Archive of Our Own ^beta

Thrum, thrum, thrum.

After ages of near-silence, the sound was almost deafening. It was more than just the hum of electricity or the whirring of panels—it was the heartbeat of the facility. It was a sure sign that Aperture was truly alive again—and a constant reminder of what was quite possibly the biggest mistake Virgil had ever made.

I had to do it, though, he reasoned. She would be dead if I hadn’t. I would be dead. And—and at least now the facility’s not exploding.

Shortly after AEGIS had shut down, the reactor core had begun malfunctioning, which would have doomed the facility—again. But then she had come online again and fixed it. So maybe this wasn’t so bad. He’d… saved the facility again, in a way, right?

You’re a Maintenance Core. It’s your job to fix the facility. You could have done that yourself—no homicidal Central AIs required.

But what else could I have done?

Something that didn’t involve killing what was possibly the only AI capable of keeping her out of power. You could have figured something out.

Virgil sighed, forcing himself to concentrate on the test chamber in front of him. After she inexplicably came back, he didn’t have near the amount of control he used to have, but she had left his testing track alone. At least he had that.

With a few quiet whirrs, several dozen panels arranged themselves into a wall, replacing the one AEGIS had taken out a few days ago. A few commands later, and all the broken and missing panels had been replaced. There—that was done.

Nodding, Virgil turned around to move on to the next test chamber, only to pause at a notice that pinged in his processor. The test… was unsolvable?

“What?” he blurted, swinging back around and returning to the previous test chamber. Moving a panel, he looked into the test again and wondered just what in Aperture had happened. It took him a second to notice, but when he did, he clunked his lower handle against his faceplate and groaned. In his effort to repair the chamber, he’d accidentally gotten rid of the excursion funnel, rendering the test impossible to complete.

Clearly this wasn’t working—he couldn’t concentrate enough to do this right now. He needed to find something else to do—something to clear his mind. With a determined air, he moved away from the chambers. Maybe he could try finding that rainbow-eyed core that Mel had encountered before.

Mel…

I hope she’s all right, he thought as he strolled down his rail. She was in the right place, but the wrong time—literally. Unless humans now lived for much longer than he remembered, she didn’t really have anyone to return to. She was alone out there on the surface… but better than being here, trapped in a facility with a homicidal AI. One that kept an eye on most of the facility at all times—

An eye on—

Virgil’s vocal processor emitted a sharp gasp at the sight of a red lens—the camera was mounted on a wall up ahead. Quickly he backed away into another bend on his rail, barely avoiding being spotted. That was too close.

Here he was, letting himself get distracted again. He couldn’t risk being careless—not when it could mean catching her attention. Stay away from the cameras, as all cores did—that’s what he would have to do. Stay away from the cameras, and he would be safe. Focus.

Heaving a shaky sigh, Virgil continued down the diverging path, focusing on the rail ahead and the facility around. This was not the way to the dilapidated, overrun-by-organic-matter corner of the facility—if it was still dilapidated anymore, anyway—so he would have to take another route there, if he could find one. He paused on his rail, trying to get his bearings. Just think—where’s another rail that’ll take you the right way?

It was hard to think, though. He was close to the manufacturing wing, and the facility was noisy here.

Thrum, thrum, thrum.

Would that rainbow-eyed core have even stayed there if she was fixing up the old test chambers?

Thrum, thrum, thrum.

He moved forward, hoping the whirring of his connector on the rail would drown out the sound. If he could find another bend in his rail to take him in the right direction…

Thrum, thrum, thrum.

…but he wouldn’t have had to worry about this if she hadn’t been reactivated somehow…

Thrum, thrum, thrum.

…if he hadn’t helped Mel kill AEGIS…

Thrum, thrum, thrum.

…if he hadn’t… if…

Thrum, thrum, thrum.

Your fault, your fault, your fault.

Virgil swung himself upward, striking his upper handle against the rail with a clang.

“O-oi oi? Who’s there?”

He blinked rapidly, looking around to get his bearings—he was deeper into manufacturing now, so what was that voice? It wasn’t… it wasn’t that rainbow core, was it? Was that what he sounded like? Had he actually found him?

The sound of a second connector moving along the rail made him crane his faceplate outward, eager to spot the other core. But no familiar multicolor optic greeted him—instead an unfamiliar blue optic appeared around a corner, blinking up at him. Virgil pulled his faceplate back as his handles drooped in disappointment.

Meanwhile, the other core’s optic narrowed in concentration. “Wait—Maintenance Core?”

He perked up again—he did know that voice. The optic was unfamiliar, but… moving in closer, he tried to get a better look at the core through his own battered lens. Then he saw it—there was a crack running diagonally across the other core’s optic, skewing it. It wasn’t a different optic—with that color and that accent—

“ID Core?” he called back, blinking. “Is that you?”

“Hah!” the ID Core scooted closer, his eye shields arranged into a smile. “Been a while since I’ve seen you, mate! What happened to you, anyway? You look like you came out of the other side of a bloody turret grinder.”

“Yeah…” Virgil replied, his voice taking a bitter tinge. “I fell off my rail and into the junk yard.”

“The lower offices?” ID looked him up and down, taking in all the marks on his casing. “Hmm. Yeah, that’d do it. If it weren’t for that fancy casing of yours, I’d never have recognized you.”

“Yeah, thanks. I hardly recognized you, either,” Virgil countered. “What happened? Your optic cracked!”

Said optic shrunk to a much smaller size. “Er… nothing. Nothing happened. Why do you ask?” He gave a nervous, unconvincing laugh.

“I ask because… to put it your way, you look like you rolled out of a turret grinder. Something definitely happened.”

“No—look—no, all right?” The other core was glaring now. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

The ID core didn’t want to talk about something? Now thatwas unusual. Cores were naturally chatty—Virgil himself was no exception—but this core in particular was well-known for never shutting up. Odd. “Okay,” he replied, backing off an inch. “Don’t get so angry. I was just wondering. I mean, you’re in pretty rough shape. You’re sure you don’t want—”

ID’s faceplate and optic twitched in a nasty spark. “SHE did this to me, all right?!” he shouted. “There! Happy now?”

Virgil reeled back, optic wide. “She—?! You mean… her?” He didn’t dare speak her name anymore—he was afraid it would draw her attention somehow. “I—how did that even happen?! You’re lucky to be alive!”

“Yeah, except she still wants me dead,” the other core growled. Then abruptly his demeanor changed as he held his handles closer to his frame protectively. “I’m sort-of on the run from her, so don’t let anyone know you’ve seen me!”

“I… no, of course not.” Virgil felt himself droop on his connector—here we go again. Now other cores were in danger, and this wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t… “I’m… sorry, ID.”

ID had relaxed visibly at his first statement, but tilted his faceplate at the second one. “Well what’re you talking about? I was the one that reactivated her, not y—” And immediately he brought his lower handle against his face with a clang.

“You?!” Virgil looked him straight in his cracked optic, his own optic wide in anger. “That was how—you were the one to reactivate her?!”

“I-it was an honest mistake!” ID shrunk back on his rail. “Anyone could have done it!”

“Sure, anyone could have reactivated the crazy AI that’s killed all the humans—”

“I-I was just looking for the lightswitch!”

“The LIGHTSWITCH?!” Any sympathy Virgil had had for the other core was gone. This was the core who had messed up everything! The cores and remaining humans could have lived on in peace if it weren’t for that— “You know it’s really no wonder you get called a moron—”

BANG!

He had seen the core come flying at him before he could stop talking, but he still hadn’t been prepared for the impact, which knocked him back a foot or so. Shock replaced his anger as he stared at ID, whose optic had contracted to a pinpoint and eye shields had narrowed to a slit. Okay, so that was a bad idea.

“You… you don’t think I know that?” The other core’s voice was more hurt than angry, which caught him off-guard. “You don’t think I know I’ve—I’ve made a bloody mess of things?”

Virgil didn’t answer.

He knew that feeling all too well.

“Yeah—she’s on. There’s no changing that! I can’t go back, unless you have a bloody time machine in that—flowery casing of yours.” ID shook his faceplate. “Look—I’ve got to get going. The lady will be waiting for me at the turret production li—”

“Lady?” Virgil found his voice and scooted closer. “What lady?” He couldn’t mean—he thought Mel had—

“A test subject that got woken out of cryosleep,” ID replied, some of the tension leaving him.

So it wasn’t her. Virgil relaxed as well.

“I tried to get her to get me out of this place before it exploded, but now that’s not happening—the explosion I mean—and she… she’s not… not like the other humans. She—”

“Listens to you?” Virgil finished.

ID shifted on his rail. “More or less… More than anyone else did. And—and it’s my fault she’s stuck here, so I’m getting her out.”

Maybe he wasn’t as stupid as Virgil had thought. “But how will you do that?”

“Um, well, I’m—I thought we’d take out her neurotoxin and turrets. Figured that would work.”

“Hrmm… I’d think the nanobots could fix that pretty quick.” Virgil shook his faceplate. “They work fast.”

“…Oh.” ID drooped, glancing aside, before suddenly perking up. “Wait! You’re the Maintenance Core! Couldn’t you do something about that?”

Virgil’s optic contracted. “Are you crazy?! She’d crush me for sure if I messed with her stuff! I-I think you’re on your own there.” He turned around.

“W-w-wait! No! Maint… agh… Virgil!”

He spun to face him again.

“Please, you have to help me…! I need to fix things—I need to make this right!”

Make it right…

Virgil closed his optic, thinking, then looked up at ID again. “I can convince the nanobots to keep away from those places—for now, anyway. But you’ve got to work quickly.”

ID’s optic shone brightly. “Oh, thank you, mate! You won’t regret it!” With that, he spun back around, heading back in the direction he’d originally been going.

“Good luck!” Virgil called after him. He almost turned around, himself, before he remembered something. Hesitating, he shifted nervously on his rail before shouting again. “Wait—ID… um… Wheatley?”

The core was back in an instant, eye shields arranged into the biggest grin a core could muster. “Yeah?”

“Um, er… h-have you seen… a, uh… c-core with a rainbow optic around?”

Wheatley’s expression shifted into one of utter bewilderment. “Er, yeah? I think so? Um… I think I saw ‘im hanging around outside one of the tracks by the relaxation center, where I worked.”

“Ah—thanks!” This time it was Virgil’s optic that brightened while Wheatley continued to blink in confusion. “A-and don’t worry, I’ll take care of the nanobot problem for you.”

The other core had apparently given up trying to understand the reasoning behind Virgil’s request, which was fine by him. Wheatley shrugged it off, focusing on his other statement. “Oh! Uh, great! Brilliant, then. I’ll see you later…?”

The familiar phrase brought Virgil into a more serious mood, and he remembered the gravity of the situation. “Right. See ya later.”

With that, the two cores parted ways, Virgil heading for the nearest concentration of nanobots. But as he thought the situation over, he began to realize…

With this little role, he would help make it right, too.