Chell slowed almost to a stop. The new corridor was badly lit and she had to squint down at her feet to make sure she wasn't going to fall over any destroyed pieces of the facility, because there seemed to be a lot of those lying around, especially now that she was nearing, as He called it, His Lair. She silently scoffed at this – it almost seemed like he thought of this as a game. Suppressing the urge to kick something, she raged at the thought. This was no game. This was her freedom at risk and, very recently, her life. He was a monster, plain and simple. She vaguely missed the bumbling bot who had guided her through the ruins of her prison what seemed like an eternity ago, but she had nothing but a bitter hatred for this twisted version of her Wheatley.

With a violent shake of the portal gun, she silenced the sardonic potato, who hadn't stopped patronizing her since the 'death option' incident. She silently simmered, remembering how he'd presented her with a "perfectly serviceable death option!"

He'd asked her, basically, to lie down and die.

Suddenly, her foot swung out almost of its own accord, the cool material of the long fall boots meeting the steel resistance of a mesh gate. A hollow ringing filled the small hallway. Before it died from the air, however, it was rejuvenated, the rattling cutting through her in an unnatural way. She spun back towards the gate to see –

Tiny fingers gripped at the mesh, intertwining themselves easily through the loops, holding on like a lifeline.

"Lady!"

She squinted closer. There was a young boy trapped behind the gate of the mesh. He looked to be about ten, twelve at the most. His face was small and round, topped by a shock of deep auburn hair that stuck straight up. She moved closer to the boy, feeling a momentary swell of happiness. Another human! This poor child, how long had he been here? Certainly not as long as she had, but perhaps he'd wandered in from the surface and gotten himself into one messy situation after another and somehow ended up here. She reached out a hand and his tiny fingers latched on to hers.

Too late, she saw the striking yellow irises that met her slate gray ones, the only betrayal of his inner robotics, much like her tormenter in the next room, only this one was genuinely frightened, not unlike how Wheatley had reacted when GLaDOS had plucked him so violently from the control panel. His eyes were wide, his artificial breathing heavy, and his grip on her iron. He tugged anxiously at his leg with his free hand, and she realized he was stuck, the poor thing. Core or not, he was terrified and alone and young, and she couldn't just leave him there. He seemed to be buried under debris that had fallen through the shoot: messes of wire and curves of metal, peeling skin…

She stopped trying to free the little core, stepping backward and gasping at the sight before her. They were bodies, piled high behind the mesh gate. Decomposing bots, dead cores whose eyes had gone gray long ago. Synthetic skin peeled and hung from their hollow faces, exposing curves of metal and wires sticking erratically out of their cheeks and empty eye sockets. Some were charred, or missing limbs. The yellow eyed core whimpered pitifully. It had been left here to die, she realized. Her eyes fell on another core. A young man with pink eyes that must have been bright and alive at one point. Now, they were dull and half lidded and a faded color that shifted lazily up to look at her.

"Lady, help. Please? Lady!" He struggled madly to free himself from underneath the corpses of cores that had been dumped on top of him.

She retched her fingers from his tiny grip, stumbling backwards to witness the sheer mass of death of those who had never truly been alive. There were scores of them, most too far decomposed to recognize them clearly.

The yellow core whimpered again and tried to free itself from the pile. Her eyes traveled away from him, down to a green-eyed bear of a man at the bottom of the pile, propping himself up with some difficulty on his elbows, gazing interestedly at her as the little one kept calling for help.

These were corrupt cores, bots that were engineering failures, that had been programmed wrong, that were useless…

A cold glow from the next bin caught her eye, pulling her closer to the exit.

Oil trickled profusely from his gaping mouth, mixing with his messy blonde hair as it ran up the side of his face. His gray eyes, behind the spider-webbed lenses, were wide open, staring sightlessly directly at Chell, who stood there in shock.

Wheatley.

Of course. It made sense! Wheatley was never fully functional. He was broken, useless just like the others, the dead cores his lifeless body was lying on top of. His limbs were splayed twitching and sparking as his internal systems sputtered to a stop.

Chell backed herself up against the wall, sinking to the floor. Her eyes never left his gaze, until she threw her head back, her body racked with laughter.

He was dead!

Her shoulders jumped at every intake of breath and water streamed down her face at the sheer intensity of her joy.

There were footsteps, and the door at the end of the hall opened.

"Luv?"

With a gasp, she opened her eyes. The cold, narrow hallway was replaced by her own living room. The sunlight streamed through the open windows, her laughter replaced by shuddering gasps and a soft voice in her ear.

"…I – honestly, I don't know what was going on in that clever little mind of yours, but whatever it was, it's over. You're okay, luv, and I'm right here." The voice was given a physical presence as she realized that she was being held against him, his arms folded across her chest.

She was lying on the couch, propped up against him; she drew her knees up and curled herself around his arms, grasping at him like a life line, in a similar manner to her dream-Space. Her whole body shook as she fought back the urge to cry.

His voice came again, soft and concerned and so painful, as she conjured up those ghastly images of him lying behind the mesh – finally, finally dead, the harsh laughter that rang in her ears. Tears forced their way down her cheeks and she let out one choked sob.

He froze under her grip. She wiped the water quickly from her face with the back of her wrist and pulled away from him. She couldn't get him wet, not even a little bit; she couldn't risk it, not for a little thing like tears. Instead, she grabbed a pillow and buried her face miserably in that. Her shoulders shook with every muffled sob, and Wheatley drew closer to her, unsure of what had brought on her sudden bout of helplessness. He grabbed her shoulders and held her as she cried, not sure of what else to do.

"Hey, hey! It's over, luv, whatever happened – it was just a dream! What-? Why don't you, erm, stop leaking, and tell ol' Wheatley what's got you in such a – a-" She'd removed a hand from around her middle and laid it on top of his on her shoulder. "Oh." He breathed, holding her tighter and resting his cheek on her shoulder.

He was so close to her, he could just make out her faint mumblings. He ducked his head towards her so that her lips were at his ear.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please, I didn't – God, I'm so sorry, I never meant…"

He laughed rather nervously. "What are you apologizing for? You – you've done nothing wrong!"

He winced – his attempt at comforting her only made her state worsen. She leapt from the couch, away from him and over to the window, arms still wrapped loosely around her middle. He turned towards her, still on the couch, afraid to move any closer to her.

"Chell." He said, softly, leaning forward, "It's me, and whatever you dreamed about – and I have a fairly good idea about what – it's done, and it's never coming back, ever, ever again. I promise."

The woman at the window grimaced, placing a hand at her mouth. "It's not – I know. I know, Wheatley." She hiccupped, still looking away from him. "It's not about… that."

"Then what?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but thought better of it. She couldn't get that image out of her head, and that sickening feeling that it was her fault, she did that to him. She killed him, she'd wanted him dead –

No.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. His eyes were an unnatural blue, alive and well, and he and Chell were closer now than they'd ever been in that poison place. Things were so different now… but that didn't change the past.

She didn't respond; she couldn't.

"Chell, you don't have to –" he stopped suddenly as she gathered herself and strode towards him. She was acting unusual, how was he supposed to react but by sitting there and waiting to see what happened?

She stopped in front of him and stooped over, pressing her lips to his forehead. She held them there for a moment before breaking away.

He merely sat there, dumb-founded as he watched her dart up the stairs. He wanted to call her back, he wanted her to explain and he wanted her to know that whatever had her so upset, it was going to be fine!

But she was gone…

Chell locked her bedroom door and took a small leather bound book out of the top drawer of the bedside table. She searched around for a pen for a moment before settling on her bed, cross legged with the book in her lap, hunched over as she wrote:

'Not a second goes by that I don't regret every moment of that day…'