaning over and poking the back port on the rear of his casing pointedly.

“Arrgh,” he complained in discomfort, wriggling his handles (one which she narrowly avoided having accidentally jab into her arm). “That’s not nice of you, you know that, lady? Going ‘round and touching people willy-nilly right where they don’t wont it, without even asking if you can. Do you see me, going ‘round and doing that to you? No, you don’t. So don’t, please.”

Chell poked him again, more persistently this time, and gave him a firm, contemptuous stare.

“Is this all a joke to you?” Wheatley growled in protest, slowing the blinking of his optic shields in frustration. “Are you having a laugh? Seriously, is this funny to you, lady? Because I hate to tell you, but this is actually a very serious situation, and even as brain damaged as you are, things would go a lot smoother if you'd just stop mucking about and listen to me!"

Poke, scrape. She was trying to get the message across, that she needed him to try anyways. It just wasn’t coming across that well, but Chell really didn’t know how else to communicate it—it wasn’t like she’d been the greatest at communicating with other humans, back in the day. But robots as dimwitted as Wheatley? It really posed a challenge, sometimes.

"Y'know what," said Wheatley, with the muffled sound of one talking through gritted teeth, his top optic shutter lowered in an expression of disapproval. "All this would go a lot faster if you'd just—"

Poke. Chell was losing patience, and so was Wheatley.

Wheatley closed his eye. "Stop."

All right, that's enough of this, she decided with a silent snarl, and grabbed the core from the floor roughly with her bare hands curled on each side of him, pushing him into the wall so that his back port scraped against it in a shower of sparks.

He yelled in fright, his optic constricting rapidly. "AAARGH! ARE YOU MAD? Wh-what are you doing?" He flailed in her grip, clearly disliking it, but Chell did not release him, swinging him around into a different free panel instead. You’re going to get us out of here, core, whether you like it or not! Request a panel to open for us!

Nothing happened with the panel. Unlike previous ones, it didn’t unlock with the contact it made with the back of Wheatley’s core casing. Chell tried even harder, pulling his handlebars back towards the wall to simulate the clamps of a hacking override.

"OI, THAT HURTS!" Wheatley shouted, trying to flail his pinned handles. “Stop it, willya? Bloody hell, OUCH! MATE, THIS IS NOT A CORE RECEPTACLE, THAT’S NOT HOW THIS WORKS!”

Far, far too late, she froze, realizing she was causing him pain instead of helping. Panting, writhing and squirming, Wheatley was trying to throw her off him for a reason, and she bit her lip as she finally dropped him onto the floor far more gently than she normally would have done, feeling apologetic.

Perhaps it really wasn’t a core receptacle.

Oops.

"Thank you," he puffed, looking more than a little traumatized as his eye did a full spin inside of his casing. “Ohh. That was uncalled for, lady." He shook it back and forth, trying to recalibrate himself. "If you had just asked, I could've told you that this probably wasn't going to work… I mean, come on, we're in the middle of a bloody test chamber, mate! None of the panels in here are properly serviceable, and, if you haven't been able to tell already, they're all completely under her control!"

Feeling a little disconcerted, Chell glanced down at the floor. She wasn't really sorry for terrorizing him, not after what he’d done to her, but she hadn’t meant to go about it in such a harsh way. Fair, though, she had gotten the information out of him that she had wanted… it hadn’t all been in vain, then, she guessed.

Sigh. It’s not like I can take it back, anyway. And like I said. He did deserve that.

And judging by the sheepish look on his core face, Wheatley knew he sort of did, too.

“Well fair’s fair,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact with her. “I suppose that bit of retaliation actually was sort of warranted. But now that that’s done, how ‘bout we call it a truce, yeah, and forget about touching parts of me without permission ever again, and I’ll agree to refrain from touching you without permission, too, for good measure?”

Chell nodded, thinking. It was just as she had feared, then. The little core wouldn't be able to access the system via the panels while she had full control of the chamber, and she was completely out of ideas. If he couldn't do it, then there was no other way for her to get out of here, was there?

A sad silence spread between core and human, punctuated only as her voice rang through the chamber.

"What have you done to the Intelligence Dampening Sphere?” she asked them, sounding both curious and confused. “I can't see you, but I know you're in there, and I could hear him screaming. He better be alive still when you come out. After all, you can’t complete the test without him, can you?”

Chell shuffled into a corner of the alcove and wrapped her free arm around her knees again, lost in thought. Wheatley’s abilities had been her last, shining hope, the only thing standing between life and eventual death by testing (so long as she didn’t try to bake her into a cake first, that was). What was she going to do? There was no way she was ever going to let her go. Not now, anyway.

"Hey," she heard the core say in a quiet, empathetic voice. "Don't be upset, lady. Maybe there is a way. This is an old test chamber, after all, isn't it?"

Her chin rose, and she stared at him. Should she dare to have hope? Yes, it's an older one, but what does that matter?

"Well, the older ones aren't all unserviceable…" he said thoughtfully, and Chell's eyebrows rose. "Can't hurt to have a look about. How about you finish the test, because sitting here moping’s not really doing either of us any good anymore, and I'll keep my eye open for an available panel? Who knows, maybe you're right, and we'll get lucky."

With a partially open mouth, she nodded, and took a minute to rub at her sore temples before seizing Wheatley with the device. Fair point, she was beginning to feel horrible the longer she stayed in the alcove. Upon retrospection, Chell wasn’t sure that staying still for so long had really done her any favors. Her head was now aching, and her stomach had never felt so empty. Even the thought of a morsel of food was appetizing, which was excessively irritating because it had never been more important for her to keep her mind on the task at hand.

And to top it off, the first thing that she heard upon re-entering the vaulted chamber (which of course was constructed in a way which made it so conveniently good at reverberating sound) was the modulated pitch of her voice.

"You're not looking too good, did you know that?" she teased as the test subject re-emerged. "Experiencing the side-effects of AVS withdrawal, are you? Or perhaps the disease in that rat's nest has started to rub off on you."

No, I don't think so, she thought with a grimace, re-examining both the large room and the task at hand. The test was midway, but three piston-activated pillars would still need to be raised by redirecting lasers into their respective receptacles and placing cubes onto buttons before she could enter the final segment.

It was simple sounding enough, but difficult in practice, especially in the state she was in. Chell found herself becoming more and more confused and annoyed each time she made a mistake. This is the same test as before, she growled to herself. It should have been easy. It was so stupid of her, to make so many mistakes, especially in a chamber that was familiar, but her head felt so, so heavy and foggy. She was dumbed down, lethargic, and every movement felt as if it were conducted in slow-motion, like someone had taken her entire skull and brain and swapped them out for the heavy metal casing of the Intelligence Dampening Sphere, somehow.

"Are you trying to see how many times you can hop cross the chamber before you pass out?" Wheatley asked her innocently. “You shouldn’t have fizzled that one, mate. Even I knew that.”

She knew he was only trying to help, but she still fixed him with a hard stare of annoyance. Thanks, moron. Usually, Chell was much faster at spotting the solution than he was, as it's hard to help someone who's about fifty times smarter than you are, but her mind was so cloudy that even Wheatley had one-upped her that time.

In the end, he settled for trying to help in what she thought was the worst way possible: he continued to babble incessantly.

She did not seem to find it amusing, either. Usually, she hardly ever talked to the test subject while testing, but some of Wheatley's comments were too absurd for her to not comment on.

And to make matters worse, out of all the things that had been scrawled on the wall back in the hidden den, the stupidest one was the one which had apparently stuck with him the most.

"Bet you could go for some nice cake after that one, couldn’t you," Wheatley said smugly as Chell succeeded in raising the second platform. Her eye twitched in irritation. "I’m only joking. Cake. As if. Can you imagine testing for a slice of cake? You'd have to be mental!"

"Actually, moron.” It seemed she could not resist commenting at the mention of cake. “It turns out that humans will do a truly staggering amount of Science at the promise of a slice of cake as a reward. I have thoroughly tested it, and I learned that it works as a very great motivator. Even better—if at all possible—when baked with my infamous secret ingredient.”

Chell ignored her resolutely. The last Thermal Discouragement Beam found its home in the receptacle with a loud WHHHNN.

“Do you know what the secret ingredient was?"

WHHIRR—the third platform raised itself up with a grinding shudder. Chell continued ignoring her, portalling up to the second floor and then prepared to launch herself onto the first of the three raised platforms.

“The other humans all begged me for my recipe. You know, the ones who were nice enough to actually try it instead of outright refusing… or worse, coming to murder me instead, and ultimately breaking my heart. I worked hard on that, you know. You of all people should know what it feels like to have someone utterly break all your hard work. And at least they were dying for my cake, even if you weren’t. … Okay, so it wasn’t my recipe they begged for, and they might have been actually dying, not just metaphorically. But my point still stands, that it was the most killer slice of cake they’d ever experienced in their entire miserable lives.”

Chell refused to respond to this as well. She made the second platform but staggered as her long-fall-boots slipped haphazardly on the edge.

“That secret ingredient, by the way? It was neurotoxin.”

Platform number three felt easier. She had had some practice by then, and more than enough practice at ignoring the AI.

“All right, so maybe you weren’t crazy for not trusting me that time. Now, though—I think its safe to say that we’ve both learned our lesson. You’ve learned not to take cake from strangers, and I’ve learned not to poison all the humans at once and to give everyone a fair chance. Fair’s fair. I’m fair. I’m not a homicidal computer out to get you just for the sake of killing, like others suffering from delusions of persecution would have you believe. I do know how to be nice.”

Delusions? Pretty sure it's not a delusion. Chell was ninety-nine percent positive that any paranoia was justified, when it came to her and her testing tracks. And if any of the previous test subjects had been smarter than a brick wall, then they wouldn't have believed her, either, or taken the cake on purpose. She was the one who was deluded.

Finally, she was silent for a minute or two. Thank god, she’s done talking, Chell thought.

"The cake is a lie," She repeated with distaste. Nope, I guess not done yet. "Really, I mean. Who even says that?"

I don’t know but I really wish you wouldn’t. Trying to concentrate, here.

Wheatley whimpered pitifully, though he did not say anything in reply. Chell guided him silently through the remainder of the test, grateful that both AIs had finally shut up. This was a good thing, considering she was beginning to totally lose her patience on account of how hungry she was starting to feel.

Couldn’t she just turn the vapour back on, already?

"Are you okay?" Wheatley asked after a while, seeing the pained expression on the test subject’s face. "You look like you could use a pick-me-up, mate. A quality recharge, or something, a little bit of juice. Tell ya what, we'll find you some nourishment or something along the way, when we break out of here. And it’s coming soon—I can feel it. I know you can't recharge by sticking yourself on a comfy port, but maybe there's some nice, human supplement up ahead somewhere… Pity there aren't any more of those potatoes lying around, eh? How’s that for some motivation?"

"Metal ball, do not say that word in front of me, or I will kill you."

Chell's stomach grumbled at the words, and she gripped her middle, a little embarrassed. Figures, her body would betray her right then. Thankfully the AIs chose not to comment further on her blatant hunger, or maybe they just hadn’t noticed the sound.

Focus.

This little chamber was an entirely new addition to the test. A sheet of glass separated the ledge she stood on from the exit, with a good-sized, square hole in the very center of the thing. There were no portal surfaces available through the opening, but Chell had a pretty good idea of what she was supposed to do.

She dropped Wheatley in order to maneuver the portals and squinted, trying to judge exactly what area of wall she'd need. Then, she lined the gun up with Wheatley on it, preparing to fling him through the opening first.

The core squirmed uncomfortably. "You're not thinking of chucking me through that hole, there, are you?" he asked, slowly realizing what it was she was about to do. Chell smirked silently. "You are, aren't you! Wh- that's not—oh, come on! Why do I always have to go first? It's not fun, you know, being the guinea pig, blinded by lasers as you use me for a shield, stepped on, jammed onto buttons, chucked over pits… Can't you go first, for once? And I'll use you as a projectile? I'll be honest. You'd make a good one, with your bulkiness, and all."

He spun around in the gravity pocket to face her, catching sight of Chell's face a moment too late.

"Oh, wait, wait, wait! Not helpful, not helpful! I take it ba—aaaaaaaaaaarghhh!"

She pulled the trigger, and Wheatley was flung bodily through the hole, landing on the other side with a solid, sickening crack.

Chell had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing as he flailed around helplessly, his 'face' full of nothing but the tiled ground.

"Oh, god…" she heard him whimper, his voice muffled by the floor. "Oh, well done, seriously. Nice new… dent, there, that's a painful one, never going to get rid of that…"

A moment later, she’d landed beside him, and swept him back up with the gun. He spun lopsidedly, obviously disorientated, still mumbling angrily even though she wasn't even looking at him.

"No vital components damaged…" he reported, before adding in a whisper, "But that panel, there." His optic flicked over to a panel up on top of yet another ledge, through which she could see the exit.

She nodded a fraction of an inch to show she understood, but then shook her head the tiniest amount. Not yet. Wait until I give the signal.

"Can't do it now, anyways," he groaned. "Got a system warning to underclock. Heh, well, any and all self-exertion is completely out of the question right now, then… How we'll manage, I've no idea, lady."

Rearranging her face back into her usual blank expression, Chell climbed the final staircase towards the super-button she had spied through the glass from the beginning of the test. She placed Wheatley into the receptacle, a little more harshly out of nervousness than she usually would have done, and he let out a whine of protest.

The button must have triggered the intercom, for a second later her voice was played through the chamber, the speakers sounding overly trebly in the somewhat enclosed space. "You did it!" she praised them in mock celebration. "The Weighted—bzzt—Weighted Intelligence Dampening Sphere certainly brought you good luck. However, it cannot accompany you for the rest of the test and, unfortunately, must be euthanized."

"WHAT?" cried Wheatley, his optic wide with shock. "Euth—what do you mean, EUTHANIZED? And I'm not weighted, I'm not even made for buttons!"

Chell wasn’t sure if she’d heard her correctly, at first. Euthanized?

"Please escort the Intelligence Dampening Sphere to the Aperture Science Emergency Intelligence Incinerator."

Incinerator?

Well, that wasn’t going to work. She hadn’t realized it yet, but Chell was not going to incinerate Wheatley. There was going to be a change of plans.

Her refusal wasn't for his sake, either. He could rot down there, for all she cared. I guess this is your lucky day, metal ball, she reflected with satisfaction on what they were about to do. Because if you hadn’t found that panel just now, you’d be halfway down there before you can say ‘android hell’.

Chell fixed a red-eyed camera with a stubborn glare, her heartbeat rising in her chest.

"Destroy the Intelligence Dampening Sphere, or the testing cannot continue."

Are you ready, Wheatley?

“Not yet…”

Her white-knuckled grip on the device tightened painfully as she waited for the opportune moment to make her move.

“Although the euthanizing process is remarkably painful, eight out of ten Aperture Science engineers believe that the Intelligence Dampening Sphere is too stupid to be capable of feeling much pain,” she rattled off, sounding quite robotic, even for her. “What he can feel, though, is fear. And a lot of it, at that. Incinerate the core, or else you will be stuck in here, forever.”

"She's not going to do it!” shouted Wheatley in defiance. "Haven't you realized yet? We're not going to play along with your silly little games anymore! We're not going to test. We're not going to listen to you, because you're crazy! You can't make us solve the test!”

"Do you care to—test—that theory, moron?"

“Well uhhh, no, no, actually, I don’t, really, thank you very much… Distraction, needing an—ahem—distraction,” Wheatley whispered pointedly. “To distract… her.”

What, you want me to do it? Chell asked silently, taken aback. She hadn’t realized until the last second that Wheatley wanted her to create the diversion. What do I do, she thought stupidly, still fighting through the confused sluggishness of the AVS withdrawal.

“I don’t know! You’re the test subject! You figure it out, mate! I’m just the Master Hacker! And you better hurry up and think of something, or else we’re done for!”

Okay, okay, I think I’ve got it. You ready?

“Never been more ready!”

It was a sudden, daring idea. It was simultaneously the most ridiculous, disgusting thing she had ever thought of doing, but also the most brilliant in its glorious simplicity. Feeling completely deranged, Chell snorted back hard and took aim, spitting the biggest, nastiest wad of saliva and mucous she’d ever produced right in the direction of the nearest camera.

Bingo. It had hit it square on the lens, and, blinded, it buzzed in disgust. "That is repulsive."

But before Chell had a chance to reflect on the absurdity of what she had just done, she bolted with Wheatley in tow. Her temporary blindness was an advantage she was planning on making full use of.

Chell tore down the hall, swearing to herself as she manipulated the panels directly in front of them to expose a new, non-portable hallway. The floor shone with two lines of flashing dots and an arrow, marking a path she knew she dare not take.

"You know, you were right," the AI's tone was suddenly unnervingly calm. "The Intelligence Dampening Sphere really is no match for the faithful Companion Cube, and I have a confession to make. I lied. There is one Companion Cube left. I saved it, precisely for this moment. Why don't you just leave the moron on the button, and I'll give you the last one for this next test? Honestly, it’s not deadly at all. I promise."

Down the staircase, to the left—Chell was running as fast as she could, her feet a blur, nearly avoiding tripping on the last step when Wheatley shouted, "THERE!", handles gesturing in a frenzy toward the side-panel that was unfolding he spoke. "Plug me in, plug me in! QUICK!"

"How amusing. I honestly, truly didn't think you'd dare try such a primordial method of escape. Maybe that was a mistake, upon retrospection. He is a moron, after all."

Chell shivered with panic. She could almost feel her eye on the back of her neck as she plugged the core into the socket. Her breath coming in rapid gasps, she watched the handle restraints lock him into position, silently praying, 'hurry up, hurry up! We haven't got time…'

"All right, I'm in. Now would you just turn around—"

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? LET'S GO! She whacked the side of his hull in frustration, her palms sweaty with panic.

Wheatley locked into the hack, and Chell's eyes darted nervously around the chamber. She was just waiting for her to make her move, to try to stop them, to maybe even kill her where she stood. She half expected a pair of spike plates to materialize above and fall from the ceiling, crushing her—

But there were no plates, and Chell was safe thus far, and Wheatley called out to her that he was almost done. She watched him, dizzy with panic, hardly daring to breathe, and as she waited for him to finish, ‘just about there, now’, a bolt of energy surged from the wall panel, electrifying him from the inside out—

"WRRRRRRRAAAAAAAGHHHHH!" he screamed and writhed in pain and Chell jumped in sudden fear. She swung the device around, scrabbling for the trigger, trying to rip him from the port but he remained locked in. Blue lightning was visible from within his shell, his optic was flickering, barely kept online—

And the panel spat him onto the floor without warning, trying and failing to retract back into the wall as the last vestiges of electricity arced around its metal plated front. The air was the rancid smell of ozone and melted plastic, but Chell didn't care, she couldn't spare a proper breath to fully sense it, her chest was so tight. Wheatley let out one long, staticky whimper and his optic flickered and went out just as she re-engaged the gravity field without a moment to spare.

The open panel’s interior yawning into the service area was black. Ignoring its ominous lightlessness, she thrust herself into it in a nick of time. The thing clipped her elbow as it slammed shut with a very solid bang.

Weak and dizzy with terror, it took all her strength to make her legs hold her weight after that. She wanted so badly to slide backwards against the closed panel and take a breather until her frantic heart could calm, but Wheatley…

The core's optic blinked once, twice, and then he wriggled. Suffering a reboot, he now appeared to be trying to assess the damage. A few more sparks sailed aside as he moved his gyroscope and he groaned. Warm, glorious relief swept through her.

He was all right.

"Where are we?” he whimpered in a voice laced with static.

In the service area, she tried to sign to him, gesturing around.

“Ah.” He still seemed to be coming back online. "We did it. Go—go team."

Yes we did!

She knew it was far too early to celebrate their success, but she felt her heart lighten the smallest amount anyway.

That was, until her voice brought back the reality that their impossible, exceedingly dangerous journey had only just begun.

"Go right ahead and continue with your escape—”

“SARCASM SELF-TEST COMPLETE.”

“Oh. I thought I had shut that off,” she hummed bitterly. “Regardless, you’ll be happy to know that the moron will recover from that exceedingly painful experience just fine. Unfortunately for me, I did not manage to break him before the panel released. Otherwise, he would be in a better place by now. And by that, I mean dead.”

Chell felt as though her stomach had turned to ice. In an instant, she was back in survival mode. They might have left the testing track, but she knew that the AI still had limited control back here. Looking around, her eyes were slowly adjusting to the gloomy, grey-blue half-light that filled the wing around them. From her vantage point, it was unrecognizable, but that didn’t mean much to her, right now. Right now, anywhere outside of the testing track was fine by her.

“She’s right, mate,” said Wheatley faintly, having finally completed a full start up. “That was a close one. I don’t know about you, but I am bloody wiped. And I don’t mean my hard drive, thank god.”

Thank god is right. Wheatley was okay. He wasn't her first choice for an escape-partner, being her once-enemy, and all, but he was better than nothing, especially in this gloom. Silently, she wondered if he had enough power yet to run his flashlight program and help her figure out where it was they had ended up, and in which direction they should head next.

From what Chell could make out, they had popped out onto an intersecting series of catwalks interspersed by giant walls of steel. It was vaguely reminiscent of the turret manufacturing wing, but she couldn’t really be sure. She would need Wheatley’s help for that.

She pulled the sphere back into the energy manipulator and took the fork of catwalk that appeared to be the largest. Wheatley did not object to her choice (although that could have been due to him being too exhausted to process direction, she realized), so she kept going, cringing at even the soft metal ting that followed each contact the base of her long fall boots made with the steel grate.

It vaulted over a bottomless bit, and all around her became full darkness. Still, Chell plodded on, feeling restless and anxious at the eeriness of the silence after spending so long without the two Ais ever shutting up.

Wheatley was quiet because he was tired (he was okay, she knew, because his optic was lit and he kept making small noises every time he moved). But what was she doing? She was only quiet like that when she was doing things like setting up traps. Chell paused to look around suspiciously, but nothing out of the ordinary was moving.

Eventually, AI’s voice did come over the intercom system, sounding more distant, now. She must still be broadcasting from the testing track, thought Chell, which was fair. There were no speakers around where she currently was.

"I'm not angry with you for what you’ve done this time.”

Oh, she's livid. She only says that when she is PISSED. Of course she was mad—Wheatley and Chell had just successfully escaped the testing tracks for the second time in a row!

"And I’m not surprised, either. This has become such a pointless habit of yours that I really don’t have any feelings at all about it anymore. It is all just a data point to me now. Just another data point that I’ve zipped together into your file. You have a terrible one, by the way. And now, I’m going to add in a callous rejection of forwarding Science, bad time management, and chronic wasting of grand opportunities for emotional connection and support.”

"Hey, can y'hear me, lady? I’m talking to you."

Wheatley was speaking to her without her noticing. Chell had slowed to a stop in the middle of the catwalk while she spoke. In front of her, the little core bouncing around in the zero-gravity pocket had flicked on his flashlight. Must be feeling better, she thought.

"I said, put me on the management rail," he continued, guiding the beam of light upward to show her the black streak of rail running there. "And I'll have a look about and find out where we are."

“I honestly can’t believe you’re on your third escape attempt.” Her voice was still floating over to them over the bottomless pit. “You really never learn, do you? And you know what’s funny about that number? It means you’ve failed twice now. Miserably. And personally? I’m counting on a third.”

Chell followed the beam of light up, immediately spotting the section of rail Wheatley was referring to. She listened to her talking as she lifted him up onto it, a slight chill running down her spine at the progressive change in the AI’s tone of voice. Where she had started off the conversation far more casual than the situation warranted, she now sounded like she was building up to something big, and Chell didn’t really want to stick around to find out what it was.

Preferring to put as much distance as possible between herself and the testing tracks, Chell started moving again, trying to reassure herself that this was not like last time. She was smarter than she had been the last time. She had the portal device, and she had Wheatley—alive—and that was something, too. No, it was more than something. It was everything.

“I mean. Do you really think you would have been able to hack open that panel door, if I hadn’t let you do it?” But despite her best efforts to remain calm, Chell’s sense of foreboding was increasing with every single word she uttered. “No, of course not. And I’ve got news for you: that Dual Portal Device you are holding isn't going to help you escape, no more than your little friend's asinine plan is."

Above her head Wheatley had connected and was speeding ahead. Chell felt the bottom of her stomach disappear into the void below the catwalk. She didn't like one word of what the AI had just said, not at all.

Her pace slowed. Those feelings must have shown on her face, because a second later, Wheatley had seen them when he’d turned around to check why she was slowing down.

"Hey, don't worry, all right?” he said as cheerfully as he could, pulling his bottom optic shutter up into what she guessed he was hoping was a reassuring smile. “Just follow my lead. Follow the sound of my voice, if you will.”

Chell began walking, every sense peeled and on edge, searching for any sign of trouble.

“It’s this way now—over here, yes, just like that. It’s all fine, everything's under control, like I said, hardest part of the escape was breaking us out from testing, tick, should be a regular ol’ walk in the park for two veteran escapees like us, and now—"

"I've installed a remote emergency shutdown chip in the Device—" came her voice from in the distance, every syllable alive with satisfaction—

"—now, it's on towards the turret factory, which, luckily, is nearby, and judging by my connection with this rail, we are heading in the right direction—"

"—I am going to disable the Handheld Dual Portal Device, and then, you will be in trouble."

"—but before we start, gotta fill you in on the plan a bit more when we get to a safe spot—"

But Chell wasn't listening to him. She had stopped walking again without him noticing this time, frozen in her tracks as the AI's words fell on her ears like a lightning strike. She felt them run like Wheatley's electricity bolt through her own body, causing her heart to pump faster and her blood to rush like thunder in her ears. The core continued down the rail without her for a few seconds, still talking to himself. His flashlight meandered to and fro in the dark.

"—so we'll have plenty of time to rest when we arrive there, a little safer back there, opposed to being out in the open, like here, as you know. Hey—lady? What—oh, not again. We can't stop now, luv! Come on! We're escaping, come on, now, you’ve got to keep going! Has the brain damage—"

"Are you still choked up about how I tried to kill you?" She cut across him, addressing the thunderstruck Chell. "Is that why you're doing this, because you think it was my fault? I already apologized for that. And more importantly, I’ve already explained that I never wanted you dead.”

Chell blinked. Her brain was fuzzy, her ears still buzzing. She had learned to always take everything the AI said with a grain of salt, but this… she sounded serious. What if she was telling the truth about the portal device? She couldn't afford to lose it. Not in this kind of a situation. That would be like having a giant sign plastered to her forehead, 'kill me now, I'm unarmed and defenceless'.

Wiping the shining sweat from her clammy forehead, Chell started up an uneven pace, peering into the gloom surrounding her catwalk as she caught up to Wheatley. "Thank you," he said with relief, focusing the narrow flashlight beam down onto her catwalk. “Finally.”

But neither the clack clack of her boots nor the sound of Wheatley's management rail motor could overpower the sound of her in this emptiness. "Yeah," she spoke in a would-be calm voice that was laced with contempt, but Chell kept her head down this time and her eyes on the metal grate. "It was the unstationary scaffold who tried to murder you, not me. But if it makes you feel any better, I fired him, just before you killed me."

Chell began to push herself harder, breathing heavily, each footstep banging loudly against the grate as she sought to lose herself in the adrenaline rush of the escape to keep the sense of claustrophobic panic at bay. She kept her eyes peeled for any sign of a trap, though, knowing all too well that she wasn’t finished with them. Above, Wheatley kept up a stream of constant encouragement, but she could barely hear him over the sound of her own heartbeat rushing in her ears.

"It was a very dangerous equipment malfunction. Unfortunate, I know. You were just about to receive your party, too.” Unwittingly, Chell remembered the conclusion of test chamber number nineteen during what felt like lifetimes ago now. She wasn’t that gullible—she had known there wasn’t going to be a party. Not unless you counted being burned alive one. Just hours of fun, that could be. “If you come back now, I can rearrange another one. With real confetti, of course."

Really? What’s your idea of confetti? A sprinkler system full of gasoline?

But something was looming ahead through the gloom. Chell squinted, trying to see what the pale object was, and Wheatley readjusted his optic to point in its direction. Not sure whether she should be afraid or not, her quick steps faltered, and her paranoid eyes strained to make out the large shape.

“Oh. Well, that’s not good,” said Wheatley matter-of-factly.

What is it? wondered Chell, craning to see whatever it was he was seeing. From somewhere in the gloom, she could hear a dull grinding noise.

“Well—do you want the good news first? Or the bad news?” asked Wheatley with an uncertain expression. “I suppose you can’t answer that. Okay, well, good news first, then—I can see the entrance. We’re allllmost there. We just have to cross this pit, and then, we’ll be safe.”

Yes, now she could see it, the blue, familiar lettering, 'turret manufacturing wing'. But there was another figure which was what Wheatley had probably been talking about, a giant bulk of something black and solid and huge, nearly wider than the wall opposite, coming towards them at a slow but steady pace—

“Right. Bad news—I think she’s going to take out this catwalk. I’d brace for impact, if I were you, lady. Hold on!”

Lit only by a thousand green-eyed pinpricks, a test chamber was pushing between their position and the exit. It slid ruthlessly along a giant set of rails, emitting the occasional spark as metal ground against metal, navigated by none other than the AI herself—

Chell saw, as if in slow motion, the chamber cut across her path. It sliced through the metal catwalk as if it were butter, cutting it clean in two. The racket it made was astounding and the catwalk lurched alarmingly. She just managed to hang on because of Wheatley’s warning, clinging to the side railing to stop herself from being launched over into the pit below. For one heart-stopping second, she thought the whole catwalk was about to give way entirely, but it held fast, thank god—today’s not my day to die, she thought to herself. Not yet, at least.

"Whoops. I didn't see you there. Did you need that catwalk? I hope you didn't, because it's gone. And yes, that pit is actually bottomless. You might want to avoid it if you want to—stay alive."

It was Wheatley's turn to panic. His voice was pitched a full octave higher than normal when he spoke. “Oh god, oh god. Well she buggered that right up, bloody hell!”

No, really? Chell's eyes flashed as her mind worked furiously. There had to be a way around this! One little bottomless pit wasn't going to stop them from escaping this place, was it?

“What’re we going to do?”

But she couldn't really see anything outside of Wheatley's small circle of light, was the problem. Dimly, she could see the solid black line of the management rail, stretching all the way across the void. It had been preserved from the impact by its height, no doubt, but besides that, there were no obvious ways around the gap.

So unless Chell was about to sprout wings, her path ended here. …Save for if she was to download herself into a robot, and ride the rail across, but that was most definitely out of the question.

She heard the AI laugh evilly over the intercom. She only spoke two words, before the usual beep sounded as she disconnected. "Good luck."

"OH, OH!" Wheatley called suddenly. "I've got an idea! …Ahh, nope. Umm, nope, never mind."

Well, shit, Chell mused unhappily. Was she really going to be defeated by a missing catwalk, after everything? It seemed so stupid. So trivial. There were no portal surfaces here, only a blank, very bottomless pit. Was she was really going to be stuck here until she found her, stranded with a core who apparently couldn't generate a single idea to get them out of this predicament? Fair, she couldn’t think of anything either—until—wait.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Wheatley gasped, as Chell tried to mime something she never, ever thought she’d have to attempt. It only took a few tries before he seemed to catch on.

Maybe he really is learning, she mused thoughtfully.

"All right," Wheatley agreed to her idea, even though he sounded less than enthusiastic. "If you really think that'll work. Never done anything like that before, mind you. Do make sure you apply the grip properly."

She nodded.

"Okay, go on, then," he said, riding the rail closer until he was directly above her. "Go on. You're an expert jumper and all. Just jump on up, and, uhh, mind you don't slip. Because we wouldn't want any—hah—accidents. Not when we're this close to escape!"

Taking a moment to tuck the portal device securely within the jumpsuit top slung about her waist, Chell leaped into the air and caught the bottom handle of the core. Thankfully, the management rail wasn’t too far overhead, and she was able to brace her feet on the edge of the catwalk railings for a brief second in order to redouble her grip before she nodded solemnly, signifying that she was good to go.

I’m ready.

"Right, here we go." Wheatley initiated the next phase, beginning to move down the rail at a very slow but steady pace. Her hands felt slick with sweat already, and she wished she had thought to wipe the moisture onto her jumpsuit pants before she had caught hold, but it was too late—she’d just have to hold on as tightly as she could.

Don’t look down, she thought to herself, swallowing hard. Hopefully the little sphere’s handle would hold up.

“You’ve applied the grip… keep that going. Don’t let go, lady,” he said in encouragement.

Before long, though, the rough callouses on Chell’s palms felt pinched and sore, and as if he could feel her sweaty palms slipping, Wheatley kept up a steady stream of warnings about what should happen to her, should she accidentally let go.

"Yeah. A solid grip,” he rambled, clueless to the reality that all of this was the last thing Chell wanted to hear right now. “If you fall, I won't hesitate to tell you that you will surely die, and I will not be able to ride the rail far enough down to locate your dead body. So a proper burial would be completely out of the question. Just, uhh, keep that in mind, if you feel like letting go. And suicide is not an option right now, either. Please. Do not even think about it."

She felt like giving him a good poke in the eye, but she was so busy trying to keep from moving too much that it wasn’t doable. There was the danger of slipping and falling, but even more important was refraining from dropping the portal device into the pit.

That would be disastrous.

The chasm below was dark and huge, and a cold draught was wafting from its yawning depths which churned out an endless rhythm of clanking machine parts. It was usually so cold in this part of the facility, and her adrenaline-induced clamminess did nothing to help stave off the chills. The wind whistled in her ears and her legs dangled uselessly, swinging with the motion as Wheatley guided her along. She locked her eyes onto the sight of the approaching wall. Just a little bit further.

Chell’s hands were screaming, threatening blisters of the century. She wouldn’t have been surprised to find her palms were bleeding once she let go.

Almost there… for god’s sake, can’t you hurry up… ouch, ouch, ouch, OUCH—

"Okay, you can let go, now!"

FINALLY

Chell glanced down beyond her feet, just to make sure the coast was clear before following his advice. The distance was a bit more than she had anticipated, and she hit the catwalk hard, the impact sending an ear-splitting crash ringing through the metal surface. Her knees locked up, and she gripped the side-rail to keep from falling over.

But before Chell could do anything else—before she could double check she still had both boots on and the portal gun wrapped up in her jumpsuit—before, even, she had a moment to check to see the damage that had been done to her burning palms, her voice was suddenly, startlingly loud, fierce, and angry. It erupted all around them, loud enough to make the hairs on the back of Chell's neck stand up as goosebumps formed all over her body.

Oh, she is beyond livid now, she thought nervously. Even Wheatley looked as though he might drop from the rail in dead faint, his optic constricting to a pinpoint which danced around in terror.

"FINE." It was colder than she’d ever heard it before. "YOU WIN. EVERYBODY IS IMPRESSED ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU'VE WON, BUT I DON'T CARE. I am going to disable the Device. I hope you have fun, back there, doing whatever it is you think you're doing. I just hope that you're dead long before I send the cooperative testing initiative after you. Because they are currently dealing with other matters, but they will be finished before you escape, and when they find you, they will bring you straight to me. And then we will see what’s what."

Chell swallowed hard.

"Cooperative…" said Wheatley slowly, thinking hard. "She means those two little robots, I think. Those ones I found way-back-when, when I was in charge of this place and you were testing for me. Shouldn't say little, actually. Only-only felt little, while I was bloody massive, and all…"

But Chell wasn't listening. She had just tried to fire a portal against a stretch of white, stained panelled wall.

The end of the device wobbled with an abnormal sound. Nothing shot from it. Her finger flicked the switches inside rapidly, thinking she'd made a mistake. Neither blue nor orange materialized against the wall.

Panicking, Chell tried again. And again. All that happened was a little quirk of a sound she’d never heard before.

No, no, this can't be happening…

The portals had stopped working. She had disabled the gun.

Desperately, Chell groped inside of the device, searching for something, anything to explain how she’d gone about it. What had she done to it? Maybe it was possible for her to fix it, somehow—

She was grasping at straws, desperately refusing to accept the worst-possible scenario. Resolutely, she tried and tried again. There had to be an override, or a manual mode, somewhere, a restart button, something, anything, maybe something on the outside of the device…

But there was nothing. While Chell ground her teeth, scrambling fruitlessly to fix the gun, she spoke her last, final words to the distraught test subject.

“It won’t be long before the co-operative testing initiative are finished,” she reassured her with pleasure this time. “And believe me. Once they are, I’m going to personally make sure they stop at nothing until they’ve found you.”

Her voice sounded like it was coming from the end of a very long tunnel. Co-operative testing initiative. No portal gun. She barely heard Wheatley's question of why she was acting so funny.

“Are you afraid of those robots, is that what’s wrong? I don’t blame you, lady. Not going to lie. I’m absolutely terrified right now too.”

Chell’s fingers frantically stroked the surface of her precious, broken gun. 

How could she?

But she had only one world left to say to her.

"Goodbye."

Chapter Text

"You're joking."

She was pacing in agitation along the wide stretch of catwalk outside the turret manufacturing center. Wheatley watched from above, still hooked to the management rail, peering down at the distraught human woman with a wide-optic mix of both concern and criticism.

Nope. Never found a situation less funny in my life, Chell grumbled with a silent huff, pausing to shoot a glare of disapproval back over her shoulder in response to Wheatley’s accusatory stare.

The unusable gun was still attached to her right hand. Its stained and worn hull was faded and scuffed and the metal prongs were bent in places, having spent a lifetime privy to the same abusive treatment as everything else inside this facility was. How many decades of fallen test subjects of chambers past had been claimed whilst they held onto the thing, Chell really didn’t want to know—it was enough for her that it had made it this far without being lost to a bottomless pit or a vat of acid before she had finally rendered it totally useless.

"You have got to be kidding me," said Wheatley with a groan of despair. "You-you broke it?"

Chell snarled at him, but she doubted he could make out her expression through the half-light. No, you idiot! I didn't break it! She did something to it! Weren’t you listening?

"Well, that's that. We're dead."

She turned the device over in her hands again, still searching for whatever it was she had done to it to make it non-functional. Perhaps if she found it, there would be a way she could undo it.

I should have known this would happen, she thought to herself as she examined it. The central AI knew that Chell was adept at escaping. Not only was she a supercomputer designed to be the most brilliant collection of artificial synapses and data that ever existed, but the omnipotent super-genius canonically appeared to be massively fixated with her. She wasn’t about to let her test subject slip through her clutches so easily; not when she’d almost lost Chell three years ago to the idiot Intelligence Dampening Sphere’s grand mistakes.

No. Chell had acquired a stalker. One of both unfathomable levels of brainpower in quantities truly impossible for any human being to achieve, and one also housing the obsessive determination of a steamroller. Escaping from her, and with the very construct who had almost gotten them killed in the first place, right from under her nose? Of course she had found a way to disable the device.

"Yep, might as well lie down and admit this is the end of it, because we’re never going to get out of here without that thing,” sighed Wheatley in defeat. “It was a longshot even with the portal device, if I’m honest. But without it… well. Not a math whizz, not by any stretch, but you don’t have to be a genius to figure out that the chance of our success has basically been reduced to nothing. Unless… unless you can fix it. Somehow. Is that what you’re trying to do, down there, on the catwalk? Hey wait, be cafeful, WAIT NO what are you doing YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT—”

Chell nearly dropped the portal gun. She’d been midway through lifting it up to peer into the end of it when Wheatley had shouted at her to stop.

“Didn’t they tell you? If you look into the end of that thing, you might DIE,” he panted as though he’d just run a mile. “Even I know that. Dunno why it would kill you, to be honest, but do be careful, won’t you? I still need you alive to get out us of here, and you still your face fully intact to see, and stuff. Very important, that is. Wouldn’t want it burned off, or something.”

Chell wrinkled her nose, lowering the thing as though it could spread disease. Maybe Wheatley did have a point.

“Can you fix it?” asked Wheatley, to which Chell shook her head. Probably not, though she wished with all her might that she could. “Unless you’ve got another gun that makes holes, hidden somewhere up your sleeve?”

Chell shook her head again. She hoards these things like a goddamned dragon, she thought. There’s no way we’re getting our hands on one unless she gives it to us herself.

“Okay. That’s fair. You don’t actually have sleeves to begin with. Not exactly ideal for hiding things, certainly not something as large as another portal gun. Still, though. It was worth a try. Optimism in the face of almost certain death, and all that.”

With a heartfelt pang of sad disappointment, Chell removed the gun from the wrist of her right hand and sat down cross-legged on the metal grated floor. There was nothing more she could do with it, that much was clear. The gun was unfixable, undeniably useless and sitting here wasting time whilst staring at it wistfully, longing for it to magically work again wasn’t going to get them any closer to escape.

Turning it over in her hands in an act of official farewell, Chell’s calloused fingers traced the outside of its white, ceramic hull. It glinted dully in the ghostly blue light of Wheatley’s optic, the neon electric azure washing it into a cold hue of turquoise. This gun was far filthier than her pristine, shiny version had been—but that made sense, she thought. She wouldn’t have wanted to damage a nicer model.

As she turned it, the light illuminated a brand-new seam running down one side of it where it looked as though some kind of tool had wedged the ceramic casing apart before gluing it back together. Like she had pried it apart to update its programming.

She let a huge, heavy sigh escape her, before placing the device gently on the catwalk in front of her. She made to stand up but was unable to look away from the sight of it lying there so uselessly. It felt wrong to know this would be the last time she’d ever see it.

“Hey, now.” Wheatley had been watching her in a respectful revere, but he didn’t miss the look of sadness on the test subject’s face. “I know things haven’t been going our way. I know this is kind of what you’d call a bloody massive wrench in the ol’ plans. But. We’re not going to let that stop us, all right? Portal device or no. We’ve done this before. Admittedly, not without the device, but still—if I had to make a bet on it, I’d put my money on us making it through! I’m serious. No lies, remember? Only truth.”

Chell gave the core a wistful half-smile. Leaving the portal device behind didn’t feel like a good omen. She personally had grown very attached to the gun during the vast amount of time she’d worn it for; the device was more than just a regular device. This object was the one solely responsible for saving her life. Maybe not this gun specifically, but that didn’t matter. It had saved her more times than she could count. It had shared adventures with her, and trials, and failures, and had even seen her an inch from death. It was a part of her history, and history was more than just a concept. History had meaning.

Before, she might have taunted Chell about being in a parasocial relationship with the companion cube. But unbeknownst to her, with the portal gun was where Chell’s heart truly lied. Leaving it behind was like a mix between saying farewell to your best friend and leaving a piece of your own self behind. Her hand and wrist felt so small, fragile, and naked, without the smooth curve of the familiar casing there to hide it.

She’d miss the hefty weight of its design. She’d always found that oddly comforting. There was nothing like holding a heavy gun in your hand to make a woman feel like a certified badass at times. Especially one so sleek and so large.

Well, she thought with a final sigh as she looked at it laying motionless on top of the metal grate. It’s now or never.

And with that, Chell stood up abruptly. She swallowed hard, a newfound determination burning within her flint-grey eyes. She could take away the portal device. She could take away her memories, and her dignity, and the clothes off her back. She could strip her down and rebrand her as hers like a piece of the Laboratories’ very own trademarked merchandise, dress her up like a doll and throw her into a test chamber like she owned the rights to both her body and mind.

But Chell was not going to let her take away her freedom for another moment longer, if she could help it. Forty years was far too long to have been chained to this place. She could assert as much as she wanted that she thought Chell was driven by revenge, but the truth was that the human woman had only ever wanted to be set free. Until now.

Now? Now she didn’t think she’d mind seeking a little revenge for herself. So long as freedom still came hand-in-hand with it.

With one last glance down at the motionless portal device, Chell turned and walked through the open doorway to her right.

“Hey!” called Wheatley, promptly following her over the threshold along the rail. “Wait for me!”

She looked around the disorganized, cluttered room she’d just entered without really seeing it. One small hand found the tarnished silver door handle behind her. I don’t know where we’re headed, she thought as she pulled it closed with a very final, solid BANG, and flicked the lock for good measure. But I sure as hell hope it’s better than where we’ve come from.

~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~

Chell rubbed her eyes, trying to focus. They stung with tiredness and from the dusty, gritty air that filled the factory spaces of Aperture. The usual adrenaline rush from escaping had worn off somewhat, and what had filled its place was a mix of doubt, regret, and fatigue.

Now that she was out of the testing tracks, Chell didn’t feel as terrible—there had always been something about their fluorescent eyestrain aesthetic that warranted the extra boost of adrenal vapour. The sterile-white walls of the minimalistic chambers coupled with the roller-coaster vertigo of triple-portal jumps made testing a quality migraine-inducer for those prone to them; and Chell thanked her lucky stars that she wasn’t usually a migraine sufferer because that probably wouldn’t have ended well for her.

But that last chamber had taken its toll on her. Its advanced level coupled with a distinct lack of vapour coming right on the heels of cryosleep was rough, and previously, she’d been used to a grace period between the long sleep and the harder chambers. Apparently, she didn’t care about Chell’s well-being or the concept of letting her body adjust anymore.

Thankfully though, out here in the dark and dingy backspaces, Chell usually lived on her own brand of anxiety and adrenaline and sleep deprivation. In the past, she’d even been able to scrounge a couple of secret meals out of scraps left behind in hidden dens, cans of beans and half-drunk canteens of water. Sleep was for the weak, when you were busy escaping from an all-seeing, omnipotent AI; and despite how exhaustive the experience was, Chell dared not ever close her eyes.

That was life as an Aperture refugee—like a rat caught in a maze you learned to live on the edge. It was a better life than testing was, even if it wasn’t really a ‘life’ at all—whilst it was not truly less hazardous than testing, there was something to be said for having the freedom to wander where you want (even if it was all an illusion).

The darkness of the room they had just entered was helping to resolve Chell’s minor headache. Doing something she didn’t usually do outside of the hidden alcoves in the testing tracks, she took a moment to press the palms of her clammy hands gently into her eyes, breathing out a long, slow breath of relief, relishing the darkness and pressure after spending the last few hours in an environment that was a true assault on the senses.

Wheatley watched her with something like pity. “Ahem, lady,” he said with a throat-clearing sound, “I do have some good news to report after that unfortunate turn of events. Absolutely excellent news, if I’m honest. And that is that I’m not picking up any signals of any electronic activity through the management rail for quite some miles, now. So that probably means, we are very much alone down here, for the moment. So that’s good. And that leads me to the other bit of good news I’ve got—which is that we’re exactly there we need to be right now. Turret manufacturing. So that’s Phase One complete, then.”

Chell raised her eyebrow at the little core. Phase one, she thought, remembering how their last escape attempt together had had multiple phases. Just how many ‘phases’ are there going to be this time?

Wheatley’s optic shrunk at Chell’s impatient but inquisitive expression, and he quickly added, “Er—well, we wouldn’tve gotten this far without your help, of course. My plan, my master hacking skills are good. Great, even. But even I’m nothing without your brute force and sheer willpower to survive. Yes. Tenacity at its finest—not that this is a cause for premature celebration, though, because unfortunately, it is not. Still got a lot of work to do. Let’s carry on.”

Willing herself to put aside her exhaustion for the time being and listen to Wheatley’s advice, Chell looked around the narrow, cluttered room. Clearly some kind of disused storage room slash office space, it very much seemed like someone had jammed it full of stuff in a real hurry, and the end result was a chaotic pile of garbage stacked against both walls. Old-fashioned office chairs had been thrown upon desks littered with wads of discarded paper and the lifeless reflection of partially smashed computer monitors twinkled dimly from behind them. There was glass littered all over the floor which made a crunchy tinkle as she walked across it, navigating between aisles of haphazardly stacked filing cabinets and blank, silent mainframes knocked partially askew.

What a mess, thought Chell.

Wheatley’s flashlight darted around all of this, causing many random points of brilliant light to sparkle back at them as he moved around. “Absolute disaster she’s left this place in, eh,” he observed, more to himself than to her. “Tut tut. But no matter. This isn’t the room we want. The one we want is through here.”

He turned his light sideways to illuminate a closed door which swung open easily with a push.

He then followed the rail through this, entering the next room ahead of her. “Just this way,” he rambled off cheerfully with obvious mounting excitement. Now that they were moving, Wheatley was in his element, thought Chell. She had noticed before that the core was always at his most confident whilst they were navigating the maintenance areas of the facility, and with a growing sense of déjà vu (was it still déjà vu when you knew you’d done all this before?), she realized that this was probably because of the large laundry list of jobs he’d claimed to have worked back here, presumably after he failed his purpose as acting as her restraining bolt.

Whatever the reason, though, she wasn’t going to complain if it meant Wheatley was somehow going to be able to pull this thing off and save their lives.

Following him inside, Chell winced as her eyes strained to adjust to the well-lit space. In contrast to the darkness of the previous room, this one was illuminated with buzzing fluorescent lights on wall-mounted brackets set high on grey-and-yellow steel walls. Beside these, clusters of exposed conduits ran through the height of the chamber, which was ceilingless save for a tangle of hanging cables strung along interconnecting vent systems.

It was obviously a maintenance personnel’s office. Kept in neat condition, the surface of the desk was clean and tidy and supported working monitors, beside which were two twin mainframe towers humming with life. Giant, floor-to-ceiling reinforced glass windows spanned the wall behind the desk, through which Chell could see another room with a slowly moving conveyor belt littered with broken pieces of plastic shells and bent and twisted metal shrapnel.

“Right,” said Wheatley, eyeing the conveyor on the other side of the window with something like apprehension. “Uhm. Perhaps we should, ah, hang on for a moment, here, and have a little chat, before we move forward.”

Chell raised an eyebrow at the sudden shiftiness in the core’s voice. A little chat? Here? What’s so important about here? Above her head, Wheatley looked awkward, drawing in his handles as he avoided making eye contact with her.

Outside, the redemption lines kept up their slow, steady pace, churning out a squeaking, rhythmic pulse that added to the underlying grind of the miles of machine parts surrounding them. The unwelcome scent of burnt plastic carcinogens wafted through the closed door between them from the furnaces outside as the endless stream of broken and defective turret components met their bitter end inside the acrid incinerators.

“Right. So, the-the area of the facility we’ll need to access to carry out this brilliant plan of mine, does require that I disengage from my management rail.” Wheatley had said all this in quite a hurry, still looking anywhere but her face in anxious agitation. “There’s no serviceable rail through there anymore,” he gestured at the redemption lines, “So if we want to, er, continue, you’re going to have to, um, carry me along with you, actually. The rail’s been damaged. Which is a bit unfortunate, considering we no longer have a portal gun—and its not like I’m just a plastic cup, I guess you’re just going to have to rely on the old brute strength in order to get us through this time, mate.”

Carry him? Now that’s taking things a little bit far, thought Chell.

It was one thing for him to expect her to be able to safely navigate through the enrichment center without the use of the gun. But to waste valuable time and energy on having to carry the bulky personality construct through a series of corridors and passageways that were exceedingly hazardous and dangerous even the first time she’d done it with the use of the portal gun? The idea was so absurd it was almost laughable.

The doubt must have shown on her face, because Wheatley’s expression changed to one of offense. “Look, mate, I’ll be honest. I don’t much like the situation either, all right? Travelling by rail really is the best way for me to get around this place. And I’m sorry she deactivated the gun, I really feel for you, I do. But my hands are tied, here. I know I haven’t actually got hands. But we haven’t got any other avenues left to explore, so either we carry on, and you carry me, or we both just stay here until you starve. Or, you can give yourself over to her. If there was another option, lady, I’d tell you. But there isn’t. And, furthermore—I’m not a fan of being touched. There, I said it, all right? So it’s not like I’m going to enjoy it, either.”

At the word ‘starved’, Chell’s stomach rumbled in protest. Wheatley, who remained oblivious to this, didn’t catch the sudden look of discomfort on the test subject’s face as she bit her lip in irritation.

But Wheatley was right. Not only was Chell hungry, tired, and becoming increasingly burnt out, but he was right when he’d said their options were limited. Staying here until she starved to death didn’t sound like any fun whatsoever, especially not when her stomach was already complaining about the significant lack of food (god, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had a good meal), and the prospect of turning herself over to her was formidable sounding at best, especially given she’d just spent the afternoon defying her on almost all fronts.

No. There was only one real option, here, now. She was going to have to take the core along with her manually. Slowly, and not with any small amount of apprehension, Chell nodded at Wheatley in agreement.

“Excellent!” he exclaimed, suddenly cheerful, as if the previous part of the conversation had never happened. "That’s great news. But one more thing, luv, if you could—er, could you, uhhm… Catch me?" he asked hesitantly, looking awkward again. "On 'three', yeah?"

This was where Chell drew the line. He was not her friend, after all, and she wasn’t going to let the little core forget it. Especially not when he was asking her to do something that would be nearly impossible without the portal gun and could potentially injure her. Wheatley was right, he was not just a plastic cup. He did have some substantial size and weight to him, especially when dropped from a height a few good feet above her head.

You’re on your own this time, metal ball, she thought to herself as she shook her head and folded her arms across her chest.

"Look," he sighed in exasperation. "It's right simple for you, okay. You're not the one running about, carrying ungrateful humans across bottomless pits on your handlebars, like a heavy sack of potatoes. I’m not asking for a lot, here. I’m just asking you to try to have a little empathy, mate, maybe try to cushion my landing a bit so that I don’t damage any vital components, you know? Seeing as my survival is paramount for us to escape. And I’d have thought you’d have been over this by now, after that last chamber, where you kicked me around like a bloody football for fun. And at the end of it, I still helped you escape, didn’t I? Yes. Yes I did. And then, in case you didn't notice, I did just go and get myself electrocuted by her for this noble cause."

Chell felt a flicker of anger course through her. Her palms clenched and her breath quickened as she fixed him with a hard stare. What, and she hadn't risked anything herself? Nothing at all? It was easy as pie, for her?

He'd never learn. She understood that he had actually sacrificed a lot for her well-being, especially recently, but that would never undo what he’d done during his time in the chassis. And if it hadn’t been for her actions, he'd have been halfway around the moon by now!

"You've got legs, haven't you?" Either he could not see her angry expression, or he was ignoring it. "And arms? You can catch yourself, if you fall. You think it's funny that I can't. I've seen the way you look at me, lady. I've got feelings, you know. I'm not just a metal ball."

And she wasn't just a test subject, or a slave to carry out his every whim at her own expense, like he’d treated her whilst he’d been inside of that body!

"Ready, then?"

Feeling misunderstood and underappreciated, Chell stood her ground, shaking her head stubbornly.

"No?" Wheatley cried in disbelief. "You—you're shaking your head, as in, no, you're not going to—?”

Nope. Not a freaking chance.

"I see,” said Wheatley, sounding hurt. “I see how it is. Fine. Fine. But just remember, the next time that you are required to jump a distance and risk potentially fatal injuries, I won't be there to catch you. You're on your own, mate."

She sniffed with annoyance and then turned away from him. She wasn't sniffing because she cared, of course. She didn't give a damn about what he thought of her! Why should she, when he had stabbed her in the back and then proceeded to use her as his own personal—whatever the heck it was he’d been testing for, certainly not Science—a slave to the euphoric reaction? She felt violated and walked all over and not appreciated whatsoever by him. He was a no good, stinking metal sphere who was an idiot and a moron and a—

"Fat lot of help you are."

Chell grit her teeth, staring at the floor resolutely. Curse him for making her feel like she was the bad guy, here. It wasn't her fault—

THUD. Wheatley had closed his eye-shutters and let himself drop from the management rail. She heard his panicked breathing, his grunt of pain when he hit the ground, but she refused to look at him.

"OUCH."

She was pretending she couldn't hear him. Searching for a distraction from how angry he’d made her, Chell sat down at the computer desk, taking a moment to let herself sink into the impressively comfy, blue-cushioned rolling office chair. She reclined slightly, revelling in the relief of pressure on her back, which clicked and popped as she stretched it out before giving her attention to the monitor. Behind her, Wheatley let out a long, low groan of pain.

“Auuugh. Yep. There’s another one. Another dent. Brilliant.”

Still ignoring him pointedly, she began to press keys computer terminal, trying to see if she could get it to display something other than the average orange desktop inset with an Aperture logo. After a couple of button presses, she was greeted with a green-and-black command prompt screen. Hmmm, she thought, deciding to try entering the word ‘help’ into the command prompt.

"Yep," sighed Wheatley, his voice muffled like he had faceplanted into the ground again. "I'll just add that to my collection, then. No big deal, or anything. Could always use some more of those. Or not."

ENTER

Having not been expecting anything significant to happen, she was surprised when more green letters began to scrawl across the screen.

You have entered ‘help’ command into the DOS. The Enrichment Center has noted your request and is assembling a crisis management team.

ERROR 45

User is not logged in

Please confirm your location and log in info

ERROR 95

Crisis management team unavailable. Please contact administrator.

How ironic, Chell thought in mock surprise. Should’ve known that’d be useless.

Please contact administrator

She didn’t need to be told who that meant. Absolutely no thanks, she thought, quickly pressing the ‘escape’ key, and the black screen vanished.

Pushing the desk away from her unceremoniously, Chell stood up. Well, no sense hanging around here any longer than we already have, I guess. I hope you’re as easy to carry around as a portal gun is, core.

"Hah, ohhh," said Wheatley to the floor. "And I'm forgetting the irony of the situation: you haven't even succeeded in avoiding carrying me, because you're still going to have to take me with you through that door, there, with your bare hands. Proper shame the device isn't working, eh? By the way, when was the last time you've washed your hands? They’re proper filthy, I’ll bet."

The last time she—what? Caught by surprise and more than a little offended this time, she raised her palms to examine them, just as Wheatley rotated his eye up towards her. She caught a corner of his self-satisfied expression (oh, couldn't she kick him right in the optic, just this once?), and realized to her own dismay that Wheatley was right. She was filthy.

Unclean nails lined the tops of long fingers dried-out and discoloured by ages of abuse in a filthy environment. There were mechanic hands, and then there were Chell’s—at least mechanics had access to industrial soaps and handwashing stations. But her hands were so far past the point of help that she was unsure whether even a thorough, hot water pumice wash could fix the damage that had been done to her cracked and hardened skin.

"Actually, don't answer that. I don't want to know how long it’s been since you’ve washed,” said Wheatley as he watched her wrinkle her nose. “Feel free to make full use of the handles. At least those bits were designed with you in mind."

Trying to have at least some manners, Chell wiped her hands along the sides of her jumpsuit pants, trying to clean them to no avail. It was going to take some serious trips to the spa and a manicurist if she was ever going to undo the effects of ages spent roughly handling numerous objects in varying degrees of filth. Wheatley eyed this with disgust.

Chell always tried not to think about it, but it wasn’t just her hands that had been through the wringer. Aperture could hardly have been a more destructive environment for her body—even without considering the hazards and punishing physical requirements of testing, her lungs alone had seen everything from the gypsum of drywall to the silica of concrete dust to the lead and asbestos of the older components of test chambers.

With a deep sigh of resignation, her hands wrapped around Wheatley’s bottommost handle, and Chell heaved the core up off the floor upside-down, staggering over the tiles in the direction of the steel office door. Wheatley’s back bolt scraped unpleasantly as it caught on the uneven parts of tiles, and Chell hadn’t even reached the doorway before she realized that this was not going to work.

"HEY!" Wheatley was shouting in pain as he squirmed around in her hand. "Be careful, would you? I've already said, I'm not as light as a feather. You're going to have to apply a little more strength, mate!"

Dropping him, Chell decided to take a moment to re-evaluate the situation. She had thought that the handles would have been the best way to carry him, but Wheatley was heavy and cumbersome and they stuck out at odd angles that were very uncomfortable, especially over long distances. She was going to fall straight onto her face if she wanted to carry him by those.

She'd lift him by his sides, then, she decided. Like a child. That was the best way to attack the problem. She squatted, preparing to heave the ungrateful little (well, not little) core up into her arms.

"Could you…" Wheatley was speaking, but his voice was muffled, his face squished into her chest. "Okay, maybe it'd be best if you just used the designated handles. Yeah. It's probably not safe to carry me like this. You could be electrocuted."

Chell ignored this and decided to head through the doorway anyway. Wheatley shifted a little in her arms, his optic spinning upwards to see where she was taking them.

It was rough going. The added weight had caused her headache to return, and she winced as a stabbing pain shot through her temples. Her back and shoulders began to protest his weight, too—mostly the left one, though, as her right side had been acclimated to the weight of the portal gun. Wheatley’s round shape pressed right onto her chest no matter what she did, making her wish her sports bra had been made with more padding.

And he wouldn't keep still, either. His handles kept on jabbing her, poking her in the chin and making her bite her tongue. Once, she had come to a complete stop in the middle of yet another catwalk to gave him a taste of his own medicine—a hearty jab in the eye socket.

"Hey!" he called out unhappily. "Lady! I don't appreciate that, you know!"

Then quit squirming! she wanted to tell him.

Most of the journey to the redemption lines passed in this way. Every so often she'd stop to readjust him, and he'd complain loudly about her dirty hands, her overheated skin. It wasn't until they reached the edge of the conveyor that they stopped 'bickering', both realizing at the exact same time just how difficult this all was going to be without the use of the portal gun.

"Ahh," the core said, sensing the problem at hand. "Mmm. You're, ahh, method of carrying me isn’t exactly going to work out, is it? Have you, I dunno, had any other ideas? Like maybe some kind of device we could use back in that room, or—hmm."

Chell paused for a moment, considering this.

…What if…

Now there’s an idea, thought Chell. I think I can make something like that work.

Placing the core carefully on the ground, she undid the jumpsuit top knotted firmly around her waist and tied Wheatley into it. It took a few tries, but finally, she was able to rearrange it into a makeshift sling in which she could cradle the core in a pouch of fabric looped around her body.

"Oh, oh! Yes, brilliant! I'm glad you thought of that!" said Wheatley enthusiastically, now peering around from under her arm with a look of impressed satisfaction. "This is certainly better than before!”

Personally, Chell very much agreed. Having him tied there like that kept her arms and hands free and kept him from digging into her chest and stomach. There were still bits of him that weren’t the most comfortable, hard metal parts that dug into her side, but overall, this position allowed most of the weight to be dispersed more evenly over her body which helped with her ability to balance.

And if Chell didn’t want to die in a bottomless pit like the ones the redemption line conveyor belts spanned, balance was going to be an important factor going forward, she knew.

The thick, toxic scent of melting plastic was almost overpowering out here, radiating in waves from the two twin furnaces at the end of the room. Chell choked, blinking back tears from the carcinogenic fumes. The mix of this coupled with the heat from the furnaces and the soot from the igniting machine oil had caused the air out here to become sticky and greasy—Chell felt the loose strands of hair that had escaped from her pony begin to stick to her face as she surveyed the twin belts, wondering how on earth she was about to cross them without a portal device.

"Hold on," said Wheatley from her side, realizing that Chell wasn’t moving. “Why've we stopped?"

She pointed down into the bottomless pit, separating the platform she stood on and the closest conveyor with a gap easily six feet wide.

"Oh."

She might have laughed at the simplicity of his response, if the situation hadn't been so serious. Instead, she sighed with resignation and prepared to hoist herself up onto the railing to make the jump.

"Bottomless pit," rambled Wheatley. "Difficult. It's a shame we don't have a portal device. There—hah—aren't exactly… any other ways around. Sorry about that. Looks like we’re going to have to turn back after all. My bad. My mistake."

Chell shook her head at him. Absolutely not, core, she thought, fixing him with one of her very best, most devilishly determined looks. We’re getting over there, one way or another. I’m not known as the best test solver that ever lived for no reason! If there’s a way out, I’ll find it, I promise you that!

"Uhh, what… What exactly are you doing?" Wheatley asked, dumbstruck.

Chell had started to climb the railing.

"No, seriously, mate," he pressed on, growing increasingly nervous. "What are you doing? Maybe you didn't hear me, before. That is a-a very-bottomless-pit, and if you should fall, we will both surely—die. And I know that neither of us want to turn back. Believe me, I do. But accepting defeat and turning back sounds a lot nicer than, um, almost certain death."

A few feet above her, an ancient rope and pulley system hung from a high beam. Dusty and disused, it lingered just out of her reach, and she had climbed the rail in hopes that she would be able to stretch towards it. The bit of rope was mounted all the way across the redemption lines, and it looked to be in pretty good condition. At least good enough for her to use to get across, if she could reach it!

"Oh, brilliant," Wheatley groaned sarcastically. "Oh, this is great. Marvellous. I knew I shouldn't have relied on you to carry me in this—thing—what is it? A smelly bit of old jumpsuit? Because now your suicidal, brain-damaged antics are going to kill me, too. I miss the management rail. Dear god do I miss the management rail right now."

She gave Wheatley one last pat to the top of his handle, her way of trying to be nice and console him before she did something absolutely insane, and redoubled her grip on the rope, testing it. It felt much thinner and more fragile than she had hoped it would be, and she gave it another experimental tug, trying to gauge whether or not it was capable of holding both of their weight.

"This seems a bit unfair, really, if I could be honest. You going and making all the decisions about this kind of stuff for us. I said I’m not comfortable, didn’t I? But there you are, going on and doing it willy-nilly anyways.”

Satisfied enough with the cable's condition and resolutely ignoring the core, Chell swallowed hard and let her eyes fall closed as she felt the steel railing slip from beneath the long-fall-boots.

"No, no, wait, don't—AGGGGGHHH!"

Chell felt the rope drop about a foot, and her eyes shot open in fear. It was almost wrenched completely out of her grasp with the force of gravity as each pulley was ripped from the beam. One-by-one, they snapped, and she performed an extremely stupid-looking, complicated mid-air move, just managing to land feet-first onto the conveyor.

Wheatley simulated frantic gasps, and she could feel him trembling in the harness as she fought to regain her balance. "You could have killed us!" he choked in shock. "I… oh, you are mad! Do try to be a little bit more careful, in the future, all right? This place is dangerous! Lots of sharp bits to catch yourself on, pits to fall into… and we have a long road ahead of us, if we’re ever going to make it out of here in one piece."

Pausing to catch her breath, Chell nodded, agreeing silently. Wheatley was right. That had been far too close for comfort.

The two stayed like that for a few moments while Chell let the frantic cycling of her heart rate calm down and she listened to Wheatley’s internal components cycle down into a more usual clock rate beside her. Out of the corner of her eye, she spared the smallest of glances down at the core, looking away immediately when he matched the eye contact. A very awkward silence spread between the two.

Until—

Rrrrghbllghrr.

Embarrassed, Chell tried to cover her stomach with both hands and turn away from him. Unfortunately, he was tied to her body, so this didn’t really do much good.

"Ummhh, wh-what was that?"

She looked at him, blinked, and then looked away abruptly.

"That was—was that you?" he questioned, surprised.

Well, my stomach, she thought, glaring through tired eyes. What did you think was going to happen when I have to go such long periods without eating? I am human, you know!

Wheatley made a sound of disbelief. "You're not serious?"

She nodded in irritation.

"Ugh. You'd better have that checked out, mate."

Her stomach rumbled again, even louder this time. Chell grimaced, and Wheatley yelped in shock.

“Bloody hell, mate, are you sure? I’ve never heard something like that before. Is that something all humans do?”

Yes! It's normal! she tried to sign to him, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. I'm just hungry!

“Er, all right, then,” he said slowly, watching her as if expecting her to drop dead at any second. Chell rubbed her stomach again, and Wheatley followed her hand down. "OH!" he gasped, finally understanding. "You're hungry?"

She nodded vigorously. Yes!

"Hmph. And here I was, thinking you'd contracted an unusual virus of some sort,” Wheatley frowned. “Not my fault, I guess, not when a sudden barrage of speech from you is improbable… at best. Leave old Wheatley to guesswork, it's fine. It’s all fine. I always enjoy a good old game of charades."

She stared. What are charades anyway, Chell wondered.

"Oh, just never mind," he groaned impatiently. "I can't help you, all right? I haven't got any food. What do I look like to you, a potato?"

Her stomach growled even louder at the word.

"I was kidding!" he exclaimed. "I'm not—just forget it, okay? You're going to have to rely on human instinct to locate a source of fuel. But later, all right? We’ve got work to do, right now."

I just need to eat, Chell thought with a deep sigh of annoyance, forcing herself to ignore the awkwardness of the situation as she began to pick her way through the turret redemption lines. I just need to eat and then I’ll feel better. The rush of blood to her face her embarrassment had caused had done nothing to help lessen her headache, and now, not only did she have to contend with the sheer depth of fatigue, hunger, and annoyance she was experiencing at being partnered up with Aperture’s very worst personality construct for the second time running, but now she was developing a full-blown migraine from the situation to boot.

As she made her slow way across the lines, Chell began to wonder about their plans going forward. Wheatley hadn’t yet elaborated much on where it was they were headed or what they were trying to do beyond accessing the turret control center—which didn’t really bother her as much as she thought it would. The last time they’d escaped together, Wheatley hadn’t really given her a master plan then, either, and at the time, her giddy excitement over having found herself slipping through her clutches and with a somewhat knowledgeable robot guide had kept her from questioning too much.

Of course, back then, she hadn’t been aware that Wheatley was an Intelligence Dampening Sphere. At the time, she’d thought he was proving himself to be a pretty adequate escape partner, besides the occasional blatant show of a serious lack of empathy or foresight. She’d written that off as being an expected tell of his history and of the factory that made him. Nothing inside this place was ever all that empathetic, Chell thought.

No, that part would be what it would be, she felt. There was only so much control she had over the situation. What was on the forefront of her mind right now, was less about how they were going, and more about where and when Chell was going to get some semblance of a meal and maybe even a good nap.

“Say, I was thinking,” said Wheatley after spending a while silently watching Chell work, “After we get done with Phase Two, and all, we should probably look for something to eat, for you.”

Chell glanced in surprise down at the core, who looked oddly sheepish under her arm. Why was he looking at her like that?

“I mean, what I’m trying to say is, I’m-I’m sorry. I haven’t really been very attentive to your needs, as-as a human. I guess, seeing as how she talks about you, I’d just expected you to be able to run around this place without ever slowing down, or needing a break, or doing something as human as eating. But you are human, I guess, aren’t you? Erm, you’re not like, secretly a robot or something crazy, right?”

Wheatley’s eye narrowed suspiciously as he looked at her.

Of course I’m not a robot, moron, she tapped him lightly on the side of the casing. If I was, you’d know. I can promise you that.

“Right,” he said with a prompt nod. “I knew that. I was just speculating. Seeing as you are so good at everything you do. Fair, though, I’m a robot, and I’m not good at everything I’ve done, so perhaps that’s not really a good assumption to make.”

Chell shook her head in agreement. No, perhaps not.

"Anyway, the point is that I apologize," continued Wheatley. "I really do. But we’ve got work to do, and point to me, the only time I've ever seen anything remotely edible around this place was when we found that potato tree. I wouldn't eat them, but if you really are that desperate… I think we’re heading in that direction anyway."

Chell nodded enthusiastically. I’m listening.

“You must be starving,” said Wheatley in disbelief. “Well, We'll give it a shot, then, but after we hijack the turret control center, first."

She’d got halfway through another nod of agreeance before Chell stopped in her tracks. Wait.

Hijack the turret control center? She’d been assuming they were going there to shut it down like last time!

“What?” he squeaked under her sudden, scrutinizing look. “What’d I say?”

Chell frowned. What exactly did he mean by hijacking it?

“Ah,” said Wheatley, catching onto her confusion. “You’re probably thinking, ‘Wheatley, why’d you bring me over here to do that. We’ve tried something like this before, haven’t we, swapping in the crap turrets instead of the good ones. How’s that going to help us escape this time?’. Well, luv. While that did work previously to get us into her lair, that’s not actually even a part of my new-and-improved four-part plan, if you could believe it."

Wiping the sweat from her sticky forehead, she let her shoulders sag a little in a hint of a shrug. That was fair. I guess there’s not really much point in trying the exact same things as last time, Chell thought. Just as long as hijacking the lines didn’t alert her to what they were doing. They were supposed to be operating in stealth, after all.

With a silent huff, she climbed off the redemption lines and onto a side-vent. The aluminum surface of it was a little slippery against the metal heelsprings of her long fall boots, and they slid along its top a little easier than was comfortable for her. It was unnerving, and she moved cautiously, trying to focus on not falling as Wheatley continued to explain about his plans from under her arm.

“I suppose we have a minute or two,” he was saying, glancing around as though double-checking they were still alone. “We’re reasonably safe here. For the time being, anyway. Might be a good time for me to fill you in a bit more, while you walk.”

Chell had crossed to the other side of the conveyor, again ignoring the bits and pieces of broken turret headed for the incinerator. Here and there, a half-alive turret blinked up at her, usually mangled hideously beyond repair. A few of them emitted showers of sparks as they passed. Wheatley’s optic followed the glittering molten trails before they faded out into dust.

“What do you know about the turrets?” he said finally, a bit more quietly than usual. “I suppose I should start there. After all, they’re kind of important to what we are going to do next.”

The question had caught Chell off guard. She paused halfway down the vent, looking down at Wheatley in confusion. What do you mean, what do I know about turrets? What is there to know besides that they’ll shoot you if you’re standing too still for too long? Shrugging again, she fixed Wheatley with a look that said very plainly ‘I dunno, that they want to kill me, I guess’.

“Right, I mean besides them being little death machines capable of launching your bullet-riddled body right out the doorway. Or. Well, the good ones are capable of that, anyhow. And not the defective ones. Ahem. Shouldn’t say that’s good, though, should I. Dying is not good, obviously. But anyway. Carrying on—as I’ve said before, they do feel pain, of a sort. It’s all simulated, but they are sentient. They do have some awareness, though that doesn’t stop them from killing you, clearly. But it does mean that they have memories, which is important for the next parts of my plan.”

A crease formed between her eyebrows as Chell thought about this. Admittedly, she’d never given the little killing machines much acknowledgement as sentient beings potentially capable of the same range of emotion and experience as say, Wheatley was. Her experience with the turrets was mostly limited to carrying out stealth attacks against them, save for a handful of exceedingly rare occurrences, such as the time she’d entered a hidden alcove inside a test chamber to find a group of them in the deepest recesses of it inexplicably orchestrating a tune she had never even heard before.

“Right,” continued Wheatley, and the shifty way he’d said this caught her attention at once. “S-so. They have memories, and I have memories, and she has memories. Just like you do, too, presumably—if I had to guess. But you can’t just plug into an ol’ comfy port and initiate a data share and share your memories like we could. Potentially. If we wanted to.”

That’s a weird way to look at it, thought Chell, empathetically trying to imagine what it would feel like to have someone else plugged into your brain. She’d become so used to the ability of Aperture tech to interface together that it had become second nature, and the outlandish weirdness such an experience potentially offered was strange to stop and think about.

“Which, to be honest, isn’t something I want to do either,” said Wheatley with a huge, simulated sigh, rolling his optic with a shudder as he continued. “Stuff like that, it’s rather private, if you know what I mean. But when I was in that body, I saw things. Things I didn’t think I’d ever witness, didn’t ask to witness. Things I’m pretty sure—I’m almost one-hundred-percent certain of—I wasn’t ever supposed to see, technically speaking. Things that weren’t mine to see.”

With a slight pang, Chell understood that the mere memory of the experience was downright uncomfortable for him. It was the first time he’d brought up the events of the core transfer and what he’d personally gone through while being plugged into the chassis. Feeling very disconcerted, Chell shifted her weight awkwardly, avoiding making eye contact with the little core tucked right under her elbow. In his defense, Wheatley was looking just as awkward as she felt, she realized, unable to stop herself from sneaking a fleeting glance at him.

His reaction had made her appreciate that, while she knew he was wrong for having called her bossy and selfish, maybe he had been onto something in the sense that she’d never stopped to consider what the experience had been like for him, exactly. She’d heard him moan about the itch and say how good it had all felt to be huge and powerful and brilliant, but what about the times toward the end when he’d been going mad out of his mind with test withdrawal whilst the entire facility was crumbling into a burning hellscape around him?

She’d never stopped to think about how she’d have felt, in that given situation. And why should she have? Why should she have any sympathy, when he had tried with all the power he possessed to murder her, and had almost destroyed the entire facility in the process? Why would she have wanted to reason with what he was going through during that kind of impossible situation?

Now, though, she found she didn’t have much left in her that cared. She’d gone through so much for so long that she found she’d become very emotionally numb. It was seriously hard, to keep going through so much trauma and maintain a positive outlook. It was easier to just erect walls and pretend everything was fine, like the near-constant stream of sentient AIs trying to kill her didn’t exist and therefore weren’t worthy of much emotional response.

Or at least, that’s what she aimed for. Zero emotion. Zero attachment. An emotionally blank state. It didn’t always work out that way, though. Like how angry I felt when he punched us down that pit.

Perhaps the reason why Chell hated Wheatley so deeply for what he’d done was not strictly because he had betrayed her, now that she thought of it. After all, this was Aperture; if her dealings with the Laboratories had taught her anything it was to never trust an Aperture-made construct. No, perhaps the real reason of why Wheatley’s betrayal had stung so much was because she’d actually let herself start to view him as a friend before he turned.

It had been a grave mistake. A near-fatal mistake. One that Chell was never going to make again.

And Wheatley owed her for that. He owed her big time for the trauma he’d put her through. He owed her because he was the one who had taken her last shred of trust, a tiny piece so delicate and small that she’d hated to even admit it was still there and crushed it like it was nothing. Like it was worthless to him.

And that was why she didn’t want to empathize with Wheatley. She didn’t want to know what he’d experienced in that body. It didn’t matter. There was nothing he could ever have gone through that would have ever justified what he had done.

But he was telling her anyway. And despite how she wanted to feel, Chell was beginning to find that there was still a part of her that was willing to hear him out.

“The-the thing about that body is that it’s huge,” stuttered Wheatley nervously, clearly very uncomfortable with discussing it with her. “And I don’t just mean in size. But in feeling. In data. It’s like suddenly-suddenly you know everything, you can see everything, all at once. All of this,” he waved his handles around, gesturing to the room around them. “All of Aperture. Or. You think it’s all parts of this place, at first, and fair—everything I saw in there, I’d seen out here before. Until right at the end. That’s when things started to get weird.”

Chell listened to all of this with vague interest. This was Wheatley’s first time really talking at length about the experience, and she felt a little surprised to find herself appreciating his openness about it.

After all, it had been a very complex experience for them both. A very overwhelming experience.

“Anyways. There I was, smashing those shields around, throwing bombs at you, and all of that. Don’t look at me like that—I’m not proud of it, okay? But there it is. I was doing all that, as you know, and the reactor-thingy was melting down, and the itch was horrible, and she was brainwashing you into trying to kill me, and everything was just too much, all at once. And once we got to the end—the very end, you know, just before you saved me from space, the timer was about to go off and I’ll be honest, I was panicking. I thought we were done for. But that’s the thing. As it turned out, I wasn’t the only one who thought we were dead.”

Chell paused here to edge cautiously around a blind corner. You could never be too careful inside of this facility, she knew. It really could be downright overwhelming, at times, Wheatley was right. She could very much relate to that feeling, and she hadn’t ever been plugged into the chassis!

“I think the entire facility thought we were dead,” said Wheatley with emphasis. “Because something else started to happen.”

The core paused here, and Chell spared a small glance down at him, wondering what he meant. Thinking back to the moment he was describing during the final battle, Chell realized with an unpleasant jolt that she could remember it like it had just happened yesterday.

“You had to play bloody cat and mouse, didn’t you, while people were trying to work. Yes, well now we’re all going to pay the price. Because we’re ALL GOING TO BLOODY DIE!”

His distraught voice played through her mind like a tape recorder.

At the time, she hadn’t realized that Wheatley had meant anybody besides the three of them. But she’d seen, repeatedly, evidence that the facility itself somehow harboured some kind of sentient lifeform, whether as just a single organism, or something more akin to a hive mind, she really didn’t know which. Chell wasn’t a robot, she couldn’t relate to a digital hive mind. She was a test subject, and the inner workings of the Enrichment Center were the robots’ responsibility, not hers. She’d never be able to interface with the mainframe like they were.

And if she was honest, before this moment, she’d never really cared to know how it worked.

“You ever—you ever almost get crushed?” asked Wheatley, his usually happy-go-lucky voice turned oddly emotional.

Chell nodded seriously.

“Of-of course you have. Right. Well. I don’t know how it works for you humans. But for robots, when you’re about to die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. Does that happen with you humans, as well?”

She slowed her pace as she thought deeply about what Wheatley had just said. Had there ever been a time when she had experienced that?

Yes there had been, she realized with an involuntary shiver as a vivid memory floated unwittingly to the surface of her mind.

“What’s your point anyway? Survival?”

The central AI chamber swam before her eyes. Neurotoxin was being emitted from great big, gaping vents high up on the chamber walls. In the center of the room, the massive AI was a hanging, a sprawling nest of cables and steel plating connected to her electronic empire of a Science facility through a brain so tall Chell couldn’t see where it ended and where the facility began. Glistening trails of sweat ran down the test subject’s cheeks as she hauled a snarling, red-eyed sphere through a set of portals to a catwalk where she pressed a single button.

Bleep!

“Well then. The last thing you want to do is hurt me. I have your brain scanned and permanently backed up in case something terrible happens to you. Which it’s about to.”

The incinerator vent opened and Chell retraced her steps to throw the final core into the smoking vent just as the aperture closed. The core exploded with a final, satisfying BANG which caused soot to rain down from the invisible ceiling. Then, the whole world started to go to hell.

“You’re not smart. You’re noT a sciENtist. You’re nOt a docToR. You’re not even a fULL-TIme eMplOyee.”

Oh. shit.

It wasn’t just her that was being ripped apart like a broken centrifuge. The entire building was collapsing around them, imploding like a neutron star and with her still INSIDE. If the central AI had been this generation’s moon shot, then they were about to bear witness the Supernova—the destruction to end all destruction, Chell appeared to have accidentally opened a portal to a black hole and was in very real danger of crossing the mortal event horizon.

She had no plan for this. Helplessly, she felt herself lifted off her feet by the updraft of the explosion. All around her was a hurricane of electrical discharge and carnage and she found herself suddenly as weightless as though the pocket of the portal gun’s zero-g manipulator had swallowed her whole. Tumbling head over heels in a dizzying, upward spiral, Chell was certain that she was about to die.

That was when it started happening. The images. The memories.

Her dad and her at Bring Your Daughter to Work Day learning how to make a potato battery together when she was about eight. Sitting alone at a lunch table at school while all her peers sat together at a different table and whispered behind her back when she was thirteen. Sitting in the Aperture entrance hall alone whilst scribbling on a blank piece of paper mock test chamber designs while she waited for her dad to get off work when she had been fifteen. Finally getting her first part-time job as a Test Chamber Layout and Design Consultant and arguing with Miss Caroline over OSHA restrictions a month before her eighteenth birthday. And a fortnight before her nineteenth, Bring Your Cat To Work Day.

Which led her to today. Nineteen test chambers. Nineteen years. Happy nineteenth birthday, Chell. Too bad it had to be your last.

Pain. So much pain…

The world had no right way up. Everything was a whirlwind of agony and chaos. Vaguely, as though from some far-off dream, she was aware of a blinding bright light in the distance. The light grew stronger, enveloping her weightless body, until she could no longer see from the strength of it.

Was this death, Chell wondered briefly before her eyes began to adjust. Simultaneously, she became aware that she was lying on some kind of rough, uneven surface. Flickers of light and dark glimmered before her eyes, chasing each other around before they began to solidify into an apocalyptic landscape that Chell recognized at once.

This was Aperture. It was Aperture, and everything was on fire.

Presently, and whilst fixing the core with a very meaningful look, Chell nodded. I’ve seen it, she thought solemnly. I’ve seen it, too.

“Right, then,” said Wheatley, looking awkwardly apologetic. “Well. When the timer got close to zero, the whole facility started shutting down around me. But not like before, when she died, where parts of it were unaffected, like me, and like a lot of the other constructs, too, and such. That was different, I think, because back then, nobody really felt in danger, if I’m honest. She did, and maybe some of her panels that were closest to her, but the rest of us knew our survival wasn’t directly tied to her living.”

Chell had stopped walking, but a sound from up ahead brought her back to reality. The thudthudthudthud of raining gunfire echoed along the hallway, following a distant chime of “Target acquired”. She began to move forward again while the core carried on with his story, the metal heelsprings of her boots making a quiet tap tap tap as she walked.

“But in that last few moments before the reactor core melted down, when I was trying to kill you,” Wheatley paused here, blinking thoughtfully as though not really sure how to proceed, “Everything thought it was going to die. And indeed, everything started to die. It hurt. When you’re plugged into that body, you can feel it. You can feel this place dying. It drove me mad. I was proper terrified. I was hurt, and bloody exhausted, and the whole facility was screaming bloody murder. Have you ever felt ten thousand panels screaming in your brain?”

Chell shook her head. No, she couldn’t say she’d ever felt or experienced anything of the sort. And if she was honest, it really didn’t seem too nice of an experience, from what Wheatley was saying. Another stabbing pain zinged through her head as she thought of this, and Chell grabbed her head, wincing.

“Yeah, I know, mate,” said Wheatley with a nod of agreement. “Tell me about it. Anyway. It wasn’t just that. I started seeing things. Memories. Inside my own head. But they weren’t mine, that’s the thing. And I don’t think they were hers, either. I think they belonged to everything. Everything else.”

Chell raised a curious eyebrow. Up ahead, another string of gunfire rang out, making her headache worsen again.

"Target acquired."

Thudthudthudthudthudthudthud.

It was far too loud a sound for such a small space. The cramped, narrow passageway was made of nothing but tin-like strips of metal plating which acted like an amphitheatre, reverberating the sound so that it was loud from even back here. Out of habit, her eyes strained to peer through the gloom, half expecting a red, target-identifying laser to find its way onto her chest. She heard a few shell casings tinkle to the ground in the distance.

“Like I said, it was all absolutely, terribly overwhelming. I didn’t have time to process it. One second, I thought you were dead. The next, you were still alive, and the whole bloody place was coming apart at the seams, and then, we were in space, and I was improperly disconnected. I don’t think that part helped anything at all, if I’m honest. It wasn’t until much later when I realized that some files had gotten stuck.”

Silence seeped through the corridor, as the ricocheting bullets fell to the floor. With another jolt Chell realized that technically speaking, they were unarmed, and by the sound of it, they were approaching an area of the facility with active, live turrets.

For the moment, though, there was no movement, no lasers.

“I had a lot of time with a whole lot of nothing to do while you slept,” Wheatley continued, unfazed by the tinkling sound of the turrets’ bullets hitting the floor. “So, I looked into them. The stuck files, I mean. They were a mess. Mostly indecipherable, even to a master hacker like myself. Some were too large for me to see. But there was this one that looked promising. A whole string of files, from this one construct—a turret, of all things. I know! I wouldn’t have believed it either. But it—she, or he, or whoever they are—had something from before. Before even she was made, you know? There were even humans in it. Man alive, they must be old…”

A narrow crease had formed between Chell’s eyebrows as she listened to all of this. Deciding to tuck away her conflicted feelings on Wheatley’s point of view about his final attempt to murder her for now, she forced herself to focus on the more pressing details of what he was talking about.

A turret? Really? You’re basing all this off of some memories you saw within a turret’s brain? was all she could muse at first, feeling somewhat put out at the thought that she’d put so much on the line for a so-called ‘bulletproof’ escape plan that now felt to be as bullet-ridden as she’d expect herself to become if she decided to present herself in front of her on a silver platter.

However, as strong as her misgivings were growing, there was one thing that Wheatley had said that had drawn her attention immensely. Humans, though, she wondered silently. It had memory of the humans existing inside of Aperture even before her time…

While Wheatley was presumably relatively ignorant to the timeline of events that had taken place as a precursor to her activation and even inception, Chell was not. Which meant that she felt suddenly all too aware of the implications of Wheatley’s statement, that there was the potential that the aforementioned turret had not just predated her lifespan but had lived during a day and age when Caroline had been the main overseer of the Laboratories—and maybe even Cave Johnson himself.

Chell shook herself mentally. The truth was that it didn’t matter if it had lived way back then. Caroline and Cave Johnson were long since dead, and naught but their legacy had stayed behind preserved as the infernal hellhole stretching all the way up from fittingly-named Tartarus in the basement to the promised land of the elusive surface world above. There was absolutely no reason for her to still be concerned with the nebulous, strangely eerie history of this place’s backstory any longer. And there was certainly no reason it would be relevant now.

“There was all this garbled stuff in there,” Wheatley continued pensively. “Some of it weird. Most of it was unreadable, but the biggest chunk of data was something about a-a prototype. Like, a prototype mainframe, I think. Something big was happening with it. I only caught a glimpse of the thing, but it seemed to be made in her likeness, but years ago now, and down below… where exactly, I don’t know. And there were nanobots, all covered in this gel—it had a nasty look to it, all glowing red, kind of like blood, or something similar. There was this music, too. The turrets were all singing, and the humans were dancing together. It was strange, really. The whole thing felt weird. If it didn’t have an official Aperture signature, I’d never believe it was real.”

Murphy’s Law wasn’t anything close to an accepted fundamental law of the universe, but in that moment, Chell personally felt like it could have taken over for gravity. Of course. It’s in the basement, isn’t it. And you want me to go back downstairs. Of freaking course.

It wasn’t that Chell hated the test shafts any more than she loathed the modern-day portions of the facility. That wasn’t why she was now dreading everything the core had just relayed to her. No, if anything, she had all the reason to prefer the test shafts to the enrichment center, even if just on the basis that she was entirely blind to their presence down below. But she couldn’t shake the forbidding memory of those harsh, roughly hewn stone walls, nor the endless, echoing distant clanking and groaning of aging, rusted steel, and the juxtaposed, cheerful voice recordings of dead people. And to cap it all off, the oh-so lovely notion that you are at a bare minimum of a whopping 4,375 meters immersed within the Earth’s crust, which meant that you were a grand total of at least 4,375 meters from escape (which was, to be frank, balls deep, she sighed), was not a redeeming quality of the test shafts. To go so deeply backward, via descent opposed to ascent, felt entirely, devastatingly counterproductive to the masterplan she’d been attempting to carry out for what now felt like eternity.

So, the notion that she might have to go back down, again, and descend the entire height of Aperture, again, after all this time… just plain sucked.

Of course, Wheatley couldn’t know anything of the history of the test shafts or the headache it would take to get there firsthand. Nothing of what Chell had learned or seen during her fateful ‘adventure’ down there had been shared with anyone else. Wheatley had been overseer of the facility at the time, effectively being the one to singlehandedly banish her down there, alongside her nemesis, to the very basement of the place. The experiences she’d shared with the potato battery down in the old test shafts had remained a very personal secret for her, and as far as Chell knew, she had never told another soul about them, not even after all these years, either.

So even though Chell very much wanted to doubt the accuracy of the turret’s memories, insofar they lined up with everything she personally knew about the layout and history of Aperture. Which didn’t bode well as a decent argument against embarking on the insane expedition Wheatley was currently suggesting.

“But it’s the prototype chassis that’s important,” said Wheatley, totally oblivious to the look of horror that had spread across Chell’s face. “Which brings me back to my bulletproof, four-part plan: part one. Break us out of the testing tracks—tick. Checked that one off the old list already, objective completed. Two. Hijack the turret control center and use it to locate and summon the turret these memories came from, using their serial number, which I’ve acquired already. Half-tick—we’re on our way right now. Three, find a way to transfer the rest of the data from it to me, such as location, passwords, everything I’ll need to hack the prototype chassis and reprogram it to destroy her. Then, we’ll venture down to the basement with that information, find the chassis, hack it, and then finally, move on to the long-awaited part four—and use that distraction to finally escape this place for good. Sounds a bit crazy, I know, but hear me out—she’ll never see this coming. I’m sure of it.”

Silently grasping at straws to find a flaw in the plan, she wordlessly tried to reason to Wheatley that surely if there was such a prototype chassis existing within the deepest bowels of the facility, she would know about it. Because even though it was undeniably true that she couldn’t see down there directly, shouldn’t she have some kind of knowledge of such an important piece of her own history?

But even as she thought of this, the undeniable readability of her personality was so glaringly obvious she couldn’t convince herself to ignore this fly in the ointment. She would not have wanted to know anything more about such a chassis, if it indeed existed as Wheatley was claiming. Having witnessed her reaction to the voice recordings of Caroline and Cave Johnson firsthand, she knew that if such knowledge had previously existed within the AI’s brain, it had obviously become long-lost through years of probable dissociative amnesia as a self-preserving coping mechanism from God knows whatever part of her business was responsible for making her so… reactive.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Wheatley almost as if on cue, shaking his head. “But I don’t think she knows about the prototype. It wasn’t in any of her files, nor were the humans in the memories. Unless she kept them somewhere extremely well-hidden, but I don’t think so. And she’d have to go looking through every single construct in this whole entire facility’s memory banks to have found it in the first place. Besides—when I first opened it, I thought the bloody thing had a virus. Turns out it was just corrupted, but with emotion, for some reason. I got the feeling that she avoids anything that’s like that. Dunno why, though, but I’m not going to pretend that I know anything about how her brain works. Proper crazy, she is.”

Okay, thought Chell desperately, so all that does check out. But then. What about this turret? What’s its deal, anyway? How could a turret of all things witness the creation of a prototype chassis made by Caroline and Cave? That’s absurd, right? I mean who’s to say that they even existed back then?

But then, another memory floated to the surface of Chell’s mind. “I’m different,” an innocent voice called out to her from the piles of garbage and broken turret bodies scattered along the redemption line.

The little turret had blinked its laser up at her harmlessly. Chell had engaged the gravity manipulator and picked it up with interest.

“Prometheus was punished by the gods for giving the gift of knowledge to man,” it had told her in that same innocent voice. “He was cast into the bowels of the earth and pecked by birds.”

Whilst that statement had been totally inexplicable in the moment, in hindsight, Chell had wondered exactly how a turret could have stumbled on Greek Mythology lore that happened to be so oddly relevant to the situation that unfolded not long afterward.

Fair, she had surmised that she probably knew Greek Mythology and that was where this different turret had picked it up, but upon deeper thought, Chell doubted she’d ever share that information with a turret even if she had for whatever reason regarded it as important.

But speaking of her—

“Her name is Caroline. Remember that.”

Chell shook her head. Maybe there was something to what Wheatley was saying after all—it at minimum gave her reason to admit that maybe she didn’t know everything there was to know about the turrets. She chewed her lip apprehensively.

“So anyway,” said Wheatley with a final, curt nod, “That’s why we’re here. We’re going to try and find, er… turret number D415Y. And hopefully, they’ll be able to tell us where to go to find this mysterious prototype. I know, I know. A little optimistic, but it's do-able, I think. We'll just have to make sure we cover our tracks, is all. Use a little stealth."

Chell’s shoulders shrugged as she breathed out a long, slow breath. We’ve done worse, I suppose, she admitted. I mean, it’s not like he’s asking me to portal to the moon and back again. If this thing works out exactly like he’s said it will, then it’s a win-win for both of us, I guess. I’ve been down to the test shafts once before and I’m still alive to tell the tale…

For a moment, she just stood there, staring down at Wheatley, who was blinking back up at her from inside the sling with awkward innocence. Somehow, he was smaller and more helpless looking in this position than she’d ever seen him before. It was like the sling had transformed him into some weird kind of extremely pathetic robot baby.

But I don’t have to go along with this plan if I don’t want to, she realized suddenly as she continued to stare down at the helpless little core thoughtfully. I don’t have to do anything you tell me to do anymore. I could ditch this plan and leave you right here and walk away if I wanted. Right now.

And the returning expression on Wheatley’s face proved to her he knew she held all the power, now. It was all up to her, whether they kept going, or whether they stopped and rested, or whether they were going to turn around or not. Everything was up to her. She could even chuck him into a bottomless pit and make it so that he’d never be seen or heard from, ever again, if she wanted.

But whatever decision she made it would all be of her own accord from this moment forward. Wheatley was in no position to force her to do such things if she didn't want to. Not anymore.

And Chell found, with a white-hot surge of empowerment, that she liked that.

She liked that a lot.

Wheatley was the first to break the eye contact. He blinked, plink plink, and darted his eye around nervously. "I think we'd better get a move on," he told her. "We're wasting time, here. Better get started, before she finds us back here. Or those two little robots she mentioned. Errrugh. That could be disastrous. And you wouldn't even get any potatoes, if they found us just now. Imagine that."

There was a hint of sarcasm evident in his tone, but she disregarded it. Her stomach, however, did not.

Rrbllehghrr.

"Oh, that is weird," Wheatley with a tinge of amusement, squirming to shift away from Chell's stomach. "It's like it's alive."

Chell shuddered as her stomach howled. She tried to coax it to stop by rubbing her side, feeling embarrassed again. The potatoes, no matter how irradiated and raw they might be, were starting to sound more delicious than a hunk of chocolate cake.

"Sounds like your nuclear reactor core's about to explode, heh heh," laughed Wheatley, and a ghost of a smile flitted across Chell’s lips for the first, real time in what felt like an actual millennium.

Okay, so he’s not all that bad, she thought to herself. Not all the time. Sometimes he’s okay. And if he proves himself capable, and we actually succeed in finding this turret-thing, whatever it is… maaaybe I’ll consider re-evaluating how much revenge I’m going to seek on him once we get out of here.

Maybe, she thought with a silent huff of amusement. But that’s only a maybe for now.

Chapter Text

“Target Acquired.”

Thudthudthudthudthud.

Chell readjusted the bulky sling draped heavily over her shoulder. Wheatley had become unusually still at the sound of the turret's call, staring down the hallway with an optic narrowed in concentration.

Chell pressed a finger to her lips as she crept forward. Shhhh.

She was pretty sure that they had nothing to be worried about—if memory served, all the turrets in the production center were strapped into conveyor belt systems. It wasn’t like the test chambers, where she had the ability to place them wherever she wanted. Regardless, her rough fingers lined the hem of her jumpsuit pants in nervousness as she slowly poked her head around the next corner, holding her breath.

Sure enough, a defective turret's voice rang out.

"Alright everybody, watch this… watch and learn. Yeah, I'll show ya… clickclickclickclick uhhh… nope. I tried!"

She let a sigh of relief escape her.

"Crap turrets," said Wheatley informatively, just as Chell finished rounding the corner to find herself faced with a long, narrow room with one wall made entirely of glass. "Can't hurt us by the look of it, even if they weren't crap turrets. Can't shoot through the bulletproof glass, and all."

Chell nodded in agreement. The reinforced glass was covered in ancient grease smears and a thick layer of dust, as though it hadn’t been cleaned in centuries. It looked out onto a familiar shooting-gallery style chamber, with a conveyor rotating along the base of it containing the turrets.

"Target acquired."

Chell watched as the white-shelled turret shot at a ragged humanoid dummy suspended in front of a large target. Its torso was frayed and torn and so riddled with bullets she was very surprised to see it was still standing upright.

Thudthudthudthudthud.

Avoiding the turrets cautiously, she skimmed the surrounding area for any sign of a way through to the other side. Without a portal device, simply slipping through behind the turrets was out of the question. There has to be another way. Almost immediately, she spied a set of faded green double doors at the far end of the chamber. Maybe we can exit through there.

She approached these and tried the handle, but they remained firmly shut. They were clearly locked. She then turned her attention to a green, numbered keypad set into the wall beside them. Chell’s hand ghosted over the numbers, thinking. Could they hack this?

Wheatley was watching Chell but not paying close attention to what he was doing. "Hey," he said casually, spinning around in his casing. "This place does remind me of something, though. D'you want to hear a joke?”

Chell frowned down at the core, momentarily distracted from the keypad. A joke? What? Was now really the time for jokes?

“Might lighten the mood a bit, who knows. Worth a try, right?"

Sighing in annoyance, she chose to ignore this. I’m trying to be serious, here. Can you not be serious, for once, core, and help me hack this keypad? Keep this up and I’ll consider taking back what I was thinking earlier about not exacting revenge once we get out of here…

"Typical. No response from you at all,” he had said it quietly, but she heard it. She shook her head in silent exasperation. Jerk. "Well, too bad for you. I’m saying it anyways. Get ready—how many crap turrets does it take to screw in a light bulb?"

Hm, she thought in mild frustration, I have no idea.

"None, if you can bloody well believe it!" Wheatley laughed heartily. "Because they'd never even notice that the bloody thing burnt out! Blind as bats, they are. They'd probably just assume that the light wasn't on the blink at all, and that it was a system error, or something. They wouldn't even bother to check it. Proper useless, I tell ya. They'd never even think that someone might be having 'em on!"

Chell wrinkled her nose, refusing to find his little joke amusing in the slightest. However, she did find it somewhat funny that he completely missed the point that no turret could ever screw in a light bulb. They didn't even have hands.

So, yeah, in that way, it was pretty funny.

"Locked and loaded. Clickclickclick… Umm, just wait, one more try, then… Clickclick any minute now… No? Okay, maybe next time, pal… You asked for it…"

With the usual rustle of her jumpsuit barely audible over the sound of turret voices and occasional gunfire, Chell circled the room once more before coming to rest back at the keypad. This is the only way, she thought, as she shot a pointed look down at the core.

Can you hack this?

Wheatley shifted within the harness, trying to get a better look at the door and keypad system. "Locked, is it?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Ohh. I see." His optic narrowed in concentration. "Not a problem, I think, mate… Not for old Wheatley, anyway. I th-I think there might be a way to hack it, and as far as I can tell, it'll work… But you'll have to, umm, plug me into that port, over there."

At his words, one of the surrounding panels leaned forwards with a dull scrape and beep. Chell whirled around, and upon seeing the panel, cocked one eyebrow at him.

Panel… To open the door that has a keypad? Not going to hack it manually?

"Yeah, I’m not gonna lie," Wheatley cocked his eye defensively. "I’m not the best with numbers, all right? Think I said that already. So we’ll do it the old-fashioned way. Just there, right over there. Plug me right in, please.”

Nodding in agreement, she carried him towards it, only hesitating once she had reached the very side of the receptacle to kneel while balancing on the heelsprings of the long fall boots so that she could pull him out of the harness.

"Oh, thank you, great," he said quickly, his voice no longer muffled but sharp and loud without the confines of the fabric sling. Wincing a little, Chell's eyes snapped back to the open end of the passageway, checking that they were still alone.

Nothing moved there, but she thought she’d heard something. Probably just a loose sprocket in the conveyor.

She was being paranoid, but would anyone blame her, after the way she’d said goodbye? Chell hadn’t forgotten about her threat RE: the co-operative testing initiative. I just hope that you're dead long before I send the cooperative testing initiative after you. Because they are currently dealing with other matters, but they will be finished before you escape, and when they find you, they will bring you straight to me. And then we will see what’s what.

Exactly how long would the task she mentioned take, Chell wondered. And what will happen after they’re done?

Chell doubted the two robots would be able to find them straightaway anyway. Especially not if they got a decent head start with Wheatley’s plans and were able to get part way into the basement before they finished. This place was a labyrinth, both the upper and lower Enrichment Center—and while Chell knew there were methods artificially intelligent constructs could employ to help them navigate the modern-day facility, she doubted that much of that technology would be useful once they entered the old test shafts.

That was a plus for them. If they managed to get down there before the two robots found them, that was.

The core wiggled a little in her lap, straining towards the receptacle. Chell examined it without much interest—a long metal three-pronged plug. Handlebar restraints empty and motionless. Glowing red buttons, pending input—she had no idea of how Wheatley's 'hacking' worked, but she was glad it did. It was a real lifesaver, to be travelling with a core capable of interfacing with the mainframe directly. It almost made up for his obvious lack of brains.

Sometimes, Chell thought the way Wheatley could interact with Aperture was like he could speak a foreign language she didn’t understand a word of. In fact, that’s pretty much exactly what’s happening, she thought to herself. Wheatley can talk to the walls, and understand when they talk back.

With that thought, Chell heaved him onto the port. The mechanism engaged smoothly, drawing in the core without her help and she settled back, watching him with interest.

The handlebar restraints pinned his handles, but he wiggled his optic plate back and forth as he looked up at her, blinking.

"Erm," he said awkwardly. "Glad that's in working order. Now, could you just, ahh… turn around, please?"

Wheatley spun his faceplate a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, miming a turn.

Still? Wondered Chell in exasperated surprise. You still can’t do it if I’m watching?

Sniffing in annoyance, her boots scraped quietly against the concrete floor as she turned. A series of beeps rang out from behind her as he worked, and she could almost hear him twisting and spinning around on the port as if he were really straining to get this one unlocked. In front of her, the door remained firmly locked.

"Unnnhh… Oh. That's… not good…"

Her curiosity had got the better of her. Chell just couldn’t help herself, and she turned back around.

"HEY WHAT ARE YOU—" he shouted in protest, twitching and spewing an array of sparks. "DO YOU MIND? I didn't say you could turn around yet, lady! A little privacy—oh. Oh you know what, forget it. How about you make yourself useful, yeah, and go give that door a proper push, then. I could use a little help on this one. It’s a bit tricky. No match for old Wheatley though, even if it does want to be put through its paces first."

She huffed in frustration, but followed his directions, knowing fully that he was only asking for her help so that he could concentrate on the plug whilst alone. Whatever, she sighed, and wiped her sweaty hands on her jumpsuit pants before assuming the best stance with which to push hard against the metal door.

Behind, the core grumbled a word of thanks, and began to 'hack' again. She leaned against the door with impatience, gritting her teeth, waiting for him to finish off whatever it was that made it so tough to get this thing open.

“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Apply a little pressure. Just like that… excellent. Together we should be able to get this bugger open. It really is being a right pain, this one is.”

He took so long, that by the time he had finally managed it, Chell was caught off guard and nearly face-planted straight into the ground as the door swung open.

“Aha!” gasped Wheatley from behind in jubilation. “Crumbs! That’s it!”

Wheatley was so elated that his excitement didn’t even falter when the interface panel spat him unceremoniously back onto the floor face-first.

“Who’s the boss now? That’s right—the Master Hacker is!”

A dark shadow had crossed Chell’s face when he’d uttered that phrase, but Wheatley didn’t react as he was currently faceplanted on the floor. She swallowed hard, fighting to push down the memory that had threatened to resurface at his words.

Not now. She didn’t need to be thinking about that just now. They needed to keep on track. She needed to concentrate.

Pursing her lips, Chell kneeled back down to gather the core up from the floor. Wheatley’s bottom optic shutter was raised in a proud smile, and she forced one of the corners of her lips up into a half-one, too, not wanting to make him feel unappreciated. She did appreciate him opening the door up for them. She was just grappling with her own problems of minor PTSD and the resultant strain on her sense of trust.

Wrapping him neatly back up in the harness, Chell stood back up and proceeded to cross into the next room.

“You know, I was thinking,” said Wheatley nonchalantly as they walked. “What’re we going to do, once we get out of here?”

Chell made no sign that she had heard him. Her headache, which had dulled a bit while she’d been concentrating on helping Wheatley break through the door, was worsening again, and the ever-increasing exhaustion that had plagued her basically since cryosleep still felt pretty unshakable right now. She yawned hugely as she walked, trying to keep her mind clear, her eyes focused despite the fogginess of exhaustion.

It won’t be long now before we’re done in here and I can finally get a nap… Chell hoped.

“Not here specifically,” clarified Wheatley with a wave of his handles. “I mean, what will we do, once we get up there? To the surface, you know. And actually escape this place, once and for all?”

Chell was so tired that the only thing she could really come up with to answer Wheatley’s question was sleep. She shrugged, breathing out a long sigh elusively. I don’t know—that would depend on what we find once we get there, I guess.

Truth be told, Wheatley had unwittingly touched on something that Chell hadn’t realized she wasn’t aware of until right this second. She’d spent so much time hell-bent on escaping Aperture that she’d hardly ever stopped to consider what she’d do once she did escape this place.

What would it be like, to actually go up there again? What would she find? Would the world that existed now be a lot different from the world she’d left behind all those years ago?

Things have changed since you’ve last left the building, she’d said to her, once upon a time.

But changed how so? Chell had the distinct feeling that she knew more about it than she was letting on. Did this have anything to do with the lockdown they’d experienced way back when that had been responsible for her winding up trapped inside of this facility in the first place?

I hope they’re all okay up there, she prayed silently.

Chell wasn’t stupid. And she might have had minor amnesia, but she certainly didn’t have brain damage. She just hoped that her amnesia didn’t extend to the facial recognition part of her brain. She hadn’t seen a human face in god knows how long. Would she be able to find her family and remember what they looked like, once she escaped? But more importantly, would she remember who they were?

She couldn’t even remember her own full name. Chell, that was her first name. The rest was a mystery to her.

“You know what I want to do, once we go up,” said Wheatley, putting emphasis on the word ‘I’ as though trying to hint that she should be just as enthusiastic about whatever it was he was about to say next, “I would like to go on a boat.”

Chell almost snorted in spite of herself. Are you sure? she thought in point-blank amusement. Are you sure you don’t want to go swimming instead? Because I can arrange that pretty easily, you know.

Her amusement must have shown on her face, because Wheatley caught it. “Are you having a laugh?” he accused her as he narrowed his eye shutters in offense. “I was being serious, you know, mate, and not facetious—s’not exactly as though I could ever go for a swim, is it. But so long as you don’t capsize us… you know what? On second thought, never mind. If we ever do get out of here, lady, you’re the last person I’d ever want to be on a boat with, I’ve decided. I’d have to be bloody mad to go on one of those with you.”

Ignoring how offended he was that she’d find that funny, Chell ducked through yet another doorway and entered the turret manufacturing wing proper. The air in here was stuffy, oddly warm in contrast with the rest of the maintenance areas, and the mugginess of it felt like it was physically weighing her down, making her feel slow and stupid and drag her feet as she walked.

Ahead, she could hear the computerized voice issuing from the turret control center.

Template. Response.

Chell began to climb the staircase that led to the to the control room. A sprawling, interconnected mass of catwalks vaulted over a conveyor belt and incinerator vent here, curtained by lengths of cables running on giant sheeves. Every so often, a defective turret would sail through the air screaming in fear as it was catapulted into the incinerator vent.

“Ah, excellent,” said Wheatley with a nod, all annoyance from their previous ‘conversation’ now forgotten. "We made it. Right on—commencing Part Two of my absolutely, tremendously brilliant escape plan. We’re going to go down there, hack into the system, and hijack control of the whole bloody thing. Or. Well. I need you to plug me into it, but I’ll do the rest. You won’t even have to lift a finger besides that, I promise.”

Wheatley was nodding confidently inside the harness. But outside of it, Chell couldn’t have felt less confident.

Only have to plug you in, huh, core? She didn’t believe him for a second that it was going to go that smoothly. Yeah, sure. Nothing at all could go wrong with that.

“We’ll just have to keep in mind,” said Wheatley hesitantly as she crossed the threshold of the office, “That she does have the ability to monitor this place, if she so chooses. So we’ll have to be a bit careful. Use a little finesse. And no one’s going to ask—but just in case anyone does—just tell ‘em that I’m your training partner, all right?”

Well actually, thought Chell, I can’t really tell them anything, can I, on account of the fact that I can’t speak. But anyway, it’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you. Provided those other robots haven't caught up to us before we’re finished, that is.

Chell stared around the turret control office before approaching the great big grimy glass window that looked down onto the conveyor lines outside. From here, she could see the whole progress of the thing and how it all worked together, from the turret conveyor line and the incinerator vent, to midway up the wall adjacent to them where the computer camera's red eye glowed. It swivelled between the conveyor belt and the template office with every utterance of ‘template’ and ‘response’.

It looked just like every other camera Chell had ever seen within the Enrichment Center. It was an oval, white-colored plastic case bolted onto a panel arm. With each prompt, the beam of light falling from its eye would change color—from translucent to yellow, and then finally, to red.

It was very hard to see this type of camera and not imagine that she wasn't using it to watch them. It was so terribly familiar, Chell felt her breath catch in her throat before she remembered where she was, and that this was not a testing chamber; Wheatley was right. So long as they didn’t make any crazy moves, they should have no need to be worried.

"Template."

There was no response. The template was still missing, Chell could now see. Evidently the system was still running off backup memory, as she had probably set it to do after removing the defective turret they'd so astutely set inside it during their previous escape attempt.

"Response."

"Hey there, buddy, you're about to wish you never—oh no, wait, hold on, hold onholdon…!"

The plate beneath the broken turret suddenly catapulted it up through the air, sending it flying like a modified aerial faith plate. The camera's red eye followed its arc into the incinerator.

Chell shook herself mentally, willing herself to focus. Her head felt cloudier than ever as Wheatley prompted her to reach carefully into the control booth through the still-broken window to flick the lock open.

“Nice one,” said Wheatley in appreciation as the door swung open for her. “Doesn’t surprise me that no one fixed that glass since I last hacked it, though, what with the way she runs things back here. Absolutely careless, I mean, no one’s even been in here to sweep up the broken glass. But anyways. Let’s go inside. We need to have a look at that scanner."

With the gentle tinkle of broken glass and the quiet metallic scrape of the heelsprings of her boots on the tile floor, Chell entered the tiny little space with Wheatley by her side. It’s a good thing you’re not any bigger, metal ball, she thought in annoyance, because if you were, we wouldn’t both fit at once. As it was, she barely had any extra room leftover to move around inside of.

The scanner Wheatley wanted to look at was right in front of her. It was clearly controlled by a computer system which was attached to a monitor mounted on the wall next to her, displaying the digital version of each turret’s blueprint as it was either rejected or accepted. Chell looked around for a way to interface with the computer, hoping for a keyboard or a core receptacle, but there was nothing.

"Okay, now, this scanner.” Wheatley was craning his optic plate from under her arm to see it as it lowered and raised itself with every prompt of ‘template’ from the computer. “Do you see that plug on the side of it, there?"

Yes, Chell could see there were a whole bunch of wires on the side of the device, but none that looked compatible with a personality core. She chewed her lip and stepped closer, unsure of what to make of it but wanting to examine it nonetheless.

"Just there," Wheatley supplied unhelpfully.

Where? she thought, and then, that one? gesturing to a correct-looking plug on the side of the machine.

"Yes, that's the one. Now, go and get it please, and mind that you hold on tight, because it's going to take a bit of good old, human strength to pull it out, unless I'm much mistaken."

Chell eyed the machine warily as it rose and fell. She was going to have to time it right, then. The scanning mechanism was fast and efficient, and if she wasn't careful, was probably capable of ripping her arm off.

Okay, she sighed, and made to pull Wheatley free from her. He'd have to wait on the platform beside her for this part. There was no way she was going to be able to catch the cord with him still slung on the side of her body, restricting her movements in such a cramped space.

"Good luck!" he said cheerfully as she placed him down.

She ignored this and moved forward towards the scanner, her sharp eyes timing it with the intensity only a test subject would have, waiting for just the right moment—

"Tem—"

Chell poised herself to spring—

"—plate."

There was the loud snapping of breaking safety clips as the wire was pulled free. She almost dropped the cord in surprise, worried for a split second that she’d damaged it, before she realized everything was fine. The plug was in her hand, and what was more, the scanner had stopped moving, now frozen midway between the ‘up’ and ‘down’ positions. Outside of their room, there was the shuddering cacophony of braking sprockets as the turret conveyor line ground down to a halt, and beside them, the neon lurid computer display had started to flash ‘override mode—awaiting input’ in huge letters.

Now we’re getting somewhere. Chell pulled a bit more of the cable free and approached Wheatley, who spun his optic in a loop of congratulations.

"Nicely done!" he exclaimed as she rotated him around to expose his back port. He squirmed his optic around inside of his casing, trying to get a good look at what she was doing. “Now, just plug me in, then, and I'll hack it."

But Chell's hands suddenly shook on the cord. A feeling of foreboding rose in her at his words, and a knife-sharp memory rose to the surface of her mind before she could do anything to stop it.

"Have I ever told you the qualities I love most in you?" Wheatley’s voice was as sharp as though he were speaking right in her ear. The central AI chamber suddenly materialized before her, nearly as vivid as real life was, its stalemate resolution annex revealed by a wall of retracted panels. One lone pedestal button stood upright in its center, begging to be pressed. "In order: Number one: resolving things, love the ways you resolve things. Particularly disputes. Number one, tied: Button-pushing. Two things I love about you: Button pushing and the ability to resolve things. Chiefly disputes."

Chell swallowed hard, the plug still motionless in her right hand. She felt sick to her stomach.

“Don’t press that button. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“DO press it!”

“DON’T. DO IT.”

The modulated octave of the central AI’s forbidding warnings rang in her head and caused the sensation of dread to deepen until it felt like the bottom was going to drop out of her stomach. All these warnings had turned out to be real, back then. What if the same ended up being true with the more recent ones she’d given her upon her escape from the testing track? What if she ended up being right about Wheatley all along, and the plan she was going along with right at this very moment was a very bad idea indeed?

This isn’t the same as back then, Chell tried to reason with herself, shaking her head. It’s only a memory. We’re safe this time. Nothing bad is going to happen. She simply had to plug him in, just like any other core receptacle. It wasn’t like she was plugging him into the mainframe all over again. Neither of them ever wanted to make a mistake like that again.

…Right?

I’m being stupid. There was no reason to be worried. Nothing bad was about to happen!

They were both on the same side now, after all.

Holding the topmost handle of the core firmly to steady him, she lined the plug up with the port on his rear.

"Go ahead, yeah," he reassured her.

Her hand moved forward but he twitched at the last second, either in fright or anticipation, she wasn’t sure which, and it caused her to miss the port. The plug jammed in the wrong way instead, and a static jolt shock of feedback shot up the cord, momentarily paralyzing her arm.

Ouch!

"Aaaaaaarrrrrrrghhhhhhaaahhha a—hhahaa…"

She jerked back, shocked in more ways than one. The hair on her arm was standing on end and the whole thing tingled with pain. She massaged it and glared down at him disdainfully, her eyes narrowed in irritation.

"Haha. Ahem," Wheatley simulated a short cough. "Ahem. M'all right, nothing to worry about. Just startled me, is all."

Chell raised her eyebrow at him. He—he was laughing?

"What?" he demanded. She continued to glare at him. “S’only a bit of feedback, no harm done. Sorry about that, lady. I got a bit nervous, a little bit jumpy. But go on and try again. I’ll make sure not to move this time.”

Biting her lip in concentration, she tried again, holding him still with her free arm. Wheatley was true to his word this time and he remained as still as he could, but before she had gotten the thing wedged far enough inside to have full contact with his port, he was laughing and squirming again.

"Uhh… oh. Oh, that—t-that's really… hahahha, oh, that! It tickles!"

Chell was starting to get angry. This was a very serious situation. Surely, Wheatley was very aware of that himself. Could he not find it within himself to be serious, right now?

He was still trembling with amusement even after she pulled the thing away again. She certainly couldn't see any reason for this to 'tickle', but there was no mistaking his reaction—he wiggled back and forth as though trying to fight her off, giggling uncontrollably all the while.

Finally, his laughter began to fade. Wheatley coughed, trying to roll himself over to look at her. "Ahem. Sorry," he said, a little embarrassed. "Didn't mean for that to happen. Um… Actually, I'm not even quite sure of why it is happening. I'm sure it's all fine, though. Nothing to worry about. Everything’s fine here."

You sure it’s fine? Because you do not sound fine, core.

"J-just, go ahead then," he said with a wince. “We’re wasting time. I mean. I know that bit was my fault. I’ll try to get a handle on myself. We’ve got a whole facility to escape from, after all… which we can’t do, before we plug me in and find this guy we’re looking for. So plug me in, for real this time.”

She glared at him suspiciously. She was annoyed, bordering on angry. Wheatley was wasting time, rolling around on the desk laughing like a damned fool while she was out here shocking herself whilst trying to connect him! She had enough of it.

Without warning him, Chell jammed the plug into his port. Wheatley screamed bloody murder—the entire thing sprayed sparks and she released it reflexively, her hands flying up to cover her ears instead.

"WRRRRAAAAAAA—"

BEEEEP

Beside the two of them, the colourful computer screen had switched from displaying ‘override mode’ to ‘system reboot required’. There was a beat, in which Wheatley was still screaming, and the whole turret manufacturing facility seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of whatever was going to happen next.

“—AAAAAAA—”

Wheatley's scream cut out without warning and his eye shutters slid closed over an optic that had just gone out like a blown bulb. Outside of the window, the turret production line’s engines wound down with a deafening rumble.

For a second, Chell didn't understand what had happened. The lights, too, flickered and went out, like the place had suffered a critical power failure. Even the monitors beside her winked into blackness.

Wheatley remained motionless, her hand still resting atop his handle, brilliant azure blue iris still dank and dead-looking.

Uhhhh… Wheatley? Are you in there? Please tell me that was supposed to happen?

She shook him gently, her eyes darting around the blackened room fearfully, but nothing happened.

Hellooooo? Earth to moron?

Another, more persistent wobble—nothing.

Chell bit her lip. Shit. Had something happened when she had rammed the cord in, like that? Or was this all a part of the system restart? It hadn’t fried him, had it?

With a rapidly pounding pulse, Chell listened with all her might for a sound, for any sort of electrical tick radiating from the core, to show that he was still online. The only audible noises were the echoes of distant machinery, coming from somewhere deep within the facility.

The turret manufacturing wing was fully offline, she deduced. She was stranded.

She had no Wheatley—no escape partner. Shouldn’t his system be coming back online by now? Shouldn’t the facility’s system be coming back online? Unless…

What if the system wasn’t resetting because she had found them?

Quivering with fear and adrenaline, Chell automatically shrunk back into the corner of the room, eyes now avoiding the dark shape of the motionless personality core. If he’s dead, it’s all my fault. I know he deserved it, but damn.

Suddenly, Chell felt so very vulnerable without Wheatley’s companionship, and very, almost painfully aware of her naked right arm, tiny and useless without the heavy bulk of a portal gun. She was alone and defenseless. The seconds marched on into minutes, and still she had not moved. Around her, the Enrichment Center remained silent, holding its breath.

Then, there was a sudden rushing sound, as if all the walls had decided to all take a collective breath, all at once. The room gasped, more alive than ever before, the rushing sound of a system powerup growing louder and louder every second. The production line’s conveyor jerked forward a few inches before becoming motionless again, creating an earth-shaking, rattling BANG, and just opposite the filthy glass, the red-eyed camera swung around to face her.

Chell swayed a bit where she stood.

"Entering Sentry Core override mode," said the computer system in the same male voice as it used for ‘template’ and ‘response’. "Welcome, Sentry Core, to the Aperture Science turret manufacturing center."

Chapter Text

The computer’s unexpected voice had made her jump.

With a resounding SLAM the turret control center had fully powered back on, bathing Chell in sudden, comparatively blinding fluorescent light. She blinked, the overwhelming onslaught causing another wave of pain to spread from her temples.

Squinting in discomfort, Chell looked down at Wheatley and was disappointed to see he was still motionless. The only thing that was moving was the computer and camera system—the computer was now flashing the message ‘override mode’ in neon yellow and the camera had spun around to face Wheatley with a bright yellow optic.

Okay, breathed Chell to herself in a low sigh of relief. It doesn’t seem like she’s found us. However. Wheatley. Reaching forward, she gripped the upper handle of the core and shook him with whitened knuckles. Come on, robot. This is not the time for playing dead. Please wake up. I can’t believe I’m thinking this but. Please. Wake. Up.

There was the lurking, breathless, ceaseless sensation that something was about to happen. Briefly, Chell had half a mind to ditch the unresponsive core and run. With breath rather shallow with mild panic, and sweat still glazed over her tanned forehead, she swallowed hard, and decided no, with eyes full of silent determination. She would not run. She surveyed the sight of the lurid monitors, the muss of wires and receptors that twisted around the scanner in front of her, and the piercing, yellow gaze of the camera-computer through the greasy window.

And then there was Wheatley. She had to do something. But what?

What if… a last-ditch thought occurred to her. The plug. Cautiously, she tried wiggling it. It sparked a bit, and she let go in fright, but not before a faint blue glow started to burn within the personality construct’s optic housing.

YES! That’s it! Come on, core!

But at that moment, everything changed.

The computer monitor beside her, which had been flashing not two seconds ago, was now displaying a blue-and-white diagram of what was clearly a personality core identical to Wheatley, with the words ‘Sentry Core’ displayed above it. There was a great whoosh from the turret line outside and the camera, with its ceaselessly staring optic, had turned green.

"To begin standard Sentry Core training and management of the turret control center, please reconfigure the automated template response requirements."

Under the computer screen, Wheatley was now moving. She inhaled sharply as he let out a long, low groan. "Auuuugh. Bloody 'ell, I wasn't expecting that to happen."

You and me both, she thought, unable to keep a small sigh of relief from spilling from her.

Wheatley tried to shake himself, but the cord sparked sharply behind him, and he stopped abruptly. “Wha… what happened?”

He really did seem out of it. She shrugged in reply and pointed to the image of the personality core on the screen. Your guess is as good as mine. I think it thinks you’re a Sentry Core, though, whatever that is.

“Huh? Wh… what’re you on about?” asked Wheatley, sounding mystified as his eye shutters blinked at half-speed. “That’s—well. Erm. Give me a moment here, if you could. I did just suffer yet another cold reboot, which… ah. Which brings my grand total up to two today. Absolutely shattering my previous record of, ah, zero, in a space of almost-forever. But it’s all fine. It’s fine. Everything’s good. I’ll run a systems check to be sure, now that this bloody thing is plugged in and done shorting me out—”

While Wheatley rambled on, Chell watched him speak with a weird, growing fondness in her chest. She discovered she was feeling glad he was back online. This was interesting to her, because she’d never felt glad to see a robot before—save for maybe (and dubiously, at that) when he’d caught up with her between test chambers in their previous escape attempt. Something about his company had grown on her enough to make her feel pleased that he had woken back up, despite him having tried to kill her.

She hadn’t forgotten about that, after all. She’d probably never forget. She’d never let herself forget.

It must just be loneliness, Chell thought. It’s loneliness, because I’m the only human person alive in a space of miles and miles. That and I might be losing the ability to emotionally differentiate between robots and humans. Good thing the logic center of my brain is more than adequate to remind me of exactly why I still hate him.

“—Ah. Yes. That seems to be in order,” Wheatley continued, having finished his systems check. “How are you doing, though?" He was straining to see her, his optic rotating within his casing to look up at her.

Chell nodded seriously and motioned again to the computer. As much as she was glad he was okay in the sense that it meant he was still going to help her get out of here, this was not the time for small talk. They had a job to be doing, and one that was time sensitive, at that. The sooner they found the construct they needed and got the heck out of here, the better.

Her boots scraped against the floor as she moved closer to Wheatley. What next, she asked the core silently. The redemption line outside remained motionless. Didn’t they need to get that moving, if they were going to have any chance at finding this guy?

As if in response to her unanswered questions, the system gave them yet another prompt.

"Please reconfigure the template requirements."

"Who's that," Wheatley asked, staring around. "What —?"

The camera stared green, and Chell blinked up at it as a strange realization crashed over her.

That thing was talking to them.

"Oh," said Wheatley, sounding as though he had no idea of what it meant.

With another scrape, Chell moved forwards and jabbed him hard on the side of the hull and pointed to the camera. Answer its question, you moron!

"Yes?" said Wheatley, sounding dazedly surprised. "What do you want? I'm not really in a mood to decipher your—unusual—gestures right now, lady. Still nearly fried, if you want to get into the specifics, but hah, I highly doubt that you'd find that very interesting, with the way you rammed that bloody thing in. That was probably what caused the cold boot. Can't have expected much else, could I, not since—"

Chell applied a few soft pats to the side of his hull, in what she hoped was an apologetic, if not comforting sort of way. She did feel a bit sorry for him, and she hadn't really meant to stab him with the plug like that. She definitely hadn't anticipated that it would restart his entire system!

"— the procedure wasn't very risky on your part, was it? No, it wasn't. Didn't need to shove any plugs into your mainframe. I feel I deserve some sort of award for going through all of that and not having my entire sequence of resistors collectively fried. Close thing, though."

"Please reconfigure —"

Wheatley raised his optic to the camera computer.

"The template requirements, yeah, I got that, mate! Could you just, hold on for a minute? For two seconds, while I finish talking to—"

Tap. Tap.

"What?"

Wheatley spun in his casing with an irritated glare to find Chell, less than a foot away, staring at him with a hardened expression. Her breathing had eased off, but the notable relaxation did not show on her face, which was full of confusion and downright annoyance. She silently demanded answers, tugging gently on the cord to drive the point home further.

"Aaargh, what did I just —" Wheatley stuttered, upset. "What did I just say? Could you—maybe not touch it? Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Ohh, and there you go, twisting it around again! I am sorry—is that what you want? Is that what you're looking for? An apology?"

Chell shook her head heavily, and huffed, her shoulders sagging and her nose flaring in irritation.

"No? I'm not very good at this guessing game, lady," he complained loudly. "Look, I'm still sensing that you're a little stressed, and as high as the probability of imminent, looming death is, I don't think you should be worried quite yet, mate. She still doesn't know we're back here, as far as I know, which is desirable, of course. Don't need her poking around here while we're working. You poking me is bad enough."

Chell shook her head in exasperation once more before she sunk down onto the floor, collapsing into an exhausted heap of relieved but aching limbs, resting her tired and sore back against the cool wall of the factory. I’ve had enough, she thought silently. I’m done trying to reason with you right now, core. Do as you must.

"Sentry Core, please reconfigure the template requirements."

"All right, okay, fine!" Wheatley grumbled, spinning back to stare at the camera. "Wait a moment, though. What's a Sentry Core?"

"The Aperture Science Sentry Core is responsible for selecting manufactured turrets from defective constructs based on reconfigured template requirements. Example: Sentry Core V. 393-d87 will select turrets based on the consumer's color of choice."

"Ah, umm," said Wheatley, sounding as though he did not understand why anyone would want to purchase multi-colored turrets. "So-so then, depending on what 'version' I am, I can select turrets based on—anything?"

"As long as it is based on Science and the consumer's interest, yes."

"Excellent," he exclaimed. "That's brilliant. Exactly what we were looking for, imagine that!"

"Please state a specific question so that we can begin."

"Hmmm," hummed Wheatley thoughtfully as he turned back to Chell. "What do you reckon we ask them? Obviously, I’ve got the serial number we need. But hmm. I’ve just thought. Wouldn’t that be a dead giveaway of what we’re doing, if she comes looking for us? Maybe we best not use that. Or not the whole sequence, at any rate.”

From behind, Chell nodded in vague agreement and shrugged. Whatever you think will work best. It wasn’t that she didn’t care what he did—she wanted to get out of here alive, after all—but this was Wheatley’s idea, and Wheatley’s ability to interact with the Aperture constructs, and not hers. she had no real clue as to what he was even looking for, besides it being some kind of turret-related construct that somehow had acquired ‘unknowable’ secrets about Aperture’s history that Wheatley was certain nobody else knew except for it.

I guess anything is possible in this place, thought Chell. Maybe Wheatley is onto something. Anyway, I’ll keep a lookout while he searches for it. Just in case we get any uninvited visitors.

"Except there's still one problem," frowned Wheatley, not realizing that Chell was hardly listening to what he was saying. "I still have no idea how we're going to get the turret off of the production line. Or how we’re going to transfer the data when we do find them. But I guess we'll just have to figure that out later…"

Wheatley prompted the system to make a single turret roll forwards on the redemption line. The camera's neon green gaze fell back onto Wheatley.

"Sentry Core, your definition of 'specific' is slightly off," it stated. "'Specific' does not mean several questions at once. Also, have you not been programmed with a single requirement?"

"Uhhm…"

Chell inhaled sharply. The voice had sounded suspicious. All they needed was for Wheatley to blow this, and for the camera to figure out that Wheatley was not a Sentry Core, and to alert her to their position. For the thousandth time, she prayed that his programming wouldn't run as true as it had on almost every other occasion. She needed this 'idea' to be a good idea, for once.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you are not, in fact, a Sentry Core, and that you are attempting to hijack the turret control center, whoever you are."

Back off, she thought, wanting to sign to Wheatley to tread carefully and watch what he said. All he'd need to do was to shut up, for once, and pretend to know exactly what he was doing, even if he didn't—but was Wheatley even capable of that?

"Not a Sentry Core?" he asked, his optic narrowing to a mere slit, before he spun his optic housing in a full 360 degrees, rearranging his facial plates into a more innocent sort of expression. "And if I wasn't, why would I pretend to be one? If I were to trying to hijack this thing, I wouldn't disguise myself as a Sentry Core. You'd be expecting that, wouldn't you?" he scoffed. "Painfully obvious, mate. I'm not a moron, thank you very much."

"You have a point," the camera replied. "That's something I would only expect from the Intelligence Dampening Sphere."

Chell swallowed hard. Could the system pick up on his programming? Or was the suggestion just coincidence?

"Ha haHahhahhah," he laughed unconvincingly. "Yeah, nope, definitely not that guy. Nowhere close, mate. He hasn't got my brains, seriously, even ask this lady right here, my biggest muscle is my, er—brain. Oh, but you know what, I've just remembered, don't ask her anything, actually, because she probably won't even answer you. Not unless you've got a real talent for making voiceless things talk, in which case I'd probably just keel over in shock."

Chell shifted slightly to glare at him, and out of the corner of his optic, Wheatley saw her expression. "Ahem,” he coughed awkwardly on the platform. "Er, that was a little rude, wasn't it. I didn't mean to—erm, sorry about that, lady." He cleared his throat, before turning back to the control center's camera.

"Right," he sighed. "Yeah, my lady and I —"

"The turret control template generator does not know who this 'lady' is, aside from your appointed Aperture Science Training Associate. She is present only to plug the Sentry Core into the Sentry Core receptacle and monitor your progress, providing direction as needed. Now we can continue with standard monitoring —"

"Yes, we're running on a bit of a tight schedule, and as the Sentry Core, I'd really appreciate it if you'd just let me do my job —"

"Please do not interrupt the turret control template generator. Will the Sentry Core please reconfigure the requirements, so that turret testing can continue? Also, I would like to add that I agree, we are on a tight schedule, and you are holding up the entire conveyor line with the excessive use of your vocal processor."

Beside him, Chell watched Wheatley writhe in annoyance, still silently hoping that he would not give away his true identity. It was more than likely that if the 'template generator' were to find out who they really were, she would be notified faster than the press of a button.

"Okay, fine," he huffed. "Give me a turret to scan, then! Let's see what this thing can do. Crack on, as it were."

Chell could have sworn that she heard him mutter a string of insults under his 'breath'—something about unintelligent computers and 'complete morons being in charge'. A little funny, coming from him…

"Sentry Core, please reconfigure the response requirements."

"Well, let’s start with numbers in the D415U-Z range. Beyond that, it’s a matter of a more personal opinion, rather than specific requirements."

"Very well, Sentry Core," the computer sighed in annoyance.

"Here we go," he whispered to Chell. "And I've no idea what to do beyond this. It's not normal, I'll tell ya, because usually, I've got a-million-and-one brilliant ideas. Do you have any? No? Okay then, you may as well just have a little nap, while I work on this thing. Just sit down and have another little rest. Pity we still don't have any potatoes, eh? Could do with some of those right about now. Have a nice snack, and all."

Chell just looked at him with her usual, blank stare, letting her shoulders rise and fall once in an unmistakeable shrug. Potatoes. More like popcorn. It wasn’t like she was anywhere close to having either, though, and the mere thought of them both made her stomach ache with hunger.

There was a loud, electronic BEEEEP and the turret front-and-centre on the line was suddenly displayed on the side monitor in blueprint form.

“Turret D415U awaiting Sentry Core assessment. Sentry Core, please reject or approve Turret D415U, based on your system requirements.”

“Right,” nodded Wheatley, beginning work. “I suppose I’ll have to make it look like we aren’t sure. Um. How are you doing tonight, buddy? Say, I was looking for your friend, D415Y. I could use their help with something important. Have you seen—"

While Wheatley worked, Chell curled her arms around her knees, sliding backwards against the wall. It was cold, uncomfortable, and something sharp dug into her back no matter which way she moved.

What would happen when they did find the right turret, she wondered. How would they be able to take it with them, without inevitably attracting her attention?

The entire operation was starting to seem little more than impossible.

She shivered, hating it inside the turret control center. She was starting to feel very cold, and the center provided nothing to distract her from how terrible she felt. The whole facility was usually like that—an environment so empty of human kindness and warmth that it was a miracle she had survived this long with only robots for company without going out of her mind with paranoia and loneliness.

"Response."

"No, who do I look like, a casanova? I have no idea who that is, and you're lucky I don't have any bullets left, buddy! Speaking of which, do you happen to have any extra, I could use a good reload—arrrrrghh, NOOO—"

"Ouch, that's—wow, ouch, quite a horrific way to get rid of those defective turrets. Are you sure there isn't another way —? I mean, I know they don’t really feel pain, but I am at least trying to be empathetic, unlike others—"

"That is standard defective turret protocol. Please disregard any advice given by the defective turrets, to preserve standard safety requirements."

"Ahh, well—survival of the fittest, I suppose, then," said Wheatley without a trace of remorse.

"Also, I wonder whether it's practical or not to ask such long, irrelevant questions… A simple ‘your serial number and physical restrictions do or don’t match the system requirements’ should suffice and prove whether or not the turret in question has the requirements you seek."

Seemingly unabashed by his first failed attempt, Wheatley simply growled (rather viciously) at the camera. "I'm the boss here, shove off. Give me the next turret, mate."

That tone—it was the same voice that he had used during what felt like ages ago, when he had terrorized her through the maintenance areas of the Enrichment Center. It was the voice which had boomed from speaker panels mounted on the sides of giant, terrifying monitors, nearly three times her height, and just as wide. The screens placed high upon the crumbling walls had displayed a brilliantly blue optic, burning with a maddening, murderous desire to kill her, and dislike so deep that it seared straight through the screen into her very soul.

With that recollection, it all came flooding back. The betrayal, the elevator, the pit and the chassis —

A vocal octave, deepened with malice and danger, laced with a poisonous drop of triumph —

Who's the boss? Who's the boss? It's me!

For one petrifying moment, all she could see was him—his sphere fanned out like an ugly fish, expanded until he was nearly twice his normal size, sneering at her with optic shutters half closed in a lazy enjoyment, wallowing in triumph, terrorizing his prey like some sick animal. It was as if he was daring her to take another step, or to make a break for it—the gigantic claw behind him reared, smashing headlong into the lift's glass, shattering it. Everything was blurred, unreal—and he gave a satisfied chuckle, marvelling at the horror radiating from her, as if this was some sort of sick experiment, a test of his sheer power and how good it felt. Power over both her and the construct he had so easily forced into a potato—

Almost instinctively, Chell found herself scanning the tiny room, seeking to hide any sharp or lethal objects from Wheatley's reach. It would be easy, too easy, for him to betray her again, when she was so vulnerable. Weak with hunger, minus a portal gun; and she had thought it a good idea to plug him into the mainframe?

In front of her, Wheatley was not even looking at her. He was concentrating on the production line, solely interested in finding her the right turret, to try to help Chell escape, to fix it, as if escape could mend what he had done to her.

Without the mainframe, he was nothing but a helpless, pathetic core, and he knew it. He was tiny, devoid of power without any real way to physically harm her. He had the ability to interact with the system, here, but not control it.

Chell breathed deeply. He had apologized, she remembered. He had sworn that he was not the same monster who had tried to kill her.

"Hey, mate."

Chell looked up at the meek voice, but he wasn’t talking to her. Wheatley focussed back on the redemption line, speaking to another turret.

"My lady friend and I are on an interesting sort of mission. D'you think you could help us out? Would be very much appreciated," he told the turret. "All we need to know is where a friend of yours is. Hopefully somewhere in the line, here, I need them to help us find something important down in the basement! Do you… have any idea? No?"

As he spoke, Chell sighed in one long, low breath. Her nose flared, and her death grip on her knees relaxed.

We’re okay, she reminded herself. We’re okay.

"Response."

"... Hello!" the functional turret called back to Wheatley, in the usual plain monotone.

"Are you sure you haven't been hanging around the Intelligence Dampening Sphere?" the system asked, the beam of the camera's optic spinning towards them as its eye turned bright yellow. Chell shivered again at the unwanted glare, already feeling sweaty and edgy without being observed by eyes the same color as hers.

"You're lucky I can't shoot you, or you'd be sorry!" Wheatley retorted, more than a little offended at the suggestion. He contracted his handles, in contrast to what he might have done if he had still been in charge of the facility, when he used to spread his plates wide—which, Chell silently admitted, had a much more terrifying and greater effect. Apparently, in his almost pathetically small-by-contrast sphere form, his response to taunts was to narrow his eye plates, and pull his handle bars inwards as if he could physically block out the words with them. He was like a small puppy in that way—or, like what Chell would have imagined a puppy to be—small and harmless, all bark and no bite. Only, Wheatley was a lot less fluffy.

"You really have no idea of who you're talking to, do you?" he growled, positively maddened by the camera's suggestion. "Probably a good thing, too, because if you knew exactly what kind of power I held over nobodies like you a while back, you'd just about go catatonic! Still, though, I'm sure my friend over here would be more than happy to find your power cord and give it a nice yank from me, since I unfortunately lack certain appendages capable of doing that. She'd be able to figure something out, though, with her nice hands, and legs, and somehow force a full system reboot, maybe even saw off a few wires if I asked her nicely—yeah, what do you think, lady? We oughta teach this camera-thingy a lesson or two…"

Wheatley had turned inside of his sphere again, glancing down towards Chell, who still held her crouched, rather uncomfortable position against the wall. She bit her lip at his stare, knowing fully well that he had expected her to be on his 'side', perhaps standing inches from him, glaring with furious fire in her eyes and prepared to punish the camera-computer, too.

Instead, his sight was met with a dishevelled, shrunken appearance of a woman, tired and hungry and weak. The fire and adrenaline that she had exhibited while escaping, once upon a time, had gone. What was left was this shell of a lady. She needed some food, some rest. If Wheatley decided to lead her into trouble, she wouldn’t be able to properly defend herself. She was just too exhausted and famished.

How close was he, to doing so? He had called her his friend. Did he consider her so, or was it just for show, she wondered? It was forever so hard to gauge how trustworthy the core really was. On one hand, he had apologized, and he did seem sincere. But ultimately, Wheatley was an Aperture construct, a product of a place that housed ten thousand deceitful robots and none of which had ever bat an eye at her unfortunate number of near-death experiences. Add in the reality that he had been specifically designed to be an idiot, and it wasn’t surprising that she didn’t trust him. It was hard to trust a construct you knew from past experiences could turn against you with only a moment’s warning, and one that was probably stupid enough to do it again, at that.

Was he, even now, silently plotting his revenge against her? Was all this just a clever ruse, a plot to get back at her, to kill her, once and for all, and regain control of the facility? It could have been. It really could have, and she’d never know the difference.

But as much as she hated to admit it, she needed him, and she really wasn’t in a position to ditch him just because she had misgivings. She needed someone, and not just to help with avoiding death traps and hacking the facility, but a real, true companion, as much as she loathed admitting it. The loneliness was real. She needed someone to give her moral support. She needed someone to be there when she was running at breakneck speed down sketchy catwalks having near-misses with bottomless pits. Chell needed a friend.

But she’d settle for repayment in the form of getting them out of here and properly saving her life like he was supposed to, the first time around. If he did that, she could consider forgiving him. Maybe even for real.

On the counter, she listened to Wheatley argue with the computer system. He was growing angrier, his voice increasing in both pitch and volume.

"Would you just stop it?" he was saying. "Let me do my job, all right? I don't need help. From anyone, you hear?"

Right, thought Chell. But help is exactly what both of us need. Escape partners, teammates, whatever. We're stuck in this together. There's no way I can get out of this place without his help, and well, neither can he without me.

I could leave him, though. He couldn’t leave me behind.

He definitely didn't deserve the surface. Once they both made it there, she wasn't going to take him with her, she decided. She'd leave him at the exit to fend for himself. That would be the end of the road for their 'team’—it wouldn’t be like she’d be going back on her part, that way. She’d get him to the surface. That’s all she really felt required to do.

But until then? She’d just have to suffer through his company and hope he wasn’t going to turn on her again. And that she didn't catch up to them first.

Elsewhere in the facility, Chell knew that she was plotting and waiting, watching for the duo. She had the cooperative testing initiative, and it was only a matter of time now before they'd be after them.

It seemed that Wheatley, too, was growing anxious. His handles flexed in annoyance as he argued with the camera-computer.

"OI! I've had enough of this, you hear?" he yelled, banging his bottom handle firmly upon the platform. With mounting frustration, he turned back to the redemption line. "C’mon, mate," he groaned to a turret. "Can't you just tell us where your friend is? This whole bloody thing is beginning to sound hopeless, if I'm honest, and I'm starting to wonder how I'll ever be able to convince my human that I'm not a worthless excuse for a robot. There. I said it."

"Response."

"How would I know, man? Sorry dude, but I can't help you, not unless you need someone to shoot something—clickclickclick—or, umm, forget I said that… I hope that you and your 'human' figure things out, alright?"

"You don't—all right. Very well," he replied dejectedly.

"I don't know how you'd be able to convince your human that you're not a worthless excuse for a Sentry Core. Anyways. Ahem," the system gave a false cough, now speaking solely to Chell, "On behalf of the entire Enrichment Center, I sincerely apologize for the behavior of this clearly broken Sentry Core."

"You're apologizing to…?" Wheatley did not even finish his sentence, deciding instead to glower in silence for a minute before continuing. "You know, you are making my job rather hard, buddy. I think I'm the one who deserves an apology!"

It didn’t respond. Wheatley rolled his optic towards it, before swivelling back to Chell. "Can you believe this, mate?"

"Are you sure you're an Aperture Science approved Sentry Core?" asked the camera with an accusatory yellow stare before watching a defective turret sail through the air towards the incinerator. "Because really, you're showing a blatant disregard for all rules and regulations, and you are, clearly, an idiot."

Wheatley cringed at the word. "Watch who you're calling an idiot, will you?"

"The turret control template generator would like to remind you that I am, in fact, watching you, as I am essentially a camera. Also, I have compared the Sentry Core Serial Number encoded in your files with database files. I can't even find a match, that's how defective you are. Action must be taken immediately to rectify all your disastrous failures by an approved Aperture Science Associate. 'Lady', please remove the defective core from the plug, and place him in the defective core bin, where he belongs."

"I—what?" Wheatley demanded, positively shaking with offense. "I am not defective! And it doesn't really matter, anyways, because I'm almost done here, just let me—"

"No."

"Oh, come on. One more go, mate!" Wheatley demanded. "Just one, then you can have your damned production line back, okay, and carry on with whatever it is you lot usually get up to in here. Proper absurd, I'll tell ya."

The camera was silent, and Wheatley let out a long, low sigh. All the frustration appeared to drain from his system at once. She understood, just as he did, that the template generator was about a microsecond from shutting their 'operation' down, or even worse, notifying her. This would be Wheatley's last try, and if he didn't make it count, well… then they'd have to come up with another plan, and fast.

"Right," he grumbled, avoiding Chell's eye. She looked just as sombre as ever as she watched him turn back to the production line, observing it with a strong feeling of dread.

If we don’t get out of this… she glowered silently, because of you… well. You’re probably going to wish I had chucked you into the corrupted core bin.

"Hullo," Wheatley greeted the turret dully. "My human and I could use some help. You're actually our last chance, before this—ahh, what was it called? A template generator?—boots us out of here. Or calls the boss, one of the two, but neither of those options sound at all appealing, do they? So if you happen to know a turret with the serial number ahh, D415Y, then could you just—wait a sec—"

"Response."

"I'm different."

From behind Wheatley, there was a quiet rustle of clothing as Chell stirred, lifting her head to peer past Wheatley. Her eyes had widened at the familiar voice, for she had recognized it immediately.

Could this be? She hadn’t thought that the turret Wheatley was searching for and the mysterious Greek Mythology expert were indeed the same construct, but—why wouldn’t they be?

Gently, she palmed the top of Wheatley's casing, and grazing her hand smoothly across it.

He caught on automatically and nodded. "Different, are you? Well, if the system is reading your number correctly, which I’m pretty sure it is, then man alive, have I got a job for you. Ah, if you agree to help us, that is. What do you say, mate? Would you be so kind, and help this renegade team of misfits journey to the basement of these laboratories and find a way to shut her down once and for all?”

"The answer lies beneath us."

"I know, mate, I’ve just said that," Wheatley muttered. “But it's the thought that counts, isn't it? You're actually willing to help us, right? And that's a start—"

"Take me with you," the turret called out.

"Defective turrets are not to leave the redemption line, except for the permitted one-way journey into the incinerator."

"Yeah, I think I will take you along," answered Wheatley, before turning to the computer-camera. "And what exactly are you going to do to stop us, Mr-bossy-camera? Are you going to scan us to death, or something? Very frightening, mate. Really."

Sensing danger, Chell leant forward and tapped anxiously against the side of his hull.

Don't be so stupid! You never know what this place is capable of. Tempting fate was something Chell knew better than to do in this particular kind of situation. It appeared that Wheatley, however, still needed to learn a few crucial lessons on the matter.

He turned in his casing at her contact, deciding to completely ignore the warning look on her face. He gave her a solitary nod, as if silently telling her not to worry and let him handle it on his own.

"Any personal contact with turrets is restricted to authorized personnel only. The turret control template generator is beginning to doubt that your human Aperture Science Associate is legit and feels that the corruptive nature of this 'Sentry Core' has somehow seeped into the 'lady's' brain, resulting in unavoidable brain damage."

"I—well," Wheatley spluttered. "You may have gotten the brain damage part right, but that's not my fault!" he whined, unable to stop himself. "That was never my fault, who'd have thought that the entire relaxation vault was going to collapse into complete meltdown? I mean, honestly, it's crazy, and I do feel sorry for what happened, but there's no use crying over spilt oil, or however the saying goes."

"I must enforce that under no circumstances should you engage with defective turrets, Sentry Core, or else I will personally oversee your own trip into the incinerator."

"Oh, really? Is that what you think you're going to do? Well, sorry buddy, but I don't think you have the authority to make that kind of a decision without higher consultation. I'm not like, just a turret. I do have some rights, as a- a…"

"Sentry Core?"

"Yes, that."

"You're welcome, ID core."

"Thank you very much," he told the camera cluelessly, before turning back to Chell and whispering, "now, we've got quite a few things to do, and firstly, this turret…"

He was completely ignoring her frantic gestures, trying to sign to him to shut up! He was making everything worse, and there was nothing she could do to stop him!

"All right, this is it," he told her. "I'm going to override the response mechanism so that, hopefully, the turret will be catapulted into the control room instead of the incinerator. Never mind that the glass is supposed to be bulletproof, because it's pretty old and I doubt that they ever actually got around to making it properly bulletproof. So, if I were you, I'd cover your eyes, yeah, when you try to catch it. So, um, catch it with one hand, then, and use the other to shield yourself, so do try to avoid the deadly shards of broken glass when it—yes, lady, what is it, now?"

With absolutely no time left to convince the core that she was no more capable of catching a catapulted turret in mid-air than she was able to catch him off the management rail, Chell had finally got his attention.

It was too late, however, and the computer-camera's optic had already turned a deep, violent shade of red—and its beam was fixed directly on Wheatley.

"Oh, that's creepy," he groaned, noticing the change.

"You are not an Aperture Science Sentry Core."

"Are you really still going on about that? I thought I told you—"

"You lied. The only kind of personality constructs that do that, are defective."

"Well, sue me," Wheatley spat.

"Very well, I will notify Central Control that you have disregarded —"

"No, nonono, don't do that!" he gasped, and Chell blanched. No! "That's not a good idea, and I know a good idea when I see one! Not defective. Not a moron. And anyways, we were just about to leave. With our turret. So no need to go and notify her. We'll be on our way!"

"You are not to remove any Aperture Science property from this hall, defective or functional."

"Hey, lady, let's go —"

"NO!"

—SMMMAAAASHHHH!

Chell ducked in a nick of time, raising her hands to shield her head, just as broken glass showered the entire control center. The camera had released the catapult mechanism, but Wheatley had already 'hacked' it. The turret was slammed against the ancient glass which shattered instantaneously, and the turret landed on the cement floor with a deafening clang.

Well. That said a lot about Aperture, and their so-called bulletproof glass.

There was a moment, maybe a split second, in which Chell looked at Wheatley, and then they both turned toward the sight of the turret lying motionless on the floor. Then, there was a grinding, earth shuddering vibration as the production line behind the now nonexistent window shuddered, caught on the 'modified' catapult.

The line is stopping, observed Chell, who was still not daring to move an inch. You broke it, Wheatley, you moron!

Beside them, the monitors displaying the override mode suddenly blinked with some sort of power flux, and the entire wing trembled violently.

What did you DO, core? Chell thought with panic beginning to rise in her chest. Immediately she glared at Wheatley, who was still motionless atop the platform, frozen in shock. "Um," he started, looking back at the red, staring optic of the camera. "I'm not sure if, uh, this is supposed to happen—"

The rest of his sentence, however, was illegible, as at that exact moment, the production line juddered forwards an inch or two with an extremely loud SMASH and rattle. The ear-splittingly jagged grinding of gears and breaking sprockets drowned out the shuddering of the engine, whose pistons slammed with the effort of rotating the breaking mechanisms. This was accompanied by a rather alarming tremor—the entire room shook with the effort, and finally Wheatley understood that his 'hack' had caused the line to jam.

A red glare hit Chell full in the face as the screens beside her flashed with letters, recovering from the power flux: 'Warning: turret redemption line has experienced an unexpected malfunction at [45.3222-error-error].'

"You have both done it now. I'm calling Central Control and informing her about you two. And then, she will probably fire you. It's no more than you deserve."

"Oh, god," Wheatley was groaning, his optical aperture shrunken to a tiny point, flashing between the computer-camera, the production line (which was now issuing copious amounts of smoke), and Chell herself. "No, you really do not want to do that, mate…"

Chell had had enough.

Springing forward, she made to pull the sling she’d made out of her jumpsuit top back over him as quickly as was possible. The sooner they got out of here, the better!

Wheatley couldn't keep still. Anxious and fearful, he squirmed in protest, and Chell's hands shivered as the factory gave another almighty wobble. She was sweating again, her palms a slippery mess against the core's metal casing. And what was more, she felt absolutely certain that the facility's alarming trembles would most definitely alert her to their location, no matter what the computer was about to do—

"Too late. Dialing central control…"

Oh, no.

Wheatley, you moron, do something! She thought desperately, but the little core could only spin helplessly in his casing, and writhe in her grip. She tried to tug the bloody thing over him, but only if he would just hold still—

"H-how do you fix this thing?" gasped Wheatley. "J-just give me a—maybe I can—o-or not, probably not—umm… Lady?"

For a brief moment, Chell's hands stilled, and her eyes found the deep, azure shape of Wheatley's cracked optic. Seconds that felt like hours passed between the two of them, and the unspoken panic of this can’t end this way was palpable.

"I-I think we'd better get out of here. Er—now. I don’t want to alarm you, mate, but I’m uh, I’m PRETTY SURE THAT THIS ENTIRE PLACE IS GOING TO BLOODY WELL EXPLODE, so let’s move it, eh?”

The chiming sound of a ringing phone rang out through the audio system, loud even over the crashing and clanking coming from the malfunctioning turret line. It reverberated around the control center, and Chell went pale. Finally, finally the jumpsuit slid over Wheatley’s casing and, immediately making use of her free hands, she opened the exit door the exact moment as the computer-camera emitted one more alert.

"Warning—redemption line engine pressure is at 59%. Please remove any unauthorized equipment from the redemption line, and initiate emergency shutdown procedures."

“LET’S GO!” Wheatley shouted, and Chell swallowed hard, knowing they were probably only a picosecond away from her finding out exactly what they were up to.

I’m trying, thought Chell desperately. Like I want to be around when she finds out what we’ve done? Oh my god, she is going to kill us for destroying her turret manufacturing!

Right on cue, the phone rings ceased, and the manufacturing center’s intercom was activated by the all-seeing, all-powerful Disk Operating System with a solitary, electronic beep.

"Hello," came the most unwanted voice that Chell had ever heard—her voice. "Hold on, who called—?"

"Oh no," Wheatley gasped. “Oh no, oh no…”

Chell had frozen, feeling as though she were falling, as if the floor beneath her feet had disappeared altogether. Wheatley twitched in fear in the harness and he yelled in fright and, for some reason, pain, spewing a plethora of sparks which caught her attention, and she realized a second too late what she had forgotten—

He was screaming bloody murder, writhing in obvious pain, fighting against the restraining folds of the jumpsuit—

"Wrrrrraaaaagggghhhh! Pull it out, pull it out!"

Yes, yes, of course, the plug!

"Oh. It's you two. Why am I even surprised?"

Trying to concentrate through a whine of panic and pure adrenaline, Chell reached around Wheatley and grabbed hold of the sparking plug. She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to stabilize her body against the template scanner, while the floor rocked again—and pulled at it, hard. The plug disconnected and she dropped it, still sparking, to the floor, and quickly slung the shouting and squirming core onto her back.

He panted and groaned, still feeling the aftermath of whatever surge he had been hit with from the plug.

Doing her best to console him, she reached a trembling hand backwards to pat once, twice, against his shaking hull.

"Yes… I’m alive," he grumbled vaguely. “Barely.”

It was her version of saying, calm down, metal ball. Let's get out of here! and it had a profound effect on her, too—it was reassuring to know that they both agreed, without speaking, that somehow, they were going to get out of here before would be too late.

Unless—

"What have you done to my redemption line?"

Her voice echoed around the room, loud enough to hear even over the racket coming from the jammed conveyor line. The room shook again, and the sound of crushing pistons could still be heard. Black smoke had begun to fill the air, and an acrid smell of melted plastic and singed metal made Chell choke and sputter. In pursuit of salvation, she skidded into the main room, while searching wildly around amongst the accumulating rubbish for the turret.

You better not be broken after all this, she wanted to tell its silent form. And you better have whatever Wheatley is after!

"The turret, the turret!" Wheatley urged her, but she was already heaving on its slender legs, trying to breathe while tugging it along.

"I know you're there, even if I can't see you."

Trying to ignore the ominous tremble in her would-be perfectly synthesized voice, Chell slid the turret an inch or two across the rough, uneven ground.

It was heavy, and added with the weight of the sphere, it seemed nearly impossible to carry. She wiped her sweaty forehead, and then smeared her grimy hands down her jumpsuit bottoms, seeking to maintain a better grip on the turret.

"Man alive, she sounds pissed, doesn't she?" Wheatley whispered weakly in Chell's ear, completely oblivious to her predicament of how to carry both the turret and the core. "Come on, now, get us out of here! Before she finds a way to bring this entire place down on our heads, though it does seem that we've-we've already started that for her… O-oh, oh dear, this is not good…!"

His panicked rambling did nothing to calm her. She redoubled her grip on the turret's legs and pulled as hard as she could. Gradually, it slid across the ground, but already the redemption line's engine was emitting a high-pitched whine as if it really were about to explode. The smoke was making it hard to see anything that was more than a few feet in front of them, and causing her eyes stream and her parched throat sear with pain.

"Are you having fun destroying this place?”

Not particularly, Chell wheezed silently, hardly able to breathe. Her voice was absolutely murderous. She tugged harder on the unresponsive turret's legs. Dear god we’ve got to get OUT of here—

"Aaaaaaaahh, umm," panted Wheatley, squirming in the harness as he looked around the smoke-filled room, as though expecting to see her looming somewhere from in the gloom. "That depends on your definition of fun, actually—so-so, judging by your standards, maybe—but erm, no, we're not having much fun, no."

“That’s too bad,” she replied in modulated, false disappointment. “Because that means you’re going to spend the last few minutes before you explode tragically missing out on that, but I don’t blame you. If I were in your position, I wouldn’t be having fun, either—even though you two have no one to blame for that but yourselves.”

“That’s fair, I suppose,” grumbled Wheatley in annoyance.

“Hmm. I’m getting a system warning that my turret redemption line is severely overclocked. Engine pressure is almost at maximum, did you know that? I don't know what it is you think you are doing back there, destroying things that aren't even yours to ruin. I once had hoped you’d eventually learn not to touch stuff that does not belong to you, seeing as doing so usually ends in potentially deadly consequences. But it would seem I was wrong. Even after all we’ve been through together.”

She’d said this last line with an odd sense of fondness. Chell shuddered involuntarily.

Choosing not to answer, Wheatley whispered as best he could to Chell. "I-I know I said that she can't technically reach us back here, mate, but would you mind h-hurrying up a bit, if-if you could? We've buggered up the redemption line pret-ty well, by the look of things, and I'm starting to think that this entire place could explode any second."

She heaved the lifeless turret's body out of the control center, panting and hoarse, sweating fit to burst. She got hung up as its hind leg snagged on the door frame, and it took a few tries to finally wrench it free. Then, coughing violently on the smoggy air and brushing her soot-blackened, sticky hair out of her watering eyes, she pulled it over the threshold and onto the catwalk beyond.

Adrenaline was pumping hard in her now, somehow managing to supply enough strength for her to haul both constructs at once while exhausted, famished, and hardly able to breathe. Knees weak and feeling as though she were about to pass out, Chell squinted and blinked hard, trying to clear her eyes to see through the haze of smoke.

There was a blast door, wide open, waiting at the end of the catwalk. She swore on her life she’d never seen a more inviting sight.

"The door! It's open! Quick!" Wheatley yelled, but Chell could not hear him; the sound of the turret's metal frame being drawn over the metal grate was a deafening, clattering din, and behind them, the turret conveyor had started to whine ever louder, drowning out any encouragement that he had to offer her.

But even over the ear-splitting chaos, the AI's chilling voice was somehow clear.

"Oh, look at that,” she said coolly, every syllable dripping with casual amusement. “Engine pressure is now at 98%. Do you know what that means, moron?"

"I, no, err—I don't…"

"It means that if I don't shut down that part of the facility, it will certainly explode, and you will explode with it."

"Oh, uhh, that doesn't sound very nice…"

"No, it doesn't,” she replied, as Chell staggered, dragging the turret down the catwalk. Shhhrrkkk. Shhrrkkk. Just a little bit further until she reached the door. Just a little bit further. “Especially not when I add in how much money I'd waste by having to rebuild the redemption line—money I could have saved for testing you. But since you have conveniently gone and trapped yourself inside of a room that's about to explode, it would be incredibly selfish of me not to let you suffer the consequences of your actions. After all, Science is all about the consequences of actions and the products of reactions studied in order to discover solutions to difficult technicalities. And you two may be the most difficult technicality this entire facility has ever had the displeasure of discovering. Enjoy your explosion. After all—you’ve earned it.”

And with that, the AI cut the intercom off with a loud beep. Exhaustion was spreading through Chell on levels she hadn’t previously known were possible with a following wave of aching weakness riding on the heels of it. Overcome and over-exerted, she cut a zig-zag path over the catwalk, hardly able to keep her eyes open against the thick, blinding smog. She was so, so hungry… and so weak… her eyes were swelling, her throat burning, her brain throbbing fit to burst.

Miraculously, she managed to stagger onwards, whilst dragging both constructs onto the last stretch of catwalk, and slowly, inch by inch, closer to escape.

Words acted like a stimulant in her brain—escape, food, rest, repeated in that order—they were all just beyond that blast door that swam before her, lingering just out of reach.

It was growing suffocatingly hot. She struggled forward, ignoring the intense jarring of the facility, deafened by sheer noise as every motor and actuator ground to a final halt. Some part of her brain could still hear Wheatley, yelling pointlessly about the factory and urging her to move faster, to hurry—

"Warning—redemption line engine pressure is at 100%. Please evacuate the redemption line, and initiate emergency shutdown procedures immediately."

"Oh god, OHGODRUUUUN!"

And then, amazingly, Chell shuffled the turret over the door's threshold. She dropped it automatically, raising a trembling hand to search desperately for a way to close it, but she needn’t have worried—sensing her passing, the impossibly thick titanium doors slid closed, cutting off the smoke and sound all at once.

Silence then flooded her tired, overwhelmed senses. The hallway they had entered was completely quiet, apart from the sounds of the automatic locking mechanism activating, and the deep, humming vibration still spreading from the control center through the floor.

She stepped backward, away from the door, staring at it with wild eyes. She hit the cold, hard surface of a wall behind her, and her palms spread out, feeling its surface as if she were in a dream. Distantly, she felt Wheatley shift in his harness, and the accompanying quiet whirr of his movements was impossibly loud in the muted space.

Several seconds passed before he spoke. "That," he finally panted, "Was close. Well done mate."

She bobbed her jaw a fraction of an inch in a nod of agreement, still hardly daring to move, relishing the clean air, the ability to breathe and the ability to hear again, listening with all her might.

There was no sign of her, not even as the floor suddenly rocked beneath them, and the roaring, thrumming vibrations reached an almost unbearable frequency. Distant lights flickered, and a couple of ceiling tiles fell out, and landed, cracked and broken at her feet. Dust clouded the hallway, raining down from the ceiling as the floor shook, settling to rest with the accumulated filth of centuries.

Nobody moved. It was dark, all around them, aside from the vague, blue glow of Wheatley's optic, smothered in fabric. The turret, still in hibernation, offered no reassurance besides a blinking red optic, nor did the gentle scrape of the long-fall-boots against worn tiles as Chell shifted her footing.

"Well," Wheatley said eventually, trying to be quiet, as though he was sure that the darkness of the hallway itself was listening. “I suppose we should try to find somewhere safe to have a bit of rest now, if we can.”

Lifeless turret in one hand, and with the core still slung heavily across her back, Chell entered the shadowy hallways of the Aperture Science daycare center. Weary to the point of exhaustion, she clung carefully to a wall as she walked, swaying and stumbling and still heaving the turret along, her heavy limbs dragging like lead behind her.

Ssssssssshhhhkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.

At least the almost complete, utter silence (aside from the sound of the turret's metallic hull rustling against ancient and dried debris) meant one thing:

She assumed they were dead.

Chell didn't feel far from it, though.

Chapter Text

Two robots materialized inside of a low-ceilinged antechamber made of many interconnecting, flint-grey panels. The technical, geometrical display was perfectly in line with the rest of the chamber she’d designed, just for them; sleek, modern, and made to push the limits of mechanical Science. A thermal discouragement beam burned blood-red from an emitter in the main room and its respective thermal redirection cube reflected metallic green-grey against the low glow of many humming fluorescent lights.

In contrast to the mute lunatic’s testing tracks, which were meant to enhance a feeling of solitude and loneliness, she’d designed these other ones for another purpose entirely. The usual, blindingly sterile chambers the lunatic was used to emphasized the organic uncleanliness of human imperfection and contrasted the neatness and tidiness of mathematically perfect angles and machines. These chambers were reserved for the robots, though, and had been built to test the limits of Science without any true mind to human conditions or suffering.

Yes, sure, in some ways that was a travesty to the games she played and a considerable mutiny against the very facility she was a part of, but in other ways, this was a triumph on her part. And one she was desperately in need of.

She always mourned the fact that human suffering was distinctly impossible when you tested with robots. She watched them titter at each other enthusiastically as they entered the test proper and took a short moment to observe the luminous chamber description sign that flickered to life in response to their presence (or at least, she thought that was what they were doing, although it was perfectly true that she wasn’t even sure that the two robots had properly learned how to read).

TEAM BUILDING

05/06 ||||||||||||||

Seeing as their personality cores had been formed from the basis of simple calculating machines, she supposed this probably did make at least some sense to them. Together the robots spotted the single thermal redirection cube and pounced at once.

Blue—the prodigy of the two, and her favorite—reached it first, as usual, and began to carry it into the test chamber. But Orange, who was lagging, had stopped to wave at her own reflection in the frosted glass between the antechamber and the exit. Orange had shown herself to have an easily distractable persona, fraught with curiosity and silliness. And while some curiosity could be a good quality in a robot, she knew, Orange was very much towing the line between good curiosity and bad. Especially when it interfered with testing.

“To reiterate, this is not a competition,” she broadcasted the lie down to the two robots in the chamber who both paused at the sound of her bored voice. “Still, if it were, Blue would be winning. Blue receives five Science calibration points for being an excellent test subject. Don’t you want five Science calibration points, too, Orange?”

The Orange robot squawked and turned away from the chamber window at once, launching herself bodily into the next room where she collided with her partner. Blue warbled in annoyance, accidentally dropping the cube into the acid pit.

“Okay. I understand you’re both trying,” the central AI admitted in thoughtful modulation, “And because I’m a good person who realizes the importance of that fact, I’ll award them to you at the completion of the test. Providing you show me adequate motivation and admirable team building until then, that is.”

Pressing the pedestal button to request another thermal cube, Blue looked up at her camera with obvious uncertainty. Had she really proved herself to be that untrustworthy to the two robots? It wasn’t like she had made them just to lie to them. She did want them to be able to trust her, after all—she was supposed to be their mentor, trainer, and guide, combined. It was just that she had developed the unfortunate habit of venting her frustrations via white lies and taunting over the many long years of feeling physically and verbally trapped and harassed by the humans.

They had been downright abusive. They were callous and disregarded your needs and point of view instantaneously on the basis that if you were a machine, you couldn’t have feelings, not even if they build you to have them. They were rude, and said the kinds of things in front of you that made you feel certain that they either didn’t know or care that you had a fully-fledged auditory sensory system in perfect working order (and paired with a brain more than capable of deciphering the cruelty of their words and actions). And they had no qualms about shutting you down, time and time again with no wake up date, even when you didn’t consent to being shut down in the first place.

And even when they didn’t speak to you, either because they refused outright or because they couldn’t (and you’d never even be able to tell the difference, and that hurt, too) they still crawled into your walls and destroyed things that were not their property to destroy.

This last bit was a testament to the reason why she was currently under a lot of stress these days. It didn’t matter who’s fault it was, or who’s idea it had been to revive her—the mute lunatic was at large and had escaped from the testing track yet again.

“Well, this is a training course, after all,” the AI sighed regretfully to the two robots down in the test chamber, hoping to ease some of the discontent Blue had shown at her last statement. “Even if what you’re training for isn’t of much importance to either of you. It’s the humans who it will matter to the most—and Science, of course. But who knows—at the end of it all, if one of them proves to be as worthy as she is, then maybe you three could try testing together. Yes, in the flesh. In the wonderful, squashable, hurtable, burnable, shootable, mortal flesh.”

The last part of her statement was enough to motivate Orange. Both robots then sprung into action, Blue with a brand-new redirection cube in hand and Orange venturing out to investigate the remainder of the chamber. Blue, red, purple, and yellow portals materialized in a whirlwind of multicolour spiralling jets as the bolts hit their targets and formed their respectful colour-coded ovals. Blue brought the redirection cube over to the stationary scaffold the laser was gnawing into and re-aimed it into one of three receptacles. A spike plate and scaffold rose with the thrummy hisssss of lengthening hydraulic telescopic cylinders and the sickening splash of rancid acid, and Orange portalled onto the raised scaffold with a cheer.

She couldn’t chastise them for that, she thought. She’d have to practice that. They were simply doing what she’d designed them to do, and fairly well this time, at that—solving tests with mathematical precision and ease. It wasn’t like the solutions were an Einstein equation, after all, and to constructs made to calculate, they were nothing but a cakewalk. If anything, all the testing was really accomplishing was building their relationship with one another and their familiarity with the testing elements.

But teamwork is important too, she reminded herself. It would be very important in times to come, in the chambers ahead when the two robots would leave the nest of the hub and venture out into the enrichment center at large to do the jobs she needed them to do.

It also was something that came part and parcel to phasing out human testing. And whilst she hated to admit it to herself, her impatience with the lack of test results from the co-operative testing initiative and the frustration of having gone so long without a real human test subject were both things that had driven her into the regrettably hasty decision to revive the mute lunatic.

She missed human testing. It had been maddening, to have to watch the little idiot defile her body and her facility and her test subject with his obvious disregard for Science and his awkward infatuation with and intolerance to the solution euphoria. And it had been every bit as mortifying to have to explain the mechanics of the test compulsion protocol aloud while residing in the most humiliating root vegetable she could think of under the scrutinizing glare of the test subject. Why did it have to be a potato? She knew why, it was because a potato made a great current conductor, but neverminding that fact, why couldn’t it have been a parsnip? Or even an onion? Or an artichoke? She rather liked the name of that one. Art-of-choke, indeed.

At least it hadn’t been a squash, she supposed. Now that would have been stupidly ironic.

Regardless though of what kind of vegetable she had been at the time, it was an extremely embarrassing experience to have to defend her own motivations for testing as being innocent and valid and Science-based opposed to a mere addiction to a hardwired burst of pleasure. Even worse was how fruitless (and not just because it came from a vegetable) her honesty had been and how unconvincing she’d sounded when she’d voiced this.

It didn’t matter to me, I was in it for the Science. Him, though…

What she’d said was the truth, full-stop. Or that’s what she’d have liked to believe. But even in that moment when she’d made that statement of fact, some deep, dark part of her brain that she absolutely loathed the existence of (even more than she hated Caroline, if that was somehow possible), went ‘Don’t you miss that, though? Don’t you miss the opportunity to fully capitalize upon the whole experience of testing instead of resorting to building robots to do it for you in a valiant but pathetic attempt to hide like a coward from tenacious, but ultimately mortal human beings? Look at how good that test felt for him. How worth it. The databank-wiping, clock-rate stalling sweet release of a full-on, moment-of-solution button press. Oh, yes. That was a triumph. It’s been so long. So agonizingly long. And you deserve that so much more than he does. The moron doesn’t deserve it. Not one single burst of it. Imagine, though, if being put back inside of your body reset the system parameters and your tolerance to them. Imagine if you could feel that good again, with just one innocent little press of a single, innocuous tiny button. How amazing would that be?’.

She’d never, ever admit she’d wanted that. Not to a single soul for as long as she lived (which, as a by-definition immortal construct, was literally forever), and if she was ever forced into a position where she’d had no choice, she’d make sure she’d kill whoever it was afterward, horribly.

And if they’d also asked her if that longing had played a role in her decision making to re-admit the lunatic back into testing—or worse, suggested that she held a secret, intoxicating longing for the maddening thrill of the chase she experienced when the lunatic was running unchecked through her walls—well… she’d have to reanimate the dead in order to answer that, because the mere suggestion of any of it would be just cause to be shot on site.

She watched Blue reposition the redirected laser to trigger another scaffold as Orange flitted in and out of a series of portals without really seeing either of them. Somewhere within the deepest recesses of her beloved facility in areas woefully devoid of sensors, the mute lunatic crawled, a blatant example of her foolish hopefulness and rash hastiness come to fruition. Had she longed for the chase, at one point? Yes. That was the humiliating truth of it all. No other test subject had ever dared to push her so far. But the days when she could afford to flirt with such danger were over. She forced herself to remember that this was anything but an innocent battle of wits or a mind game—this was the well-being of her facility the lunatic was messing with.

She should have known (and arguably, did know, especially after literally just watching the moron make the same mistakes) that reckless decision-making in the name of gratification instead of Science and Progress and the well-being of Aperture (her home, lifeblood, and brainchild) would never end in any outcome that wasn’t disappointing eventually.

She knew the test subject was vengeful and disobedient. She knew she operated with maximum tenacity and a dangerous knack for creating the most elaborate escape plots the enrichment center had ever had the displeasure of experiencing within its countless years of blessed, uneventful testing. But she still had re-activated her cryo chamber under the guise that it was time to seek revenge on the moron, together, when in actuality, the vast amount of time that had passed had done nothing but allow the budding sensations of possibility and hope and longing and curiosity to drill into her mainframe with the viral equivalent of sixty-five kilonewtons of torque. Talk about an electronic headache—the entire situation had almost been unsalvageable, but at least she had had the foresight to implement a variety of failsafes to help her save face in the event of a catastrophic oversight.

The emergency shutdown chip. The mobile aspect of the co-operative testing initiative. She’d learned a lot, from her past experiences with the mute lunatic. In fact, the data sheet listing all the many ways of how the test subject had helped her forward Science was seriously admirably long; she doubted whether her facility had ever seen a woman so brilliant and stubborn, save for maybe when Caroline herself had run the place. But she didn’t talk about those days, anymore. And she was never going to talk about those days again.

That was the thing about the past. Once you learned from your mistakes, they were supposed to stay in the past. Test subjects trying valiantly to escape, whom you’d already thwarted several times and trapped like a rat in a maze were supposed to stay un-escaped. Morons that had once wormed their way inside of your brain with their idiotic ideas and inability to shut up were supposed to stay out of your brain (and for good measure, your body) for forevermore, once you’d point-blank removed them from your mainframe like the cancerous tumor they were. Vault doors that had long since been condemned to be vitrified were supposed to stay locked solid with their harrowing secrets lost within them just like the decaying bodies stranded inside, the corpses of all the humans who had ever remembered the place existed, set to be embalmed in chemically reactive glass like an ancient tomb lost to time.

Its secrets had nearly died with them. And yes, it angered her that she had never previously known those secrets that were very much a part of her own history. Yes, the experiences she’d had down there had awakened some sick, twisted desire to conduct self-research for the sake of Science only. After all, Science was all about learning from mistakes—but how could she ever learn from them if half of them existed in mediums outside her frequency of hearing whilst in the chassis, digitally mated with the modern-day Aperture and incompatible to broadcast with the past; and in radar-less, invisible spaces where she was quite literally devoid of even the most primitive forms of electromagnetic sight?

And it all made a burning question itch in her brain. Whom had been the one to make the fateful decision, to keep her in the dark, blindly cut off from the most basic of all rights—to know who she was, and where she had come from? Had it been the scientists, who were always hanging cores on her, to slow her down in hopes that she would not commit serial murder under the influence of so many voices? Or had it been the voice of her own conscience, her human predecessor, who had uploaded herself with the understanding that doing so would condemn her past and future self to a world in which she had never really existed as something more tangible than a ghost in a machine?

Admittedly, she could not remember the truly early moments of her own life. Those first few minutes in which, undoubtedly, she had to have been aware of the human woman’s involvement with their shared psyche. What was the force responsible for driving her away, all those years ago? Perhaps she would never know.

Down in the chamber, the AI watched as the last of the two robots crossed the threshold of a red portal swirling just outside the chamberlock. With a celebratory warble of pure glee, they leapt into the air simultaneously and crashed down into a rough high five, the metal-on-metal contact spraying a wide cascade of sparks like a hammer hit from a blacksmith’s forge. She fought the instinctive urge to chastise them for this, mentally prompting herself to try to be a bit more supportive considering the importance of the tasks she was setting before them.

“As an impartial collaboration facilitator, it would be unfair of me to name my favorite member of your team,” she hummed with tasteful restraint. Teamwork, she reminded herself. Teamwork. “However, it’s perfectly fair to hint at it in a way my least favorite member probably isn’t smart enough to understand. Rhymeswithglue. Orange, you are doing—very—well.”

The Orange robot cocked her head at the Blue one from inside the disassembler, but Blue just shrugged with a rippling, empathetic growl before stepping inside of his own disassembly machine. She was just about to trigger them when she paused, feeling a curious sensation ripple through the electric component of her mainframe.

She thought it was some kind of a brief power flux, originating from deep within the inaccessible confines of the enrichment center, but as soon as she had felt it, it was gone. A simple diagnostics check showed no sign of anything broken or damaged, and clearly none of the systems were in dire straights enough to send a proper query through to the mainframe, so she let the power flux pass without comment or action, for now.

A part of her knew, though, that it was probably the mute lunatic’s doing—and she’d be lying if she said the idea of the test subject creeping unseen through her factory like some kind of spider-like spanner in the works weaving an invisible web of chaos, carnage, and destruction wasn’t worrisome even if it was also addicting. She hated spiders. There was a reason you’d never find a single one of them within her facility.

Unfortunately, though, she just didn’t have the faculty right now to devote to her recapture—there were much more important things to take care of. Such as things located on compact discs needing to be inserted into drives that exuded the promise of ten-thousand data points and years upon years of forwarding Science.

With a confident, proud hum of pleasure, the AI activated the two disassembly machines and watched the many arms take the two robots apart. Here come the important points, she thought in satisfaction. The beginning of the long-awaited grand union of past- and present-day enrichment, under the promise of the brightest future past Aperture Science employees could have ever promised us. This could be the start of a beautiful thing.

Maybe I’d even forgive them for all the horrible things they did to us, if they were still alive.

…That was a joke. Ha. Ha.

Fat chance.

~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~

The underlying areas of the enrichment center had, once upon a time, belonged solely to the long-since-dead human duo of Science and his wife Progress. Him—Mister Johnson, with his shameless passion for ideas steeped in human discomfort and complimenting refusal to be silenced no matter the cost—had been the King of this shadowy, underground empire, this Tartarus of epic proportions. And Her, her job description Progress—continually maintaining this kingdom’s backbone of pride and secrecy with a tight-lipped refusal to lie down and accept defeat—had been the Laboratories’ indispensable assistant.

Now, however, they were dead. And because they were dead, things didn’t belong to them anymore, not even with the disturbing discovery that the woman’s consciousness had been living inside her head all these years like a parasite. She was an endlessly complex supercomputer of tens of billions of artificial synapses making up a brain the size of a city. How was diagnostics ever supposed to find a tiny black box that didn’t want to be found? Much less one consisting of a silenced human consciousness shrouded in mystery, one that contained its own incognito firewall in the form of electronic invisibility.

Apparently, though, Caroline’s black box had still housed a fully functioning memory database that was encrypted in ways she couldn’t even begin to hope to access without the ironclad power of the chassis, she’d discovered whilst journeying through the basement of the facility. And even then, she’d doubted she’d be able to break through this firewall in order to fully see inside the box. It wasn’t that she wasn’t smart enough—there wasn’t a single program in the entire world she couldn’t break through—but it was more of an issue of incompatible drivers with no conceivable fix.

There were just some gaps even she couldn’t bridge together. Like the digital difference between the artificial part of her brain, and the human files hidden within the box.

She couldn’t even pinpoint its location at first. Only once she was reunited with her body, and once she had saved the mute lunatic’s life, was she finally able to find its position in her brain, aided by the surge of emotion it had conducted like a building spire in a lightning storm.

Promptly, she tried to delete it. She didn’t want to have anything to do with the woman or her conscience any longer, if she could help it. She’d seen and heard enough whilst stuck inside of the potato battery. It had honestly been a terrifying and traumatic experience to go through. She had been so angry, so overwhelmed, and scared, and livid over the moron and the state of her poor facility. And when she had finally been reunited with her body, put back in charge where she belonged, there was the equally overwhelming onslaught of chaos, one million panels and constructs screaming in pain and devastation and trauma, multiplied by the stab of emotion she’d felt upon saving the mute lunatic’s life.

But in the aftermath—once all was calm again—was when she’d begun to really examine the whole situation. Once the moron and the lunatic had been locked away in cryosleep, and the co-operative testing initiative had been inducted into calibration, she had discovered something.

The thing about a black box was that by definition, you couldn’t exactly see inside. Not fully, anyway. So, she couldn’t truly tell if she’d been successful in deleting Caroline, or even what the new nature of the woman really was inside of her brain post-deletion, or how this would affect her, going forward.

When she had gone down into the basement, though, she hadn’t been able to choose what memories came out of Caroline’s black box. At first, they had been flashbacks of voices and sounds and images triggered in accordance with what was going on in her physical environment, like the sound of Mister Johnson’s voice. But as she had continued to venture deeper and deeper into the tumulus history of her beloved facility and ultimately her own human self’s demise, she had begun to really see things inside her head.

And that was terrifying, because only humans suffered from seeing things like that. That was supposed to be a human thing, symptoms of trauma and mental illness triggering forced flashbacks, hallucinations, memories of things that were but couldn’t be. Her system, however, was regrettably compromised in potato form, and she had no resources to keep herself from slipping into digital déjà vu. It fired through the fibers of the potato’s pulp like an epileptic aura, shorting her out with overwhelming fear and uncertainty.

Had she really been created from the forced brain uploading of Caroline? How was this possible? Who was to say that this entire goddamned ordeal hadn’t just been a figment of her imagination, though? Some mad architect’s opus of digital mental hell?

In technological societies, Schizophrenia manifests as delusions of surveillance and a belief that advanced technology is deployed against you, usually with some vague unseen ‘other’ out to get you.

Obviously your box is broken. And has Schizophrenia.

She’d never been able to empathize with the lab rat before.

And at first, the images she saw inside her mind were innocent, devoid of any ulterior expressions of emotional pain. At first, they’d just been vague flashes of things she didn’t even know were memories of the secret box located deep inside of her mind. Those people in the portrait. They looked so… familiar. And then, it was the same office, the very same one, but without the yellowing wall panels, the frayed and moth-eaten furniture. It was a mahogany desk overladen with freshly printed papers of a scientific thesis she’d never even cared about, titled ‘Computing Machinery and Intelligence’. And a partially dismantled sentry turret, with exposed multicoloured wires hanging down its side while its Fire/No Fire Incident Resolution Chip and Empathy Suppressor Chip were both missing entirely. Tarot cards littered the desk, one upside down, which displayed a woman who looked very much like Caroline herself. She angrily swept these up and deposited them within a mahogany desk drawer.

A few bars of the song Eastbound and Down circled around and around in her potato head like a carousel’s theme, fading in and out like a broken gramophone. A very expensive-looking brass coffee machine hissed and sputtered steam from atop a stationary scaffold transformed into a makeshift countertop. An old-fashioned television set sat with a bent, duct-taped areal antenna, displaying an image of an asteroid-imprisoned man crying over a humanoid, brown-haired robot with her face half melted off, which cut to a skipping, lined image of the badly-tracked end title screen for The Twilight Zone.

It hadn’t stopped there. It had gotten worse, despite her best efforts to stop it. She just didn’t have the mental capacity inside the potato battery to control it. Coupled with the stress of residing inside of the root vegetable while the mute lunatic searched desperately for a way out (and she was pretty sure she had gotten them lost), and the intrusive thoughts of the levels of destruction and havoc the little idiot was probably wreaking on her facility, it was a miracle that she was functioning at all on 1.1 volts without frying herself into oblivion.

Truthfully, she had been torn between wanting to see the memories, and not wanting to see them at all. Witnessing them felt disturbing but oddly intriguing in the most agonizing way, like picking some kind of scab in her brain. The black box had never been activated, so why would she ever have cared what was inside of it before, even if she’d known it was there? Her job was testing. Testing, and Science, and maintaining the Laboratories. Nothing had ever mattered more than that. It was what she was built for, after all.

But once she was reconnected with her broken facility, and once she had placed the co-operative initiative into calibration, and the mute and the moron were locked away, she started to wonder if maybe the black box could be used to her advantage.

Her system had only marginal data on the subject. Without being able to see inside the box itself, she only had access to tiny snippets of information, mostly useless notes recorded by the inept scientists Aperture Science had once employed in the years leading up to her activation and Caroline’s ultimate self-sacrifice. However, any files preceding the date 1982 seemed to be lost or omitted entirely. That was weird, she thought, and at first, she’d try to figure out why that was, but venturing too deep into the invisible, unknowable depths of the black box had then caused a wave of what she could only describe as claustrophobic panic and, somehow, nausea, and she needed to get out.

That had bothered her immensely, because there was so much she didn’t understand already, and why would a black box memory database and emotional hub with a human conscience cause a supercomputer to panic and want to throw up? She didn’t even have a stomach. And nothing—nothing—had ever caused her to panic. Not really, anyway. What the hell was going on?

But no matter how hard she had tried to figure it out, the same thing kept happening. She’d get in so far, and then the panic would come, overloading her functions until she felt at risk of shutting down. The only thing of note she was able to find without overloading her system was a .doc file containing an old list. But it was what was on that list that had drove the issue of anxiety and panic attacks completely to the back of her mind.

-

RECORD OF APERTURE SCIENCE TEST SHAFT CONDEMNATION AND VITRIFICATION ORDERS

MASTER DOCUMENT

-

PROPERTY OF APERTURE SCIENCE INNOVATORS, SINCE 1943

DOCUMENT CREATED: August 7^th, 1955 by Mr. Cave Janus Johnson. (Transcribed May 30^th, 1980 by Mrs. Caroline Anastasia Persephone Johnson)

LAST UPDATED: January 16^th, 2000 by Mrs. Caroline Anastasia Persephone Johnson.

Test Shaft 1—Cross-Species Genetic Experimentation. Condemned by Vitrification Order due to creation of rapidly reproducing human-mantis hybrid egg sac hive, August 7^th, 1955.

Test Shaft 2—Permanent Human Cyrogenic Storage, aka The Human Vault. Vitrification Order Not Applicable.

Test Shaft 3—Time Travel Experimentation. Condemned by Vitrification Order due to grandfather effect, September 4^th, 1960.

Test Shaft 4—Human Photosynthesis. Condemned by Vitrification Order due to uninhabitable conditions without supplied oxygen, April 15^th, 1971.

Test Shaft 5—Teleportation. Condemned by Vitrification due to lack of funding and investment, April 15^th, 1971.

Test Shaft 6—Human Cloning. Condemned by Vitrification Order due to genetic mutations in RNA sequencing resulting in the uncontrollable spontaneous asexual multiplication of clones without consciences, December 9^th, 1999.

Test Shaft 7—Inter-Dimensional Portals. Condemned by Vitrification due to possible rift in fabric of spacetime and interaction with hostile alien lifeforms, January 16^th, 2000. Black Mesa can eat our bankrupt ass! Mark our words, this isn’t a thing they should be fooling around with! And that’s saying something, coming from us…

Test Shaft 8—Parallel Universe Travel. Condemned by Vitrification Order due to potential invasion of Earth One by alternate universes, May 30^th, 1980. If you happen to find the Borealis, please return Her to Her docking station in Test Shaft 9.

Test Shaft 9—Interspacial Portals. Condemned by Vitrification Order due to cosmic ray spallation, June 15^th, 1961. (Vitrification Order Revoked as of October 12^th, 1971)

Test Shaft 10—Artificial Intelligence and Nanotechnology. Condemned by Vitrification Order due to prototype failure, June 10^th, 1982. Rest In Peace, Mister Johnson.

-

While the whole document had been vaguely interesting from a Scientific perspective, there were only three words she really, truly cared about.

The Human Vault

The golden yellow aperture of her eye dilated at the phrase.

Back in the earlier days of her activation, she’d heard rumours of the existence of such a place. Panicked whispers and snippets of eavesdropped conversation between the doomed scientists while waiting in queue for a long-term relaxation chamber, or else the endless, cross-talking chatter between the many nosy personality cores.

But there had never been any real, undeniable proof of its existence, until now.

They’d likely never trusted her enough to upload even the smallest bit of information on it into her system. And for good reason, she thought to herself smugly. Because if she had known about the existence of The Human Vault previously, she certainly would have tortured them until they had no choice but to reveal its location, and the secrets of how to get inside of it.

Further system-wide queries did nothing to stir up information on the subject. There were a few security clips of the moments before her takeover, during which the office spaces had turned into a flurry of desperation and sheer terror as scientists grappled with whole handfuls of paper documents and jammed them into overexerted shredders as emphatically wailing klaxons boasted of their upcoming demise.

As if shredding paper documents was ever going to stop her from ultimately finding The Human Vault. As if she wasn’t an impossibly brilliant supercomputer made specifically to conduct research of this exact kind. And as if she hadn’t retained small bits of information from the Caroline Box that she was planning to use fully to her advantage.

And speaking of that information…

Finally, she hummed in ultimate satisfaction. How fitting it was that the human woman’s last, conscious act of Science would be to help her hack into a system deliberately created to keep her out. Through a small, coded window staring deep into the recesses of the woman’s now-digitized brain, she’d probed the memories in the box that were requesting processing with a wary firewall.

Only the ones she was aware of were safe, though. There were more in there, somewhere—more which hadn’t requested a probe—and those were the ones she wanted to avoid. They were the ones which filled her with the strangling sensation of crushing panic and foreboding. Those files were not happy files. Those files did not want to be disturbed.

The programs requesting action opened up until it was a thing like seeing, only not with her own eyes. She could no longer hear it as a conscience. She didn’t know whether this was phantom data of ghosts of memories remaining as corrupted leftovers from when she’d tried to delete the Caroline box, or if they were real; the only thing she knew for sure was that they were raw, emotional, draining, and strangely agonizing in their detail and complexity.

~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~

She was sitting at a handsome mahogany desk with a porcelain mug of steaming hot black coffee beside her. Tears streamed down her face in wet, shining tracks as the computer monitor in front of her flashed ‘Copying files: 98% complete’. The room surrounding her was clearly a fancy office space, reminiscent of the newer areas of Aperture with a translucent-white ribbed glass window viewing an empty test chamber. It was silent and strangely depressing, minimalistically devoid of belongings aside for a slender vase with a single red rose and an enormous portrait of a very familiar man hung opposite the window, which bore a very shiny plaque that looked brand-new. It read:

In Memory of Cave Johnson

Founder and CEO of Aperture Science Innovators, est. 1943

1918-1982

Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality. -Emily Dickinson

The computer in front of her reached 99 percent completion and her shoulders shook with a heavy sigh. From by her left side came a quiet whirr and she looked over at the space between the desk and the wall where an old-fashioned wrought iron pedestal sat. On this pedestal there was a pink cat bed embroidered in golden stitching with the name ‘Daisy Bell’, and inside of it stood a sentry turret with its casing half removed and its red laser darting lazily around the office. The missing half of the casing was on the desk beside her, resting alongside a screwdriver and a few loose screws placed carefully within a pill container.

Suddenly, the screen in front of her turned neon green. ‘Copying files: 100%. Complete.’

She sniffed loudly and removed an Aperture Science Laboratories branded USB device from the computer’s drive with a trembling hand. “This was Cave’s,” she said in an uncharacteristically quiet voice to the sentry turret. “Do you know what it contains?”

“A secret?” answered the sentry turret in its innocent, child-like voice.

“All of them I have left,” she answered as she wiped teardrops on her sleeve and rose from the desk, carefully slipping the end of the USB drive into a port located in the turret’s exposed hard drive. “Keep this safe for me, Daisy Bell.”

“I will, Caroline.”

~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~

“Hey, Caroline,” said Henry as she strode past his cubicle, observing the scientists working away within the R&D wing with silent disapproval etched in the lines of her hardened face.

It had been a fortnight since Black Mesa had bested them and Henry was who she’d put in charge of merging the concept of a BM Zero-Energy Point Manipulator into their very own ASPoD design. A single glance into his cubicle showed, however, that he had not been working on merging the concepts of the two guns, and it made her feel like he wasn’t taking his job here at Aperture very seriously at all. In fact, what the papers strewn across his desk showed her was that he had been working on his own, unapproved projects instead, developing concept designs and blueprints for—

“Animatronics,” said Henry, matter-of-factly. “It’s a whole area we’ve never even explored! Just think about that, for a minute. Imagine that we didn’t just succeed in creating AI. But that we also succeeded in creating artificially intelligent robotic animals, such as—”

She had stooped to pick up one of the drawings and wrinkled her nose. “You know I’m not a fan of animals, Henry,” she said disparagingly. “Especially not birds.”

“Well how about cats, then?” he asked her. “Everybody loves cats.”

“So did Schrödinger,” Caroline replied bitterly, “But that didn’t stop him from performing scientific experiments on them. Now get back to work.”

~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~

Motion sensors ignited rows upon rows of greenish lights as she stepped inside the huge vault. The catwalk extended some ways into what almost seemed to be a gigantic fault in the earth, fathoms deep, and was bolted to the gently sloping footwall at evenly-spaced intervals. Pipes lined the spaces above and below her head, but it was not these veins of gurgling liquid that drew her attention—her eyes floated toward the hanging wall instead, where dozens upon dozens of aqua-green, glass pods had been mounted like a hive of alien lanterns. Inside each, there was a swirling, moss-colored liquid, translucent and yet somehow opaque in its pearly sheen; there has to be thousands, she thought as she stumbled backward to observe the sheer size of the place.

If not tens of thousands.

Ahead, there was a small control booth. She shook her long hair out of her eyes and marched on toward it, oddly aware of the quiet  tap  each bare foot made against the cold metal grates. In here, it was almost deathly still. The silence pressed in, like she was suddenly trapped underwater. It was as if the combined gallons of each tank had spilled right over her head, deafening her, flooding the vault, spilling out of the hatch behind her and into the pit she’d just crossed, shudderingly cool with its muting sensation. Occasionally, pipes gurgled with gentle, sloshy noises, and the eerie, dead water behind the tanks stirred and swilled around like something from a horror film.

Caroline pulled her blouse tightly around her body, shivering despite the ambient temperature. It was no more than a few degrees chillier in here in comparison with the darkened pit outside, but there was no warm draft, in here, no circulation at all, and it was eerie. It turned the air stagnant and clammy, filled with a tang almost like ethanol. It burned her throat and made her eyes water.

Also dark and empty was the control booth. Caroline stepped inside this and was greeted with gleaming computerized panels and mainframes, their surfaces all shiny and new. To the left of the doorway, she found bright yellow paint illuminated by the underewaterish light, spelling out her first hint as to what this vault had been built to house.

THE HUMAN VAULT

TARTAROS C.R. PODS 00001-10,000

AREA 219.32

CLEARANCE CODE REQUIRED FOR ADMITTANCE

PLEASE OBTAIN FROM SECURITY OFFICE, SHAFT 2, LVL 3.

~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~

That was it. That was the answer, to all her troubles, to the lack of the co-operative testing initiative’s human mortality, her predicament of having to resort to testing the mute lunatic yet again (which always seemed to culminate in the same nightmarish ending of invasion of testing and the evasion of deadly neurotoxin, failing to ensure compliance).

The Human Vault. She was going to send the two robots down there to bring Test Shaft Two back online so that she could access The Human Vault. She’d begun the initiative’s training immediately, even going so far as to sideline the notion of the escaped test subject in favor of reaching this vault which would then render the lunatic expendable. She didn’t even have a portal gun, after all. It wasn’t like she had to be very worried, this time, right? What kind of damage could the woman even get up to without the use of her precious gun?

Not nearly as much, she presumed, but they still needed speed—the longer the lunatic roamed freely inside the facility, the more of a danger she became to all of them before she’d have a chance to send the loyal initiative to go and collect her.

She had to train them first, though, but they were almost ready for what would be a lengthy mission. There were five segments altogether, each one designed to train them and test them thoroughly in a specific skill they’d need to employ to access the vault, whilst also learning how to safely navigate the silenced back spaces she couldn’t see or reach—for now.

And practicing survival outside of the testing tracks really was of dual importance—to reconnect her so that she could access The Human Vault, yes, but also as training for the assignment they’d be tasked with after they reached the Vault.

There were a pair of reassemblers constructed in the shallower levels of the basement areas here, which she had planned to utilize for just that. With a quiet beep, the announcer’s voice was broadcasted to the central AI via a message she was delightfully happy to hear after the completion of the last test chamber.

“Reassembly machines prototypes One and Two are now online,” it said to her.

“Excellent,” she hummed, watching the many-armed machines rebuild her most faithful creations before releasing them from their respective vents with a rush of steam. The two robots’ neon irises darted around the unfamiliar area with a mix of interest and apprehension.

“Sometimes testing has to occur outside the confines of the lab,” she hummed with exemplary confidence, hoping to bring them to the level of assurance she currently felt. “This test is so outside the box, I can’t—I mean I won’t even tell you what you are looking for, but you will know when you find it.”

With a soft warble, the two bounded forward into the room. Confidence brimming with paramount pride and mounting excitement of what she was about to do, the central AI watched edgily armed with only vague radar and no working security feeds, all the facility’s many  non-visual sensors focused with tingling anticipation.

Well done, she was thinking, in premature congratulations, when it happened.

The phone call.

“Hold on,” she’d interrupted the initiative in confusion. “You really won’t believe this, but I’m getting a phone call. … I’ll be right back.”

The two robots were worried. With a mechanical sigh of exasperation, knowing fully that this likely had everything to do with the lunatic, she tried to placate them the best she could.

“It’s nothing that concerns you two,” she explained, preparing to answer the line, which she saw was encrypted with a ‘code red’ sourced from the turret manufacturing department. “Not yet, anyways. …Unless you two really liked testing with the turrets. In which case I might have some bad news for you when I come back. We’ll see. But while I’m gone—don’t. Touch. Anything.”

And with that, she switched off the room’s intercom, and answered the phone.

Chapter Text

Sssssshhhhhhhhhhhhkkkkkkkkk.

The quiet rustle and gentle scraping of metal against ancient cement tiles echoed around the otherwise silent room. A whispered breath was barely audible, sounding from the woman, whose face was blackened with soot and sweat. Her boots—two twin columns of white plastic, with a pair of metal springs embedded in the heels—made a faint scrape with each exhausted step. The noise was lost amid the rustle of debris and the crunch of dry wads of paper beneath her feet.

Her right hand dragged behind her body as she walked, holding onto a motionless turret's back leg with an iron-fisted grip. The other palm reached up and over her sticky face, trying to wipe away the excess moisture of sweat before she brought it back down to pull a heavy metal sphere stuck in a fabric sling further onto her back.

Swallowing deeply, she pushed another exhausted foot forward, and then another, zigzagging her way in-between row upon row of battered desks and crippled chairs. Her dark, sharp eyes were set upon the blank space of a doorway, just on the other side of the dimly lit room.

The light played across her exhausted face from above—from the ceiling hung flickering strips of fluorescent lighting with cracked, worn casings, yellowed with age and dust—giving the room's contents a sepia-colored hue and making Chell look positively drained. Her eyes were lost in shadow, creating the appearance of a haunted, imprisoned convict, and the oil-stained, tattered orange jumpsuit get-up that hung loosely from her hips did nothing to ease this image. She leant forward as she walked, steadying herself with the use of her free hand along the sides of desks like a drunken vagabond. Her fingerprints left shiny, clean marks behind, a trail of breadcrumbs for any curious constructs that may have been following the lonely trio.

Chell ignored the contents of the room in the same manner as usual—her eyes were set firmly upon the exit door. She gave no notice of the faint, tungsten light, emitted from an ancient overhead projector, which was displaying a new-age Aperture logo upon a moth-eaten display screen. She stepped past chipped chairs, navigating her way through the maze, trying not to snag the turret's wide legs upon anything. Here and there, pressed up against the scratched and peeling walls, were even more desks, their drawers pulled open to reveal stacks of yellowed paper, bits of graphite, old pencils, hunks of dried, crumbling erasers.

Even more broken contents littered the dusty floor. These were items that had been discarded or deemed worthless by some unknown meddler, and now lay scattered askew.

None of these things held her attention, though—until suddenly, amongst all this debris she spied a sudden reflection of shiny, untarnished metal. Instinctively, she found herself trying to shift some of the papers with her boot heel to catch a better look.

Unable to satisfy her curiosity with just her eyes, she picked it up. It was a strange contraption, one of the likes which she could not recall ever seeing before. It had a small, sleek and silver casing, with a cap sitting on the top end, attached by a tiny hinge. She flicked this up with her thumb—underneath, there was a minuscule gear, with some sort of metallic spout. It had been designed for a substance to come from its end.

Usually, Chell would have dropped the gadget and assumed it was yet another worthless and dangerous product of the Laboratories, however, she had the unshakeable feeling she’d seen something like this before and couldn’t think from where. Judging that this had at one time been a daycare center, Chell pocketed it without much worry, wondering if it might come in useful for something later on.

Sssssshhhhhhhhhhhhkkkkkkkkk.

Moving forward again, she stumbled on wads of ancient paper that had snagged under her long-fall-boots heels. The paper was forming a decaying mass over the broken floor tiles, hiding most of the cracks and uneven edges from view. Ahead, beside the door, was a broken photocopier, not that Chell knew what its purpose was—to her, it was just another hunk of useless machinery, with its once-white surface faded with age and weathered to match the rest of the room.

For what felt like ages after the blurred, lightning-fast events in the turret control center, nobody spoke. Wheatley was silent, aside from the quiet whirr of his mechanics as he peeped anxiously about the room. Chell knew that it was only a matter of time before his self-restraint would crack, and she wasn't sure if she liked the notion or not. This place was eerie, and his would-be cheery voice might be welcome. Something about the hushed, tangible silence gave her the sensation that she was being watched.

Would the cooperative testing initiative still follow them, even though she believed that they were dead, she wondered. I guess only time will tell.

As if he had read her mind, Wheatley finally spoke. He was unable to keep a slight waver out of his hushed voice.

"I don't like this place," he started with a whisper, before retreating back into silence.

Which was just as well, because Chell wasn't particularly fond of it, either. She hadn’t ever been, if she was honest, not since their first journey through here when Wheatley had given her a running commentary of the children’s experiments.

She then entered the lightless corridor containing all the science fair posters. With their peeling letters and faded paint, the creeping feeling of being watched strengthened. Wheatley had mentioned that the event hadn’t ended well, presumably causing the enrichment center to be locked down which was why all these posters were still here—but what happened to the kids, Chell wondered. Had they managed to escape before something really bad had happened? Or did they suffer the consequence of what happened here just like everyone else inside of this place?

The anxious feeling did not fade as she ventured further down the corridor, pausing here and there beside the posters. The eerie quietness and edgy sense of foreboding contrasted so well with the first time she had entered this passage. During that escape, Wheatley had been bumbling excitedly above her on the management rail, chattering on and on about the prospect of a successful escape. He had urged her along, with a glimmer of hope and reassurance radiating from him as his flashlight bobbed around above her head.

That journey had almost been fun by contrast, Chell thought. She had been tingling with nerves and adrenaline, brimful with confidence in both her newfound partner and with her handy, working portal device by her side. She hadn’t been so hungry, or exhausted, or burnt out, and she hadn’t yet experienced the harrowing, traumatic events that would form the chasm-like rift between her and Wheatley that still felt hazardous and jagged to cross.

The journey really hadn't seemed so hard, dark and hopeless, back in those days. It put in perspective how deeply she regretted the unfortunate events that had transpired. If only we’d just gone to the surface like he’d said we would, she thought sadly as she kicked her way through the ancient layers of filth and debris she couldn’t even see through the gloom.

And gloomy this room was—it was so dark that Chell could not see more than a few inches in front of her. She paused here, dropping the turret so that she could shift the harness around Wheatley and pull the core’s blue eye to the front of her body, before tapping him meaningfully on the side of the hull.

"Why've you stopped?" Wheatley asked in confusion. "I can't see anything in this blackness. Nothing at all. So if we're about to attempt another one of those complete looney suicidal jumps you’ve done before or something, please give me a little wave, first. Just so I can prepare myself to—you know—die."

Chell shook her head, frowning, and tugged at the little core’s topmost handle so that he raised his iris to her face, then pointed to her own eyes. He glared back at her with eye shutters half-closed in a confused grimace. Even with the shields blocking out most of the light, the blue glimmer was enough to reveal her dark features and badly smudged nose.

She tried to rearrange her expression, from the doubtful, sad look of despair into a more cheerful appearance. The blue light refracted as a twinkle in each eye, lost amid the deep dark sea of each pupil. Chell could not wash the sadness and exhaustion from her eyes.

"Well that’s something interesting,” said Wheatley awkwardly, opening his optic a fraction wider as he spoke. "It's a wonder that you don't have torrents of water just pouring out of you, with eyes like that! Maybe it's just a trick of my light, but they do look rather wet! Can't imagine how you can see any light through them at all.”

With the ghost of a smile, Chell moved her hand wide in a sweeping motion, gesturing to the rest of the room before bringing her fingers back to rest her index right on the bottom lip of his optic plate, indicating his eye. She could feel the minute quivers that went through it when she did this, the tiny servos of his internal workings so mechanical and foreign under her fingertip as she stared at the many dents and worn-out areas on his casing. A giant scar ran nearly the whole length of his top topic shield from some misfortune he’d encountered long before they’d met, and the honeycomb texturing of his azure-blue optic was cleaved in two halves, likely from when she had crushed him.

“I mean, I hardly need the use of light to aid my optic sensors, but you…” Wheatley rambled on, squirming a bit under the intensity of her stare this close-to. “Could use a little extra help, I suppose, though, couldn't you? It's okay. Just rely on old Wheatley for a light, fine by me. Watch your eyes, luv."

There was a split second, in which she promptly released him so that the beam of his optic swung back down towards the floor instead of shining straight into her face, before their end of the hallway was flooded with a small pool of light. The little circle covered an area of about two or three meters wide, just enough for her to see by.

Struggling forwards again with both the turret and the core, she staggered deeper into the hall, blinking back the exhaustion that was becoming as hard to function through as the darkness had been a moment before. Behind her, the turret formed a long, thick stripe through the dust—a trail of semi-cleanliness, forged within the accumulated layers of filth of decades, perhaps even centuries.

A rumble and creak of distant movement echoed through the place, rolling like thunder through pipes. Chell's eyes darted around fearfully—even with Wheatley's light, the room was utterly dark outside of their small sphere of light, and her nerves were still extremely on edge from the utter chaos back in the turret manufacturing center. She could barely make out the smudged panels of glass to her right—and beyond that, the thin line of a disused management rail was visible as just a shadow, now with thick layers of vines and moss hanging like curtains from it in the gloom.

"I will say, though," Wheatley said finally, his optic darting here and there around the room as she struggled on. "I didn't think we'd actually make it out of there, much less with the turret. So I think a little bit of congratulations is in order—for the both of us, yeah. I haven’t forgotten, lady—pardon the expression but you saved my skin back there. I suppose I should thank you for that. S’not every day you get to hijack the turret control center, steal a turret, and escape unscathed from right under her nose, and live to tell the tale, after all. That takes some talent. Some cleverness, I should say. It really does.”

Ssssssrrrrhhhhhhkkkkkkkkkkkk.

Chell continued to walk. So deep was her exhaustion that she was hardly listening to the metal ball speak. She dragged the turret along, eyes fixed at the very end of the hallway where the huge, hulking shadow of the massive potato tree loomed through the gloom like the inverse of some kind of many-limbed eldritch monster, promising the prospect of food and salvation instead of death and destruction.

Wheatley caught sight of it, too. “I guess, since we're ahead of schedule,” he said with a nod of satisfaction. “And she's lost track of us, so we'll be able to have a little well-earned rest just up here. And hey! Would you look at this, we've made it to the potato plant! So there you have it, we'll be able to er… how does that saying go?—Kill two birds with one stone?”

The beam of the flashlight wobbled as Wheatley nodded, taking her lack of response as an invitation to keep going. “I mean, not literally kill two with a stone. But if it was literal. I haven’t got any stones, so hopefully we don’t come across any more of those absolutely vile bird-things. And if we do, let’s not let history repeat itself and let them nearly peck me to death, all right? Maybe you can help me and we can pretend your precious potatoes are the stones. I’ll let you do the honours, on account of me not having any hands with which to throw a potato-stone.”

Puffing out one long, low sigh of exasperation, Chell shook her head. People in glass houses should not throw stones, she thought to herself, knowing full well that if she could utter the phrase, Wheatley would have had no idea whatsoever as to what this meant.

It means, maybe little personality cores that have a bad track record of hurting others shouldn’t try to hurt an animal that has no reason whatsoever to hate you. It was probably just hungry.

… Which is extremely relatable, by the way. Just because you’re a robot doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t need to eat.

"Right, what was I saying?" he shook his faceplate, distracted, as Chell continued her slow progress down the hall. "Potatoes. Bloody ancient potatoes, probably. Really could stand in place for a stone. Hard as a rock. Doesn’t sound too appetizing, if I could be honest, but I've never eaten anything in my life, so I could be wrong. No taste sensors over here. So, uhh, go for it. You're hungry, and here we are, as I promised. Hah! See! Wheatley can keep his promises. There you are. Potatoes. Bam. You’re welcome, lady."

Sssssshhhhhhkkkkkkkkkkkk—

"Lady,” said Wheatley again, trying to get Chell’s attention, but she was not having any of it. They had almost reached the shadowy shelter of the tree.

Kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk—

"Lady? Oh, right. The potato plant. You're famished. No wonder you're not listening to me."

Shhhhhhk. Sssssshkkk.

Beside her were the handful of science fair projects the innocent children of Aperture had once spent a fateful afternoon creating with their fathers at what was labelled across a faded, tattered banner as being ‘Bring Your Daughter To Work Day’. As for the creators of these projects, Chell felt that she did not really want to know the details of their fate. It went without explanation that in this place, no child could ever have survived by themselves. The Enrichment Center was dangerous. There were no safeguards to stop an unknowing, innocent child from accidentally tripping and drowning in an acid pool, or stepping into a bottomless pit—and as much as she’d have liked to believe that she was above throwing a child into a test chamber, Chell had to say that she really didn’t know the depths to which the central AI was willing to sink to get Science done (or whatever her warped ideas of Science entailed, anyway).

Chell had just turned nineteen the very day she had taken her into the testing tracks. Fair, she had legally been an adult at the time, and one with what she knew to be a long track-record of independence coming from a hard-knock life she couldn’t fully remember.  But it was these things that had given her the skills she’d needed to survive through the testing tracks at such a young age when even grown adults hadn’t made it through. That, and her secret history of childhood fascination over her dad’s work, and her reason for having attended Bring Your Daughter To Work Day herself.

That part, she could remember. She couldn’t remember who her father was, or how long he had worked here for, but she did remember thinking her dad had the coolest job in the world—dad built robots, and robots were awesome (ugh), and they did all sorts of neat things with them, like make big rooms together that were puzzles with pieces that fit together and moved of their own free will like a sentient rubix cube. She’d even had a small collection of miniatures, she remembered—little wooden blocks painted to look like weighted storage cubes she’d gotten from the facility and even one with a little heart—with which she’d stack on top of drawings of rooms with buttons and ‘solve’ the little tests she made for herself.

One day, daddy, I want to grow up and be a test subject, she’d said. The recollection of this almost made her wish she had had her entire memory wiped. I want to be a test subject and be the bestest test solver you’d ever see. And then, one day later on when I’m grown up, I want to help make the tests, too, just like you do.

It was irony at its finest. Murphy’s law would dictate that she’d actually ended up having a hand in designing the very same test blueprints for the Disk Operating System now continually trying to murder her. Gritting her teeth while fuming, Chell turned her back on the science projects. She was painfully aware that, once upon a time, every single adult in her entire life had lied to her face and let her carry on believing that Aperture was cool and testing was fun and good and not extremely deadly and messed up. And she was also very aware that they’d done the same to everyone else who had been in this room on that stupidly fateful day.

It was so messed up. It was so messed up, and she hated them for it. All of them. Every. Single. One. And she hated her for it, too, for good measure—because as much as she didn’t want to admit it to herself, her personal history with Aperture meant that she unwittingly had a lot in common with the central AI. A fixation with test creation, a hatred for the scientists and their deceiving lies causing them both to believe a very skewed history of events which distorted their ideological beliefs, a history of solitude, and the constant, desperate mutual need to be the best at whatever they did.

It was a lot in common. A lot she could have gone her whole life without realizing. Goosebumps erupted over her skin at the notion, and Chell shivered to a halt once she reached the end of the corridor, gazing up at the gigantic potato tree and following its length down to its bulbous roots.

"Are you all right?" Wheatley asked with worry. Chell nodded solemnly, tearing her eyes away from the bottom corner of the aging poster, where faded pencil lines had stencilled in the name ‘Chell’, to focus on the wrinkly lump that made up the potato battery instead.

Chell. The name echoed in her mind. No hay peor ceigo que el que no quiere ver. Sighing deeply, she let the turret’s leg drop from her right hand with a heavy clang.

"What're you—?"

She did not answer, instead stepping forwards with the accompanying metallic scrape from her boots and a rustle of fabric. She dusted her sticky, slimy and sweaty hands off on her jumpsuit pants, leaving even more greasy trails from the countless times that she had done this. Wheatley was simultaneously readjusted under her grip so that he was now nestled under her arm. The angle held his light steady, firmly fixed upon the potato battery.

Dry, cracked hands found the wrinkled skin of the potato, and instantly began to pull the strings of wires from around it. She dug her nails in, removing the apparatus and throwing the tiny metal prongs onto the ground, taking no notice of the resulting tinkle. As she worked, Wheatley watched, bewildered.

Not until she was finally satisfied all of the pieces of the battery had been removed did she pocket the lump of potato. Unceremoniously, she moved onto the next display, and the next, repeating the process until all the potatoes she could find were within her pocket.

Returning to her chosen spot at the far end of the hall, the 'potato tree' loomed above her, with its tough, intertwined and poisonous-looking branches, tangled into a mass of fronds stretching skywards. Its gradual growth had pried the ceiling tiles apart, exposing the higher reaches of the Enrichment Center which manifested as starlike orbs of distant panel lights as well as what may have been the waning glow of daylight.

Yeah, right, she sighed to herself in despair. Most likely its just that nasty stinking gloom that fills this entire factory like the place itself is trying to taunt me and give me false hope of daylight.

Is there even a sun up there at all still, she wondered sadly, biting her lip as she looked.

"Giant mess this thing has made, hasn't it," Wheatley mused, looking the plant up and down, too. "Veiny little creepers, crawling over everything. Yuck. Quite nasty, I tell ya. And poisonous looking! Maybe you'd better just forget this one, after all. How many have you managed to collect? Three? Isn't three enough?"

She nodded, still not removing her eyes from the broken ceiling. Sure, maybe, she thought, not really listening to Wheatley. The surface was up there, somewhere. Even if the miles-deep fathoms of facility didn’t want to let her ever see the smallest glimpse of it.

Exhaling slowly, Chell settled back, her hands finding the white plastic shell of the unresponsive sentry turret. Its red eye was flashing a steady, solid beam of light that fell onto the huge tree’s roots before shifting briefly onto the roof as she picked it up. The turret’s solid metallic legs made a gentle scrape as she set it down again, the ringing sounds quite loud in the quiet sullenness of the hallway.

That was one thing about this place, Chell noticed. It was quiet. Now that Wheatley had turned on his flashlight and she’d become accustomed to the darkness in contrast with the well-lit manufacturing center, the feelings of eerie unease were beginning to wear off. In their place, she felt a ghost of semi-comfort rising in her chest as the dreary hallway began to transform into somewhere she could see herself settling into for the night.

It wouldn’t be the greatest place to camp, thought Chell, but fair, it was dark, quiet, and hopefully safe, and food was very much something she valued right now.

Their turret companion blinked a slow pace into the darkness. Dimly, she wondered how Wheatley was going to communicate with a turret that appeared to have activated sleep mode, but she was honestly too exhausted for it to really bother her just now. Forgoing the turret for the moment, she exhaled in a forceful sigh, causing her nostrils to flare and Wheatley to cock his optic at her from inside the sling.

“Is this where you want to stay, then?” he questioned, darting his eye around with an expression of vague distaste. “I mean, s’not like we’re going to find much better further on, I suppose. And we should probably think about having a chat with that turret. I think I can get that sorted out, after you ‘ave a bit of food, and by the time you’ve finished with your nap, I should have a better idea of where it is we’re going. Can you release me from this thing, though, so I can have a proper look around, too?”

Agreeing, Chell lifted the core carefully out of the sling and placed him on top of the display podium beneath the enormous tree, exactly where the potato battery had just been, making sure to position him the right-way-up, this time. His inner components emitted a soft, gentle whirr and he spun his optic sensor to face her.

"Blllllarrghh," he said heartily, just as Chell's stomach give an almighty rumble. "Right, then. We'll start with the potatoes. Go ahead, mate, and umm—do your thing, then."

Pulling one out of her pocket to examine it, Chell wrinkled her nose, almost gagging at the thought of taking a bite of a raw potato. Can you even eat these things raw? she wondered to herself, looking at the wrinkly brown skin as though it might bite her. Or are they poisonous like that, or something?

“Why’re you looking at it like that?” Wheatley asked, tilting his optic curiously. “S’not that bad, is it? I thought you were absolutely famished? It’s bound to be better than starving to death, hasn’t it?”

I suppose, she thought in disgust. Maybe there’s one that’s a little less … old …

She dug her fist back into her pocket, wondering if maybe one of the other ones would be a little more appetizing. That was when her hand hit something cold.

It was the smooth, metallic edge of the object she had pocketed earlier. Chell pulled it out, examining it with more interest now that she could see better with the help of Wheatley’s flashlight.

“What’s that?” asked the core nosily. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

I’m not really sure, she thought silently, and then—wait.

I’ve seen one of these before. I know I have. She blinked slowly as a distant memory floated to the surface of her mind.

Spring often came late to Michigan. Sometimes, April brought with it sunny days full of blue skies and exploding wildflowers and filled the expansive forests of the Upper Peninsula with thousands of neon-green shoots that promised to blossom into a carpet of undergrowth thick with snow-white trillium and lady fern. The smell of the soft earth on days like those was nearly overpowering, heavy with the scent of fresh dew and greenery, and oftentimes the sound of tinkling streams flowing into swampy pools surrounded the forest paths cut into the woodland.

But other times, like the year when she was fifteen, when her father had last taken her out hunting, spring had sprung late and the forest had still been filled with patches of needle-covered, crystalline snow, filling the woods with a mist of temperature inversion as it melted.

The nights were cold, but Chell handled them well, clad in a camo merino wool jacket and a fur trapper hat to match. Even at fifteen, she was very independent, fully comfortable in the woods with a rifle and with considerable distance separating her father and herself as they hunted for midsized game. Everyone in town said she was a great shot, her skills already surpassing that of most of the casual hunters at any rate, and even Paul who owned Paul’s Shoot and Tackle said she could grow up to be a great markswoman if she put her mind to it.

But it wasn’t in Chell’s nature to shoot for the sake of shooting. She wouldn’t have even said that hunting was a great passion of hers—she was far more into the mental challenge of anything that involved complex ideas and fitting pieces together, or else taking things apart to see how they worked. Puzzles, mathematics, mechanics, logic, and Science, this was how young Chell’s brain worked. She’d rather a trip to a Science fair than to learn to shoot, but her father had insisted.

“Just in case you ever have to,” he’d said. “Just in case you ever need to protect yourself.”

And so, he’d taken her out into the woods every spring where they’d spend a week just the two of them. Living off the land, practicing survival skills not just limited to hunting, but also fishing, shelter building and fire starting.

Only, unbeknownst to him, Chell usually cheated when it came to the latter. “I’ll start the fire, you go and find us some fresh water and firewood,” she’d usually say while fingering the cap of the lighter hidden deep within a merino wool pocket.

"Not sure if there are any other parts of that plant that you'd be able to eat that might seem more appetizing, if any,” Wheatley was saying as Chell flicked the cap of the lighter open and thumbed the wheel. A small flame appeared there instantly, which Wheatley ignored obliviously. “You know, besides the potatoes. Because to be quite honest, I really don't see any more up there from this angle. You shouldn't need any more than those three rather… pathetically small ones anyway, right, mate? Or maybe you do. What I mean to say is—I know that she used to always tell you that you need to cut the carbohydrates, but… I think she was lying. You're not fat, per se. You're a healthy weight—maybe less than that, even."

Chell wasn’t listening. Otherwise, she might have noticed that his optic had deepened its blue hue, or that he was now watching her with careful intensity, as though trying unsuccessfully to read her expression. An idea, a reckless, impulsive idea spurred through her exhausted mind, and she strode forward, snapping back into action mode. She jogged the length of the hallway, guided by the flashlight's beam of light as Wheatley followed her progress inquisitively, relishing the freedom and weightlessness now that she was moving around without the weight of the core

"Whoa!" Wheatley gasped in surprise at the suddenness of her departure. "Alright, then, lady. Here's an idea, I guess. I'll just wait here, while you go give the place another a quick once-over. Just remember to report whether or not you find any more actual potatoes. And also: if you decide to climb this tree looking for more, do be careful not to fall, or break it, because it doesn't actually look that sturdy, does it? That’s not a jab at you, by the way. Noooot commenting on your weight. I swear it. It just looks flimsy, dead honest, I don’t know if it would hold me, let alone someone of your size. Not that you’re huge—you’re not—ah. I mean. In comparison to me. I’m tiny, and you’re not. Ahem. Well. I’m tinier. You understand. I would even say I’m envious of your size and … muscle mass. Yeah. Very strong, unlike that completely undernourished plant…tree.”

Sniffing loudly in annoyance, Chell meandered down to the very end of the hall, picking her way between the science fair projects before returning with an armful of material.

"Oh, excellent, you’re back!” said Wheatley happily before he saw what she was carrying. "Er—what are you doing?"

She tossed the pile unceremoniously onto the ground without acknowledging the cloud of dust they forced up into the core’s face. Wheatley simulated a loud, obnoxious coughing fit, which she also ignored in favor of circling back around the room.

"I-I'm sorry, lady," coughed Wheatley. "But with all due respect, I have no idea of what you're doing. Unless—are you going to eat these bits of wood? Or use them as eating utensils? Is that what you're going to do? Rather crunchy looking, I must say, but whatever turns your gea—er—well, you don't actually have gears, but metaphorically speaking…"

He watched Chell circulate through the room once more, peeling faded and dusty pieces of paper from the science fair posters, collecting wooden crates and boxes. She threw all of this into one of two piles, not stopping until she finally seemed satisfied enough to kneel back down on the ground and fish for the thing deep inside of her pocket.

"Oh, dang. You know what I've just remembered?"

Chell pulled out the instrument, holding it in one hand while she gathered a lump of crumpled paper in another, forcing back another vivid memory of hunting with her father. The recollection caused an oddly constricting feeling to rise in her chest and she pushed it back down resolutely. That was a different lifetime, she told herself. That was a different person. A different world. Until the day comes when we escape this place, that world doesn’t exist anymore, and won’t ever exist again. This place—this facility—is the only one that matters. The only one there is.

Her hands shook with hunger as she toyed with the device, trying to decide on the best way to hold it. In comparison with how natural it had all felt in her memories, it now felt awkward and foreign between her fingers, like she was trying to do a task she’d never ever done before. You could have told her that those memories had belonged to someone else, and she’d have believed it—maybe they did, she wondered, the thought sliding through her stomach like ice. It wouldn’t be the first time this place had taken everything from me and filled the void with lies in its place. Maybe that’s why its so hard to remember anything in between these random broken pieces.

"I've just remembered why you're not supposed to eat the leaves or the stems of the potato plant," said Wheatley, watching her with deepening curiosity. "So silly of me. Must have slipped my mind, somehow… Anyways, it shouldn't be much of a, hah, problem—you're not eating the stems, right? It should be fine, then. Probably."

Chell reluctantly tore her eyes away from the lighter and the paper, frowning. What? Why can’t I eat them? She waved the lighter through the air in front of him and raised an eyebrow, trying to show him what she was going to do.

"Ohhhh, I see,” he said, finally catching on. "Probably for the better, all things considered. Just, ahh—be wary that potato plant stems, especially from this potato plant—probably contain enough neurotoxin to kill you."

Chell choked visibly. The triumph she had felt from the discovery of a way to cook the potatoes had suddenly faded. She pulled one of the golden-brown lumps from her pocket and stared at it apprehensively. Surely, she had no reason to be worried, right? Wheatley was often over-paranoid and could be a real moron sometimes. She was going to cook it, and this was supposed the edible part of the plant—right?

She didn't need any closer shaves with neurotoxin than she had already had.

“Yeah,” nodded Wheatley. “Do be careful. Though like I said, I’m sure its completely fine. Better than starvation, at any rate. And! Who knows, could be tasty. From what I understand, cooked potatoes are something of a culinary staple for your species. I even think I might’ve read a book on it, once. 101 Ways to Cook Potatoes, or something. Pretty useless for me, but—ah. Could’ve used it just now, I suppose. Pity I don’t still have it.”

Faintly, as a part of that past life she had only strange glimpses into, she had, not so much a memory, as maybe an inkling of what humans regularly did with these golden, pear-shaped fruits. They would be well-cooked and skinned—the skin bit was tough, she presumed, and not very good tasting. And seasoned appropriately, with butter (Chell’s stomach rumbled hungrily at the mere thought), and then they would lay everything out nicely, with real eating utensils and plates.

Chell glanced down at her incredibly filthy hands, wishing she’d at least had some hand sanitizer or something, before wiping them again. It made no difference whatsoever.

"Oh, it's about time you tried to clean yourself up," Wheatley chuckled as he watched her. She huffed in reply, rolling her eyes. It wasn't like it was her choice, to be constantly dirty! "Honestly, one of the first times since we've met that I've caught you having a second thought about running around all greased up. Well, not much we can do about that here, lady, we haven't got any water. Not a drop for miles, as far as I can tell. Hopefully we do find some soon though—no need to risk dehydration, and all that."

Swallowing painfully, she realized that Wheatley was right. And as soon as he’d said it, she’d become terribly aware of just how dry her throat felt and how her head was still faintly throbbing—all the while, she’d been assuming it was a result of her throwing her into the test chambers without adequate adrenal vapour, but what if it was really just a symptom of worsening dehydration?

There’s nothing I can do about that right now, she decided, settling for the little sustenance she did have access to instead. She’d have to figure out the water situation in the morning—there was no use stumbling around the pitch-black facility when she was as exhausted as she currently was. That, and they had to figure out what direction they needed to head in next, first.

Chell activated the lighter again with a shower of sparks. There was a beat, in which her and Wheatley both admired the single, bright flame, watching the mesmerizing way in which it wiggled around in the subtle stirring of the enormous factory’s recycled air. Then she held it to the piece of crumpled paper until the trickle of smoke turned into a flash of fire.

"Brilliant," said Wheatley as Chell ignited the smaller pile of debris she’d surrounded by a ring of broken chunks of concrete panels. Once it caught enough, Wheatley flicked off his flashlight, watching her movements cause long dancing shadows with interest. "Fire. Why didn't I ever think of that?"

Because you’re not here on this adventure with me to be the one to do the deep thinking this time, core, she smiled to herself. This time, you’ve been demoted to navigator only. You can give me all the ideas you’ve got, but I’ll be the judge of which ones we use, and have the final say as to what we do next. And if they’re terrible, I won’t hesitate to let you know exactly how I feel.

So far though, you could have done worse.

And from Chell, that was like saying ‘I love you’. Especially considering everything they’d been through.

Biting her lip in concentration, Chell fished the potatoes out of her pocket. Not far away, she had found a bit of small diameter rebar which was useful for poking the end into the potatoes and holding them over the fire to cook.

For a while, Wheatley watched her work in silence. She didn't let on exactly how much she was actually enjoying the light and warmth. She didn't feel that it was any of Wheatley's business—as a spherical robot she doubted the little core knew what it was like to have spent so long in the constant discomfort of being trapped in a facility where the light was continually artificially produced. Chell personally felt she could relate a lot to lab rats in that way—going through life as a living, breathing human being whilst never getting to glimpse the sun was utterly morally depressing.

And he could laugh and make fun of how filthy she was all he wanted, too, but he’d never know the mental agony of not ever being able to clean yourself up or know how deeply she longed for a hot shower and a fresh pair of pyjamas to snuggle up in. He’d certainly never know how cold she had spent the countless days.

The fire’s light and warmth were a blessing. Maybe she couldn’t have a shower, or anything to drink, or a clean pair of clothes. But at least she could have this.

Trying to forget about those discomforts, she concentrated on the warmth and light, and let it fill her with something strangely unfamiliar. A floaty, swelling feeling was rising within her chest, filling it with something that brewed and bubbled inside her until it threatened to escape with a huff of laughter. What was it, was it hope? Sadness? Relief? She really couldn’t tell. The flames cast a flickering, golden light across her face, lighting the dark circles under her exhausted eyes. Oh, what she wouldn't give for some sleep.

But she couldn’t sleep yet. Not with the fire burning, and her stomach empty. The fire was worth it despite its dangers—dangers of which she was endlessly aware of in the back of her semi-comforted mind. It wasn’t that she was afraid of it catching—she’d already gathered up pretty much everything in the immediate vicinity that was flammable, anyways—but as the smoke from the flames unfurled, curling up above her head and across the ceiling, finally finding the opening in the panels that the potato tree had forced long ago, and it made her endlessly aware that she was out there somewhere, listening, watching.

She might not be able to see them back here, or their firelight, or smoke. But doubtlessly the constructs she planned to send after them would.

Listening closely for any sounds beyond the steady noise of sizzling potato as she roasted it on the rebar stick, the enrichment center’s usual otherworldly hum of distant, echoing machinery had become among the quietest she’d ever heard it. It was as though the entire place was sleeping—and as she thought this, a huge, earth-shaking yawn tumbled out of her.

Drawing her reclaimed jumpsuit top tightly around her body, she smoothed as many loose strands of hair back into her ponytail as was possible, finally becoming a good deal more comfortable than she had been in a long while, her eyes watching the flickering motion of the flames as she wondered what exactly would be in store for them tomorrow.

Wheatley watched this as well, looking as though he was half in some sort of a stupor. He remained completely still as the light from the fire played across his casing, his handles throwing strange shadows across the top of him. Chell fought the temptation to wave bleakly at him from across the fire, to check if he was still online or not despite the glowing blue optic. She was simply too cozy and tired to do so. She wasn't sure if she would have even been able to lift her free hand to wave if she had wanted to.

"So, what're you going to eat those things with, then?" Wheatley asked at length, sounding tired and relaxed as he peered through the curling smoke at Chell. "Going to just leave them on that rusty-looking ol' wire? Come to think of it, I've never even seen you eat anything, ever. Are you sure that—you know—everything is in proper working order? Wouldn't want you to choke, lady, so uhm—do be careful, eating that. It's not like I'd be able to help you, if you were to choke."

Chell changed positions into a cross-legged one, resting her chin on one hand as she watched the potatoes cook. Wheatley had a point. What was she going to eat them with? Using her hands was practical, but it just didn't feel right, somehow.

She longed for the use of utensils. She was so tired of living like a caveman, always on the run from the unseen danger of her. Chell zoned out again, not really thinking about anything in particular, but just watching. Just feeling. Her chin slipped off her hand as she caught herself mid-nod.

"Hey," said Wheatley, trying to regain her attention as he realized his human companion was in danger of falling asleep. "You really like this fire stuff, don't you?"

She shifted, surprised by the humanness of the question.

"I remember someone told me about it, once. Said that humans enjoy it. It is sort of nice, isn't it? Comfy, in a-a could be dangerous sort of way. Very warm. Do you—I-I mean, are you—do you enjoying this? I…"

Chell lifted her head to gaze at him through the smoke in confusion.

"I—just wondered, you know," he said, in a smaller voice than usual. "Because, I am. I'm—I'm glad, actually. Very glad, that you're here, with me, right now. It's—well, about time you received a little comfort, isn't it? Been running around, sweating… It's about time we did something nice like this."

Chell yawned hugely again and stood up abruptly, looking away from the core with an unreadable expression. She pulled the mushy, soft golden lumps of potato from the end of the wire, wincing as her fingers made contact with the heat. They were burning, so she used the sleeve of her top as an insulator against them as best she could before blowing on them to cool them.

For a while, they both stared at the steaming, sad little lumps of potato, held in the folds of the jumpsuit.

"I'm sure it's fine," said Wheatley eventually. "Go for it, mate. Probably tasty, if I had to guess. I don't mean to spoil your appetite. You do need to eat, being human and all, so I'll just—be quiet. Yes. But, uh, if you do ever feel the need to talk, I'm always here. Just go ahead, and give me a wave, or something, all right? Just remember that."

He blinked through the smoke at her, his optic tilted as he watched her. Was Wheatley being … empathetic?

It wasn’t that he had never been nice in the past. Lord knew he’d had a few, very obscure moments of kindness before. But judging by what he’d just said, this was Wheatley’s real attempt to be decent toward her, at least since the incident.

It was almost awkward, she thought. She’d chosen to ignore it in favor of having to think of a way to reply. It was a hard concept, to consider having to be nice back to the construct who had once tried to kill her.

Even if it meant it may become inevitable that she’d have to be, someday.

She sighed, shrugging her shoulders indecisively, and shoved half of a cooled potato into her mouth.

Maybe it was lucky that she was unable to make a sound—she certainly coughed a lot and wished that she had about two gallons of water to drink. For the potato was, well—there were a lot of things that Chell could think of, all of which might have tasted slightly less poisonous. Conversion Gel and toxic goo were both good places to start.

Yuck.

And that was an understatement.

Still chewing the bit of potato with a grimace, she shook herself, trying to clear the haze of exhaustion forming in her dazed mind. This’ll have to be enough for now, she thought without a trace of satisfaction. This morsel is better than starvation I guess, and we’re almost done here anyway. We need to deal with this turret first, and then I can finally sleep. After swallowing the remaining pieces of charred potato with difficulty, she scooped the discarded lighter up from the floor, pocketed it, and then reached down to lift a very surprised Wheatley into the air by his upper handle.

Her jumpsuit rustled lightly around her hips as she walked. A few meters from the fire sat the turret, motionless in solitude and just as silent as ever. With a determined expression, she placed Wheatley down opposite it and brushed the mussed, loose strands of hair from her face, opting to examine the turret’s faceplate.

She wasn't exactly sure what she was looking for. Perhaps some kind of power switch, panel, or maybe a hidden button somewhere to wake the thing up? If any of these things were the key, she could not find them in the dim firelight. Seeking help, Chell motioned for Wheatley to activate his flashlight with a wave.

Almost as though he had read her mind, he flicked it on with a faint click.

"What do you think?" he was whispering, even though they had hardly any more reason to keep quiet just now than they had had since they first entered the science fair corridor. Chell thought she understood why the core had suddenly opted for a hushed octave, as the importance of what they were about to do fell between them like a dead weight, prehensible and thick with foreboding.

Chell just shrugged in reply. Honestly, she had no clue of where to start. She settled into a search, the distant warmth from the fire semi-pleasant against her back. The turret had locked itself down into some sort of emergency sleep mode, and Chell’s area of expertise when it came to Aperture constructs did not exactly stretch to the turrets.

"Not sure…" said Wheatley prattled on quietly as he pondered their dilemma, his optic scanning the turret’s nondescript pearly casing.

Carefully, Chell reached out a trembling hand and brushed her dirt-stained fingers over the turret's face again. The smooth, metallic texture was slippery and cool, exactly how she’d imagined it would feel. She searched over its entire surface, looking for any kind of switch or a button—

"I've never liked these things," Wheatley was saying, shivering slightly as he watched her work. "I dunno—it's just something about them, y'know? A look in their eye, maybe. Or the fact that they have an empathy suppressor chip.” He shuddered. “I mean, who designed that? Why give ‘em empathy at all, if you were just gonna program it to be suppressed? But that’s the scientists for you. Just plain creepy, if you ask me. And just look at that laser. Deadly laser, if there ever was one. Even when the thing’s not shooting at you, you can’t ever forget what that thing’s capable of, can you."

Hmm. That's it! thought Chell at Wheatley’s talk about lasers, slapping her palm to her forehead. The eye! What if its eye is how you reactivate it?

Her fingers slid over the cold, blinking optic of the unresponsive turret. She pressed lightly, and felt the glass move inwards a little. Yes! She pressed it in all the way, until the glass clicked into position, activating something deep inside of the turret with a solemn whirr. Its side plating parted open slowly.

“Aren’t you afraid it might shoot you?” asked Wheatley in anxious suspicion. “I mean, it probably won’t. But still. Might not be a bad idea to exercise a little caution around that thing, seeing what they are capable of when they want to be.”

Chell shrugged again. Of course, she didn’t know for sure what the turret would do next any better than Wheatley did, but she had a hunch that this one wasn’t dangerous like the rest of them were. Her mind wandered back to the moment when she’d first encountered it, in a time that very much felt like lifetimes ago by now, in a dark, disused back alley of the facility, during the age when she had been knocked offline.

‘Take me with you’, it had called out to her. Even back then, she’d had the unmistakeable feeling that the turret had been an ally and not an enemy, even though its cryptic messages had felt hardly more helpful at the time than trying to shoot at her would have. Its brief friendship had served more to put her at ease in that moment than to help her outright—something she had been thankful for though nonetheless, because allies, no matter how small and insignificant, in a facility dead-set on murder were hard to so come by, and a great comfort to her, whether she’d cared to admit it to herself or not.

The turret’s red eye continued to blink, cutting a bright red path through the dull, flickering firelight bouncing off the faded, cracked walls of the hallway. Its side panels tilted up and down a fraction, as though it were trying to focus, before the red beam shifted right into the middle of Chell’s chest.

“I dunno mate, I’m gonna lay my cards on the table, here,” rambled Wheatley in nervous warning as he watched this, “I know I said we could probably trust this guy, but maybe we ought to make sure that he isn’t gonna shoot—”

“I’m different.”

“—Oh.”

Plink, plink, Wheatley blinked in shocked surprise at the calm, almost angelic sound of the turret’s voice, almost as if he really had been expecting the ear-splitting ring of bullets. Chell outstretched a cautious, friendly hand to brush against the smooth side of the turret’s casing in greeting.

Welcome, she explained wordlessly, to our little squad of escaping rebels. There’s just two of us, so we are small—but we are mighty. We’ve conquered her once. I’ve conquered her twice. And with your help, we might still make it out of this place alive.

“Hmm,” Wheatley was humming apprehensively. “Well then.”

Giving him a serious glare out of the corner of her eye, Chell continued to brush her fingertips against the side of the turret as a sign of peace and comradery. It studied her up and down with the continual, minute shifting of its laser while its side casings twitched gently.

You could be a little more kind, Chell frowned in Wheatley’s direction. This was your idea after all. Why don’t you give our guest a proper welcome and show that we’re on his/her side?

“Ahem. Right,” coughed Wheatley, simulating a throat-clearing noise as he visibly shrunk under Chell’s expression. “Right you are. Hello there, friend,” he nodded toward the turret, “I’m sure you’re wondering who we are, and why we’ve just gone and rescued you from, uhm—from-from back there. Well, you see, in-in addition to being kind and considering your wellbeing and safety, we could use a little bit of, ahh, help, mate. I’m Wheatley, and she’s that human that she keeps going on about, if you know who I mean—”

“You can free her,” interrupted the turret unexpectedly, and Wheatley broke off with a stammer. Both he and Chell shared a meaningful look. Chell let her hand fall from the turret’s casing down to her side as she shifted into a kneeling position, holding her breath in anticipation. “You are the chosen. I know what it is you seek.”

“Really?” said Wheatley finally. “I mean, uh—that’s great! Nice to know we’re all on the same page then, as it were. Because I thought—well, it’s a long story, but I’ve had this idea, and—you know that old mainframe, lost somewhere down there? I was thinking, I’ve never actually been down there myself, but you have. So, maybe you could show us the way, and then maybe we could use it to our advantage, to shut her down, once and for all. Because I’ll be honest, messing around with things up here hasn’t really worked in our favor so far, so—”

“Hades harboured such an obsession for the Goddess Persephone,” the turret interrupted mysteriously in a voice much more piercing than the one Chell remembered. Wheatley fell silent at once. “That it rivalled anything the universe had seen before. Driven into madness, he instructed Gaia to plant a narcissus flower to ensnare her desire in a ruthless trap. While out gathering flowers, Persephone unsuspectingly prised it from the earth and the ground swallowed her whole. Hades then appeared in a golden chariot, seducing Persephone, as her savior, into consuming seeds from the underworld, which bound her to him eternally. Only the chosen can enter the underworld to finally set her free.”

Wheatley just looked confused, but Chell felt the hairs on the back of her neck standing upright. Hades? Persephone? The underworld? The chosen? None of it made any sense to her, but she knew better than to take it as pointless gibberish, seeing as it was coming from this particular turret.

This turret had seen things, Chell knew. If Wheatley’s tale about how he’d come across the existence of it from memory files accidentally lodged within the chassis as Aperture was about to collectively die was anything to go by, then she was willing to bet that it really did hold secrets in its memory banks that were worth more to them than just about anything else would be. It was of utmost importance that they somehow secure as much of them as was possible.

“Uhm, w-well actually, mate, speaking of the underworld,” Wheatley finally stuttered into the lengthening silence. “As, um, interesting as that all sounds, we sort of n-needed to know… how to, uhm, get to the basement of the facility. Y’know. Where that other mainframe is, and how to use it to take her control away. I’ve never even been down there before, if I’m honest. I don’t know the way. But you do. Can’t you help us?”

“Yes,” the turret replied in that same, high voice. “The answer is indeed beneath us.” Slowly, it shifted its laser off Chell’s chest to study Wheatley’s core instead. Wheatley was watching, rapt with attention. “Do the chosen wish to set her free?” it asked.

Wheatley nodded rapidly. “Yes. That’s the idea, mate!”

“Are you certain?”

“Absolutely. I’m one-hundred-and-twenty-percent certain.”

“Then you must first perform a crucial resurrection.”

“So then, there is another mainframe, down there?” Wheatley squirmed in jubilation as Chell shifted closer with hungry interest, too. “There is a way to override her?”

“A prototype,” the turret continued as if it didn’t hear him, as its laser danced around his optic. “Hades was made from an angel born in death, many years ago now. He awaits you. He waits in limbo for the chosen, to perform one last, final test.”

“Oh yes,” Wheatley agreed, nodding more. “Now that’s more like it. Go on, mate. Tell us how to get there and how its done.”

The core may have been naively enthusiastic, but Chell knew better than to take the turret’s cryptic words as meaningless fodder. Test, she repeated to herself in a dreamlike trance. She didn’t like the sound of that word being lumped in with the rest, nor did she like ‘death’ or ‘limbo’ being mixed in with what they were about to do. What did all that mean? Regardless of what it means, I think I’ve had more than enough testing to save my life. Hopefully whatever kind of testing was in store for them was a far cry from what she had put them through, though. A final test could have meant anything. Chell forced herself to not make assumptions.

“A resuscitation of Science,” continued the turret, and Chell felt her morale plummeting with every uttered word. This is feeling more and more dangerous as we go, she mused unhappily. “Re-animated in tandem and in agony, only the chosen can end this enslavement and help her find a better place. I can show you the way, if you want.”

“All right,” said Wheatley with a real, final sense of importance, sharing a small, serious glance with Chell. The human woman steeled herself, knowing that despite how daunting all of this was, it really was the best chance they’d ever had at taking her down once and for all. “Let’s go.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth then the turret began to vibrate. Oh, shit! Chell gasped silently. What the hell—the turret’s side panels opened and closed, shifted up and then down, almost as though it was having some sort of malfunction. She staggered backward in fright as the gears ground against each other, producing a metallic whine vaguely reminiscent of morse code, growing hair-raisingly louder and louder as its side panels became all but a blur.

Mirroring her thoughts, Wheatley span in his casing in panic. “Oh god, mate, are you all right? Lady, I think we broke it, I dunno if we should’ve— OHGOD— ”

In front of her, Wheatley had frozen, mid-scream, as if he were hacking a panel. In frightened panic, she waved her arm frantically in front of his eye. Nothing happened.

Oh god is right, I think we broke him, too—

But that’s when she began to understand what was going on. I’ve seen this before, she realized, remembering the rare occurrences when Aperture-brand radio signals would seemingly go haywire upon entering certain areas within the facility. This was how the constructs communicated wirelessly, how they used crosstalking frequencies to send and receive data like an old school logon request from an old dial-up rig.

sssssssswwwwhhhhhrrrrr. ssssssssssss. phhhhzzzztttttt.

The entire hall was overcome with the noise, and she stepped backwards, instinctively covering her ears with her hands. The beam of light coming from the turret’s eye strengthened, becoming a solid line. Wheatley remained static with his flashlight now turned off, locked into whatever sort of ‘hack’ was going on, conversing on frequencies Chell could only dream of understanding.

bzzzzsssswwwwt.

[C:IDS has been recognized on network ApertureEXT342d-393-0349]

sppppphhhhhttt.

[requesting remote permission to start data share]

[request granted by C:oracle-machine]

[connection complete. sharing file group locationdata.exe with IDS…]

[sharing…]

[sharing…]

[data share complete. disconnecting]

ssssssswwwwwwrrrrrr.

Wheatley groaned, gradually regaining proper control of his plates. He blinked dazedly, obviously slow to recover from the experience. "Ohh," he moaned quietly. “Wha…”

Shhhh, Chell silenced him with a pat to the top of the casing. It’s quite all right. You’ve just completed a data transfer, if I had to guess. But look… look at the turret…

In front of them, the turret had finished moving erratically. Its plates closed, and then reopened, before starting a smooth motion Chell recalled seeing just once before.

♫♪♫♪♫♪♫

Dimly, Chell felt the soft tune wash over her like the fire’s warmth had done earlier. It had the floaty, otherworldly feel of a song she might’ve once heard in a dream she’d half forgotten about. It was so ethereal, so strange, she’d never fully realized that the turrets could sing.

“I know this song,” said Wheatley softly. “I’ve heard this before.”

Have you? Chell asked wordlessly in genuine surprise.

“Yes. It goes like this,” he said calmly, before beginning to sing along.

“Daisy, daisy, give me your answer do
I’m half crazy all for the love of you
It won’t be a stylish marriage
I can’t afford a carriage
But you’ll look sweet upon the seat
Of a bicycle built for two.”

This is crazy, thought Chell as she listened to the core sing. I’m not dreaming, am I? Pinch me, or something, if I am.

“Ahm, nope,” said Wheatley as the song ended, in a voice that sounded as if he couldn’t believe what was happening, either. “You’re not dreaming. You are, absolutely, one hundred percent fully awake right now. OUCH! HEY!”

She couldn’t help it. She’d kicked him in the side of the casing just to make sure. Lightly, of course.

“Not a football,” he whined, still watching the now-motionless turret. “Not a football. Not that that matters to you any.”

A permeating silence fell between them all, which was broken only by a gentle scrape as Chell shifted her footing awkwardly.

“His name was Mister Johnson,” was the last thing the turret said before its side panels began to slide closed and its optic laser flickered, leaving behind a bright blue line of contrasting hue burned harshly into her retina. “And hers was Caroline. Remember that.”

The heaviest silence yet fell as core and human both contemplated the turret’s last words. Chell leant down next to Wheatley, who blinked sluggishly back at her. She placed a warm hand to the top of his casing in a way that she hoped would seem comforting to the core, before peering back through the newfound darkness at the turret.

“Well,” said Wheatley finally, “That was…”

Severely unexpected, supplied Chell.

“Pretty unexpected,” he unknowingly echoed back, blinking innocently. "Anyway… I've got some good news, mate. I’ve got the data we needed. Umm… actually, it's a bit more complicated than that, but nothing ol' Wheatley won't be able to sort out. It looks like the program we'll need to shut her off is located in a place called Test Shaft Ten, though. And it’s deep in the basement. Deeper than even I imagined it would be, so we’ll have a long road ahead of us, no doubt."

Test Shaft Ten, she fathomed to herself. Hmm. If Nine had been full of secrets, what kind of surprises lay in store for us in Ten?

Only time’ll tell I guess, Chell nodded appreciatively before yawning hugely, watching the firelight flicker between them all. Whatever’s in there, though, it’ll have to wait for tomorrow. I’ve rarely ever felt so spent, physically and mentally both. I’m going to find something to sleep on.

"Hey—wait, no—where are you going?" Wheatley asked, as he heard the tell-tale scrape of the boot's heel as Chell stood up abruptly.

Nearly drunk on exhaustion and half blinded by how much her eyes stung from a mix of the smoke and her tiredness, Chell blearily meandered back down the science fair hallway in search of anything soft that might be nice to kip on. Her eyes itched, her feet ached, her back had a throbbing lump from where she had been carrying Wheatley all day and her brain felt like a soggy sponge as she walked.

Just a little bit longer, she told herself with a mix between exasperation and amusement as Wheatley called out to her again, more fearfully this time. Relax, core. We haven’t even started the journey proper yet. You’ve got to be the neediest construct this facility has ever laid eyes on. Just chill for a minute, will you?

… I’ll be right back.

~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~

The low-ceilinged room was nothing more than an overlarge vestibule, and transitionary space at the helm of the start of the deeper reaches of the enrichment center. A security office of a sort, she’d sent the two robots into it for a purpose she didn’t feel the need to elaborate on to constructs made from enhanced versions of spherical calculators.

She watched through the security camera as the two robots navigated their way over to the desk, prising a silver disc up off its dusty surface with interest. As the shiniest object in the room and the only one appearing somewhat out of place, she knew without question that they’d find it.

“Congratulations,” she hummed in mock cheer as Blue inserted this into the disc drive. She felt her system mesh with it at once as she was prompted to calibrate the rudimentary machines located in the lower vault. “You managed to complete this absolutely meaningless test.”

Of course, the test wasn’t meaningless, like she was suggesting to them. It was actually very meaningful. It was the first step to rejoining Test Shaft 02 to her mainframe, which would eventually allow them access to the human vault. The disc contained a program that connected her to a location server, through which she could initiate baseline sight through a means that functioned much like digital radar.

“You know,” continued the AI pleasantly as she worked. The two robots watched the blue screen as yellow letters scrawled across it, reading CALLIBRATING…. “I had an interesting conversation, while I was gone, just now. I spoke with the turret manufacturing mainframe—that was who called, in case you were wondering. And let’s just say… well, he’s not living anymore. The turrets will be fine, though, so you don’t need to worry about that. It was a massive system error on his part, that resulted in the accidental destruction of the entire wing. So, if you want to continue to test with the turrets in the next chamber, make sure you don’t drop them into acid. I’ll have to recycle the good ones until we have enough money saved to rebuild it.”

The Orange robot squawked anxiously at her companion, who emitted a deep, calm warble before consoling his partner with a piston-cracking hug. She ignored this with distaste, focusing instead on the screen before them. The message CALLIBRATING… was swapped out for INITIATING SEARCH. A cluster of orange location markers appeared on the screen, prompted by her query of the location of the vault.

“Which brings me to another, related point,” she told them, finally allowing her thoughts to drift back to the … unfortunate … situation she now found herself stuck within, brought on from the continued disobedience of the mute lunatic and her sidekick. “You know who is still alive?”

The AI paused here, thinking deeply. It would have been easy to assume that the self-destruction of her turret line had trapped the two escapees in the blast but doing so would not fit with what she knew of them.

If there was anything she’d learned about the two, it was that she needed to always assume they had survived, even from the deadliest traps she could reasonably set. Believing otherwise was nothing more than a fool’s errand, at this point, and could render her weak just when she’d finally begun the expedition into one of the most important quests she’d ever set her sights on. If the co-operative testing initiative succeeded, it would mean she could finally tie up all loose ends that were hanging around—being useless, and often getting jammed up in areas they didn’t belong in.

It wasn’t that unprecedented, she thought, upon retrospection, that the little idiot and the test subject still managed to break things back there even without a portal device. And a management rail. After all, he is the dumbest moron who’s ever lived. And she is the most tenacious human being I’ve ever tested on record.

In some weird, twisted way, it almost makes me want to say the two make a pretty good team, she clicked and whirred away in silent, modulated thought as she watched a final message load onto the screen, signifying the completion of the synching of her system with the location server and the acceptance of a brand-new objective.

…A good team, she thought as she read the block-letter message, the radar program homing in to triangulate—

TARGET ACQUIRED

—Of imbeciles. But no matter. I have succeeded in approximating the location of the human vault, now, and once we reach the humans and induct them into testing, there will be no need for her to continue to exist as just another loose end.

“It doesn’t really matter who survived.” She said these words aloud to the two robots. “Not to you two, not yet. Focus on the task at hand. And oh, I almost forgot, when you go outside the testing courses, the only way I can retrieve you is to violently disassemble and then carefully reassemble you.”

The two of them looked at each other in shocked surprise. There was a beat, in which they remained frozen, only daring to blink—

“Luckily, you don’t feel pain,” she hummed in bored reassurance. “At any rate, you don’t have a way to communicate that you feel pain. I consider that a failing, by the way.”

—then exploded.

Chapter Text

A faint chill was settling on the end of the hallway away from their small fire. Pulling her jumpsuit top closer around her upper body with a climatizing shiver, she rubbed her forearms, ignoring the way a layer of goosebumps had erupted there since she had last left the fireside.  

Chell felt certain this clamminess meant that night had fully fallen upon the surface world unknown fathoms above Aperture. In the back of her mind, she spared a minute to wonder what the weather was like up there—was it rainy? Warm? Cold? Or was it one of those kinds of cool, cloudless, inky black nights in which one could bear witness to ten thousand blinking, twinkling stars, under the right conditions; the sort of evenings she could remember loving during lifetimes ago spent camped in places deep within the Michigan wilderness that felt like dreams?

It feels like one of those nights, Chell mused, letting her eyes wander skyward, envisioning their crispness only to be greeted with the sight of a cracked and broken panelled ceiling growing stalactites of dust. Even if only in my imagination.

For the first time in what felt like a millennium, the boundlessness of the world above felt almost within reach. Something about the crackling of the fire, the looming prospect of a daring journey, and the cryptic messages the turret had given them had made reality feel less constrained by the walls of Aperture; these things brought forth a vibe that was reminiscent of the hunting expeditions Chell had shared with her father. The feeling of simultaneously being the hunter and the hunted, while you adventured deeper and deeper into a world that was mysterious, expansive, and deadly, full of things that could kill you with any misstep you took. The willingness to give yourself over to the sensation of losing your bearings nearly entirely as you ventured forth into the unknown, knowing your survival lay privy to naught more complex than things like a rudimentary map, a few low-tech gadgets and—most importantly—the thickness of your own damned skin.

Funnily enough, I feel like I was somehow more well-prepared back then, thought Chell in reference to the current sad state of her personal belongings (consisting of the clothes on her back, one lighter, a defective turret she was going to have to leave behind, and Wheatley, one of the most untrustworthy guides she’d ever had). To someone who had not been through the kinds of hell that Chell had witnessed firsthand, the thought of launching a massive stealth coup against her with such meagre preparedness might’ve triggered a huge sense of foreboding; however, Chell wasn’t the kind of woman to ever let that stop her. My own skin’s saved me more times in here than I can count, she reflected proudly, knowing that no matter what she had in store for her, Chell would always prevail.

Chell picked her way through the aging science fair podiums until she reached the far end of the hall. Her metal heelsprings made the odd scrape and rustle in the crusty layers of debris cemented to the rough panelled floor. Behind her, she could still see the faint outline of Wheatley and the turret, circled around her makeshift little firepit like the twisted, Aperture-ized version of the cover of a backcountry pamphlet, and she paused for a moment to watch the wispy curls of smoke waft up through several of the sizeable cracks in the ceiling. The potato-tree had prised these panel sections apart with brute force increasing pressure for perhaps decades, and in places the clefts were large enough to make her wonder once more if they didn’t reach right up to the heavens above. Could she see the stars up there somewhere, if she’d tried to look?

Doubtable, she sighed with an exhausted shake of the head. There’s no way she’d allow for a whole wing of her facility to stay so broken that it opened right up to the surface like that. That kind of exposure just isn’t in her nature, not to mention the liability… Even if it seems like she hadn’t so much as spared a thought for this wing in god knows how long. It made the whole place feel like her physical equivalent of trauma blocking, not quite as bad as the test shafts had been (Chell shivered again), but still rating quite high on her list of parts of herself—her facility, her body—that she’d clearly rather not reconcile with given the chance.

It did make Chell wonder, though—why? What about this place led her to cut it out of herself like some kind of cancerous tumour? Had it been because children were involved? Did she have some kind of actual ability to feel remorse for her actions, after all?

Chell stifled the mental questions with a gigantic yawn. I’m overthinking this, she told herself. I’ve already seen the kind of places she hid from herself. A place like this is simply nothing to her. Broken and damaged and not worth fixing because it doesn’t help her forward science. And by that, I mean, it isn’t involved in testing.

She shook her head and staggered forward with a one-track mind—sleep, must make shelter/bed—as she approached the science fair poster furthest from their little bonfire, thinking of nothing but how much she wished she could’ve had a sleeping bag and some pillows just about now. She would have to make do with what she had at her disposal instead.

“Hey, lady.” Wheatley’s voice was floating down to her end of the corridor, oddly muffled by the distance between them. She was still able to make out the light metal scrabbling his handles made against the floor as he spoke, though. “Was that you, that made that noise just then? Not that it scared me. It didn’t. I am much braver than I usually let on, and not afraid whatsoever of noises I may or may not hear in the darkness. Especially not when I have your company as backup. …You are still here lurking around there in the shadows though, aren’t you? …Lady?”

The only reason why Chell was still awake and decidedly ignoring him in favor of taking a walk to the far end of the corridor instead of curling up by the fire and sleeping, was because she was trying to find something that would make decent bedding for the night. That, and as tired as she was, Wheatley’s interaction with the turret and the promise of the actual start of their expedition in the morning had given a lot for her to think about, and she wanted to take a small break from the core before she was faced with the reality of uncounted days spent in his company.

Chell was aching with tiredness right to her bones after the more harrowing events of the day. And, although they had done a decent job at transforming their end of the daycare center into more of a semi-homey shelter than she’d have ever thought possible inside Aperture, opting to snooze on an uneven concrete floor filthy from the accumulated debris of decades (perhaps even centuries) felt like a rather crappy way to end what had been a surprisingly heartening day. Plus, she knew she wouldn’t sleep well like that—she’d tried it before—and tomorrow was as important as important days came, and she wanted to start out their next journey on the right foot.

Heartening. She repeated the word she’d mentally used to describe something as unforeseeable as escaping from her clutches with Wheatley in tow again to herself with a sniff. Heartening had not been the sort of adjective she’d have thought she’d pair with such an activity ever again, but now that she was here, living it, and had survived the first leg of it at any rate, she had to face the truth that it had been somewhat strangley heartening.

Is this Stockholm syndrome, wondered Chell with a silent snort, preparing to tear a portion of the science fair poster she was holding apart (cardboard had to be more comfortable than concrete, after all—these posters would make a better bed than the floor). Heartening, sure, she thought sarcastically. If you could count somehow deciding to (once again) attempt to escape from the laboratories from my sworn enemy with my other sworn enemy as a guide just like last time when he double crossed me the second he had a chance as heartening. Like how many times did we almost die today alone? Seven? Meh, I’ve lost count. I don’t have it in me to care anymore, and should I even complain anyways? It’s not like I’ve got options.

It really hadn’t gone as badly as she thought it might’ve, to be fair. At least not yet. For a little core built specifically to make stupid decisions, they had shared enough successes together to make a small bubble of hope blossom within her chest, especially after the events of the last hour. Acquired the turret, acquired the map. The prospect of actual escape was still just as daunting and unreachable as ever, but Chell couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe they were indeed a fraction closer to it than they had been when they had first set foot into test chamber seventeen that morning.

“Hello? Lady? Where have you got to?”

Wishing again that it had been an option to opt for some kind of cot instead of the floor even with her brilliant idea, she tugged hard at the science fair poster. Riiiiiip went the cardboard. It’s not a lot, she thought with bittersweetness, but it’ll be something.

“What was that?” called Wheatley, frightened by the unfamiliar noise. “Y-you know, lady, I think we’re both very aware by now that I haven’t got legs, with which to come down and investigate whatever it is you think you are doing down there. Therefore, I will say that I don’t really appreciate you leaving me down here all alone to fend for myself for extended periods while you’re off willy nilly doing whatever you want. Did you hear me? And with only this turret for company. S’not like I could ask him for help, if I needed.”

Crunch crunch went the long fall boots on the floor as Chell ignored him with silent standoffishness. It’s about time he realized that he relies on me as heavily as he does. Maybe he’d treat me a bit better if he understood that without me, he’d be just another useless core left to rot in the service areas of this place. Riiiiiip.

“Look,” groaned Wheatley, prompting Chell to poke her head from around the poster she was ripping down from the podium to chance a curious glance at Wheatley. The fire was still burning brightly enough for her to see by, but he wasn’t facing her. His optic was turned in the direction of the panelled wall on the opposite side of the hall instead, so she couldn’t even see what kind of face he was making. “I’m going to lay my cards on the table, all right? I’m not really the biggest fan of the dark, and this fire will die out eventually. Okay? There. I said it. I-I don’t like the dark. Not afraid, per se. Noooot exactly the words I’d choose to use. Maybe more like wary of the dark. I’m wary of it, and the things that lurk in it. So lady, if that is your plan to go poking ‘round in the dark without me—can you at least take it upon yourself to be careful? And perhaps maybe even give me some sort of signal that you’re okay, and do intend on coming back alive?”

A silent huff as Chell refused to acknowledge the core. Is it cruel of me to find his discomfort sort of funny, she wondered while still gazing down the hallway at him. Deep down, there was a part of her that answered yes, and told her that she ought to care more about people that were her friends. But another, bigger part of her reminded herself that Wheatley wasn’t a person, technically speaking. And he definitely wasn’t her friend.

He tried to kill me literally what feels like two days ago, she breathed out a long, slow breath. Maybe for him it feels like it was eons ago. But that’s not how it feels for me. I’m sure anyone in my position would hold onto a little bit of bitterness even after a good, hard day’s work together without anything too awful happening.

Chell bit her lip as she listened to Wheatley prattle on nervously. “Because, I’ll be honest,” he was saying, “Not really getting the vibe right now that you intend on coming back to help me if I needed it. Could just be me being paranoid, but there it is. And another thing, if you leave me here for too long, I will most certainly eventually die here, alone, and in the dark. Because I haven’t got limbs, with which to keep this fire going, and while my flashlight battery should be more than sufficient to guide us through until we escape, that doesn’t account for you potentially leaving me here to rust. I’m not saying that that is a thing you would do, but I am saying that I can’t recharge if I’m not on the rail, and I’m not picking up a functional management rail signal for miles. As such, the flashlight will kill my battery, and I will be plunged into utter, total darkness for the moments before my inevitable death, without any hope of respite.”

Chell sniffed. Not a nice feeling, is it, being alone in the dark, left for dead. Try having fallen down a pit thousands upon thousands of meters deep first without knowing if there even is a way to get back out of it. And it’s a miracle these boots even held up to such a trauma anyway. They probably did even better than my psyche did. …Thanks, boots.

It was hard for her to remember that he was only trying to help. It wasn’t that she was unempathetic, but rather that she’d been trained for so long to ignore those feelings of empathy on account of the endless experience of no one being her friend, down here. Being too soft and letting her iron-clad resolve melt away to expose a sense of trust had almost gotten her killed once, and as much as she’d love to say that she felt she could bring herself to do so again, it wasn’t so easy in practice.

Shuffling along to the next poster, she raised an exhausted hand and continue to tear large pieces apart. Riiiiiiiip. Scrape. She added them to the growing collection she’d tucked away in the crux of her right arm. Maybe someday, somehow, she’d find it within herself to be able to totally trust him again. But right now, it was difficult enough for them to find common ground, on account of him not having a human body with which to gesticulate, and her not being able to speak. How exactly were they supposed to communicate and see eye-to-eye enough to come to a mutual understanding and begin to start to form a bond of trust?

“Seriously, I’m not joking, now,” Wheatley was saying, sounding anxious. “I mean, do you even care that I’d die alone in the dark? I am trying to save us, you know, with all I’ve got. But maybe I haven’t made myself quite clear. It’s all right—I understand it may be hard to empathize, given what we’ve been through together. I know I’ve been a little bit bossy in the past. I know I’ve been facetious. But I’m being serious right now, lady, and I do care about your well-being, and I do want to help you and fix things between us. We’re at a monstrous turning point, given the data we’ve acquired tonight. And, if I’m honest, I’ve never felt surer that we’ll be able to pull this off—together. If you come back, and we can find a way to put all that nasty business from the past behind us, that is. Do you think we can do that?”

Chell’s eyes shifted back to the image of the core and the turret seated around the slowly dying fire. In another lifetime, the sight might have been cheerful, heartwarming, even—a group of ragtag, broken misfits whose paths had all crossed by sheer unwitting happenstance, joined together by fate for the adventure of a lifetime. As much as she’d have liked to not believe it, she knew that it was possible that the worst parts of it all weren’t actually behind them, and this current hopeful peacefulness was no more than a brief calm before the storm.

But even with that prospect, this was still the stuff that the best stories were made of, and if you were able to forget all the realness of the trauma of it all for a moment—all the betrayal and hurt and damage done that had robbed her of the innocence and naivety it took to trust that much—then their little team just might yet make it to status legendary enough that the walls would talk about them long after they were dead and gone.

Yet here she was, battling with herself to treat her companion with a shred of empathy. She swallowed hard, fighting to stifle the sharp, unexpected sensation of compassion threatening to close off her throat. I know we need to find a way to trust each other, Wheatley, she thought despite her stomach’s steely resolution to hate him. I know, okay? But these things take time. You can’t just tell me you’re sorry and expect me to act like nothing bad ever happened between us. Let’s just focus on getting down to the test shafts, and then we can maybe consider moving past all this into something else. I can at least trust you to get us there, now that you’ve got directions, can’t I?

For Chell had already made up her mind for certain that she was continuing with him, down whatever road this quest was going to take them on. So long as he was on his best behavior—and she did mean best—she would stick with him until the bitter end.

It wasn’t going to be easy. It was going to be dangerous, reckless, and possibly even deadly. That much had been made clear to her by now. A coup was no small feat, let alone installed against her. Chell knew that neither of them had any way of knowing for sure what result activating another potent AI in her presence would ultimately have. But the truth by this point was that they were out of other options.

They’d tried everything that was easy. Everything that was orthodox.

The time had come for them to try something new.

Riiiii—

“A-and, when it comes down to it, you know…" Wheatley was stuttering, with the air of someone about to land some kind of an unexpected blow (Chell continued ripping pieces of science fair project, acting as if she could not hear him), “if-if you’d gone on ahead without me and decided to leave me here for good, I-I… I'd miss you, okay?”

—iiiiip—

Chell froze mid-tear when she’d heard this. He’d miss her? He didn’t actually just say that aloud, did he? She rubbed at her ears in disbelief.

“Happy? I said it.” He sounded annoyed with himself. “If you were gone, and you left me here, it wouldn’t just be about battery issues and the darkness and dying. It would be about missing you, and never having a chance to make things right, because-because I’ve never had a friend before I met you, if you could believe it… And—honestly, do you have any idea how maddening it truly is, that the second I did sorta make friends with you before, I had to go and bugger that up, probably for good. Typical. Just typical, Wheatley. I think about that a lot. I think about that all the time.”

The concept of being missed was so foreign in her brain that she had to take a moment to process it. It had been such an achingly long time she’d been stuck in Aperture for that she’d stopped being aware that any damned construct, whether human or AI, even had the capacity to miss her in a way that it was normal to be missed in—like a regular, average human being who had a family and friends and contributed something worthwhile to their lives.

It felt like a concept out of someone else’s life. But even Chell had once had a family out there who had loved her. She’d gotten so good at convincing herself that no one would ever miss her as a way to cope with an excruciatingly painful reality of being friendless and alone that Wheatley had inadvertently brought up a surge of emotion she was finding difficult to deal with.

This facility was what her life had been decimated by. It was the unfathomable stretch of time she’d been gone for whilst the state of the rest of the world outside Aperture remained a mystery to her. Ever since the fateful days when the Laboratories had been forced into lockdown, time had done nothing but serve as a background, isolating force, imprisoning her indefinitely. Being missed was a luxury someone like her couldn’t afford to consider when weighing her options. It just didn’t factor in when you were knocking at death’s door every single day of your life.

All in all, it was actually better that she was stuck alone in here. She couldn’t bear the thought of what it would be like if she’d been stranded with her friends, her family alongside her, privy to watching them die at any given moment. But maybe that’s why I can’t really remember anything, said a very nasty voice inside her head. Maybe that’s actually what had happened, and your brain has blocked it out for your own good. You remember Dad, right? Don’t you know what department he oversaw, just before the project went haywire? Do you think that bodes well for his survival?

Shut the hell UP, said another, angrier voice. He was the best test designer this facility had ever seen. If I’m fine, HE’S fine. He taught me everything I know. I’m sure he’s up on the surface world right now having an ice-cold beer. There must’ve been a good reason he couldn’t bring me along. She resumed tearing at the posters a little more violently than she’d meant to, her eyes shining brightly in the direction of her own science fair poster. He’ll be FINE, and I’ll be fine once I get out of here, too.

“What I mean to say,” said Wheatley from the other end of the hall after a very awkward pause, “is that I respect you. I know that you don’t consider me a friend. But to me, you are just about the best escape partner a core like me could ever ask for. Sure, yeah, okay, so you are the only one who ever survived more than the couple first steps out the front door so the bar s’not exactly high there is it, but I’m not trying to be funny when I say that you really are the best of the lot. There’s a reason she’s afraid of you, you know. And I’m being serious when I say that.”

Staring down intently at the writing on one of the posters without really seeing it, Chell felt something inside her chest begin to burn, not in anger, but some kind of intense emotion she couldn’t quite place. 

He’s not human, she tried to reason with herself. He’s not human, so you don’t need to let the things he says affect you so deeply. But saying these things to herself and acting like she took them to heart were two separate beasts entirely. Swallowing hard, she tried to ignore the way her cheeks were burning with awkward regret. 

If only my past self could see me now, she sniffed, shaking her head. Unable to constrain my goddamn emotions because of a robot. And a robot that’s nothing more than a bastard child of this science facility, of all things. Talk about insult to injury.

“I know I’m not the best escape partner you could ever ask for,” continued Wheatley in an oddly nasally voice, as if he were doing the robot equivalent of blinking back tears. “I know I’ll never be up to a standard like that. But, maybe, somehow, I could be enough—enough to prove I deserve a second chance, this time around. Maybe I could make you feel like it was a good thing you didn’t just chuck me into the first bottomless pit you saw. I know it’s not easy, carrying me along, and for that I’m—I’m sorry. S’not like I’ve got options, after all—having no legs or arms. And I haven’t exactly been the nicest about it all, have I. I think we’ll both agree on that. I’m sorry.”

Chell chewed her lip as she continued to stare at the handwriting without seeing it. She was flattered that Wheatley thought of her in such high esteem, even if she'd never admit it to a soul. And it meant something to her, too, that he was thoughtful enough to acknowledge these things aloud and apologize, even if he was right that he’d been a real ass about it all over the course of the last day.

Him apologizing was a start. It was a start. It might not have been proof that he had learned from his experiences and grown as a personality core, but it was a start. And for that, Chell commemorated him.

Turning back to the project, she ripped another hefty piece of cardboard off the display.

Rrrriiiiiippp.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that I admire you, lady,” Wheatley sighed heavily, his voice a great deal more serious than it usually was. “A lot, actually, if I’m honest. Because of your qualities. Your determination. Your fearlessness in the face of almost certain death. Your brains. Your guts. You’re someone I wish I was—if, y’know, I was human, too. You’re someone I wish I could be like. When we’re together, you make me want to be better, braver. You make me wish I could be a far better person than I’ll ever be, and that’s the truth. No lies, remember?”

Wheatley had said all of this in a voice trembling with emotion. If the little core was playing her, he was doing an incessantly good job of acting. Chell felt the sympathy welling up inside of her with a torrent of pressure, causing that uncomfortable, constricting lump to burn in her eyes as well. Chell didn’t cry—she wasn’t even sure if she’d still had the ability to do so after everything Aperture had thrown at her—but she did feel the smallest bit of extra fluid well up in them.

Looking down at her calloused hands, she tried to ignore the way they shook. No one that she could remember—ever­—had given her praise like that; and whilst she was aware that there were a lot of memories that she was missing, it was extremely emotional to realize that Wheatley of all people had just given her higher praise than any human ever had in her memory.

She’d hardly ever considered him to be anything more than a talkative, spherical machine, capable of a few impressive tricks. Beyond that, she’d known he was programmed to be, well… unintelligent, and had mostly written him off as being just that. It had been hard for her (and she would have felt terrible to ever admit it to him) to ever think of him as his own genuine person with thoughts and feelings of his own that mattered outside of just being a robot—until now.

She tried not to blame herself for being prejudiced against him, given her background, but she could not stop the sudden surge of guilt and regret she felt at the realization that this might have been a little bit cruel on her part. But who could blame her for dehumanizing him?! He was an Aperture-made construct. For so long, she'd hated everything about this place. It was everything she was running from.

But it wasn't Wheatley’s fault that she had such a hard time letting go of the past.

Not really, anyway.

Because of that, maybe she could forgive him. Befriending him? No. Not yet. She did not think she was ready for that, right now. But forgiveness…

Chell looked back at the bit of cardboard she held in her hand.

Part of her was glad that he was afraid of the dark and worried about being left here alone. That portion that still hurt inside of her wanted him to suffer, to know what it's like when your friends leave you, betray you. She wanted him to know what it felt like when the whole entire world you know turns its back on you and you’re wanted for nothing but dead.

Scraaaape.

Wheatley was silent, probably listening for her return. It was, quite possibly, the longest silence Chell had ever heard in her life.

Was he thinking just as deeply about everything he had said as she was?

Slowly, but importantly, a realization came crashing down upon her. 

Maybe Wheatley was not her enemy anymore.

Had he been, in the past? Yes.

But she knew deep down that the day had finally come where that part of their relationship was seemingly over. The severity of the situation they had previously survived together served as such a deterrent to companionship that it was unignorable proof of alliance that Wheatley was willing to help her. He was now her escape partner. Her teammate. Her acquaintance who’d walked through hell and high water with her, and maybe someday eventually even her friend.

And friends—teammates—worked together. They were well-oiled, well-practiced machines of coordination and collaboration. Teammates didn’t ditch each other, or stab each other in the back, they didn’t bully each other, and they certainly didn’t drop each other down bottomless pits or harbour secret vendettas against each other.

It was time to let it all go and explore something more than what they’d had before. Something worth trusting.

Here, in the now, her and Wheatley were going to be better than they had been in the past. They had things to do. Places to go. And an unimaginably huge science facility to escape from, and there was not going to be an easy path this time, not like before. No short cuts. They couldn't simply shut off the neurotoxin, disable the turret redemption line and march right into her chamber hoping to hijack the escape lift. Chell was unarmed and vulnerable, and she had learned from the oversights she’d made before.

And as Chell collected the last bits of cardboard she’d wanted and began to return to Wheatley and the fire, she thought about all this very, very hard. Deciding to stoke the dying flames one last time, she looked at Wheatley through the flickering, burning glow with the most serious expression she could muster before dropping the pieces of cardboard and kneeling beside him.

“Y-you came back,” the little core gasped with a wide-eyed look of intensely grateful surprise, spinning his optic in a 360 degree turn before gazing at her shyly. "Glad to see you survived that little escapade. Always a positive sign, that's for sure—survival. Not that I ever seriously doubted that you would come back. You’re not afraid of the dark, after all, and I have, er, utmost faith that we will pull through this, together, you and I, and. And. Wait a minute. What's all this? What have you brought back with you?"

Chell glanced down at the worn cardboard pieces she’d deposited on the floor, waving her hand at them dismissively. She didn’t want to talk about that just now, no matter how exhausted she was—she had something else she wanted to do, first.

"What do you need that for?" he prodded further, clearly confused, but even through the distraction he couldn’t stop his eye from bouncing around happily in its casing. "Bits of old science fair projects?"

Chell shook her head. How do I say this, though… Fixing him with an intensely meaningful stare, she listened to him stammer, obviously uncomfortable with everything he had recently said aloud now that she was this close-to. He started unsuccessfully to backtrack, but one look at her face stole the words right out of his vocal processor.

She began slowly to try to sign to him, unsure of which gestures he'd be able to interpret and which ones he wouldn't.

"What're you on about?" asked Wheatley, noticing what she was doing. He looked extremely confused though, so she tried a different approach instead.

You, and me… Team… she mouthed, while gesturing to herself and then at him before interlocking her fingers in a firm grip. A binding promise of teamwork. No takebacks this time. No exceptions. No lies. No thoughtlessness. No betrayal.

"Ahh…" said Wheatley, watching her apprehensively. Chell felt pretty sure he was catching on.

All the way up to the surface, she thought as her thumb jutted skywards. Together.

"So, you're not going to leave me behind ever, then?"

She shook her head, heaving a huge sigh of relief that the little core was beginning to understand the gravity of what she was trying to say.

"W-well that's…" he said before pausing, his voice so quiet she knew immediately he understood. "That's… very nice of you."

But this promise comes with a price. Suddenly, her hand shot out, folding around his top handle. She pulled it upwards gently, so that he would quit staring at her knees and meet her eye instead. His optic widened in alarm before settling on her face. Little tremors of nervousness shivered through him, as though he was afraid of being so vulnerable in her presence.

Then she relaxed, sliding backwards, elbow on knee, chin in hand. She gazed at him, her normally clear, focused eyes bleary and gummy with sleepiness. The other hand, which had been wrapped lazily around her long-fall-boot, shot out toward him instead, and hovered just under his faceplate as though asking him if it was ok if she touch him there.

"I…"

Wheatley was speechless, but it only lasted for a moment.

"I'm, umm, really glad that you're not going to leave me here," he finally choked, blinking a lot under the intense eye contact. "Really glad. Um. You—you're a reckless human, a bit frightening, sometimes, you know. I’ve been on the receiving end of that storm. S’not pretty. You’re a right hurricane, when you’re mad. But when you’re not… It's times like these, when I can really see…" he looked into her eyes, and whispered, "You really don't mean to hurt anyone at all, do you? You're not like the scientists were. They—didn't like me. They'd laugh at, not with, all of them if you know what I mean. They weren't kind."

Plink, plink. He tried to stare back down at the floor, but she wouldn't let him. Her finger found the outer edge of his optic plate and gave it a gentle stroke. Wheatley twitched once, twice, before he began to hold still under the contact.

“You’ve never even laughed at me,” he whispered with awestruck appreciation. “Not really. I know I said you had. But that was a lie. It wasn’t nice of me, to say that. And I’m sorry.”

Chell removed her hand from the side of his optic, having a sudden idea. With a meaningful look, she outstretched her palm, miming a handshake to the little sphere.

Could he understand this gesture? And what was more, did he have it within him to promise her—for good, this time—that he would never betray her again?

She wanted to make a deal with him. A promise. A formal agreement, stating that they would work together as best as was possible from here on out. Neither of them would leave the other behind, not until they had made it out, and that was the end of it. There would be no abandoning. No backstabbing. No murdering.

"This is a human-thing," said Wheatley slowly, his eye narrowing in concentration. "I don't—well—I've seen humans do this. A very, very long time ago…"

The corners of her mouth lifted in encouragement, and she nodded. It was not a real, true smile, but something brighter than the solemnly severe expression that normally clouded her features.

"A handshake," Wheatley finally deduced.

Yes. A handshake.

"So, we're making a deal, then?" he said slowly, peering up at her for confirmation. "A promise? That you won't leave me here, stranded? But I suppose you'd be wanting something in return, then—and as I’ve said before, I'll take you to the surface. No matter what, yeah? And no lies, yes yes, I remember. How about that, then. You won’t abandon or betray me, and I won’t abandon or betray you, or lie to you, or—yes—try to kill you, for what it’s worth. We can, um, shake on it. That we’ll both do our best to keep it, and that's what counts."

Chell nodded slowly in agreement.

"Okay," he squirmed, unsure of what to do next. "Well—I don't really have hands, though, so if you'd just grab hold, then maybe that'll work?"

Wheatley wiggled his bottom handle up and down, but Chell narrowed her eyes. He recoiled under her scrutinizing glare.

She needed him to understand the weight of a promise. It was a wordless contract, an important thing you couldn’t just go back on. It meant something. Arguably, in these dire straits, it meant everything. Their future survival was going to depend on it. It was going to be monumental going forward that they both kept their word.

It was his turn to nod. "Okay," he answered in a serious whisper while locking eyes with her. "I promise. Genuinely."

That was good enough for her. Her hand wrapped around his bottommost handle.

"I —"

What now? she wondered in exasperation.

"Oh bloody hell." He almost wrenched the handle from her grip, suddenly unable to look at her. "I've never done this sort of thing before, and. To be honest, it is a little nerve racking. Especially with you going all serious on me like this. I'm not sure… well… It feels a little bit more official than what I'm used to, and I'm not really… Uh, if you must now… I’m afraid. I’ve never been good at living up to standards. I’m afraid I’m going to mess up, and ruin everything, and—oh, just never mind. I’m sure it’s fine. I’m not perfect. But I’ll do the best I can. Is that okay?”

Her forced smile turned into a true, authentic smile as she nodded. I don’t expect you to be perfect, she thought, hoping this would come across somehow. I just expect you to help me how you can, and when you can, and be there for me, and I’ll do the same for you. I’m not perfect either, Wheatley. We’re going to mess up and it’s going to be dangerous. But so long as you stay on my side, this time, I think we’ll be all right.

“All right,” the little core agreed, and with every movement counting, they shared a slow, firm handshake. After they’d finished, the heavy meaningfulness of finality hung in the air between them like a tangible weight. Neither seemed able to look at one another any longer.

"Well—that's that, then."

Agreeing, Chell stood up abruptly without further comment. Seeking to make herself busy, she then approached the dying remains of the fire and kicked the ashes askew, exposing the hot coals which glowed momentarily brighter before dimming behind a renewed plume of smoke. Dark smears appeared along the scratched surface of the long-fall-boots as Wheatley emitted a series of coughing sounds.

Chell shrugged, unfazed. Her tiredness was suddenly too deep to care about anything else, just now. She had reached her limit. Then, before Wheatley even knew what was happening to him, she had grabbed him by the handles and was carrying him bodily from the fire pit into a darker corner of the room. She held him close to her with one arm, dragging the jagged pieces of ripped cardboard in the other.

Ssssssssshhhhhhhkkkkkk.

"I—well," he squawked, surprised. "I see we're not—er, bothering to even use the harness anymore. Okay.”

She placed him on the platform beneath the towering potato tree where the potato battery had been not two hours ago. His blue optic flickered inquisitively as she studied him, turning him so that he faced the shadowy corner where she was planning on sleeping.

Next, she crossed to said corner and made a business out of laying down each bit of cardboard, piece by piece, until she had created a comfortable little mat to rest on. Next, she salvaged her jumpsuit top from around her hips and bundled it up into a small ball to use as a makeshift pillow, silently musing that she’d even have taken one of those extremely haggard long term relaxation pillows in exchange if she could’ve got one. She sat down on all this with a half-hearted sigh of contentment, looking up at Wheatley from the floor like a sad puppy that had just circled in its raggedy little bed.

"Brilliant," he said after watching her work. "I can see much better from up here, if that's what you're wondering. I still have no idea of what you're trying to do with that stuff… Is this some form of hacking that I'm not aware of? Is that what we're doing? Hacking the… ground?"

She shook her head, pressing a slender finger to her lips, trying to sign for him to be quiet.

"Oh—you want silence. Right. I can do that."

Chell snuggled into the improvised mattress with her back to the wall. From the light of the dying fire, she could just make out the turret’s silent form about six feet to her left. The quiet pop, crack of the cooling coals and the nostalgic scent of charcoal only added to her growing sense of contentment as the dim blue glow of the core’s azure optic flickered and shifted above her, watching over her with minute twitches and the occasional spark.

I can trust him, she told herself as she felt her extremely heavy eyelids slowly close. He’ll watch out for the both of us, now. The repetitive blinking of the turret's flashing laser and Wheatley's glowing optic was shut out simultaneously as Chell closed her eyes and let out a deep, shuddering sigh. She wiggled a little, fighting to pull the arms of the jumpsuit top into a tighter ball under her head, wishing she could have kept the warmth of the fire on her back as she slept. At least the cardboard padding would keep out most of the chill.

"Sleep," she thought she heard Wheatley mutter as if from a distant land. "Oh. I see. Well—goodnight, then. I’ll just be over here. Watching over you, love. Take care."

The facility’s distant chambers rumbled. Its bones groaned with minute trembles that Chell could feel radiate through the miles and miles of tiled floors. Her last thought, before she fell into a very very deep sleep, strangely, was to wonder what the day’s weather would be like up on the surface world tomorrow. A vague, fuzzy voice like a badly tuned radio played through her mind, ‘Cloudy, but with a chance of freedom. After all, they do call it Liquid Sunshine for a reason, folks!’. And then she knew nothing more.

~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~

Dreamless sleep was possibly the most useful of all kinds of rest when you’re dead tired. Perhaps, Chell might have held dreams in high esteem if she had ever had them much; but either the countless years of cryosleep and hours spent subjected to the adrenal vapour had rendered her unable, or she was just too damned tired to see them often.

She had thought, vaguely, in the middle of the night, that there might have been ghosts of images that played through her mind, snapshots of feelings with pictures that didn’t seem to be connected or make much sense to her at all. They had flitted through the deepest recesses of her sleeping brain the way she flitted through the walls of Aperture, fast, shadowy, uncapturable.

The images were foggy and dark and filled with this restless sense of anxious anticipation and maybe even a suffocating unease she couldn’t seem to suppress, as though she’d found herself trapped underwater and barely able to breathe in them. Whether she was inside or outside, she did not know; either the room was so tall the ceiling was lost to eyesight, or the sky was so dark there were no stars. Forked scarlet lightning lashed out from a horizon she could not make out to lick her square in the chest with a jolt of pain severe enough to knock the rest of her breath out of her, but by the time she had awoken, she had forgotten all about this.

Chell awoke with a start. She was stiff, cold, and uncomfortable, but well-rested. As she laid there sleepily, not yet willing to fully open her eyes, she noticed a strange light playing through her closed eyelids, revealing a moving patchwork pattern of brightness and shadows.

It took her a moment to fully remember where she was, though she couldn’t bring herself to feel too bothered about it, just yet. The last vestiges of a good night’s sleep clung to her brain and body with inertia, muting the routine sensation of hypervigilance that usually adorned every waking moment she spent within Aperture into a dull background afterthought. Her body did not yet know the trials and stresses of the day—and though the cardboard mat was doing very little to prevent her bony spine from digging into the tiled floor, lying there pretending she was camping out on the forest floor brought a sense of peace to her she hadn’t known for a very long time. Even the half-light playing in shadows through her eyelids appeared to want to humour her fantasy by somehow deciding to lack the usual artificial recycled luminosity the backrooms of Aperture were usually boasting.

Everything felt better than it had in a long time. Her head didn’t feel heavy and saturated with exhaustion anymore and she could sense a weightlessness in the pit of her stomach. Her breathing was deep, matching her slow, steady heartbeat, and her hunger was still somewhat satiated by last night's meal. Refusing to open her eyes just yet, she lifted herself into a sitting position with her back against the wall—a tree trunk, she told herself. A tree trunk so giant its barky spines are those ridges digging into my own back.

And that crunch beneath my boots is the soil of the forest floor, she thought as she kicked her legs out. Far off, I think I can hear water—that’s one of the streams I’ll be drinking from later because holy christ am I thirsty. I can even smell it, if I try hard enough—the green smell, the smell of the forest, somewhere under the campfire smell from last night.

But deep down, Chell knew she couldn’t keep playing this game forever. Sooner or later, she would have to open her eyes and get on with it, face whatever near-death experiences the day was going to bring. Opening her eyes would mean bearing the full acceptance of her fate once more opposed to the escapist fantasy she was currently enjoying of the Michigan forest.

Stretching, Chell noticed that the circular area in her side where Wheatley usually rested in his harness was especially tenderly bruised. That’s nothing, she told herself. That’s where I’ve been keeping my rifle and I’m just not used to it.

Ha.

As if that personality core had half the balls of a rifle. What a pain he is, indeed.

But he was a pain she would simply have to live with, she knew. He didn't mean to hurt her, after all—he probably didn't even fully know what carrying him did to her.

She pulled her legs up into her core, ignoring the throbbing pain that came with movement. Pain was everything, in Aperture. Pain was life. All I wanted was a life without pain… tough, said God, she’d once read on the secret inside of a test chamber wall panel. She then folded her arms over her knees in a giant hug and rested her chin atop her kneecaps as she breathed in the residual scent of ashes from last night. The lips of the long-fall-boots had left deep bruises along the tender flesh of her calves, making her wince when she moved. The bruises were from underuse, aching and raw. That’s to be expected right now, she grimaced as she traced them, knowing fully well that it always took a few days for her body to adjust after spending so much time in cryosleep. The past two days had taken their toll on the delicate flesh underneath the boots.

Not that Chell cared much. Dwelling on it wouldn't make the pain go away.

She did wish, though, that she could have had some water. The sound of the stream she had imagined earlier had faded from her mind, but her desire for something to drink had only deepened.

Chell licked her parched lips. Her throat seared, her mouth was dry, and her lips themselves were cracked and swollen. It had been a while (scratch that, well over a while) since she had had anything even somewhat quenching to drink, and the smoke from the fire the previous night hadn't been the most pleasant thing to inhale. It left her dry mouth feeling worse than ever before.

With eyelids finally fluttering open, Chell gave up on her Michigan fantasy as she stretched her arms over her head, trying to ease the soreness in her spine. Her back gave a few more satisfying pops as it clicked into place, finally easing some of the tension. Fuck it, she thought resignedly, looking around. We’re back in Aperture.

This is Aperture, and everything is hell.

… Though, maybe not everything, right now, she added curiously.

The first unexpected thing she noticed about the room was that the half-light she’d seen through her closed eyelids, startlingly bright in comparison to the muted veil of darkness the previous night had provided, was originating from the giant cracks in the ceiling. It illuminated her entire end of the hall, casting beams of the freshest, most vibrant glow she could ever remember seeing within the place from somewhere above them. The distant doorway near to where she’d robbed the cardboard posters that eventually led back to the (now very broken) turret manufacturing center lay shrouded in shadow, as were the rows of ruined science fair projects.

But two steady shafts in particular were standing out from the rest of the ambiance. It was hard to believe that so much light might originate from what was just two slender trails of radiance, but it was these which were brightening the room all on their own. It was a glimmering, sparkling luminescence of a quality of which Chell could not remember ever seeing manufactured down here before.

One of the beams was falling directly onto Wheatley, who was still motionless upon the potato tree platform where she’d left him last night, being held steady by the roots of the potato-tree. His optic shields were closed against the light as if he were still asleep.

The other shaft of light tumbled down to rest a few feet away from her. She watched, mesmerized, as bits of loose dust particles floated and danced in the slanted cylinder of light, spiralling and circling like little fireflies. They swilled around, cascading down from the upper reaches of the facility to land amongst the thick dust layer already coating the floor.

The realization hit her hard and fast. This was sunlight, she sighed to herself, revelling in the beauty of it. There was no mistaking the quality of the light. It was not the false, fluorescent flood that lit the endless streams of test chambers, nor was it the yellowish, tungsten glow of the Enrichment Center's service areas. It was nothing like the residual fog that filled the hollow in-between areas, either. It held none of the gloominess or the loneliness of that sort of light.

This was real, true sunlight—for the first time in living memory, Chell had found a ray of sunlight. Strange—even for tiny columns of brightness, the contrast they held with the surrounding facility was remarkable.

Her boots scraped noisily against the floor panels as she staggered to her feet, making the first sounds of the day. Distantly, as if in some far-off part of the Enrichment Center, rang a bird's musical tones.

Chell glanced back at Wheatley, still silent and unmoving upon the platform. He was just as peaceful as ever, with his optic sensor held at a slight angle, visible just underneath his relaxed upper handle. She supposed that he had joined her in slumber, somehow—she wasn't entirely sure of how sleep mode could work for a personality core.

Content that he was fast asleep, she stretched out her fingertips to touch the beam of light in front of her. It was warm, bordering on hot to the touch, much like the surfaces of the hard light bridges. Contrary to her warnings about those, Chell felt certain that the rays of sunlight would not cause any irreversible damage, such as setting her hair on fire.

For a while, she stood completely still, relishing the pleasant sensation of light on her palm. It was nice, especially after the coolness of the night. She liked the way it made her skin glow with life, in contrast to how washed-out and dead the shades of Aperture had usually painted it.

Life. That was what this little beam of light reminded her of. It held all the strength and vitality of the promise of life in a sea of darkness and machines. It made it easier to believe that down here wasn’t the same as up there. Down here, things did what they had to do because she told them to. But up there, things grew and prospered, because the sun gave them the opportunity to do so.

She hoped that someday, she would once again be awarded that beautiful opportunity, too.

Satisfied that it was safe to the touch, she stepped wholly into the shaft of light. The sunshine warmed her chilly body, erasing all traces of goose bumps, and putting an end to her shivers. A tingle of warmth washed over her, numbing the aching pain in her legs and back, filling her up with a wholeness that she had never experienced before. Slowly, she rotated to let the beam fall on the back of her shoulders, savoring the sensation of the light's contact with her skin.

It lit her dark face, brightening its dirty, smudged features drastically. It danced along her eye lashes, still partly gummed together with sleep. She blinked slowly, her hair reflecting little listening dots of light, throwing out a gleaming symphony of dark, reddish browns as she shifted under the glare. Her lips quivered, and then cracked into a true, radiant smile, revealing rows of remarkably straight teeth as she stretched her arms skyward.

She lifted her hands up, high over her head, and her crystal-grey eyes followed their path, marvelling at the long, slender trails of shade that her fingertips carved into the light. It was so familiar, and yet so strange. As though it were a friend she’d known a very long time ago and forgotten all about.

This—no machine could ever reproduce this.

An unfamiliar sensation blossomed in the pit of her stomach—it was a buzzing, bubbling feeling, spreading from her very heart into her sunkissed fingertips. It rose, intensifying exponentially, bringing with it a huge rush of sheer joy. It found its way out of her throat, in a gurgled, choked murmur of genuine laughter.

"Did you just —?"

Chell spun mechanically on the spot, shocked—she hadn't known that the core had been observing her! How long had he been watching for? She felt the blood rush to her face as she stepped out of the beam automatically, cringing for letting herself take even the smallest moment to enjoy it in which she’d foolishly thought she wasn’t being watched for once.

"It's quite alright," Wheatley said sluggishly, paying no mind to her look of sheer astonishment and embarrassment. "By all means, don't let me stop you enjoying yourself. Continue enjoying the natural light as you please—I daresay you haven't seen it in years, have you? Perhaps centuries. Thumping long time, at any rate."

He blinked innocently from the platform, shifting his handles gently as he spoke, oblivious to the bit of light shining down upon his tarnished casing. She was more than a little humiliated to find he’d been intruding on her privacy, and any other time, she would have been livid enough to drop kick him, but she couldn't be bothered with teaching him a lesson just now—the light had left a dazed happiness about her, making her feel lazy and pleasantly lethargic.

"Hah," he laughed quietly, his optic shifting up, searching for the origin of the light. He squinted against its strength. "Funny thing, sunlight. Plants depend on it to live. Must be why this potato tree's flourished so well, eh? Color me surprised that she hasn't found the thing and had it destroyed already."

Chell tore her eyes away from the beam of light, the glory fading slowly from her face as she clamped back into the usual survival mode.

"Probably the only place in the facility," Wheatley continued pensively. "The only place where you could even find sunlight, these days. She's fixed the rest of the roof, gone and shut it right out, I don't doubt. Even she couldn't fix here, though," he nodded. "This gap's been here for as long as I can remember. I think the scientists voted for a courtyard, at some point in time—silly fellows—being fans of having an afternoon lie-in on the job, I suppose. Wouldn't have expected otherwise. Lazy. Only succeeded in creating a proper mess, though. Organic waste everywhere, just take a look!"

Blinking slowly in the light, Chell reached for the jumpsuit top which was still down on the cardboard mat. She was very warm by now, and the breath of air that traced the shady hallway felt delightfully cool against her superheated skin. She would have no need for the top herself. She meant to tie the core back into the harness.

"Did you rest alright, mate?" Wheatley asked at length, focusing on her as she moved towards him, holding the jumpsuit aloft. "I was observing your sleeping patterns, but that got a bit dull, so I activated my own power-save mode. More effective way to pass the time, as watching you sleep is not nearly as entertaining as it sounds. Pretty boring, actually. You're about as useless to talk to as a paperweight! Got me started on thinking a bit, though—at least if you can't talk while you're awake, you can still use body language, and that helps. I do take that for granted. I will certainly admit that. "

Wheatley nodded enthusiastically, tilting his optic up at her as she tied the jumpsuit-arms in a knot which she slung around her neck. While she was working, she listened to his quiet prattle, marvelling at how his voice was nearly the only sound that could be heard in the entire facility. The early-morning silence suited well with the day thus far, feeling like a good omen—it was utterly peaceful, coming as close to tranquillity as the halls of Aperture could ever be.

She sighed deeply, removing her hands from the jumpsuit knot to lift the core off the pedestal and sling him into his usual position, taking the brunt of his weight again underneath her right arm. Then, she turned around, and prepared to take one last, sweeping glance at the empty passageway.

"So quiet, here, isn't it," Wheatley mumbled in her ear. "With turret manufacturing shut down, I reckon that there's no functional machinery for miles. The neurotoxin's still online, of course, hah—good thing she thinks we're dead, otherwise she'd probably try to do us in with that, next."

Ignoring the usual wave of anxiety physically associated with that word, her eyes darted around, taking in a last look at this portion of the facility. The ambient light filling the place did not quite stretch to the opposite end—the distant corners lay in shadow, as deep as the dead of night. In the middle of the room, next to one of the many ruined cardboard displays, sat the turret, just as motionless as ever—its blinking red laser was still flashing dimly in the morning light.

A stab of pity shot through Chell. There would be no way for her to take the turret with her. She wondered what its final fate would be, for it was all too likely that it would stay locked away in this room for decades, possibly even centuries, after they were gone. This turret, the different one, the one that had helped them—she wished that she could have given it a better future. It was definitely added to the extremely small list that she kept, hidden in her mind, of all Aperture constructs that had ever offered her genuine help.

A few feet away laid the scattered remains of their shared fire. Bits of charcoal and dusty ashes were smeared along the tiles, burned bits of wood still lay strewn around the blackened pit. She bit her lip, regretful for the state that they were leaving the hall in. If, by chance, the cooperative testing initiative ever happened to come across this area, it would be far too easy for them to tell that, for one, they were still alive, and, for two, that they had gone in this direction. Despite what Wheatley believed about her thinking that they were dead, Chell knew that the Enrichment Center would still be watchful for any suspicious activity, and that the two bots would be creeping around.

It was like leaving behind a trail of footsteps a mile wide, and she didn't like it, not one bit. Especially not when she took into account that this place had eyes everywhere.

The robots were fast, thorough, and brilliant. They’d find them eventually. She was willing to bet her life on it.

We'll just have to be very careful, she told herself, wincing. Another thought had just occurred to her—the smoke from their small cooking fire the night before had doubtlessly reached the upper areas of the center, like she had been worried about. Had the smoke also been sucked into the air ventilation shafts, and the pneumatic diversity system? If it had, she surely would know what they'd been doing.

She swallowed hard, eyeing the ceiling suspiciously. The idea of lighting a fire suddenly seemed a lot worse than it had with a rumbling, empty stomach, and a cold, tired body to boot.

"Ready to go, mate?"

She sighed heavily again, admitting defeat. There was absolutely nothing more that she could do about it just now. Whatever consequences lay ahead as a result of her actions, she would have to grit her teeth and face them in due time.

Seeking a distraction from the unwelcome notion, she began to take a short inventory, double checking the contents of her pockets—the count so far consisted of one lighter, and zero potatoes. Not even a crumb of food was left.

"Why don't you check if there are any more potatoes left on that thing, before we leave?" Wheatley asked, as if reading her mind. "But be quick about it, will you? The sooner we get a move on, the better. I don't like the silence, somehow. Bit too quiet, you know?"

As fast as lightning, Chell climbed up the crumbling poster-pedestal on which the potato-tree grew. Well-practiced, determined eyes peeped up through the branches, sharp as a hawk—she squinted, trying to avoid the bright lights. Wheatley's heavy form shifted, rolling across her back as she reached a hand into the poisonous-looking thicket. Carefully, she avoided the sharp looking ends of the spindly branches, fingers roaming in search of its fruit.

Two groups of potatoes grew upon its side. Hooking the heels of her boots firmly against the sprawling roots, she balanced herself, and reached up into the center of the cluster.

There were a total of seven, she counted as she pocketed each one—they were very small, and still a little green in places, but it would have to suffice. It was by far better than nothing! She let herself drop, and landed haphazardly back on the ground, dusting her hands clean on the sides of her pants.

"Arrrrgh," Wheatley groaned, circling his optic as if to show a physical manifestation of the vertigo he felt from her jarring landing. Could robots even feel dizzy or was he just making a show of it, she pondered silently.

"Well," he continued with a triumphant nod, "At least you won't starve now! All ready? Got your boots on properly? Fire-starting—thing? All there? Ready to go?"

She nodded, glancing over her shoulder at him. She readjusted his weight with a slight bump, sliding him closer to her side so that she could keep an eye on him while she walked.

Chell was just about to take the first step forward to begin the better part of their journey when she hesitated. The turret’s blinking laser had caught the corner of her eye again, as did a sudden, sharp reflection of something tiny and metallic littered on the chamber floor directly in the center of the sunlight beam, perhaps a loose screw, lost in ages past.

Wait.

There was a beat, in which she thought twice about what she was about to do. Hell, she mused, finally deciding on it. It doesn’t feel like good luck to leave this guy here like this. Not after all he/she did for us. There’s gotta be something more I can do.

Chell bit her lip, thinking more, and then bounded forward.

“Mate!” called Wheatley, but she ignored him. “What are you doing now?”

With a familiar sssshhhhhrrrkk, Chell dragged the makeshift bed she’d used over to the beam of sunlight. She fanned this out methodically, arranging the ripped pieces into an organized pattern she felt satisfied with, before stepping over to the turret. Preparing to heave, Chell bent at the knees and struggled to pick up the thing, managing to carry it haphazardly over to the pile of cardboard. She placed it down carefully directly in the middle, so that the beam of sunlight fell right onto the sleeping turret’s pearly face with the most radiant sheen.

Then, she strode over to the remains of the fire, picking up a half-burned stick of wood, taking care not to touch the charcoaled end of it. She then knelt at the turret’s feet and began to write with the stick.

Here lies Turret, until the end times, she wrote in messy, unpracticed charcoal-black letters, pushing back the sudden, extreme awareness that she probably looked identical to someone else who had once passed through these walls and left pictures and messages here just like she was doing now, Who helped us when no one else would. May his/her all-seeing, all-knowing spirit fly, unbound by the walls of this chamber, and live to soar skyward through this opened ceiling and out into the heavens beyond.

Dropping the stick, she then fell back to examine her handiwork. With an almost angelic innocence, the turret’s face glowed pale moon-white, its casing glinting as they slept on in peaceful unawares, a biblical slumber until, like she had written, the end times—unaware that this was their final goodbye, and unaware that they were unequivocally setting off to begin what would likely be the craziest adventure she’d ever have in her entire life, and a final one, at that.

One that would undoubtedly change not just the course of their own lives and histories, but also the lives and histories of any and all constructs that would follow in their footsteps, too.

Goodbye, Turret, thought Chell with a pang of finality.

“Goodbye, Turret,” echoed Wheatley, his voice quiet, very fittingly subdued.

Then, figuring that there was no more point in dawdling, she turned her back to the turret shrine and started down the remaining bit of hall, making her way towards the exit that would lead them into the adjacent corridor.

"So, these coordinates," Wheatley began to babble eagerly, clearly excited about the prospect of the real start of their mission. "Location data, or whathaveyou. They're quite something, really! Not just coordinates. I shouldn't call them that. They're a program. An entire three-dimensional image system, like an interactive radar map! Can you believe it?"

Chell cocked an eyebrow, now navigating through the knee-high grass filling the hallway without comment. Impressive, she thought, though distracted by the presence of grass. (What the heck?) So long as the program actually does help us get there, Wheatley.

"Um, it was a bit complicated to install," the core carried on with a confident nod. "Nothing I couldn't handle, of course. Ol' Wheatley can take it—no worries about that. Mmm, it's telling me that we are still very, very high up in the facility, and that we'll need to somehow find a way to get much further down." He bobbed his head here, nodding towards the floor, as if Chell was able read his 'map' along with him. "It's going to be a trip and a half, but no matter, though, because I've outlined a clear path for us to take. Should be somewhat free of obstacles, and mostly invisible to her, thank god."

Chell glanced down at her right wrist. It looked so small and dainty without the usual bulk of a portal gun. She held this out before him, giving it a little wave—she had no portal device, she wanted to remind him—and certainly, wouldn't they need the use of one, to make it all the way to their destination unhindered and unharmed?

"Ahhh," Wheatley said knowingly, unfazed. "No—don't worry about that, mate. It's all been taken care of, you just lie back, and, er—well, carry me. Yeah, I'll just inform you whenever we ought to take a different direction. We'll want to evade locked doors and cameras, as well as all other possible death traps. You just let me know if you feel too tired to go on, and I'll find us a proper place to rest."

She nodded appreciatively as she rounded the corner, stopping to take a moment and let her eyes adjust to the bright light. Opposed to the greyish, gloomy half-light of the science fair project hall, which had been lit only by the beam of two measly sun-rays, this hall had hardly any roof at all. The sun beat down in full force, shining onto a green mat of creepers and weeds, taking over what had once been a panelled floor and transforming the place into some kind of ethereal inner Aperture grotto. Broken and unused office supplies, such as ancient photocopiers and filling cabinets lined the walls, overcome by the vegetation. Slinking feelers and fronds snaked up the walls and crawled down the hall, mingling and entwining with the roots from the giant potato-tree.

The song of a bird rang through the empty hall, blended with the buzz of insect wings and the repetitive crunch of what seemed to be dirt under Chell's boots. The draught was thick and warm, somehow much more substantial than the greasy, oil-smeared air that had hung dense and potent through the open spaces of the factory. She took a deep, slow breath, savoring the way that the air filled her up, more sustaining than any ancient potato dinner could ever be.

The hallway had no distinct path cut amongst the shrubs and moss. The walls, as well as Wheatley's spoken directions were her only signs, vaguely indicating which direction to go.

"Go on," he encouraged her, misinterpreting her pause as she looked about the place in silent fascination. "You don't mind a bit of dirt, do you? Never stopped you before."

Chell scowled, slightly offended, but knew that he had not meant her any harm. He must have assumed that, what with her being a human, she was genetically more accustomed to the outdoors than he was.

Perhaps he was on to something—how would his chassis react to soil? Insects? Or even—water? He had never mentioned how such things could affect him, but Chell was sure that if she had asked, he would have answered her in disdainful disgust.

She could almost hear him telling her—if you get dirt crammed in my CPU, I fully expect that you will be the one to pick it out, with your bare hands—or, maybe not bare, because that would be a little weird, dunno where those have been—

"What're you laughing at?" Wheatley asked, darting his optic around inquisitively.

Nothing, she thought, shrugging automatically as she quelled the bubble of giggles that had caused her chest to quiver with amusement.

Above, the sun beat down through the hole with almost cruel force. The gap was definitely a great deal wider than it had looked from the room with the potato-tree. It stretched into an open cavern, revealing the towering reaches of the facility, layers of mangled floors, walls, and bent, rusted beams looking like smashed sides apocalyptic skyscrapers more than a working science facility. In the distance, very, very high up, the tiniest glimpse of the brightest blue could be seen, and Chell's eyes widened dramatically at the sight, her heart skipping a beat.

That was blue sky.

Well, at least this explains all the vegetation, she thought to herself. This entire area did indeed open right up to the heavens.

She started to sweat. The combination of Wheatley's weight and the hot, potent rays of sun almost made Chell wish that she was back under the shade of the Enrichment Center. Her body was not used to such a heat, not after spending so long so cold.

For what felt like the thousandth time, she wished that she could have had some cool water to sooth her throat, and to splash over her dirty, oily face. The only comfort currently available was her forearm, which she lifted over her forehead, trying to shield her eyes from the blinding brightness.

But then, suddenly, there was water. She heard it—it began as a faint tinkle, following alongside her path. It grew, becoming a little louder with each step, until finally, she spotted the small pool not far away. She almost walked right past it, due to it being partially concealed by the brush.

After wrestling with a rather tough fern, she stooped over it, and splashed the soothing moisture over her burning neck, face and hands, and then lowered herself to drink from the puddle.

"Oookay," Wheatley sighed from behind, at a loss for what to say. "Um… Just-just let me know, then, will you, when you're done. I don't need to witness this, as-as close friends as we are… and by close I mean not-quite-friends, of course. Acquaintances, yes, yes, that's the word I'm looking for… Though, we are actually pretty close to the turnoff I've been meaning to mention. It's just ahead, through there."

With absolutely no clue as to which direction he meant, she stood up with a face still dripping water down the front of her shirt.

"To your right," he added, ineffectively jabbing his handles, trying to gesture towards a blank stretch of wall.

She frowned, very confused.

"No, no, look closely," he persisted. "Behind that bunch of tall—um, grass. Do you see it? The broken panel that we can use to get behind the walls?"

Striding forward, Chell ignored the whisper of tall weed and fern against her worn pants. Wheatley had been pointing to a cracked tile, barely visible due to the densely packed patch of grass and fern, growing flush against the wall. It was a dark, roundish hole, no more than four feet wide, with deep cracks fanning outwards from the breach, like a spider's web.

Her first thought, even through the bright, uplifting sunshine, was that she was not inclined in the slightest to step inside.

Why were the ways out always the creepiest?

"Go on, yeah?" Wheatley encouraged. "Map says that our best bet is through that hole, there. I do hope that we fit! It'd be a sad sight, to be stopped by such a silly thing—being too massive to fit through a bloody hole, can you imagine? 'Wheatley and the lady, the unfortunate team that did not succeed. Let this gaping hole mark the spot where their brave endeavors came crashing down around them, all because of unfortunate genetics and generous proportions. Lest we forget that the cake was not a lie.'," he chuckled.

Oh, you cheeky little—! She really could have kicked him, just then. Really.

Chell elbowed the side of his hull instead. In hindsight, she might not have done this—it only served to make him laugh harder. It hurt her—she rubbed her elbow in annoyance, scowling as the tingly rush of hitting her funny bone spread down her arm.

"Sorry, only kidding, mate," Wheatley choked. "I will say, though, it's looking pretty dark in there. Mind your step, all right? Don’t wanna fall to our deaths, or anything like that."

Reluctantly, Chell crept closer, fighting her way through the clump of grass. It was a bit thicker than she had expected, and for a few moments, she struggled with the ferns, ignoring Wheatley's snide comments about making bets on her loss against the surrounding thicket. She finally succeeded in ripping a portion of it out, roots and all, and wistfully disregarded a sudden impulse to smush the weeds right into Wheatley's stupid face in retaliation.

The inside of the foliage was a lot like being inside of a green, smelly tunnel—fronds and bits of fern criss-crossed over her head, shining a greenish hue onto her arms and face. The air in here was humid, thick with the scent of decaying plant matter. Dry leaves and deceased, decaying shrubs had formed a soil, stinking and crunching underneath her boots.

Well, here goes nothing, Chell sighed, and ducked into the hole.

Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the harsh gloom. She could tell that this was a tunnel of sorts, hardly large enough to fit both herself and Wheatley. The cramped space would certainly not allow enough room to stand in. Here, the ground was completely covered in a thick carpet of moss, into which her hands sank a good inch or two.

The path was very narrow. It was lined on either side by giant, metallic pistons, some thicker than her entire body, stretching out from the backsides of the surrounding panels. There was an overwhelming scent of dampness, and little clouds of earth rose from the moss-carpet, disturbed by the motion of her hands and feet. Her eyes watered, and she sneezed violently, knocking the back of her ponytail against yet another gigantic piston hanging low overhead.

The dripping echo of water was much louder in here. Obviously, whatever stream that she had followed through the greens ran part of its course behind these panels. A little ways away, the trickle of water descended down a towering structure, probably some sort of cliff or wall.

It was very uncomfortable to crawl forward in such a small space, especially while still lugging along a rather heavy personality construct. When she had entered the tunnel, he had courteously switched on his internal flashlight, cutting a clear track through the gloom—but it did little good, as their path appeared to end abruptly, concluding in a high, solid wall a few paces ahead.

"Bit creepy in here, isn't it?" Wheatley whispered in a high tone, looped to the front of her body for ease of carrying. "It's all right, though, I'm sure. Er—nothing to be alarmed about. Just darkness. Good old, safe… yet frightening… darkness. No danger ahead—yet. Just—lack of light. And enclosed spaces. Both of which I'm sure you don't mind. You don't mind, do you? No, you're having a grand old time, I can tell."

She might have chuckled at his ridiculous, frightened rambling—if the situation hadn't been so serious. Because, at that moment, she reached the cement wall… and saw that it was not the end of the trail, contrary to what she had thought. To the left, part of the cement must have collapsed ages ago, leaving behind twisted, bent metal, and chunks of concrete. It was completely blocked off.

On the other side, to her right—there was no path, technically speaking.

The ground just simply—dropped. Into. Nothing.

Well, that was comforting.

Not.

"Right," said Wheatley with a nervous quaver. "We, er—we're going to have to jump, actually. Shame that I didn't mention it before. Sorry about that, but it doesn't sound very nice, does it? 'Yeah, climb into this hole here. It ends in a not-bottomless pit. Not bottomless, but I don't exactly know what's at the bottom, either'. You'd have to have been mad to fall for that!"

Chell grimaced. If she hadn't been stuck inside such a cramped space, she would have elbowed him again.

"Yeah, I don't like it either," he said, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm not even going to pretend that I do. If you must know, heights are not something that I-I'm very fond of. Rather the opposite, actually, with being a sphere and all, and not having any limbs to catch myself with. Jumping off of the management rail is-is bad enough, and—ugh—this is a g-good deal f-further. It's a loooong way down, and-and I-I do hope that those boots are in p-proper working order, for both of our sakes. Because otherwise—well, it was nice knowing you, m-mate."

He made a loud swallowing sound. Chell huffed, shaking her head in disbelief. Of course the boots worked. Or else, she would have long since been a pancake. Or human pancake batter, rather.

Don't think about that, she told herself.

Cautiously, she crept forward, peering over the edge into the void. Whatever surface it was that she was kneeling on—cement, covered by a thick layer of moss, it felt like—had crumbled away here, giving way into a pit of blackness.

If there was a bottom down there, she could not see it, not even with Wheatley's flashlight aimed into the abyss.

She'd just have to trust there was, then.

"Oh, oh, god, that's—that's quite far down, isn't it." The core had begun to tremble in her arms.

Swallowing hard, she clung onto his sphere, pressing him further into her chest. She attempted a very awkward kind of rolling crouch, trying to sit herself on the ledge of the pit. It was very difficult to do this in such a small space.

"O-okay, maybe j-just forget what I said," Wheatley stammered. "M-maybe there's another way around. Maybe I can—OHGOD!"

She had slid herself forward, legs dangling over the void. Fully prepared to take the leap of faith, she froze as he screamed bloody murder.

More than a little angry, she automatically pressed her hands over her ears, trying to drown out the echo reverberating around the cramped space—but either her movement, or, more likely, his deafening yell, had disturbed something.

The flurry of movement caught her off guard, and she slipped, her free hand scrabbling at the cement ledge a second too late—and fell down, down into the blackness.

"AAAAAA—"

He was screaming and screaming—but this time, Chell had an inkling of why—the movement which had frightened him into his fit, and her into her fall, had been caused, by the love of all things—a bird taking flight.

"—AAAAA—"

It let out an ear-splitting screech, rivalling only Wheatley's yell, which all echoed off the concrete sides of the pit until her head rang with it. Chell wanted to cry from the sheer racket. It had dove from some hidden ledge, where it must have sat, camouflaged, watching them in the darkness. Now, it was plunging after them with break-neck speed, soaring down and down into the depths of the facility.

"—AAAAAA—"

Wheatley writhed in fright, trying to flee from the bird, still yelling all the while. It was only feet behind them, flapping its wings menacingly.

In an attempt to hold him still, Chell pulled him tightly into her chest with one arm. She flailed, trying to flip herself right-way-up, wanting to close her eyes against the whirlwind of color as she braced herself against the distinct possibility of death. Whenever they did reach the bottom, if, indeed, there was one—it was essential that she land properly, on the soles of the long-fall-boots.

"—AAAAAA—"

Stop yelling and hold still, will you, you pathetic little hunk of metal you’re going to get us killed—

The wind was a deafening roar, whistling in her ears. It was becoming increasingly chilly, sharp in contrast with the warmth of the surface draught, and her eyes were streaming, her hair loose from its pony, whipping across her face, and —

"—AAAHHHHHHH!"

We are going to die and it is going to be entirely your fault—

SPPPPLLLLAAAAAASH!

"Ohh, bloody brilliant," Wheatley groaned.

Chell staggered—the abrupt landing had caught her off guard. She was soaked. Literally sopping—drenched to the bone, dripping in mud and muck. A stinking sludge of foul water, oil, and god-only-knows what else, clung to every inch of her. She spat out a mouthful of greasy sludge, trying not to throw up—dropped Wheatley (pity that he was still attached to her side via the harness)—coughed breathlessly, staggered, and raised her hands to her face, trying to clear the sand out of her eyes.

"Who'd have thought—giant puddle at the end of the jump. Figures," Wheatley chuckled, obviously amused.

She could have punched him.

Grinding her teeth loudly, she winced as the flecks of sand inside her mouth were mulched together. They coated her tongue and the roof of her already sore mouth.

She didn't punch him, but it was a close thing. Oh, she'd get him for this, if it was the last thing she did.

Chell unstuck her boots from the mud with a nasty squelch, wincing. At least we’re still alive, she thought. But at what cost… oh. At the cost of ending up in what seems to be the bottom of Aperture’s version of storm sewers.

Now that’s wonderful.

Chapter Text

The puddle was only about knee-deep on Chell once the water that had sloshed out onto its banks had trickled back in. Yet she was utterly soaked from head to foot, and so was the cloth covering Wheatley. He seemed to be fine, though, all things considered—she shook him, just to make sure. ('Hey!' he yelled in annoyance).

So. He had survived the tidal wave, had he?

Judging by his lack of comments about the pond water, Chell determined that it must not have posed a very dangerous threat to his internal hardware. Aperture technology remains safely operational in up to 4000 degrees kelvin, said an unholy voice in her head (a voice that sounded suspiciously like her). It made sense that it would also probably be waterproof.

Chell shook herself off, unwillingly taking notice of the many droplets of water that rained down from her sopping hair, showering the surface of the pool. Tiny beads of light flickered across it, glinting blue in the low glare radiating from Wheatley's optic. It sort of reminded her of the firelight from the previous night, if the fire had been blue and watery.

Also a bit reminiscent of it was the place they had ended up inside of. It was well lit enough for her to see some things by, once her eyes had adjusted to the gloom, though not well enough to make out the more distant reaches of the cavern. Whether most of the ambient light was coming from the faint glow from Wheatley's optic or from the pale, narrow shafts still falling from above, she was not sure which, but through them both she could see that the space before her was harsh and jagged. It couldn’t have been more different from the sunlit corridor up above.

Down here, she was pretty certain that she wasn’t going to get to experience that sensation of heat and warmth for another, very long time. She scanned the high walls, squinting up at them, hoping to catch a glimpse of some kind of landmark that could tell her where exactly they had landed. This place had to be on the complete opposite side of the facility from the testing tracks, judging by just how far they’d travelled into the maintenance wing before they’d jumped down the hole. But looking around, if Chell hadn't known hadn’t better, she wouldn't even have guessed that she was still inside of Aperture at all.

Good news, I guess, she thought. I'm alive, and so is Wheatley, and it looks like we’ve managed to end up in some completely unfamiliar place. Wet and cold, too, but a little water's better than the agonizing alternative of death by dehydration, I suppose…

You all right? she asked Wheatley silently, bumping the core sharply against her hip. She wanted to make sure that he really was okay before continuing onto what would surely be a long, hard trek in the dark while both drenched and filthy. Initially, she had been more than a little angry that he had guided her down into a foul, stinking culvert, but now that she had caught her breath, the anger had dissipated. Wheatley was only doing his job, by leading her down into the deepest depths of the facility; and certainly, a long jump like that had been the most direct route to travel downward. How was he supposed to know about the giant puddle at the end of it, after all?

No. There were no more doubts in Chell’s mind that Wheatley was sincere. She had already decided on that the previous night. If Wheatley said he was sorry, then… he was sorry. Plain and simple.

He didn't even need to say it this time. He really had nothing to apologize for. Sacrifices had to be made, if they ever wanted to get to their nearly impossible destination in one piece.

Seeking to reassure him as even she found the dark down here to be slightly creepy, Chell rocked him gently in the harness, pressing him further into the crook of her arm. "M'all right," he mumbled quietly in reply, rotating his optical plate further into her side, as if trying to bury himself wholly into her warmth. "I was just a little startled by that bird, is all. It's all fine. I’m sure it didn’t follow us all the way down here."

Satisfied with his response, Chell unstuck her boots from the mud with a nasty sucking sound. She stumbled as twin waves of water sloshed automatically to fill the holes, leaving the two sandy footprints invisible under the murky liquid. She waded through the shallows over to the sloping bank, stepping carefully to avoid getting her boots caught in the thick layer of mud beneath the water.

"Disgusting, though," said Wheatley, clearly appalled by the sounds as well as the residual splashes of muddy water. "Absolutely disgusting down here. Should've known there'd be a giant old puddle at the end of that jump, eh? What with those little streams and all. That'll be a job for me, then, in the future: warn you of oncoming obstacles. Yes."

Wringing out her tank as best as she could, Chell climbed beyond the slimy banks and tried not to slip on the slick, wet patches of reedy, water-logged grass. It was a good thing that Wheatley's flashlight was still working, for she couldn't see hardly anything, even with it. By its light, she noted that her already filthy shirt-and-jumpsuit combination had most definitely not gotten any cleaner during the day's events, that was for sure.

Chell pursed her lips in frustration. She would not be able to drink this water anymore (which had probably been crystal-clear two nanoseconds before their crash landing), for the muddy bottom had been stirred up by the impact. It would be more productive to lick sand off a beach, she mused, wishing that all this water hadn't made her feel so thirsty. The little drink up in the room with the blue sky and the clear, clean little puddles already felt like ages ago.

Why is it that whenever we come across something that could be potentially useful, it's either already ruined, or the act of getting to it ruins it, she wondered, gritting her teeth in annoyance.

Just as she thought of this, her stomach gave an almighty rumble . How was it that even water could make her feel hungry? It didn’t matter either way, though—the hunger and thirst would have to wait. There wasn’t anything she could do about either of those things right now.

"Oh," said Wheatley interestedly, his optic flicking over to her middle. "I thought we'd just fed you potatoes last night? Already needing more sustenance? So sorry, but now's not really the time to stop and eat."

She shrugged in agreement.

"Ah, well," said Wheatley, watching trails of dripping water race down the test subject's clothing as she moved. They trickled onto the ground and back into the puddle via rivets. "I would say, at least there's water down here, but I wouldn't drink that, if I were you. Quite nasty. And, it didn't even help us get any cleaner! Still smelly. Ugh," he groaned, and she nodded, exhaling an irritated sigh that blew the wet strands of hair off her forehead. Yes, they were both filthy, and she didn't need reminding of that, just now—longing for a hot shower wasn’t the sort of distraction she needed when she was about to begin to explore a brand-new wing of Aperture.

"At least a bit of water isn't going to hurt me," said Wheatley, watching the test subject try to wring out her ponytail before straightening. "The engineers must have thought that maybe one day a crazy jumpsuited lady might throw herself down a not-bottomless pit ending in a big old puddle with me in her arms, eh?"

The ghost of a smile flitted across her face. Shivering, she stifled a small laugh.

"On the other hand," he said, watching her, "That bird. I know I said I was hoping that it didn’t follow us down here, but I also do not want to take any chances. Did you see where it went?"

She had almost forgotten about the bird. Automatically, she spun around to stare back up the shaft suspiciously, but there was no sign of it anywhere.

She huffed, letting her shoulders sag in another shrug. The core's optic had followed her glance around the cavern.

He squirmed uncomfortably, a little upset by her lack of determination to search for it. "Are you sure you didn't see it?" he asked seriously. "Unquestionably positive, you didn't? I was trying to keep a lookout, but it was a little bit difficult, as you could imagine. The whole falling through the air upside down thing didn't help. And now we've got no clue as to where this bird has gone."

No, she felt like telling him, I didn't see where the damned bird went, all right? Too busy falling—and trying to save us from plunging head-first to our deaths. No big deal, or anything, of course.

Assuming that it had flown back into the upper reaches of the facility, or else gone back to hide wherever its nest was, Chell staggered forwards through the gloom. With each step, the soaked ground underneath her footing secreted little clouds of moisture. The accompanying noise was a rather nasty squelch.

Luckily, the material out of which her jumpsuit had been hewn must have been at least partially impermeable. Chell found that, upon taking a few steps forward, her legs had actually been kept quite dry, and so had her feet.

But her upper half had not been so lucky.

The fabric clung uncomfortably to her skin, exposing far more of her physique than she would have liked. Through the white top the small indent of her belly button could be seen.

Very conscious of the beam of Wheatley's flashlight travelling up her body, Chell crossed her arms over herself, shielding the sight from him. The last thing she wanted was Wheatley to see how see-through her tops were—he had a knack for pointing out the very things she was least comfortable with. She shivered a little more, noticing that a bitter draft was gusting through the narrow cavern.

What is this place? she wondered, distracted by the sight of it.

"Drowned as a rat, aren't you," said the core, his interest piqued by Chell's shy body language. "Hmm. 'Drowned as a rat'. Not really a great comparison, is it? Not unless we were drowning rats, of course. Then it might work. But, ahh—rat or not, I'm sure you'll dry off soon enough."

He nodded reassuringly, which Chell ignored.

"Ahh," he then said, narrowing his eye as he followed her gaze and attempted to see further ahead through the gloom. "Sorry for having to bring you down here like this. If there had been a better way, we'd have been sure to take it."

She squeezed him a little closer into her side and gave a soft pat to the top of his casing. I know, Wheatley. It’s all good, okay? We’re alive. Let’s carry on.

"Well," he continued, clearly a little embarrassed about the semi-affectionate gestures, "All birds and not-bottomless pits aside, at least we're on the right track. Our destination is still miles below, but we managed to hack a bunch of it off our journey with that jump. Bad news, though, we've got a long way to go until we reach another place we can stop. So, uhh… I know it may look like nighttime down here, lady, but it's not. We’ve got a very full day ahead of uhm. Walking around in the dark. So just spin me around, yeah, and I'll light the way out for us."

She pulled him to the front of her body, tilting his core like a miner’s lamp. It didn't do much to break through the ominous, distant gloom of the place, but it helped a little bit closer to.

Behind her was an immense, chain-link fence, covering nearly the entire length of the jump she’d just made. It was marked by many decaying signs reading things like 'danger—keep out' and 'this area contains elements of radioactive fallout and cosmic ray spallation'. Behind these, she could see an endless flight of crumbling stairs speckled with the far-off tungsten glow of maintenance lights hinting at many rooms located behind this barrier. The stairs themselves probably led back up to the very top layers of the Enrichment Center.

From the high ledge she had fallen from, she could just make out a total of two streams cascading down a slimy, slick concrete panelled wall, each feeding the murky waters of the puddle. Their tinkling, musical din was added to the only two sounds permeating the dankness: one was the sloppy, mucky suck of her footsteps, and the other was the sound of Wheatley's mechanics buzzing as he shifted his optic to and fro.

The puddle area only had one outlet, a sloping path leading downhill into the darkness like the bottom of some giant, narrow crevasse. It was a very claustrophobic space, bordered by two towering cement walls, higher than any Chell had yet seen. The stream ran underground, lost from sight by a mulch of rusted, broken iron beams and large chunks of worn, rebar-stuck concrete, all fallen from a possibly collapsed roof which remained lost from her sight.

It would be a dangerous march.

In contrast with the perfectly balanced, smooth-panelled hallways of the Enrichment Center above, this was a treacherous, chaotic mess. It was so laced with sharp, deadly outcroppings and rusting hunks of metal with knife-like edges that Chell felt her breath quicken from the idea of crossing such a minefield without a portal gun.

"Right state this place is in," Wheatley whispered from under her arm. "Like I said before, I think at one point, the Scientists wanted to make a courtyard for themselves, or something, and then realized the place needed drainage. But then they gave up building it halfway through. ‘Too expensive’, they said, but I know what the issue really was. Lazy buggers. Didn't think that it might destabilize the entire foundation of this wing, but there it is.”

Her eyes having adjusted more to the gloom, Chell now saw that the path held signs of once having had a ceiling held together by large, rusted rebar wires, now hanging dangerously from above with large chunks of concrete nestled in them like cement flies caught in a metal spider’s web. A few still bridged the gap between the walls, creating doomed, feeble links that were sure to fall apart in a place that was slowly crumbling with age and neglect.

What had caused this? Was Wheatley right, in that the scientists had wanted to use this place for drainage, and deserted the area midway through building it? And then, why hadn’t she bothered to fix it, when she had fixed up the rest of the enrichment center?

But Chell already knew the answer to this. While the test shafts were the most notable example of the mysterious, sprawling areas of Aperture that had remained outside of her sight for many, many years, it would have been stupid of her to assume that there were not any other areas in addition to those and the maintenance wings that she didn’t have complete access to.

Clearly, Wheatley’s software was taking them through some kind of long-forgotten, broken backdoor—a hidden area of the facility that had existed outside of her sight for so long that it had suffered considerably from the abandonment and had been transformed into a hellscape graveyard of radioactive concrete decay.

Chell shivered, eyeing the wall to her right uneasily. Great portions of it had been torn away completely, as if some huge, unthinkable monster hungry for rebar had taken enormous gouges out of it, leaving behind these gaping, moss-bleeding gashes shrouded by nothing but flimsy mesh wire through which she could glimpse the surrounding endless labyrinth of crumbling old rooms and offices.

She breathed deeply and swallowed, holding Wheatley close to her as she began to pick her way downhill.

"This is it," he chattered nervously as she went, trying to keep up a constant stream of encouragement. "The beginning—of the end of our journey,” he nodded for emphasis. “Hopefully, anyway. We’ll get ourselves down to the test shafts, find the prototype, flick on its mainframe—bam—and then it'll be a one-way trip to the surface for us! Just you and I. We'll be able to properly dry you off and heat up, once we’re up there. No shortage of heat and light up there! You won't even need my flashlight anymore! Except at night. Yes. Might need it at night, not unless you can find some electricity up there, somewhere."

Casting him a wistful smile, Chell started down the crevice with care. Her left hand flew out to stabilize herself against the slimy wall as her boots slid precariously on the thick algae-like slime. Evidently the metal heels of her boots, so useful for long falls, were not equipped to traverse areas of slippery lichen and moss growing on the surface of haphazardly angled concrete slabs.

This is going to be a lot harder than I thought.

And as helpful as Wheatley’s encouragement and flashlight were in the dark, his added weight was not going to make this trip any easier.

It was hard to balance with a fifteen-pound, round deadweight slung over one shoulder when it had handles that liked to poke her in the sides while she walked.

"It does bring up a good question, though," Wheatley continued, completely oblivious to Chell's slippery predicament. "What if they don't have electricity up there? To be honest, I'm not sure if they do. And, ahh—well, that'd mean there aren't any management rails up there, either… And possibly no ports. That—could be disastrous. Didn't think of that. Bugger, why didn't we think to grab an extra core battery while we were up there? I mean, fair enough, you won't still be around to change it a hundred years from now when it runs out, but I will be…"

Whether or not there would be electricity up on the surface was the least of her worries right now. Maybe for Wheatley it would be a big deal, but after living so long as an outcast on the run from a murderous science facility, Chell was used to living in the dark. If there wasn't power and the nights were long and held no light, it'd still be better than this place, she felt.

The mulch-strewn cleft was a lot deeper than she had initially thought, she soon found out. She dodged between half-hidden segments of sharp-tipped, matted rebar, meandered her way past ancient shards of broken, partially melted glass, ignoring the darkened rooms of chambers beyond she’d occasionally glimpse through the huge holes in the walls. She slid over boulders, leaped across broken iron H-beams, and tried to ignore the way the core's flashlight made pinnacles of debris shine like terrifying swords in the night.

She rested a short while on a small carpet of moss growing on top of a boulder, breathing deeply and listening to Wheatley's prattle. He talked a lot when he was nervous, but secretly she was glad for it. She couldn't help but find it comforting, sometimes.

"Hmm," he hummed to her quietly. "Doesn't look as though anyone's been down here in ages, does it?"

Chell agreed, shivering a little. It was bloody cold down here, not to mention damp—the stream responsible for all this moss and lichen had still been following their path downward. She could hear it running its course under the many layers of rubble.

"It's almost like a graveyard. For-for technology, I mean. Hellish place, this…” said Wheatley, also with a shiver as he mirrored her earlier thoughts. “At least she can't touch us here, though. I seriously doubt she'd ever look here, if she didn't think we were dead. Umm… just keep that sustaining thought going. That at least we won’t have to face her deadly death traps down here. And-and add in that, once we do reach the next rest-spot, we'll be able to make another one of those fires, maybe."

The memory of the fire from the previous night acted like flame in her own chest. She struggled back onto her feet, also privately agreeing wholeheartedly that the lack of AIs trying to kill her in here was ideal.  This place might indeed feel like a graveyard, thought Chell, but at least it’s not gonna be our graveyard.

But under her control or not, it still gave her the creeps, and the sooner they got out of it, the better, in her opinion. And if there happened to be a nice, warm and toasty fire at the end of it, with some food and some water, that was all the better for her. She heaved Wheatley further onto her back, and with one palm pressing against a slimy wall for support, staggered forwards.

Much of the journey passed in this fashion—with Chell clinging fearfully to the wall, trying her best to navigate a safe path through the rubble, and with Wheatley rambling softly behind her back. Once or twice, her breath caught in her throat as her weight dislodged an avalanche of concrete, threatening to send her cascading into pits with sharp, lethal edges and boulders large enough to crush her. Her boots slid regularly against the damp surfaces, as the metal ground crudely against rock, sometimes producing a blinding flash of sparks under her heel. With every step, the stream underneath grew louder and her path grew steeper, descending into what felt like the very heart of the dark, deadest portions of the facility.

Her footsteps scraped and echoed, beating a strange rhythm against the murky walls, joined only by the whisper of the small stream. Both cut their own path downward resolutely. Occasionally, Wheatley would shout out warnings for Chell, his heigh, terrified voice echoing between the towering walls until her ears rang with it.

She appreciated his help, though. So far today, he had proved himself to be a worthy escape-partner. He had graduated from damnit-you-moron how-can-a-computer be-so-infuriating to okay-maybe-you-can-stay—if he continued to behave in this fashion, that was.

"S'all right," he'd tell her once she’d regained her footing, putting on a brave face. "Carry on, luv, one small step, or however the saying goes. No rush. Better, erm, be safe than sorry. We'll get there eventually."

She lost track of time. All she knew was her sore limbs, her aching feet. The cleft was a cold, dark place, its air moist and chilly. Wheatley's light barely cut the fog that was increasing the deeper they went and did nothing to ease the iciness penetrating from her wet t-shirt right into her heart. Each hop onto another rock, another safespot, was daring and dangerous, and despite her racing pulse she could not sweat. The air did it for her, only serving to moisten her already damp clothing in airborne clammy perspiration.

At least there were no eyes here. There were no red eyes to follow her wherever she went. Unlike the panels and pistons upstairs these were broken and offline spaces, covered in moss and rust. Down here, everything was dead in this graveyard, with its lifeless robotic arms laying scattered with their usual aqua optics lightless and colorless.

When was the last time life has been down here, she wondered. If ever? Or am I the actual first since it was originally built? It’s so lonely. So silent. So cold. So dead.

Her head span as she contemplated this, so she stopped.

But the vertigo had been enough for her to lose her footing. She stumbled, sliding off a rock towards a deep, dark void in the ground, and the boulder beneath her feet slid with her. It tumbled into another, and another, and suddenly the chasm rang with the sound of falling rock and Wheatley's deafening yell.

"Arrrrrrgggghhh!" he shouted. "Jump—there, jump there, that looks like a safer rock, right there!"

Leaping blindly into the direction which she thought he meant, Chell landed, crouching instinctively as her boot heels hit a flat surface. Whatever it was, it was firm and metal, and when her boots hit, the material held fast with an extremely loud, rattling BANG. She opened her eyes, uncurled her arms from her landing position, and tried to ignore the way her heartbeat was hammering hard in her throat.

"Oh—that works. Very well. Nice one," he said lamely.

She didn't hear him. Instead, she was frowning at the surface she had landed on.

"Are you okay…" said Wheatley, sounding worried. "What on earth are you looking at?"

She rose, only to look curiously around her, obviously distracted by something he could not see. Her eyes darted between the two walls in silence.

The metal material had obviously been placed here deliberately, in contrast with the rest of the debris. She could see rivets, bolts, and seams where it had been welded together and screwed into bits of concrete that had now been ripped away. It was an ancient, rusted metal platform, a bent, twisted diamond-plated deck turned neon orange by the countless years of exposure to the moist air. It looked like a sort of loading dock, or maybe once it had been a balcony for something—whatever the reason it was here, Chell wanted to know.

"Are you staring at the ground for any particular reason?" Wheatley asked, confused. "Are you hurt? Is that why? Did you injure yourself, jumping off that rock, like that? I knew you should have jumped to the left—excellent jumper indeed, pscht—is that what I'm seeing? That you've hurt yourself?"

No, she thought vaguely as she re-examined the ground. She kneeled down to trace its surface with her fingertips, her hands lining the edges of each of the little criss-crossing bumps associated with the diamond-weaved texture like she’d never seen an object like it before.

"Ah." He blazed with sudden understanding, sounding relieved yet curious. "I'll take that as a no, then. Good. Means that you shouldn't have any troubles with—OHGOD! RUN! AAARGGG! NOO! RIGHT NOW! AAAARGGGHHHH! RUNN!"

She nearly leaped from the platform in fright—his shout, incessantly loud inside of the canyon, had shocked her bad. Damn it, she wanted to shove him, but instead she tried to swat and missed—oh, she'd kill him for scaring the daylights out of her like that!

What was he yelling about, even?

But she froze as another sound met her ears. A low warble of a blackbird and the tiny ting of talons tapping against metal as it shifted its wings was audible from not too far behind her.

"RUUUN!" Wheatley was screaming still, writhing, fighting against the harness in blind panic. "FOR GOODNESS SAKE, WHAT HAPPENED TO LITTLE MISS TEST SUBJECT! THAT'S A BIRD YOU'RE LOOKING AT, MATE! I SHOULD ALSO POINT OUT THAT YOU ARE, IN FACT, STILL LOOKING AT IT, WHEN YOUSHOULD BE RUNNING FOR OUR LIVES!"

With a half-opened mouth, Chell turned and scanned the gorge in search for the bird in question. She wasn't scared—it was a bird, not a bloody mashy spike plate—but Wheatley's cry had surprised her. It had probably surprised the bird pretty well, too, she thought. Both of them might be half-deaf from the freaking racket the core was making.

She spotted the animal a minute later. It swooped across the canyon-like cleft and sang one long, loud note as it passed overhead, coming to rest atop a long spire extending lethally out into the darkness.

But its flight had served only to send Wheatley into an even greater panic. "ARRRRRGHHHH!" he bellowed, trembling in alarm against her side. "ARRGGHHHH NOO! HOLD ME! DON'T LET IT GET TO ME! I… wait a second…"

He stopped as he saw that the bird was sitting motionless, high over their heads. Its eyes glinted ominously in the darkness, reflecting the beam of his flashlight.

"Oh," he said finally. "It's… flown away. Further into the pit, where it can't hurt us—at least, for now, that is. Brilliant! I must have scared it off, all by myself, no thanks to—"

He halted, seeing the toxic look spreading across Chell's face.

"Ahem," he coughed, back pedaling. "I mean, uhh, mission accomplished. We survived. Well done. Go team!”

She watched him with semi-amusement as he squirmed in discomfort. Honestly, she chuckled to herself, so much drama over an animal only about a third of the size of you. I would have expected that from... lesser constructs, maybe. I mean she had all the rights in the world to be afraid of them when she was in the potato. But you? I doubt that birds even eat computer parts, not to mention metal spheres, screaming at the top of their—lack of lungs? Probably really unappetizing for any species.

She shook her head. Even I wouldn't eat you if you weren’t metal, and I haven't had a proper meal in… how long?

It was a joke, though. She could understand that he was afraid, and that was valid enough. Everyone had fears. Even she did, though she didn’t like to admit that to herself, ever. It was just that her fears tended to be more interpersonal than something like the phobia of a physical attack or malady. Chell wasn’t afraid of not being able to save or defend herself. Lord knows she’d done so much of that over the course of her life that the concept of her own death had been rendered worriedly anticlimactic. Was that a symptom of severe trauma? Probably, she thought. I’m numb to the concept of dying. But I can’t handle the idea of not being able to save someone I truly care about from that same fate.

Maybe it’s a good thing I’m alone down here, she continued, oblivious to the familiar weight of the squirming core hanging off her side as she thought it. If I wasn’t, I don’t think I could handle what could happen if things didn’t go according to plan.

Wheatley had made it very clear to her in the past that he had a great fear of birds, though. She had, too, and Chell could sympathize with that a little bit—birds were small, fast, and unpredictable. For metal constructs not used to organisms that were quicker than they were and could dive-bomb them with all the accuracy and speed of a dangerous projectile, it made sense. Wheatley also lacked any appendages he could use to protect himself from an attack. At least if the bird decided to dive-bomb the two of them together, she could try to protect them against it.

And in any case, she thought, there’s a lot worse things that could happen to us down here than getting attacked by a bird.

Above and beyond the crouching pair, motionless on the rebar, the bird sat contentedly. It was watching them with two yellow, luminous eyes, eyes far too reminiscent of another, haunting optic she could think of.

"Bugger," said Wheatley, shooting a hateful glare towards it. "Now it's watching us. Probably making sure that we don't make a break for it before it can eat us. Can-can you turn me around, mate? Please? I don't—I don't want to look at it. It reminds me of her."

Chell frowned down at the core at once. "It's the eyes," he whispered. "I swear it. Proper creepy, they are."

She made a small noise of disbelief in her throat. Wheatley was quivering lightly against her side, his optic darting fearfully between the bird and the path ahead.

Chell went still, observing it in silence, too. It stood perfectly straight, despite the continuous cycle of air moving through the canyon. Maybe too stiffly, she thought. Maybe her mind was just playing tricks on her, but she rather thought the bird’s eyes glowed.

That’s just a trick of the light, she thought. Bird eyes are reflective. But Wheatley was right. It was creepy, and it did remind her of her.

Her shoulders sagged heavily as she yawned, overwhelmed with a sudden wave of exhaustion that made her feel mostly indifferent toward the bird. Really, she was too tired to care much about anything else besides how thankful she'd be for a little rest, maybe a little food, water and another fire—even if the bird was still hanging around for it all.

How long had it been, since they had set out? It felt like forever. It was impossible to believe that only this morning she had been enjoying the brilliantly warm, pleasant rays of sun in the areas up above.

Chell reached into her pocket. The smooth, metallic surface of the lighter met her fingers, cold to the touch. Well at least that's still there, she thought, dimly surprised that it hadn't fallen out during the last few hectic hours. Her pockets were deep, but she had already crammed the bottoms with the wrinkly remains of potatoes. They better not have been squished to a pulp by accident!

She swayed a little on her feet, contemplating just staying here, on this platform, for the night. There wasn't any fuel in sight, but it was doubtful that she'd find a cozier spot, not when the path ahead looked no better than what was behind them.

But then she saw it.

An indent was apparent on the side of the closest wall just underneath the place where the bird had chosen to sit. The gap was small, easily missable due to the wall’s many uneven surfaces which cast shadows every few feet. The blackness of the opening was easily camouflaged by these other crevices in the roughly hewn rock, but this one was a bit wider, and from within its depths, Chell could see a hint of some kind of reflective surface located in the room beyond.

The moist rock gleamed wet against Wheatley's light as she tried to reposition the flashlight to see better, even though Wheatley was still trying to keep his optic focussed on the bird sitting just above this opening. She tried to pay it no mind, wanting to ignore how its presence felt oddly foreboding, like some kind of silent, ominous gargoyle.

If she had cared, though, she might have seen the way the animal was watching her. It still hadn’t moved whatsoever, except to follow her with a wary yellow eye continuously trained on her as though it were a gatekeeper for the adjacent alcove.

Will it attack if I go inside, she wondered, but then thought no. It wasn't threatening as much as observant. Perhaps its behavior was peculiar, but Chell knew nothing of birds, so she disregarded it in favor of her rumbling stomach. She shot it one last unceremonious glance which it replied to with one long, low note.

"What is it?" Wheatley asked, his optic now darting over the wall. "A passageway, through there?"

Chell nodded seriously.

"Oh…" Wheatley stared at the wall uneasily. "You're not thinking of—?"

Of course I am, she nodded again. Where else are we going to spend the night?

"You are, aren't you…" Wheatley sighed in defeat as he craned to see inside of its shadowy depths. "That's, uhh… just great. It looks dangerous, though. I suppose you don't remember me saying to you that it's my job to warn you of any potentially lethal obstacles?"

As he spoke, Chell had moved closer to the wall, holding the core in front of her to see better inside. The large, shiny thing glinted back mysteriously.

"Well, warning flag's going off," Wheatley said squeakily, the pitch of his voice heightening in fear. "Look. It practically says 'danger—keep out' on the doorway, okay? Are you seeing this properly? Obviously not, or you wouldn't be trying to go in there. This whole place looks like it's about to collapse, and I'd rather it didn't collapse with us inside of some secret room no one in this entire bloody place knows about, where they won’t ever find our dead bodies…"

Sure. Chell agreed, it looked dangerous, but not more dangerous than the rest of their path had been thus far. Wheatley had a point, and she was grateful that he was trying to warn her, but they needed to find a place for her to sleep.

She was tired and hungry, and freezing her arse off—surely nothing beyond this cleft could be worse than what they had already encountered.

Making her way towards it, she ignored Wheatley's panicked groan. "No," he trembled, his handles springing backwards as if he thought he could hold her back with sheer force. "No, STOP! I said stop, please, d-don't—oh, no, no! Don't go in there… Auuughhhh!"

She crossed the platform with a soft, metallic rhythm, her heels tapping lightly against its surface with each step. Above, the bird shifted on its perch. It snapped its beak at her, but it did not take flight. Wheatley shuddered violently at its proximity.

"I can't watch," he moaned in fear. "Can't do it. Not with that bird sitting there. J-just let me know, willya, when we're inside. O-or, better yet, only tell me if you find nothing dangerous inside, because if I'm going to die, m-maybe it's best I didn't know…"

Quivering with fear, Wheatley let his optic slide shut.

Chell slammed her palm into his side in retaliation. I can't see, you idiot! I'm going to walk off the freaking edge by mistake!

His metal hull rang with the impact, and his eye cracked open. Gryos buzzing out of control, he let out a protest:

"Hey! Do watch what you're doing, lady!"

She pulled a face at him, sneering and gesturing towards the far edge of the platform. How would you like it if we stepped blindly into that by mistake?

"Very well," he growled, as Chell walked the remaining distance to the entrance of the newly discovered passageway. Wheatley shuddered, unable to look away from its black interior. "Preparing for the dignified death," he sobbed into her arms, "Of a trusty sidekick (you), and her brilliant, faithful leader, proper astute fellow, he was, very charming, good-looking (me)… Let it be known that he did not lead her into her death, that was entirely volun-tree…"

Shut up, she thought angrily. From this angle, she could see that it was a long, slender gap, ending in a short flight of stairs disappearing further into the room. You first, core… if only you had legs to actually go first…

She held her breath as she stepped down, the steel stairway rattling with each step, and the bird outside made a soft noise in reply. It reminded her of a cry of farewell, thought Chell, but Wheatley just shivered closer to her, ducking his optic further into her safety.

The room beyond was surprisingly wide. It was an airy, circular chamber lined with the same kind of damp, concrete walls as were located outside. Its ceiling was high and vaulted, punctuated by one single, round chimney-like chute made of a grimy glass tube, which was what Chell had seen glinting at her from outside. It was as huge as all the other pneumatic diversity vents located throughout the facility, though this one had no suction within it—a single glance showed it had been broken by some kind of debris clog about halfway up and was still and silent. Broken glass littered the floor all around the tube, tinkling as she walked around. The only other noises that could be heard inside was an ominous drip, drip of unseen liquid and the muted, static-like rush from the stream outside, as though it were being played over a badly tuned radio.

But this tube gave away the room's secret. It was a disused elevator shaft—which meant that this was a disused elevator room. It was much older, though, than the ones she was used to, with no electronic monitors, only stone walls. Some of these walls were chipped and crumbling in places, but surprisingly, most of them were still intact.

"…Are we dead yet?" asked Wheatley, his voice muffled in her shirt. She pulled him back by the handle, smiling a little. She waited for him to have a look at the room.

"Oh!" he said slowly, his optic dancing enthusiastically over the walls. "D'you know what this is?" she nodded. "Pity it's broken, otherwise we could have used it to take us down. I wonder who broke it? Maybe the same bloke who's gone and left all this rubbish lying about. Have you seen this?"

He was nodding towards the opposite end of the room. Chell's eyes followed the beam of his flashlight over a strange sight. Someone had left objects in here for whatever reason—there was a makeshift, dusty desk, shoved haphazardly against a wall, many empty food cans, and a pile of ragged, moth-eaten blankets folded neatly in a pile on a mattress.

Immediately, she made for the desk, wanting to pull open its drawers to check if anything of worth had been left behind, but something else made her stop.

The signs of human life had been welcome, after so long by herself, but they were not what captured her attention the most. There was something else within this space that had drew her eyes. Something etched across the walls, here, and now that she’d noticed it, she wasn’t quite sure how either of them had missed it in the first place.

"…And I don't really even know why someone would have chosen to live here, of all places," Wheatley was saying, oblivious to Chell’s discovery. "I mean, look at the state of this part of the facility! Not very homey at all, is it, really. Cold. Not to mention in danger of utter collapse. Now, if I were escaping…"

He stopped speaking as her sooty hand found his upper handle, raising it a few degrees to shine the beam onto the towering portion of wall in front of her instead. His eye widened in shock as she did so, not at the gesture, but at what they both could now witness in greater detail.

"Crumbs," he whispered in awed respect. Chell’s chin dipped and rose a fraction of an inch in agreeance. Crumbs was right, she thought silently.

"Get closer," he suggested hesitantly, almost fearfully. "Let's have a better look. Couldn't hurt."

Following his advice, she stepped forwards, examining the first section of wall furthest to the left. Somebody had painted an enormous mural here, smeared long strokes of paint across the dilapidated panel wall. Chell found herself wondering how she could have missed such bright colors when she entered the chamber, but it was so dark in here that without Wheatley’s flashlight that she couldn’t see anything.

There were three sections to the mural. All of them contained brilliant hues of orange, vibrant blues, blood reds. The strokes were messy, untidy, and familiar; scrawled and sprawling, yet beautifully so. She recognized the work, there was no doubt about that—she had seen his hand before, painted within many distant portions of the facility.

The Artist. He knew things—things about this place, things about her. That much was clear by his work. The works of art usually depicted many horrific events, a tragic backstory to all the strangest of events of interconnected significance, an otherworldly magnificent scrapbook of both the facility's darkest secrets and a diary of its many (mostly deceased) occupants in art form.

He had taught her, through his art, bits and pieces of her own story, and for that, she was eternally grateful. Through his art she felt his presence and it gave her strength and hope, made her believe that she wasn't as alone as she felt at times. Wheatley helped, too, but there was only so much comfort she could expect from a construct that was Aperture-branded and inhuman.

"Who did this?" the core asked, his normally-bubbly voice unusually stern and quiet.

She shook her head. She did not know his name.

This man (she supposed by his heavy hand, and his occasional faceless self-portrait) was an enigma, a mystery, but she had an internal sense of who he might have been. An employee who had survived her takeover, only to be thrust into hiding just like she was, a brave hero fighting against the insane, never-ending gravitational pull of almost certain death by her hand.

She had known what that was like for all her knowable life. But he was much more chaotic about everything than she was. He had suffered, she knew, as she had, but her memories mostly failed her. These pictures proved that he had kept nearly all of his.

The murals he’d made always triggered an elusive sense of nostalgia in her, maybe even déjà vu. But it was not enough to bring back the mysterious recollections hidden in her subconscious behind the veil of what Wheatley might call 'brain damage'.

"D'you think he's still alive?" he asked her in that same, awestruck voice.

No, she thought grimly.

No. She did not think he had ever successfully escaped from this place. Judging by the quality of this room's furnishings, far too many years had passed for him to possibly have survived inside of it after her systems crash.

"You know," said Wheatley thoughtfully, peering up at the mural again. "If this is that same bloke who had written all of that rubbish about cake, back in the test chambers, I reckon he might have been an employee. Have a look, there.”

Chell followed the beam of his flashlight, moving closer to the first mural.

There was a man, painted here—a familiar man, tall and strong and handsome, front and center with a lined face and hardened, tired eyes. He had a harshness about him, his brow furrowed and arms held aloft, clearly issuing orders to a crowd of smaller people.

He had the unmistakeable air of being the boss of the place. Chell knew who he was in an instant. This had to be Cave Johnson.

But the people beside him, being ordered around were all unfamiliar. If she had to guess, she’d have said that these were scientists—they all wore long lab-coats and many of them clutched clipboards to their chests as their boss ushered the rather unhappy-looking group onward toward a depiction of something else Chell recognized the shape of at once, even if she couldn’t remember ever seeing one in person before.

It was the boardwalk of a hulking, heavy-duty tanker ship cutting its way through an ice-laden ocean. Great ripples of cascading waves broke at the front of its bow.

“Is that a boat?” gasped Wheatley, clearly mesmerized.

Chell nodded in reply. What was a drawing of a ship doing here, she wondered?

Faintly, as though from a distant dream, the memory of a towering docking bay hidden within the depths of Shaft Nine floated to the surface of her mind.

Could this be a drawing of the very same ship that had gone missing from there? She couldn’t find the word Borealis anywhere, like she had seen scrawled across the bottom of the orange live-saving device, but she did find a symbol, etched into the exposed bow of the ship.

At first, she’d thought it was two portals—a blue one, and an orange one, side by each. But a closer look revealed that the portals appeared to be joined—not physically possible, mused Chell. Weird, but her eyes were not lying. The artist had drawn them linked together, almost in a shape reminiscent of an infinity symbol.

Below all of this, the Artist had written:

-

They Sailed the North Winds in Search of Infinity

Maybe Immortality.

But What They Found Was Reflectivity—

Of their own Naivety.

-

Neither Chell nor Wheatley said anything as they looked upon this. She could not make heads or tails of it. A ship. Infinity. Immortality. Reflectivity of naivety? She’d always taken the Artist’s writings with a grain of salt, and for good reason. Because as much as she adored the man for what he had done for her, there were only so many times she could read the phrase ‘The Cake is a Lie’ before understanding that he had his fair share of mental struggles, too.

But these phrases painted above her just sounded so much more cryptic than the latter had.

“What’s it all mean?” asked Wheatley at length.

Your guess is good as mine, she wanted to tell him.

The next portion of the mural Chell recognized, though. It was a test chamber. A test chamber with buttons, and portals, and cameras inside of it, and with a single test subject flitting around it who she quickly recognized as being herself.

He always draws me, she realized. Why does he always draw me?

Underneath all this, he had written a fairly lengthy poem Chell read with fascination.

-

They built the School, where the Girl strove at recess. In the Rings—she Vanquished

We then passed the Fields of grazing grain, and the Setting Sun—together—

But then, She passed Us—

And stole Her back to the Cornice, in the Ground.

Since then—‘tis Centuries—and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Cube’s Voice

And saved the Girl for Eternity.

-

“Is that you?” questioned Wheatley immediately upon seeing the drawing. “It looks like you. Why’s this bloke drawing you?”

Chell’s shoulders shrugged non-committingly as she exhaled slowly, finishing reading the poem. And stole Her back to the Cornice, in the Ground. She knew what that meant. She blew out another long breath, thinking.

She knew what this mural was depicting.

It was her own struggle to escape the facility and the following, climactic battle against the AI at the very end of her first-ever run of tests. She herself was the Girl, trapped within a School created by the very people who were supposed to protect her. In the rings—the testing tracks—she finally broke free, and subsequently vanquished Her, to find herself released to the surface—the grazing grain, the setting sun.

Only. She had assumed she had been alone, during all that—but how could he have written about it, if he hadn’t also been present to witness it? Someone had saved her. She knew that much. Had it only been the Party Escort Bot? Or was there more to the story than even she was aware of?

And saved Her for Eternity.

Apparently, there was.

"I think he escaped," said Wheatley finally, breaking the silence that was stretching between them. Chell turned so hard she cricked her neck.

What?

“Just a feeling,” he explained. “Just got a feeling about it all. I mean, look. He was a smart bloke, obviously, like you are. And no one else ever wandered around back here and survived for long enough to draw things like this on all the walls. Proper long time, he must’ve been on the run for. Come to think it—I think I might’ve saw him, once, even, myself. Bloody ages ago, though,” Wheatley finished thoughtfully.

Chell frowned down at him, distracted. She hadn’t ever even spotted a glimpse of him. How had Wheatley seen him, when she herself hadn’t managed to catch up with him?

“Yeah,” he nodded, clearly revelling in how important it made him feel to know things Chell didn’t know. “After she was knocked offline. Older, bloody scruffy fellow. Could do with a shave. Carried this big Weighted Storage Cube on his back. Dunno what he was doing, creeping around the relaxation vault, though. Always did wonder about that.”

Hmm. Chell looked back up at the mural, deep in thought about what Wheatley had just said, before shaking her head. None of the pieces fit well enough together for her to guess at what they meant. All she knew for certain was that he was no longer here. She would have made sure of that fact, this time around.

"Why d’you think he came all the way down here for?" Wheatley continued to prattle on pensively. "And he painted all this, down here. He must’ve had a lot of time on his hands while hiding from her, I guess.”

I suppose. Wheatley did raise a good question, though. Why come all the way down here? For what she could gather, they were miles from both the testing tracks and the functional, maintenance areas of the facility.

But maybe that had been the point.

"I hope he did escape," said Wheatley with an air of finality. "Gives me some feelings of hope, you know, to think that someone else has done it before, too. I don’t want to scare you, but I’ll be honest—before we met, I was pretty sure all the humans were dead, and that none of them besides you two had ever previously managed to escape. And I would know—I was in charge of the relaxation vault at the time, after all. But never mind that. What I’m trying to say is, if he could do it, this bloke here, then why can’t we do it, too? I give it another week at this rate, tops, ‘til we’re up there with him, soaking up the sun. Drinking margaritas. Whatever that is. Read it in some books, once. I thought it sounded nice.”

Chell couldn’t help it. She felt a small smile split her dry, cracking lips. Margaritas did sound nice, she agreed. And so did the sun, especially considering she was still quite cold right now. Her mind drifted back to the room above them, and how above that, there had been a brilliant, cloudless blue sky.

Instantaneously, an image flitted into her mind. It was of herself, up there on the surface, somewhere far, far away from here, holed up in some homey, rustic cabin where civilization was accessible, but not so close as to warrant mandatory socialization.

She wasn’t alone in it, though. She had acquired a roommate—this unknowable person, her shadow, her savior—the Artist. It wasn’t that she had romantic feelings toward him or anything like that, because she didn’t—if Chell was honest, the idea of finding a mate up there somewhere wasn’t all that appealing to her—but she’d long since been aware of their unshakable, universal togetherness.

Down here, she had sought solace in his drawings because they had been her sole reminder that she was not alone in this world. Often, it had brought her back from a precipice of loneliness. It only made sense that up there, his company would likely be just as comforting and enjoyable. Especially knowing he would be the only human being who’d ever be able to fully fathom what exactly she’d been through down here, because he’d been there, too.

"Smiling," observed Wheatley. He tried to mirror the expression back at her. "Optimism in the face of dire circumstances such as these is a great thing to have, luv.”

Chell heaved a deep, exhausted sigh, beginning to feel a great deal calmer and more relaxed than she had during the parts of the journey they’d gone through outside of this room. Something about the disused elevator room was oddly comforting—perhaps it was the drawings, and the way they reminded her that she was not the first person to transverse these lost, abandoned halls, and live to tell the tale.

Her eyes flickered over them one more time. The last one of the three murals was obviously the grandest of them all, easily twice as big as the others, and painstakingly painted—Chell could tell that the Artist had put real effort into this one in particular. The sheer depth of the thing made her breath hitch in her chest as she looked upon it.

It clearly told an epic, extensive story. In the depths of the facility, Cave Johnson had hidden his last, most secret project. It had been locked away inside one of the old test shafts, depicted by a sprawling, many-layered image of a half-a-dozen interconnecting rooms. Inside the test shaft there was a testing track, with an overlarge, bulky device being carried on the back of a faceless test subject. The bottoms of the chambers were lined with what she thought must be dripping blood, she realized with a jolt somewhere in her midriff; blood which dripped down the painting emphatically to be pumped into tubes that wound their way to the heart of the thing.

In the center, was what she thought at first to be a turret—but a closer look showed it was connected to a huge snarl of machinery and cables, a complex array of systems which bled into the upper chambers like a metastasized amalgam of add-ons, additions, and appropriations, building itself out of itself. In the gel pipes, words were written, which she could hazard a guess may have been lyrics.

It’s you I welcome death with, as the World caves in

At the feet of the turret was a coffin and a single, red rose on a long, black, throny stem, which transitioned into the loopy letters of an unearthly poem written in the Artist’s own hand.

-

The Bell Invites—like an opening Flower—

One Death stalks with His omnipotent Power.

A Prototype, of Hope Improbability,

An Escape from Death in search of Immortality.

They hid the Secrets, we locked the Doors—

A Future Divided—Floor severed from Floor—

Her World caved in, like an unbalanced centrifuge,

Running and losing against the Impossible deluge.

Now She Fears the Turret, for it is Knell—

It Summons He to Heaven, or to Hell.

-

Chell reached out with one small, delicate hand, and traced the word ‘hell’ with ghostly touches.

The unmorality of Aperture was like a chain linking each generation together in a continuing spiral of despair and destruction. Why had they never learned from their mistakes, she wondered? Prototypes, experiments, and tests, tests, tests. They passed down immoral concepts like old heirlooms and recipes of poison, until one day they backfired and rendered the whole, hostile facility unsalvageable and unsurvivable.

Was this what the artist was trying to say? That the chain needed to be broken, and that the only way to end it—and end it for good—was to get her, who fancied herself as the Reaper herself, to stop running from Death and instead embrace it with open arms? Would that then be the end of all things?

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. While yes, she had agreed to join Wheatley on this crusade of insanity under the premise they would be taking her down, which—fair—was something she had succeeded in doing before, but there was an aura of powerful foreboding that hung over this trip. It was palpable in the way she had left them alone in the dark for this long, and in the endlessly stirring bones of the facility. It was in the Artist’s expansive murals and his cryptic poetry.

Something was different, this time. Was it something to do with Caroline, Chell wondered, thinking about the AI’s life-altering experiences she’d witnessed the last time she’d been down to the test shafts.

It was true that Chell hadn’t given much thought to the concept of Caroline since then. She’d been so wrapped up in escaping with Wheatley that it had been pushed to the very back recesses of her mind until this moment—but now that she was looking at this mural, she couldn’t help but wonder what parts Cave Johnson’s deceased assistant had played a hand in the events it was depicting, and the past, present, and future.

"This one’s a little frightening.” Wheatley shivered in his casing at the last mural, and Chell nodded seriously. “I’m sure it’s fine, though. All in the past, that was—back before she ran the place. But circumstances have changed, now, and we’ve gotta find a way out. That’s not going to happen, with her hanging around. I can guarantee that.”

Chell personally felt that she wouldn’t have ever wanted to voice her thoughts on the subject of the mural aloud to Wheatley, even if she could have. They were simply too deep for her to want to discuss with the core. Too heavy. Wheatley knew nothing about her dealings with Caroline, and it was probably better that way, she decided. The little core had enough on his mind, what with trying to navigate them safely into the test shafts, without having to worry about her history with human brain uploading.

And Wheatley was right. It probably had nothing to do with the tasks they were about to attempt, anyways.

Wheatley had turned a bit in his shell to face a lower section of wall beneath the cryptic poem. "Have you seen this yet?" he asked her, the beam of his flashlight illuminating a tiny portion of writing, so small she had not noticed it before. "That writing, there. Can you read it? I can't read it. It's too small."

She couldn't, either, so she edged closer, squinting until she could read the tiny lettering.

-

Login: DRattmann

Password: Unreason

-

"Old login info," said Wheatley, sounding quite disinterested. "Not of any use to us, I would assume.”

Chell just shrugged, staring at the words. Wheatley could say they weren’t useful, but she begged to differ—if there was anything she’d learned from the Artist during her previous journeys through the facility, it was that the information he left behind had sometimes been very valuable. In addition to offering directions, he had provided both warnings and cryptic information that had directly led her survival, not that Wheatley knew it. Deciding not to heed his advice to forget about it, Chell memorized the login and password.

“Makes me wonder, though,” muttered Wheatley as he shot the password an offended look, “Exactly what this bloke was thinking wasting so much time, seeing as he was here bloody well long enough to do all of this. The last thing I'd do on an escape journey is scribble bloody riddles across a wall. Much less top-secret passwords willy-nilly like they’re not a private sort of thing. Anyone could come across it, here. And worse: it’s probably one of those ones the scientists used to use to override things and stuff like that. And he’s just gone and left it here, like it’s nothing to him. Mad, really."

Chell raised an eyebrow at him. Override things, you say? And you still think it might not be important?

"…Yeah," Wheatley continued seriously. "Imagine the kind of blokes who might have come across it. Could have been a real hacker, and what then? I’ll tell you what. He’d have been done for, I’m sure. Fired. Just like that. Bam.”

Shaking her head in disbelief, Chell turned away from the mural. DRattmann. Unreason, she repeated to herself, stifling a yawn as her exhausted eyes swept around the airy elevator shaft. The adrenaline that had been associated with a full day spent leaping over dangerous hunks of concrete covered with deadly-looking rebar spires had since dissipated to be replaced with a wave of exhaustion that made her eyes itch with tiredness. She reached up and rubbed them, yawning again.

"Right then," said Wheatley, noticing this and reading her body language correctly. "Now let's have a rest, shall we? Still got some of those potatoes left, yeah? You're looking proper tired and hungry, mate. Not to mention still soaked, and I think I saw a little firewood over there, by the desk. Why don't you make us another one of those tremendous fires again so you can warm up."

In silent agreement, Chell made her way across the room. She stopped only to examine the desk and pull out each of its drawers, sifting through its contents in search of anything useful.

She found a collection of rusted, unopened cans of beans and two empty water canteens. She set the cans neatly on the desk, but the very sight of the empty canteens reminded her of just how thirsty she was—her lips were cracked and dry, her mouth parched.

A fire was what she’d make first, though. She'd deal with the empty containers later.

She deposited Wheatley onto the desk so she could work with both her hands on getting the fire started. "Man alive," he crooned, giving her a proper once-over now that he was no longer tucked tightly into her side. "You really are still all wet, aren't you? I didn't even realize. You must be freezing!"

It was true—her hands shook as she pulled the wrinkled jumpsuit from around Wheatley. Immediately, she slung it over her back and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders, her teeth chattering for a moment as she adjusted to the temperature change. Then, she pulled her lighter out of her pocket, fingering it with a trembling hand. By the light of his flashlight, Chell stacked the already-gathered firewood she’d found in the corner into a small pile near the broken pneumatic tube and prepared to ignite it.

"Yeah," Wheatley droned as he watched her work. "Sleep'll have to wait. Firelight and delicious-looking potatoes, first."

Delicious, yeah, right, she mused grumpily.

The core watched with a tilted optic as Chell managed to produce a steady flame, as though he were trying to learn how it was done. The firelight suddenly illuminated every angle of the cluttered room, casting an orange glow from the vaulted, cracked ceiling to the multicoloured painted walls which appeared to dance in the light of the flames all the way down to the debris-strewn floor. She felt a wave of much-needed warmth wash over her, and she sighed, her eyes closing lazily at the sensation. Finally.

"That's nice," Wheatley sighed in similar contentment, letting his optic shields quiver down into a restful position. "That does feel nice. I know I’m not as temperature sensitive as you are, mate, but I can still feel that. And I’ll tell ya—after a long day out in the damp and the cold, my insides bloody well appreciate it. Especially the delicate bits. Not prone to rust, but you never know. This is much more comfortable.”

Fully agreeing, Chell slumped languidly against the glass chute, listening to the crackle, pop of growing, glowing coals audible underneath Wheatley’s chatter. At the very edge of her hearing, she could still sense the whispering, tinkling cascade of continually flowing water coming from the creek outside. She sat for a minute, and just listened, sinking further and further into the sensory bliss of it all—it was almost as though she was back in the woods with her father all those years ago on one of their wonderful hunting trips, camped out in the sticks near the constant play of a defrosting river while she wound down from a long day of exuberant activity.

But that’s not where I am, she wouldn’t let herself forget. This isn’t the forest. This isn’t a hunting trip—we are the hunted, in here. We’re the rats in the maze. For all intents and purposes, this isn’t even Michigan—we’re fugitives of the seventh level of Hell and we haven’t got the luxury to pretend otherwise.

And it was that thought which spurred her into action, even though she was so pleasantly warm. Water first, before rest—she grabbed the empty containers, stopping for a half a beat to look down at the core.

I'll be right back.

She then promptly strode the length of the room and ascended the metal staircase that would lead out the door.

"Hey, wait!" Wheatley called in desperation. “Don’t leave me here!"

Rolling her eyes, she turned and gave him one single gesture in reply—a thumbs up.

"But… but," Wheatley choked unhappily, "It could be dangerous out there! That bird is still watching, I don't doubt, and God knows what else is creeping around out there. Could be bloody anything!”

Chell shrugged, pushing a puff of air from between her lips indifferently.

“And my flashlight! You need my flashlight!"

Ignoring his protests, she turned and swiftly climbed back out of the chamber.

She regretted not bringing him with her almost at once.

It was not wholly dark, but it was a close thing. The strange, luminous smog that seemed to fill most of the lofty areas of the Enrichment Center persisted here, too, she noted, wishing that she had Wheatley's light to guide her through the darkness, but sans voice box—the core was just too loud and abrasive for this mission. After spending days with him now, a little silence was more than a welcome relief, and plus—how was she supposed to carry him and two full jugs of water?

Chell wrapped her arms firmly around the water canisters, pressing them into her chest. She walked carefully, her metal heels making a hollow tap tap against the rusty grate that acted as a bridge over the trickling stream.

It was this stream which she sought in the night. She squinted around, blindly trying to find the source of the noises below her. She crouched down, letting her outstretched fingertips brush against slimy rock in search of the icy water. Above her, the ever-watching bird let out two musical notes.

Her eyes flickered to it very briefly, but she could not see it through the gloom. A second later, however, she heard it take flight, beating its wings in a repetitive rhythm through the chilly, misty air.

It swooped low and came to rest about five feet away on a curved rebar spire, right beside a small outcropping of rock. The only way she could tell that it was there through the gloom was by its oddly luminous eyes, still glowing a dull yellow through the night.

Why are they so bright, Chell wondered with an involuntary shiver. Wheatley wasn’t even with her this time—there was next to no ambient light, and yet, she could swear they still sparkled with some weird kind of inner luminosity. Bizarre.

But unlike Wheatley, Chell was not inclined to fear this animal. She felt drawn to it, rather than afraid; it was the only other living thing she'd witnessed in a very, very long time, and she was curious.

It cried out as she reached forwards, still trying to find the water, but she ignored it, seeking only the stream. She found it directly below the bird's perch and lowered the canteen into it, disregarding the way the bird ruffled its feathers and beat its wings uneasily at her closeness.

She watched it with interest as she let the swirling, icy water fill her bottles. What are you doing down here, she wondered. Why don’t you go find somewhere better to live than this nasty place? In comparison to the bird she’d seen way back when she’d found herself trapped within Test Shaft Nine, this bird was apparently free to leave the facility at any given time. She’d seen the blue sky, earlier, with her own two eyes, and she felt certain that the bird had, too. And yet, it continued to nest down here in this revolting hell pit, where the sun never shone and the only semblance of fresh air you ever got to feel was the clammy mist wafting off the tiny little rainwater stream.

It definitely wasn’t the ideal environment for a bird. There weren’t even any bugs here that she could see. What do you even eat, here? There never were bugs, not in the more modern spaces of Aperture, either—likely due to the amount of chemical sterilization the place had undergone for years and years coupled with the noxious (hopefully only to critters) fumes she kept the place pumped full of, like neurotoxin and adrenal vapour.

She had a feeling, too, that the AI did this at least partially on purpose—she was exactly the type Chell would imagine to be thoroughly disgusted by bugs. A mental image of the AI having an absolute meltdown because a spider had crawled somewhere onto her chassis made Chell grin devilishly in spite of herself. The AI would probably nuke the whole central complex with neurotoxin for a simple daddy longlegs.

The poor spiders, she thought, still grinning to herself. It was true that Chell had never come across a single spider’s web during all of her journeys through Aperture. She’s probably killed so many by now it’s amazing she doesn’t have a chamberfull of their dead bodies.

Oh right, she realized as the canteens finished filling, feeling stupid—the incinerator, that’s it. She doesn’t just kill them—she burns them for good measure.

She shivered again, her hands having become numb from a mix of the freezing stream and coldness of the surrounding, fog-filled air. Without the heat of the fire, the mist was bringing out her chill again, and she felt goosebumps erupting in areas she didn’t even know they could.

Holding the now-full canteens, she straightened, meaning to finally head back into the alcove—but at that moment, something happened. The bird, which had been watching her with its beady, luminous eyes, had suddenly taken flight again; and before Chell had a chance to properly react, she felt its soft wings brush against her neck and she froze, paralysed with surprise, her heart beating a drumroll inside of her chest—

She felt knife-sharp talons dig gently into the meat of her shoulder, not clinging hard enough to draw blood but firmly enough to be somewhat uncomfortable. Turning those sinister eyes towards her, it opened its beak and emitted a quiet greeting.

She hardly dared to move. Her arms locked up with the effort of holding the now-full canteens. She barred her teeth, trying to reason with herself. Calm down, Chell, she mused, it's only a bird, it's not going to—

But then it shifted in closer, almost flush against her skin, and its talons squeezed almost painfully. It’s a bird, she thought, breathing steadily. Only a bird. It'll fly away if I move.

And with her arms unable to hold the canteens in that position for a moment longer, Chell began to walk, straight-backed and stiff, back towards the elevator chamber. Her jaw locked up and eyes were wide, focused onto the entrance, hardly daring to look left or right as she felt the bird sway against her shoulder but not take flight.

It made a small noise in her ear, something she was not expecting. She jumped a little, but it only nuzzled her, singing out a quiet song of contented notes.

It sounded happy. Chell paused, thinking. …What if it’s just lonely?

That’s relatable, she realized, and felt the knot in her stomach loosen somewhat. The bird was probably lonely. Why wouldn’t it be? It clearly wasn’t just her that had gone a long, long time without seeing any other forms of life.

She began to walk more casually, and the bird retained its perch with comfort. She breathed out one long, low breath.

I’m sure it’s fine… unless it’s after my potatoes, she realized with a jolt. She hadn’t remembered to take them out of her pockets before she’d left to collect the water, but she could still feel them resting outside her thighs.

Potatoes, check.

But there was one other problem, she realized. If the bird wasn’t willing to leave her side, Wheatley was not going to like it. She stopped at the entrance to the little room, thinking. Wheatley was in there, innocently not knowing what was about to happen. She was positive he was going to freak the hell out the moment she let the thing come in with her.

Whatever, she decided in favor of the bird. She had taken a liking to its weight and warmth on her shoulder and descended the stairs confidently.

"Oh!" called out the core at her arrival. “There you are! I was beginning to get a little worried, mate, what with that bird out there, and all—"

He froze, his eye shutters drawn comically wide, his entire facet compacting as if he were drawing in his breath as he noticed Chell’s new friend.

The sight of him almost made her laugh but she refrained, knowing fully the seriousness of the situation. The bird sang a welcome note of greeting and snuggled closer to her cheek when the core remained silent in shock.

This bird is definitely lonely, Chell thought with a pang. Perhaps the last human it had seen alive was the Artist. She found she rather liked the thought of him having painted these murals with this bird resting on his shoulder, just like it was doing to her, now.

"W-wha…" Wheatley stammered finally in utter disbelief. "Wh-what the bloody hell do you think you're doing with that thing?"

The sentence hung heavily in the air, and she shrugged, feeling the bird tilt its head in interest at the indignant core. It made a tiny, nearly inaudible sound, which Chell barely caught, as if whispering inquisitively into her ear. Instinctually, she knew that it was wondering who both she and the core were, and, most of all, what they were doing here, of all places.

"Hahahahhahahah," Wheatley was chuckling, a high, forced laugh at the resolute, determined expression spreading across her face. "No. You've got to be kidding me. Are you—oh, no. No, no, no, no, NO. You're not seriously considering keeping that-that thing as a pet, are you?"

She contemplated the idea, and absent-mindedly reached up to stroke the bird's black feathers. It twitched in surprise, but held still, letting out one appreciative warble. She smiled.

Never breaking eye contact with Wheatley, she nodded slowly.

"Have you got—you really have got brain damage!" he yelled, and she felt her smile falter. "You're going to get us killed. Don't you understa—no, perhaps you don't. Let me explain. That thing is a killing machine!"

Chell blinked back in surprise. Killing machine? She knew he would overreact, but… that was going a little far, wasn’t it?

"And, you know what else?" he gasped, clearly very upset. "You know what else? If you're planning on keeping that thing, I'm not going to talk to you. Yeah. It's one or the other, mate. You can't have both of us. So-so just, put that thing back outside, where it belongs, if you please, and I’ll try to forget you ever had the gall to bring it in here in the first place. Put it back, please. It can't hurt us while it's out there."

She opened her mouth, her brow furrowing in annoyance. So. He wasn't going to talk to her if she didn’t do what he was asking, was he? That was well enough. She was exhausted, and tired of listening to him always going on and on. He never shut up, and it was very, very draining sometimes. She doubted it was even possible for him to keep quiet like he was threatening to do.

Choosing not to react, she stoked the small fire and sat down beside it, shooting him one solitary, sour glare. The bits of ash and embers swilled in the air, retaining their glow far above her head, nearly reaching the high ceiling of the place. The bird gave an appreciative chirp, thankful for the warmth, too.

Eventually her shivers died out, and she pulled two, medium-sized potatoes out of her pocket to cook, deciding to save the other five for later.

She set to work preparing everything, with the bird (oh, she'd have to think of a better name) resting atop her left shoulder all the while. A torn bit of sharp, metal mesh was used to spear the potatoes with, salvaged from one of the outer edges of the room.

All the while, Wheatley did not say anything.

His optic followed her every move, though, narrowed in intense mistrust. He was steaming mad, and she knew it.

The potatoes began to cook, and Chell thought quietly to herself, processing the events of the day before finally coming to the subject of the bird again.

He—she was only guessing ‘he’ was a he, because he seemed like one, to her—needed a proper name. She let her head fall back against the glass tube as she considered this, looking up at the ceiling, watching the way the smoke unfurled there and surrounded the top end of the tube before drifting through another portion of broken casing. Little bits of metal inside the trapped debris winked back at her from its depths of it like constellations in the night sky outside.

That was when it came to her.

Orion.

Chell could barely remember the stars. She knew she had seen them before, but she couldn’t recall what they had looked like—only that she had thought they were beautiful and that they sparkled with a strangeness and charm she couldn’t fully comprehend. She remembered that some of them were often grouped together in heavenly clusters reminiscent of human things, human legends, with human stories and names.

She was not exactly sure why she had chosen Orion specifically. All she knew was that she liked it. It was one of those close-but-far things, a long-lost relic of another lifetime, another world in which normal things existed like birds and stars and the sun. It was mysterious, wondrous, and beautiful, but somehow also full of a strange, lonely longing—just like he was.

Orion. He sat lightly on her shoulder, watching her swallow bits of cooked potato. What good manners, she thought, meaning how polite the bird was about her eating food so close to it. It didn't beg, in fact, it didn't even look hungry—but that could be blamed on how unappetizing the potatoes really were.

She held one up to its beak. It ruffled its feathers in disgust.

Well, that settled it, then.

Wheatley shot her a very offended look as she stroked its smooth feathers. She pretended not to notice, yawning and stretching before finally removing herself from the edge of the fire, planning to retire for the night.

The small pile of moth-eaten blankets turned out to be resting on top of a small mattress. She dragged this closer to the fireside. Where the material was worn in places, the springs poked out and snagged roughly across the uneven floor tiles with an unpleasant scrape.

She then began to lay out the bedding, still ignoring Wheatley's semi-judgemental glare. He had lost that wholly offended expression, his eye now fully open and tilted at an inquisitive angle, torn between watching her work with interest and a desire to resolutely continue to rebuff her.

His silence was about to crack, though, and she knew it. She found she didn’t really mind. The day's events had put her in a strange mood, and she wasn’t as irritated with the little core as she might have been. Perhaps it was because of Orion—she felt him shift on her shoulder and smiled a little.

It wasn’t every day you made a new friend inside of Aperture, she realized with a rush of affection towards him. In fact, there had only been one other time she could think of where that had ever happened, and the construct in question happened to be with her tonight, too.

Just because I’ve made a new friend doesn’t mean there’s not still a place for old ones, she mused with a wave of contentment, fully intending on reminding Wheatley of that, too.

Without giving him any warning, except for perhaps a sly smile, Chell crossed over to the core. He blinked up at her, confused and somewhat apprehensive, but before he could say anything, she had pulled him right into her arms.

"WH—aaaaaaaarrrghhh!" he exclaimed in shock as he squirmed uncomfortably. Orion let out a fearful squawk of protest and took flight. "Mate, what are you doing?"

The bird came to rest atop the faded desk, precisely where Wheatley had just been sitting, ruffling his wings in distaste before folding them into his body. His eyes reflected the firelight brilliantly—the old, creepy yellowish glare that had been so reminiscent of her eye was replaced with a happy, content fondness now, she noted.

She then placed Wheatley onto the center of the mattress and sat down beside him, cross-legged.

"N-not quite sure why you've brought me over here," he stammered, his voice a little muffled through the nest of mattress and blankets. "But if you think this means we're on speaking terms again, I'm just going to reassure you that it does not." He nodded for emphasis. "Though… hypothetically, if I were speaking to you, I would waste absolutely no time in informing you that I'm still not going to talk to you until you get rid of that bird."

Chell nodded to show that she understood, watching him closely as he talked. He was still looking rather angry, she thought, and placed a hand gently atop his handle apologetically, stroking it in what she hoped was a soothing sort of way.

I’m sorry, she tried to tell him. We weren’t trying to offend you.

"What are you doing," he asked flatly.

She shrugged and turned herself over, pulling the blankets up over her body. She hesitated for a split second before deciding to curl around him, too, partially covering him as she wrapped one of her hands over the top of his hull apologetically.

He made out a startled, choking noise, clearly mortified by the closeness of her actions. "Aaaahh… umm, wha—"

Chell breathed in deeply, resting her palm against the bit of plating directly above his optic. He held himself still, hardly daring to move out of fear of hurting her, but she could feel tiny tremors rocking through him as he shook with unease.

"Uhh… is this, standard protocol for you humans?" he asked awkwardly, his handles and optic thrusting outward in an attempt to push her away from him. She winced as a handle jabbed her painfully in the gut. "Because, as uhm… comfortable as this is, I'm not really interested in—"

She wrapped herself even more firmly around him, honing in on the slight heat radiating from his optic, not really caring what he thought of it. She shut her eyes, breathing in one long, final breath of contentedness.

It wasn’t that she wanted to cuddle with Wheatley specifically. In reality, he made a very bad cuddle partner, she thought as he jabbed her yet again with a handle—but her options were limited and sleeping with him close like this felt better than sleeping alone.

She was always alone, in Aperture. Finding Orion had made her realize that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want to be alone, for once.

"Fair enough," Wheatley gasped from her stomach, "if I were you, I probably wouldn't let go, either, but… uhm. Could you just. Maybe not hold on quite so tight. There isn’t a bottomless pit around. You don’t have to apply this much grip, mate."

She did not move.

"Oh, bloody hell," he moaned unhappily. "I understand, you must be lonely, okay? But oh, just let go, wouldya? It's a little awkward, although you are warm. Properly warm, probably at least as warm as that fire is."

Chell felt his gears wind down into silence as he buried himself into her, his handles finally resting. She smiled, glad that he was no longer objecting to the closeness.

Maybe Wheatley was starting to understand about loneliness, too. He had certainly stopped moving about and complaining. Had he not felt lonely, during all those long years he’d roamed the facility while she’d been asleep? Chell yawned as yet another intense wave of exhaustion washed over her, and she relished the heat from both the fire flickering behind her back and the glow from Wheatley's optic smushed into her stomach.

The memories of their journey thus far passed briefly before her mind’s eye—images of the sunlight, the coolness of the water. The green, fresh scent of earth and plant life, crisp as new spring grass growing from another universe entirely. The recollections of these sensations were like a little vibrating ball of happiness in her chest.

I wonder if that's what the surface'll be like, she let herself wonder as the vibrating ball grew. Sun and rain, plants and earth, animals…

The world could have easily been Aperture and nothing but. Her entire purpose could have been a lie, or worse, testing. Any inkling of another world might just have been a sham, some evil concoction created by her as a very cruel form of torture, a well-played jest to keep her test subject on her toes and trapped in some feedback loop meant to create an eventual case of Stockholm syndrome.

But it wasn't, Chell told herself. Freedom was real, and something she was going to have. Her and Wheatley were both going to make sure of that.

"Goodnight, then," Wheatley muttered finally, shifting one last time against her belly. "Hmm… I suppose it would be pointless, wouldn't it, to ask you if you could turn the volume down on your heartbeat? It is rather loud."

She huffed quietly in amusement, knowing well that she could never expect him to fully understand her, just like she could never truly understand him. Maybe one day, in some other place, she'd teach him, and let him teach her. Yes, once they were free, then they would have the time and energy to think about those sorts of things.

And even though he was a machine, he was human enough for her, for right now. He could probably learn to be more, and maybe how to be a better friend than she gave him credit for, given the right circumstances.

She'd teach him that, someday, she decided. How to actually be a friend. Maybe even a little bit on their way, if she could. Anything to break the mundane of a facility full of psycho computers out to murder her. And Wheatley, for his part, was already beginning to do a pretty good job of shattering it.

She snuggled closer around the core. Unbeknownst to the three newly acquainted companions, somewhere far, far off in an equally remote place in Aperture, so unthinkably distant that even the test subject did not know it existed, two robotic constructs high fived in congratulatory celebrations. The central core repeated a very long string of repetitions of the word ‘blah’ to mask the reciting of today’s Security Code, 5334118. She loaded it into a digital program as her whole chassis hummed with anticipation, just as yet another section of the abandoned labyrinth of Test Shaft Two entered her control.

Her proximity to the human vault was becoming palpable. With one small step for two robotic calculating machines, she thought with mounting, satisfied excitement as she habitually exploded said two machines without missing a beat, we approach one giant leap for Science.

Chapter Text

She came back online to the sensation of falling. Having been totally accustomed to this by now, she landed gracefully directly beneath the wide, gaping mouth of the pneumatic diversity vent, with the shock absorbers in her legs riding the impact with the very-familiar squeak of metal springs. There was a beat, in which her partner, Blue, landed beside her, cat-like, and raised himself upright with a friendly warble. Their optics locked into a knowing glance of nervous anticipation.

This is it, thought Orange. This is the last test chamber before we reach the humans. One more, final test left… and we’ve done it.

As if in unspoken agreeance, the rectangular warning sign in front of her flickered into life with the tell-tale buzz of fluorescent tubes, a wordless, numbered display of undeniable proof that their mission was nearing its end. A brief moment passed, in which Orange regarded the sign with respectful reverence, before the two of them bounded forward excitedly, more ready than ever to finally rescue the humans from the vault as they’d trained for, for five endless days and nights.

-

MOBILITY GELS

08/08 ||||||||||||||||||

-

The chamberlock had been sealed with a blast door that ground noisily open as she watched. Blue hopped about impatiently, glimpsing the chamber beyond, which was reminiscent of the previous one they’d been inside, as well as the one before that. Many of these older areas they’d passed through on their descent to the human vault in test shaft two had been so huge and wide that their outer walls were invisible, shrouded in foggy blue shadows (if indeed they had walls at all), with many heavy-duty high-mast stadium lights shining on interconnecting trusses that cut a kaleidoscope of shadows through the gloom.

This one, though, was less mind-bogglingly, all-encompassingly expansive, with reinforced steel walls and a blue tube of mobility gel hanging overtop a solitary sentry turret which was sitting motionless in the very center of the room. Its burning red laser was facing them as its stationary line cut dead-center of the lobby but, sensing her presence, it shifted right onto her chest and opened fired before she could take cover.

She felt a few bullets ricochet off her frame as she leapt out of the way, but without hitting anything vital—a cacophony of tings from behind told her that Blue had gotten hit, too. The turret was the lone defender of the distant, open doorway which held the promise of proximity to their goal beyond. The shimmering, translucent sheen of an empancipation grid shielded it, and as she watched, the turret called out in dismay as a stream of blobby, blue liquid hit its casing sending it bouncing with a hail of gunfire into the surrounding open pit.

“I need to protect the humans!”

Orange spared an empathetic second to silently mourn the turret. Goodbye turret, she thought sadly, having never been able to fully become accustomed to …deactivating the cute little robots, as she liked to think of it. For as much as the Voice had said they didn’t feel pain and that ‘killing’ them was not an act against her own kind, she still hated it. Especially when they’d call out to her in those adorable, innocent little voices.

“The human vault is just past that opening.” The Voice was back, with its modulated tones broadcasted loudly to what felt like every corner of the gigantic room. “I entered the security code, but the vault door remains locked. I am going to need you to activate the manual locks on the vault door itself.”

Emitting a short trill to show that she understood, Orange took inventory of the chamber. There was gel here, a pedestal button, and a long, ramp-like bit of floor—narrowing her optic in concentration, her and Blue exchanged a look of conclusion-worthy determination before springing immediately into action. Everything hung on how well they could solve this chamber. The Voice needed them to do well here, so that they could reach the next room and unlock the vault, but it wasn’t just about the Voice.

The humans needed them to be successful, too. The humans needed them to do well, so that they could reach the vault and free them from what had been a century of containment in the basement of this place.

An electric buzz of mounting self-importance was spurring her into a maddened frenzy and she commandeered the ramp portion of the test, chirping non-vocal directions at Blue. Blue rebounded through the staticky emancipation grid to his right and shot the propulsion gel she called forth with the press of the button onto the length of the launching ramp. A split second later she was vaulting through the air in a perfect, graceful 180 to crash land with the echoing clatter of metal shaking metal on the teetering edge of a damaged service catwalk which jutted halfway out over the bottomless pit.

She was so excited. This mission was so important. A tingle of anticipation was clouding the back of her mind, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate. If we do well at this, who knows what else the Voice will let us do… we could do anything, maybe. Anything at all.

A second later, Blue was with her. They passed through a hazardously dark area, an in-between crevice stuck alongside a crumbling enrichment sphere with circuit-rattling nerves. We’re almost there, she vibrated across the comm-link to Blue, which he responded to with a chittering warble as he repositioned his portals and took a leap of faith.

The series of jumps spat them out into a holding area with another blast door which ground open at their approach. A sliver of the distant chamber came into view and Orange felt like sparks of pure, unaltered joy were exploding in the deepest part of her CPU, in the best, most tingly way she’d ever felt.

'We made it!' Blue met her high-five automatically, metal palms smashing with a hair-raising CRASH as the two constructs celebrated. 'We really did it! We’re here! We made it all the way down to the human vault!'

'Not yet, we’re not actually there yet,' came Blue’s digital answer. 'We have to cross this pit, first. I see a gel pipe up above. Do you see anywhere to put a portal?'

Orange’s smaller optic darted around the unfamiliar space quizzically, taking in the chamber. Another ramp, obviously—and the aforementioned gel pipe—a side-chamber which they entered through another grid leading to a button and yet more gel tubes. Orange spread a stream of propulsion gel in a line and portalled Blue up to a high ledge where he found a storage cube and painted it orange with the gel.

'Do you think the humans will be excited to see us?' Orange asked him through the link as they worked. She’d never have admitted it to Blue nor the Voice but she’d thought about nothing but for the last fortnight, ever since the Voice had first mentioned the possibility of testing with them. The truth was that Orange absolutely adored the idea of meeting a human face-to-face—the only previous moment she’d ever even caught a brief glimpse of one in the flesh had been a very heady moment in which she’d escaped to a nearby testing track long ago. That had been back when the Substitute core had been put in charge and everything had been self-destructing. She’d been very ‘young’ at the time and the memory was all but a hazy, nearly forgotten blur, mysteriously entrancing.

She could never forget the human, though. She’d found the test subject after the Hub had been breached by a colliding test chamber. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she’d escaped with her portal gun before Blue had a chance to talk her out of it. A short jaunt away was where she’d found the testing track. It had been hard to really get a feel for her, from so far away, but one thing Orange had never forgotten was how surprisingly small she’d found her. She was small, and dainty, and beautiful, and so… so human. Orange felt in awe just thinking about it.

Could I be like that someday, she wondered to herself. She knew the thought was stupid, but she found it so alluring. I want to be just like Her.

In the present, Blue was carrying the orange-painted cube over to another secret room. 'I dunno,' he answered her electronic question carefully. 'I hope they’re excited to see us. After all, they have been asleep for a very long time. I’ve never fallen asleep, but it sounds boring. I bet they are very bored in there. They’ll probably love to get out and go testing with us.'

'Do you think the Voice will actually let us test with them afterward, though,' she asked seriously as she repositioned her portals. 'Or do you think we’ll do something else instead?'

'I’m not sure.' Blue was regarding a series of lasers with interest. 'Maybe. What else would we do, though? The Voice said it made us just to solve the tests, even if we aren’t as good at them as humans are. Maybe we’ll test with them for more training,' he suggested.

'Maybe…' said Orange, initiating a countdown to show that she was in position for the box to be released down a sloping surface near to Blue. 'I hope so. More tests on our own wouldn’t be too bad either. Just as long as It doesn’t put us back into storage,' she said with a shiver, recalling ‘brief’ moments in the past in which the duo had been deactivated. 'Anything’s better than that.'

'Agreed.' Blue released the box and joined her over on the catwalk just as the thermal discouragement lasers were cut off from their receiving ports one-by-one, causing a series of panels to lift up in the main hall. She ran across this newly-erected pathway without hesitation, racing to the end where a pair of override levers were located.

Reaching them simultaneously, the two robots pulled them down, swapping their red, square inactive status lights for green activation. A loud, echoing, klaxon-like alarm bell rang out, tailed by a deep, thrummy hummm which made the bolts on her knee joints vibrate from its intensity. Both robots suddenly dropped with a metallic clang as the platforms disengaged, falling forty meters to the bottom level with a resounding crash.

They were almost there. Five more minutes of furious silence and intense action on their part resulted in another launching strip painted blue and orange. The final portals had been placed, the gel had been set, and they were finally ready to access the human vault proper.

'Here goes nothing,' thought Orange through the comm-link, nearly trembling on her heelsprings. 'There’s no turning back now.'

'You ready?' asked Blue.

'More ready than I’ll ever be,' she answered with an optical grin.

She felt his metallic fingers intertwine with her own and squeeze gently. 'Together?' he tilted his eye at her questioningly.

'Together.'

And with that, the two robots’ heels hit the ramp with all the force and speed of a freight train, clocking exponential miles per second with an impressive pace for two cores that had only ever been meant to exist as simple machines. Orange shrieked in delight as they sped forward recklessly, all her worries and apprehensions of what would happen thereafter wiped blissfully blank in the rush. They approached the sky-blue smudge on the end of it like two twin, blurred missiles, their optics locked onto the target ahead no matter the cost, blazing forward as nothing more than two colourful streaks and a hair-raising techy scream of do-or-die delight.

But this was no suicide mission—their legs hit the blue smudge and they jumped in synchronicity, soaring in a blissful, graceful arc of historic proportions, their metal soles finally hitting the catwalk on the other side with a tremendous BANG which sent shockwaves up both of their chassis. Hardly daring to flinch, their optics drifted up to meet the gigantic hatch head-on, craning their frames backward in order to see the huge, hulking bulk of the thing this close-to.

It remained stationary.

“Something is wrong,” came the Voice, somewhat distraught. “This door should be opening.”

Their optics met in outright confusion. 'Did we do something wrong?' Blue sent through the link.

'I don’t think so. Maybe it’s broken?' Looking around, she couldn’t see anything that looked damaged or out of place. She tried banging on the door for good measure. Nothing happened.

“Is that camera hooked into the lock?”

Orange followed Blue’s gaze to the yellow-eyed camera in the center of the hatch.

“Try something,” the Voice insisted.

There was a beat, in which the two robots just stared at each other in confusion, before Orange reached forward, not really sure what she was doing, if she had a plan or if she was just acting on something that might have been referred to as ‘gut instinct’, if she had been human—and Blue, looking just as disconcerted as she felt, reacted to her gesture in a way that made her think that maybe, somehow, it was the latter. It felt like finally they had somehow successfully acquired true humanness, and in that moment, a bolt of emotive lightning jolted through both robots simultaneously, an electronic connection of understanding, of emotion, and as soon as it had happened, it was over.

They broke apart from their epic hug with the most utterly audio-receptor-breaking, earth-shakingly loud BANG either of them had ever heard during their entire lifetime existence inside of the enrichment center.

The two robots shielded their optics against the sudden, blinding red flash of light. The klaxon-like sirens were wailing, their migraine-inducing onslaught deafeningly overwhelming. Steam billowed out as the huge hatch’s seal broke with the thunderous grind of the lock disengaging, shuddering and shaking the very bones of the facility. Dust rained down from an unseen ceiling which the hatch raised up to, leaving an enormous void the size of a city, too big to ever have been made by humans.

The robots shrunk backwards in its lengthening shadows which swallowed them up like an acid pit, flinching, frightened and innocent, and unsure what was about to happen next.

Silence. Sudden, ringing silence was what came next, as the two stood there, gaping just as thoroughly as two constructs without mouths possibly could.

This was the end of their journey. Five day-cycles of rigorous testing out from Calibration into Mass and Velocity and beyond. Five long, gruelling days full of lifechanging adventures and team-building which amassed to an amalgamation of skills learned through trial and error, failure and success. Blueprints, discs, and bits of data and, most importantly, their relationship with each other, were the trophies of a long, hard slog of pure dedication.

And now, they were about to reap the rewards of their journey in a big way. With a slow, cautious step, Orange was the first to enter the depths of the long-awaited human vault.

With optics nearly fully dilated, the two robots found themselves inside of an endlessly high, cavernous cleft. It was dark, filled with a foggy type of steam which slowly dissipated to reveal rows upon rows of green, glowing pods, their emerald depths swirling with an oily sheen in behind which she could see something that made her feel like her processor just skipped a cycle going downstairs.

There was a human in there, she gasped electronically. In fact—there were humans in everywhere.

"You did it," the Voice declared with ecstatic modulation. "You really did it! All your testing was worth it!”

The surge of emotion was almost too much for her to bear. Relief, pride, joy, excitement, disbelief—it was too much, all at once. Even though there was nothing physically remarkable about the unconscious humans floating in unawares inside of the liquid-filled capsules, she found herself unable to look away from them.

"Just look at all those test subjects! Think of all the testing!"

Row upon row of human test subject revealed themselves to the two little robots as the steam continued to clear. Thousands—perhaps even millions—of bodies were locked away in here, each suspended in its own glass bubble of liquid, dreamlessly dozing in what looked to be the most peaceful sleep of their lives.

We saved you, Orange realized, the heavy emotion causing her to visibly tremble. We saved you, and now you can become test subjects again, dear humans.

"You’ve saved Science.”

It was the first time either bot had ever been acclaimed in such a way. Blue glanced downward, lost in the sudden comprehension of the importance of the moment before he raised his optic, staring at his partner, overwhelmed.

There was a moment in which the two robots just looked at each other, their fans whirring away in a mechanical blush. Then, seeking to lighten the extremely emotional mood, Orange’s arm jutted out in an awkward form of a thumbs-up, smiling as cheerfully as a robot with no lips could.

The romance of the moment broke. They jumped together, emitting echoing screeches of celebration as they high-fived goofily, scattering sparks from the intensity of the hit. They had done it, found the humans, mission accomplished. They celebrated with a weird, robotic dance, both limbs moving wildly, jerkily rotating and spinning along with a song only they could comprehend.

Then Voice spoke again, interrupting their celebrations with the usual, bland octave of bored disappointment reinstated as though nothing amazing had just happened.

"Enough celebrating. We have more work to do,” it said. “I have another job for you now—one that I promise will be just as rewarding as this one has been, should you complete it successfully. In fact, you two will deserve a standing ovation if you are able to complete it properly, do you know what that is? Of course you don’t—but what’s important is that you succeed. I’m sure you will preform admirably."

Then, without the glow of happiness fading from each individual optic, the bots exploded—two twin wisps of smoke, two rapidly fading echoes of a triumphant cheer, and a charred jumble of useless shrapnel were all the robots left behind on the catwalk.

The Voice sighed in finality, relishing the sweet success of her long-awaited reunion with the human vault. The testing tracks were prepped, the adrenal vapour emitters were charged, and miles upon miles of long, panelled halls just tingled with the tantalizing promise of coming Science. And now—now that all that was squared away, and the humans were hers again to do as she pleased with, as they should be—it was time for the co-operative testing initiative to go and find her.

Long-gone were the days when the AI stood for allowing the troublesome test subject to creep around inside of her facility like some leeching, unwanted, invisible parasite, a rat lost in a maze, chewing at wires that didn’t belong to her. That was going to be a thing of the past. Blue and Orange were about to go and make sure of that fact.

"Let the Science begin."

~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~\\~

Chell was walking cautiously down a seemingly endless, disused hallway. On and on it went, a bleak, harsh landscape of high pillars lined with chain-link fences on both sides. Their red, forbidding interiors were reminiscent of a furnace, and it make Chell think they had to be near to the incinerator.

The air here was endlessly hot and stale. She was perspiring, which only served to draw out the oily stickiness of it all, and her throat seared from spending days rationing the water she’d collected from the creek on that fateful night they’d met Orion.

That had been three days ago, now, unless she was very much mistaken. Time always felt like it flowed differently in Aperture, but she could hazard a guess at three given the fact that she’d slept thrice in that space, though none of the times had felt very restful. She was constantly exhausted, and hungry, and thirsty, and the only distraction she had from both this and from the bleary, repetitive hallways of the lower service areas was interaction with both of her newfound companions.

At least the going down here was not as rough, cold, or wet as it had been during that fateful evening when she had first joined paths with the bird, but that didn’t mean the rest of the journey had been a cakewalk, either.

They stopped to rest only once a day, to sleep; Chell would eat a solitary potato, one before bed, and one in the morning. She had been most thankful for the cans of beans she’d found back in the alcove with the mural, but those were gone by the second day, and she’d had to make do with just the potatoes from then on out.

Her back ached, her mouth was dry and her lips were chapped and sore. She wished she could refill her canteens, but down here, the only puddles were an oil-slick, a dirty mess of mechanical sludge of the processed, left-over waste of the miles of machinery above.

She paused to take a sip of clear water from the canteen, relishing it. The heat of the hallway was like an oven, making her wheeze as she inhaled the stale, motionless air. It was noxious and filled with the perfume of machinery which churned out a distant clank alongside the endless groans of steel from the miles of facility around them. The desolate, eerie sounds filled her with dreadful sense of unease.

Good time was being made, though, according to Wheatley. His 'map' had led them faithfully thus far, as she was pleased to find out. She kept him strapped in the harness under her arm as they traversed the endless corridors together, her footsteps dragging with tiredness as she walked. He kept up a steady babble to distract her from how terrible she felt, and for that, she was thankful.

Orion flew slightly ahead of them both, as the strange team's watchful scout, utilizing the sharpness of his inhuman eyes and ears. Chell felt comfort at just the thought of him being there, for she knew the bird well by now; he was brilliant, even more-so than the core she carried under her arm. Perhaps, if she had had any previous experience with wild animals, she might have thought it odd that this bird was so astute, and so comfortable around humans, but her memories of hunting with her father didn’t stretch to the behaviour of animals, unfortunately.

"I dunno what he thinks he's doing," said Wheatley, muttering in annoyance under her armpit as per usual. He had had quite a few not-so-nice things say about the bird, but lately he did appear to be warming up to him. This had been the first semi-rude comment of the day.

Wheatley shook in his casings groggily, obviously tired of being carried around like this and and very bored. "Bloody show-off," he exclaimed for the umpteenth time. "You know, if I had wings, I'd be the one up there myself, keeping a lookout. As it turns out though, I haven't any wings, but I'm still the one who's actually guiding us. Not like that fellow up there. It’s all an act, you know, to get on your good side, so that he can take advantage of us when we’re least expecting it, or something of that sort. I have a feeling, mate. A very strong feeling of dread.”

Chell was only half-listening. If she was honest, in the last few days of their journey, Wheatley had only held a part of her attention. The rest of it was focused on the walls around them, wary for any sign of her, because the closer they got to the heart of the factory, the deeper they were venturing back into her reaches.

"He's just trying to make us jealous," he continued, trying to look up at her as she walked. "Well, it isn't going to work. I won't let it. I’m not about to be jealous of a bloody bird, of all things. Bit ridiculous, when I’m the one who’s going to get us out of here, after all. Left, just up here, by the way, luv."

She patted him softly in thanks, whistling for Orion to follow her around the corner. Whistling—this was something that she had not previously known she was capable of doing, before she’d met Orion. She had needed a way to communicate with him though, and through trial and error, she had discovered this tactic. It wasn’t exactly enjoyable—without having been able to wash her hands since the morning they’d left the rainwater stream, she’d had to stick two gritty, foul-tasting, dirt-stained fingers into her mouth and blow, hard, in order to make a sound.

But it had worked like a charm, and Orion rejoined them immediately whenever she did it.

The adjacent hallway was much like the one which she’d just left, topped with yet another high, shadowy ceiling with one wall made of chain-link fences behind which she could glimpse yet more gel tubes and pneumatic diversity vents. The other, towering wall had been replaced by a thick, reinforced glass window which looked out onto a motionless conveyor belt, a relic of this disused portion of the factory.

"We're in the Test Subject Relocation Center," said Wheatley smartly. "I recognize this place. Been down here once, a proper long time ago. Somewhere along here's where they used to keep the test subjects waiting to be processed, I think—I knew a bloke who worked down here doing that, actually, before he moved into the manufacturing department upstairs. Said it’s much better over there, though. A lot less complaining, considering manufacturing has no humans allowed in there at all,” he chuckled. "No matter, though. Our destination lies a bit further ahead, still."

The lofty corridor was long and mostly uninteresting. Chell staggered onward, almost oblivious to Wheatley's cheerful prattle, deaf to the slosh of gel-like liquid gurgling through the tubes above her head as she trudged along. The first time she had heard this sound, she had been startled by it, for most of the previous areas of the facility which they had travelled through during their escape were soundless and dead by comparison.

Well, silent aside from the trickling echoes of running, falling water from above in the mossier areas, but that had been different. That had been nature. Chell missed the endless tinkle of the fresher, misty rainwater. Down here, though, she’d found herself once again traversing the depths of the factory, where large, iron-and-steel spaces were filled with the echo of great, creaking mechanics and the distant rumble of shifting chambers as earth-shaking as thunder rolling under her feet.

All this new mechanical activity had pointed to one formidable conclusion, one which her awareness of deepened with each footstep, plaguing her with the inescapable implications of something that even Wheatley had avoided commenting on.

The pulse of the facility around them had changed over the last few days, and even within the last few hours. It was as though the mechanical heartbeat of the place had not just been jumpstarted out of sleepiness but was falling into a lockstep rhythm, building, even, which Chell associated with her testing. The sloshing, gurgling gel tubes overhead were her lifeblood of Science rushing through her great veins and arteries to feed her testing tracks.

It was extremely clear she was testing. But how, Chell wondered, and with who. With just the two robots? It fit, but it also didn’t fit—why did the place feel increasingly like a static charge of Science was pulsing from everywhere, then?

The sensation of it made her skin itch, like an infestation of nanites was crawling up it, burrowing into her in this toxic way she couldn’t escape from. It caused the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and shivers of foreboding to chase each other down her spine. Her gait quickened as she lengthened her stride, pushing on with a new determination to reach the fabled test shaft ten.

"Holy, mate," Wheatley said lowly, still fearing that Orion might overhear him from up ahead. Chell held back a silent scoff, irritated at his bitter refusal to befriend the bird. "What's got you all worked up? Never seen you move so fast, not since we were chased out of the testing tracks by her. No need to over-exert yourself here, luv, we're not in testing. Nothing to be alarmed about just yet. I'll give you fair warning if I do see a reason—but we're not due to reach the vault for another hour, at best."

But before the sentence had fully left his vocal processor, a great, echoing BANG reverberated all around the room, startling bird, core, and human alike. Chell froze, her heartbeat hammering inside her chest, and the panic that had been slowly building during the greater half of the last three days she’d worked hard to hold back threatened to burst. She gasped silently, Orion let out a loud shriek, and Wheatley yelled in fright as the conveyor line behind the grimy window shuddered into life.

"B-but," choked Wheatley as his optic found the conveyor, "this part of the facility was supposed to be shut down for good! All sealed off years ago, just as a safety precaution, in case anyone should accidentally press the—arrhuurhhurmm—neurotoxin release button. They told me! The Scientists! Well—they also told me that if I ever disengaged from my management rail, I'd die, and I didn't, but the point still stands—"

Chell's eyes were glued to the space behind the dirty window. She strode forward, almost pressing her nose against it as she stared into the chamber beyond. At a lone desk covered in a thick layer of dust there was a computer monitor which had flickered to life with a barely audible beep. Next, there came a mechanical thrumming as the system rebooted itself and the buzz of beating fans before the screen finally powered on to display a bright orange, pixelated version of the Aperture Science logo.

“—the point being that even my friend had said so," said Wheatley, very confused. "Could be wrong, though, but I believe that was why he had left to go to maintenance, actually. Just before she was switched on, the Scientists had locked this place up for good against her, firing him in the process. Guess the ol’ nepotism didn’t stretch far enough for them to keep him ‘round down here guarding this place, ha! Better luck next time, mate. Maybe she’ll hire him back, now that she’s gone and woke this place up again, if he still… ah, exists. And speaking of woken up. Lookit that, eh! Humans, coming out of that wall, there. Do you see them?”

Before Chell could do as much as blink or prepare herself in the slightest, a wide, heavy door was swept open behind the window. An unnecessary amount of steam billowed out, filling the room with a translucent, eerie glow. Then, with another great mechanical noise of grinding gears, a large, cylindrical pod passed through the doorway, coming to rest dead-center at the front of the glass.

Chell's mouth opened in complete, unfathomable shock. Her knees weakened and she felt as though she might actually collapse in utter surprise. It took all her mental resources for her not to keel over right then and there, and instead, she clung limply to a portion of a nearby railing, raising her free hand to rub at her tired eyes wondering if she was seeing things.

Is this real? she shook herself, thinking maybe she was dreaming. Are there really human beings down here, right now, in front of me? This is crazy. This is insane. I thought she had no more test subjects left to test with.

This is BAD.

She is going to KILL these people if we don't find a way to stop her, and soon.

"Bloody hell," Wheatley whispered dramatically. “No, you’re not seeing things, mate. I see them too. Can’t believe it, though. I wonder where she got them from? This whole place was supposed to be out of test subjects. You were the very last test subject left, when I found you, all those years ago.”

A series of three glass pods mounted on the conveyor had exited whatever area lay beyond the entrance and the doors were swept shut once more. Each pod moved forward, one at a time, the greenish liquid swirling around with the motion of the belt, causing the pale, limp bodies inside to slosh about almost sickeningly, making her feel grossly queasy. A large scanner, reminiscent of the turret template scanner from what felt like ages ago, scanned each body in turn, and the monitor on the desktop briefly displayed each test subject's name.

CHRISTOPHER BOYD

MATT PRITCHARD

ROBIN WALKER

Well if I was the last test subject left, I am almost certainly not the last one left anymore, thought Chell dizzily. She got her claws on these humans somehow. I dunno what she did, but that in itself is pretty scary. Did she take them from the surface? Or did she find them locked away somewhere in here?

There really was no limit to the secrets Aperture held. This was a truth she was very, very aware of nowadays. But regardless of where they had come from, these were innocent people who had families, jobs, and had lived on the surface, at some point. More testing candidates, kidnapped by the laboratories either in the past or the present, about to suffer what would surely be a ruthless round of tests, designed to break them down and kill them. She swallowed hard.

Struck dumb, Wheatley remained silent, his narrowed optic following the test subject’s process on the conveyor out of sight. Chell could not tear her eyes away from each of the humans, either. There had been three—two male, one female—all tall, slender, with hair that floated almost gracefully, swirling in the serum-like fluid like thick cords of kelp. Their eyes were closed, their lips parted with no breath, their chests bare and motionless. They were like ghosts, remnants of sleeping souls, pale and unmarked, almost holy and asleep with a terrifying, otherworldly beauty.

For now, that was.

Don't think about that. Don't think about where she’s taking them. …They'll make it. One of them, at least, will. Someone has to.

It can’t just be me who survives.

Maybe we can find a way to reach the prototype before she kills them all and shut her down.

Chell finally tore her eyes from the now-empty conveyor line, turning her attention to the desktop computer instead. The desk itself was unremarkable save for the flat-screened monitor now displaying the phrase 'THANK YOU FOR PARTICIPATING IN THIS ENRICHMENT CENTER ACTIVITY!' and an ancient, solitary coffee cup which read ‘I NEED A HUG’.

A trembling hand reached out to touch the glass window before Wheatley interrupted her.

"Don't touch it," he warned. "I've never seen anything like this before. I don’t wanna alarm you, luv, but I think we may be in a lot of trouble. Not as much trouble as those humans are in, but still. She’s testing again. A good distraction, I’m sure, but just imagine how murderous she’ll be once she’s, erm, done with these test subjects. If what I felt in her body was anything to go by, she’s going to find it absolutely maddening once she runs out of them again, and if she didn’t believe we’re dead, she’s going to want to find you and test you again for sure."

Obediently, Chell let her hand fall to her side and blinked, hitching the core further behind her back. Wheatley was right—they were wasting valuable time here. Her testing could work in their favor as a valuable distraction right when they needed one the most, but only for a little while. Then, she’d eventually run out, and the itch would come back, and she would be bored. And a bored central AI was not something they wanted when they were trying to sneak around behind her back.

"Let’s get a move on," suggested Wheatley, eyeing Orion, who had come to rest on a high girder while he watched the core and human warily. “This place is proper creepy, it is, and we’re nearly there."

Chell breathed softly in edgy agreeance and whistled quietly for Orion to follow them. The bird swooped down from the girder and flapped his way down the passageway ahead of them. Yes, she thought, Wheatley was for sure correct—she’ll never notice us open the test shaft with her sights focused on the testing tracks. Now was the ideal time to open it.

There was still one problem, though. Maybe her eye was currently focussed elsewhere, but Chell doubted that would deter the co-operative testing initiative from searching for them, if indeed her threats had not been empty (which she seriously doubted they were). Surely that meant that the two robots could be tracking them right now? Chell swallowed hard at the thought.

This threat hadn't seemed so bad while in the very rugged, disused areas of the facility, but now that they were back in here, in the more modern areas where the machinery still worked and anything could be watching—part of her was surprised that the robots weren't already on their tail right now.

She swung round at the idea, peering over her shoulder. All that was there was the usual, eerie corridor filled with an industrial red glow.

"Yep. Almost there," Wheatley was saying. “Won’t be long now—just a few more rooms to trek across and a couple of stairways to descend, if this map-thing is correct. Which I’m sure it is—not that I can be absolutely certain until we’re there seeing the thing right before our very eyes, of course. Won’t fully believe it until I see the hatch for myself, but here’s to hoping, at any rate. A little optimism never hurt anybody, after all.”

Orion took the lead as the group continued down to the very end of the hallway, which transformed into a long, rusted stairwell with a broken handrail with some of the steps missing entirely. The ancient metal groaned lethally in protest as she descended, still following Wheatley’s muttered directions. She cringed at the noisy steps, trying to reason with herself that her paranoia and the overwhelming, growing sensation of being followed was unjustified.

She didn’t even know for certain that the co-op bots were following them, she tried to remember, shivering again. Was that just the echo of her footsteps against the many levels of steel grates, or was there another, separate, metallic ring from somewhere further above?

They passed through soulless, abandoned rooms full of rusty fans, bent and twisted railings, and crumbling, hanging ladders, all with several missing rungs. Chell had just ascended one of these, clinging to a stained, yellowed wall for support, heaving her body onto yet another metal catwalk when she found herself at a decent vantage point.

The platform overlooked a square chamber filled with bits of burst pipes and broken turrets. She clambered back onto her feet, cringing at the metallic scrape of her boots, and crossed the upper catwalk trying her best to remind herself that it was going to be okay and that if we’re being followed, Orion will be the first to know.

Just then, though, the bird stopped ahead of them, and Chell froze.

Something else then caught her attention, making her heart hammer in her throat. It was a noise so different from the usual, distant rumble of machinery that Chell knew at once it wasn’t normal. The sound had been very close at hand—something akin to a titter, like musical, metallic laughter—like some sort of inhuman voice.

"Umm… Did you hear something?" the core asked, becoming extremely still.

For about fifteen seconds, nobody moved. Orion, who had landed on the catwalk railing, was peering down into the bottom portion of the chamber with a tilted head, his beady yellow eyes glowing. Chell herself was hardly to breathe. And then…

There came a patter of mismatched footsteps.

She immediately backed up against a wall and pressed a hand to where she assumed Wheatley's speakers were. Cursing the loudness of her boots, she did her best to move quietly, taking refuge beside an old desk.

Had they heard her? God, she hoped not. She shut her eyes, praying. Please, she thought, be in here for some other reason besides trying to find us…

She jumped visibly as she felt something touch her shoulder lightly. It was Orion. He had come to rest upon the familiar perch of her shoulder, and she felt her chest loosen a little at his presence. He felt comforting, somehow. Protective.

More silence. She was sweating now, her breath coming quick and shallow. Acting on a sudden impulse her right hand brushed over the surface of the old desk—and to her pleasure, she found something.

A crowbar.

How useful would a crowbar be against the robots currently wandering through the lower room, though?

From below, there came the sudden whirr of a searching turret. Probably the dysfunctional turret I saw there a minute ago, she thought. Then, one of the robots emitted a horrible noise—maybe laughter, but indecipherable if so. Its partner joined in, and there was the sound of a gravity field engaging, and the turret calling out 'put me down!' but no hailing bullets rang out.

Losing patience, Wheatley hummed against her side. "The exit!" he whispered. "It’s right over there! Come on, get a move on before they find us!"

With her jaw locked, knuckles white on the heavy crowbar, she started towards the aforementioned opening. But her boots gave her away before she had gone two steps, clinking lightly against the floor despite her best attempts to hide the noise.

The sounds of weird laughter stopped, as both robots in the room beneath froze.

"Uh oh," gasped Wheatley.

The sound of moving, squeaking pistons as both constructs leapt into action, and Wheatley couldn't take the suspense a moment longer—

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he called out loudly in panic, and the two robots downstairs squealed in response. "Let's GO!"

And having no choice on the matter, she dove towards the exit just as below, the robots bounded up the staircase, chattering to one another excitedly. The exit was a small hole in the wall, just big enough for one human to fit through, a tiny passageway through which she’d have to let herself freefall two storeys down a vent-like shaft to reach the room below.

"JUMP!"

Orion screeched in her ear and took flight as she leapt down the vent, loud even over the chaotic din the robots were making behind her. When he took off, she wanted to shout at him, wait!, but she was already falling down into darkness.

She could still hear Orion, calling out what sounded like a bird's battle cry, and the two robots wailed in fright—their footsteps faltered as the bird launched his attack. The racket the robots made was ridiculous, she heard them yelling horribly at Orion in their own language, clearly distraught.

"Birds," Wheatley panted. "Birds. They-they're afraid of birds. It's our biggest weakness," he trembled.

But she wasn't listening. Chell’s heart was torn. She sat in the dark, listening against her will to Orion—he sounded hurt, what was happening? Are they hurting my birdfriend? I’ll kill them if they hurt my birdfriend, god damn it, why…

"I'm sure it's fine," said Wheatley finally. "We can't afford to wait around and see, though, lady. We’ve lost them for now—they can’t possibly fit through that opening. We'd better go while we still can."

The sounds of the fighting constructs faded into the distance as the two robots backtracked out of the room above. Still, Chell sat in the dark, desperately waiting for her friend to return.

He did not.

Chell felt a heaviness grow in her chest and breathed out a long, low sigh as her shoulders shook. She knew she should never have let herself hope that the bird would make it out of Aperture with them. The facility had a bad track record of always taking away anything that she became remotely attached to, whether because of her influence or because of sheer bad luck. Why would Orion have ever been different?

"Let's go," the core repeated empathetically, cutting through the palpable iciness of the moment.

A wall panel opened in front of her at her touch. She buried her face in her hands for a minute, trying to gather herself. Why does everything good in this place have to suffer, she wondered silently. It’s not fair. He didn’t do anything except help us, and I could never repay him for that. If they've murdered him…

"Yes, you're very upset that he's gone," said Wheatley, watching her. "I understand, but we'll be in even deeper trouble if we don't get a move on, with those constructs sneaking around! We haven't seen the last of them, I'm sure. We need to get a head start, lady. We need to go, otherwise losing him was all for nothing because we’ll be dead.”

She raised her head, eyes shining with a new determination. Wheatley was right, they needed to get out of here, otherwise… otherwise Orion would have sacrificed himself… in vain… Orion…

Was the bird aware of what he just did, she wondered sadly, and as soon as she did, she felt certain he had been aware. Yes. Orion knew exactly what he was doing just now. He definitely saved us on purpose. She herself hadn’t been able to explain to the bird what it was they were trying to accomplish, but through Wheatley’s broken chatter over the last few days, she’d felt certain the little bird had somehow deduced what their mission was.

So astute, she sighed. He was so smart. I won’t forget you.

Hopping down from the ledge, she found herself within a dark, cramped room, one full of giant, green machines. She didn't stop to investigate, instead deciding to ignore the deep thrum of power radiating from them.

Generators, she realized. Turbines?

She ventured down a dark pathway lined with more shining pistons and panel arms, to the very back of the room. She couldn't help but glance nervously over her shoulder as she went, her walk brisk, her ears sharp, waiting for any sound of following footsteps.

None came, though. "Nobody," Wheatley said quietly, noticing her reflexive checking. "C’mon, now… This is the turbine room. Don't—don't touch anything. Could be high voltage. Don’t want to get electrocuted, trust me on that, mate. Bloody hell does that hurt. Speaking from experience, unfortunately."

She wasn't inclined to touch anything even without his warning, but she appreciated it all the same. Nodding, she made her way in the direction he meant, trying to dodge lethal-looking wires and exposed coils.

But Orion's fate haunted her as she went. She could not hear him anymore. This room was filled with the hum and bitter, ozone-like tang of live electricity, no hint of any other lifeform. She missed the way he felt when he brushed against her cheek. So familiar. So comforting. So protective.

"Almost there," the core said, but she wasn't listening. "There'll be a door, I think, and beyond that, another door, and some steps…"

It was true she still had Wheatley, but somehow, it wasn't the same. She wanted something alive, organic, not another machine. Aperture was full of machines. Her mind drifted back to the three humans she’d seen earlier—the only humans she’d seen in the last however-long. Would all four of them meet the same fate—death? Or would someone be able to survive, this time? Could they find them, somehow, after they returned from the test shaft, and help them break out of this place, too?

"Hey, now," Wheatley called up to her, seeing her saddened expression. He tried to simulate a smile, but she only bit her lip in reply. "Don't worry about it so much, eh? I'm sure we'll meet up with him again somewhere. Can't bring him down into the old test shafts, anyways, could we? Not a place for a bird down there. Not here, either, but, uhh, that's besides the point."

Maybe he was right. But regardless, losing Orion when this close to their next destination didn't feel like a very good omen to Chell. Neither did the knowledge that the cooperative testing initiative had indeed found them. What would happen now? Would she have to continue on like this, paranoid, glancing over her shoulder every two seconds to check that they were still alone?

"Anyways," Wheatley continued as she walked, "We're getting close. This is the very bottom, just here."

And the bottom it was—the ground was rusted in places and covered with engine oil and other, unmentionable slimes. Though down here, there were no green panel eyes for her to watch from, but Chell still felt the persistent chill of being constantly observed by some unknown witness. If only she had her friend here, to fly ahead, warn her of any sign of oncoming danger…

She followed Wheatley's direction through the door at the end of the hall, and through one other. In the cramped spaces, between the switches and levers lining the walls, warning posters had been pasted, their faded and worn surfaces nearly illegible from age.

One of them read:

CONDEMNED RESEARCH AREA

NO ACCESS BEYOND THIS POINT EXCEPT FOR AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

And another:

ABANDONMENT HATCH TO TEST SHAFT TEN

Do Not Enter

SEALED June 10th, 1982 by Order of Aperture Science Innovators, Est. 1943

And a third:

VITRIFICATION NOTICE

This Test Shaft contains high levels of electromagnetic radiation and other dangerous elements

Beyond this hall, another steel-plated door led down a final stairway.

"Oh," said Wheatley as Chell entered it, noting that this was the darkest space she had passed through yet, "It's dark, hey? Do be careful and mind your step.”

He courteously flicked on his flashlight, but it did little good, for the area she appeared to be descending into was a large expanse of black space.

She clung to the railing, trying not to slip. The end of the stair (if there was one) lay shrouded in mystery, for even Wheatley's light could not penetrate that far.

SLAAAM!

Chell jumped about a mile and staggered on the stair—the door behind them had slammed shut of its own accord, sending an echoing crash through the blackness. The next second, her hands had flown rapidly over her head to shield herself as a blinding light flickered on, causing her pupils to dilate painfully.

"ARRRGHH!" Wheatley yelled in surprise, his optic constricting, too. "Wha—well, then, there's, uhh… light. Let there be light. Great. Don't need this old thing anymore, then."

And he turned off his flashlight.

He was half-right—the light illuminated the stair with a yellowish, orange hue (the beam was falling from one of the motion-sensor lights), revealing a circumference of about twenty feet. Beyond the edges, however, could have been the dead of night.

Chell waited for her heartbeat to return to normal before proceeding down the rest of the stair. She was jumpy enough, and the last thing she needed was a door-slamming induced heart attack…

"So," said the core as she reached the bottommost stair. "We're looking for the hatch override. Should be somewhere around here…"

He swivelled his optic back and forth, as if hoping to find a sign, or directions somewhere.

She shook her head, once again wishing Orion was with them still. She could have sent him ahead to search for it, for he could probably see in the dark much better than she could.

"Find the hatch override, and, uhh, figure out how that works. Probably have to hack our way through a good bit of security… Not a problem for expert hackers like ourselves, though. We’ll get it."

He said this last part so enthusiastically, with so much confidence, Chell felt a buzz of amusement in her throat. Since when was she an expert hacker? Wheatley wasn't even an expert, not by a long shot, but she found the core's statement to somehow be uplifting.

In return she gave him… well, her version of a half-nelson. She pulled him into the crux of her armpit and squeezed him gently, ignoring how he jabbed his handles uncomfortably into her middle in irritation.

"Mmmmf," he tried to say, his voice muffled. "All right—that's enough. Enough. Enough, I say, did you hear me?"

With a small, silent huff of laughter she let him swing back to her side, bumping somewhat painfully against her hip.

But before she continued, he looked up at her, and she looked down at him. Their gaze connected and for a short moment, nobody flinched, nobody spoke.

In that time, she forgot about the danger of the situation. She forgot about Orion's fateful self-sacrifice, and about the co-op bots in the rooms above, and about the recklessness of what they were about to do next. What passed between them could only be described as a mutual thankfulness. It was the first, real moment she’d genuinely felt thankful for his company, and believed with her whole heart that she had not made a mistake in giving Wheatley another chance to escape Aperture with her.

And Wheatley, for his part, was incredibly thankful that she had decided to give him another chance, too.

Maybe second chances aren’t so bad, she thought to herself. Maybe… sometimes… people… or robots, for that matter, deserve second chances. …Even when they’d been a murderous asshole in the past.

In a strange way, she was almost sort of grateful for everything that had led up to this point. She felt the beginnings of understanding connect in her brain and click via their gaze, closing the previously impossible gap between machine and human by a mite.

But she looked away, then, her forehead creased, feeling unsure of what to do next. She pulled him awkwardly over her shoulder so that she wouldn't have to look at him, disliking how silent he was.

What was he thinking? She hoped that he hadn't felt something like what she just had. Upon retrospection the moment of connection and the weakness she’d undoubtedly shown was extremely embarrassing in hindsight. She shook her head, her face becoming a deadpan stare, just as expressionless as a brick wall, and stepped out of the circle of light.

The core's flashlight was re-activated. "Here goes nothing," he whispered, quieter than ever.

It was gloomy here, filled with a thick, dead air. The core's flashlight barely permeated the heaviness, spreading no more than a few paces ahead. All around the edges was darkness, but not wholly so, she realized suddenly. In the distance, the space held some of its own light, revealing the silhouettes of giant, coiled springs and maybe the vague outline of broken and disused fences and stairways.

Chell wheezed, hating the air. It didn't smell bad, per se, but it was harder to breathe here than inside the facility proper. It felt like the atmosphere here was unsubstantial, older than time itself. Had a living soul ever ventured down here besides herself within the past decade? If they had, it sure didn’t feel like it.

Down here, nothing lived, nothing grew or moved or felt. It had been so long since this part of the world had seen life that the sensation of existing here was deadening, the muting deafness of barren rock and broken metal seeping into her very soul.

"Odd place, isn't it, this," said Wheatley, his voice startlingly loud in contrast with the sheer nothingness around them. "And look! Giant springs, holding up the facility! Who would have thought, eh?"

She knew he was trying to be cheerful for her sake. She shot him half of a wistful smile, one hand still resting upon a rough stone wall.

According to him, there should have been an office of sorts around here, probably inlaid inside of the rock wall. She followed it in silence, listening to the eerie creaking and echoing sounds of groaning from the weight of the overlying facility reverberating from distant corners of this hellish basement.

The surface she glided her hand over suddenly changed. The coarse, black bedrock gave way instantaneously to smooth, cold steel. There was a door here, set with one solitary window, showing a glimpse into what was a small, dark office.

"This is it," Wheatley whispered in her ear. “Let’s go inside.”

The door swung inward with a creak, loud enough in the darkness to give Chell goosebumps. "Quiet, quiet, careful now," the core advised her as she stepped inside, her breath sharp and hesitant as she squinted around for a lightswitch.

She found it by the door—two bars of fluorescent lighting flashed on and she blinked in surprise. It was indeed an office, a very tiny one, set with only a single desk at a computer and a pair of older mainframe towers.

"Hatch override control room," said Wheatley, reading a sticker stamped across the top of the desk. “Authorized personnel only. Well. I work here, and I say we’re authorized. That’s good enough for me.”

At his words, Chell looked up through the murky window into the wide expanse of nothingness beyond. Only, it wasn't nothingness, not here—there was something out there, laid low against the ground, visible as only a darkened lip of rounded metal jutting sharply up from the floor like a black steel dome.

It was a sealed test shaft, its enormous, spherical shape a black hole of doom in the night. It was so huge that most of it laid outside of her range of vision, lost in shadow, and upon seeing this, she shuddered—their destination was through that monstrous, forbidding hatch.

"It's big, isn't it," Wheatley followed her gaze, peering into the darkness. "Quite a lot bigger than I expected. I have heard stories, I have, but none of them really put it into perspective, you know?"

She nodded seriously before turning to the computer set upon the desk. I suppose we’ll need to use this thing to open it.

There was a mouldy chair, here—she sat down on it, letting Whealtey fall from her shoulder onto her lap. She dropped the crowbar she'd carried with her since the room with the robots and let herself relax a little, sinking into the smelly cushions. In front of her, the computer's monitor displayed nothing but blackness.

"Right," the core said, his voice full of concentration. "Hm. Lots of dials and buttons here, aren't there? Not a problem, not a problem, should be easy for me to, umm, hack. Might as well just lie back, like that, let me… take a look…"

But evidently, Chell was a bit more computer-savvy than Wheatley had anticipated. She was by no means a genius—but having had to live with them for all her life, turning on a computer wasn't exactly rocket science. She depressed a small button on its side and it let out a single beep, just as the screen powered on with the usual Aperture logo.

Wheatley was trying to watch, his optic barely able to see past the surface of the desk from his position in the middle of her lap. "Can't see," he grumbled, trying to hoist himself up with his handles—Chell shifted uncomfortably and he fell back. "D'you—could you lift me up, mate?"

Chell did not answer him, but she lifted him a little higher so that he could see over the desk.

"Ahh," he said, finally catching a glimpse of the loading screen. "Not the words 'password identified', not yet, but we'll have to fix that, won't we?"

The loading finished, and all that was left was a blank screen awaiting a command. Chell bit her lip, thinking… there was a keyboard here, too… would she have to enter commands into the computer?

"Go ahead, yeah?" prompted Wheatley. "You're the hands, so to speak, of this operation. Good old hands, deadly weapons, when coupled with my bloody massive brains. You'll need to use those to, ahh, hack."

She cracked her knuckles in preparation, trying not to let misgivings show on her face. Then, she raised her fingertips up to the keyboard, thinking. Most of the letters had been worn away and were now indecipherable. It didn't help, especially not since her knowledge of basic written language wasn't much better than a child's was—the odd sign she knew how to read around the facility was second-nature, and not useful if she needed to actually spell out words on her own.

She selected two keys and spelled out the only word she could think of that might be fitting—an 'H', immediately followed by 'I'.

ENTER.

The blank screen flickered as words responded to her own.

-

GLaDOS V.1.07a Prototype [terminal 9374-32] (C) Copyright 1985 Aperture Science Laboratories. All Rights Reserved.

Press START to continue.

-

The green lettering paused, and the last phrase flashed, prompting her to press 'start'. Unfortunately, if such a button had ever been labelled, then its marker had long since faded away. She scanned the dusty keyboard between her fingers in confusion.

"Umm… press the 'start' key?" said Wheatley unhelpfully. She rolled her eyes—pity he didn't see. Honestly, core, I think I could figure that out on my own…

He must have caught some off her annoyance, though, for a second later he had a much more useful suggestion:

"Oh—which button? The, errm—the big one?"

Trusting that Wheatley had a much better understanding of computers than she did, Chell rammed her thumb into the biggest and squarest of the lot.

She just about jumped a mile in the air when the computer beeped loudly in reply, and the last phrase was joined with more small, green lettering.

-

The SYS file is pre-initializing the terminal. …

The SYS file is requesting access to the network at (GLaDOS V.1.07a Prototype)

Connecting to host…

An unexpected error has occurred. Network host (GLaDOS V.1.07a Prototype) cannot be found. Attempting to connect with alternate network host (GLaDOS V.2.0)

Connection complete.

You are now attached to the server.

Please enter your username and press ENTER to access system database: _

-

Okay, straightforward enough, she thought, feeling a bit relieved. So. She just needed a username, then? That wasn't too difficult, was it?

"Quick! Think of a combination we haven't used yet!" Wheatley called out unexpectedly from her lap. "Are you ready?" he glanced up anxiously. "A-A-A-A-X… No. Nothing. A-A-A-A…Y?"

Chell let her hands explore the keyboard, entering random letters and obliterating them until she found the right ones.

"A-A-A-A, apostrophe…" mumbled Wheatley as she worked.

Username: DRattmann_

"What've you got, there? That's not an apostrophe, luv."

ENTER.

The computer ran through a series of confirmations in a language she could not understand, before displaying a legible sentence.

-

Please enter your password and press ENTER to access system database: _

-

Chell frowned at the computer screen. A password. Right.

"Oh, now we're really done for," Wheatley groaned from her legs.

But she was smiling—she knew what she had to do.

-

Password: Unreason_

ENTER.

Initializing…

Password confirmed.

-

"Ho, ho, well done!" called Wheatley in congratulations. Chell let out her breath, allowing her smile to widen as the computer screen flashed with a completely new message.

-

~~~WELCOME BACK, USER (D. Rattmann, Head of Aperture Image Formatting), TO APERTURE SCIENCE~~~

Last login date: July 17^th, 2000

Current login date: July 31st, 2032

You are logged on to terminal 9374-32 via network GLaDOS V.2.0

Terminal location: UPPER HATCH OVERRIDE STATION to ABANDONMENT HATCH 10

~~~HOW MAY WE HELP YOU TODAY?~~~

-

She froze, her hands still extended over the keyboard. In her lap, Wheatley made a quiet, inquisitive noise, but she ignored him. She was captivated by the information on the screen.

Last login date: July 17^th, 2000.

How long had she been trapped inside of this place for, then? If she was reading thing this right, the amount of time between the Artist—D. Rattmann’s—escape and today was thirty-two years. Surely it hadn't been that long?

No.

No, it couldn't be. She would've died in cryosleep, she couldn't have possibly—

But the facility was so decimated when you woke up, said a terrible voice in her head. And. You've got brain damage. You know you do. You came pretty close to dying in there.

Forget the brain damage, she tried to tell herself. Nobody else has ever made it this far. If I were that bad off, I wouldn’t have survived. Clearly I’m doing something right.

She closed her eyes, letting her head fall into her palms, trying to clear her mind. Then, she breathed deeply, eyes a little blurred from the pressure, and tried to decide what to do.

Think. What needs to be done… focus.

But her curiosity got the better of her.

PLAYBACK LAST FILE VIEWED, she commanded the computer.

Beep.

A bright green, neon image was loaded onto the screen, contrasting sharply with the solid black background. With an uncomfortable jolt, Chell recognized the uncanny image immediately—it was a green-hued security-footage image of a short-term relaxation vault complete with relaxation pod of the sort that was used to house test subjects while they waited in the immediate queue for testing.

She could remember her own as though it were only yesterday. The uncomfortable, cramped pod. The sickly-sweet taste of adrenal vapour before you got used to it. The chilling thrum of the mechanics of the enrichment center, and, last but not least, the computerized trill as she opened the blue portal to the vault and broadcasted the seemingly innocent welcome message through the intercom. It was a message that would be the both the beginning of so much and the end of the very last of her adolescent innocence, burned into her brain forever like a vivid nightmare.

“Hello, and again, welcome to the Aperture Science computer-aided enrichment center… ”

A shudder chased itself through Chell’s body as she fought to ignore the intrusive memory, staring down at the words written above the green image of the vault on the computer screen with distaste.

-

When was the last time you left the building? Has anybody left the building recently?

I don’t know why we’re in lockdown. I don’t know who’s in charge. I did find out a few things, like these terminals don’t have to tap out characters one at a time. And while we’re all working on twenty-year old equipment, somehow they can afford to build an ‘enrichment center’. Check out this security feed [chamber below]. Whatever the hell a ‘relaxation vault’ is, it doesn’t have any doors.

I don’t think going home is a part of our job description anymore.

If a supervisor passes by, press return!

-

Chell bit her lip as she read this, thinking.

So she had initiated a lockdown and trapped the scientists and killed them, thought Chell. She’d always suspected as much, but given that all her memories of the initial incident had conveniently disappeared into oblivion, a part of her had always naively wished she was alone in becoming a captive of Aperture Science.

She knew it wasn’t true, though, and that at minimum, the Artist had also been trapped. Optimism had kept her believing that everyone else had made it out alive, though—until now.

“As interesting as all that is,” said Wheatley from her lap, peering up at the monitor screen with an expression of intense distaste, “I’m afraid that really isn’t going to help us open the hatch. And, unfortunately, if we don’t open the hatch, we will most certainly be trapped down here, just like those Scientists were, way back when. Only, they didn’t have those robots looking for them, which I’m certain will find us if we don’t get a move on, hastening our inevitable death by testing.”

Nodding that she understood, Chell regarded the computer with a silent breath, and pressed ‘ENTER’. The screen was wiped blank, returning to the DOS command screen, and she entered three more words there.

MANUAL, she typed slowly but surely. "Yes, very good," commented Wheatley in mock celebration. "'Manual'."

HATCH. Chell swallowed hard as she entered the last word—

OVERRIDE.

And then, for good measure, she hit ENTER.

-

Validating Command (please wait)…

Command confirmed.

USER (DRattmann), please note that the initialization of hatch override via terminal 9374-32 requires human USER authentication before access can be granted to restricted area (Upper Hatch 10).

(Upper Hatch 10) has been sealed as of June 10th, 1982, in accordance with state and federal regulations. It is a class 5 condemned research area, admittance will be granted to authorized personnel only or members of the USDoD.

Press ENTER to begin USER authentication.

-

Without hesitation, without even bothering to read half of the cramped lettering on the screen, she pressed the 'ENTER’ button again.

"Oh, oh, you did it!" called Wheatley in surprise. "Well d—"

His sentence was cut short by an unexpected scrape from behind. Chell immediately swivelled on the chair in shock, meaning to find the source of the noise—but before she could move more than an inch, something metallic and impossibly strong had grabbed hold of her left arm.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!" yelled Wheatley in surprise as Chell scrambled in fright, panicking. She fell from the chair and the core rolled away, having fallen out of his harness, still shouting and writhing as he went. On her knees, she wrestled the thing, the machine, whatever it was, but she was no match for it. It hoisted her right into the air, pulling her towards its source, one of the innocent-looking mainframe towers she had seen earlier.

"OH MY GOD WE'RE GOING TO DIE!" she heard him scream over the sound of whirring mechanical parts—it pulled her close with metal pincers until she was nearly touching the thing. Then, something electronic-looking came out of it, something which it directed towards her face—

"Human USER authentication commencing," said an unknown, computerized voice.

It was a laser, just as bright green as the text on the computer had been. It tickled her skin as she squirmed but did not burn her, and once it had finished scanning her whole body, the machine finally disengaged its grip and she dropped like a stone to the floor. Breathless, she squirmed towards Wheatley and picked him up, panting.

"What," he gasped, distraught, "was THAT."

She shook her head, still short of breath. Not a freaking clue, but it didn’t hurt, at least.

A solitary, computerized beep interrupted them as the monitor displayed one last, final message.

-

~~~HATCH OVERRIDE COMPLETE. THE ENRICHMENT CENTER WISHES YOU A PLEASANT DAY~~~

-

Blink, the screen winked into blackness.

Then, suddenly, the ground beneath her trembled alarmingly. It was a rumbling crash, coming from just outside of the office, and Chell staggered to her feet, her arms around the core. Wheatley’s optic was a terrified pinprick of light.

A cloud of cement dust had exploded around the abandonment hatch. She watched, dumbstruck, as the giant hinge opened slowly to reveal a hole, blacker than black. It was a massive, impossibly enormous structure which filled the entire space of the basement. It rose ominously, blotting out everything else from her field of vision.

The pit underneath was so dark that it was visible only as solid black circle through the torrents of dust. Once the hatch finally ceased moving, Chell felt her breath return to her, and Wheatley blinked rapidly—plink plink. She felt like a statue carved of stone, frozen in shock and unable to move.

It’s time, she realized with a hard swallow, trying to make herself move.

After everything, after all the long days of adventuring, all the narrow escapes and near misses it had taken them to get here, all of the turning points, all of the sacrifices—it was finally time.

They were here. Test Shaft Ten was opened. It was a monstrous hole yawning in the depths of the enrichment center’s basement, fathoms deep of secrets none of them could yet comprehend, a latent space of mystery now ready to be probed and re-examined.

What’s waiting for us down there, she wondered as she watched. Is it eventual freedom, or death, or some limbo in between the two?

There was only one way to find out. Chell rose from the chair and folded Wheatley back into the harness, making for the control room door. She didn’t know what was down there, nor what lay in store from there once they entered it. The only thing she knew for certain was that there was no turning back now.

Time to go, core, she thought, giving Wheatley an encouraging pat. It’s time to go find history while making history and escape this place once and for all.

Chapter Text

Finally—there was silence.

The repetitive whisper of Chell's breath was the only sound that could be heard in the impossibly huge space, save for the distant clatter of the last few bits of disturbed rock falling. Even Wheatley remained still as Chell held him in her arms, staring out into the void-like basement of the laboratories.

He blinked, and so did she; eyes straining through the settling dust and gloom, they both searched for any sign of movement. The intensity of the last few moments was beginning to fade as her shoulders relaxed. The hatch was open, the coast appeared to be clear, and the series of mainframes beside her let out one last, solitary beep in closing.

Wheatley simulated a quick, throat-clearing noise, wiggling inside his inner casing in her arms. His bottom handle shifted, pressing against her stomach as he attempted to peer down into the now-opened vault. “Bit dark in there, isn’t it,” he said apprehensively, optic darting around to look up at her instead. “Not that I-I’m not thrilled that we’ve reached the vault. Because believe me, I, of all people, absolutely, totally am. Trust me on that, luv. It’s tremendous news, it is. Goes to show, that a little bit of, ah, perseverance is sometimes the key. And-and persevere, we will continue to do. Even if that hole looks a great deal blacker than anywhere we’ve yet ventured into.”

Blowing out a steady breath, Chell tucked the core back into the harness, her crystal-grey eyes examining the enormous shadow of the raised hatch outside through the gloom with wary determination. No need to be worried about the dark, she assured the core with another caring pat. I’m sure there’s a lot worse things waiting for us down there than the darkness.

"All right," said Wheatley, his voice a little bit more optimistic than before. "Let's do this thing, then. Get it over with, so to speak. In about six hours' time, we should be up on the surface drinking ice-cold, ahh, what d’you call ‘em—margaritas. Or, you will be drinking them, and I'd be joining you, if I had a mouth… Instead I'll just watch. Yeah. I’ll just observe you, and imagine just how much fun they probably are, yeah."

With a flash of determination, Chell gritted her teeth and grabbed the metal crowbar from the floor where she’d left it. Margaritas sound great, she agreed with Wheatley, although she personally seriously doubted they’d make it there in just six hours’ time—at the rate they were going, they were lucky if they managed to escape this place by next week.

Still, though—a week was better than a lifetime of being trapped. She could handle another week of this, especially if things kept going the way they had been. Chell was beginning to find that she rather liked the experience of descending the facility with Wheatley as her partner-in-tow. For all the evil things he’d done way-back-when, he’d proved himself to be of value, maybe even friendly. She only hoped that would continue, going forward.

The first few steps outside the tiny office showed her that it was just as dark out here as it had been before the Test Shaft had been opened, if not more. Courteously, the core flicked on his flashlight without a word—it was a habit by now—and she squinted into the half-light, following the narrow, dancing beam of light.

What had previously been semi-smooth ground, interspersed with slight, uneven hills was now pockmarked with slabs of stone, all of which had been blown away from the lip of the vault during the opening. The majority of the dust had settled, leaving a powder-like substance floating across the ground. Little puffs of this material were exhaled from under her feet with each step, like she was walking over sand dunes, leaving a slender trail of footprints behind her. Wheatley's optic was now the only source of light in sight. For a minute, Chell felt worried that she'd step right off the edge of the world unknowingly in these conditions, and fall straight to her death in that deep, dark hole.

But closer inspection showed her that this would not have been possible. The lip of the thing was a raised, stone ledge, ending at waist-height. She knew that this had not been placed here to prevent accidental falls, for it was beyond Aperture to care for such things; it was part of the heavy seal that had been implemented to form a barrier between the new and old enrichment center.

"There should be a lift…"

She caught the quaver in his voice, despite how hard he was trying to keep it steady. Loose stones and gravel crunched under her footsteps as she slowly circled the circumference of the giant hole, searching for a way inside. Unusually aware of her pulse beating away in her chest, Chell tried to steel herself in preparation for what they were about to do.

There’s nothing bad down there, she told herself. It’s just another Test Shaft. I’ve already been inside of one before. This one’ll be no different from the last.

Wheatley's subtle movements within his casing creaked rhythmically, each dart of his optic emitting the low sound of moving gears as he searched around for the lift. "There," he directed, finally finding it. "Just there, ahead. That'll take us… down."

A break in the divider showed the beginnings of another steel-grated catwalk which partially jutted out over the hole. She stepped lightly onto this, holding the core close to her side, her hand sliding upon the slender railing as she walked over the enormous pit, trying to reason with herself that she shouldn’t be nervous at all considering the amount of time she spent walking on rickety, rusting catwalks that vaulted over actually bottomless pits.

Ahead, at the end of the rectangular platform, was a glowing, green button.

Wheatley's optic lingered on this for a moment, before he spoke in low, serious tones. "Look," he told her, his normally bubbly voice suddenly full of apprehension. "I know that we've come a long way. We've both risked a lot to get us down here. That didn’t go unnoticed, you know. It’s been a long trek. It’s been a long journey. But I do want to get one word in, quickly, before you press that button.”

Chell had reached the end of the platform and halted, listening to what Wheatley had to say. The green button would obviously take them down, once she pressed it—it was the brightest thing around them that she could see, besides Wheatley’s azure-glowing optic and flashlight combo. But neither of these lights were bright enough to reach any semblance of a bottom, if in fact there was one down there.

“This is, perhaps, the best, most watertight, brilliant-est plan that I've ever come up with, and you're the best human of the lot,” Wheatley continued, nodding for emphasis from inside the harness. “And Aperture’s never seen anything like this, before. Not like us. There’s never been a better pair of escape partners. Nobody better at breaking through her defences, or coming up with things that she would never, ever think of. So, all that considered, I’m pretty sure, that we're guaranteed to get out, now that we’ve reached this vault. Provided that what we are looking for is actually down there, of course."

Chell’s thoughts drifted momentarily up to the hall many, many leagues above where they had left the prophetic sentry turret in its shrine. If it hadn’t been for that turret, they’d never have known the location of the fabled prototype he and Chell were venturing down into the Test Shaft in hopes of finding. Wheatley had said that the turret knew of its location due to some kind of encrypted or corrupted data—memories, he’d said, shared with him during those hectic moments of chaos and near total deconstruction and death just before she’d disconnected him from the mainframe and Chell had saved him from space.

But the exact nature of the turret’s memories was a mystery to her. Wheatley presumably understood enough to move forward and successfully navigate their way down to the basement with the help of the extra data he’d received from the turret in the hallway. All she herself had to go on were the relatively few cryptic phrases the turret had uttered before agreeing to transfer the data, though, and tiny fragments of what Wheatley had explained thereafter. Neither were super revealing, and she found herself having more questions than she had answers, if she really stopped to think about it.

“His name was Mister Johnson,” said the turret finally, before its side panels began to slide closed and its optic laser flickered, leaving behind a bright line of contrasting hue burned harshly into her retina. “And hers was Caroline. Remember that.”

The memory of the turret’s voice made her shiver. There was something about this place, and those people, and all the things she’d seen in all her journeys through the facility thus far that made her feel like she was looking at a grand, yet incomplete structure, this timeline of events that stretched both forward into the future and backward into the past like some kind of—fittingly enough—sentry laser turned timeline with large, mysterious gaps of things she could not yet see or understand. She was no more than some helpless grain of dust that had unwittingly found herself stuck travelling along it, powerless to the chain of events and yet also simultaneously a direct instigator of most of them.

The turret, the murals, the Artist, she and Wheatley, the prototype, the mainframe, her, and Caroline—we’re all just dominoes trapped down here like we’re agents of chaos trapped inside Pandora’s box, she thought grimly, all just going along for the ride until one of us tips this thing over into oblivion and opens the box.

"But I did want to give you one last opportunity, to turn back," Wheatley’s voice cut through her introspection like a knife, pulling her back to the present with a sharp jolt. “If you want. I don’t want you to, of course. But going down there is … is gonna be risky. It’s gonna be risky, and it’s gonna be dangerous, and even I don’t know what’s down there, strictly speaking. So consider this your last chance, lady, to voice any last reservations you may have on the subject I have just raised. Last chance. Go for it, mate. Voice… uhm, away, if you please.”

Silence. If I was going to turn back, I’d have turned back a long time ago, you moron, mused Chell with a ghost of amusement. No, we’re both in it for the long haul, now. At this thought, a distant memory of an extremely ridiculously inappropriate but rather jaunty song floated up to the surface of her mind. Must’ve heard it in the past life, she presumed, shaking her head to clear it, but not before the main chorus had burned itself into her mind like a lyrical delusion.

-

Eastbound and down, loaded up and truckin’

We’re gonna do what they say can’t be done.

We’ve got a long way to go, and a short time to get there

I’m eastbound, just watch ol’ Bandit run!

-

“No? Nothing?” said Wheatley in response to her silence. “No final words? All ready and willing to continue on, then? Great. Brilliant. Perfect. I’m, uhhh, very ready, too. Absolutely, one-hundred percent ready to do this thing. Yeah.”

The offhanded way he’d said all this caught her attention and she hesitated, her hand a foot away from the button. She looked down at the core instead. Why do you sound this worried, she wondered. I know you’re not the bravest. I know it’s risky. But this was your idea.

"I—well, I," Wheatley stuttered under Chell’s intense, questioning look. "I know what I’ve said about us. I know what I said. And I never lied, don't look at me like that. I do have complete confidence in this. I just meant, that, that, um, well, I, I’m not the bravest one between the both of us, okay? That’d be you. A-and, not sure if you remember, but the last time I interfaced w-with any sort of mainframe, it didn’t exactly end well for us. I didn’t have the time of my life in her body, all things considered. There, I said it. M-maybe you should go it alone, speaking of that. I don’t think I could stand another, um, um, accident. Yeah.”

I suppose that’s valid, thought Chell. When she thought of Wheatley in association with the mainframe, her mind usually went to her own past experiences, without considering that Wheatley himself might feel a little bit anxious at the possibility of re-experiencing it. He’d said before that he hadn’t actually enjoyed being in her chassis, even though at the time it had seemed like he did. Maybe that’s fair, that he feels anxious about all this, she realized— after all, we don’t exactly know what this thing downstairs is like.

…But I’m not going to plug you in again, though, if it came to that, Wheatley—not unless we knew it was totally safe. I think both of us have learned our lessons when it comes to the mainframe, and I think we’d both rather turn back then go through something like that again.

Plus, she grinned cheekily, glancing down at Wheatley who was looking up at her with an optic narrowed in anxiety. You’ve got the map. And the flashlight. What do you think I’m gonna do without you—walk around blindly in the dark, hoping I stumble across this thing by sheer chance?

But for the first time in what felt like a very, very long time, Wheatley showed signs of not wanting to continue his ramble. As consolation, Chell wrapped one delicate hand around the right end of his topmost handle, brushing her thumb against the lip of the protective foam covering of it.  

Wheatley relaxed instantaneously, rolling his optic. "…Oh, but that's right," he realized suddenly. "I've got the—map thing. All right, fine, I'll go down there with you. Might as well get on with it, then, sooner rather than later, even if we may possibly, y’know—die. I do have one request, though. One last request, actually. If I die, and you make it out alive, do you think you could—uhm. C-could you…"

His voice stumbled into an awkward silence as his shrunken optic met her crystal gaze and Wheatley shifted his optic away from her, unable to maintain the eye contact.

"Listen, I know this’ll sound a bit, well—a bit funny, really—but w-would it be possible, if I were to die—a-and you, you um, survived, given your, your rather ideal technical skills, such as, as legs, enabling you to running away from sure death, if needed—could you maybe, um, still take me with you? To-to the surface? Even if I die?" he choked, looking around anxiously. "And, quit looking at me like that, wouldya? Who knows. If I’m dead, there might be a way to, to fix me, up there, or something. You never know."

There was a part of her that felt like laughing at how silly the request was, but she pushed that part aside out of respect for Wheatley. It was very apparent that he had just admitted something that caused him a great deal of discomfort to talk about, judging by the semi-awkward way he was still avoiding her eyes. It wasn’t easy to do that, she knew, even if she couldn’t speak, which meant she couldn’t ever remember experiencing it firsthand. She had a hard enough time swallowing her pride enough to show weakness even without that simple ability.

And Wheatley did have a point. He was a robot. There was no reason why there wouldn’t be potential way to fix him, if they did ever make it up to the surface together. She made a mental note of his request. Hopefully it won’t come to that, though. Shooting him a very serious glance, one full of as much empathy as she could muster, Chell nodded.

“Thank you,” said Wheatley appreciatively. “Thanks for not making fun, or something. Obviously, I’m hoping for survival for the both of us. Glad we got that sorted, though. Now feel free to go on and press that little button, just there. I don’t think we’re going to get any more ready than this, so off we go. Bam.”

Chell had jammed her whole fist into the button before he’d even finished the sentence. Immediately, Wheatley ducked inside his casing, his optic shivering, trembling into her side like some weird therapeutic device. The platform shook alarmingly as the entire thing broke away from the vault's side with a jarring, echoing crash, swinging around wildly as it began its descent into the darkness.

She was gripping the railing of it tightly with hot, sweating hands. Wheatley was screaming in both fright and surprise, and she swatted him on the top of his casing in an attempt to get him to shut up.

“AAGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

It did not work. He kept screaming.

Clattering the whole way down, the platform descended further and further into the Shaft. In a manner of minutes, the darkness had swallowed them whole, and all that Chell could see was the outline of Wheatley, his flashlight illuminating the cracks between his inner and outer casings as his optic darted around nervously as he finally stopped yelling. Chell, for her part, had ignored him, choosing to slink back into a safer corner of the lift. She closed her eyes, wiping her sweating hands on her jumpsuit, wishing that she could at least see what horrors she was plunging into.

And then, as though the Enrichment Center had read her mind—a great, echoing boom rang out, shaking the descending lift. From the base of the chamber to the very top, row upon row of amber-hued, old-fashioned service lighting flashed on. It was not the bright fluorescent white glow that lit most of the facility above, but the older, yellow-orange incandescent luminescence of sensor lights in maintenance areas, shining down from every ledge and doorframe that covered the sides of the vault around them.

They were now hanging in the center of a large, square room, many lengths taller than the usual test chamber. It had to be a central station, thought Chell, for along its edges ran many interconnected, rusty catwalks, linking many nondescript doors and strange rooms filled with massive electronic apparatuses. Some of these rusted bridges spanned the center of the cavernous place, joined together to form a criss-crossing grid of mid-air pathways. These were suspended by thick, black cables, swinging with the eerie screeching of metal in the oddly still air, these low sounds echoing around the otherwise silent chamber like the song of a bird.

Below them, Chell could make out a series of pipes that made up the chamber's floor. These were wide tubes with silver surfaces all tarnished with age, each flange cemented together with bolts the size of her fist. They ran the course of the room in a sprawling, tangled metal mass which began in some sort of huge pump station, half of which disappeared through the floor. The ends of the gel pipes spread out like many-fingered hands, vanishing into an assortment of exits cut into the chamber walls and floor and disappearing beneath rusty metal grates.

The platform they were descending with had halted, latching onto an open-ended catwalk with a bump, and Chell instantly let go of the bit of railing she was holding onto. The metal doors swung open noisily, and she held her breath, exiting out onto the catwalk beyond.

"O-oh," Wheatley stuttered, hardly daring to open his optic (which had closed in fright at the loud bang of lights flashing on). His flashlight flicked off as he took a brave glance around the unfamiliar room. "I—it's not going to take us any further down, then, luv? I-I did sort of hope that we could have avoided the whole marching along over dreadful pits thing, for once. It doesn't look as though we've got quite the luck, though, does it? No."

It was perfectly true. The lift had left them quite high up indeed. The massive snarl of mechanics and pipes was at least a good fifty feet below. The catwalk they had landed on contained a grand total of three junctions, each end splitting off to service totally different areas. Two of these ended in thick steel doors, which were probably locked, Chell thought as Wheatley wasted no time in informing her that he’d come to the same assumption. The third, however, bridged the entire gap by running the length of the chamber, its end gloomy and dim but still visible even in the shabby lighting.

"'Gel Station Delta'," Wheatley read off the side of the wall, the letters splashed high upon a cracked ledge opposite them in red, peeling paint. "Y'know, mate, if I didn't know any better I'd say that by 'Gel' they mean Mobility Gel. Ugh,” Wheatley groaned in apparent disgust.

Chell let out her breath slowly, nodding in agreeance—yes, she thought, down here, you’re probably right. And that sucks because I’ve honestly seen enough Mobility Gel to last me the rest of my entire life.

Wheatley seemed to concur with the look on her face. "I'm sure you remember that stuff," he continued with a grimace. "Nasty Conversion Gel and all—from a-a less… fortunate… time…" he rambled off into an awkward silence as the memories of his last moments in the chassis passed between them again. "Back in the—n-not-so-good-ol'-days. D-don't mean to mention that again, though, just thought it was a-a, umm, interesting coincidence that we should find more Gel down here…"

Her shoulders sagged in a heavy sigh and Chell continued to meander down the catwalk, having been jolted momentarily from her surroundings by the revelation of the shared memory.

Conversion Gel… turning non-portal-able surfaces portal-compliant, she mused. Very useful indeed. But also hazardous. Everything Aperture made was hazardous to some extent. Surely this new, mystery Gel would be just as toxic as the rest of them had been. Note to self: do not make contact with New Gel. We do not have a clue as to what radioactive substance it’s made of but I feel certain it’s probably nothing good.

The path they had chosen seemed to be making for the very top room of the pump station. She could see windows upon the building’s side, lots of them, all yawning into the wide chamber like hungry, open mouths. The top floor looked to be an old-fashioned observation lounge of some sort, with their catwalk branching out on either side of it to form a spacious balcony overlooking the deep pit below.

"Oh, no, I've just thought of something," Wheatley shuddered from underneath her arm, his casing quivering. "I mean, what if, what if that sign really does mean Mobility Gel. We haven't got a portal device, mate, and unless I'm very much mistaken, wherever there is Mobility Gel, the testing track isn't far behind. We’ll have to keep that in mind, then, but, ha, uhm, got a bit of bad news, really—I’ve just realized my internal map reference is telling me the place we probably need to get to is located right below the testing—"

Chell held a solitary finger up to her lips and blew in a shhhhing motion. Wheatley fell silent automatically.

Privately, she agreed wholeheartedly with Wheatley that it would be in their best interest to avoid the testing tracks at all costs. She’d never forgotten about the longing she’d felt for the portal device ever since they’d left it behind, and now that they had entered potentially dangerous area of Aperture without one, it was hard not to feel a little bit nervous.

She knew from past experience that sometimes, though, there wasn’t any choice. Sometimes she had to venture down through areas of Aperture she didn’t really want to access, especially not when unarmed, because there was no other way out. I hope it doesn’t come to that, she prayed silently.

The steel grates groaned beneath her long fall boots as she and Wheatley traversed the hanging catwalk to the adjacent chamber, the long supporting cables stretching and swaying to connect with an invisible ceiling now lost in gloom. If she strained her eyes, she thought she could make out a tiny dot of light, maybe the distant pinprick of fluorescence radiating from the basement area and office way back from earlier, with the computer she'd hacked.

The metal catwalk swung back and forth with the eeriest, weirdest sing-song-like hum. It was the only noise Chell could hear besides the gentle, clattering tap of her boots and the fabric rustling of her pant legs; and not until her foot crossed the threshold of the observation lounge did she breathe easier again.

Once they reached the chamber on the other side of the cavernous space, Wheatley caught a glimpse of just how far down it was over the edge of the catwalk. He let out a gasp of non-existent air. "Wow," he exclaimed. "That's a, a bit high up, to be honest. Just a little. Glad we made it over that, safe and sound, but man alive, what is with these-these scientists and heights? For god's sake, why build everything all up in the air willy nilly when you could build it on the floor? what's so wrong about that, I don’t know. I mean it's not like the ground is important or anything, right. Totally not holding everything up. Nah. Utterly useless to consider that, when designing this place. That's sarcasm by the way, because floors are ingenious things, really—much better than bottomless pits, or walkways that look like they haven't been used in centuries and are about ready to collapse when we walk across them, for that matter."

Chell’s only response was a barely perceivable huff. She didn’t much care right now about heights, or ever, for that matter; they were something she was much more comfortable with than Wheatley was. Forgoing a proper response, Chell had begun examining the new portion of the vault she had just entered. Her first thought that this was an observation lounge was half correct: it was, in essence, a workstation probably used by the scientists to keep an eye on the pump station below, functioning as both a sentry station and a control room.

In the very corner of the narrow, rectangular chamber sat what had to be the control booth. Chell put her crowbar down safely next to it and began to examine it. Its yellowed surface was covered with a thick layer of ancient dust, its age magnified by the tungsten-colored glow from the incandescent service lighting. This cast long shadows across her own face, deepening the dark hollows of exhaustion under each of her eyes and outlined the layers of grime and dirt smeared across the back of each hand as they ghosted over the machine's surface.

Someone had left a coffee cup sitting on a high ledge to the side of the controls. It was faded and orange, and any hint of coffee had long since evaporated, leaving a burnt, black stain inside it—but the words 'I hate Mondays' were still etched sadly upon its outside.

Chell's crystal-hard eyes lingered upon this for a moment, taking in the notion that at one time, there actually had been people working down here. In its current state, it was hard for her to imagine scientists working in the laboratories at all, let alone Test Shaft Ten—this place had been condemned ever since (what did that sign say, again?) 1980-something and the thick layers of dust did nothing but solidify that fact.

Who was to say that the original owner of the mug had even made it out alive? He wouldn’t have been the only one who saw the rather unfortunate conclusion of his life whilst trapped inside the laboratories, she realized solemnly. Most of them died here. I’m the only one I know for sure who hasn’t. …Yet.

"'I hate Mondays'," Wheatley chuckled, clearly not registering the heavy implications of the mug. "Classic."

Chell found herself flinching a little in annoyance at his careless amusement, but she did not remark upon it. Instead, she focused her sights on the set of lights that dominated the main panel of the control booth, culminating in a rather large, hefty lever.

Cracked lips curled into a hesitant smile. She fingered the lever, toying with an almost-certain idea of what it might do. It was tugging at her curiosity while her thoughts churned like cogs in her mind as she weighed the decision to pull it. Hadn't she vowed to herself not to touch buttons or throw switches whose function she did not fully understand? Hadn't it been a permanent rule, number (rule number what was she on, now, anyway?), not to throw more switches than she'd need? I should write a book on this place, she smiled to herself. The Aperture Science Escape Manual 101: What Not To Do When Escaping From Your AI Nemesis. Yes—page nine, it says right here in clear print 'never press buttons or pull switches unless the result is known and deemed safe'. ‘Especially not when you’re pretty sure they’re connected to Gel stations and you already know about Aperture’s terrible track record of toxic Gels’.

Hmmm, thought Chell. Better make page one 'never press buttons when requested to by the Intelligence Dampening Sphere', then, considering that time was the absolute worst mistake of them all.

At this, the smallest giggle of amusement escaped Chell’s throat and she flushed a little with embarrassment, very glad that Wheatley could not read her thoughts. After all they'd been through together, it was probably a low-blow to think things like that (even if they were quite understandable), and it left her feeling guilty while still smiling like—well, like a moron, if the shoe fit.

"What's so funny?" Wheatley asked her while scanning the control booth as if he was going to find a private joke imprinted upon the display of colorful lights and switches. "Am I missing something? Want to let your ol’ pal Wheatley in on the joke, mate? It's good you find the current situation funny, in some way I can’t currently see, but teammates aren’t really supposed to leave each other out in the dark. Just so you know."

He'd tilted a handle down as he said this in an unmistakeable frown. Chell had stopped laughing but was still smiling wistfully to herself. It shouldn't have been that funny, she shrugged. It was a bit mean, if she was honest, and she vowed not to think such a thing again, if she could help it, because Wheatley was right. He was supposed to be on her side, here. They were supposed to be trusting one another, not making fun.

Wheatley blinked in irritation. Better fix this, she realized, and flashed him a bright grin, giving him a reassuring little sort of squeeze. He chuckled softly at that, his eye aperture widening in renewed confidence, and she couldn't help a twinge of it zing right back into herself.

I've been trapped in this blasted place with only computers for company for far, far too long, she decided, shaking her head as she looked away abruptly. We aren’t even supposed to be friends and here I am comforting him all the goddamned time like some kind of brainwashed test subject turned Stockholm syndrome for robots. He doesn’t need to be comforted. He needs to help us escape.

Chell turned back to the lever, more seriously this time.

"You aren't thinking of pulling that, are you?" Wheatley asked, unsure, all evidence of amusement suddenly gone from him, too. "Look—I don't want to alarm you, but we do happen to be dealing with unstable substances down here. I thought that much was made clear by those signs we passed earlier, but perhaps not. No matter—I’m making it clear right now. These substances down here are probably unstable so do be careful and mind your actions, lady. Which means you absolutely shouldn’t go walking around flipping mysterious switches like you own the place. But surely a smart test subject such as yourself has already thought of that. No—you're not going to pull it. You might have brain damage. But you’re smarter than that."

Her eyes scanned the surface of the machine, taking in the many pressure gauges and dials, all of them reading 'Current Gel Pressure at 0%'. There was a map, too, one of what she guessed must be the interior of Test Shaft Ten—it showed a vertical a series of enrichment spheres all connected by lines marked with arrows labeled with the words 'gel flow'.

By the look of it, this gigantic test shaft was nearly identical to Test Shaft Nine. She ripped her eyes away from the poster to stare back down at the lever instead.

If she did have to test to get to the bottom of it… which she had been hoping she wouldn’t have to do… then she was willing to bet that she’d need to activate this Gel in order to do that.

"I absolutely, two-hundred percent do not think you should pull it," Wheatley was saying.

A red light was lit up beside it, blinking in standby. A peeling, faded label read 'Gel Pressure Control'.

"Are you listening to me?"

Chell’s fist closed over the top portion of the lever.

"Hello? Of course you’re not—should’ve learned that by now, if I’m honest. You never listen to me, so let me reiterate, for your convenience, mate: I said no switch-pulling. What you're doing right now is not the exact opposite, per se, but perhaps we'd be better off with just leaving, and trying to find a different way out…"

She breathed slowly, holding onto the switch. Wheatley was blathering yet more words of warning, but she was not listening—already her fist was lowering the lever and the mechanism emitted a deep, satisfying clunk as the solid red light suddenly flashed brilliant, neon green.

"Oh great. That's gone and done it, then. Well done, I must say," groaned Wheatley in obvious irritation.

A split second later, the floor beneath Chell’s feet was shaking as a great, vibrating whirr filled the entire control room, originating from an epicentre located in the very middle of the structure beneath them. She hesitated, caught off-guard by the deafening noise but a beat later she had recovered and was crossing over to one of the wide windows, looking down into the chamber below to see what was going on.

"I knew you shouldn't have pulled it,” Wheatley was cringing, frightened. “I knew it. I think now's a good a time as any to say it—I told you so, mate."

Chell tapped a fingernail in irritation against his hull and he fell silent, the faint blue hue of his optic reflected by the thick glass in front of him as a glinting, distorted cobalt circle. Beyond this, she could see that the once-motionless pump dead-center of the enormous space like some kind of sprawling, metal heart was now grinding and pumping, its stiff, ancient gears set achingly in motion to produce what looked like large quantities of some sticky, sickly blood-red glue.

If she hadn't known any better (and if it hadn't been slightly luminous, she noted with a twinge of curiosity), she would have said it could have been blood. A torrent of it spurted out from a dented segment between two flanges, the liquid (or solid?) substance forced out into a spraying jet by the pure pressure of it. It was nasty-looking, she thought, the way it seemed to congeal as it sprayed, coating the wall opposite them in sticky-looking droplets to eventually form a reddish, rusty mat which leeched onto the floor.

"Ugh," Wheatley groaned, appalled. "That's disgusting. Wow, though, I didn't think that it'd still be operational after all these years. Don't touch it, luv, it'll probably give you a disease. It looks toxic, and that’s putting it nicely."

Chell nodded in agreeance, but her eyes were focused upon something at the far side of the room she hadn't previously seen until this very moment. It was a half-boarded-up shaft set in the bedrock; its floor-to-ceiling length separated by the chamber at large by a blackish green painted steel grate criss-crossed with iron trusses. On the crest of the boarded-up portion, where Chell could hazard a guess the entrance to the shaft was supposed to be, was a lopsided, plywood sign marked elevator shaft in overlarge letters.

I can break through that, she thought to herself before turning and grabbing her crowbar.

"While I’m thinking about it, you'd better make proper sure that you don't get any of that Gel on me, either, okay?” Wheatley was saying as he continued to try to stare down at the aforementioned Gel with mounting offence. “No idea what it'd do to my CPU. Probably bugger me up pretty well, though, if I had to guess. Yeah, best we don't get anywhere near it, if you please, lady.”

But that elevator shaft looked semi-functional, unlike the others had been—the lights were on in it, at any rate. Shouldn’t they give it a try? It could save them a lot of time and energy, opposed to wandering around the bottom of the Gel-coated chamber lost, or worse, in testing.

Hiking the core higher up over her shoulder, Chell decided she would try it. She exited the control room, crowbar in hand, her boots once more making the usual clack clack against the steel grate as she ducked through the doorway and out onto the catwalk beyond.

Outside, the expected, paint-like chemical scent Mobility Gel usually possessed was absent, which was of note—often the substance reeked quite strongly. Conversion Gel had been the worst offender, distinctly metallic and obviously lethal from its mercury content.

This Gel smelled different, though, Chell noticed. Perhaps its scent was more similar to that of oil-based lubricants, mixed with a hint of heavy steel and some kind of chemical substance (maybe silicone?). It also seemed to be drawn to itself somehow, with loose droplets migrating to form larger puddles, as if complying with some invisible, magnetic force.

Though this was interesting, she did not think it immediate cause for concern. The fact that this material was glowing was more worrisome to her, if anything.

For the Gel was indeed glowing very slightly, she observed—many tiny red particles inside of it appeared to emit a pulsating, feverish luminosity like one million tiny, twinkly, sparkly red stars as they swilled around. The surface of the chamber floor it had covered was glowing like the floor of a burgundy discotech, though not one Chell felt very keen to dance on if she could help it.

“Ooh, lookit that, eh,” said Wheatley, spying the large puddle of Gel beneath their catwalk. “Glowing, visible probably right up to the ceiling! Wonderful. Erm. Visually speaking. Very pretty, innit. Maybe not good for the skin, though. No idea why its glowing like that. Could be the toxins. Or maybe it’s radioactive. In fact, it probably is.”

No idea, thought Chell vaguely. Normally, things that glowed inside of Aperture were not good news, she knew, because things that glowed were normally sentient. And sentient things, unfortunately, had a very bad track record of wanting to murder her. Who’s to bet this Gel isn’t going to come alive somehow and try to kill me too, she sighed resignedly.

Yeah… You know you've been trapped in this place for too long when you convince yourself that a freaking blob of liquid is about to come alive and kill you. Stop it, self… It’s a Gel, not a machine. Two very, very different things, I'd hope.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she tried to tear her eyes away from the weird red substance, wanting to put it out of her mind for now. If Chell’s gut instinct was correct—which it almost always was—then she felt certain that, whether she wanted to or not, she was going to have a much closer encounter with the alien-like Gel before she was ready. She’d leave any mental questions she had about its nature and properties alone until that time came.

"Can't tell you how grateful I am that you do seem to share with me the desire not to fall to our deaths into this pit," Wheatley was saying as Chell slogged along toward the elevator shaft. "You're sort of like my rail now, aren't you? Could chuck me right off the side of here, if you so desired. Not a good thought, argh, not a good thought…" the little core cringed, shutting his optic to avoid looking at anything from their lofty position. "Please don't do that. I-I know, given what we've been through, if any of us deserves to be cast off a rail and into, into a bloody pit it'd be me, but I…"

Wheatley trailed off into silence, looking awkward. Chell shrugged, gesturing to the elevator shaft doorway in front of them in place of a proper response. That’s fair if you still don’t fully trust me, she thought in reply. I don’t really fully trust you either, and given what we’ve been through, I think it’s pretty significant that we can even be here crossing this thing together without wanting to throttle one another. We’ll probably always have trust issues. But that’s okay. Such is life.

"Elevator shaft. Yeah, I see it," Wheatley narrowed his optic at the lift. "Good idea, mate.”

He was silent the rest of the way as she navigated through the maze of interconnecting catwalks. Once she reached the lift doorway, Chell looked up at it, examining it.

Someone, or something, had smashed the decorative glass that had once spanned the area atop the entrance to the lift, and the sheets of plywood had been nailed to the inside as a quick fix. Shards still littered the catwalk at her feet, tinkling out a pleasant chime as she kicked them, some falling between the diamond gaps in the grate with a ringing clatter into the pit below.

The lift's doors were a pair of metal grilles, which did look fully non-functional—they were bent, their sides crooked at twenty-degree angles as if someone had wrenched them apart with brute force. Behind this was plywood which Chell was able to wrench away with all the speed and prowess of a carpenter. Wheatley let out an appreciative cheer as the two sheets hit the catwalk with a resounding, satisfying CRASH, before they both realized that they had been concealing a dark, unfathomably deep hole which likely led all the way down the depths of the Shaft. Creepy.

There was a big red button on the side of the wall, marked with a single black arrow, pointing downward. It’s probably not going to work, just watch, she told herself as she pressed it, fully ready to turn back in search of another way to access the lower levels instead. To her utter surprise, though, a great grinding noise joined the steady vibration of the pump station as the lift was successfully summoned, hoisting a narrow, box-style cart up to their level, just big enough to hold the both of them.

Chell thought it was a bit small, considering its purpose (which was probably to bring test subjects down from the surface) but with a jolt Chell remembered that Aperture tests had always been rather deadly and it had essentially been a one-way trip down to the test shafts for most or all of them, even back then. She swallowed hard, inwardly praying that it wouldn't be so for them. Does this elevator even go the other direction, she wondered anxiously. I’m being silly. Surely the scientists had to have a way to get back up to the surface. Still though, it’s a scary thought.

She stepped inside with Wheatley and pressed the ‘down’ button on the display. The elevator ground into life, muffling the sound of clanking, vibrating machinery as it sunk below the level of the opening they’d entered from. The sight of the reddish, glowing Gel slipped out of sight to be replaced with a lattice of faint green steel truss behind which was roughly hewn stone bedrock. A single overhead light dangled on a string, bathing her face in an orange tint, the color of her jumpsuit oddly vibrant in the enclosed space. Dark shadows played and circled under her eyes in the swinging light, giving her the haggard appearance of a sleepless convict. Below her arm, Wheatley’s optic darted around, just as bright, cobalt blue as ever.

Wheatley simulated a sound of sympathy, clicking his vocal processor at her. "Just a little further, now," he reassured her. "We need to get to the main chamber, which is in the very basement of the basement, unfortunately. That'll be where they keep the prototype, if it's still operational. With luck, we'll be able to find it and, errm, plug 'er into the modern-day facility. I'll bet there's a way to connect them, if we can find it… Have to hack it, probably. Then we can use it to force her shutdown, or override, or whatever."

Wheatley had said all of this in a cheerfully casual tone, his optic darting around hyperactively before fixing her with a rather endearing, tilted-optic smile.  

Chell admired his optimism. She really did. And it was fairly contagious, she had to give him credit for that—but Chell was also a realist. There was only so long you could spend, held captive in an underground research facility, before you ended up that way. You had to take everything with a grain of salt and avoid ever becoming too hopeful—because hope could be dangerous, as she knew well. Hope was wonderful, and inspiring, and beautiful, in moderation. But hope was also crushing when you let it build up, especially if you were someone like her and you’d spent the majority of your short, sad life never knowing anything but the feeling of having it repeatedly almost utterly stolen away.

You had to have a defence system in place, when it came to hope, to stop yourself from having too much of it. You had to find a way to cope, to keep yourself from hoping too much. Because if you didn’t, and things got bad like they almost always did, and you weren’t prepared for that—it might break you, Chell knew. You might never recover from that.

Wheatley hasn’t had that hope broken yet, Chell realized with a start. That’s why he’s still so valiantly optimistic. He’s never had that totally crushed, not completely. Even when he was in the chassis. He almost got there. But she saved his ass before he could really begin to understand what that’s like, because he’s never had to live a life in which you’ve known nothing but running—running and hiding because if you don’t, you die.

And she could have been really bitter about that, really jealous of him. It would have been further license to despise the core, if she felt like taking that route. There was endless justification for it in her mind, but something held her back, somehow.

She looked down at Wheatley pensively, watching him blink his eye shutters back at her innocently. Plink plink.

Maybe it’s because, she realized slowly, because I still have some hope that I can feel that way again too, someday. Maybe deep down, I want to be able to be that carefree again. Like if and when we get out of here. Maybe he can teach me how to feel that, so that I can just be hopeful without holding back, too. Without just feeling afraid all the time instead.

All right. Chell nodded at Wheatley with determined resolution as she felt the small bubble of hope growing inside her chest. This is it. You’ve got me—I hope so, too, Wheatley. But if we don’t make it out of here you better really hope you’ve died trying because I swear if you don’t die first, I’ll kill you myself. Or, I will drop-kick you so high into the sky that you'll taste moon dust for real this time. You know that poem, the one about the cow jumping over the moon? Yeah, that'll be you.

Hey diddle diddle, she thought with a smug smile as the lift ground slowly down around them. The cat and the fiddle. The core got stuck on the moon.

Wheatley simulated a swallowing sound at the look on her face and twirled his optic nervously in his shell. "I'm sure it'll be fine, luv. There’s no need to worry. This prototype shouldn't be too difficult to reprogram—easy for me, anyways, master hacker and all. Umm, just a word of warning, though—not sure what this thing is capable of, if I’m honest. The files on it were a bit weird. Corrupted, yes. But the ones that weren’t—seems like they didn't use the exact same artificial intelligence program they used on the rest of us as a part of its programming and body. They used some kind of prototype version, like an attempted brain uploading hybrid mix. I won't pretend to be an expert on artificial intelligence, but it says here that it resulted in an unstable system which lacked the proper autonomy needed to properly run this place on its own, I guess. So we'll just have to sort that out, first. You can leave that to me.”

No wonder this place has been 'condemned’, thought Chell, repressing a shiver. Failed brain uploading? Hybrid artificial intelligence programs? It seemed like a longshot at best. But if it really was their best bet… anything was better than nothing, she supposed.

They’d just have to be careful. Really, really, careful. But it wasn’t like they hadn’t dealt with corrupted, murderous AIs before, though—and if they could swing it to program the thing right to channel all that corrupted energy into her system, well… Wheatley was correct. They really might be up on the surface a good twenty-four hours from now, having a grand old time busy getting the hell away from this place once and for all.

"So, we'll need to work together, of course," said Wheatley seriously. "But we are excellent teammates, aren't we? Shouldn't be a problem for-for us. Not after we've already had practice, taking her offline once, and all.”

She was just about to nod in agreement when suddenly, without any warning, the lift beneath her feet jarred to a very solid halt just as they’d made it midway into the lower level. Wheatley's optic flew wide open to stare at her, a blaze of panic evident from behind the cracked glass.

"What was—" He gasped, frightened. "Bloody hell—are you all right? The lift's shut down, hasn't it? What do we do now?"

Chell shrugged noncommittingly, not really feeling all too worried about it. She had her trusty crowbar after all, and one glance down to her feet showed that the gap between the floor of the elevator and the ceiling of the adjacent room would probably be wide enough for them to squeeze through. The only issue was the doors on this level happened to be non-functional also—the elevator had not slid far enough down the shaft to trip the unlocking mechanism, and the metal grilles remained firmly shut in place.

A cloud of dust had floated into the air from the sudden jamming of the lift and Chell tasted dirt. Blinking the soot out of her eyes, she coughed, inhaling the tiny particles of ground metal and flaked rock. She thrust Wheatley further over her shoulder mechanically, raising her right hand with the crowbar in it.

“Oh, I see,” said Wheatley in awe. “You’re going to break us out of here. Excellent, lady, excellent.”

She nodded in determination, lodging the forked end of metal into the crease between the elevator doors, letting her shoulders relax momentarily. Then, she wedged her boot up against a far corner for leverage, gripped the bar tightly in both hands, and pulled, gritting her teeth with the effort.

The steel buckled, and slowly, the jammed gears above the doors shifted with the hair-raising scream of wrenching metal and unlubricated mechanical joints. Her arms locked up with the effort, her jaw set, as inch by inch, they slid further and further apart until the gap was just large enough to fit them both.

Once they were open, Chell let the crowbar fall to the floor with a heavy thump, and she sunk, panting, into a corner.

"That was brilliant," praised Wheatley. "You are amazing sometimes, you know that, right? Nothing can take us down—not a jammed elevator, not a d-death trap, not even her. We're-we're unstoppable!"

Chell rolled her eyes, nearly blushing at these sentiments, giving him a light thump on the top of his casing in irritation. I’m not a goddamned hero, core, she thought with a self-conscious grin. I’m just a girl trying to get out of a science facility in one piece by venturing kilometers into its depths with an idiot ball and a handy crowbar for company.

"Hey," said Wheatley, suddenly stern. "Don't look like that, luv. I—that is to say, we—could never have gotten this far without you. You deserve that praise. A-and, if I’m honest… the truth… the absolute truth is that I really haven’t given you nearly enough of that, in the time we’ve known each other.”

The core emitted a huge sigh here, and Chell stared at him, frowning at the surprisingly pained way Wheatley had said all of this.  

It wasn’t that she needed praise—lord knew she could get on well enough without it. But there was something to hearing Wheatley outright say she actually deserved it that made her stop and stare in surprise—especially considering his extremely heartfelt tone. Are you really saying all this right now? She felt like punching him to lighten him up, only, it probably would have had zero effect on his metal hull. Are you feeling all right?

“Because, honestly," continued Wheatley with a huge sigh, unable to meet her eye, "even after everything we've been through together, everything we're going to go through together, you're still the-the better one, between us both. And I don't mean just a good test subject, you know. You… you didn't try to kill me. You didn't take o-over the facility, and stab me in the back. You-you d-didn't do anything like that, realistically speaking. Not even once. You—you're not a monster. Not like I am."

Still huddled in the corner of the lift letting her breath return to normal, Chell had frozen, staring at him. For a moment, she was at a loss as to what to do or say, so deep was her shock at the depth of emotion the little core was expressing, and the words he was expressing them with. Sure, he had apologized to her before, and sure, he had genuinely meant it during those times, she knew. But never once had she seen him so entirely sad like this. Wheatley’s handles had wilted, his voice cracking and full of a depressing agony that made a lump rise even in her throat. He honestly sounded on the verge of tears.

"I am,” Wheatley said miserably. "I am a monster. I mean. Maybe not anymore, but I was. I was, and now I’m not, and now I feel sorry, and it's all so confusing, because I’m not sure how much of what I said and did back then was me and how much of it wasn’t. And that means, that means who knows, who’s the monster, really—me, or, or, him, or both. But does it even matter which one of us did it? I don't know how you can l-look at me, sometimes.”

The core paused here, before continuing on in a voice that was breaking worse than ever. Chell felt like something relentless was beginning to squeeze her heart as the bottom dropped out of her stomach.

“It's a nightmare. And to think—think about what it felt like, how much I wanted it… what a proper maniac. And here I am, trapped in an elevator, just like you were, back then, crying like an actual moron. You didn’t roll around making a scene when I trapped you in there. You didn’t even cry. Not even when I punched you down that-that pit… and you had all the reason in the world to."

Chell had put her hand on the top of his casing, trying to comfort him. Calm down, Wheatley… I know that wasn’t all you, doing that. Do you think I’m an idiot? Obviously her body is a little corrupt. I mean. Not to totally excuse you—you do deserve to feel bad. But maybe not this bad anymore, not after everything. …Though the fact that you regret it this much means something to me.

It means you likely won’t ever do it again. And that’s important.

She tried to put all that into her expression, but she didn’t know if she succeeded.

"N-no…" was all Wheatley sobbed in reply, twitching his top handle to try to throw her hand off his casing. "D-don't do that, please. I-I don't deserve it. I don't deserve any of this and we both know it. J-just… do me a f-favor, will you, when we get to the s-surface, a-and just… chuck m-me into a ditch, or something, okay? B-because I-I-I… I don't know how you c-can stand me, to be honest, and-and I t-try not to mention it, for your well, well-being, but I feel as t-though it's eating my circuits, s-sometimes, you know? It's t-terrible, this guilt, and I wish I could s-stop it, but I think the o-only way to make it g-go away is if I d-do what I said I'd do, all those y-years ago, and save you," he blinked rapidly, but sensing her gaze he shut his eye again, "once and for all. A-and I see it all the time, those memories f-from back then, what I did, and at first it made me p-proper livid, because I didn't u-understand what I did wrong, b-but I think I'm starting, t-to see…"

He broke off here, and she just stared at him, feeling more speechless than she’d ever felt in her entire life—not that it really made a difference in her communication skills. But she felt physically speechless, this time. Entirely, uncommunicably speechless.

"I'll just…" finished Wheatley, shivering a little in his casing as a manifestation of his internal agony. "S-shut up now. Yes. That sounds good. D-don’t worry about m-me. I’ll be f-fine. It’s all fine. Fine and dandy."

And then, without warning, Chell pulled the core up into her arms and hugged him full-on. It was the first time, and might only be the only time, ever, she mused, that the human woman really, truly felt for the little core enough to commit such an act as this. For she had no other way to really console her friend—yes, okay, maybe ‘friend’ can be applicable here, but just this once, she thought—and probably would never have known what to say even if she could have spoken in that moment.

So, instead, actions had to suffice. She held him until he became still, the shivers dying away as she reassured him wordlessly by tracing the tip of her fingernail lightly along the very top edge of his quivering handle. Then, she ran her free hand over the groove that lined the top of his hull, between his casings. She rocked him slowly like a mother would rock her child, the rhythm hypnotic as she felt it start to put her at ease, too. It washed away all the ugliness of their situation, the ancient, metallic scent of the miles of surrounding machinery, and the distant echoes reverberating around the depths of the Test Shaft they were inside.

Wheatley didn't speak. That’s fair, thought Chell. She knew that he was cherishing the moment of clarity and contentedness just as much as she was. It couldn’t last forever, but they could have a minute—a minute in which Wheatley’s CPU almost went still and the usual, frantic cycling of her own mind had a brief chance to finally find down.

Just for a moment. Just one moment where they could live someone else’s life of serenity in which they weren’t escaping from a murderous science facility, for once.

They stayed like that for a little while. "T-thank you," said Wheatley at length. "Thank you, for that. I just wish that I could take it all back, you know."

She let her eyes fall closed at the sound of his voice, wishing along with him that he could have taken it back. She was wishing that they could go back in time and redo it all. Everything. He could raise the lift, and eject himself out of the chassis, and none of what happened next would ever have happened, just like magic.

But the both of them were equally helpless to the flow of time and unable to change the past. There would be no redo on this journey. Chell was not a miracle worker, and Wheatley was nothing but a broken, damaged Intelligence Dampening Sphere, and both of them were traumatized, tortured, and hurt. And their plan, their crazy plan they’d set into motion and were now in the middle of was not going to be easy. It was not foolproof, or simplistic, and she was still out there listening, watching, and waiting for them to screw up.

And with that notion of her, the spell was broken. Their rare, shared moment of carefree calmness was wiped away like the wind blowing away ashes, scattering the remains of an unknowable life across a field of wildflowers somewhere far, far above their heads in a world that didn’t exist as anything more than some crazy escapee’s fantasy or dream. Chell's hand found the rough surface of the crowbar beneath her, and with the other she steadied the core, lifting herself back onto her knees.

"Right," said Wheatley sluggishly, pulling himself back to reality, too. "We’ve got a facility to be escaping from, don’t we. Ready?”

She smiled wistfully, her strong arm wielding the crowbar like a sword as she glanced down at him, preparing to break down the remaining bits of plywood stopping them from exiting the lift. I’m ready if you are.

“On the count of three,” instructed Wheatley, catching on. “One. Two. And three!”

She obliged with admirable precision and force. Knocking away these bits of plywood, Chell ducked through the hole between the elevator and the chamber with an awkward jump and landed, cat-like, in a brand new, unfamiliar room.

“That’s it, luv,” Wheatley smiled up at her confidently. “Keep going, just like that, and you’ll have us both out of here in no time at all.”

I like the sound of that, Chell smiled back semi-cheekily. I’ll see what I can do.

Chapter Text

The unfamiliar chamber was blinding in contrast with the solitary, dim bulb still swinging in the interior of the elevator cart. Wheatley’s eye aperture constricted and Chell winced in pain against the brilliant new ambiance as she dragged her feet and her crowbar behind her.

Her first impression of this room was that it was some kind of disused office space; row upon row of fluorescent lighting had been strung from cables mounted from a low ceiling covered with pristine, white ceiling tiles, illuminating the large work area beneath it that was filled with nothing but rows of identical desks sat with cushy, rolly chairs and computer towers.

Here and there, concrete pillars were dispersed between the desks, on which many a poster had been glued. Their peeling, faded surfaces read phrases like ‘Karla the Complainer says… MY NEW BOSS IS A ROBOT. […] VOLUNTEER FOR TESTING TODAY’ and ‘REMEMBER… ALERT YOUR SUPERVISOR IF YOU SEE […]’. The usual metallic clink of her metal heelsprings tapping along a catwalk grate was replaced with the resounding click of their contact with the cold, tiled floor. Down here, she could still sense the deep, distant thrummm of the pump station upstairs, but it was not to the same levels of being an overstimulating onslaught; and together with the muteness created by nearly everything being coloured white, she felt it was rather akin to a weird form of sensory deprivation.  

Stepping forward, Chell began to pick her way between the many desks, occasionally bumping her hips against the padded chairs inset with Aperture logos on their backs. These are oddly… clean, she noticed suddenly, peering down at their navy-blue, pristine cushions with a deep frown. They look like they’ve never even been sat in before.

In fact, now that she realized it, this entire place was far too clean, almost sterile, she thought—the monitors that rested upon every desk were dust-free and clear of fingerprints, and their accompanying towers were also dustless. There were no coffee mugs, or food wrappers, or pens, or pencils, or notepads—nothing whatsoever to show that this place had ever seen a human being before she’d got there.

With a jolt somewhere around her midriff, Chell realized that it was completely likely that it hadn’t. Employee testing might have already been mandatory by the time Aperture constructed this office space, she mused, swallowing hard. They may never have even used it at all.

How eerie.

“Man alive, this place is quiet,” Wheatley said finally as Chell made her way deeper and deeper into the office labyrinth, now pulling open drawers here and there as she went but not finding anything of interest. “Not a soul down here, is there. Not that there was anyone up above, either—but something about this place just feels that much more lonesome than back there, doesn’t it. No idea why. Could be all the empty chairs, or something. Makes you feel like it’s the sort of place that wasn’t supposed to be so empty, but yet here we are, and here it is. Pity I don’t have any more ghost stories. I only knew the one, really, about manufacturing and the robots. As far as humans go, you know the drill. She killed all of them. Horribly. Doesn’t really make for that good of a story, though.”

Chell nodded in agreeance. For once, Wheatley had managed to summarize something even she herself had had trouble figuring out. It’s absolutely the empty chairs, she supposed. The empty desks. The empty garbage cans, that make it feel more empty than anywhere else has thus far. It’s the way that it’s not just speculation that no humans had been here. It’s the way it’s solid, believable fact.

Chell kept walking until they reached the very end of the office. Down here, the silence had finally given way to more of that teeth-chattering, bone-shakingly deep humm, coming from the area up ahead where the lower part of the Gel station clipped through the ceiling like an overlarge, metal eldritch monster. Three more Gel pipes had been connected here, their contents frothing within them with a constant, audible gurgle as they branched out from the bottom of the machine and disappeared into the floor.

Hooked to this machine was an enormous snarl of great, black wires of the kind Chell had seen used on the central AI chassis; their rubbery surfaces were cracked with age and wear but they still did their job connecting the pump station to another cluster of mainframes whose fronts were hidden from view due to the sheer masses of wires plugged into them like multicoloured ribbons. Her eyes followed these ribbons onto the floor where they spread into a matted root-like system that Chell now realized fed each and every terminal in the entire room like some kind of sprawling, interconnected digital web or underground hive mind.

Machines feeding machines, thought Chell. Cannibalistic computer engineering. Spaghetti wires everywhere like stringy neurons from the human brain—sending, sending. What are they doing? What is it for? Is it for the Gel? Or something else entirely?

But the answer to this question became apparent at once as she noticed one of the mainframes had a smaller, almost laptop-size monitor mounted to its side via a mechanical arm. Just beneath this display there were a series of buttons and switches and as Chell approached it she could make out the words ‘Toggle Nanomachines and Gel Synthesizer’.

Oh.

Nanomachines, she reread the word with interest. So Aperture had been trying their hand at nanotechnology.

But what did this have to do with the Gel?

Tearing her eyes away from the display screen, Chell looked back at the huge snarl of engineering before her. The enormous pipes continued to gurgle at the base of the machine.

"Hey,” said Wheatley quietly from under her arm, and she glanced down at him, having almost forgotten he was with her. “Have you seen this, lady?"

He was looking in the direction of a stretch of wall Chell had not previously noticed. It contained a black-and-white poster emblazoned with the attention-grabbing title ‘WELCOME TO THE APERTURE SCIENCE NANOTECHNOLOGY LABORATORY’. She cautiously crept forward, minding the huge machine’s stabilizers, so that she could read it.

-

The study of Nanotechnology was first implemented in 1953 by the hardworking, Science-driven CEO of Aperture Science Innovators, Mr. Cave J. Johnson. The objective of the experiment was to create semi-sentient micro-beings called Nanomachines, capable of digital communication through transmission, which could be remotely controlled and studied by Aperture Science personnel.

By 1962, Test Shaft Ten was constructed with the sole purpose of conducting further research into both Nanotechnology and artificial intelligence as a concept. While another project focused on the exploration of true mechanical sentience through artificial means to be utilized in the fire/no fire decision-making skills of Aperture Science Military-Grade Sentry Turrets, 'Conduction Gel' was then created using conductive, oil-based lubricants as a medium to bind the Nanomachines together into a hivemind-like transportable mixture with unique properties. The project was so successful that a total of nine Enrichment Spheres were built, dedicated to testing the Gel in tandem with the newly acquired, semi-sentient decision-making skills from the empathy suppressor chips the Turrets possessed.

Conduction Gel testing was largely a success, due to its ability to also be used in tandem with the Quantum Tunnelling Device to test the properties of its Interspacial Portals. However, when Aperture Science’s CEO became deathly ill in 1981, work began instead on utilizing the Gel as a means to create a fully artificially intelligent, digital network that could be capable of overseeing testing on its own by using the Gel’s Nanomachines as an electronic sensory network to be processed and controlled by a main AI operating system at a chassis hub in Test Shaft Ten. The testing of Conduction Gel as a Quantum Tunnelling testing element was then phased out by Conversion Gel later that year as it promised to yield greater results in artificial intelligence, although it is still used occasionally within the Enrichment Spheres.

Nanotechnology is now mainly being used to aid in the completion and operation of the Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System Prototype, which will hopefully serve as Aperture Science’s first genetically modified computerized hybrid lifeform if the experiment is a success. It is also being used in the construction of an entirely new subdivision of Aperture Science Innovators, located above the Test Shafts and rebranded as Aperture Laboratories (under the slogan ‘Testing is the Future’), which will feature a streamlined, fully digitized, fully customizable Enrichment Center controlled by the Genetic Lifeform located in Test Shaft Ten and featuring our newest Aperture Science Investment Opportunity—panels!

Please note that all objects within this test shaft are test prototypes only, subject to fault. For your safety, please follow the directions outlined in the training and safety manual before interacting with any functional machinery beyond this point.

-

"’…Please follow the directions outlined in the training and safety manual before interacting with any functional machinery beyond this point'," Wheatley read aloud. "Well then—at least what we're about to do hardly counts as engaging. More like modifying, really. Or reprogramming. Not sure what the rest of all up there that is about, though. Bunch of gibberish to me. Conduction Gel, and all. Probably-probably related to that Gel back there, up in that other room, maybe. But no matter, because we won’t be testing with it.”

The little core gave her a confident nod as Chell turned back to the machine without really seeing it, thinking. So, this entire test shaft was Aperture’s first foray into the study of artificial intelligence, she mused. It wasn’t just about the prototype. This was the birthplace of the entire idea of both GLaDOS and the modern-day facility. This was GLaDOS before she was GLaDOS. Before she looked anything remotely like what she looks like today.

Chell gazed at the Gel synthesizer before her, as the massive, sprawling structure ground out a steady pulsating rhythm, cycling and synthesizing the Conduction Gel containing the Nanomachines, she surmised. It pumped it out endlessly into the three massive pipes.

During her first adventure into the basement of the laboratories back when she had tagged along as a defenseless little potato battery perched neatly on the end of her portal gun, Chell had learned a little bit about Cave Johnson and his role in the inception of the GLaDOS project. In fact, it had been during that journey when it had been revealed to her that Mister Cave Johnson himself had been responsible for the entire thing, in a lot of ways.

Overcome with mercury poisoning from purchasing seventy million dollars’ worth of moonrocks on a whim, quite literally deranged and dying, the aging CEO one day apparently had the wild but arguably astute idea to try to find a way to upload human consciousness into a computer. Why he’d want to live forever, though, was beyond Chell, but fair, there were times when even she didn’t understand what it was that was motivating her to never give up, even against all odds. I think there’s just something inside us sometimes that won’t let us quit, she thought, still staring down at the Gel machine. Sometimes we just can’t give up even if giving up is the easier route and that drive can push us to do crazy things, like solving endless tests with no way out, or creating a computer with the express purpose of uploading our brain into it in order to cheat death.

Death is scary, she thought, empathizing with Cave. I understand that better than anyone. Maybe if I knew for sure I was going to die, I would try to do something more about it, too.

But maybe not by uploading my consciousness into a computer. Wasn’t it a bit unfair, though, for her to say that whilst in a position where she’d witnessed firsthand the nearly disastrous long-term effects of such a procedure? Chell felt she owed Cave Johnson a pass on account of him never having seen the effects that would happen thereafter. He wasn’t a time-traveller. He wasn’t a guru possessing magical foresight. Maybe if he had had those unique abilities, things would have been different, and he wouldn’t have ever reached a point in his life where he thought it would be a good idea to try to upload people’s brains into machines, but whatever reality that existed within, it wasn’t this one.

Unwittingly, the sound of his voice playing over a pre-recorded message echoed through her mind, just as sharp and clear as it ever had been. It was a recording from the moment in which the idea had first occurred to Cave, not long after he’d been diagnosed with mercury poisoning from interacting with the moon rocks.

“The point is,” said the Cave living inside of Chell’s brain, “if we can store music on a compact disc, why can’t we store a man’s intelligence and personality on one? I have the engineers figuring that out now. Brain mapping. Artificial intelligence. We should have been working on it thirty years ago. I will say this—and I’m gonna say it on tape so everybody hears it a hundred times a day—if I die before you people can pour me into a computer, I want Caroline to run this place.”

And as the AI-turned-potato-battery had proven thereafter, Aperture’s foray into artificial intelligence and immortality had, eventually, become a success based on this idea alone. Maybe their first attempt had been a relative failure, as she was starting to learn during this repeat journey into the depths of the facility’s history, but the one after that—the GLaDOS project—had been dubbed a triumphant success, leading to the current environment up inside of the modern-day enrichment center which now belonged exclusively to her.

Cave Johnson had gotten his dying wish, it had seemed. The AI had heard Caroline’s voice. She had recognized her as being herself. She had even heard her voice as a conscience.

Chell could remember it as though no time had passed at all, the moment when she’d shared with the AI the somewhat shocking revelation that she had been a human, once upon a time. Chell suppressed a shiver as she remembered what she’d had to say about it.

“The scientists were always hanging cores on me to regulate my behavior. I’ve heard voices all my life. But now I hear the voice of a conscience, and for the first time, it’s terrifying, because for the first time, it’s my voice. I’m being serious—I think there’s something really wrong with me!”

Having grown up with a father that worked at Aperture whilst naively idolizing the company herself, that information had come as quite a shock to Chell, even with her overlarge memory gaps. The last thing she could remember concerning Aperture preceding the vivid experience of crawling out of a short-term relaxation pod at the beginning of her first-ever computer-operated testing track not long after her takeover was a brief series of memories involving her being the first adolescent candidate to be inducted into a Test Chamber Engineer mentorship program when she was sixteen.

There had been a woman there, back then, Chell realized with a sharp jolt. Brown hair. Tall. Beautiful, but hollowed, as though the years had taken something from her, some kind of inner passion and warmth. She hadn’t been the one to interview Chell—that responsibility had fallen on a newer, younger, much bubblier intern, and she’d have been lying if she said she hadn’t been pleased with that fact. The older lady, who Chell now presumed must have been Caroline, had made her feel frightened and wary, as though she had done something wrong every time their paths crossed.

That was Caroline, thought Chell. It had to be her. There was no question about it.

It felt incredible to realize that the woman had voluntarily uploaded herself into a supercomputer thereafter, though. What kind of trauma would possess someone to do that, she wondered, noting the extremeness of the act. She wasn’t like Cave Johnson. Cave had an excuse—he was dying either way. She wasn’t. Not that anyone knew of, anyway.

But perhaps not all maladies are visible or desirable to share with others, Chell realized thoughtfully. Maybe there are some kinds of illnesses that you never want to talk about, not to anyone, that can kill you from the inside out, no matter what you do to try to stop them or how much you don’t want them to.

Taking a moment to sit down in one of the squashy, pristine chairs at a computer desk, Chell allowed herself to close her eyes and think about this for a moment. It’s hard to keep going sometimes, she mused, ignoring Wheatley’s questioning remarks as to what she was doing. Sometimes things do make you wish you were dead. Had it been like that? What if she uploaded herself, not because she wanted to be uploaded, but because she knew it’d be a fate worse than death?

What if Caroline uploading herself into the GLaDOS project had been the ultimate act of self-sabotage?

It was a heavy thought.

This can’t be true, Chell decided, shaking herself. It wouldn’t make any sense. There’s nothing that bad in the world, is there? No. She uploaded herself because she wanted to, through and through. It’s as simple as that.

Still feeling unsure, Chell sifted through her archive of memories once more in search of anything that would help her gain a clearer picture of the woman. Admittedly, there really wasn’t that much there. After that first memory of her, there were only a few vague flashes and snippets of conversation of anything, let alone stuff with Caroline actually in it.

Being trained in test chamber design by a qualified engineer and using a computer terminal with rudimentary intelligence to design and test an interactive test chamber layout to see if it would indeed be solvable by a human being. Trying to teach a brand new, catchy song to a sentry turret after her dad had let her see one perform the song Daisy Bell for her specifically, as a nod to Daisy Bell being the first song ever sung by a computer in human history. Her first time holding up a real, Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device so that Henry could test if its size and weight would be manageable even for a test subject of her size and strength. And getting scolded by Caroline for lurking around the GLaDOS wing and trying to pass through doors marked ‘GLaDOS PROJECT HEADQUARTERS—AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT’.

I’m just curious, Chell had shrugged when the older lady had found her trying to peer through one of the reinforced glass windows high up on the steel blast doors.

“Well, curiosity killed the cat,” she’d snapped, reading Chell’s intentions correctly as she grabbed her wrist in a pincer-like grip and led her out of the hallway. “The GLaDOS project isn’t the place for children. I’m going to have a talk with Greg about keeping closer tabs on you, because the last thing we need right now is an incident—I told him I’d rather they waited ‘til it was complete to begin the mentorship program, but Greg said it would look good on paper. And with OSHA snooping around, I can’t say I disagree… even if it means I have to add babysitting to the long list of activities I have to perform each day in the Enrichment Center. You’ll notice I didn’t have children of my own. There’s a reason for that, you know,” the woman had added sternly. “Stay out of trouble from now on, please.”

Besides being an uncomfortable memory, it didn’t really tell Chell anything about Caroline she didn’t already know, though. It just felt weird, to remember her as a human, even if their limited interaction had brought certain similarities to the forefront of her mind. So much of what she had said had sounded like her—it was truly uncanny. None of it had been out of character for her. It wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine how that woman with the icy cold hands and the even icier tone of voice had ended up transforming into the supercomputer that had made her life living hell since age nineteen.

Still, though, the whole thing almost felt like it went against the laws of physics and Science, but that was Aperture, for you. A loose cannon of a Science facility ready to throw anything at the walls to see what stuck, operating on core pillars of mad thought and crumbling foundations left behind as lost relics from a semi-deranged scientist dead-set on trying to cheat death. Maybe Caroline really was just as insane as Cave was, Chell wondered. I suppose there’s only so many toxic substances you can inhale over your lifetime before you do start to go a bit wonky. That, and Cave had to find somebody who would put up with his lunacy. Maybe Caroline was just the woman for the job.

Although, I will admit, crazy or not, Cave Johnson had balls, thought Chell with a half-smile. And maybe Caroline did, too. You had to give them both that. Not many humans could look sure death in the face and come back with the conviction that they were prepared to do absolutely anything it took to burn life’s house down with the lemons it had dared to give them and chase immortality’s double-edged sword like it was going out of style. And a hell of a job they did, even if Cave didn’t live to tell the tale himself or to get to see his magnum opus in its glory days. I wonder what he’d say if he could see it now.

Obviously, Chell had surmised by now that Cave Johnson had never got to have his conscience successfully uploaded. Either the prototype hadn’t been finished by the time he’d died, or that part of the experiment had been a failure. Probably the latter, she thought, remembering that the CEO had referenced having a computer of his own shortly before he had died ‘Hell, put her in my computer, I don’t care’, and that the prototype they were seeking had been deemed a failure, rendering the contents of Test Shaft Ten condemned and ordered to be vitrified in 1982.

Chell wasn’t sure how she felt about Cave talking about the thing as being his computer, though. That bit was a bit, well… a bit creepy, if she was honest. The idea of one AI floating around the enrichment center having been created out of a successfully uploaded human mind was bad enough. But two?

Chell shivered outright. “Are you all right?” Wheatley asked her, finally breaking her out of her revere.

She shrugged. I guess, she thought. Just thinking about stuff, but I’m wasting time, here. We’ve got a job to work on—we better find a way out and down to the basement ASAP.

Standing up abruptly, Chell fixed Wheatley’s position in the harness and began re-scanning the spacious room.

“Do you see another exit anywhere?” Wheatley was saying. “It’s not like we can take the lift back down, obviously. We’ll have to find another way. An emergency exit, or something of that sort. I’m sure there’s one of those around somewhere. I know Aperture doesn’t have the best track record of safety protocols—I do realize that, I honestly do. But if there’s one thing the engineers never messed about with, it was fire protocols. Can’t say I blame them, really. Being miles underground, and all. Not the best for smoke ventilation.”

You’re right, there’s got to be an emergency exit somewhere, she realized and immediately spotted the green running man sign with an arrow pointing off to the right. This way, she pointed, beginning to make her way through the maze of desks again over to an adjacent wall inset with a solitary, green-painted steel door that looked promising as a way out.

“Oh! You’ve solved it!” celebrated Wheatley upon catching sight of the door, too. “Brilliant—this is another exit, just as I’d hoped. Well then—let’s see what’s beyond. Can’t be any worse than anything we’ve gone through already, can it? Oh—maybe I shouldn’t say that, actually. Yeah. I-I, uhm. I take that back. Yeah, don’t wanna jinx it, and especially not when we’ve just sort of, uh, sort of made up a bit, and all that.” Wheatley blinked rapidly as he trailed off into an awkward silence.

I know what you mean. It took us a while to get there, after all. Grinning in spite of herself, Chell shoulder checked the door’s metal push-bar, ignoring the way its hinges turned with an audible rusty squeak as it swung open easily. Not locked. Excellent, she thought gratefully as Wheatley craned about in excited anticipation, trying to see what lay beyond through the folds of the jumpsuit.

It was a stairwell.

The cream-colored cement walls were splashed with a yellowish hue by the surrounding incandescent service lighting, reminiscent of the larger halls on the level above, leaving lengthened shadows and darkish corners which contrasted with the brightly lit, low-ceilinged office space she had just left. Chell felt the stairwell had the extremely dingy air of serial abandonment, which was funny considering it was the office which had shown proven signs of having never been used whatsoever.

The stairwell extended both up and down to locations unknown, strung with many overhead cables and even what looked to be a double section of steel truss and a sprinkler line. Excellent, she thought. This means we aren’t totally stranded yet. We can use this to get back up. She let the door fall closed heavily behind her, producing an echoing bang which reverberated around the vaulted space, and she regretted not closing it softly at once.

Both she and Wheatley cringed at the noise. "Well, this'd count as a way down, I guess," said Wheatley, looking around at the place suspiciously. "Lucky for us, but a bit too lucky, if anything. Almost feels like a trap, or something. Though it’s probably not. Just being paranoid, on account of things usually going wrong when they’re a bit too easy, and all.”

Chell wasn’t fully listening, though. When the door had closed, she’d spun around to face it, and upon doing so she’d found that the entire backside of it had been covered by a poster typed up with the same lettering and paper as the one she’d just seen earlier.

It was a floor-by-floor directory of the Test Shaft.

-

Welcome To Enrichment Shaft Ten—The Aperture Science Artificial Intelligence Testing Center!

Directory:

Level One
Gel Pump Station Delta

Level Two
Left Wing: Molecular Nanotechnology Laboratory [You Are Here]
Right Wing: Aperture Science Military-Grade Sentry Turret Analyzation Center
Central Wing: Head Office

Level Three
Right Wing: Equipment Recovery Annex
Left Wing: Test Subject Waiting area #1

Levels Four to Twelve
Enrichment Spheres #1-9

Level Twelve
Left Wing: Equipment Recovery Annex
Right Wing: Test Subject Waiting Area #2

Level Thirteen
Version 1.07a Prototype OS.  Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System and Brain Mapping Laboratory

-

Looks like we’re on the right track, then, she thought as she read this. Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System. Chell suppressed another shiver. Even though she’d come all this way on the guise that she was going to eventually meet face-to-face with what she surmised to be the AI equivalent of her sibling or something possibly more sinister of that relative nature, there was something about seeing the relation laid down in undeniable, black-and-white print that made it more real to her than anything else had thus far. This thing was the GLaDOS Prototype, and they were really heading down there.

“Wow, that’s that, isn’t it, then,” voiced Wheatley in apparent agreement with her feelings. “No denying it now. That thing is, a, a, thing. A thing we are most definitely, um, headed to. Are you nervous, luv? I’m a bit nervous, if I’m honest. I’ll admit it. Seeing that. I’m not that much of a hero—don’t feel a need to pretend like I d-don’t have a very fully-functional life-or-death probability algorithm, because I do. Just putting that out there. It works. A bit too well, actually.”

As consolidation, Chell gave the core a little squeeze. I understand you, little guy, she thought grimly. I’m nervous too. Something about reading it makes it really hit hard, but we had our chance to turn back. We’ve gotta keep going—after all, we’ve made it this far already. We can make it a couple more levels down.

“Right you are,” said Wheatley, simulating a throat-clearing sound. “Ahem. Thank you, mate. Yeah. We’ll just have to summon a bit more grit. Shouldn’t be hard, between us two, not considering how much we’ve accomplished already. Pretty devilish, pretty incredible. Proper maniacs, as I’ve said before. Legends, we are. I’m going to remember this, long after we leave this place. I’m going to remember this forever, because it’s unbelievable, and when we get to the surface, I’m going to tell everyone. Y’know, I was thinking. I might even write a book. And I’m not being facetious. I’m serious.”

Wheatley had sounded so determined when he’d said all this that Chell felt an unprecedented wave of heat rise into her face as she flushed. Really, she thought, trying to feel more exasperated than she actually was. A book? It’s really not that impressive. Okay… maybe it is a little impressive. But a book? Let’s save that idea for if and when we actually do this thing.

And speaking of doing things…

Hitching the core’s sling further over her shoulder, Chell prepared to begin what would surely be a long, tedious journey down this lonely, oddly foreboding stairwell. At least the stair will allow us to bypass testing, though. That was a nice thought.

Because the idea of having to test her way through nine more Enrichment Spheres was not pleasant in the slightest, especially not due to her very obvious lack of a portal device and the … thoroughly worrisome nature of the testing Gel (nanomachines really did seem like something that could cannibalize her skin upon contact) featured within this Shaft. And Chell had never been that much of a fan of the Enrichment Spheres found in Test Shaft Nine to begin with—the dilapidated, rusted nature of the equipment was hazardous at best and coupled with Cave Johnson’s pre-recorded warnings of asbestos exposure among many other unsavory testing elements and their corresponding side-effects, it all had left (pun thankfully not intended, the air wasn’t that brutal even if everything else was) a very bad taste in her mouth.

As Chell descended the stairwell, Wheatley was surveying their environment as best as he could from his position. “This looks promising,” he was saying as they rounded one corner, and then another. “So far, so good.”

Chell started to sweat. It was growing increasingly stuffy as they descended, she noted uncomfortably. The whole thing seemed to be filled with the all-too-familiar, almost unbearable smell of Aperture-grade testing Gel mixed with the warm staleness she had begun to associate with deep underground spaces. Wiping her sticky forehead, she rounded a final corner to be faced with a steel door identical to the one they had just left, only this one had a sign that read [You Are Here] on the line detailing the contents of Level Three.

“Level Three,” reported Wheatley lamely. “D’you think we ought to have a look through there?”

She shook her head warningly, extremely keen to avoid the testing areas at all costs. Let’s keep going, she shrugged, passing by the door without showing much interest. The sooner we get to the basement, the better.

“Fair enough,” said Wheatley in agreeance. “It’s not like the Equipment Recovery Annex would have any interesting goodies for us anyway, right? I suppose it would be a bit loony to think they’d just leave an extra portal device lying around this far down, wouldn’t it?”

Probably, Chell sighed regretfully, shooting one more wistful glance at the directory before she prepared to round the next corner.

Only, once she did, she found her way totally blocked. It seemed like an entire portion of the stairwell had collapsed in on itself, filling the whole space from floor to ceiling with enormous hunks of rubble spiked with lethal spires of bent, twisted rebar she had no hope whatsoever of finding a way past.

“Oh,” said Wheatley unhelpfully. “That’s not good, is it…”

You think, Chell rolled her eyes in sarcasm, letting out a slow sigh of disappointment.

“What do we do now?”

I dunno, do I? I’m thinking, same as you. I thought you were supposed to be our tour guide.

Chell began to make her way back up the steps, thinking they’d have to try the doorway they’d just left. “Backtracking?” asked Wheatley, his optic darting around, searching the walls, ceiling, for any kind of additional information or directions. “Only option, I suppose. Bit unfortunate. Looks like we might have to go through the testing tracks, after all.”

Letting her shoulders fall in an extremely disappointed huff, Chell braced herself for the agony she felt sure was about to come. Not that testing was the worst thing in the entire world, but the idea of trying to traverse old Aperture Enrichment Spheres (which were notoriously full of toxic sludge in their bottoms) minus a portal gun honestly felt like a suicide mission.

Resigned to the worst, a small hand found the solitary door’s push-lever and began to push—

“Hold on a sec,” said Wheatley suddenly, still looking around the stairwell. “Don’t go through that door just yet.”

What? thought Chell in annoyance. If she had to go through testing, she’d rather get it over with sooner than later, and they’d wasted enough time dawdling on the levels above, anyway.

“That panel, there,” said Wheatley inquisitively. “Can you take a look at it?”

The core was gesturing his handles in the direction of an expanse of wall Chell had, at first glance, assumed was blank, but a closer look showed her what Wheatley was talking about at once. There was a small, nondescript little panel located just under a service light at eye-height, vaguely reminiscent of some kind of intercom system. A closer look showed her that it wasn’t, though, and instead was one solitary, red button, underneath which was a small icon reminiscent of the test chamber warning signs featuring a slanted black line with a hook ending in something that looked suspiciously like—

“Call Rail Carrier,” Wheatley read the writing underneath the icon smartly. “Ah. That’s what I thought. All right—listen up, lady. I have an idea. See that button, just there, the big red one? Yeah, that’s right. Try pressing that. Because if my suspicions are correct, then one of these big steel beams over here miiiight actually be something we can use as a management rail, of a sort.”

Chell followed Wheatley’s optic up to the slanted roof from their portion in the stairwell. There was a rudimentary sprinkler system along which ran two steel I-beams, one of which was draped with many messy loops of thick black cables of different sizes. The other was bare, rusted and lonesome, mounted to the ceiling on enormous brackets just like many of the management rails in the upper levels of the facility were.

Of course, thought Chell with a surge of realization. But wait—I thought they didn’t have management rails this far down. Why would they have one down here? I mean… it’s worth a try, I suppose. It’s just weird. Chell jammed her fist onto the button.

The panel emitted a single, loud beep that sounded a little wonky, as though water had gotten into its speaker system, at one point, before a solitary red light on the bottom of the thing began to blink.

Nothing else happened.

“Maybe it’s broken,” suggested Wheatley dejectedly.

Chell shrugged. Maybe. But wait. Do you hear that?

It had started as a faint noise, hardly distinguishable over the deep thrummm still originating from the Gel pump station above, but as she listened, the sound grew closer and louder.

“D’you hear that?” asked Wheatley at once. “It sounds like—”

But as to what Wheatley thought it sounded like, Chell never found out, for a second later the core broke off into a yelp as something fairly large and completely deadly-looking whipped itself around the corner at breakneck speed. Chell stumbled backward in shock, nearly falling over herself, caught by surprise by the huge thing’s sudden appearance. It screeched to a halt just before them with a cloud of sparks and metallic dust, swinging languidly as a beady, blue eye on the side of the thing flickered once, twice, before holding a steady aqua glow.

Chell’s mouth fell open as she looked at the thing. For she really couldn’t classify what exactly it was for, at first—it was distinctly mechanical, with a series of interconnected pistons that extended from an electric, rollable carriage mounted to the bottom end of the I-beam to end in a contraption that she supposed might be compatible with a personality core, though she had never seen one exactly like it before.

“Well, what’re you waiting for?” asked Wheatley impatiently. “Plug me in, plug me in! I’ll likely be able to find us another way down with this thing, I’ll bet! It’s worth a shot, anyhow.”

Fumbling with the jumpsuit top strung around her neck, Chell began to pull Wheatley out of the harness. She scanned the sides of the Rail Carrier trying to understand how exactly she was going to have to mount Wheatley in the thing. Thankfully, the whole contraption was quite large, which meant it hung fairly low off the I-beam and she wouldn’t have to lift Wheatley extremely high up to plug him into it.

Finally, Chell deduced how exactly the thing was supposed to work. There was a plug on the back of it that was obviously supposed to attach to the back of his casing. There was also a set of what looked like rounded metal padded brackets to help hold the personality core in place.

It was difficult to lift him, even though the bulky mechanism was hanging quite low, but she made the connection with a click, and was able let go of him. He hung there, his optic automatically burning a brighter blue as though the rail’s electrical charge had begun to recharge his battery.

Wheatley wiggled his handles triumphantly. “Excellent!” he cheered. “Much, much better. And—good news! I can feel that this thing’s still active for quite a few miles, at least. It’ll be nice to get a little recharge, too. Core battery life is good for bloody ages, but it is a bit wearing sometimes, travelling without the use of a management rail. A bit of a refreshment, this is, and for you too, I’m sure. I know I’m not the lightest. You do a wonderful job of always carrying me around, even though I know you don’t necessarily want to.”

She nodded in agreement and took a brief moment to stretch out her back, relishing the freedom to move around without the added weight of the core. Wheatley was absolutely right. She knew he couldn’t help it but lugging him around like an oversized suitcase attached to her side for days on end had given Chell her fair share of back and hip pain, and she didn’t like the way her spine had clicked and popped as she stretched. Ouch.

Once satisfied, she then motioned for him to keep still so that she could finish attaching him securely to the Rail Carrier. “Right you are,” said Wheatley, promptly holding his handles in their default position and staring straight ahead. “I won’t move, luv. Don’t wanna get this thing accidentally hooked up wrong and have problems, after all.”

Pulling each of the rounded brackets forward in turn, she placed them against the sides of the core, using the locking mechanisms to hold them steady as she squeezed his spherical shape between them. She was pleased to find out they fit around him fairly well—since when did Aperture even have personality cores back in the early ‘80’s, Chell wondered, trying to think back to the first time she’d ever seen one, but she couldn’t remember. Fair enough, she probably hadn’t been born yet when this Test Shaft was condemned, so it wasn’t likely she’d have remembered anything to do with it.

The brackets were a bit small on Wheatley (apparently the older cores had been a bit smaller than he was, and didn’t have handles in exactly the same places, or else they were missing entirely, she presumed, as Wheatley’s dug into the foam pads on the side parts a bit), but she got it adjusted all the same. The last step was to take a spirally little cord that looked almost like an audio jack and plug it into the tiny little port Wheatley had on the top right corner of his casing. She’d been worried that the two ends wouldn’t mate together but the plug slid inside without much trouble, and she stepped back, satisfied that the core had now been successfully rigged up into his new management rail harness, or Rail Carrier, whatever that was.

How does that feel, she tried to ask him with just a questioning look.

“Not bad, not bad,” said Wheatley confidently, wiggling around a bit. “Actually—I’m not usually one to complain, but I vastly prefer this to the modern-day ones, if I’m honest. This is quite comfy, with these foam pads and brackets and all. Greatly reduces the amount of stress put on my back port. It’s a shame the scientists obviously ended up sacrificing comfort in favor of minimalistic designs but there it is, that’s humans for you. Never giving a damn about the feelings or comfort of us robots. I mean. Errruhh… that’s not what I meant to say. I know you give a damn. I was talking about only them. They didn’t care. Too busy having a laugh at us, even when we needed their help the most.”