"Your Aperture Science Android is equipped with many personality traits and physical features that can make YOUR life easier. They can be modified for your needs, however they are kept to basics for the necessities of running the facility.

All of the cores are designed to look aesthetically pleasing to the human eye, however have varying facial structures, heights and colour schemes in order to tell them apart. Our main core GLaDOS has been scaled up so that she is much taller than the rest of the androids, and has porcelain white skin and synthetic hair with no human-like definition, because pigmentation was a luxury the industry could not afford until later core development, and this android did not want any employees modifying her appearance. Or getting close to her at all.

The Cores are equipped with a carbon fibre human skeleton replica, however the joints are made of a more inexpensive plastic, which can make them quite fragile, especially if they fall from great heights or exert themselves in any way. They are human in the sense that they don't have any particular abilities that excel that of a person, they are able to feel and touch (and thus feel pain: see Android Disciplinary Training), however are unable to eat. Do not feed your android, within their rib cages are the important mechanical workings, which can get gummed up with food.

The main power source is light, thanks to receptors woven into the skin material. However, in emergencies, chargers can be inserted to the right ankle for charging purposes. The androids are fully clothed in order to remain decent and not cause any employee to feel uncomfortable.

To protect the internal structures of an android they have a layer of protective foam, which acts as fat would in a real human..."
- Apertures Android Program

Wheatley was, in essence, broken. A new pastime of his became clicking his radius into place and then watching it pop out again. It stung slightly, but not enough to deter him, due to being somebody who avidly fiddled with things. He had thought of many ways to try and casually mention to but also hint-and-blame Chell for his injury, but recently decided to keep it to himself and refrain from making a fool of himself in future. He had made her fall two THOUSAND metres. Not that she had suffered, in any particular way, according to him. Wheatley reminded himself of the mashy spike plates. Still, she seemed to be fine and without consequence.

He distracted himself from his shameful train of thought by watching the moon's recent activities. He could see vividly the bright flashes of blood orange and electric blue crop up all over it's surface like the freckles on his cheeks (although those were cheap splashes of periwinkle blue paint). Wheatley couldn't quite deduce how far away the moon was now, due to his left eye being cracked and thus permanently impaired. It wasn't anything too bad except a lack of depth perception, however it was still a niggle that he liked to complain about. Although not to anybody in particular since Space Core had drifted away to another orbit. Wheatley could still occasionally catch a glimpse of a yellow and white coat or a glint of copper hair around the moons horizon if he looked at the correct angle.

He hung limp, at gravities weak whim, wondering where Chell could possibly be if she wasn't in Aperture. Outside?
Striking, lifelike images came into his minds eye: Her tranquilly standing in beautiful fields, which were in turn surrounded by luscious and endless trees. The sun gently beaming down, a gentle whisper of a breeze going through her chocolate and cinnamon hair.

He furrowed his brows, his vision logically being nothing like reality. Earth was mainly bleach blue, with the squiggly continents pale and sandy, when he rotated so that he could see it. Plus, his Chell was idealised. She was constantly moving and determined to do stuff, and her messy ponytail was more the colour of bitter coffee and burnt toast if anything. He scratched his nose, thinking about her. Honestly, he thought, her face also tended to look bitter and resentful. Scowling when he said this, rolling her eyes when he said that. Exhaling out of her nose and shaking her head when he said the most hilarious of things. The best he ever got were half smiles when they first met.

Did she ever laugh?

He pondered, hugging his knees and resting his chin on them. Yes! Yes she did, that one time!

"Oh wait! I've got it I've got it I've got it! No, I haven't got it."

Chell leant against the perspex separating her from the turret line, mindlessly tracing the cracks and lines of her gun with her finger. Already having figured out what was necessary to solve the problem (having the rejected turrets fly over into her line of view, it was easy), she waited to see what her companion would eventually think of. Currently he was just rocking backwards and forwards on his heels, his gaze flickering from his shoes to her eyes. His posture slumped, and he began biting his lip, which always triggered Chell to wonder about how human these constructs were. He hummed a little, before seemingly being struck by something.

Wheatley straightened up again, once more towering over her.

"Oh! I've just had one idea, which is that I could pretend to her that I've captured you, and give you over and she'll kill you, but I could go on...living. So, what's your view on that?" He half suggested, in his waffley tone, accompanied by stilted hand gestures. Chell gave a small, soft smile, and set off to catch one of the flying turrets.
But not before playfully jabbing him in the ribs.

"Agh! Ow, wh-what? What was that? What did I do- Hey! Where are you going? Wh-what are you doing?" Wheatley cried out, after having jumped up 5ft into the air, protectively covering his sides with his hands.

When Chell came back, he was cowering in the corner like a child, pouting sulkily and acting dramatically hurt. After a brief second of eye-contact, she dropped the turret and the gun in favour of covering up her mouth, and left the room. She snickered to herself for what to her felt like ages, but what must have only been a minute, before re-entering, where Wheatley was already congratulating her on her intelligence whilst dropping the turret into the scanner.

Wheatley could recall peering round the corner, watching her cheeks gradually flush crimson.

She could catch that turret, but not me. Charming. He thought sourly, pressing the bones in his arm. But at least she didn't laugh when I fell. At least she had the common decency to at sort of look concerned. Also, she helped me up. Helped me up right away. I guess that's the thing that matters.

A foolish grin formed on his face without realising as he thought of her, and he idly spun himself to look back at the moon, and almost did a double-take.

Glimmering missile shaped objects were apparently flying out of moon, logos spray painted blockily on them, flying erratically through the inky depths before flashing and honing in on his location. Wheatley scrambled to get out of the way, trying desperately to swim away with his gangly limbs, but to no avail.

All of his systems were suspended upon both impact and realisation: GLaDOS's plan was to knock him completely out of space.