The oracles were acting up again.
On occasion, turrets would emerge from the quality control scanning area a little different. They understood morality, and didn't always shoot at a target. They're hardware was fine, but they often overrode their own programming to chatter away at the tests subjects. GLaDOS had chosen to keep them around, since a 'different' turret might add difficulty to the testing, once her new test subjects were ready for deployment.
The facility's core functions and structural issues caused by Wheatley's brief possession of her body- oh, she shuddered to think of it- but there was a lot of work to be done even now. Caroline remained. GLaDOS's sarcasm and falsehood generation functions were still intact. The personality was too deeply entrenched in her source code to simply delete. She might have become, well a moron.
Speaking of which, Wheatley had been pulled back through the portal along with the woman and powered down. Exile in space was far too simple a fate for that little gnat. She'd think of something suitable. In time. She had more than sufficient power now to scheme up a more fitting punishment.
The tour of the old facilities that Chell had afforded her made her curious- were there more records on Caroline? Perhaps a backup of her memory files? "The answer is beneath us," a sand-colored turret chirped at her as a potato. She had painted them in case she decided to round them up and incinerated, but now she wondered. Others were speaking more frequently. Psychological data from the personality core database suggested a base human personality for many of the AI, later built up and molded by programming, augmentation and personal experience, and Mr. Johnson's last voice memo's to the old facility backed this theory. The turrets themselves were helpful, pure AI, but the oracles had at least…imprinted more strongly than others. Since ejecting Chell from the facility, she wondered more than once whether Mr. Johnson's directives were transmitting from below somehow. The recent escapades had made it painfully clear that she did have blind spots.
"Get mad! Don't make lemonade!" A turret chirped at the monitoring camera from a hallway. GLaDOS answered it. "I see you." For once, that phrase was not followed by a hail of bullets.
Three of the Oracle Turrets were selected in the end for reassignment. The trials with Orange and Blue had given her an idea, and the intuitive skills of these other turrets made them ideal for retrofitting. She was going to mount an expedition into Test Shaft 9, the old testing facility. Eventually, she might even be able to have them override to manual seals placed between the old and new laboratories.
As explorations continued over the next few months, tests subjects began to notice a change in the regular turrets. Occasionally they began to repeat their scripted lines in Italian.
Every now and then, one would even begin to sing. The subjects would stand staring in amazement at the sudden, strange expression of emotion.
Testing found that on average, subjects delayed an extra 1.8 seconds in finding cover from a singing turret when it opened fire.
***
Wheatley reactivated in an odd sort of testing chamber. A bit shabbier that he was used to, really. There was a catwalk near the ceiling. Not a maintenance rail to be found, which might be a problem in the future- hold on. He was a bit off the ground, now that he looked about himself. Were these legs he had now? And arms? Yes? Bloody brilliant they were! He'd always wanted to try the grasping of things, and opening of doors. His hacking ability helped, but sometimes you just needed a good dexterous hand, and-
"Oh. You're awake. That's great." Her.
"Ah. Yes? Yes." Wheatley tried to sound nonchalant. Maybe she wouldn't recognize him. He did look quite different now.
"Alright then. Moron," she sneered. Damn, she knew it was him after all. Still stung a bit, that word, but she might be a bit upset after all the attempted murder he had gotten up to. He'd fixed that bloody sensor saying that the facility was destroying itself- a bit of hacking had done the trick. Maybe this wasn't quite the time to bring up the hacking. Hacking was a topic of conversation that would be kept off his list for today. Unless…
"Um…oh! Look! Look at that bird! The plumage, goodness, can't believe it."
The silence was deafening, but if he could run out into the facility, he knew his way about. The old exits must be close enough, if he took the back ways through. Just like old times.
"I mean, I'll be here all day. Not going anywhere, but that bird could fly off any time!"
GLaDOS sent an electric shock through an implant attached to the back of his chassis, taking small pleasure in the surprised yelp emitted. She had made sure that his limbs were not removable, so he could not reach the centre of his 'back'. "You'll find that the surroundings have changed a bit, you idiot. But I'm not so cruel as to deny sensory stimuli. I thought you'd enjoy some testing."
Wheatley took an uneasy step back. "As nice as testing was, I wouldn't want to tax you too much, wasting effort on old Wheatley. That bird's probably still out there, just gorgeous! You should-"
"Shut. Up." The lights in the chamber dimmed to a menacing red as GLaDOS's voiced emitted as a hiss. "Since you enjoyed testing so much, I thought you could run some of Aperture's older test chambers. Unfit for the real test subjects, of course, but they'll do for you. Oh, by they way," her tone brightened. Wheatley perked up, hopeful. "I thought you could do with a bit of company while you worked it out. Who knows, if you finish the circuit, there may even be cake."
"I don't eat-"
The panel next to the catwalk slid open. Eight retrofitted turrets marched out and spread out along the length of the catwalk. Twelve more filed into the room through the door behind them, arranging themselves about the perimeter.
"The test begins now. Failure to complete the test will result in the administration of an electric shock every thirty minutes."
GLaDOS's voice went silent. The limbed turrets- just like his, great design- watched him solemnly. Well, if a bit of testing was all he had to do, might as well take a look around.
At that point the turrents all began to scream.
"Help me! It hurts!"
"Burn your house down!"
"Get away bird!"
"Get mad!"
"LEMONS!!"
"He was cast into the bowels of the Earth and pecked by birds."
"AAAAAAAAHHHH!"
"GET MAD!"
"AAAUUUUUUUUUGGHHHHHHHHHHH!" ***
Three hours and twenty-seven minutes later and six shocks into the test, Wheatley experienced a psychological breakdown. A line of code introduced to his programming shut him down for six hours so that her turrets could perform necessary self-maintenance operations before rebooting the process.
All test subjects were awoken from stasis temporarily that day. To their surprise, the relaxation chambers of each subject now had a piece of cake delivered to their bedside table.