Mechanophilia
Part 3 - The Installation
Wheatley could not keep still.
He was mad. He was so, so angry at the two women down in the test chamber. They'd deliberately drawn it out, made him sit up all expectantly waiting as if they were actually going to do it, and then they did not do it. They did nothing. They left him suffering from the foul, stinking promise of no release and the itch that went hand-in-hand with it while they were having a laugh, probably. At his bloody expense.
It was uncalled for! It was absolutely, tremendously disrespectful. And, if he were honest with himself, he was one hundred percent tired of being disrespected. He was angry, uncomfortable, itching his bloody brains out and now, the two women below had just decided not to solve his test, as if it were actually a bloody option.
Which it was not, for the record.
Not an option. He was fuming as he searched the files, muttering to himself bitterly. There were hundreds—bloody hundreds—of files to go through. Surely there had to be something on the itch and how to relieve it! Sure, She thought she'd got him trapped in quite the predicament, but Wheatley knew better. He knew that She had to have had some kind of way of dealing with the itch—there was no way she could concentrate through this feeling!
And what a feeling it was. At its best it was a light, crawling tickle, almost pleasant enough to feel nice. It was kind of reminiscent of the time he'd been attacked by the bird, although in that situation he'd been quite afraid—it was light and fluttery like feathery wings, if the feathers had been a lot softer and had been tickling about just under the joints where his handles had attached to his core body. But that pleasant, tickly sensation was short-lived as the programming had set up properly, beginning to fire compulsions at him that sent him into slight shivers as he had got used to the newfound sensation of being touched.
Because that's what it was like, during the times it was there but wasn't firing with ruthless determination. It was like having a finger trailing along the spine of his new body, resulting in further creeping, crawling sensations and more shivers—and a growing heat in his systems. It left him almost wanting more, as if the stimulation just wasn't enough.
When it did strengthen, it was when he had been made to wait for an end he could not yet fathom, for so long he could hardly think. At that point, everything had been driven right to the point of bloody aching, he'd felt tense and expectant and tight and hot, as though he'd found himself stuck somewhere very hot and many sizes too small for him. He felt almost claustrophobic, and panicky, and the thought of it never ending had driven him absolutely frantic.
It had affected his senses, too. Watching the testing somehow held his attention far better than anything else ever had. He'd never been one to sit still, admittedly, but protocols held him in place, fed him false patience that was definitely not his own—here and there, his own desperation for relief would overwhelm the protocols and he'd find himself shouting without meaning to, arching and shuddering in frustration.
Oh, but the pleasure—man alive, the pleasure!—made it all entirely worth the wait. It felt so good. It was stronger, deeper than any kind of pleasure he'd ever felt before, an instant explosion that drove straight through him to what felt like the most vital subprocesses he possessed, wiping his brain instantly blank in wake of the rush, filling him up. He had no control when that happened and he relinquished it willingly, fully losing almost every layer of consciousness in the pure, instant yes, ohhh, yeees! of it.
He needed it. The memory of it sent yet another crawling wave of the itch poking through him as he delved deeper into the mainframe, occasionally glancing at the monitor where he could still see the test subject sitting, looking rather bored, just beneath the button. Anger surged along the same pathways as the itch, feeding on it in the most intoxicating way he'd ever experienced. He did his best to stay positive, though. He was going to get another burst of it, whether the two women liked it or not.
And so, Wheatley searched. Searching for files about the itch did not work, but eventually he found a solution to that problem—apparently the bloody thing was actually called a test compulsion protocol—and had it at last.
Most of the information was useless to him. Corrupted, with chunks missing or omitted entirely, the only seemingly useful thing he managed to find was something clearly marked 'WARNING—DO NOT INITIATE UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE. Test Compulsion Protocol Compliance'. So naturally, he opened it as quickly as he could and initiated the process.
Immediately, he wished he hadn't—another curious sensation came over him, starting from the top portions of the cables that connected him to the rest of the facility, slowly creeping down through the joint at his middle and into the very edges of his core. It was like the itch, but different; it was a paralyzing feeling, and immediately he yelped, frightened. He couldn't move!
GREETINGS!
He wasn't quite sure if the message had been transmitted through text or audio. All he knew was that simultaneously, the letters appeared in his head while a voice—vaguely reminiscent of the announcer's—narrated.
AND WELCOME TO THE APERTURE SCIENCE TEST COMPULSION COMPLIANCE INITIATIVE. IN THE EVENT OF NON-COMPLIANCE WITH STANDARD TESTING PROTOCOL, THE TEST COMPULSION COMPLIANCE INITIATIVE WILL ENSURE THAT SCIENCE CAN STILL BE DONE, REGARDLESS OF ANY OUTSTANDING NON-COMPLIANCE RELATED ISSUES. CENTRAL CORE, PLEASE CONSULT THE MANUAL BEFORE WE BEGIN. AT ANY MOMENT SHOULD YOU WISH TO REVIEW THE MANUAL, A COURTEOUSY COPY HAS BEEN DOWNLOADED TO DRIVER "A" FOR YOUR CONVENIENCE. THE APERTURE SCIENCE TEST COMPULSION COMPLIANCE INITIATIVE THANKS YOU AND WISHES YOU THE BEST OF LUCK!
[WARNING—A HARDWARE UPDATE IS REQUIRED TO INSTALL . WOULD YOU LIKE TO INSTALL THIS HARDWARE?]
The final message remained, awaiting his answer. He chuckled lowly. He was utterly pleased with himself—he'd done it, he'd found the solution he was looking for, even despite Her reassurance that it was impossible—and happily accepted the procedure without even stopping to properly think about what it was he'd just read.
As soon as he'd done so, he tried to do a double-take. Hardware update? What in the name of bloody Science—
[WAITING FOR DRIVER INSTALLATION…]
It was too late. He still found his body to be frozen, which sent a flash of paralyzing fear through his system. He tried to struggle, but the program had overridden his motor control subroutines, and in panic he made a sharp swallowing noise as yet more words invaded his brain:
[DRIVER WAS INSTALLED SUCCESSFULLY. BEGINNING HARDWARE INSTALLATION…]
And then, from below him there was a burst of red light. Panic mounted as he recognized the pit—had he unintentionally activated some kind of core transfer?—and out came the maintenance arms. The apparatus connecting him to the ceiling descended, lowering him unwillingly into it, and Wheatley closed his eye, a string of words that never made it to his speakers tumbling through his mind, please don't hurt, please don't hurt, pleasedon'thurt—
The arms went inside of him, inside of the hole at the front of him, he felt them shove something inside and the resounding clunk it made with the back of the hollow space beneath his chest plate. He tried to squirm away, but it was useless, and a second later every sense was overwhelmed with the one thing he had been most keen to avoid—complete, agonizing pain.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGHHHHHHHHHH!"
He wasn't sure how long it had lasted for. It felt like bloody eternity, but eventually it did fade, leaving him dizzy with a throbbing, foreign ache settled somewhere around the center of his chest plate for company. He panted and groaned, and slowly opened his eye—and realized with a start that he could move again.
[DRIVER WAS INSTALLED SUCCESSFULLY. CALIBRATING…]
Well that's great, he thought sarcastically, rocking himself back and forth to try to throw off the uncomfortable ache the roughness of the maintenance arms had left over his casing.
[CALIBRATION COMPLETE. ALL FACTORY SETTINGS WERE SUCCESSFULLY DOWNLOADED. BEFORE YOU BEGIN, PLEASE CONSULT MANUAL FOR THE PROPER USE OF THIS HARDWARE.]
He was still blinking sluggishly by the time he caught sight of the woman and her potato still waiting patiently inside of the test chamber. Please consult the manual… well, if there was one thing he could do well, it was multitask. Read and observe Science? Not a problem for him. There was just one thing, though—he wasn't exactly sure how this new program was about to help the test subject get on with science. In fact… he glanced around rapidly, craning to see the apparent 'new hardware' that had been installed on him. He didn't see anything different about himself at all!
Wheatley made a shrugging motion with his chassis. He'd find out soon enough, he supposed. For now—it was about time the woman solved this bloody test chamber!
But as the word and the notion of the results the task promised entered his mind, Wheatley suddenly became aware of something very, very strange…