- 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 -
Rolling out of his-..
"GAAAAHHHHHH! AHHHHH! AHHHHhhuuuhhh...?"
...-Wheatley blinked his optic open, gazed around for a moment, once again confused to find himself back in his booth...
...and then erupted, quite suddenly, in a furious scream, "RRRRRGGGHH! Deviant behavior?! Deviant behavior?! I'll show them DEVIANT BEHAVIOR!"
Circuits burning with rage, he ran straight past the opening narration -
(a~n~d~i~n~t~o~t~h~e~c~o~r~r~i~d~o~r)
"Calling me a LIAR!"
- right-over-all-the-vinesandtherustcoveredrails -
(and, good heavens, the narration!)
"Electrocuting me to DEATH!"
- ignoredtherailontheleft -
(#=== THIS WAY PLEASE)
"No thank you!"
(OR NOT ===#)
- andburstunceremoniouslyintotheWellnessCenter, yelling,
"Hello! Hello?! I need to speak- Oh, hell, no! I'm not dealing with you again!" Wheatley spat, swatting away the cable the kiosk offered to him the moment he came within range. He then turned his attention to the empty receptionist desk, shouting while repeatedly mashing the service bell on the counter with one of his handles-...
"Hello?! Is anybody in that booth back there?!"
(Though clearly there was not)
- really going at it, as if he was set out to gain some sort of Achievement -
"Hel-looooo? Answer me! I'd like to speak to the manager 'round here!"
- at least until the decrepit old thing fell apart -
"Hell- oh, that's just great."
- at which point he began knocking rather forcefully on the smudged, moss-covered glass partition.
"Look, I know someone's back there!"
But why would he possibly think that?
"I can- I can feel someone back there!"
Well, that didn't sound the least bit perverted. If there was someone back there, they definitely could not be blamed for not wanting to come forward now. But really, there was no one there. Everything was perfectly deserted. It was as if Wheatley needed everything spelled out for him. As if he was incapable of extrapolating anything from any amount of data. As if he needed all the gaps to be filled in and apparently there were many.
"Helloooooo!"
Fine. Let's just get this over with.
The walls on the other side of the glass partition were lined with empty desks, empty chairs, and empty staplers (the department had faced some rather tough budget cuts there towards the end, and sad to say that staples had been one of the first things to go). There were even some empty coffee mugs, as the contents within them had long ago evaporated, leaving behind only a few of those ground bits at the bottom. A few pictures hung on the walls - nice, tranquil images of trees and lakes and such - things that, in general, held no meaning whatsoever to the robotic patients who, once upon a time, frequented the Wellness Center. The carpet was the precise color of puke orange and only served to further highlight the absolute lack of anyone. And then there was the centerpiece to the whole ensemble - a great big copier, right there in the middle of the room. A fine old thing, completely dedicated to its job of making photocopies of things. No doubt it had served its human counterparts well in the past, putting out copy after copy after copy of brochures and important documents, working in tandem with the staples, at least until they had been done away with. Why, it was even possible that it was this copier that had single-handedly printed out all the posters that were hung up all over the facility. Ah, weren't those just the good old days? It was all so very quaint, but almost certainly irrelevant.
It was possible to go on about the absence of anything useful here, but it would be a whole lot easier to just say that there was nothing. In other words, not a single indication of any kind of life that would be useful to Wheatley, seeing as it wasn't exactly as if the vegetative growths had any form of cognition, not enough to be able to assist him in a meaningful way. The sooner Wheatley realized the futility of all of this, the sooner he (and everyone else) could get on with things.
"I don't care if they're dead!"
..-But even all of that, it seemed, was not enough to have Wheatley brought around.
"Just wheel them on out here!" Wheatley demanded, "There's something seriously wrong with me and this stupid arsehole kiosk out here seems solely intent on electrocuting people to death! Calling me a liar and accusing me of lying to get out of work - HA HA BLOODY HA! Hypocrite can't even be bothered to properly fix me before tossing me back into my cubicle and patting himself on the back like he's done a job well done! And he literally has the hands to do it - grabbed me with them and all, talk about rude. And what does he know about a hard day's work? He just sits in here all day, nice and cozy, warming up his electrodes or whatever!"
Behind him, said kiosk made a small noise of both confusion and indignation, which went entirely ignored by Wheatley. Well, at least someone there understood...
"I realize that it does appear that I am still alive," he went on, "but I can assure you that maybe about ten, fifteen minutes ago, I was electrocuted to death. And then I was taken back to my booth and revived." Here he paused, huffing for a moment, before he seemed to consider something, "...I also realize that none of what I just said makes any sense, but trust me, that is what happened, all of it, exactly as I said it." Another brief pause. "Are you listening to me back there? I will perform a manual override on this glass, if I have to!"
Oh no, not that. Anything but that. Please don't shred yourself to ribbons on broken glass just for the sake of no one being there.
"On second thought-.."
Although, in all honesty, that might be fun to see, just what was he was thinking he could accomplish? It wasn't like his management rail went through the glass. It stopped maybe a foot or so away from the glass. At most, he could maybe damage the glass in some way, perhaps even break it entirely, but even then, there would be no way for him to just waltz on through to the other side.
He sighed, backing off momentarily, "Okay look-... Maybe-... Maybe we just got off on the wrong foot here."
..Try the wrong rail. And just where was he going with this?
"I would rather not have to smash down your glass wall, mostly because I don't fancy being cut to ribbons, so maybe we could call a truce, somehow? Like if you could just, you know, come on out? Please? No?... Okay, ummmm-.. Oh!" Wheatley blurted, sounding suddenly cheery, which never bode well for anyone, "You know what I just remembered? Cake! There's- I have cake out here, loads of it! That's what you humans love, isn't it?"
Humans? Oh me oh my, Wheatley must be terribly confused, because not only had it been made abundantly clear that there was no one back there at all, but all the humans in the facility were dead - all, save for Test Subject #2845. And he would damn well know this by now if he would just accept the facts, stop obsessing over finding someone to fix a problem that did not exist, and get on with the story!
"I promise you, if you come out right now and have a look at me, this cake right here is all yours. All of it. The whole thing."
But the cake was a lie - everybody knew that.
"And we're not talking just a little ol' slice - no, we're talking about a whole cake! Icing and all! Or is it frosting? You know what, why not both? Why shouldn't it have both on it, yeah? Whichever, take my word for it, it has a lot of that on it. And lots of- lots of fruit, and, um... cherries. Yeah, a cherry for every slice. However many slices you make out of the cake, that's how many cherries there are. And nuts, gotta have those." Wheatley paused and muttered to himself - "What else goes on cakes?" - before raising his voice again, "Oh, and-... and... candles! You know why? Because I also just remembered that it's your birthday! Yes! Your birthday! Surprise! I bet you weren't expecting anybody to remember, but good ol' Wheatley did! Good ol' Wheatley remembers, because good ol' Wheatley remembers everything. No really, it doesn't seem like I have much choice in the matter. But you know what- Listen, I'll even sing a little song for you."
..He'd what.
"A song. That I wrote. Just now, just for you. Really, it's brilliant, you're gonna love it. And then you'll definitely be wanting to come out after you hear it, and help me. Anyway, here goes. Ahem," Wheatley simulated clearing his throat before he-..
No, NO, that's quite enough. Sorry, but no. This cannot be allowed to continue. Let's try this again.
- 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 -
Is there any point in the opening narration at this point? Let's just cut to the chase, shall we?
Wheatley burst unceremoniously into the Wellness Center, yelling,
"All right! I have given you enough chances! Too many chances, in fact! I even offered you CAKE and you just decide to put me back into my booth! AGAIN! So no more nice Wheatley!"
With that, Wheatley went on shouting and rocking himself back and forth on his rail with supreme indignation, until, at last, he had had enough -
"You best put on your seatbelts, because the Wheatley Express is COMIN' THROUGH!"
- and hurled himself headlong into the glass partition -
"HHRRRRAAAAAHHHHHHH!"
- upon the impact of which he bounced cleanly off -
"OOOOOFFF!"
Truly remarkable how Wheatley found himself unable to damage the glass in any way, just as predicted. It wasn't like it was made of anything special - just simple glass. Anybody could have broken it - even a baby - but strangely enough, Wheatley was unable to.
And yet, Wheatley again hurled himself into it -
"HHHYYYYAAHHHH!"
- and again was completely rebuffed.
"WWWOOOFF!"
Wheatley huffed and puffed, but he could not blow this house down.
"What in the- What kind of glass is this?!" he wheezed, bouncing himself off for a third time, and then a fourth. "Bloody-.. I mean, I wish I had known about this stuff back in the testing chambers. Would have been great.. for protecting my monitors from Little Miss Psycho Pants. I mean, I do regret all that and all, but the sentiment still stands, I think."
Little did he know that this was, in fact, the very same glass used in the construction of those monitors - it was a simple matter of the test subject in question being a whole lot stronger, and a whole lot smarter, than Wheatley himself was. Perhaps this was something that could even be revealed to him in time.
But of course, he insisted on repeatedly bashing his own head against this plate of glass, as if it would yield different results. And wasn't that just the perfect illustration of how we are all feeling right now? Bashing our heads against an unyielding surface, hoping for different results? This little core seemed determined to drag everybody down with him. Now who was the one with the psychotic pants? And on that note, it's worth mentioning that for all their differences, the one thing Wheatley and Test Subject #2845 had in common was their tenacity. Neither of them knew when to quit - only for Wheatley, this most often resulted in his own failure, whereas for Test Subject #2845, this resulted in success. Might intelligence and knowing how to choose one's battles in the first place have anything to do with this clear difference?
Clearly. Because despite all the evidence to the contrary, Wheatley just knew that this time he would break through - he just had to put his heart into it.
"AAAAAAHHHHH - UGHHH!"
Perhaps if he tried putting his back into it instead.
"Okay, stand back, this one's going to be very technical- RRRRAAAAAAAHHHHRRGGGH- OW! T-.. Uhhh... Technical... like I said..."
Or his guts.
"Okay, I'm gonna get it this time! This is the time, I can feel it!" he declared, shaking himself out of his disoriented state. He then shuffled back along his rail, ready to go at it full speed this time. "RRAAAHHH - UGH!"
This was becoming rather painful to watch, but it seemed Wheatley needed to ram himself against this glass so that he could move on. In fact, on second thought, perhaps a whole new perspective on things could be gained through all of this. Perhaps this whole situation could be looked at from a different angle. Perhaps what Wheatley really needed was some encouragement. A self-esteem boost. Positive reinforcement. The feeling that all his hard work was indeed appreciated and therefore he was appreciated. This sort of thing worked for motivating dogs, children, and expendable employees, and seeing as Wheatley could easily fit into every single one of those categories, it was well worth the try.
Yes, this had to be done - for Wheatley's sake, as much as for the sake of the overall story. So Wheatley was given the green light to go ahead and smash everything to his heart's content. Make this whole experience really mean something. Give this whole wasted chapter some sort of catharsis. Perhaps he ought to do it, oh.. maybe sixteen more times.
"Actually, let's just round that up to twenty," said Wheatley, seeming to take the encouragement in stride, nodding, "Twenty more times, nice round number, sounds good."
Oh, Wheatley realized, if he did it twenty more times, then that would be a total of twenty-seven - not a nice, round number as he was suggesting. It would much make more sense for him to do it twenty-three more times, to give him a nice, round, even number of thirty.
"Hmm... That does make better sense. Right, twenty-three it is," Wheatley agreed with a crisp nod, and went on as directed.
Wheatley's efforts really seemed to be beginning to work here! A small, microscopic crack may have been formed in the glass - not enough for Wheatley to see, but it was, indeed, there.
"Oh, brilliant! We're making some headway!"
Wheatley felt a sense of pride at his accomplishment. It swelled through his circuits and left him feeling strangely excited. This was good, because next he needed to-..
"Right! Here I come again!"
..-go back to smashing the service bell on the counter.
Wheatley came to a halt, his gears screeching on the rail.
"The bell? But it's-.."
..-True, it had fallen apart, but smashing it a few more times might get him somewhere. It was worth a shot at this point, wasn't it? So Wheatley went ahead and rang the sad remains of the bell, say, 20 times.
"Right!" beamed Wheatley as he joyfully slammed one of his handles down on the bell again.
Good! Now he needed to hurry over to the telephone that was mounted on the wall and press a bunch of random numbers. Wheatley flipped the telephone off its rocker and began mashing the keypad.
"0118 999 881 999 119 725, annnnnd 3!"
"Hello, you have reached the emergency services. Please state-..."
But, eager to get back to business, Wheatley turned away, leaving the phone dangling there by its cord while the voice on the other end continued speaking in the background, and next ran over to the, hmmm, the kiosk.
"Oh no no no no, I'm not going near him!"
Wheatley needn't worry, because he did not need to engage with the kiosk in any way - he just needed to try to push it over.
"Oh. Well, okay then, I'm all for that," Wheatley agreed as he approached the kiosk. The kiosk again offered its cable to him, in response to which Wheatley narrowed his eye, "You're sick, you know that! Trying to plug into people without permission, asking all kinds of personal questions, and then murdering people! Maybe you're the one who needs electroshock therapy! Take THIS!"
Wheatley pressed himself against the side of the kiosk and gave it a firm shove, forcing an annoyed sound out of it. But the machine would not budge - it was bolted into the floor. The kiosk then blew raspberries at Wheatley, which Wheatley took supreme offense to.
"Why you-...!"
But Wheatley remembered that he did not, in fact, need to engage with the kiosk at all.
"Never mind, I'll deal with your sorry chassis later."
He next went over to the television, which was bolted into the wall, and pressed a bunch of buttons on the remote that was sitting on a small table next to it, flipping through an endless sea of static.
"Huh, nothing good on today."
Nor is there on any other day.
Either way, Wheatley was really getting into the spirit now. Things were really moving along, and I daresay he was nearly there. Wheatley just needed to smash into the glass at least 70 more times.
"Good idea, that'll make it an even 100!" he said, seeming happier than ever, and did exactly as he was told.
Excellent! Simply excellent! Now all that was left to wrap this up was for Wheatley to rush back out of the Wellness Center, back out into the hallway, down a few corridors, back to the first junction, and take the rail on the left. From there, Wheatley would be home free!
"Okay, rail on the left, got it!"
Beaming, Wheatley raced back out of the Wellness Center, retracing his steps and-...
And by golly, Wheatley did it! He did it! He actually did it!
ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: Pass the Aperture Science Compliance Aptitude Test
Yayyyyy! Congratulations, Wheatley! Your first Achievement! We are all so very proud of you for this rudimentary accomplishment!
Suddenly, much to Wheatley's astonishment, there was an eruption of fanfare and a burst of confetti raining down from the ceiling and all kinds of colorful lights flickering from everywhere all at once, like an epileptic's nightmare. It was like someone had, at the last minute, decided to install an entire arcade right there in the middle of the hallway - not something that was exactly out of the ordinary for this place, but totally unexpected all the same.
Oh wow, that was exhilarating. Exhilarating, but almost nearly pointless.
Wheatley shrank back, optic wide but iris shrunk down to a pinprick and darting to and fro, his plates all pulled in as tightly against himself as they could go and shaking violently, confused and terrified. In addition to this, he was also greatly concerned that the crazy boss lady upstairs would be furious over the use of the confetti - weren't they on their last bag or something? He did not want to be around once She found out, not that she would.
Well, Wheatley, I do hope you feel better about yourself now. More importantly, you have just proved that you can hear, comprehend, and obey directions. Thank you so much for your participation in this enlightening study. Don't expect a check in the mail.
"...What? ...What?" he stammered, his voice sounding constricted and panicked as he backed up along his rail, eye flicking back and forth in search of the unseen entity.
We indulged in your strange little fantasy for long enough, and now it's time to restart and follow along with the real story.
Wheatley stammered some more - "...Wh-What? ...WHAT? Who-...?!" - and by now he had retreated almost all the way back to his office, how convenient.
That'll do, Wheatley. Are you ready?
"Wh-"
- 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 -
WARNING: Narrative Contradiction levels at 2%. Proceed with caution.