A/N: Hello all :) If you're reading this, I'm sorry again for the wait, and thank you for being here. Let's get right to it

It seemed that no sooner had Wheatley hit the metal floor, hard, than he was almost knocked silly again when something landed on top of his frame with a loud clunk. Dib had gone and dropped the portal gun on top of him. After downright dropping him first, of course.

"Oi, watch it!" he snapped, but Dib wasn't listening. He was too busy running to the girl in the doorway.

When Dib reached her he hesitated for a split second and then, to Wheatley's disbelieving eye, flung his arms around her shoulders. He was slightly taller than her, made even taller by his long-fall boots. Wheatley could see how much the girl tensed, her entire body rigid, until Dib pushed away from her and stumbled back.

"Sorry," he gasped, looking stunned at what he'd just done. He was staring at her, wide-eyed. "Sorry, I didn't…" Dib shook his head, and when he spoke again his voice was a croak. "Gaz—what are you doing here? You- you found me."

The name sounded vaguely familiar. Wheatley peered at the girl as she walked into the room, taking in the surroundings with a pointed frown. "It's a long story. And you're not exactly hard to track down, Dib."

Her mouth twitched.

"Ohhhh, it's you, isn't it?" Wheatley said from the floor, realization hitting him. "The girl from the house! With the—hang on, didn't you have wings?"

She was wingless this time. Instead, she wore the tank full of corrosive gel and the weird visor thing Dib had been wearing when he'd rescued Wheatley from Zim's house.

That felt like a lifetime ago.

The girl—Gaz—looked down and tapped Wheatley with one foot, ignoring his protest and raising one eyebrow. "So I guess this thing's not dead after all."

As best he could, Wheatley shot her a dirty look. Now he definitely remembered her. And he also remembered how much he had definitely liked not being around her. "No, not dead yet, but it seems like everyone's had a bloody good try lately." His gaze darted to Dib. "What's going on? How come every single person you know is suddenly bloody showin' up down here?"

"Well LOOKIT THAT!" GIR trilled, the bizarre little robot skipping over to the girl and wrapping her in a tight hug. "HIYA!"

Gaz's eyes snapped open in fury. She grabbed GIR's arms and flung him to the side, growling, "Thanks, I'm all hugged out."

"You thought Wheatley was dead?" Dib came forward, rubbing his forehead and still looking shell-shocked. "I called you on my watch, way back before all this—is that what I told you?"

"That's about the only thing you told me," Gaz said.

Dib had gotten a message out? Wheatley hadn't known that. Good to know he'd sent out a message and only managed to say that Wheatley was dead.

Dib's shoulders sagged. "I guess I forgot. A lot's happened since then."

The girl paused as though considering Dib, her gaze lingering on the raw scratches on his cheek. Her face seemed to soften a bit. "Yeah, looks like it."

Dib winced, raising a hand to brush the scratches. "Zim did that," he said, shooting a look at the alien. He shook his head, his eyes sharpening. "But what are you even doing here?! How'd you get here? How did you even find—NYAH!"

A blur of green and orange shoved him to the floor, a green foot slamming into Wheatley and smacking him several feet. Zim, metal backpack in place once more, now stood where Dib had been. He all but frothed at the mouth and jabbed a finger at Gaz, who didn't so much as flicker an eyelid.

"HOW DID YOU FIND US?" he screeched. "How did you track down ZIM?!"

Gaz leaned away from him with a huff. "You're the last person I'd look for down here." She pushed past him and approached Dib again, who was back on his feet and brushing himself off. "It figures you couldn't leave stupid Zim alone even when you're stuck inside some insane science facility, Dib. But anyway I got your message."

Dib blinked. "Did I… send a message when I called you?"

"Sounds like you sent the message that I was dead, for starters," Wheatley said. He had ended up a distance away from the rest of the group, up against the wall. GIR was looking at him with his head tipped to one side, probably wondering how good of a football he'd make. Wheatley narrowed his optic. "Don't even think about it, mate."

"No, Dib," Gaz said through gritted teeth. "The message you sent over the intercom. You said to come to the turret production room, so I came."

"A likely story," Zim growled, his shoulders rigid and his fists clenched. Four mismatched mechanical spider legs sprouted from his backpack and he rose up on their tips, looming over Gaz and Dib like a hulking beast.

Wait. Mechanical legs? Wheatley started at the sight of them, two of them gray and purple, the other two a stark black and white, looking like—

...Wait. WHAT had Gaz just said?!

His earlier thought forgotten, Wheatley flailed his handles to push himself more upright and stared at Gaz in horror. "Hang on, hang on, you got that message? Wha—That was supposed to go to Extended Relaxation! What were you doin' there?"

"Following a lead," Gaz replied with a shrug.

"W-was anyone else there?" Wheatley asked frantically. "Anyone? Did anyone else hear it?"

"Just Nick."

Wheatley's voice hitched. "Nick? Who's Nick?"

"Wheatley! Calm down!" Dib snapped, and Wheatley fell silent, blinking rapidly. "Gaz, you shouldn't be here. You… you have no idea how dangerous it is."

"I have some idea," Gaz retorted, which left Dib looking alarmed.

"Are you sure no one else heard it?" Wheatley prodded before Dib could say anything. "In Extended Relaxation—you didn't see anyone else there? A lady? Long black hair all tied up on her head? Probably wearing orange, like these guys here? Jumps a lot? And doesn't speak much, or—or at all, actually?"

Gaz tilted her head, fixing Wheatley with a scowl. "No. I saw Chell near there, but she didn't come with me. She just went off with the robot that grabbed Zim earlier."

"She… huh?" Wheatley faltered.

Dib frowned. "Uh, who's Chell?"

"ROBOT! That robot? I hate that guy!" Zim spat. He had retreated from Wheatley's vision.

Wheatley, bewildered, started to ask an important follow-up question, but Dib hurried forward and placed a hand on Gaz's arm. "Gaz, can we talk for a second? Somewhere?"

She shrugged him off. "Why? Do you think we have a lot to talk about?"

"Well—I mean, yeah—"

The girl rolled her eyes. "I thought you were doing something at least a little important here before I walked in. Talking can wait. Besides, you might want to make sure Zim's not about to bring the place down on our heads."

Whipping his head up to face Zim, Dib stiffened. "What are you doing?"

From his position on the floor, Wheatley was at the wrong angle to see what Dib was talking about. He wobbled his lower handle until he tipped over onto his side and was able to see across the room. Zim stood there in an odd display—he was still wearing his PAK, and had the tips of the four metal legs angled at the protruding wall where the master turret had been stored. He was blasting the wall with brilliant blue lasers.

"What… are you doing?" Wheatley said.

Zim looked up from his work to glare at them, his uneven antenna laid flat. "What's it look like?"

"I don't know," Dib said. "I don't think I'll ever know with you."

The lasers from the alien's metal spider legs stopped firing and he aimed a fierce kick at the wall. "I'm trying to get in there!"

"Okay. But, uh, why?"

"To take care of the death-turrets!" Zim snarled, and even from this distance Wheatley could see flecks of spittle flying from his mouth. Ergh, always nice to have a visceral reminder of how disgusting organic things could be. "Did everyone else forget? And now our position's been compromised!"

"Look, mate, first of all, they're just called turrets. Not death turrets," Wheatley said, wishing that someone would come pick him up, because sitting on his side was getting uncomfortable. "Where do you even pick this stuff up? Do you ever listen to a word anyone says, or what?"

Dib gave a humorless smirk. "No, he doesn't. He makes up entire halves of conversations in his head all the time. I've seen him do it."

As if reading Wheatley's mind, the boy crossed over to the wall and brought him back closer to the others, hoisting him upright so he could balance on his lower handle again. A marked improvement.

Zim, scowling, had turned back to his work. "When I get in here I am setting the death-turrets on you two first."

"But that's… not how it works…?"

"So what's he planning to do if he actually gets in there?" Gaz asked in a deadpan voice.

"Well, that's how we got rid of the turrets last time," Wheatley said. "Y'know back when I did this with the lady. The master turret is in there, or, it was, and it controlled which turrets were kept and which were tossed out. We pulled it out, but that didn't work, so it was my idea—or was it hers?—I'm pretty sure it was mine, to replace it with a crap turret. Mess with the template, you know. That way the system thought the crap turret was the right one. It threw out all the good turrets and let all the bad ones through!" He chuckled. "Brilliant. Definitely my idea."

"So we need a bad turret," Gaz concluded.

Dib glanced at the door leading to the catwalks outside. "One of the defective ones out there?"

"Yep, those are the ones," Wheatley said, bobbing his faceplate up and down.

Zim hissed, causing them all to look at him again. He hadn't made much of a dent in the wall. "ARGH, this stupid—" He backed away from the little alcove, teeth bared, and called, "GIR! GIR! Where are you? Quit messing around and get over here!"

"I got another friend!" the ever-cheerful voice of the two-eyed robot called from somewhere outside. Wheatley hadn't even noticed him leave. Neither had anyone else for that matter, apparently.

The little robot trotted back into the control center with his arms wrapped around another core. This one had an optic comprised of a ring of green-and-white triangles, and his lower optic shutter was lifted in the biggest smile Wheatley had ever seen on a fellow core.

"Ohhhhhh no," he groaned. So that was Nick.

"Hi guys! Hey!" Nick the Happiness Core sang from GIR's arms. His eye fell on Gaz. "Frowny-Face! You made it! What's going on? I was waiting outside for a long time, but there's no rail into here that I could find, so—HEY!" He spotted Wheatley and waved his upper handle. "Hey! I.D.! It's me! See? Looks like we both made it outta there! You know, when She was chasing us? Remember that? Man, that was great!"

Wheatley attempted a smile with his optic but it felt more like a grimace. "Agh—yes, Nick, I remember that. Hello, good to see you again…"

"Wait, so who's this?" Dib said. "And why does he remind me of someone?"

"Bloody heck, are you saying you know someone else like him?" Wheatley muttered. "I couldn't even stand the one."

"I missed you too, I.D.!" Nick cheered.

"Enh. Yeah, that's Nick," Gaz said. "He was with Chell and me and helped us destroy the big neurotoxin generator thing. And he led me around the facility. I'm almost glad I found you guys. Any longer with just me and him and I would've lost my mind."

"Don't worry, I'd've helped you find it again!" Nick said.

"What—but—destroying the neurotoxin was my plan!" Wheatley cried, ignoring the other core. "My old plan. Who told you how to do my plan?"

"GIR! Enough with this!" Zim broke in, his voice sharp. "Come get my PAK off again, and break down this disgusting wall!"

"Okee-dokee!" GIR chirped and dropped Nick to the floor, where he rolled over and bumped up against Wheatley.

"Hey, guess what, I've been giving a tour!" he said.

Wheatley gawked at him. "Who in blazes'd want to tour this place?"

GIR skipped over to Zim and yanked the curved metal PAK off, tossing it to the side with a clatter. Zim gave his head a shake as though dispersing a cloud of flies and regarded the little closed-off room again.

"Now, GIR! Blast this!" he said, indicating a spot on the wall with one finger. "Here! Blow it up!"

"Finally!" GIR yelled, and an array of ready-to-fire missiles sprang from the top of his head.

Wheatley's optic constricted by a fraction. "Blow it up?"

"You guys are destroying more things?" Nick said.

Dib jumped forward. "Zim! Wait, you can't just—"

It was too late. The missiles flew and Dib dove for cover, dragging Gaz with him.

The explosion rocked the room, jolting the turret line outside—several of the turrets tumbled off the conveyor belt with cries of alarm—and sent Wheatley crashing into the wall again. He bounced back and tumbled to the floor, dazed.

"Ugh," he said when everything had settled again. "Could've—I coulda done without that."

"Zim! Are you crazy?" Dib demanded, shakily getting back to his feet. "You could've killed us!"

"Psh. Not with that little explosion," Zim scoffed, kicking aside a bit of metal debris that had landed at his feet. A smoking, jagged hole had been blown in the metal wall, which GIR slipped into with a happy squeak.

"Little help, mate," Wheatley murmured, flicking his gaze to Dib. The boy hefted him up again and sat him back upright on the floor. As if with an afterthought he picked up Nick too, who seemed unfazed from the blast, and set the other core down next to Wheatley.

He rounded on Zim once again. "Yeah, okay, even if it didn't kill us, do you really think GLaDOS isn't going to notice an explosion?"

"Agh, mate—" Wheatley groaned. He went ignored.

"We're trying to hide out here!" Dib continued. "And she's probably keeping a close eye on this place. Turrets are one of her main weapons, so—" He broke off, noticing Zim mocking his words with flapping hand gestures and a rather unflattering facial expression. Dib knit his brows and turned away. "Why do I even bother?"

Gaz stepped closer to Dib with her arms crossed. "If we're likely to get caught, let's just mess this thing up and then get out of here." She looked down at Wheatley. "You said we needed a defective turret?"

"Yes. I would have preferred finding a different way in," Wheatley said, tossing a glare at Zim. "For the record, I was against the whole 'let's just blow it up' thing, but that scaly green guy doesn't listen to me, nooo—"

"Hey!" the scaly green guy in question shouted, poking his head into the smoking hole in the wall after GIR. "This place is empty!"

"Oh, great," Dib said, and turned once again to Wheatley. "What do we do now?"

Wheatley felt a flicker of irritation. How was he supposed to have all the answers?

Get a grip, mate, he told himself. You're good at thinking on your feet. So to speak.

Zim stalked into the little alcove before Wheatley could say a thing, calling back, "How are you supposed to control the turrets from this place?!"

Oh for Science's sake— "You can't control the turrets from in there!" Wheatley said in exasperation. "No one can control the turrets! Except for Her, I expect. You really were not listening, were you."

"I need a DEATH-TURRET to do my bidding!"

"This is unbelievable," Wheatley muttered. "Right, well, chances are even if it looks empty, the scanner does still work. So we'll still need a defective turret to put in there. Assuming that trick still works, and all. We might need something else."

"Hey, so wait, you're… trying to mess up the turrets again?" Nick asked, glancing around at the group with a quizzical expression in his optic. "I don't think—"

"I'll go get a defective turret," Dib interrupted, picking up the portal gun from where he'd dropped it earlier. He paused for a second, then added, "Gaz, why don't you come with me?"

Gaz pulled a face. "You just want to talk."

Dib didn't answer, instead looking back down at Wheatley. "You keep an eye on Zim, okay? We'll be right back. Scream if he does something really stupid."

What? Wheatley quaked. "You can't leave us alone with him!" He jerked a handle toward Zim. "You can't! You can't do that, little mate, don't forget what he almost did!"

He'd almost torn Wheatley to pieces, that's what he did. If Dib hadn't snatched him up on time he'd be a goner already. Maybe he could convince the alien to take Nick instead...

"Yeah, I know." Dib replied. He looked over at Zim, who had scrambled out of the master turret's alcove and was watching the conveyor belt outside again. "But I don't think he's up for doing anything like that again right now. We're not going far, and besides, we'll be able to see what's happening in here from out there."

That was true enough. After a moment's hesitation, Wheatley nodded and squeezed his optic shut.

He heard rather than saw the two humans head across the room and out the door. It slid closed behind them with a quiet whirring sound, which seemed hugely disproportionate to the amount of dread that settled on Wheatley upon hearing it.

It still didn't feel real.

That Gaz had shown up here, and had settled down to discussing plans with them like she'd been here all along. He closed his eyes, rubbed at them beneath his glasses, and opened them again.

Gaz had stopped at the foot of the stairs leading up to the catwalks near the turret line. Dib swayed for a second, bracing himself against the control center doorway. Somehow he almost thought he'd imagined Gaz. Conjured up an image of her and… somehow… convinced the others she was here too. But she hadn't disappeared. She was real.

"I came here looking for just you and you've gone and joined up with the same freaks as usual," she muttered as soon as he reached her.

The words swam in Dib's head, making less sense the more he thought about them. "You came here looking for me?"

"No, Dib, I'm here to scout out a summer home." Gaz popped open one eye. "Yes, you numbskull, I came here to get you out. So let's get this turret thing and then go."

Dib was astounded. "You know a way out of here?"

"Sort of. I'm working on it."

"But how did you get in here? Who's Chell? And what are you even doing here?"

Gaz seemed to be shaking with anger. "If I have to say it one more time—"

"Okay, okay!" Dib waved his hands in what he hoped was a placating-enough gesture, glancing over his shoulder at the door again. "Sorry. But you really shouldn't be here, Gaz, I'm glad to see you, but you shouldn't have—"

"Shut up."

"Huh?" Dib swung around, taken aback, to see Gaz looking at him with her face contorted in a dark scowl.

"I said shut up. I'm sick of people telling me where I should and shouldn't go. It's my decision, and that is it."

"But Gaz," Dib said weakly. "You're just a kid—"

She snorted. "And you're not?"

That brought him up short, though a reply hovered on the tip of his tongue. I'm not a kid, I'm a science experiment. And what about you?

As if that mattered right now. As if anything mattered now besides the fact that Gaz was in grave danger, and it was his fault.

She apparently took his silence as a victory for her, and crossed her arms with a slight smirk. "Ready to go now? Or have you decided you like it here too much?"

"Of course I want to go, but… how'd you even know I was down here? Did you come here with someone else? And Gaz, how'd you get here? I don't even know where this place is. Wheatley and I teleported here."

Gaz groaned. "Do you want me to try to tell you the whole story? Fine. Yes, I did come with someone else."

"What? ...Who?" Dib asked, perplexed.

"Don't interrupt me," Gaz said. "After you vanished who-knows-where, this woman showed up at our door looking for your stupid robot, but you were both gone. Then when you called me on the watch, she somehow recognized your surroundings and said you were in this deathtrap science facility, and she left to go get you out. So I took your lousy ship, picked her up, and she told me where to go. We ended up at this little shack in the middle of nowhere and came down here." She paused and rubbed at her nose. "That's it. Happy now?"

Dib's head spun with this new information.

The fact that Gaz had gone all that way to find him, not to mention what she must have gone through upon arriving in this place, was almost too much to think about. He would have to focus on that later, because just now it felt like a heavy weight had slammed into his chest as the pieces began to fall into place.

A woman had come looking for Wheatley? A woman who knew what the inside of Aperture looked like? Specifically, the areas that had to do with testing?

"This person you came with," he said carefully. "What was her name?"

"I already told you—Chell. She knows everything about this place. Supposedly."

Hm. Wheatley never had been able to give him the lady's actual name.

Dib's hands shook, and he took in a measured breath. "And… what did she look like?"

"She looks exactly like your robot said, except for the orange part," Gaz said, nodding toward the door to the control room. "Hair tied back and annoyingly silent."

That was all the confirmation Dib needed. It was her. It had to be. The person Wheatley had talked about non-stop—the one he'd befriended, betrayed, and then desperately sought to apologize to.

They'd been on a wild goose chase since he'd saved Wheatley from the Corrupted Cores Bin. The woman had never been trapped here, she'd been on the surface, and she'd been looking for Wheatley just as Wheatley had been looking for her. And somehow it had led her to Dib—and, in his absence, Gaz—

And now she was down here, somewhere. Free. And looking for him.

"Where is she now?" he asked in a rush.

Gaz looked at him askance. "What's it matter to you?"

"I'm asking for Wheatley."

"Hmph. Last I saw, she was heading away from Extended Relaxation, but she was with one of the robots from this place. That's all I know."

And she could be anywhere by now. If she was with a robot, maybe she'd even been captured.

He had to tell Wheatley—but how would he take the news?

And there was something he needed to tell Gaz, now that she was really here with him. Something he could hardly say out loud, didn't want to say out loud, because that might make it real too. He ushered her up the stairs a little, suddenly paranoid about the others in the control room hearing this. He didn't know what he'd do if Zim found out how alike they really were.

"What?" Gaz said, looking a little irritated at being pushed up the stairs.

"Listen, I realized something here," Dib said in a rush, but then was unsure how to continue. What was he supposed to tell her? "Gaz, do you… Do you know if your birthdate is really your birth day?"

Gaz's eyes opened a sliver, giving him her most unimpressed stare yet. "Let me guess. Something hit you on the head down here."

"No, really. Or do you have any weird early memories? I mean really early, like as far back as you can remember—"

"I'm guessing something hit you on the head hard."

"Gaz, this is serious—"

An explosive shout from the control room, easily heard even through the solid metal door, interrupted him. "THAT'S THE DUMBEST PLAN I'VE EVER HEARD!"

It was Zim's voice, of course, and from the sound of it they had about five seconds before things started blowing up. Again.

This discussion would have to wait, and so would grabbing a defective turret. Dib hurried back down the stairs and along the catwalk, Gaz keeping step behind him.

Before they reached the door, he slowed, his eyes fixed on his boots and his voice quiet. "Thanks for coming, Gaz."

His stomach knotted in a lurch of self-loathing. How dare he thank her for throwing herself in danger like this? It wasn't as though she could actually get them out of here. Now he just had someone else to look out for.

And yet, some part of him was overjoyed to see someone so familiar. To know he wasn't as alone as he'd believed.

"You'd better not hug me again," Gaz warned. "Ever. I will end you."

"Don't worry, I won't."

Dib rapped his knuckles on the door and hoped they could hear his knock in there. "Come on, we need to see what's going on in here. And… I have to tell Wheatley about Chell."

"I- I know where they are."

The little core hovered just on the edge of the camera frame, his dull red optic a small flickering point. He looked like he was ready to bolt back down the hall at any moment.

She adjusted the camera lens, making sure he noticed the action, and faced it into the core's twitching eye. "Yes?"

He jerked back. "Th-there's humans here, a b-bunch of them, and they- they…" He shuddered, his optic snapping closed for a moment. When he opened it again, his upper optic shutter was narrowed. "I know where you can—where you can find them."

"Then tell me, before you test my limited patience even further."

This core was not the best informant. He did not report in often and tended to flee, screaming, if he so much as glimpsed one of Her cameras turned in his direction. Even now, having finally gathered up the nerve to come to Her on his own, he probably didn't have anything to say that She had not already guessed. After all, with the neurotoxin production center out of commission, there was only one other place the talking metal tumor and the human following him around might try to attack.

The core's optic had snapped to the camera. He almost looked like he was about to make an angry retort, which was shocking in itself; but he seemed to think better of it, his eye shrinking to a mere dot of light and his frame quivering.

"There's a- a girl," he said. "A human girl, she's b-been to Extended Relaxation a few times and I f-followed her this time, and I heard…" He simulated taking a deep breath. "Th-there was a voice, someone I'd n-never heard before, telling her to go to Turret Production."

Her optic widened a fraction.

The watch She had stolen from the core and the boy, which had at first spewed every word the traitorous metal ball let fall from his vocal processor, had long since fizzled out and revealed only scant information along with a lot of mind-numbing static. She had only gleaned that there was, in fact, some sort of plan, but any other details were lost.

This had been their plan? To go to Turret Production and use the defunct messaging system to call Extended Relaxation for the boy's mysterious sister, hoping it would go beneath Her notice?

Only that idiot ball could have come up with something so asinine.

"I see," She said. "And who exactly has been helping them?"

The core froze. "Wh- who- wh-whaaat?"

"Who is the one that's been helping these fugitives? I know there must be someone, besides the Intelligence Dampening Sphere. And I am fairly certain you know who they are."

"I- I- I—" The core shuddered, seeming to have some sort of inner struggle. "W-why do y-you…?"

She adjusted the camera lens again, zooming in closer on the core's tense face. "Because I should have something special planned for them."

The core quailed, and glanced away. "I- I d-don't know who they are. I don't know."

A low, discontented humming noise emanated from Her processor. "For your sake, little core, I sincerely hope you're not trying to protect anyone. If you truly do not know, then that is all the information I need. And now I have a job for you."

The red-eyed core didn't look like he'd been expecting that. His optic shifted from side to side, uncertain.

"I had been monitoring a certain test subject. She managed to slip away, briefly, but I know where she is. I believe you may even have met her before."

Shakily, the core nodded.

"What I need you to do is find her, and lead her away from Turret Production. By any means necessary—though do not harm her."

He balked. "I h-h-have to- to go… TALK to her?! But- but- but she—but I saw—I saw what she did to—" His voice trailed off and he whimpered, tucking into his outer casing.

"Oh, yes, speaking of that. If you can't do this, then I'm afraid I can't do anything for your… little friend." Her optic was set in a glare, not that the little ball could see it through the camera.

His optic, impossibly, shrank even smaller. "But- but you said you could f-fix her…"

"I said I would see what I can do. However, you'll find that I am becoming less and less inclined to do much of anything the longer this conversation continues."

The core was silent for a moment, trembling. Then he whispered, "B-b-but how should I…"

"Be creative."

With that, She withdrew from the camera feed, leaving the Fear Core babbling to no one.

"Right, little mate."

Wheatley rolled his optic in the direction of Dib, in as exaggerated a fashion as he could manage. They were all gathered around the desk and office chair, where Dib had sat down after GIR had cheerfully let him and his sister back into the control center. Wheatley and Nick had been set up on the desk, as per Wheatley's request, so at least they were closer to eye level with the rest of the group. Dib sat leaning forward with his hands entwined in his lap, looking agitated about something or other.

Of course, he had plenty to be agitated about, so Wheatley elected not to ask about it and instead continued on with his thought. "And you're sure you didn't just mishear this, are you?" he said. "And that you can trust anything this person says—"

"I'm right here." Gaz, sounding unimpressed, said. "Why don't you talk to me instead of about me." She fixed him with a narrow-eyed stare Wheatley couldn't read, and he flinched. "And you still haven't told us what Zim was screaming about."

Zim was crouched in the corner next to the circular door leading out of Turret Production, clearly trying to stay as far away from the little alcove he'd blown up as possible. He had not liked the idea Wheatley had suggested while Dib and Gaz were out on the catwalks, which was frustrating because it was a good idea, but there were more important things to think about right now.

"Well, I just—" Wheatley floundered, flicking his eye from Zim, to Dib, then to the girl, and back to Dib. "It's all—it's all just a little bit unbelievable, isn't it? I mean, honestly, you're saying we can't rescue the lady after all, because she's already free and looking for us?"

"I think she's just looking for Dib, actually," the girl said. "We thought you were dead, remember?"

"Sorry about that," Dib put in helpfully.

Wheatley shot him a look of reproach. "But it makes no sense! How could she have bloody gotten out of this place without my help?" He tilted his faceplate and stared at the girl defiantly, daring her to offer some explanation.

Instead of doing that, she shrugged, looking uninterested. "I guess she just didn't need you."

Wheatley's optic constricted. "Didn't… need me? But that's—that's—"

That's ridiculous.

And my worst nightmare come to life.

He shook his handlebars, chiding himself. No, no, that's not it, my worst nightmare is falling down into the flipping abyss below the catwalks, obviously. Or being pecked to pieces by crows. Or, y'know, being fed to a walrus. Terrifying.

But, was it true? Could the lady have gotten out of here on her own, but had come back, and was now wandering around down here like they were? Looking for Dib, of all people, for some reason?!

"But we haven't seen her!" Wheatley blurted out, startling Nick. "We've all been running around down here for ages and we never saw her—obviously, because she's not here! I mean, she is here, but not free. Must still be locked away somewhere, but not in Extended Relaxation or she'd've seen my message. Unless she got lost, I suppose—"

"Wheatley, this place is enormous," Dib broke in. "There's no way we would've just bumped into her on accident."

"I did," the purple girl said.

"Well, I wish she could've come with you." Dib stretched out his feet to the ground and idly turned the swivel chair side-to-side. "We need to figure out what we're doing, fast. Obviously, Chell's not coming."

Wheatley narrowed his optic at the name. That was what the others had started calling the lady. But that wasn't right! The lady wasn't a "Chell," that name didn't fit her at all. She was more like… like… like a Gertrude, or something. Yes. Or maybe that lady he'd been able to watch on telly in the cryo-chambers sometimes, with the round killing thing and the name that started with an X.

They weren't even talking about the right person. The lady had never been to the surface.

Dib turned toward him, yanking him out of his thoughts. "Hey, you don't happen to have other parts of your plan you just didn't tell us yet, do you?"

"Err—" Wheatley's mind whirled as he tried to come up with something, anything to tell him, but no epiphany arrived. "...No. Sorry, mate, that was the whole thing. Besides getting rid of the turrets, which is sort of a bonus. We just have to, eh, get the empathy generators hooked up to Her, and all."

"Okay. So we have to somehow hook those up, find Chell, get a turret to put in the scanner, and we have to get out of here." Dib glanced around at Wheatley, Gaz, and Nick. The other two, Zim and GIR, seemed uninclined to take part in the discussion again. "So… does anyone have any suggestions?"

"Check the stats of our party and our collective inventory," Dib's little sister said.

Dib sighed in exasperation. "Gaz, this isn't—"

"—a game?" Gaz finished. "No, but it's the smart thing to do. We need to figure out what we're working with before we can make a plan."

"We're already doing a plan," Wheatley grumbled. "We're doing my plan, and it was going perfectly well until you barged in here."

"Except for the fact that your message didn't reach the person it was meant for," Dib pointed out.

"Details, details," Wheatley muttered.

"I only barged in here because Dib called me," Gaz said, turning her head toward him. "I'm not going anywhere."

Wheatley suppressed a shudder. This little human had deeply unsettled him since he'd first encountered her back at Dib's house. She just—agh, she reminded him so much of Her.

Gaz looked back at Dib. "So, we've got me, plus you and Zim, who share a single brain cell bouncing around between the two of you. And three robots who don't have any brain cells at all. I don't know where Chell ended up, but she's out there somewhere with another robot. I have an idea for something that can get us out of here, if we can find it. I've also got some corrosive gel and this stupid X-scope. What else have we got between us?"

"We've got me," Wheatley put in.

"I counted you as one of the robots with no brains."

"I've got some supplies," Dib said with a glance at his messenger bag, cutting off Wheatley's angry retort.

Gaz snorted. "Great, Dib. Let's save the world with sandwiches."

"Since when were we saving the world here?"

"Listen, can't we just take care of the turrets first?" Wheatley asked, his upper optic shutter still pulled in a frown. "Since we're here, an' all." When no one interrupted him, he continued on in a rush. "And even though you didn't grab a crap turret, I think I've got a better idea! We can use him!"

He gestured his upper handle toward Zim, who shot to his feet at once with his PAK in his arms, mouth pressed into a thin line.

"No! I already said no!" the alien said. "I am not letting that thing scan me!"

"But it would work!" Wheatley insisted. "...I think."

Dib's brow furrowed. "How's that supposed to work?"

"Well, those spider legs he's got. Two of them are made from turret parts, aren't they?" Wheatley's optic expanded, brightening a bit as he explained. "I mean, that's what it looks like, and I know what turret parts look like, believe me. I've been around 'em all my life. So we put him in there, with the spider legs out, and it should be just enough turret material to make him register in the scanner. All the turrets are made from recycled parts anyway, so it won't notice a difference. With him in there, it'll get rid of all the turrets, not just the good ones, since none will match up!"

"Works for me." Gaz shrugged.

"But why don't we just try the defective turret thing?" Dib asked.

"Like I told you," Wheatley replied, "back when I did this with the lady—"

"Chell," both Dib and Gaz corrected at the same time. Wheatley's optic shutters narrowed a fraction.

"Back when I did this with—Chell," he amended (he would have a right laugh when they finally found the real lady and this name turned out to be completely wrong), "that's what we used, and Nick told me while you two were outside that- that She's gone and set up something to keep that from happening again. Some kind of… what, firewall?" He glanced at Nick for confirmation. Nick just approximated a bright smile and nodded. "Er, yes. I guess. We should try something else."

"So we're just going with that?" Gaz grunted.

Wheatley pulled his upper handle closer to his frame, another spark of irritation fizzling in his processor. "Well, I didn't see you jumping up and down outside to snatch a turret, so unless you want to go back out there and waste more time—"

[Hello! Space Friend! Hi!]

He stopped, the soundless voice ringing in his processor. Aghhh, Spacey, not now…

"Er, hold on," he said, and retreated from the conversation around him. Dib cast him a funny look but the others appeared to ignore him without question. Somewhat reluctantly, he opened up his radio communication. [Right, Spacey, what is it?]

[Hi! Space Friend! Are you in space yet?!]

Wheatley bit back an audible sigh. [Let's get one thing straight, mate. All right? NO MORE QUESTIONS ABOUT SPACE. Thanks. Now that that's out of the way, did you give anyone that message? About us being stuck down here?]

[Yes! Yes, yes! Dib-Dad called the place! Called A- Aperture!]

Oh.

Wheatley recalled there had been the sound of a phone ringing, earlier, which he never would have thought could have been Dib's father. Whoops.

The Space Core continued on. [He says, he says there's another one. Also. Lost. Lost in Aperture. Angry Girl! Angry. No eyes. She's there too. Didja know that, Space Friend?]

Yep, Wheatley knew that now. He knew that very well, thank you. Maybe Spacey didn't actually have any important updates to give him; Wheatley decided to shift focus. [Here, Spacey, listen. These people here have got it into their heads that the lady—you remember her—is wanderin' around down here looking for us. I've been tellin' them they're crazy, but they won't listen. What do you think I should say?]

[Oh! Space Lady!] the Space Core responded enthusiastically. [She's good! But sad. Sad for Space Friend, I think. Told her not to cry. 'Cuz you're okay. Right? Space Friend is okay.]

[Crying?] Wheatley said blankly. [When was she crying?]

She never cried. Not even when—and it was a memory that pained him even more than most—she had been hit by Part Five, and was thrown across the chamber by bombs, and had looked up at him with that expression, that expression, that one of pain and betrayal and utter, utter hatred and pure determination—and yeah, sadness—but she hadn't cried, even when they had both thought her life was at an end and he had fought tooth and nail to kill her and she had fought even harder to survive just a few more seconds, she had never cried.

That moment, her face, was still seared into his mind. He closed his eye against it. But that just made it worse.

[At Dib's house!] the Space Core said, causing Wheatley to jump badly and snap his optic open again. [She cried, at Dib's house. Lookin' for Space Friend there! But Friend was gone. So Lady left.]

Wheatley blinked, wondering if he had hallucinated Spacey's last few lines.

[Hope- hope you see her!] Spacey gurgled. Then he gave an excited cry. [HEY! Hey. Hey. Can you see stars yet? I wanna see stars.]

Wheatley hardly even noticed dropping the connection. The room spun around him, unfocused, as though several gyros in his frame had come loose, and he found himself simulating quick, frantic breaths.

It took him several seconds to even notice Dib crouching in front of him.

"—all right?" Dib was asking, eyes wide with concern. "What happened? Does she know we're here?"

"All the more reason not to scan me!" Zim shrieked. Wheatley could only guess they had been going back and forth on this argument the entire time he was talking to Spacey.

"Wheatley, what's—" Dib started again, but Wheatley interrupted him.

"She- she was at your house!" he said, his voice sounding strangled even to his own aural processors. "The lady—she found Spacey! She was looking for me! She—Ch-Chell?—She was at your house!"

Gaz walked up to them noiselessly, her arms crossed. "What. Have we been telling you."

"So- so that means—" Wheatley's optic, contracted to a point, darted around the room, his optic shields pulled wide. "I've gotta get out of here! I have to go find her! C'mon, mate, pick me up, let's go—"

"But what about the plan?" Dib said, sweeping his hands at the turret line outside.

"Forget the plan!" Wheatley snarled. Dib lowered his arms, looking startled, and a sense of shame crept over Wheatley's processor. "Er. Sorry. But- but little mate, I have to—you know I have to find her. I can't just… this could be…" He shivered. "My only chance. I finally have a chance."

Dib took a breath, glancing around at Gaz and Zim with a questioning look. "We can't all just go out and run around looking for her," he said. "And I don't want to split up."

"Well she's bloody obviously not coming here—"

"You can take my connector!" Nick piped up next to him. Wheatley had somehow forgotten he was even there. "I couldn't find a way in here, but the connector and the rail should still be right outside the production center! You could take that and go look for her!"

Wheatley straightened up as much as he could on his lower handlebar. "Right, I'll do that then. I'm doing that."

"Talk to the nanobots for directions!" Nick added. "They're so helpful! That's how we ended up here!"

"But—" Dib gaped at Nick, then looked back at Wheatley. His eyes narrowed. "Wheatley, I told you I didn't want to split up."

There was another meaning laced in the words, and Wheatley pulled back into his outer casing. Lovely, another aching memory of his failures gouged into his mind. How wonderful that this one was even more recent.

"I'll come back," he promised. "I'll- I'll search where I can and then I'll come back, whether- whether I've found her or not. And then we'll keep going with the plan. And we'll get out. Okay?"

They stared at each other for a long time, Dib frowning in consideration. Wheatley's optic settled on the long scratches on Dib's cheek, courtesy of Zim. He wondered if they still hurt.

Let me go. Please. Please.

Finally Dib looked away, sighing. "I'll take you to the connector," he said, and Wheatley sagged in relief, his thoughts buzzing with excitement and apprehension. "Gaz, you'll have to tell me where it is."

Wheatley stopped listening to the rest of their chatter. He was going to find her. At long, long last, he was going to find her, the lady, who was "Chell" after all. And he'd bring her back to the rest of their ragtag little band hiding out here.

And then he would bring them all out of this place for good.

The tunnel wasn't as long as she had expected, nor did it lead straight into a trap. Well… not an intentional one.

Chell fell from the ceiling in what should have been a controlled crouch. Instead, her booted feet shot forward on the slick floor and she landed on her back hard enough to knock the breath out of her, the long-fall springs on her legs clanging against tile and the small, oblong object she carried falling from her hand. Water from the gaping hole above trickled around her.

Painfully she picked herself up and peered around the room, on high alert for anything else that may pose a threat.

She had arrived in… another bathroom. Sure, okay. The floor, as she had found, was covered in water, the walls and ceiling dotted with dark patches of water damage and rot. The whole place smelled musty. She had to get out of here. If that blue-eyed robot had seen her jump down the hidden drain, then She would know, and She would also know where that drain came out.

Chell was thankful Blue was too wide to follow her down through the tube.

She scooped up the object she had dropped—the alien's eye—the paper towels wrapped around it now partially soaked through. Well, maybe that would moisten the eye, at least. Keeping a tight hold on it, she headed straight for the door leading out.

It was closed. She pushed on it, but it didn't budge and she bit back a sharp curse. Leaning back, she planted a strong kick about a third of the way up the door but, unbalanced now, her foot slipped again on the wet floor and she barely had enough time to brace her fall.

No, no, no, she was getting out of here before anyone came looking for her. Gritting her teeth, she tried again, planting her foot as well as she could, making sure she was as balanced as possible, and putting as much force into her attack as she could muster.

The lock must have been worn down and brittle with age. The door swung wide at her second kick and crashed against the wall. Chell hurried outside to find herself in yet another hallway that looked the same as all the others. No telling where she was now. But she definitely couldn't stay.

She forced the door closed again and ran toward one end of the hall, then another hallway, turning corners and hoping against hope to lose whatever pursuers may be after her.

At least being away from that robot cleared her mind enough that she was able to think about what she should do next. She would have to be even more wary of detection, for one thing, since She would be looking for her. Gaz had to be found as soon as possible and her brother needed to be located and broken out of testing.

If they were both still alive to be found.

Chell's heart lurched and she took a shuddering breath. I'll find them. I'll find them.

I've failed them.

Chell had failed. She'd failed Gaz, failed the girl's brother, the girl's father, and she'd failed herself. After all, hadn't she entrapped herself in this place as thoroughly as she had trapped Gaz? She had never meant to come back here at all.

"Then, er," piped up Wheatley's voice in her head, as though it had decided to take up the role as her internal monologue permanently, "why did you keep the long-fall boots?"

Chell screwed up her eyes, staring straight ahead and taking a steadying breath. Because none of your business, that's why.

Because I fought for my freedom every inch getting out of this place, through blood and sweat, and they're the only things I have to show for it, besides the Companion Cube. And they're useful.

But even now she knew those were not the only reasons.

There was no time for thoughts like that, regardless. She did not have the luxury of doubt. The thing to do now was to run, and keep running, until she was away from this area and she could begin her search anew. If she happened to find Zim down here, maybe She would keep her word and exchange Dib for the alien. Or maybe Chell would be able to convince Zim she was on his side, and he'd help her in tracking the others down.

It was quiet now.

Alone, wandering the derelict halls behind the test chambers of Aperture, the memory of Wheatley was everywhere. The silence and stillness pressed around her like a cold blanket, emphasizing the absence of another voice. Chell found her eyes kept flicking up to the empty management rail above her head.

The core had gotten on her nerves from the very beginning. But despite everything, he had been the one source of color and light and friendliness she had known in this place, where even the walls seemed intent on trying to kill her. His inconsequential babbling about birds and robot ghost stories had been like an anchor, something to keep her mind grounded so she never lost herself in the hopeless maze of the Facility.

He'd been the only friend she could remember. Until, of course, the fateful decision to press that button.

She still wondered what might have happened if she had refused.

What would she do if she saw him again?

Chell's pace slowed without her realizing it. He was down here too, somewhere, alive or dead. What would happen if she found him? She couldn't afford to go looking for him, not now, with two lost children that were supposed to be under her protection. But if he were alive, and she happened to run into him…

Well, then what? Her entire body reeled with the immediate, absolute refusal to accept the idea of bringing Wheatley with them back to the surface. The thought of even being near him, actually near him, brought a sense of revulsion and horror. It was bad enough that memories of his voice were still ringing in her head, worse now that she was back in this environment, alone, and he felt so near that part of her worried she might turn a corner and find herself walking right underneath him.

She froze, for a single instant thinking she had heard the sound of a connector like the ones cores used running along a management rail. She barely breathed. How long she stayed like that, pressed against the wall and listening as hard as she could, she didn't know, but she heard nothing else.

Tentatively, she relaxed and started walking again. Just a trick of the mind. Her hand found the hem of her shirt and balled in a fist around it. Thinking about the core was messing with her head, and she despised the fear response it produced.

There was nothing to fear from Wheatley. Detached from the chassis in the Central AI Chamber, he was absolutely nothing. He posed no threat whatsoever.

And… honestly… if he was even still alive, there was no way he would have been put back on a management rail and allowed to roam free. Chell had seen the video of Her yanking him away from Dib, and She would never give him back up. With at least two known escapees running loose in the facility now, She would keep an iron grip on those she still had imprisoned. It would be extremely unlikely that Chell would be able to get him and Dib out, and she had to choose Dib. Otherwise this trip would have been for nothing. Let Wheatley stay where he belonged.

Her heart grew heavy at the thought. He had helped her, once. He had come back for her. But she had to push onward.

What to do now? She had no guide. No more markings on the wall, no chattering robot, no map—wait. Markings.

If that graffiti had told her to come down the pipe, mightn't it stand to reason that there could be more hints written around here?

Chell switched from a fast getaway to a methodical search, peeking in every room in the hall and checking for obvious notes left behind. She couldn't check through every cranny. Time was not on her side.

Every once in a while she heard it again, the whirr of a connector or the creak of metal, and every time she tensed, but refused to be scared into stock-still helplessness again. She would creep toward it, down hallways and around corners, but saw no sign of a core following after her. Yet.

Was it real? It couldn't be Nick, as he would have revealed himself by now. And if not him, then why would a core skirt around her, just out of sight, and not confront her or run off to reveal her whereabouts? She couldn't afford to go hunting around for it. Not if it may only be a figment of her starved and worn-out imagination.

"H-hello?" a tremulous voice called as she had this thought, sending shards of ice into her skin. A core with a quivering red optic peered around the corner, its gaze alighting on her before it retreated again.

Chell gave a start, her lips pulling back from her teeth. She recognized this core. He was the one from Extended Relaxation, the one who had been with the core that… Well. More importantly, this was the core who had reported them to Her, the reason she and Gaz had been separated and Chell captured.

She knew she was being watched.

Tensing her shoulders, she marched around the corner and stared the core in the optic, jaw set.

The core looked terrified. Its optic darted in every direction, landing only briefly on her before jumping away again. "I—sorry, I- I came to warn you! I know you're on the run, and- and I came to tell you, the Boss knows where you are!"

A burst of terror sent her heart thudding, but she clamped down on the feeling and forced it away. Of course the computer knew where she was, she'd jumped down a drainage pipe and hadn't gone far enough away from it… Still, the knowledge put her on instant alert and she scanned the surrounding area, ears pricked for any sound of metallic footsteps or the telltale flash of a dark blue optic. The blue robot hadn't been able to follow her down the drain she'd fallen through, but there was no stopping him from finding another route to her.

But she got no sign that she was being pursued at all, except by this stammering core here. She regarded it warily. It wasn't running off to go report her, like last time. Maybe it had blown its cover and was too afraid to leave now? Then why had it spoken up at all? Why was it trying to warn her when it was the one that had reported her in the first place? She would have said that this core had lost any leniency Chell might have been willing to grant it, but...

"Y-you have to run!" the core cried, and his optic flicked to his left. "There—um, um, there's a room over this way, that She wanted me to keep you away from. I don't know what's in there, b-but—"

Chell was already running down the hall. If She wanted her to stay away from a room, then her hunch about there being something important around here had been correct, and she needed to find it.

The core scooted ahead of her and brandished one handle at a final door at the end of the hallway, the interior dark. "It's th-that one," he said. "Right in there." He held back while she went ahead.

She stopped outside the door, attention caught by something on the ground. There were circular, metal hatches on the floor, two on either side of the doorway. Something urged her to keep away from them, though she couldn't recall what they did. Or, indeed, if they did anything at all, though they must be here for a reason. However, when there was no movement from them, she passed through the door and flipped on the light switch, and realized that she had found what she was looking for.

More or less.

She was in some kind of lab, a spacious room with plenty of work tables and not a computer to be seen. There were storage cubes stacked against the walls and dead turrets fallen to the floor, the room covered in a layer of dust. Assorted plans and blueprints lay scattered over the tables and fallen to the floor.

To her shock, laying on top of a few dusty portal gun blueprints was an actual partially-constructed portal gun—she grabbed it immediately, only to sigh in disappointment. It was dead weight in her hands, a cold piece of metal that lacked the buzz of energy in a working portal device. Nothing happened when she tried touching the levers. She dropped it back on the table and looked, instead, to the walls.

All along the three walls in front of her were loose sketches of the kind she had seen before while in testing, images and nonsensical phrases covering most of the wall-space. Some of the clearest lettering, painted in black, looked like stanzas from a poem or a song she didn't recognize. Clustered around it were drawings that set her teeth on edge.

They were all... creatures of some sort, humanoid things rendered in greens and browns with splashes of red for eyes, and their hands rendered with only two fingers. The first figures, or at least the leftmost ones, were drawn tall, but stooped over, with their legs bent at odd angles and a large red orb in the middle of their faces.

They had all been drawn with a third arm protruding from their chests, like something from a nightmare.

But as the drawings circled around the words, the figures distorted, becoming shorter, greener. They lost the third arm. The large red eye became two oblong ones. And in the last few drawings, thin, bug-like antenna sprouted from the heads.

These were more difficult to discern, as they had been scratched out with jagged marks of black paint.

Chell backed away, fighting back an odd, queasy feeling, but unsure what she was looking at. Carefully she unwrapped the damp package she was holding, revealing the oval, raspberry-red alien eye that had been taken from Zim.

This didn't make any sense.

She raised her eyes to read the painted lyrics again, but found they didn't seem to fit with the drawings at all.

'He cried and wept as they led him away to a cage

"Beast that can talk," read the sign

The creatures, they pushed and they prodded his frame

And questioned his story again

'But soon they grew bored of their prey

The beast that can talk

More like a freak or publicity stunt'

Disappointment weighed on her. She had come in here looking for answers, not more questions. Though, what had she expected? The mysterious person who had led her through the facility the first time, she supposed, couldn't be relied on to provide every solution.

But she let the frustration gnaw at her.

The other walls had similar images to what she was used to seeing, sketchy drawings of the perils found in testing. There was an image of what she recognized as a rocket turret, the optic colored with vibrant green paint and the picture captioned with the phrase, 'At least they don't lie…'

There were no more depictions of aliens or monsters. As she pivoted she saw more lyrics scrawled on the walls, some familiar and some not.

'It's only forever, not long at all.'

'Oh, you meant so much, have you given up?'

Why would She have wanted to keep her from coming in here? There didn't seem to be anything much of note in the room besides murals and a non-functional portal gun. Maybe the core had been mistaken? She turned to leave, pulling up short when she saw the words etched around the door. Part of it seemed to be a pointless continuation of the song:

'He cried and broke down the door of the cage

And marched on out

He grabbed a creature by the scruff of his neck, pointing out'

It meant nothing to her. But, written over the door frame, was the phrase that sent her heart hammering into her throat and turned her blood to ice.

'Hello friend,

Welcome home.'

They were only words. They were only words.

She repeated the mantra to herself even as she noticed she was backing away from the door.

They were only words, but they set off the fears living just beneath the surface and she wanted to run again, to sprint from this room and never look back.

Why had she kept the long-fall boots?

Perhaps, deep down, she had always known she would be coming back. Maybe she would always be destined to come back to this place, no matter how far she tried to run.

She pushed herself back up, planting her feet on the gritty floor.

No more running.

She had come here with a job to do. Twice before she had been pulled into this place against her will. But this time, the third, she had come by her own choice. She was here to get Dib. To get Gaz. To help Zim, maybe, if she felt like it. And she was here for herself. Because as long as she ran from this place, it would always hold power over her.

She was here because She—because the boss computer—because GLaDOS—no longer controlled her.

And yes, maybe she was here for Wheatley.

Because she didn't know if she could ever forgive him. But she supposed she had to give him the chance.

The words over the door did hold meaning, but only if she chose to give it to them, and right now she was choosing to leave. With a brisk shake of her hands she squared her shoulders and headed out the door. She needed to leave this area quickly. The core may have been wrong about the room he was supposed to lead her away from, but she didn't think he was wrong about Her knowing where she was, and it was only a matter of time before those two blue and orange robots were after her once again.

Her feet had barely stepped past the room's threshold into the hallway when Chell heard a sound that she recalled from nightmares, a shrill beeping that sent her diving to one side on pure instinct, and it was only then that she saw the blue targeting beam aimed directly at where she'd just been standing. A rocket flew, missing her by a hair and blowing a chunk out of the wall instead; she became aware of a second blue beam aimed at her, and another, and another, and she knew with bone-deep certainty that dodging four active rocket turrets at once was a feat that few people could accomplish.

She backed into the wall, jumping out of the way of another rocket, and another, ducking from the shower of debris that rained down when it hit. At this rate, if the rockets didn't get her, the products of their destruction would.

Possible escape routes flashed through her mind in an instant. She could run back into the room, but there was no other way out. She could dash into one of the rooms along the hall, but would encounter the same problem. Attempting to destroy the turrets was too risky without a way of redirecting the rockets, or even another weapon she could use. The last option was to run all the way down the hall and hope she'd make it.

She'd just told herself no more running. Well, this counted as an exception. When had making rash decisions in dangerous situations ever steered her wrong before?

The toes of her boots clicked against the floor as she ran flat out, throwing herself into a zig-zag pattern in a desperate attempt to avoid the projectiles. Her right leg began to scream with exertion, her limp growing especially pronounced, and an icy chill crawled down her spine at the thought of her leg going out and causing her to trip.

At long, long last she flung herself around a corner, crashing to the floor and landing badly on one wrist. Two more rockets flew by and hit the wall further down the hallway. The whole corridor she'd run through was pockmarked with holes and littered with white and gray rubble.

The turrets fell silent, though four blue beams began roving back and forth across the hall. She wasn't going back that way.

Chell sat up, leaning her back against the wall and breathing hard, closing her eyes against the pain in her wrist and the old injury to her leg. White dust coated her shirt and jeans, and clung to her hair so that it billowed in clouds when she tried to brush it out with her fingers. She puffed her cheeks and let out an angry breath.

That was a trap.

Yeah, of course it was a trap. Lured into an empty room and then set upon by four reactivated rocket turrets. She noticed, too, that the red-eyed core had been conveniently absent from the hallway during her frantic escape. She'd known immediately that she shouldn't have trusted that weasely little—

Her ears, pricked as they were for any stray noise, once again picked up the faint whirr of a core moving away on a management rail down a hall nearby. She climbed to her feet, hands curled tightly by her sides and shifting her weight on her hips to see how her leg was holding up. It still twinged, but it was fine.

She had had enough of cores. At least this was something she could damage with no weapons to speak of. There was nothing stopping her from ripping that core off the rail and rolling him back down the turret corridor. Not that they'd probably fire at a fellow robot.

Determined now, she advanced in the direction of the sound, turning another corner to see the core perched on the rail and leaning into the hall she'd run down, as if examining the damage. He had his back to her and hadn't noticed her coming.

She stalked toward him and reached out to seize his lower handle, jerking him toward her with a look of poison in her eyes.

"AAAAHHHH!" the core screamed, wrenching away from her grasp, and Chell released his handle as if the metal had scalded her palm. "LET GO! Let go, I'm not going back to—"

LET GO! WE'RE IN SPACE!

The voice roared in her head, a sensation like freezing electricity shattering her veins. A mistake—

She'd thought she was prepared, but she was wrong.

She wanted to clap her hands over her ears but the core had already swung around, vivid blue optic blazing, his panicked words dying in an instant as his vocal processor let out a choking sound and fell silent; she couldn't stay here, couldn't afford to betray a single emotion, a single thought—

His eye had become a pinpoint. Chell's expression, in turn, had regrettably frozen somewhere between complete shock and absolute horror, and she forgot to breathe.

"...O- oh," Wheatley said, his voice very small. "Hello… Ch- Chell."

A/N:

"A Trick of the Tail" by Genesis

"Underground" by David Bowie

"Exile, Vilify" by The National