Eternity is such a long time.
Chell couldn't help but ponder this as she wandered through rows and rows of wheat, her arms folded across her chest. Here she was, free from Aperture, but so far from civilization. Most likely she would die alone, her corpse not found until she was unrecognizable, a pile of bones and dust. She had fought so hard, not stopping so that she could be out of the hell-hold.
And so, quite frankly, this was rather disappointing.
She wondered vaguely whether she would start to go insane. It had been ages since she had last seen another human; so long she could not even remember her last day of freedom. And being away from another conscious being did seem to be fodder for insanity.
Now she slept under the stars each night, with no one to admire them with her. She sat on her Companion Cube for rest, but it could not speak back to her. Speaking to it, she knew it could not hear her, much less reply. This was what pushed her on; the hope that she might be able to find someone of her own race.
So when she saw the small city in the distance, she thought she was beginning to crack.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she opened them once more to see the town still. Her eyes widened. This was impossible. She'd been hopelessly meandering for... God knew how long. Surely this was merely the result of some sort of hallucination. A mirage.
Nonetheless, the sight of it made her walk a little faster. Before she knew it she was running toward the wall that surrounded the city. Chances were that everyone would be dead. Odds were that even if some survived, they would show only hostility.
Fortunately for her, probability was very, very odd that day. There were some guards with guns. Go ahead, shoot me. Or don't. Either way, I win.
Stumbling toward them, she fell onto the ground, gasping for breath. "Whoa!" one of the guards shouted. From what she could see, he had a gas mask and- there was no mistake here- a massive machine gun. She was lifted and carried by the shoulder by someone she could not see, for she was only half-conscious. Now the full force of her weakness kicked in. She was extremely lightheaded and her entire body began to ache. How emaciated she must be; her meals the past few months had been pitiful! Berries and dead birds had barely satisfied her hunger.
Although her vision was somewhat blurry, she could see some of what surrounded her as she was carried to a small car and put inside. At this point, she didn't even care what was happening. If she were being taken to her death it didn't matter. Thankfully, however, she was taken to a small building, carried inside, and placed in a room with a bed. Some doctors and nurses came to give her food. To this day, Chell cannot remember what it tasted like; she was so famished that it didn't matter. To her it seemed the sweetest ambrosia in the world.
The doctors weighed her and then took her to the bed. "Go to sleep," one nurse told her. Chell had no qualms. She lay herself on the mattress and fell into a blissful rest.
If only she could know how he felt.
Spending ages in space had given him plenty of time to think about that. Slowly his battery drained; he could have preserved it by avoiding thought but, unfortunately, guilt was too powerful to avoid. By now the sound of Space's shouting and incessant babbling had been tuned out and he no longer heard anything but his own thoughts. Part of him wished to hear the noise again, so that he wouldn't have to listen to the sound of his conscience. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. The sound echoed in his artificial brain.
Wheatley wondered if the feelings would drive him mad. It seemed as if they were already eating away at his sanity. There he would float, probably for all eternity, until he shut down and never get turned back on.
Eternity is an awfully long time.
A small message popped up in front of his view.
10% battery remaining. Please charge.
No place to charge here. Soon he would die.
He regained a bit of consciousness and gazed down at the Earth. He sincerely hoped she was alright. Well, not Her. But... her. The mute girl, slightly brain damaged...
Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. If he could commit suicide, he would. He would lose power without ever knowing forgiveness. Even if she had forgiven him by now- and that was highly improbable- he wouldn't hear it from her lips. And that had been all he wanted. After all he'd gone through, was that too much to ask?
9% battery remaining.
An agonizing experience. He knew the moment he would pass away. If only he could be back on Earth again. Maybe he could find her, maybe she would tell him that it was OK. And he would get to be happy with her, forever. Maybe he could live inside a phone, or a small cleaning device. She could carry him wherever she went. They would never mention the incident again.
The countdown continued and Wheatley desperately clung to his fantasy. They would be able to spend time together; he could help her solve the crossword puzzles in the newspaper. And he could show her how to make tea. Delicious tea. Maybe they could put him in an android body, and he could walk. What it would feel like to have legs! Completely independent from a management rail... He sighed as the number changed again. Seven... seven days a week, he could be with her. Or maybe five days he could work somewhere. Get a job. And he could earn money for her. She'd be very pleased to see him earning dough. The number changed. Had it sped up? Speed... He could run! If he had nice legs for running, he could run for sport! In the park! And he and the girl could chase pigeons together. Bloody birds... Five. And imagine food. He'd never tasted food before. Sandwiches sounded delicious. And so did cake. Four. Oh, if he worked in a restaurant, that would be lovely. Three. He could cook for her, maybe, she'd enjoy that. Two. And maybe they could build a friendship again...
Without warning his entire body began to shudder, and the panic that enveloped him drained the last of his power. The universe went black.