It's a good thing the door opened by itself to permit you exit, because after all this time you're not certain you'd know how to reach out and turn the handle. Oddly enough, you weren't sure if you wanted to until it was done. So many emotions swelled up inside; the loss of everything you knew - the portal gun had become more than a tool, a weapon, a piece of vital testing apparatus; its absence feels like you're missing a limb. Then there's the fact that you have gained your freedom at last, yet it comes as almost an afterthought.

It had been all you've wanted for so long and now that you finally have it, you are lost...in the literal sense of the word. You don't know where you are. So you simply keep walking, because that's how one gets somewhere without portals, right? And really, what else can you do? When the door from which you walked into the light of day for the first time that you can remember is merely a black dot on an otherwise empty horizon, you find that your companion cube is the only thing you have to remind yourself of how real it all was. But said charred metal box offers no comforting words or sagely advise.

Maybe it feels lost, too, if it truly is sentient.

A kind of reverse claustrophobia overtakes you as your eyes scan the field of golden wheat, stretching seemingly forever toward an equally vast blue sky. It's far too open. It makes you feel so small and unimportant - more unimportant than She did, especially since She never told the truth about anything, least of all cake, except when Caroline became aware of herself. So you know She needed you.

The world is too damn bright, all full of colors you don't have names for anymore. The only world you remember is blue and orange and white, sometimes with splashes of yellow or red, utterly spotless. You know so little of the world beyond those walls. Only what She told you with the intention of frightening you into submission. But you're quite used to the threat of death now. You know better than to expect mercy or cake. You know people and robots are essentially the same when it comes to ulterior motives and attempted murder.

You don't know if the human race ever managed to rebuild itself. But after learning via pre-recorded messages of how Aperture's over-ambition led to its destruction as well as witnessing the result yourself, part of you hopes it didn't. Part of you wants to scream, if only you could remember how.

The sun slowly creeps below the horizon, sucking some warmth out of the air. It must be summer, or late spring, or possibly early autumn. You watch with your cube as the stars blink to life and the moon rises. The moon, which just hours ago you were technically on, barely able to breathe before eventually passing out and trying not to die. Well, you're always trying not to die. Perhaps a lesser human, or robot, would have given up in your situation. But you never were one to accept failure, just like everyone else in that damn facility, only they never got to leave.

Maybe this - moving on, trudging relentlessly forward exactly as before without looking back, truly living - is merely another challenge to be overcome.

Space...there's lots of empty space here. Your eyes drift toward the sky above and you start to feel even smaller than before. You tell yourself that you won't think about Wheatley...

Wheatley, who's up there all alone, probably not nearly as enthusiastic about being stranded in space as that other core. Maybe he's orbiting the moon. Who knows? Mostly you just want another person to talk to. But you aren't sure if you remember how to do that either. Besides, all you have is your faithful companion cube, which is certainly better than nothing.

Still, it isn't the same. It isn't human; it isn't even Wheatley.

You don't know if all the empty spaces will ever be filled.