Chapter 35, everybody! If you haven't played Portal 2 yet, you may want to pause and go do that….And for the record, writing Wilson as even partially villainous is surprisingly difficult for me.
And I wasn't the only one who heard Wheatley say that before the elevator goes….Was I?….
Apologies for dropping off the face of the earth with this fic—I'm currently in the middle of my Comprehensive Examination for my Ph.D., and my buffer's pretty much run dry on this (this was my last finished chapter). Writing was relegated to whatever I had handy off the top of my head—but rest assured, once my exam finishes (should be the end of this month) I'll be picking up on this full steam again. :)
Don't Starve © 2013 Klei Entertainment
Portal © 2007 Valve
This wasn't the first time in her life Willow ever had to do some fast-talking. She was going to have to utilize every trick she had learned right now.
Because she had the feeling she wasn't the only one talking to Wilson at the moment.
"I mean think about it," he continued, gesturing happily—it was weird at best, how he seemed to keep fluctuating between the Wilson she knew and the Maxwell imitation he seemed to be rapidly becoming. "We—well, technically, I'm in charge of everything now—"
"Wilson," she squeaked; cleared her throat and tried again. "We were going to escape, remember?"
"Think of the science!"
Granted, that was the sort of thing he would say. "Wilson, listen to yourself," she said, hand out—whether to slap him upside the head or keep him at bay, she wasn't sure now.
"All sorts of experiments that haven't been tried yet—"
"Wilson, you're starting to sound like Maxwell—"
"Oh, is that your problem?" he asked, accompanying it with a careless wave of his hand.
Maxwell had been trying to crawl away, but a panel opened beneath his legs and he fell away with barely a sound.
"There, see? Problem's gone," Wilson said cheerily. "Now where were we?"
Willow couldn't help but stare at the spot Maxwell had been. She had no love for that…thing after everything he had done to them….
But the way Wilson had disposed of him….
"Oh yes—we've got a lot of work ahead of us—"
"Wilson," Willow snapped, fear lending her desperation. "We were going to escape the facility, remember? That's why we put ourselves through this wringer, to get out!"
"Oh, you don't want to go out there," Wilson said with an airy wave of his hand. Willow involuntarily looked down. "The security cameras up there aren't sending down any pleasant information, if you get my drift—"
"I do," she said quickly, before he could inadvertently steamroll her again. "And listen to yourself—five minutes ago you had difficulty summoning an elevator; now you're talking about security cameras on the surface?"
"I get the feeling you're less than happy at this turn of events," Wilson said, hands on his hips. His appearance had changed subtly somehow.
"Of course I'm not happy!" she said, pointing. "Your eyes are black now! Gee, sound like someone else we know?"
Wilson waved off her concern—
And this time something did happen.
She had taken a few steps out of the elevator during the conversation, but now the panel she stood on tilted, sending her rolling back into the glass elevator.
The door closed before she could recover.
"I see you need some time to think about this," Wilson said cheerily, hands behind his back, bouncing slightly on his heels—much too much like Maxwell had behaved. "I'll get you over to a relaxation chamber, get you rested up—"
"Wilson, no!" she yelled, slamming against the door in an attempt to force it open.
"And then when you're feeling better we can go over—"
"Wilson! Listen!"
"The benefits of me being in charge."
"You're not the one in charge!" she yelled as he turned away, hand going up to dismiss her. "Why can't you get that through your thick skull, you—you moron!"
Even as the word left her mouth, she knew she had said the exact wrong thing.
The sense that she was in trouble deepened further when Wilson stopped dead in his tracks—
And all sound in the facility died.
He—and the facility—had froze.
He hated having his intelligence called into question.
He had always reacted poorly to being called variations of the word by Maxwell.
And right now, his brain was fried.
And she had done the dumbest thing she could have possibly done.
"Wilson," she began quickly. "I didn't mean—"
What did you call me? He asked slowly, trembling with fury as he slowly turned to face her.
Her insides turned to ice at the expression on his face—it wasn't anger, it wasn't fury—it was something far beyond that, like dynamite in the split second it exploded.
"Wilson—"
I AM NOT A MORON! he screamed at her, fists balled in anger—
And the entire facility rocked, sending her to the floor of the elevator as panels flew up—
And Wilson was in the air in front of her, bearing down just as badly as Maxwell ever had, face a mask of fury—she could hardly recognize him—
DO YOU THINK A MORON COULD DO ALL THIS? DO YOU THINK A MORON COULD OPERATE A PLACE LIKE THIS?
She was balled up on the floor, clutching her ears and the portal gun, eyes screwed shut, praying it would all end soon—
Even above his fury, she heard the tinkle of glass.
The sound of the elevator breaking.
This wasn't the sort of end I was hoping for, she thought bleakly as the pressure in the tube changed.
Some small part of her could have sworn she heard Wilson—her Wilson, not the one that walked and talked like a Wilson-shaped Maxwell—gasp and say "uh-oh"—
And then she was falling into the abyss.