AN: To those of you who have reviewed or followed this story - you have my sincerest thanks and gratitude. Really. I do the Kermit "YAAAAAY" dance every time it happens. You're awesome. Anyway, happy reading! -wrathkitty

CHAPTER FOUR:

THE PROBATION

It was exactly like last time: dark, cold, and with an unwelcome, chatty sidekick.

"AUUUGGH! I just looked down – don't look down! Or drop me! And land with your legs – if you can – please if you can, land with your legs. But not in that order – don't drop me, land with your legs, and don't look down. AHH! Sorry, sorry, I've done it again! Hard not to, though, 'down' being the default direction…"

Chell ignored Wheatley, trying to gauge the number of seconds they'd been falling and how much longer they had to go.

"Also, while we're here – can I just say how sor –"

She punched him with the portal gun, straight in the optic.

"OW! I deserve it! I deserve it, I admit it! I was monstrous back there, and bossy – and I am sorry –"

Chell punched him a second time, harder now. She didn't want to hear his apologies. If he hadn't gone power-mad in the first place, they'd already be on the surface and away from this accursed place. But instead, because of some God-forsaken sense of obligation that she couldn't even explain, she was still here, right back where she'd been only hours before.

"OW! I'm sorry, I'm sorry – I was awful! I was more than awful, I was as bad as Her – but I couldn't help it. That itch – it's all you can think about…"

The scent of the air had changed, she noticed. It was growing mustier – damp, tinged with mold. How much more time until they reached the bottom? Thirty seconds? Twenty seconds?

Chell readjusted her hold on Wheatley and the portal gun, bracing herself for impact. Amazingly, he was still talking, now telling her about the bird.

"— and they hatched! Can you believe OH GOD, WE'RE GOING TO HIT THE GROUND, GRAB ME, GRAB ME –"

"…It's my first day, too. New job. And if I'm honest, I wasn't too keen on it – I mean, new people, new names, massive inconvenience all around, and then I got in here, saw these loads of kids – madness! But there's books here! And…and toys! Loads of toys! There's even a toy pony farm back there..."

Still caught in the dream, Chell shook her head, trying to clear away the voice in her ears. What had happened? Every part of her body hurt, not surprising given that she seemed to be lying on an assortment of sharp-edged rubble.

"Hello? Are you awake? Just nod your head, if you are – and, and if you're not, then…um…don't nod your head. Just…keep lying there. Doing a good job, with that. Good jumper, makes sense you're a good lie-er. But, um, maybe nod your head, if you could. Instead of all the lying."

There was a worried pause.

"Oh! Not lying-lying! Ha, sorry, no – I don't mean you're good at lying – telling falsehoods, anything like that. Or, maybe you are! Maybe you're a great liar! Bet you lie all the time, in your head. But, what I meant was lying as in lying down. On the ground."

Wishing she could've stayed unconscious for a little longer, Chell cracked open an eye, feeling an immediate dearth of enthusiasm upon the sight that greeted her: Wheatley, resting on her stomach and staring manically back at her.

"Heyyy, partner!" he effused, seeing that she was indeed awake. "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind – er, womankind." Not waiting for her to reply, he continued, saying, "That was amazing! I landed right on you! Didn't get a scratch on me! Well, no new ones, anyway, haha!"

His cheery blue optic met her gaze and made a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree loop of delight. When she said nothing, the blue shrank slightly and went cock-eyed.

"Umm…oh. Oh God. The brain damage. It's worse, isn't it?"

Stifling a moan, Chell turned onto her side, unceremoniously dumping Wheatley to the ground. He rolled a few feet and then swiveled in his case, righting himself in a shower of sparks.

"Are – are you okay?" he asked anxiously, tilting to look up at her. "Your elbow's leaking. Oh! Blood! Of course! I heard about that, back when I worked in the Relaxation Center. Ha, sometimes the 'guests' – guests, they used to call them, what a joke – they'd start gushing the stuff! Something to do with low platelet counts and fatal bedsores."

Chell inspected her elbow, which had been skinned in the fall. Satisfied that this was the only notable injury she'd incurred, she eased onto her hands and knees and started hunting for the portal gun.

Wheatley failed to grasp why she was opting to crawl around on the ground rather than getting up and walking, and for a moment began to wonder if, in addition to leaking fluid, she had also been paralyzed. Then his logic board kicked into gear, reminding him that his partner's ability to crawl was a reasonably good indicator that she was, in fact, not paralyzed. His secondary logic board piped up a moment later, putting forth the alternate suggestion that, barring paralysis and other forms of neurological injury, perhaps she had simply forgotten how to walk.

"So what's the – zzzt— " There was a crackle of static; Wheatley's voice broke, then picked up again. "—Plan? Where to from here? Up, obviously," he added, answering his own question. "But then what?"

Chell ignored him, still looking for the ASHPD.

"Hello? Are – are you listening? No…no, you're not listening, are you," he mused, slipping back into his habitual role of narrator. "You're scanning the ground, you're…you're looking for something!"

When another few seconds ticked by with no indication she'd heard him, Wheatley stopped feeling quite so giddy about their progress thus far.

"Are – oh, bloody hell. You haven't gone deaf, too, have you? You know, other than jumping and pushing buttons, humans don't seem to be good for much of anything, really. Heads like melons – one little crack and all your systems go offline. Not a very sturdy design, if you ask me."

Then, realizing he might have offended her (as well as not realizing that if she were deaf that words were pointless), Wheatley sputtered, "But we – we can work with that! Deaf and dumb, not a problem! Just – uh, give me a moment, I'll think of something! There's a solution, I just have to come up with it. You're not in a hurry, are you?"

Chell made no acknowledgement of his query, preferring to indulge in the tempting mental image of taking his core apart, locating the wire that powered his vocal processor, and cutting through it with a satisfying snip.

"Okay, let's see," Wheatley continued, thinking out loud. "How to communicate with a brain damaged, deaf human. Can't be too hard a problem to solve. Shouldn't be hard at all. Hmmm…Semaphore? No…you can't carry the portal gun as well as a flag. What else, what else. Braille? Braille! Of course! Oh. Wait. No, that won't work, either…"

Chell looked down at the metal panel she was attempting to move and wondered if banging her head on it might make her feel better.

"Morse code!" he exclaimed suddenly, almost scorching her with his resultant cascade of sparks. "I've got Morse code translation software in here! Won't take a second to load it up…Just have to find the right directory…"

Curious in spite of herself, Chell glanced up, only to avert her eyes when Wheatley's optic went off in a mad pattern of flashes and bursts.

"-.- - ..- / .- .-. . / ..- ... .. -. -. / - ... .. ... / - .-. .- -. ... .-.. .- - .. - -. / ... - ..-. - .- .- .-. . / .. -. -.-. - .-. .-. . -.-. - .-.. -.- / .-. .-.. . .- ... . / -.-. - -. ... ..- .-.. - / - ... . / - .- -. ..- .- .-..!"

He waited eagerly for some sign of understanding on her part, but she was doing that thing where she stared at him for a second or two before shaking her head and looking away.

"Hmm. Okay, Morse code's a no-go. Not a problem, not a problem! Hunh, too bad I couldn't just hack your brain and fix whatever's wrong. But, as I said, not a problem. I'll think of something –"

Chell snapped her fingers to get his attention; Wheatley looked at her and she pointed to her ear.

"And…you're pointing. To your ear."

She nodded, waiting patiently for the hamster wheel to start turning.

It took a second or two, but then Wheatley's optic bugged out in amazement, and he exclaimed, "You heard me! You're not deaf! Brilliant!"

Satisfied that the message had been received, Chell resumed her search.

Over the next ten minutes, Wheatley guessed that she was looking for the exit, an apple, her old pair of advanced knee replacements, neurotoxin, and, oddly enough, her car keys ("No? Not your car keys? Hmm…thought I'd had it there. Humans are always losing their keys. Keys to what, though, that's the question. Oh! Your car! Are you looking for your car? No, you don't have a car, do you? Bloody keys…").

"The portal device? That's what you were looking for?" he exclaimed when Chell finally located it under a pile of mangled rebar. "Why didn't you say so before?"

She was about to get to her feet when a red flash on Wheatley's chassis caught her eye. Still on her hands and knees, she crawled over to take a closer look, surprised to discover that the three dots on his casing were actually a trio of LEDs, two of which were blinking.

Frowning, she reached out and put her fingers to the group of lights, pointer, middle, and then ring finger. He looked down, following her motion and said, "Oh! My indicator lights!"

Chell raised an eyebrow, concerned, and held up two fingers.

His optic opened to its widest, and he nodded happily, giving her his lower-lidded version of a cheery smile.

"Peace!" he agreed, misinterpreting what she was trying to tell him. "Interesting! I didn't think you'd be one for all that hippie stuff! Peace…love…tranquility –"

She shook her head, touched his indicator lights a second time, and held up two fingers again.

Wheatley's optic widened in comprehension. "Oh! You mean two of the lights are on?"

She nodded.

The blue pupil shrank in surprise, and then looked right, then left. Something was amiss, Chell realized, and not for the first time she marveled how nothing more than a sphere with a light inside could appear so vividly human.

"Um…I-I might need to run a couple of tests," he stammered, "but…um – ha, I can't do it with you watching. Seriously. Sorry. I know, doesn't make sense, everything we've been through, but – well, I can't." He gave another nervous laugh and requested, "Could – could you turn around? It won't be more than a second. Just a quick diagnostic."

Rolling her eyes, Chell huffed and turned her back on him, still crouched on the ground.

"Hm…shouldn't be too hard to solve," she heard Wheatley murmuring. "Right…'Ello, there, diagnostics! Good to see you. Been awhile, I know, but better late than never. Ah. Yes. Here we go. Yes, yes, run the algorithm, of course – and, there we are, damage summary, let's see…Oh. Makes…sense. Bloody obvious, really."

Nothing in his words gave much cause for alarm, but the heaviness that entered his voice was worrisome. Even in full megalomaniac mode, Wheatley had always remained perpetually upbeat, and this was the first time Chell could ever recall him sounding glum.

She peeked over her shoulder, surprised to see him looking dejectedly downward, his top handle drooping. If he'd been in possession of feet, she was certain he would have been scuffing one shoe on the ground.

"We've all got internal batteries," he was explaining to the dirt. "Personality cores, I mean. And – " Wheatley's optic swiveled up to look at her, and he continued, "we last for centuries! We're designed to! One-point-one volts is all you need, so long as you, um, don't go plugging yourself into you-know-who's mainframe for lengthy periods of time, and then you might as well just use an electric chair to power a nightlight."

His optic drooped downwards again, and he said in a rush, "Look, I don't want to go into it – it's probably over your head anyway, with the brain damage and all – but my power supply is, um – well, fried would be a bit of an exaggeration, but –"

As Wheatley continued to babble, Chell knelt beside him, undergoing some heated internal debate. Deciding that cheating was probably warranted, and she leaned forward and traced the words, "How do we re-charge you?" in the dusty ground.

This direct attempt at communication startled Wheatley, who stopped talking long enough to read her question.

"Well, a stick on the wall, obviously," he answered. "But there don't seem to be too many of them around here. Plenty of wreckage, but not too many sticks on the wall."

Chell took a deep breath and rose to her feet, trying to remember every detail of Test Shaft 09. Surely there was a stick on the wall – to use Wheatley's terms – somewhere within the underground facility that they could find and use to re-power him.

"Um...There is a quick fix," she heard him say. "But I'm not crazy about it, though, honestly. At all."

When he didn't continue, she glanced down at him, waiting for him to finish.

He peered up at her. "You could always put me in a potato battery."

The jacket to Chell's jumpsuit contained Velcro loops on each shoulder, intended for use by the robotic system that dressed test subjects in preparation for the Enrichment Center. After a couple of failed attempts, she managed to rig up a harness that enabled her to carry Wheatley on her back, and started out for the Abandonment Hatch.

He disliked the new traveling arrangement, preferring the smoother ride of the zero-point energy field manipulator on the ASHPD. However, he conceded to its necessity after accompanying Chell through a couple of high-velocity portals. The ASHPD couldn't fire and grip objects at the same time, and given a choice between being left behind or dealing with the bumpy, backwards-facing ride on a pair of human shoulders, he preferred the latter.

As they made their way into Test Shaft 09, Wheatley kept up his usual friendly narration, remarking about everything from Cave Johnson's recordings, to proffering opinions about old Aperture's archaic technologies ("Look at this place! Not a management rail in sight! Like a bloody archaeological dig. Fewer skeletons, of course").

Chell didn't object to the running commentary – much. Perhaps that's what had put the added sting into Wheatley's betrayal, she mused. 'Yes' and 'apple' were all he'd ever asked her to say, and when she didn't, there was no more badgering. No endless questions about why she didn't talk, or long, deliberate pauses that were intended to render her so uncomfortable that she felt obligated to fill the silence.

Instead, he'd taken up the slack and talked for them both. After her first stint through the Enrichment Center, along with nothing but Her voice for company, Chell found Wheatley's endless stream of conversation somewhat off-putting. But she'd quickly decided that if she had to be back in this God-forsaken place, she preferred the aid of a partner, even it was one who didn't ever shut up. At least, that's how she felt until the little twit up and went off on a god complex and tried to murder her.

To his credit, though, Wheatley's affable nature had returned almost the instant he was disconnected from Her mainframe. Similarly, She started showing signs of a moral compass during Her tenure in a potato. The programming within the Central AI Chamber was of a toxic nature, that much was obvious.

In fact, the longer she thought about it, the more Chell was forced to admit that what happened hadn't been Wheatley's fault, really. He wasn't the brightest sphere in the bunch, but he wasn't a moron, either, and Chell could sympathize with the vulnerabilities that accompany an inferiority complex.

She felt the same way, as a little girl – that her entire self-worth hinged on her ability to converse with others. She was smart, but she wasn't the star of the class, and she was a fast runner, but she never came first in any races at school. Her inability to talk was the only thing that made her stand out, and also happened to be the aspect she hated most about herself – not unlike Wheatley, who had been programmed to be an idiot, and then failed so spectacularly at his sole purpose that he'd been shafted off to other departments until he was eventually forgotten.

It was a cruel twist – to have the one thing you're not good at be the only thing that sets you apart.

"Are you all right?" Wheatley called from behind her, pulling Chell out of her thoughts. They were traversing a catwalk, and he'd been telling her all about his brief stint on the nanobot work crew.

She halted mid-step, and took a moment to look down into the toxic sludge below, staring at the murky lake of acid until her vision blurred.

That's why she'd saved him, she realized. Cliché or none, she and Wheatley were kindred spirits of some kind.

"Still – zzzt – there?" he queried when she didn't respond. In addition to the sparks, his speech was now also afflicted with intermittent bursts of static.

Chell nodded.

Wheatley had quickly learned to differentiate between the shoulder movements that indicated a nod for 'yes' and a shake of the head for 'no,' and he said, "Oh, good. Glad you're there."

She tore her gaze away from the lake, readjusted Wheatley more securely on her back, and continued walking.

Had Chell ever bothered to respond to Wheatley's original question regarding the plan for their escape, her answer would have been simple: Find another way out. Aperture was too large of a facility for there to only be one route to the surface.

Initially, she tried to avoid familiar terrain, but after their fourth encounter with a broken catwalk, she re-traced her steps and returned to the Abandonment Hatch. Along the way she banged on every door, fired portals on every surface imaginable, and entertained every suggestion Wheatley put forward, no matter how inane.

But as the hours passed, and Wheatley continued to buzz and spark with increasing frequency (as evidenced by the singed end of Chell's ponytail), the only destination they seemed to be headed for was dead end after dead end. To add insult to injury, they hadn't found a single power port.

Growing desperate, she decided to go back to Pump Station Beta, wondering if she had overlooked something. It took some time, but eventually she found her way to the main lift and portaled over to the office, which contained a hidden corridor that led to the dry dock.

"Oh, this is clever!" Wheatley exclaimed as Chell ducked through the concealed entryway. He was about to inquire where the secret passage led when a recording began to play, distracting him.

"We're working on a little teleportation experiment. Now, this doesn't work with all skin types…"

"Does he ever stop talking?" Wheatley complained. "Honestly, you can't walk two steps without him wittering on about gasoline or asbestos or other – zzzzt – disclaimers. This place is a lawsuit waiting to happen, seriously. Speaking of, how's your breathing? You're not coughing up blood, are you?"

Chell was too busy inspecting the vitrified test chamber doors to respond. After giving them a cursory onceover, she turned and walked through the entryway leading to the dry dock.

The chamber was massive, and no doubt once contained something incredible. Exactly what this might have been Chell didn't concern herself with, but Wheatley's curiosity was piqued, and he looked around with interest.

"'Borealis,'" he said in wonderment, reading this name off of the orange life preserver that stood against the far wall. "Hm. Odd sort of place for a ship, don't you think?"

Only half-listening, Chell walked across the metal platform and approached the gate blocking the stairway to the lower level. She put her hand out and gave the gate a hard shove; like last time, it didn't budge, but unlike last time, she decided to work around the problem instead of leaving and finding someplace else to explore.

She went back and set Wheatley down by the life preserver, and then began unstrapping her long-fall boots. What she was about to attempt required maximum freedom of movement, particularly for her feet.

"What – zzzzt – are you doing?" he asked, sounding apprehensive. "I mean, I can see what you're doing, but why are you doing it?"

Chell stepped out of the boots, relishing the sensation of walking normally. When was the last time she'd been able to walk flat-footed?

"I've got an idea," Wheatley called after her as she walked back to the gate. "But – um, but you need to come – zzzzt – back here and pick me up before I can tell it to you. So, why don't you just turn around and come back. Just come on back, right over here, and pick me up and I'll tell you my idea."

Chell just gave him a half-smile and knelt down, pushing the portal gun beneath the gate; she'd collect it when she made it to the other side.

"Wait – what – are you going to try to climb down?" Wheatley hollered, realizing what she was about to do. "Without your leg braces? Are you mad? What happens if you fall?!"

She was already climbing under the rail.

Wheatley watched in horror as his partner precariously balanced herself on the opposite side of the railing, holding onto it with one arm, and leaned out over a fifteen-foot drop with her other arm outstretched. Just when he was convinced all was lost, she grasped the railing on the steps and nimbly hopped across, circumventing the barrier.

He heaved a sigh of relief the moment her feet were on solid ground – er, stair. Honestly, the woman was crazy. She was a proper maniac, but his partner was something else entirely. Zero judgment whatsoever, knocking about and dangling from railings without any long-fall boots! No forethought, either – after all, if she fell and cracked her melon head, where did that leave him? By himself, stuck with no one to talk to but a life preserver, that's where. And they called him a moron.

Disgusted, Wheatley scowled (as best he could), and hunkered down to wait until she came back. If she came back, assuming she did not encounter a blunt object to the brain, which, considering her track record so far, was not out of the question, and (now that he thought about it) was probably a likely possibility.

"Bloody humans," he muttered.

Chell felt almost upbeat as she ventured into the dry dock. For the first time since saving Wheatley, she was making actual progress instead of just going in circles.

However, she had walked only a few meters when she began to realize this was a fool's errand – a vitrified fool's errand. Her first clue was the sensation of the ground beneath her feet; the floor was constructed of rough metal plates, but they were glassy-smooth to the touch, and cold as ice.

Confused – the platform where she'd left Wheatley certainly wasn't vitrified – Chell took a closer look at one of the life preservers that lay on the ground. It, too, possessed that same icy, glass-like quality, and didn't budge when she attempted to pick it up.

She looked back up and scanned the empty dry dock, trying to spot another door that (like the entrance they'd come through) had been blasted open, but every other possible exit was sealed. She began firing portals at random but to no avail. The entire room was nothing more than a dead end. Another dead end.

Chell stormed back up the steps and inelegantly squirmed her way under the rails and back onto the platform. Wheatley was too delighted by her return to notice her frustrated glower.

"You're back!" he said as she came over and sat on ground beside him. "And, you didn't fall! Tremendous! Ha, knew you could – zzzzt – do it."

Chell could tell Wheatley was waiting for some kind of response on her part, but she just sat there, brooding.

He tried again. "Find anything?"

Still showing no sign that she'd heard him, Chell grabbed one of the long-fall boots and started yanking it on, only to stop mid-way and stare off into space.

Now what? she wondered. Where should they go from here? Back to the Abandonment Hatch – again – and try another route, or continue on to Enrichment Sphere 04?

"Oi!" Wheatley bellowed, startling her. "Anyone home in there? Hello?"

Chell glared at him in annoyance, but forgot her irritation when she noticed his indicator lights. All three were flashing in quick succession instead of just the two, and now that she'd thought to stop and check, his optic also seemed dimmer than usual.

She held up three fingers to Wheatley, who nodded in his case. "Yeah," he said simply. "I know."

He attempted a lower-lidded smile, but she couldn't return it. Time was running out, and they both knew it.

Chell finished strapping on the long-fall boots, and sat back against the wall with a sigh, trying to release some of her frustration. Getting angry about the situation wasn't going to solve a thing.

I'm tired. I'm tired and I'm hungry, she thought dully.

"Are you okay?" Wheatley asked. "Might be time for a lie-down."

She placed her hand on top of his case in absent acknowledgement. A rest wouldn't be such a bad idea. She could shut her eyes for a little while, and then continue looking for a power port. There had to be one around here.

Coming to a decision, Chell freed her other hand from the ASPHD, resting the device in her lap, and reached for the orange life preserver propped up against the wall. It might make a half-decent pillow, she figured.

The instant Chell made contact with the life preserver, the world around her and Wheatley snapped out of existence. Both remained fully alert, but the experience of having their surroundings vanish and change in less than a heartbeat was so disorienting that even Wheatley was stunned into momentary silence.

The dry dock was gone, replaced by what looked to be a run-down, dilapidated lobby. A doorway stood across from them, and off to the left was a waiting area containing a desk and several mismatched plastic chairs.

Wheatley flipped over in his case to look up at his partner, who was wide-eyed and staring.

"Um, don't want to alarm you," he began, putting a laugh into his voice even though he was clearly panicked. "Although, as I've said before, alarm is a perfectly normal feeling, so – think positive! But we seem to have, um…actually, I have no explanation for what just happened, but I think given the circumstances that it's not – zzzzzt – unreasonable to assume that it's bad. Good news, though – always nice to have good news – I do think we are still in the facility. Uh, hello? Are you listening?"

When she gave no response, Wheatley huffed in frustration; really, some days the woman was about as dumb as a crap turret.

Chell was listening, but was also trying to recall the recordings that she'd heard earlier while exploring the vitrified test chamber doors. She hadn't paid them much attention, as they all seemed to concern a variety of ridiculous side effects that involved coal or peanuts or teleportation –

Wait.

"Alright, we're working on a little teleportation experiment. Now this doesn't work with all skin types, so try to remember which skin is yours, and if it doesn't teleport along with you we'll do what we can to sew you right back into it."

Chell heard the words echo in her memory, feeling torn between accepting the utter absurdity of the truth, and wanting to remain convinced that there was another explanation rooted in a modicum of common sense. However, given some of Mr. Johnson's other batty schemes, teleportation seemed almost mundane.

Well, no sense in dithering about the whys and hows when there was somewhere new to investigate. She gathered up Wheatley and his harness in one hand, the ASHPD in the other, and rose to her feet.

"'Corrupted Personality Relaxation Annex,'" he read aloud, taking notice of the sign posted above the door. "Hmm…Sounds ominous. Let's not go in."

Chell approached the door anyway, but halted when Wheatley continued his sales pitch, saying, "If you ask me – and you haven't, true, but this is a democracy – of some kind, anyway. So, if you asked me, my vote is to – zzzzt – not go in! Let's find a different way out! Bad idea, going through that door aaaaaannnnd never mind, you're still walking forward. Okay. So, looks like we're – zzzt – going in. No vote for Wheatley."

Chell gave his harness a gentle swing, teasing him, and broke out into a grin when she heard him mutter, "You know what you need to read? Machiavelli. Might be too much for you, with all the – zzzt – brain damage, of course, but if you ever recover, you should definitely read it. Because this is not a democracy."

She just rolled her eyes and proceeded through the door. As soon as she crossed the threshold, another audio recording began to play, echoing throughout the dimly-lit room.

"Hello, intrepid explorer!" came the familiar brash voice. "If you're hearing this, then that means you've stumbled on to a part of Aperture that no living eyes were meant to see! So get out. Now. Yeah, you. Door. Four-sided thing with an 'EXIT' sign above it – assuming you can read, which you probably can't, and if that's the case, then there's a great big pile of beard dirt waiting for you back through that door. Try not to smear it all in one place."

Just as the recording finished, a panel in the ceiling opened with a stilted, jerky movement, and something that once aspired to be a rifle descended to Chell's eye-level.

There was a click, followed by Wheatley yelling, "AAAAUGH! DUCK! RUN!"

Optic squeezed shut, he continued to shout, unaware that Chell had long since ducked, and not that it mattered anyway, because, per the note taped to the rifle-shaped device aiming at them, it had been cannibalized for parts decades earlier by someone named Gordon and posed no threat to anyone except excitable personality cores.

"Are we – zzzt – dead?" Wheatley cried when she stood up again. "Are you dead? Jump to let me know you're not dead."

Annoyed that he didn't have enough sense to open his optic and check for himself, she bumped him with her knee. Wheatley's lids snapped apart, and he made a loop of relief.

"Oh, well done!" he said. "We're not dead. And – hm," he continued, scanning the note. "Who's Gordon?"

Chell didn't know the answer to his question, or any of the other questions that were coming to mind as she took in the scenery. The room they'd entered was filled with dozens of large tanks, similar to the ones used in the relaxation vaults.

"Are – are those cryobeds?" Wheatley exclaimed.

They certainly appeared to be, although they were unlike any she had ever encountered. There were about thirty altogether, some containing humans who were perfectly preserved in active cryosleep, and others who had long since expired. Each bed was filled with purplish, transparent fluid, and connected to a central array of tubes and cables that dangled from the ceiling. At the foot of every bed was a monitor, along with what looked to be some type of identification number – and a power port.

"We never had anything like this at the – zzzt – Relaxation Center," Wheatley said, sounding affronted. "Look! All of these units have their own back-up power supply – I could've kept everyone alive if we had this sort of equipment! I mean, these are designed for deep storage – really long-term stays. Honestly, why'd they give us all those – zzzzzzt – bloody cryo-chambers when they had these lying around? It's – zzzt – pointless!"

Steeling herself, Chell began to explore. Monitors flickered to life at her approach, brightening the room, and she stopped to read the text scrolling across one of the screens.

NAME/ - KEVIN A -

OCCUPATION/ - ASTROPHYSICS INTERN -

CORRUPTION LEVEL/ - ERROR; OUT OF RANGE -

COGNITIVE FUNCTION/ - ERROR; OUT OF RANGE -

Other miscellaneous information was also displayed, including the occupant's height, weight, and date of storage.

What was this place? Chell wondered. Who were all of these people?

"Weird," was all Wheatley had to say on the matter. "Hey! Look! There's a stick on the wall down there! Why don't you – zzzzt – plug me in?"

Chell warily studied the power port on the cryobed, which was outlined in a glowing yellow strip. They had no way of knowing if this portion of the facility was under Her control. Would She find them the instant Wheatley was connected?

Not knowing how to go about pantomiming her concerns, Chell pointed to the yellow outline surrounding the port, hoping he'd make the association between the color and Her.

"Yeah!" he said encouragingly. "I know! It's a stick on the – zzzt – wall! Go on, plug me in. Just like last time, remember? Did a great job, last time – you're getting to be an expert at it. C'mon, plug me in. Won't hurt a bit, I promise."

She shook her head and pointed to the port again, more urgently this time.

Wheatley looked at the port, and then back at her. "Umm…I spy with my little eye, something that starts with a…a 'p!' For plug! Ha, got it, first try. Go on! Plug me in!"

Giving it up as a bad job, Chell just went over to the next bed, hoping this might distract him. Her tactic worked, and Wheatley began reading aloud the information on the monitor, for some reason assuming that she was illiterate as well as mute.

"'Percy W,'" he began. "Hunh. Bet he was a know-it-all, with a name like that. 'Percy.' About as bad as 'Eustace.' Anyway, sorry, getting off – zzzt – topic – okay, what else…Previously employed as an actuary – ha, now the name really fits. Corruption level and cognitive function – hmm, it says same thing as the other one back there – out of range. Wonder what that could mean."

Chell's gaze wandered from the monitor and down to the bed's power port, which was outlined in a glowing perimeter of pink. Finding this odd, she glanced over at the adjacent cryobed; its port was bordered in blue light. Were the beds color-coded?

"Ooh, this bloke's interesting," she heard Wheatley say. He'd taken notice of the person in the blue cryobed, and she walked over so they could get a closer look.

"Name…redacted," he said, reading from the monitor. "Occupation…also redacted. Huh, this thing's not very – zzzzzt - informative at all. What else, what else…corruption level is – forty-nine percent! That's not so bad! I mean, all things considered. And, hey, this is interesting – this guy's cognitive function is active! Think he's awake?"

Chell peered through the grimy lid of the cryobed; its occupant's face was half-concealed by the cloudy suspension fluid, but his eyes were most definitely closed.

"I quite – zzzzt – like the look of him," Wheatley said brightly. "He's tall."

Per the monitor, the man in question was more than tall; he was an astonishing six-foot-seven. Chell pointed this out, but the pitfalls that accompany excessive stature were lost on Wheatley.

"That's the point, innit?" he argued. "He'd be taller than everybody! Look, if I had to be a smelly human – and thank God I don't…er. Um…sorry, no offense. But, but if I did have to be a smelly human – which, as I said earlier, I don't – zzzt – but I'm sure I'd love it if I was – y'know, with, with your…ummm…folklore and everything. Anyway – zzzzzt – what I'm saying is, I'd want to be a smelly human who's tall. Besides, I like the look of him. He's a man who – who – who gets things done! A doer…a doer of things…complicated things. Brainy things. And that's another point – big bloke, must mean a big brain! What's not to – zzzzt – like? Bloody tall, and smart!"

Chell took another look at the man in the cryobed. He didn't look like much of a doer, in her opinion. He looked like an overgrown scarecrow.

Before she could respond, Wheatley erupted in a blast of sparks, his worst episode yet, scorching Chell's hands and arms.

"Sorry," he panted. "I – zzzzt – look, just pop me onto the stick down there. I'll charge – zzzzzzzt – back up and then – zzzt – we can –"

The hell with it, Chell decided. If She found them, then they'd just deal with the fallout when it happened.

Working fast, she untangled Wheatley from the makeshift harness and knelt down, plugging him into the port. Instantly, his optic's brightness intensified, and all three indicator lights stopped blinking.

"Thanks!" He made a quick spin in the port, saying, "Man alive, that's better. Wow. You don't really know how bad you feel until – uh, until you stop feeling bad anymore, I suppose. Hey, why don't you have a lie-down as well? It'll take some time for me to get back to full power."

Chell considered his suggestion. She was exhausted, and it would be a while before they could go anywhere…

Figuring Wheatley was right, Chell sat beside him, resting her back against the cryobed, and closed her eyes. She was asleep less than a minute later.

Chell's dreams were vivid, a series of disjointed recollections about her first week of school at C. Johnson Elementary. Random, insignificant details flooded her brain – sitting with the other children on the carpet listening to a story called Rainbow Cake, building towers at recess with the toy Companion Cube blocks – but something within those memories kept eluding her, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't pinpoint the missing element.

The sound of draining fluid cut through Chell's subconscious, and she awoke with a start, taking a wild look around. They were still in the Corrupted Personality Relaxation Annex, and nothing seemed to be leaking or otherwise amiss. Her relief was short-lived, however, when she turned to check on Wheatley. His optic was dark – the light had gone out, giving the impression of a grey, unseeing pupil.

Was he in a standby mode of some kind? Worried, she knocked on his hull, waiting for him to light up and give her a cheery hello.

Nothing.

Alarmed, Chell yanked him off the port and onto her lap, looking over his chassis in hopes of finding a reset button of some kind. Finding none, she then employed her dad's technique of dealing with uncooperative equipment, and gave Wheatley a hard smack.

His optic continued to stare up at her, frozen.

Panic was starting to build up inside of Chell but she smothered it, refusing to give in to the what-ifs and irrational fears. She'd be damned if she came this far only to lose him.

Grasping at straws, she went to hit him again when a familiar voice met her ears.

"Oh, God…that…was a bad idea. A really, really bad idea."

The puzzled expression on Chell's face darkened into a scowl. The little twerp had managed to upload himself into the cryobed! How were they supposed to escape now? She couldn't portal around lugging a cryobed on her back!

"Don't know why I'm surprised at this point," he continued in that same defeated tone. "All of my ideas are bad. Just once, though, it might be nice to have a good one. Break the pattern up a bit."

Wondering if there was a way to reverse the transfer, Chell climbed to her feet to look at the status information on the monitor. Maybe this would be an easy fix.

Her wishful thinking proved premature, however, and as soon as she stood up, it became clear that Wheatley's latest screw-up would not involve easy fixes of any kind.

The cryobed was open and empty of the suspension fluid. Its occupant was awake and covered in purple-tinted slime, and looked very, very miserable.

Wheatley hadn't uploaded himself into the cryobed, Chell realized. He'd uploaded himself into the human in the cryobed.