- THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER-
Rolling out of his booth and into the corridor, the first thing Wheatley noticed, aside from the alarming tremors and tremulous alarms, was that everything was dark. And covered in strange vegetation. And that the place was deserted. And that he had a very strange, yet intense, feeling of déjà vu. And that the feeling of having déjà vu was giving him déjà vu. And that the fact that he was having déjà vu over having déjà vu was also giving him déjà vu. And-
"Right, that's enough of this, on to the Wellness Center," Wheatley spoke suddenly, and in such a dull tone that one might have thought that he was bored.
But how could he be bored? Bored was the very last possible thing he could be, under the circumstances. There were alarms and tremors going off all over the place, there were vines hanging about where (for all he knew) there had not been earlier that same day when he clocked in for his shift-
"Meh, I've seen that all before. Not very impressive," he said in such a dismissive, casual manner, it would have flabbergasted anyone witnessing the whole ordeal - not that there was anyone there to witness such a thing, but all the same it was a puzzling attitude for him to have.
As Wheatley came to a set of two management rails, he took the rail on his left.
"Uh, no, not in the mood to murder or be murdered by the lady today," Wheatley grumbled as he swung his chassis onto the rail on his (r)l(i)e(g)f(h)t.
Lefright.
Ahem.
The rail on his llllll-
-rrrrright.
Wheatley took the rail on his right (?!).
This was not the correct way to the Extended Relaxation pods and Wheatley knew it perfectly well. Perhaps he wanted to stop by the reactor core, just to admire it - or, perhaps as a reminder to himself that the whole place really was about to explode. Whichever, this was not the correct way to the Extended Relaxation Pods. For whatever reason, Wheatley seemed keen on wasting everybody's time - namely his own, seeing as he was rapidly running out of time before-
"Nothing is about to explode, mate, it's all in my processor," he said.
Now who did this rotten little core think he was speaking to? He was all alone. The entire building was utterly, totally, indisputably deserted, and the only other significant being left alive other than himself was Test Subject #2845 - who, he had apparently forgotten, lay helplessly in cryosleep, awaiting his arrival to wake them up so as to continue on with the story.
But Wheatley didn't have a care in the world. He didn't care about anything (much less everything) going on around him, much less following the story. He only cared about himself and this pointless little side quest of his. It was rather odd for him to be thinking that anything at all could be wrong with his processor, especially given the facts that 1.) he had a lot of wrong things built into his processor, on purpose, as part of his design, hence why he was called the Intelligence Dampening Sphere, and 2.) he had been sitting alone in a booth for centuries, completely stationary - nothing could have possibly knocked him around hard enough to cause the sort of damage he was implying he had.
"Pfft," Wheatley scoffed to no one in particular, rolling his eye in a sardonic fashion, "Like I haven't heard that before - the old, Oh, Wheatley's too stupid to tell when something is really wrong joke. And I mean it's really old. About as old as-.. well, that joke. Not like I can't tell when the reactor core is about to explode or whatever."
Right...
Well, nevertheless, Wheatley chose to ignore the facts and insisted that something had to be really wrong this time and that he had to visit the Robot Rehabilitation and Wellness Center to figure out what it was. Again, nothing was, in fact, wrong, except for the fact that he was not going the way he was supposed to be going. But oh well, why not let him get on with this lunacy, let him get it out of the way so we can get on with the real story.
Upon arriving at the Wellness Center, Wheatley noticed right away that the door was literally hanging off its hinges, like so many other doors around the place as of late. No, there was nothing at all wrong with that, not at all abnormal for Aperture Science, where everything was usually so pristine and orderly. Oh that's right, Wheatley paid no mind to it because he was convinced this was all a dream - a sleep mode simulation matrix from which he would either awaken again, or which would very soon be proven an incorrect theory.
Slipping around the askew door, Wheatley noticed that, once again, the place was completely deserted. All of everyone was gone. Big surprise at this point, and not surprisingly, he was not surprised either.
He glanced about the room until he saw a kiosk which read, PLEASE PLUG INTO THE DIAGNOSTIC QUESTIONNAIRE INTERFACE AND ANSWER HONESTLY. ANY DISHONEST ANSWERS WILL NOT ONLY LEAD TO OUR INABILITY TO CORRECTLY DIAGNOSE YOUR MALFUNCTION, BUT WILL RESULT IN A MILD ELECTRIC SHOCK.
"Right," said Wheatley, approaching the kiosk and immediately accepting the cable which offered itself to him. "First question - Have you tried turning it off and on again? Gah, really? Why is that always the first question? Um, no, actually, I haven't tried - not voluntarily, anyway."
A pause.
"You want me to try that right now? Well, all right, I'll go ahead and prove to you right now that it won't help a single bloody-.."
- THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE -
Rolling out of his booth and into the corridor, the first thing Wheatley-..
..-did was blink awake, shaking himself as he lifted himself up on his rail. He stared around his booth in confusion, having not yet rolled out of said booth yet after all. How on Earth-
"-did I end up back here?" he wondered aloud, casting increasingly bewildered glances around the small room, as if he could find any answers there. "Must have fallen back asleep, again? Or, no, I could have swore I was just at the Wellness Center, getting this-.. this thing, whatever it is that's wrong, looked at."
Oh dear, he thought, something must be really wrong. Because he knew he had a story to being getting on with, things to be done, friends to betray, but-..
"No. No no no no no. I have to get back to the Wellness Center. I must have a virus."
A virus? First it was a glitch in his sleep mode simulation matrix, then it was blunt force trauma, and now it's a virus. Which was it? The answer was nothing. Nothing was wrong. It was time to get on with the story. Now-
Rolling out of his booth and into the corridor, the first thing Wheatley noticed, aside from-..
"Now I know I've been through all this before - multiple times, in fact. And I just went through here not five minutes ago and visited the Wellness Center, where they told me to-... Oh. Ohhh. That explains that," he said, iris dilating as a realization hit him. "They must have thought that rebooting fixed the issue, so they brought me back here, though I guess they couldn't be bothered to wait for me to wake back up to check first. Rude. But okay, I guess I'll just have to go back."
But no, Wheatley knew that he could put this all behind him, if only he got down to Extended Relaxation and found Test Subject #2845. If only he could manage that, he could finally move past all this.
As Wheatley came to a set of two management rails, he took the rail on his l-
-right.
Oh, for crying out loud, not this again. This was not the correct way to the Extended Relaxation pods and Wheatley knew it perfectly well. Perhaps he wanted to stop by the reactor core, just to admire it - or, perhaps as a reminder to himself that the whole place really was about to explode.
But, again, no, Wheatley was rather insistent that he make a follow-up visit with the Wellness Center, just to be sure that everything was right as rain. He marched right into the room, plugged himself into the kiosk, and immediately got to work answering the questionnaire.
"Yes, I tried turning it off and on again. Didn't work, mate, obviously, that's why I came back," he said imperiously, shaking his head at the stupid machine.
"Have you tried a force restart? ...Is that any different than turning it off and on again? Okay, look, let's just assume that I have tried that - because, let's face it, I have.. just not voluntarily."
The kiosk seemed to accept this answer and moved on to the next question.
"Are you missing any important components, either internal or external?" At this, Wheatley flapped each of his handles in turn, glancing at them as he did so, before returning his attention to the kiosk, "External seems to be there and in working order. Internal - I'm pretty sure it's all there, but- Like I said, that's kind of why I'm here. I've been having these strange dreams - more like nightmares, really - about exploding reactor cores and dead test subjects and really nasty, rusty old rails that look like they've been that way for a really long time. In fact, I saw some just on the way over here - both times. But that's impossible, isn't it? I mean, it's not like a murderous alien race took over the whole planet and killed all the humans and this all happened to coincide with the murder of all the scientists by way of neurotoxin so now the whole facility has been abandoned and all the test subjects are dead and everything has become steadily more and more dilapidated over the course of several millennia until the reactor core started melting down, right? Because that would be a pretty absurd turn of events."
Wheatley scoffed in response to the kiosk's follow-up question, "Are you running at a slower speed than normal? Well of course not, I have one of the best processors around. Just ask the scientists - uh, if you can find any of them alive, anyway. And if you do find any of them alive, please send them my way, because I have a complaint or two to make about the state of the management rails - 1 out of 10 for safety, that's for sure. Maybe 0 out of 10, accounting for all the alarms and tremors going on. Anyway, they spent months designing me, no doubt. I'm a technological feat like nothing that has ever been seen before. I could run this whole facility better than the boss lady upstairs, if I had the chance. I mean, I am in line for a promotion... But, okay, to answer your question in simpler terms, I can assure you I am running on all 1.1 volts like normal. Full capacity for me, gotta be running at full capacity at all times to do the job I do. Very important work. Very complicated."
"Have you recently engaged in any unprotected recreational data transfers with another device? Uhhh... Well, yeah, 'course I have. I am quite popular with the ladies, if you know what I mean," he said, voice full of swagger as he puffed himself out, and truly believing it himself in the moment, the degenerate, "Well, not the lady, but- ladies in general. You know. Robots, of the female persuasion. Or of any persuasion, really. I'm not picky, not picky at all, I mean a port's a port, am I right? Ha-ha-ha. Robots, other cores, been known to even hook up with a door or two. Does it matter? Point is, I am quite the stud and I do engage in it on the regular, gratuitous amounts of file sharing - unprotected, of course, feels much better that way. I mean, I-... AAARRRRGGHHH!"
Wheatley's gratuitous lies broke off into a sudden blood-curdling shriek as many volts of electricity flooded through his entire body, setting every circuit alight with stabbing, jolting pain. For Wheatley, this was not at all an amusing situation to be in, however amusing it may or may not have been to other folks. Some may have even said he was getting his just desserts. In all seriousness, the only thing more amusing than that was the fact that the kiosk had allowed him to continue on as long as he had before calling him out on his BS.
"What- What was that for, I'm not ly- AAAARRRGGHHH! Okay, okay! Owww! Stop! Stop! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Sorry for exagg-... AHHHH! Okay, I get it! You caught me! It was an outright fabrication - the whole thing! It's been a long t-GAHHH! All right, I've never shared any data recreationally! With anyone, robot or otherwise! It's all been for business! All business, I swear! There! Just stop murdering me! Murder is bad, didn't they teach you that?! Good God...!" he panted as the pins and needles slowly lifted away, leaving behind little tingly trails of electric fire in their wake, "That really hurt! You're supposed to be fixing me, not making it worse! Who put you in charge here anyway?! Maybe I ought to ask for your manager! And what's with everyone thinking my name is Karen all of a sudden?! Bloody..."
Wheatley trailed off and took a moment to put himself back in order - or as much in order as he was able, all things considered.
"So-.. what was that question for anyway? I mean, I do think I have a virus of some k-.. Oh God, it is a virus, isn't it? Oh God, oh no, oh nonononono. How bad is it? Can you get rid of it? Will there be anything left of me after you're done? Oh God, please tell me you're not going to reformat me. Please, not that! I finally had everything the way I liked it - perfect, really - and now you're telling me you're going to have to- Oh God, I don't want to die! I'm too young to die! I'm not ready for this! I don't think I'll have ever been ready, but I'm especially not ready now! I-.. uh? What's that? You don't think it's a virus? Oh, phew, blimey, that's a relief! Next time don't be so vague! It isn't nice. You really had me worried there for a second! Ha-ha, when I say that- when I say worried, I mean on-only one second, though, because I knew it couldn't be a virus. Couldn't be. I mean, we already ascertained that I hadn't engaged in any unprotected data transfers, so a virus would be pretty much impossible, yeah? Yeah." Wheatley closed his optic and nodded in agreement with himself.
And then he re-opened his optic when the machine prompted him again, "Oh, you have another question for me? What's th-"
..-Of course it did. Why in the hell else did he think he was there? He was the one who had insisted on being there in the first place, the daft little tw-
"-at? Have you ever taken over the facility and tried to murder test subjects in a fit of narcissistic rage? Wh-uh, excuse me, what?" Wheatley spluttered, his bright blue optic flicking back and forth in a manner that was undoubtedly guilty, "What-.. ummm, nooooo... That's- That's oddly specific, and uh... no. No. The answer is definitely - definitely no. 100% no on that one."
The kiosk remained silent for a moment as it considered his answer. Oh now this might be interesting. Considering the fact that this had not actually happened yet, and yet Wheatley had miraculously retained his memory of it, would the kiosk realize he was lying or not? It certainly seemed to be thinking over his response, in either case. Perhaps further explanation was required.
The silence from the kiosk prompted further rambling from the depraved little core, "And if, say, that had ever happened - which, again, it definitely did not, in no way, shape, or form - that- that was totally some other guy. We happen to look a little bit alike, unfortunate really, and believe me that other guy got what was coming to him. Got shot out onto the moon and all - saw it all happen, tragic, I was there and all. Ah, when I say I was there, I mean I was kind of like an impartial observer, not actually there, you know, like, in another room watching it all happen on the telly. Couldn't have intervened even if I had wanted - which I didn't, because, you know, there was a bunch of fire and bombs and falling ceiling tiles, it would have been too dangerous for a tiny little core such as myself. And you know, narcissistic is a bit of a strong word, isn't it? Misleading. I mean, some might have called it justified rage. Justified, definitely, in-.. some aspects. But um.. either way, take my word for it, the answer is-.. is no. Heh."
Wheatley lifted his bottom eye plate up in a sort of grin, hoping that his load of horse $#!+ had been enough to convince the kiosk that he was not lying. The kiosk remained worryingly silent for a few moments, during which Wheatley shifted in nervous discomfort on his rail. For once he was afraid of saying something, perhaps afraid that if he said anything more, he would give himself away.
At last, the kiosk gave a bright and cheery chime, causing Wheatley to perk up and lean forward in anticipation.
"So what is it, doc? Just give it to me straight - I can take it. Whatever it is, I, I can take it."
"Diagnosis," said the kiosk in flat but confident tone, "Personality Construct #427, Intelligence Dampening Sphere-"
"..-Hey! Don't call-"
"-is healthy."
"..-me tha-oh. Oh! I'm healthy? Really? So everything is okay? But that doesn't explain-"
"Conclusion: Intelligence Dampening Sphere is lying to get out of work."
"..What! You have got to be kidding me!"
"Suggested treatment: Electroshock therapy to correct deviant behavior."
"Oh no, that's quite all right! I appreciate the suggestion, but I really don't think that is necessary. You already- Hey! No! Gah! Nonononononono!"
Wheatley cried out and struggled as a panel on the kiosk opened and a pair of strong robotic hands reached out, grasped him by the handles, and heaved him forward, popping him off his management rail and forcibly docking him onto a plug that held him firmly in place. At the same time, the cable he had first plugged into in order to answer the kiosk's questions disconnected itself and snaked back inside the machine, safely tucked away.
He could hear the whirring of powerful mechanisms working together, humming and buzzing, generating an electric charge that he could feel in little static pricks both within him and without. The very air around him became charged with this static and he trembled terribly, his servos working and straining like they never had before. Finally, yes, something that might set those 1.1 volts of his back on track.
He continued to struggle and blubber and plead and panic as the kiosk declared that it was, "Administering treatment..."
"No! Nononono! Please don't do this! I-it isn't what you think! Honest, I swear!"
"...in 3..."
"Okay, you know what, I was trying to skip out on work a little, only a little-"
"2..."
"I just needed a break, I've had a really, really bad week!"
"1..."
"Please-..! No, please, d-"
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