Sometimes I pretend that you can hear me.
I shout out at you as if you're standing right there, and sometimes I just let loose and prattle on about the most nonsensical things, imagining myself talking to you.
But then my circuits buzz and I'm brought back to reality.
A reality in which I'm alone.
All bloody alone.
"SPAAAAAAAACE!"
Oh, well except for that dolt.
"Did you know it's "Bring Your Daughter to Work Day' tomorrow? Yes, yes. I know. Uh-huh. It would be nice to participate in that I suppose…Oh no no! That's not! That's not what I was suggesting! Absolutely not! I was just- I just-" His mumblings were only cut short by laugher on the other end of the receiver. He sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose, relieved that she actually wasn't mad at his words.
"Oh no. No, I have a ride. No need to come get me. Not at all. Jerry's taking me home. Yes, yes. Though it's sure to be a long ride, yes it is. All he talks about is space. Space this. Space that. Space space space…it gets bloody awful. He's dragging me to the new exhibit at the observatory next weekend, that's sure to be a long day.,. yes it is." The red head was moving about his office as he talked, shuffling papers, powering down computers, turn off lights.
"No, I'm positive you don't need to come get me. Completely positive! I'm positive, Michelle! Oops, sorry luv. Yes, yes I know. I know. Yes yes, if I'm not back in an hour, you can come round me up. Like a herd of cattle, that is. Though not as painful I hope…" The person on the other end laughed again, which send shivers up his spine, and surely turned his face an embarrassing shade of red.
"All right then. I'll be home soon. Love you, bye."
Let me tell you, when you're floating around in space, there's really only one thing you can do: Think. So I did. I thought a lot. I thought back to the past. And since a good portion of the past was spent roaming on management rails looking after the squishy humans, there was really only two things to remember: the before and the after.
The after…well that wasn't a very pleasant thing to remember most of the time. Sometimes I thought of the good. When the girl and I roamed through the facility, hacking doors and plotting to take her over. Those were good times to remember. Very good times. Times when I had a…a friend. Finally someone to talk to after years upon years of talking to myself. Albeit, she couldn't exactly talk back –brain damage is a nasty thing-,but she always listened. Never shut me up, never found my words annoying or idiotic, always listened.
Most of the time, though, my memory chip brings me back to the bad. The moment the core transfer began was when things took a turn for the worst. I recall with perfect clarity the look on her face as I lowered the elevator back down, wondering why they had to leave so soon. Once the corruption began, and I started hating her so intensely. Then there was that blasted Itch, that hurt so bad it drove me to try and murder the one person who actually gave a hoot, who I actually lo- ARG! Short circuit, what was I talking about? Ah yes, I remember, boy do I…
Though there are times that I try to remember the past. Now, it's a peculiar thing, my memory bank. Usually, it begins the moment that I was first activated. But…sometimes there are these…flashes….flashes of memories that I never knew I had, that I thought they'd programmed out of me long ago…
The man whistled a tune as he looked around his office, making sure everything was right for the next day. In actuality, his office was a mess, but it was a kind of organized chaos that only few could decipher, much like him.
He stepped out of the room and locked the door, briefcase in hand, and headed on to his friend's office, knocking twice upon arrival.
"Hello? Is anyone in there?" He shouted at the doorway in his standard greeting, and opened it once he'd gotten a small reply from the other side to come in.
"Ready to ride of into the sunset? Wait, wait a minute. Jerry? Why the long face? What's wrong buddy? Did they close the exhibit? It's okay, I'm sure there'll be other o-…Mr. Johnson? What are you doing here, si-sir? Wait, what's going on here? What's going on he-"
The briefcase fell to the floor.
Though the flashes disappear as quickly as they come, and I'm left baffled and disoriented, with almost completely no memory of them again. Though some things are sticking, some are coming back…
I know this wasn't always me. I was a personality not enclosed in a metal shell, not confined to a management ramp, not a core. And I wasn't always such a…moron, either. No, they made me like that. I used to be smart, I think.
Sometimes I roll my optic towards the Earth and look out. And did you know sometimes, I could swear I see you? But then I realize that it's just a piece of bloody space dust that looks like your brown hair. And it eats at my wires constantly when I realize that I'll probably never see you again.
Never get to apologize to you, for everything.
For the betrayal.
For the lies.
For the murder.
Did you know Chell is short for Michelle?
You hated being called Michelle.
How do I know that?
So this is my first shot at a Portal fic. Did I do allright? I finished Portal 2 on Saturday, and it's hands down the best video game I've played. I love love love Wheatley, and as soon as I was done with the game, my mind began building a backstory for him. This is part of that. Parts might come later, if you guys would like and if I feel motivated enough to continue.
Thanks for reading. (: