Shards
That was not a mistake, and not by chance. Deep down he knows – he feels startled, as if the blow had hit him through the camera.
If the walls don't stop shaking, the broken screen might collapse and fall all over the floor. He hopes she will be right down there if it happens. A cascade of glass on her pretty face, and then?
Then she would stop be so menacing. She would be scared and wounded, she would die, maybe. He is closed in his room, wrapped in his throne; why should he be the weak one?
But she won't stop. There she is, running and solving the test as if the world had to end in one minute.
Too damn fast for his tastes, although what he says is something else entirely.
Unsatisfactory? Well, he had better accept the facts. She is astoundingly good at this stuff; and he has a lot more time to insult her, but not that much to prepare for the storm she will bring along.
Her face was rage made flesh. And his was astonishment – he couldn't have felt any other way when she, ignoring the button like rubbish, rushed to the Faith Plate and smashed her Portal Gun right through the glass. Her teeth were clenched, her eyes were ice flames; he saw the depths of human Hell in her.
He would like to erase the memories, but his data won't let him. Everything is too messed up – by him, he supposes? – to react properly, and the walls, menacing, can fall apart anytime with all his dreams.
No regrets, or no satisfactions? It is hard for him to choose. But maybe – and the thought sneaks in him, disturbing the glorious sensation that testing gives – maybe it would all be different if he were in that room himself, by her side, with a bond of helpfulness and understanding no one had shared with him before.
The silence of the potato says it all. She must be so happy with her human down there, ready to steal his power and his greatness with such a dangerous ally. And if their cunning still lives, after hours of running or being trapped in 1,5 volts, well, he has to face it. He is a falling god – and she is way far from being a stupid worshipper with a potato stuck on her toy.
He does not want things to be like this. He craves for more time, for more hours. But they are marching on, and he has seen her face too well to pretend.
Now, and now only, he knows the time has come – the time when Wheatley starts being really afraid.
A lot of broken monitors later: achievement unlocked! ;)