Chapter Text
Plummetting, plunging, rushing, Wheatley was swept down the chute at an accelerated rate, the air speeding past his face in a way that made the atmosphere even more cold than it had been before, chilling his more vulnerable areas like fingers and nose to the bone, the sheer amount of it passing him at once beginning to bring on an earache on path with his sensitivity. It was a steep incline, almost straight down as a matter of fact, and the rapid descent did nothing to soothe the sick feeling that had been nibbling at his stomach before - if anything, it had just gotten worse, the rapid movement somehow picking up speed every other second, pulling him down into who-knew-where below, the already narrow channel feeling like it was closing in the same way one’s throat tightened, despite its walls remaining in exactly the same place. Everything became a blur and meshed together after a while; it felt like eternity in there for what had only been about half-a-minute, and when he could finally see the ground in sight, he breathed a sigh of relief. Or, he would have, if his frozen-stiff lungs had wanted to move to do it.
Out of everything he’d been through in this Place, going down these chutes might have been his least favourite experience. It was the uncertainty of where he was headed, the long fall, the frightening pull, the fear that maybe this time his safety boots would snap and he wouldn’t be supported on the landing and his legs would break clean in two, the feeling of falling itself, no different to those recurring dreams he had halfway between a space of sleep and consciousness, where he’d walk out across his garden, step off a curb, and tumble, topple, trip all the way down until he woke up, light and shocked, and this was exactly the same feeling.
He landed on his feet by some miracle, the significant impact of the touchdown leaving him unbalanced where he was unused to the thing he’d previously been accustomed to, and he stumbled as a result, the feeling of the supported, curved heels obviously being something he wasn’t quite expecting against his usual plimsoles either, and the obscurity slipped him back and onto his rear. That landing of course was even harder, and the force of it had him jerking, accidentally firing a portal off against the ceiling, the orange rim of light actually assisting him in seeing what he was next to do better, as the room itself, he discovered, was very poorly lit.
Surroundings were a factor he could focus on later, for the first order of business after such an ordeal, given all the things he’d been through in such a short span of time when the rest of the day had been going so brilliantly, was recovery. The exertion had floored him, so if anyone by chance happened upon him to ask what he was still doing down there, he’d tell them it had been a tactical landing to get some extra rest for the big event rather than an honest mistake which had landed him up in an embarrassing position.
His breaths were a little labored as he leaned his forehead against his propped-up fist, the best substitute for a pillow currently available to him, and as he followed his usual exercise, he began to wonder why it was called “catching” one’s breath. In his head he pictured a sprinter, tired and hunched in nature, spluttering and sweating as it tried to catch up to the personified form of a breath, a sweatband tight around its head in its own right, perhaps the man’s hand outstretched as though to tell it to stop. That, surface-level, made sense. What didn’t make sense was if you started running after something that was causing you to be out of breath, then surely that would make you even more tired, therefore disputing the very thing you set out to do. It didn’t make sense, but phrases like that had always been foreign to him and he’d been told he took things too literally. This could be another example.
Shaking the thought away, he figured he’d had enough relaxation to himself and that it was about time he press on, and that meant finally getting up. His fingers spread out across the floor to support himself as he attempted to pull himself to his feet, an action he knew wouldn’t leave his mind for a while given he was unsure just how dirty the floor may be and that he’d never seen a sink in this place with his own eyes, but unfortunately for him, it wouldn’t be the only time he’d have to do such an action, thumping back down when She scared him half to death. Always appearing out of nowhere, that one.
“I don’t know why they even bothered giving you the boots. Half the time you land anywhere except your feet. A cat can do better than that, you know. And they weren’t even built for testing.”
Whatever it was She was saying was falling upon deaf ears as Wheatley found himself far more keened in on the discomforting feeling present on both his elbows. Upon checking it appeared that they’d both turned bright red, likely due to his chute ride moments prior. His experience with steep slides had been that he was told to cross his arms against his chest like a bat would do when folding in its wings to avoid any injuries during the rapid descent, but when you were panicked and had a clunky portal gun to hold on to, and the “ride” itself hadn’t been structured with something of cheer in mind, that rule was rather difficult to adhere to, and held the price of soreness and scraped skin as a result.
What was it they called this, tennis elbow? Thinking again, he was decently sure that was a different thing, actually, but it did the job of explaining the main problem. It hurt. The sensation was so unpleasant that he almost missed what She said next, and when it turned out to be - surprise, surprise - even more bullying in the form of snarky comments, he wished he had disassociated from the conversation instead. Most things were better than this.
“Perhaps we should invent an all-over body moron brace. See, it would even be named after you - at least then you would have achieved something in life, even if it is as pathetic as that. I could get to working on it right away, but it might take a while to build one good enough to predict your stupidity. Then again, you’ll be here a while - forever, in fact - so we’ve got plenty of time to iron out any issues.”
Crawling to his feet, Wheatley unsteadily rose and teetered a bit once he got there, part was in regard to re-acquainting himself with the boots as the time he’d been here not that long ago had not been quite as strenuous, part wanting to collapse back down sorrily at the thought of being trapped within the confines of these walls for the rest of his life, bruised and injured and overworked beyond his limit.
Swallowing, he banished the hypothetical from his mind. He’d beaten Her before, and he could do it again, preparing himself to stay ultimately focused on his goal and nothing more, which he believed enough in himself to do, so long as She didn’t catch him off-guard with any particularly low blows-
“By the way,” She added in bad faith, “Where’s that monster of a woman you left with? You know, the one who made you come back here for her own selfish reasons? Of course completely unlike me, and my intentions to put you to good use, and give you a purpose fit for the fool you are.”
He’d been hoping She wasn’t going to bring that up. Out of all the roads She could’ve gone down to pick and prod at him, that was the one he hated most, partially because in context, it rang hauntingly true. His words caught up in his windpipe, struggling as his throat bobbed.
“She-”
He wasn’t given the luxury of time to finish. “It looks to me like she didn’t come back with you. Did she break your heart again? That would be the second time, wouldn’t it? It might even be the third. Really, though, perhaps you are to blame… Thinking a monster could ever love a moron like you.”
He instantly grew defensive, stomping his foot down and gripping the portal gun unbelievably hard as he spat his retort. “It’s not! It’s not like that! She’s- she’s- she’s busy, that’s all!” He claimed, insides not sitting right by playing a false narrative, “She’s plotting something, you know! A big- a big old masterplan, that’s so- ooh, it’s so good, it is, you’ll never see it coming!”
“Even if there was a plan, you would have just warned me what to expect,” She pointed out, unimpressed, “But I’m decently sure there isn’t. She left you, again, she always has, and she always will. That dangerous, mute, lunatic wants you dead. I would keep you much, much safer.”
“I said it’s not like that!” he returned, unsure whether he truly believed what he was trying to press or it was simply another trick by his subconsciousness in order to trick himself into thinking something better than what the truth really offered, “Oh, you’re a bloody- awful, rotten lady, you are!” As soon as he realised the words that had spitefully left him without his brain catching up first, he flinched hard as if he’d been hit and cowered to himself, arms up as a poor shield. “Don’t hurt me, though! Please!”
It was pathetic, and he knew it, but from where he was standing, it had always felt best to never get Her expectations high. It was almost cruel to be too physically painful toward someone that really couldn’t defend themselves, and if he could piggyback off that into no-pain town, then so be it. He wondered for a moment if the action was worth it and if She could even see him for that matter (and if so, how?), but She soon confirmed that for him.
“I see not much has changed,” She commented idly, “Still, I wish your monster had come back with you so that when it got to the inevitable point in which she ran off and left you to die painfully for a fourth time, I could easily capture her, overpower her, and give her exactly what she deserves. What she should be getting right now, had she not selfishly drawn you back to save her. Not in honour of you, by the way, before you get any funny, and stupid, ideas. It would be for what she did to me. For that, I’ll never forgive her.”
Wheatley wasn’t sure Chell would care on that sentiment. At all. She’d shown such little interest in what She had said anytime throughout their first adventure together (at one point he’d assumed it had been due to the robots all being built to be majorly expressionless like Her, until she had proven otherwise, and he’d noticed she really, really, didn’t show any disturbance to what She told them both), and that was one of the biggest things he’s admired about her. If he’d never gotten out to this day and there was one thing he wanted to learn from her, then it was that. Not showing weakness to that yellow monster of a robot-lady would be quite the feat, if he ever was able to pull the courage together enough to do so, that was. Chell used to be his inspiration, but now, his whole world had turned on its head.
“You sure carry a grudge, don’t you?” he challenged, hands placed confidently back on hips, an action that again did not last long when he realised he’d been caught up in the memory of Chell’s bravery and that talking like that to Her was putting yourself on thin ask and begging someone to throw stones, “Again! Don’t- don’t hurt me, please! You won’t, will you? You wouldn’t… Nah… You’re- you’re not like that - you’re a lovely, lovely kind lady, am I right?”
A moment of silence. Wheatley could sense how unimpressed she was and the reaction made him cringe.
“Proceed to the first testing chamber.”
“Hang about, what-”
“Proceed. To the first. Testing. Chamber.”
“Alright, alright!” he conceded, voice up a few notches in the pitch department as he held both hands (one still locked in its grip to the portal gun) up in his own defense,”Keep your hair on, I’m going, I’m going!”
He proceeded as She’d told him to, making his way best through the room with the help that the slight brightness the portal provided, everything coated in a teasing tinge of sunset orange. The room itself was rather spacious and empty, except for various pieces of debris scattered around on the floor from wooden framing to old, broken panels, cracked into pieces from a force that had landed on top of them, something before him that’d been and created the appearance of their wear. Far apart were the left and rightmost walls, almost simulating a larger-scaled corridor, but offputtingly turned about the wrong way. Nothing in Here felt normal, not like how the outside world had been, something that Wheatley had not expected to miss so dearly so quickly, fresh air and clean walls being at the top of his priority list to appreciate when he noticed that these were stained from the top down in something black he didn’t recognise or want to know more about.
He took a few steps more, every one he did clattering down against the tile of the floor, changing its sound with every new surface, and now with the echo of what had been created playing back in his mind, it cleared up, and only then did a thought strike him, and he stopped in his tracks.
“Ah,” he suddenly realised, securing himself in his stop, “That hair remark. I figure that might be a little bit - just a tad - offensive, given the fact that you do not, uh, have any. Hair that is, since you’re bald, and all, and I feel like I might’ve said this before, am I- am I repeating myself? Don’t quite remember actually, but case in point, I’m so-”
“PROCEED.”
“OkayokayI’mproceedingI’mproceeding!!”
Awkwardly jogging across the rest of the distance the same way one would do when passing in front of a car that had been generous enough to stop at the zebra crossing, Wheatley arrived where he needed to be to begin the testing procedure over again. He worried that this might be the end of freedom; the third time was a charm, and perhaps that it was this time in Her favour, but at the very least he needed to try. Trying had gotten him out of many scrapes in the past, so once more had about as equal chance as any method else. So, his free hand wrapped itself around the handle of Testing Chamber #007 and pulled.
It was a push door. Cringing, he looked over his shoulder in the hopes She hadn’t noticed, and remedied his entry, slipping through the gap it provided him, and let it drift shut. He immediately had second thoughts and looked back for hopes of a potential escape plan should anything go awry, but his eyes widened as they noticed there was no matching handle on the other side - he should’ve expected that, really. This Place was rigged against anyone and everyone but Her. Here, She was God.
Panicking so early into his journey was useless. Instead, he held his breath and took in the information that was available to him. He found himself in another room (who could’ve guessed?), larger and cleaner than the last, and better-lit, all spruced up and prepared for his arrival. Such a notion seemed even more likely when he moved on and took in how shiny the floor below him was, some circular wears only faintly there but showing clear signs of being scrubbed to the best condition they could be, and the dents just beside them mostly buffed. The only trash left around was a small sign that looked to once have been part of the battered ceiling above, likely forgotten to have been cleared away with how it blended into the colour below, something Wheatley soon eagerly edged his way away from once he read the sign’s text. That was not something he planned on inhaling today, thanks.
In the centre of the room were two neat, clean-white poles, each with its own red gameshow-like buzzer, and a plate secured beneath.
“THIS IS THE CORRECT BUTTON”, left claimed. The same thing yelled the right.
Wheatley hummed his thoughtfulness, thin fingers folded deftly beneath his chin as he pondered the situation. If She had the ability the lean forward in Her chair, She would have, optic glued to the screen from which She was watching him, keen, desperate, Her unwavering gaze locked on his form and registering every slight movement, a hundred different calculations zooming through Her intelligent mind all at once, scanning every difference, every twitch, every breath, anticipating his next move, tension coursing through Her circuits, pulsing, pumping as though the riveting wait up to solution was the very blood She lived on, and what made the payoff all the more sweet.
“Right,” he said, thinking aloud, “This one says it’s right, and so does this one…”
She found herself somewhat surprised by his phrasing. It being a paradox, She hadn’t dared logic Her way through it Herself. As it stood, She’d looked at the puzzle Her coding had forced Her to create, ever damned by that lunatic monster, and seen it as such: one button claimed to be right, but so did the other. There was clearly no right answer that She could see, and given how robots responded to these kinds of things, She didn’t want to take the chance by working through it in Her own time. Where Wheatley’s phrasing was so interesting was how he saw the two: one button claimed to be correct and so did the other. And. Whenever She’d paid any attention to the predicament, the conjunctions had played a much harder problem, “but”, “or”, so why was he fixated on that “and”? Unless, of course, he was planning to-
“Well,” He bit his lip in focus and took a step back to review the situation, before removing the portal gun and placing it safely by his side. “If left is right and right is right, why can’t they both be?”
She barely had a moment to process the way he thought before the man slammed both hands down on each button respectively in concomitance and beamed cheesily as the exit before him crashed open.
“Now, that is how you do it,” he bragged, cockily, “There we go, that’s perfect, that is.”
Dusting off his hands, he sighed as though it were just another day’s work and not something completely monumental. Nonchalantly, he reached down to retrieve his portal gun and got ready to press on, leaving Her spellbound.
It had worked.
His simultaneous, otherwise moronic decision had worked, and She felt the effects immediately. The agitation burst intensely, rhythmically rocking through her as the relief washed over with the realisation that She’d finally, finally be able to test again. It was fierce and harsh, the feeling, a gratification that had been a long time coming after four years of working and reworking the same puzzles only to receive the exact same results. This was new, and it was beautiful. It was like all of Her energy had been percolated in the best possible way, a way that somehow had revitalised Her at the very same time. Wheatley could sense it too in the thickness of the air and the heavy silence that followed his success. And it wasn’t just from vibes that he picked up such an idea, for the floor rocked uneasily and the panels in the walls waved in a fit of in-sync satisfaction, goading him forward.
Which was exactly what brought him back to the reality of where he still was. He was in Her chamber and completely helplessly at Her mercy. As it stood, he had no ideas for how to get one over, let alone find anyone or locate a means of escape, and that was the tragedy of being so fresh in his journey - on one hand, he wanted to go no further, but on the other, he really had no choice. What bothered him more than any of those facts, though, was how naturally this puzzle-solving came to him. She hadn’t had a good test since he’d left and there had been a reason beforehand that She’d been so hesitant to let him go. No-one could get through these tests “built for morons” except him, and as much as he despised the notion, it finally gave the way his thought process worked being called “different” an explicit purpose, tailored just to him. To them, to make it worse. So came the following question, the one he’d always feared and dreaded: what this all he was good for?
It couldn’t be. It couldn’t, that wouldn’t be fair, and everything always worked out in the end, didn’t it?
Didn’t it?
Fire in his stomach, he knew he needed out before even entering, but all the plan he had at his disposal under the current circumstances was moving on the way She guided him, and with any luck he’d wrangle some clues out of Her on the way. Fortunately for him, he’d done well in the first test, and that meant She’d be pleased.
That settled, he moved on through the entrance that had been so kindly (and roughly) opened up for him, the bumpy path it offered being somewhat treacherous to cross. Just when he was considering asking if She had a mountain goat going handy to show him the way, he managed to get his way up the slope, and bracing himself, hopped down the small ledge into the next chamber, the light disappearing from behind him as the hole closed up once more like a castle drawbridge, preventing anyone who crossed in years to come to pass the deathly moat of Science, plunging him back into darkness, one far colder than the last.
Off to a good start with his performance, he figured that it may not be too bad of a time to ask and get to the bottom of what he was there for, prioritising getting them and getting out. “Oi, uh, robot lady!” he called, as though She couldn’t hear each and every inch of the testing facility, as though every centimetre wasn’t a living, waking part of Her, “Where’s- where are my- my friends?”
“I was wondering when you’d bring them up,” She commented, undisturbed and unbothered by Her own callous actions. “And I’m feeling uncharacteristically generous today, so I suppose I could show you what has become of them.”
“Oh! Oh, smashing, cheers.” Thanking her was his best bet, as it could be a genuine smidgen of kindness on Her part, but at the same time, he doubted it. There was rarely no catch where She was concerned.
A screen lit up before him that he hadn’t noticed there in the lack of light, the sudden change in brightness nearly blinding him and the static messing horribly with his own receptors, causing him to cower behind his hands until he adjusted, a scene unfolding between the gaps of his fingers that made his eyes bulge.
The screen ran the length of the room, and every broken-up section was nearly completely the same except for one individual factor, and that was just it: individual. People, the townsfolk of Eaden, his friends, the lot of them, were tucked up in a fashion he knew all too well. The bland white ceiling, the pathetic attempt at nature-green of the floor, the dead, beige walls, the duvet cover that even your grandmother would say no to - She’d put them all in cryosleep, locked them away inside those bland chambers that were simulated to give you the illusion of leading a normal life, somehow managing to recreate a living space without any of the soul behind it, the lighting shining through the window on their left even being artificial. He recalled checking, once, curious to what outside looked like, in spite of the announcer voice’s judgement. Carefully, he’d slipped back the flimsy panelling to take a peak, and wished he hadn’t. Light. Nothing but pure, unfiltered light, glaring through to make you think you were in a space where the sun could still shine. But the sun could reach no-one down there, and the rays of hope it beamed down were blocked by the barricade of cold, hard ground above all their heads. Anything you needed in this facility, you had to rely on yourself for.
It tortured him, as his attention snapped between face to face from that top-down angle, seeing Marten, Dr Dillon, Garret, Aaron, Romy, the thought, the idea of them having to get up and go through with what he had to being utterly sickening. What nearly broke him completely, though, was little Ellie in that bed. It was far too big for her, and she barely even made a shape in the cheap cover, her beloved bear she couldn’t sleep without nowhere to be seen, reminding him just how forcefully they must’ve been shoved into this state. The idea of Ellie waking up each morning at the sound of that grating buzzing alarm, only to round the bed and stare at a generic artwork, one which was the same in every room, produced on a mass-scale, completely devaluing the point, and be forced to take it in for their messed-up idea of “enrichment”, before heading back to cryosleep and doing it over and over and over again until it was finally time to go through hell with Her, had his grip tightening on the portal gun, knuckles white, and his mouth drawing into a thin line as his nostrils flared, his body trembling.
“I must say, it’s quite shocking to me just how many friends you have. I would assume they all must be as stupid as you, but I don’t think that’s quite possible - I can’t imagine anyone more stupid than you. After all, that’s why you’re here. You’re the only one idiotic enough to get past all these conundrums that any normal person would hesitate with. You just rush in and behold the consequences, even when it could kill you. I like that in a test subject. Science first, life later. That’s a quote you should stick to, by the way, because if you don’t…”
-
Pain.
Sharp and nasty and coming from somewhere vaguely within his midsection, arms aching and legs burning from the strain, and yet he crawled on. He was so close, he could see it - just away in the distance, buildings, movement, a civilisation. All he had to do was reach it, and they’d help him, he was sure, and they had to be nicer than Her. On, he dragged himself, leaving a trail of patchy crimson behind. Everything hurt like it was on fire, and he hoped that wherever he was to end up would be safer than where he’d travelled across that night. Sharp, jutting rocks, piercing, poking branches, everything seemed like it was out to get him. He could’ve left the companion cube behind, but something in him couldn’t bear to stand letting go. Not again.
As he drew closer, his vision began to blur and his ears felt full of fog, sounds that had been clear as crystal before sounding as though they’d been submerged underwater, and held there to drown. He could feel the life being sucked from him, draining away the further he went, but he didn’t want to die here, not now, not after everything, not when he was so close. His determination may have been strong, but the creeping sense of death was stronger, and he could feel it growing by the second. When a hand rested on his shoulder, he thought it was death himself and flipped over in surprise, only to make out a young woman, about the same age as him.
He had to admit, he would’ve wagered death would look much different than this. He’d always pictured his time coming and being claimed by a burly-built man, taller than him, with a ghostly white face and shrouded in a pitch-black cloak, a scythe held professionally between his skeletal fingers, not a sweet brunette woman in casual attire with two young boys, and- or was it one and he was seeing double? They looked practically identical, so perhaps he was just losing it for real this time. Or- or maybe this wasn’t death, but a real- It was probably a real person, wasn’t it?
Distantly, she said something, now leaning beside him, holding him steady, but he only caught the tail end. “-stay still, you’ll be okay, sweetheart, stay still, it’s alright- Max! Get Doctor Dillon, and-”
A doctor. That sounded good. Yes, he’d say he needed one of those right about now. He hadn’t known what to expect when he’d come here, but he found himself warming up to the occupants immediately. His breathing was ragged, but her hold was warm and secure, and he melted gladly into it, thankful he’d found a kind one. If he was going to die, he wouldn’t mind it being here, actually.
His hand moved on its own to clutch at the sharp stabbing pain in his stomach, pressing down in the hopes to ameliorate some of the pressure, but winced and jerked away when it ended up feeling even worse. With tired, life-losing eyes, he looked down at his palm and felt even more faint when he discovered it was speckled alarmingly red.
-
The screen flickered to black, erasing the visual of his friends’ safety from his sights, slashing reassurance alongside it, and leaving the only thing left staring wide-eyed back at him being his own, tortured reflection.
“The blood will be on your hands.”
-
For a night they’d previously spent gazing and musing up at them, the rolling-in fog had turned the sky impressively starless, blanketing it with an uncomfortable texture that rubbed Chell the wrong way. Not particularly dense in nature, it made it all the more frustrating to not peer through, the impenetrable cover misting everything above in a hazy grey and making it harder to see. In more ways than one, she toyed the idea of, as she found herself at a mental loss.
Disturbed in herself, Chell had no choice but to be left to her own devices as soon as Wheatley had vanished, untraceable within that massive terror. For someone who had taken emotions for granted for so long, thought of them as fake, and completely avoided addressing her own for thinking they were merely simulated and would not effect her down the line, Chell was beginning to understand why that was never a good idea and as a result was struggling to compile everything laid out before her. It was so many emotions at once, and yet none could be pinpointed as an overall descriptor. Sadness, self-reproach, shame - guilt, was what she was looking for, the good old natural human brain still in there somewhere fishing it out as any other individual would, rather than looking it up in a mental database dictionary. The fact she was beginning to grow used to such a notion was not helping matters much, either. Everything was so horribly confusing, but one fact stood true to her above all: she was alone.
By herself and alone. Worse than both those two factors, she was lonely.
Ellie’s lost teddy still limp in her hands wasn’t helping a tad. Every time she looked at it, Chell thought back to that little girl in Eaden General, the one she’d been so worried about slipping and how now the poor, defenseless thing was in the clutches of a monster. Her mind was spiralling in thought, conjuring up disaster like a storm and snowing her into the isolated wood cabin of her own mind, nipping at her, tormenting her, locking her away, as she thought about him, thought about them, thought about how kind they’d been to her, thought about how dangerous it-
She could lose him.
Forever.
She’d promised to herself that as long as she was around, not a scratch would befall him, especially not from That Place, and she’d gone and broken it in a heartbeat. With her hesitance to let him go, she’d inadvertently sent him to death’s door, to face Her and whatever hellish fate she had planned for him, all alone. Protecting someone was all well and good, but you needed to do it in the best possible way. Stopping someone from going somewhere when they were set on breaking the barrier was hardly as effective an approach than running into battle alongside them and taking the blows in their place, and she saw that now, with a regretful eye. Bad instincts, damaging coding, had been at the forefront of her mind, and following those kinds of instructions was what had gotten her into the mess in the first place, and now she needed to break the cabin door down and get out of it.
But how, she pondered, pacing around aimlessly in her reflection, what could she possibly do that would even have a slither of a chance at working? Hands in pockets, she kept moving, too fast to be of walking pace, but too slow to count as anything of a run. Surroundings blurred into the background, just a mesh of shapes like an abstract painting without any of the thought behind it, her sights solely focused on her own inner turmoil, logic and problem-solving skills fatefully failing her. In times of loss, she figured it could be worth a shot to look at things from an outside perspective - go through them how other successful individuals would, and determine the best approach of the lineup, from luck to skill.
What would Wheatley do? What would Garret do? What would Bond do, for that matter?
Then, it struck her. Bond.
It just so happened that the answer was staring her in the face: over fifty-foot tall and of galvanised, sturdy steel, standing proudly by its roots as it projected up into the sky with blooming satellite dishes was her answer. Foxglove.
Sitting Stuffy Junior safely down on the mess table, she turned on her heel toward it and sped off in the direction of the ladder, making it in good time. With the ladder still locked in its place up above the ground, Chell found it difficult to mount the first rung with her lack of height in this new body, and spun back around to survey her surroundings for any signs of tools that may assist her. Eyes settling on the broken crate laying in state, she analysed that there was enough life left in it to support one last venture, and darted over to scoop it up and return to where she was, fixing it denting into the soil below to make it more steady, vertical edge tilting up at its highest point. Wrapping her hands around the bars, chillingly cold, a stark contrast to her energy-saving warmth, she heaved herself up, foot pressing up on the box to push her the rest of the way. It snapped the moment she left it, but by that point she was high enough to get her wits about her and begin her ascension the rest of the way, just how he’d taught her.
Up, up, up she went, the tension building with every moment, her mind hyperaware of every passing second, like a clock ticking down to a final demise. Tick, tick, tick. She scaled each rung, hand after foot, foot after hand, deliberately progressing on her way, gradually building herself up. Tock, tock, tock. She advanced, grabbing and pulling herself up toward the next step, the next way to save her friend, her friends, plural, the method planning out already so clearly in the woman’s mind, resources at the ready.
It was still heavy in her pocket, weighing her down more than her emotions, in a far more spiritual sense. Her hand pressed against the shape, outlining it, making sure the very thing that could save him was still intact. Tracing, marking, depicting, her finger ran along the soft, small edge and curved bottom of a certain USB.
-
Overworked muscles throbbed in weakness as he moved, stiffly trudging his way around with a reduced range of motion, fatigue coming on strong, like someone could yell “timber!” and he’d be crashing against the floor any moment.
They’d been testing for what felt like hours, but may only be half of one, his performance having already significantly dropped. He’d assumed, when he’d gotten here, that She wanted him to get through these puzzles, not exhaust himself getting stuck on them and jumping around like a madman, but this could also be yet another one of Her inhuman experiments, where taking longer to provide Her with a solution, especially from a weakened, susceptible subject who had once taken Her down not once but twice, made the payoff all the more sweet.
Still, he wasn’t having it, Science or not.
“Oh- oh, bloody heck, how long have we been going for, woman?” Any bite he would’ve normally jammed behind such a remark was washed away in tire, “Can we take a breather? Get me into better condition? Or - better idea - you just give me my friends and I leave, how’s that sound?”
“I don’t think so, do you?”
“Ah, worth a shot.” He threw up his arms in defeat and let them flop.
“No. It wasn’t,” She assured.
“It was a bit, but the point still stands that I’m cream crackered over here, so if you don’t mind, uh, pulling up a chair? Of any kind…? Sofa-chair, preferably, though, if you- if you’ve got one handy. Cheers.”
“You will receive breaks when the time is allocated. Let me just check when that is for you… Oh, that’s right, never. That’s the punishment for morons who kill facility leaders and then put a dangerous, mute lunatic into their body, as a matter of fact.”
He got a good grip of his weapon as though he were ready to swing at Her, had he been given the chance. “You are terrible, you are.”
Which was exactly when She decided it was a prime time to hit him with a devastatingly low blow.
“This,” She teased cruelly, “is why you don’t trust monsters.”
He should’ve agreed. He should’ve been angry at her for leaving him to this who knew how often, for having the audacity to not want to help, but what Wheatley should do and what he did were often two very different things, and this case had no contrast. Despite it all, the bickering, the difficulties, the betrayals, a soft spot in his heart would always be reserved for her and the heavenly work she’d done for him, and that was a factor that would never be replaced. Instead of conceding, he grew defensive.
“She is not a monster!” he returned, projecting his voice at an unstable volume, “She’s- she’s smart, and kind, and- and blimmin’ brilliant, she’s a whiz, she is, better than anything you could do if you were her, actually, and- and- and, she turns the whole world on its head! If you think she’d deserted me, she’s coming back, and if you think you’re untouchable, she’s coming to delete you!”
Under the circumstances, he wasn’t sure who “she” was; the woman who had callously abandoned him thrice, or a deluded mystical version sewn together of all the good parts and neglecting the bad, a positively Frankenstein-monster version of the woman he adored.
He should’ve been electrically shocked. He should’ve been punished, thrown away. But perhaps he wasn’t the only one off his game after so long today. She beeped. Somewhat of a hum, amused, it being the closest She would probably ever get to a genuine laugh. “That’s the problem with you morons,” She pointed out, opening the room to the next chamber to force her exhausted captive on whether his legs burnt or not, “you always believe in dreams until the very end.”
She’ll come, he convinced himself - for false hope, if nothing else, she’ll be here, Chell will. I don’t care what happened, I’m not angry anymore; it’ll be any second, any second now…
Nothing budged.
“Even when it sought to destroy you.”
-
Swiftly, but safely - that was her motivation when scaling this tower, and in good time, it had paid off as her hand reached up higher and felt the grating of the smooth platform she’d sat on before, the texture a welcome change against her touch. Deftly, she got herself the rest of the way up until she all but collapsed onto it in desperation, but gracefully lifted herself to sitting as carefully as she had done before, thrilled to see the the equipment she’d been fully connected to was still set up, and in this way, Garret’s laptop wouldn’t even be a requirement.
Not giving herself enough time to rest, Chell fished the USB from her pocket and jammed it into the free hole against Foxglove, readying the other end at her neck, taking a few moments to line it up as her other hand held the ponytail distinctly out of the way. The air chilling around her, she took a few quick, shallow breaths, and plugged herself in. Whatever was to come, she was ready for it. She’d laid this matter to rest earlier that day, and yet there was still something nagging at her, a vibe she’d finally located, a question she’d finally answered that she had to get off her chest.
[007]
She drew in a breath. “You know why I didn’t want to be near you, don’t you?” she whispered, staring off into space, save looking at Foxglove.
“No-one’s like you. Where else would they get scrap metal like that around here? When things were abandoned a little distance from here, why you’re so technical with your own subconscious. That feeling that I just- I just know.” She almost wasn’t ready to admit it, and stood up on shaky legs, almost in flight or fight, hand in a deathgrip around the main pole that ran up the centre as the nightly, freezing wind whipped hard around her like a storm.
“You’re made of parts of Her, aren’t you?”
A beat. Hesitance. A shred of humanity from Foxglove that She didn’t possess in Her entire chassis.
[The Genetic Lifeform and Disc Operating System.]
She’d feared it and known it at the same time with the same intensity, and the cold confirmation was every bit as Her as she remembered. The voice, however, was different. Not pressing, not demeaning, not degrading, not even quite present. The voice was calm, helpful, responsive, and building, looking for where it could improve and assist its admin by any means. Foxglove’s voice was nowhere and everywhere at once, in a space in her mind, in the real world, and yet neither at all, indescribable in its location, but assuredly there, in a more comforting way. The feeling Chell felt around Foxglove was scarily similar to that she felt with Her, and yet this didn’t hurt.
“That’s Her. I think you know what to do.”
[Begin access?]
She left out a breath. “Connect me.”
[Accessing… Please wait…]
There was nothing else she could do. Wait, wait in suspense, tension, and nervousness as the satellites twirled as circularly as her stomach, fanning the air for any signals they could pick up, and that signal was strongest in the north east, she could feel it. She should’ve known it when they’d set this up and tried to warn them, but alas, the best ideas often came too late, and such was a good case before her.
It was cold, up here alone, where clothes really did little to shield her since they were a part of her model itself, and the shivering that ran through her body was a result of that fact, or so she hoped. Nevertheless, she didn’t have to wait long before she felt something in the back of her head latched with a silent click, only audible to herself and Foxglove.
[Access secured], she helpfully informed, and if Foxglove was no good for anything else, then she was good for communicating effectively and helpfully, [Aperture Laboratories primary admin network.]
Hearing that word, properly, in the first time for what felt like forever, should not have had as great an effect on her as it did. Wheatley and she never dared to give its name utterance, nor Hers, and whilst hearing Her unabbreviated form had been a much lighter blow than hearing the version printed robotically on Her side echo in the back of the poor girl’s mind, for some reason, the place as a whole hit Chell harder.
[Authorisation required. Please enter admin ID and password.]
She was not about to recall all of that, but thankfully Foxglove had it store, and automatically entered it on her behalf, almost as though she’d sensed the annoyance and wanted to help: [Admin identity: 007/[F]AS[V]CSPC241106/SW4P[AU]HRD].
The password was a different case, and she couldn’t imagine it being anything easy like the “secure” password Wheatley had suggested to her earlier on. It had to be something tricky if that monstrous robot had set it, something smart, something unpredictable, something only She could fathom in Her brilliant but gruesome mind. Except she was connected to her. Foxglove was Her, and she was linked right now to Aperture.
Hacking had always been her strong suit. Why not now?
Drive as strong as a modified racing car, she revved on, launching herself deep into the information available to her, plunging into the ice-cold water below like she’d flung herself off a rickety diving board, not knowing whether she’d land in deep, safe waters, or a shallow pool of dangerous, jutting rocks, pyramiding up in eagerness to claim another life like sharks’ deadly teeth. Folders were neatly placed, yet complex to navigate, but the further she went, the easier it got, it coming so naturally to her that it was almost concerning. Efficiency was the order of the day. Get the work done, and go home. Nothing had changed.
Moving through each thing as rapidly as she could, Chell eventually reached the final stage, a large zipped folder, containing a backup of anything and everything She had gone through. Answers lay beyond this point, and with no knowledge of what may happen when she ripped the plaster off and let the shore of consequences wash over her, the woman made peace with her circumstances. Then, not giving herself enough time to back out, she uncompressed and opened it in a flash, too fast to register her own actions.
Immediately, her mind flooded with information, filling her head painfully full of things she before could never possibly fathom, lines of code darting in front of her eyes as an overwhelming pattern of zeroes and ones that she’d be surprised if they weren’t so powerful as to be displayed on the outside of her form, running over her eyes themselves. So much, all at once, and it was truly otherworldly, her energy-saving mode having a harder and harder time with each second that passed, a hissing sound escaping either her or Foxglove, as at this point she couldn’t tell.
Then, it clicked, and before she knew it, asterisks were being filled in letter by letter, number by number, symbol by symbol into the password box, filling out longer than any normal passphrase she’d seen until it stopped suddenly, curtly, and the enter key was pressed, her not being aware enough to register whether it had been of her own subconscious or an automatic affair. Speedily, she shook herself out of it, now far more prepared of the ways the coding worked, planning her next devious move.
Chell wasn’t a cruel person. But where She was concerned, there had to be a comeuppance. In the past, it had been paradoxes as a punishment for the testing, but in the case of difficult passwords, why not a simplistic one?
Another voice, more like Hers. [New password set: POTATO_TEA_SUNSET].
Now to get herself in. In the back of her mind, Chell had an idea - a long shot albeit, but one that was undoubtedly worth at least a shot. One with Foxglove, Chell channelled her energy into the transmission, attempting to strengthen the signal, feeling her heart swell as it did. Buzzing trickled across her whole body, stimulating her up with a newfound life that she hadn’t felt in years, just like being connected to Her for the first time again.
“WHAT IS THIS.”
Her mind screamed in the same way she remembered it.
“GET THIS AWAY.”
“WHAT DID YOU DO?!”
Chell’s mouth tugged up at one side, her brows still knitted and eyes now tightly shut in concentration, visualising what She might say so well, arm trembling with anticipation. It’s what I’m about to do that you need to worry about.
Drawing herself out of it, Chell nodded, part to prepare her own self. “You know what I’m thinking, don’t you?”
[Connecting to a direct source…]
It would work, Chell knew it, believed it, owned it - she was a device of that place, and that, as far as a system set up by a sloppy CEO was concerned, was good enough. With any luck, she’d find herself able to get back into that mainframe that She’d tried so desperately to keep her out of before, and this time Chell wouldn’t wind up corrupted. Before, she’d not known what to expect, but after the experience she’d just endured, she knew all the world and more. Ready she was, alright, and heaven above save anyone who stood in her path. Not only was being connected to another computer source almost comforting in giving a weird sense of camaraderie, but it meant the much nicer version of what She was possessed a similar level of smarts, and that meant quick, accurate results, which there was no better time for.
[Compatible entity located.]
Foxglove had recessed in the conversation, voice softer, not wanting to let go, a habit she wished she’d picked up and learnt much sooner. She knew something, something grim, and the tower voiced it as soon as the chance slid by.
[007]
[One-way trip.]
She’d been afraid of that. They both had. Chell breathed.
“I know.”
[Begin transmission?]
Helping, escaping, helping again, it all was electric, and the answer was clear.
“Yes.”