After writing this, I hate Rick.

Wheatley sighed, pulling at the wires that protruded from his back. His eyes wandered over to the form of the sleeping woman in the chassis and thanked his lucky stars that She was still asleep. He'd decided that this woman was a proper maniac when She was awake, always trying to murder people. He'd always try to talk Her down from Her God-like fury, a constant stream of suggestions – he had to admit, not all of them were great, but once he started talking to Her, it was like he couldn't stop, no matter how much he wanted to, or how much She threatened him. Eventually, She would turn away from the men and women who were – quite unsuccessfully – trying to subdue Her, only to turn Her God-like fury onto him, manipulating the chassis and causing a surge of electricity to course through his system, overloading him and effectively shutting him up.

It was terrifying, being in the same room and attached to the same chassis as Her when She was awake, but at the same time, he loved it. He loved when the lab coat clad scientists came, happy to finally have someone to talk to. It was always the same three men at first: Dr. Hoo, Dr. Pembroke, and Dr. Rattmann. He just loved having other people in the room, since it got so lonely being by himself; which is why Wheatley exhibited such pure, unfiltered joy when they happened to bring another man with them. He looked like and Aperture Employee, wearing a lab coat. What was unusual about him was the cowboy boots and the Stetson that he kept tipped over his eyes.

"Oh! Ello!" the Android bubbled.

"Good morning, ID core." Dr. Rattmann offered tiredly. Neither of the other men offered greetings. That's why Wheatley liked Dr. Rattmann; he was always very personable, if a bit run-down, and Wheatley hardly even qualified as a person!

"Who's this bloke?" he stretched against his wires a bit, craning his neck to get a better look at the man. He was tall, but not tall like Wheatley, who looked like he'd lost a fight with a taffy pull. This man was built for his height, with broad shoulders and a solid chest.

"I'm Rick." He said from beneath the rim of his hat. Wheatley could hear a slight American Western accent come from the man.

"He's a core, just like you, ID." Rattmann said. "Adventure Core, meet the Intelligence Dampening Core."

Rick gave a chuckle. "Howdy."

Rick was placed in a seat identical to Wheatley's on the opposite side of Her chassis, and the men left.

"So… what brings you here?" Wheatley asked, hoping to strike up conversation.

"The scientists, y'idiot." He said, hotly. "I heard there was a job opening, taming a wild woman. My area of expertise, naturally. So, I willed those eggheads to put me together, took the job."

The ID core didn't bother to point out the absurdity of that statement. "I'm not an idiot," he called around the chassis.

"Sure y'are! 'Intelligence Dampening Core!' Pretty sure you weren't designed after that Einstein feller, ya bumblin' Brit!"

Wheatley felt his internal fan racing to quell the heat that accompanied his rising anger. He was not an idiot, and he did his job well, and to please the higher-ups that's all that mattered.

He sat there in a grudging silence, listening to Rick whistle away. He glanced over at Her limp body, knowing that they were going to turn Her back on eventually, now that they'd put Rick in his spot. He'd seen so many other constructs sitting in Rick's seat, and he'd only been there for two months. Every time the attached a new core, they'd wake Her up, and She would mangle their mainframes, causing them to go half out of their minds with a sudden onslaught of electricity and information. But She never touched him. Sure, there was the occasional jolt of electricity that temporarily shut him off, but it was nothing like what She did to the other cores. That poor Space core they'd brought in last week had come in a perfectly rational core, until they'd woken Her up. He'd left in such a state that four men had to come in to retrieve him, thrashing about like a madman going on about Space, screaming at the top of his non-existent lungs about comets and stars and space.

So many other cores had left in a state of almost total insanity, but he, Wheatley, had survived. This made him remember something, a short essay one of the Aperture Interns had written for a class, detailing a theory call "Survival of the…" the, uhm…

He frowned, trying to remember the rest of the title. It was a superlative, a really good quality to have. Before he could even finish forming the thought, he was shouting across the chassis. "You know, mate, when they turn Her back on, it's all-out Hell in here. Seriously, survival of the smartest. Just so you know. I've been here longer than any other core, so I do. I do know."

There was a snort from the other side of the machine, then the thud of cowboy boots smacking the linoleum. Rick walked around the room to stand in front of Wheatley. "Look, kid. The only reason She hasn't fried every circuit in your head is because She's afraid that your stupidity's contagious, so I wouldn't go braggin' if I were you." He sneered, grabbing Wheatley's ankle before the latter could pull his legs safely away.

He grabbed the arms of the chair and tried to keep himself seated, but Rick was far stronger. Terrified, Wheatley felt the wires protruding from his back give a monstrous protest and start to click out of place. He began kicking furiously. Dr. Pembroke had told him a secret, completely confidential, that if he ever unplugged himself from the chassis, he would die. He tried to kick his legs free, tried to keep himself seated and properly attached to the machine, but with one last tug, he felt the wires slip out of the ports in his back as he crashed to the floor.

He hit the tile with a gasp, lying on his back and looking up at Rick, whose intense green eyes were narrowed and a snarl set on his lips.

Wheatley smiled, a lopsided, goofy grin that really only irritated the other core. "I'm not dead!" he declared triumphantly.

"A'course you ain't." he sneered. "Only a moron'd think that he could die of free will. Now get up."

Wheatley struggled to his feet, still very apprehensive about being detached from the chair. Dr. Pembroke wouldn't have told him that he would die if it wasn't for a good reason. "Oh, this is splendid! I'm not dead! I thought for sure I was a goner, but lookit that! Not dead! And, hey – it's all thanks to you! Thanks, mate! Never would have made it down from there if it weren't for you! Granted, there are less painful ways you could have gone about that," he said, rubbing absently at his back, where he'd landed. "But that doesn't matter, does it! Because I'm still alive! Haha, this is tremendous, I can't thank you enough!" Wheatley turned to face the other core and was met by a fist being propelled towards him.

Rick had punched him square in the face, knocking his glasses off, the metal of his nose crunching under the man's knuckles. He fell backward, staggering back a few feet before landing on his already sore arse, clutching awkwardly at his face. "What the BLOODY HELL was that for!" he screeched through the blinding pain.

"Shut y'up, didn't it? Moron. It's 'Survival of the Fittest.' Good God, you talk too much – Hey!" He put a hand on top of his hat to keep it in place, though, in Wheatley's opinion, Rick should have been more concerned about the fact that the British Android had just flung all his weight directly at the mechanical cowboy.

Rick was a lot bigger than Wheatley, and a lot stronger. Normally, trying to tackle him to the ground would have warranted another punch to the face. But he'd had enough of the rude construct, who was temporarily oblivious, lost in a false-testosterone daydream. And so they clattered to the floor together, wrestling and scrabbling to get the better of the other. There was nothing but a thrashing tangle of green and white and the gentle hum of energy crackling through the air. Its din grew louder and louder, eventually demanding Wheatley's attention, earning him another well placed punch to the jaw from the android underneath him. The hit had forced him off of Rick, sending him splayed across the linoleum at his feet. He didn't move. It'd been nothing, he had hardly felt the punch at all, at least not compared to his systems going into overdrive in his chest.

"Are you – quite – finished?"

Rick was stunned by Her bright yellow eyes and sultry sneer. She looked down on both from Her perch in the Chassis and he smiled at Her.

"Howdy, miss." He said smoothly, tipping the rim of his hat, leaving Wheatley lying on the floor to fend for himself, a terrified mess. The chair was his safe haven for when they turned Her on, She couldn't touch him back there. Now they were exposed. Rick seemed completely unaware of the utter danger they were in. He just kept flirting with Her.

Wheatley prayed that the engineers in the observation room were actually observing this time, instead of tinkering with Her settings, or fixing coffee. He prayed that they'd see that both of the companion cores were currently on the floor without any influence over Her whatsoever, and at a very high risk for permanent injuries, like death.

Rick went prattling on about how he could show Her all types of science, most of which made Wheatley wish he was built without a sense of hearing, or Rick without a mouth, but he remained there, spread eagled on the floor.

Rick stopped, finally, waiting for Her response.

Her expression was nearly unreadable, save for the smallest glint of pure boredom. The Brit trembled on the floor, fear creeping through his every wire.

She smiled. Wires snaked from the Chassis down to his 'comrade,' accessing the port in the back of his neck.

"That's it, baby," he purred.

The electricity pulse through Her cords, evoking small grunts of pain from the android standing in the middle of the room as he tried to gain control of Her. His small noises grew in their frequencies and intensity. Rick let out a gasp. "Okay, sugar! You can slow down! Gah!"

Wheatley turned his head and screwed his eyes shut, curling in on himself as GLaDOS increased the output, flooding Rick's body with coded poison. He screamed, a deep, throaty noise that became more garbled by the second, losing its natural tones and taking on one more computerized, betraying the Android's human looks.

Electricity crackled out of Rick's body and through the air, making the lights flicker.

There was a shout, a mercifully Human sound as one of the engineers ran towards the room. They were coming for him…

The door slammed shut with a hiss and locked. She ran the whole facility.

The smell of burnt synthetic skin and rubber wires filled the room. Rick had stopped screaming; Wheatley summoned strength from somewhere and looked: he lay in a heap where he'd stood moments before, steaming, broken and off. The vibrant green of his eyes had given way to a dull, lifeless gray. He knew the scientists could turn him back on, but it was the same with every core She got at. They were never the same and often decommissioned. He didn't know what happened to decommissioned cores, but he supposed it involved death, anyway.

She smiled down on him in a way that suggested that She was happy, but not in a friendly way. "So you're the piece of scrap metal that never shuts up."

He stood, none too gracefully, drawing himself up to his full height, an impressive six seven that still only brought him to Her heels.

"I-I'm not s-scrap metal." He blurted, immediately regretting his inability to keep his mouth shut. He could see Her expression flash between murderous and gentle.

"Not yet."

The wires forced themselves from Rick's port, which snapped from his system with a sickening crack. They shot through the air towards Wheatley. He whimpered quietly, unable to do anything before the wires had snaked their way around his neck and into his port. He thrashed, grabbing uselessly at the wires, trying to pull them free.

"I've been wanting to d]o this since the moment those idiots put you on me. You ignorant, annoying moron."

The pain was instant, not gradual as Rick's had been. He fell to the ground immediately, vaguely hearing Her snide comments about him not having as much resolve as his friend. Lines of corrupt code flashed before his vision, seeping into his system and shutting him down from the inside out. The lights went out – or maybe it was his vision – with a pop! as electricity poured from his body.

He let out one, long scream, his voice cracking under the strain. Underneath all the pain and fear and screaming, he could feel Her. He could feel Her joy, pure glee at murdering the beings that had oppressed Her. She was going to kill him, he could feel that too. Utter determination and unbridled rage. She was going to mangle his codes beyond recognition, possibly beyond repair.

He looked up in Her general direction, his senses clouded by codes of virus and artificial pain. He begged. He promised Her he'd never speak another word, just please don't kill him. He could barely hear his own voice, and what he could hear was voice synthesis.

She raged. How dare he even entertain the idea that he deserves anything less! She increased the output, provoking another scream, more pleas.

He wanted to break, he wanted to short out, he just wanted to pain to stop. Circuits and functions died one by one within him as the charge became too great. He screamed at Her, senses cut off.

Slowly, the pain died, codes cutting off in increments until the pain was just a dull roar in his body. He fell to the floor immediately, collapsing in on himself; his breathing started again in shaky little gasps that evolved into deep jagged breaths and his vision slowly came back online, like a bad satellite signal.

He felt the cool linoleum beneath his cheek, lying on his stomach. "Th-thank you." He huffed, weakly, his voice a rough whisper. He looked up at Her to see that Her arms dangled uselessly at Her sides and Her head had slumped forward to rest on Her chest.

She was off.

A fuzzy noise filled the room: static from the intercom. It sounded like it was a million miles away.

"ID core, are you all right?" came Dr. Rattmann's voice. It filled every inch of him. As much as he wanted to reply to the man, he found he couldn't raise his voice above a low wheeze. After a moment, he heard the door open on the other side of the room. Footsteps, before he felt hands grasp his upper arm, hauling him to his feet before they switched him off.

Sleep enveloped him as the men carried him to repairs.

Adios, Rick! (youjerki'mgladyou'redead.)