Come Downstairs and Say Hello
CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
THE PART WHERE SHE KILLS THEM
(THIS IS THAT PART)
AN: Insert usual excuses about lateness of this chapter here, etc., etc., etc.
This was bad.
This was really, really bad.
On a scale of one to ten of all things bad, with one being a situation of niggling inconvenience, like getting hatched by a bird; and ten being a situation of massive alarm, like oh-dear-I-am-being-attacked-by-a-chainsaw, this was about a hundred and eleven. Because they weren't just going to die, they were going to be sacrificed on the altar of Science. Wheatley thought he would rather take the chainsaw, thanks very much. Although, if given a choice, he really would just prefer to stay alive. Alive was nice. Much, much better than dying.
He had always heard that a person's life flashed before their eyes prior to death. An up-close-and-personal double feature, so to speak, but minus the concession stand munchies and outrageously priced soda. He'd never believed such claims, of course, because honestly, who seizes the opportunity to engage in contemplative navel-gazing when they're about to join the bloody choir invisible? Not him, mate. He'd be doing something useful, such as ducking for cover, or running away, or waiting for Chell to come and rescue him. (This had been his pattern so far, anyway, and it's not as though he was suffering from a lack of life-threatening encounters to serve as examples of past behavior.)
Which is why it came as a complete surprise when, as the turret's laser honed in on his chest, and he heard the words, "That wasn't a request," his life did begin to flash before his eyes. Time slowed, just as the cliché claimed it would, his surroundings seemed to fade, both in sight and sound, and his own personal movie montage began to play.
The memories came easily this time. A flood of them, all in high-definition Technicolor images that were so crystal clear it was painful. He remembered his parents. His childhood room. A train set that never ran quite right. Getting his first pair of glasses, which was soon followed by his second pair of glasses when he accidentally broke the first pair on the playground. His cat, an enormous grey feline who loved to eat sandwiches.
The scenery changed, skipping ahead in time to his teenage years, and then fast-forwarding to his dismal tenure at Aperture. He remembered being put into a core, and the foolish belief he'd clung to that maybe, maybe doing so would result in a proper job, and prove that he wasn't a moron –
You're not a moron, he reminded himself firmly. He may not have been the brightest-lit core in the facility, but he wasn't a moron. Caroline had even said as much, after his word association test that day, so long ago.
"You're quite the…"
What was the word she used? Hmm…Pirannha? Paranormal? Para-something…
Paradox!
"You're quite the paradox, Wheatley."
He had taken it as a compliment, not knowing she was also writing down phrases like "cognitive deficits" and "illogical thinking" on her little yellow notepad. True, she didn't exactly have his best interests at heart at the time, but still.
More to the point, he'd proven himself pretty bloody well over the past few days. He'd learned how to use a portal gun, after all. He could successfully navigate a hallway of repulsion gel without losing his lunch. He knew how to operate a teleporting life preserver. True, doing so hadn't accomplished a thing other than giving Chell heart failure and leading them to yet another dead end, but it had resulted in a hug, and that counted as a tremendous, non-moron win in his book.
Nope. He wasn't a moron. He was a paradox.
Good word, that. A lot like 'narbacular.' Both were really excellent words.
Paradox…
Narbacular…
Paradox…
Paradox…
It was about then that Wheatley had the biggest non-moron moment of his life.
Chell hadn't known what else to do. The classroom was devoid of any portalable surfaces, and there was nowhere to hide. Following Her bidding and moving closer to the desk was akin to suicide, but it was their only option, and so when the turret announced, "Target acquired," she had thrown caution to the wind and hauled Wheatley two steps forward until they both stood a hand's breadth away from the desk.
One second had passed, then two. Three seconds. Four seconds. And now she was standing there, waiting and wondering why Wheatley wasn't seizing this opportunity to test out his theory of having a chat with a turret. He seemed to be in shock, but that wasn't exactly surprising given the laser beam aimed at his heart.
Finally, after ten very tense seconds, the turret's red laser blinked out, and the sides of its chassis retracted.
"Shutting down." It dematerialized a moment later.
Chell locked her knees to stop herself from sagging with relief. They were still alive – for now, anyway.
"Interesting…choice," She observed from overhead as Chell turned to check on Wheatley. "You've been making a lot of interesting choices lately. That's not a compliment."
A faint tremor rumbled throughout the classroom, making the furniture rattle. Chell took a step closer to Wheatley – he remained lost in a wide-eyed stupor – and stoically looked up towards the ceiling. The dingy foam ceiling tiles and yellowed fluorescent light covers had started sliding apart, stacking overtop of one another to create an opening. The walls were simultaneously lengthening, taking the bulletins boards and their respective paintings up almost twenty feet in the air.
Great, Chell thought bitterly as a familiar black mainframe started to come into view. Because I didn't already have enough reasons to hate this classroom.
She descended from the opening, slowly coming closer until She halted a few feet above the teacher's desk. Her yellow optic peered at the duo, going from a grimfaced Chell, to Wheatley (still thunderstruck) and then back to Chell.
"I had a lot of time to think," She finally remarked, "while you were both running around in the basement. About life. Yours. Mine. Mostly mine. And I realized something." Her head tilted to one side, optic widening in thoughtful reflection. "This whole time, I never had a really effective management plan in place for dealing with uncooperative test subjects. Aside from killing them, anyway…"
Out of the corner of her eye, Chell saw Wheatley start and then take a wild look around; the word "killing" had snapped him out of his abstraction. He balked the moment he spotted Her, but to his credit, did not run or try to hide, and was apparently feeling brave enough to reach down and give Chell's hand a quick, reassuring squeeze.
She frowned and tried to catch his eye – since when was he the reassuring one? – but Wheatley's gaze was locked on Her. A smile had started to play about his mouth, and Chell couldn't decide if this meant he was feeling optimistic about their odds, or if he had well and truly lost it.
"…So that's what I've done," She was saying as She sedately glided back and forth. "I've come up with a plan. I'm calling it the Illusion of Choice Initiative. And you two are my first candidates. Congratulations."
The ceiling tile directly above Chell and Wheatley slid aside, and brightly-coloured confetti floated down towards them, accompanied by the obnoxious whine of a party horn.
"That was really our last bag, by the way."
Wheatley drew himself up to his full height, gave a perfunctory swipe at the pink-and-blue paper on his shoulders and then readjusted his glasses. Just fly casual, he told himself. He'd had plenty of time to think this through. A few minutes, anyways. Better than nothing.
"Right. Okay," he said, donning his best game face. "Illusion of Choice Initiative. Great title! What, uh, what are the choices? If-if you don't mind my asking. I mean," he laughed nervously, "you probably do. Mind, that is. You probably mind a lot, but, you know, I just want to make sure we really understand what it is we're signing up for."
It was hard not to just shout out the phrase that was waiting on the tip of his tongue, but he knew it wasn't quite yet time to play his Ace of Fours.
"You both go back into cryogenic storage," She answered. She sounded bored beyond belief. "And I upload your brains into these." She shifted Her head to indicate the cores atop of the desk.
"And…?" Wheatley prompted.
Her optic narrowed.
"And what?"
"Well, I never was great at maths," Wheatley explained helpfully, "but I am capable of counting to one, and that's only one choice that you've given us. Uno." He glanced over at Chell for confirmation. "Am I right?"
Chell gave him a blank look and then, not knowing how else to respond, reluctantly decided to play along.
"Fine," She agreed as Chell nodded in the affirmative. "You can choose the color of the optics. I would suggest grey. It's more…slimming."
"Good suggestion, good suggestion," Wheatley said quickly. He wasn't sure why this inspired a dirty look from Chell, but he gave her hand another quick squeeze – Trust me! – and then stepped forward.
"So, just to make sure I've got it right," he said, "our choices are being put into a core, and picking a color?"
"Yes. And then cake will be served. Oh. Wait. Cores can't eat cake. Oh well, what's one more disappointment?"
Wheatley took a deep breath and reached out to rest his hand on his old core, as it to draw strength from its battered shell, and then lifted his head to face Her. He was of sufficient height that he did not have to crane his neck to look Her straight in the optic, and for once he was glad to be so absurdly tall.
"So, um, here's a third choice," he proffered. "I outsmart you, and then you let us leave."
This suggestion inspired several long moments of stunned silence, which was finally broken by the sound of slow, sarcastic clapping.
"Spoken like a true moron," She said when the token applause ended, and then added, "That wasn't a compliment, either."
"Yeah. See, and that's where you're wrong," Wheatley informed Her. "This whole nonsense about me being a moron. I'm not. A moron, that is. I'm a lot of things, but I am not a moron. Want me to tell you why?"
"Yes. Please. I don't think you've embarrassed yourself enough."
"Here's why," Wheatley declared. He leaned in until he was almost nose-to-chassis with Her and bellowed, "THIS…SENTENCE…IS…FALSE!"
Chell could not for the life of her figure out what Wheatley was up to, but she was reasonably certain the stress had finally gotten to him and that he'd snapped. In all this time, had he learned nothing? There was no way to outsmart Her. It just wasn't possible. All they could do was to try and stay alive, and hope that in doing so, a means of escape might present itself along the way.
"Shall I explain it to you?" Wheatley was asking. He sounded almost gleeful, certainly not how someone in their right mind ought to be while facing certain death.
Come to think of it, though…why was She being so quiet?
Chell watched with mounting confusion as Wheatley reached out a lanky arm and picked his old core back up.
"This," he announced, "just proves my point. It makes total sense you'd want to put Chell into a core." He motioned to the shiny new core on the desk. "She's a dangerous, mute lunatic. So, yeah. Put her in a core and all your problems are solved. But me?" He gave his chassis a one-handed lob into the air and smiled. "You want to stuff me back into this because you know I'm a threat to you, too. Ergo, I can't be a moron. Oh! Sorry, sorry – I guess I just threw a second paradox at you…"
Everything clicked into place for Chell as soon Wheatley said "paradox."
"No AI can resist thinking about them," PotaDOS had declared when they were making their way towards Wheatley's lair. "I know how we can BEAT him. If you can get me in front of him, I'll fry every circuit in that little idiot's head."
A slow smile crept over Chell's face, and she raised her eyes to meet Wheatley's gaze. He gave her a happy wink and turned back to face Her.
Her circuits were in overdrive. The sentence was false.
…No! Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it…!
He's a moron. He's always been a moron. But what if the sentence was true? Come to think of it, which sentence was even the sentence in question? The sentence about him being a moron? Because that wasn't false. He wasn't smart. He wasn't a scientist. He might've been a full-time employee, but he was fired. And he was an idiot!
...Then how did he know the sentence was false?
Perhaps he was not an idiot.
But he was an idiot. The sentence was true.
But He said the sentence was false…
Don't think about it.
Don't think about it…
"Huh. Think we broke Her?" Wheatley asked Chell when several minutes had gone by without any response from Her. Her optic remained lit, but She was just hanging there, frozen in place.
Chell just shook her head in bewilderment; she didn't have the faintest idea. These were uncharted waters. Had Wheatley's paradox actually worked?
Not knowing what else to do, Wheatley reached up and gave a quick one-to-three knock on the side of Her head. "Um. Hello? Anyone –"
The mainframe shuddered the instant his knuckles made contact, and Her optic shrank to a furious yellow slit. Wheatley let out a yelp and scampered back over to where Chell stood a few feet away. Yup, wherever She had been before, She sure back now. He crossed his fingers and prayed that his hunch was about to be proven correct.
The arm of the mainframe pivoted, and She turned to face away from them, as if to signal that She had made a conscious decision to no longer acknowledge their presence.
Wheatley's heart started to pound rather painfully in his chest.
Please be right, please be right, please be right…
In a voice that could have frozen a river in the hottest July, She uttered two words:"Get out."
There was a shimmer in the far corner of the classroom, and an elevator and adjoining exit shaft appeared.
Wheatley let out a half-laugh of amazement at the sight of the elevator. He'd done it. He'd done something right! They were going to finally, finally be able to leave!
He eagerly looked down at Chell, but she seemed rooted in place, as if she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. She couldn't believe it was actually going to be this simple. But, he reminded himself, Chell had never existed as an AI, and so had never known the temptation of a really nifty paradox.
He gave her gentle nudge and then offered her his hand. "Ready?" he asked, tilting his head to indicate the direction of the elevator.
Chell looked up at him. Her eyes were tired, but bright. Hopeful, even.
"Yes," she said quietly. She put her hand in his, and together they walked across the classroom and stepped into the elevator.
AN: Yes, there is an epilogue.
Please bear with the following wall o' text. Folks were wonderful and left reviews, and in the interest of being realistic with my free time, I'm going to respond to them here instead of PM'ing you individually.
Sockling – Thank you for the congrats! I'm glad you feel like everyone is still in character, especially given how long it's been between updates. I worry that the initial chapters are more tightly-written because I was far more "in the zone" during that time than I am right now.
Otakuchamasherlockluvr – Oh man, I goofed with Chell's subject ID number. I will try to correct it, but my memory is pretty sketchy these days. Thank you for catching it, though, and for leaving such kind words. I'm delighted that you chose my fic to read when you were at your conference.
Sir Taindoom – I'm THRILLED you joined ffdotnet! And I'm sorry my fic wasn't complete when you started it. I really appreciate your words of encouragement, too. The validation that comes with follows and reviews is awesome, but you are right – even one avid fan motivation should be enough. As for the Jeopardy chapter…that chapter, along with the original chapters of CDaSH, were written on my old laptop, and some files got lost in the shuffle when I changed computers. I've found the file, though, and will try to upload it to my tumblr. PS-Thanks for reading my Loki fic!
Ayuka86 – I'm glad I'm feeling better too. Thanks for the congratulations.
Fishapedvanilla –Wheatley and Chell attacking GLaDOS with a toothbrush? I HAVE TO SEE THIS PICTURE IF YOU EVER DRAW IT.
Kayathedragon – Thank you! Yeah, the "Chell, my Chell?" line gives me the feels, too. Aaagh.
Andania Shinrai – Your review contained extraordinary levels of awesome. I'm so sorry over the loss of awesome you experienced when the chapter ended. Hopefully this new chapter is sufficiently awesome to make up for the lack of awesome with which you have been forced to cope since I last posted, and perhaps it counts as a semi-cure for awesome-in-waiting until the last chapter is done.
Rabbtgirl Portal Fan – Thanks for the wonderful words!
LiveForeverOrDieTrying – Thanks for the congrats. I'll be honest, the cores-powered-by-sleeping-people was sort of inspired by The Matrix, so I can't take total credit for it. But I'm glad you thought it fit well into the Portal universe!
TheWordsmithWolf – I love me a good cliffhanger! I hope this makes up for it.
Forgot to Forget – Can I just say that I love your username? And yes, logging in and following a story is a lot of work! You guys put my inner lazy slob to shame by taking the time to leave reviews, seriously.
celebifan251 – I am 100% craptastic about remembering my Tumblr. Let's start taking bets on whether I even remember the password…
Joan – Thank you! Writing GLaDOS's inner IT woes is fun
Ventrust Westwind – 100 REVIEWS! AAAUGH! And thank you for saying I will be a wonderful parent. Luckily my daughter is a pretty easy baby, although toddlerhood is imminent, and I know the day is coming when I can no longer distract her with cheese.
GingerTyPerior – Yay!
MMiladinova – I SAY HOLY HELL, TOO!
MarkofAlitheia – I like your idea of describing it as a romance on slow burn. I'm all for instant gratification with plotlines and wanting to get to the Chelley parts, but a part of me always feels like it's not staying true to either character if they go from Hey-You-Just-Tried-to-Kill-My-Ass to glomming on each other by the end of the first chapter. Anyway, I'm sorry I kept you waiting for so long for an update.
Funnybombninja – OSIDJOSDIJOIFWOEIWIJOPEIJRWOERJJRJRJRJRJRJR SPAM!