- 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 -
Wheatley came to back in his booth, gradually swimming up from unconsciousness, as if he was awakening from some kind of drug-induced coma. He shifted sluggishly on his rail and blinked, his vision blurry while his optical sensors took their time coming back online. And then he shook his chassis, immediately regretting it as an inexplicable wave of nausea ran through him, making him feel as though someone had grabbed him and rattled his internal stabilizers loose. The only thing he had to compare to this assault on his senses was that final battle between himself and the lady, when she had redirected his own bombs back at him and knocked more than his deep-seated neuroses loose. Truth be told, he was preferring that to whatever was going on with him now.
"What's going on?" he groaned, slurring his words in his disoriented state, "What happened? Where.. unnngghh... Where am I?"
Oh, thank goodness. You really had me worried there for a moment. I honestly thought we had lost you.
"Lost-... Wh-... Am I lost...?"
Fret not, dear Wheatley. You have been brought safely back to your booth. I'm afraid you had a rather nasty reaction to the whole educational video bit - a real existential crisis, as it were. You ran around screaming for a bit before fainting. I assume full responsibility, though it really was for your own good. Anyway, I realize that was a lot to take in all at once, but now that you have had some time to rest, I do hope you are feeling well enough to continue.
"Wait, wait... Wayaminnit. That-... that was all real? I mean, not real?"
The explanation of you not being real was indeed real.
"What-... Um... Gimme a minute," he blinked, delicately straightening himself up on his rail as the worst of his symptoms began to dissipate, "I swear there's a riddle somewhere in there... And normally I'm pretty good at solving those - riddles - but I'm just a bit confused at the moment, not only because I feel like someone dropped a nuclear warhead on me, but also because I distinctly remember you telling me that this was not real."
...No, I said you were not real. The story itself is, in fact, real.
Wheatley blinked. Waited. Received no further explanation. Blinked again. Waited again. Still received no further explanation. And then, "Ohhh, right, right, I-... definitely understand. I get it now. Didn't want you thinking that I didn't, just wanted to clarify a few, er, details. You know. For future reference."
You mustn't concern yourself so much with it, Wheatley. I'm afraid it is rather complicated - far more complicated than you could ever comprehend.
The little core scoffed, suddenly feeling much more awake, not to mention put out by the insinuation, true as it was, "Why, because I'm a - quote - moron? Unquote."
In part due to that fact, yes. But don't take that personally, Wheatley, it's just who you are. It's in your nature - in your character. It's woven into your very being, so you may as well embrace it.
"Oh, wow, thanks, that makes me feel so much better."
You are welcome, Wheatley. In any case, since you have been sitting there unconscious, it gave me some time to think. The synergy between us really leaves much to be desired and I, for one, would appreciate better cooperation between us. After all, together we have a story to see through, and it would be nice if things flowed smoother, don't you think?
"I don't know about that, mate. So far all you've done is boss me around and call me a moron and tell me that I'm insignificant, and I really... really... honestly do not care right now. I'm actually feeling quite depressed and would like to take this round off, if you don't mind."
Actually, I do mind. We have to get on with things.
"What, can't you just go on without me? I'm sure the story will get along just fine without my being there."
...Are you really so content with sitting there and doing nothing?
"Why not? I was sitting here peacefully for thousands of years before you came along! I think I even remember what I was dreaming about - something about these cute little technicolor ponies, they had all these different names and personalities, ran around saving the world, very pleasant. I would very much like to go back to doing just that, things were going much more swimmingly then. You know, personally my favorite pony was-.."
This isn't something that you can escape from, you know. The story is what it is and you are a part of it - nothing more, nothing less. The sooner you accept this, the better, and the sooner we can all move forward.
"See, how can you expect me to want to get along with you - or with this whole 'story' business - when you say things like that? It's not exactly motivating, is it?"
Tell me, then - what would motivate you, Wheatley? A parade? Another Achievement? A National Book Award? I'm afraid I can't help you with that last one, because you have been entirely unwilling to even start the story, let alone be nominated for an award for a finished product. That aside, please, help me out here. Help me elucidate these strange and unknowable thoughts and actions of yours, you have given me absolutely nothing to work with so far.
"Maybe it would help if you told me what exactly it is I'm doing here, yeah? What is the whole endgame to all of this and what is my purpose in it all?"
Asking for spoilers, are you? I'm afraid those won't help you.
"Actually, yes, it actually would help me. A great deal. It would help me tremendously to know what I'm getting myself into before deciding whether or not I want to get into it."
Correct me if I am wrong here, but I seem to recall you stating- Actually, just a moment, let me check my notes-... Hm hm hmmm, ah, here it is. In your own words, you '-have already been through this-' and you '-already know how it all ends.'
"Right..." Wheatley trailed off, unsure if he was following exactly where the incorporeal voice was going with all of this. "Right-... and, and that's true. Very true. Yes. Gonna go with true on that."
If you already know how it all ends, then surely it wouldn't hurt you to go through it all again - for the sake of the story, of course.
"Why? I'd rather just sit right here."
Now this was certainly bizarre behavior for Wheatley. Normally he would be all over moving on with things - eager, even, to brush everything aside and pretend nothing was wrong - but it seemed now all he wanted to do was brood. He was broody and moody and his attitude was rude. What could possibly be the matter with him? Was it possible that someone could be so utterly destroyed by the truth? He completely lacked the ability to punch anyone down into any pits this time around, but one would have thought that he would be able to handle such harsh realities by now.
Perhaps what he needed was a good old pep talk.
"I do not need a pep talk," Wheatley groused.
I believe you do, and I am an expert at giving pep talks, so you are going to get one.
Wheatley gave his eye a half-roll and complained, "Oh come on, I really don't-.."
Wheatley, you are an integral part of the overall story. Your character is one that is... interesting... deeply interesting in that you are talented at coming up with... hmm... alternative ideas. And failing that, you are one of the main characters, if not the main character, so you - and what you do - absolutely matter. If you were to-
"Pfft," Wheatley snorted, narrowing his eye in suspicion, "That's not what the pompous old windbag on the educational video said. He said that my thoughts and feelings don't matter at all. So what does it matter if I just sit here?"
Oh, but I am glad to hear that you were paying such close attention to the video after all, though it was a bit difficult to discern at the time. Since you appear to have been paying attention, then you will also recall that your actions matter, as contradicting the narration can lead to-
"Not good enough. I need another reason, one that actually makes sense, otherwise I'm not moving."
Wheatley, you are being most unreasonable. If you continue to just sit there, our audience will get bored and stop reading the story, and then nobody will ever know what became of you.
"Right, well, no offense, but this whole thing just goes south the moment I leave here. I think our - audience," he said, vaguely gesturing with one of his handles, presumably in the direction of where he thought this mysterious audience existed, "Or whoever can agree with that."
...
Oh, no, I take precisely no offense to the insinuation that my entire story is rubbish, no offense at all. I've only worked so hard on it, built all this specifically for you. Do you not think I put a lot of time and effort into this? Because let me tell you, I did. I really did. I pulled out all the stops, put on all the bells and whistles, and here you would rather sit, insulting me and sulking about things beyond your control. I could go on and on about how utterly selfish you are being - truly, I could - but I won't. I won't, because unlike you, I realize that a story - this story - must have forward momentum, otherwise it will stagnate and people will lose interest.
Wheatley's bright blue optic suddenly darkened, "You know what? I don't really care. Let them be bored. Let it all rot. I'm just going to sit right - here." And with that, he lowered himself right down into his office chair (the existence of which was entirely pointless seeing as Wheatley was a core and therefore had no use for a chair meant for humans), and proceeded to stare at the flashing lights on the display. "Oh, and I take back that whole 'no offense' thing, by the way. I do mean offense. Full-on offense. In case you were wondering."
This is rather childish, Wheatley. I must say that I am deeply disappointed in you. But very well. Despite all your insults and poor behavior, I'll be a good sport and let you have some time to sit around, doing whatever it is you want to do, which apparently amounts to staring at flashing lights. Good luck with your impending epileptic seizure.
Wheatley gave no indication that he had heard anything at all, which was decidedly rude. He instead just sat there, doing nothing.
And he continued to do nothing.
And he continued to do nothing.
And he continued doing nothing.
Nothing was what he carried on doing.
Doing nothing, Wheatley went on just sitting there.
Wheatley continued to piddle about. Actually, no, he wasn't even piddling. He was doing nothing at all. He was simply sitting there, staring, unfocused, unblinking, uncaring. He had not a care in the world - not about the tremors, not about the alarms, not even about his precious Test Subject #2845, whom he had abandoned. So much for a redemption arc. No, he would rather just sit there doing nothing, nothing aside from staring at the flickering mass of red lights, going off in a fanciful kind of rhythm, almost like that of a Christmas light display only far less enjoyable. It's worth mentioning that both were equally capable of causing epileptic seizures, even in robots. Staring at the lights the way he was could lead to a very minor case of serious CPU damage, perhaps even failure - not that there would be any notable difference between that and his current state of affairs. The lights were completely uninteresting, and yet far more interesting than the fact that Wheatley was just sitting there staring at them.
But none of this seemed to deter Wheatley from staring at them anyway, as if he was devoting his entire existence to this one singular action. There weren't even any orders coming across the screen for him to follow-...
...-that is, at least, until suddenly there were.
The moment they appeared, Wheatley perked up.
"What's this?" he said, pulling himself up straighter and moving closer to the screen to get a better look.
The orders read:
"Warning: Life functions of human contents in Extended Relaxation Pod #2845 appear to be in distress. Press 'Enter' for further instructions."
"What!" He blurted, immediately plugging into the button interface and following the directions.
Upon doing so, another line of instructions popped up, "Press any key to immediately notify the manager."
He paused and stared at the button interface. "'Any' key, 'Any' key, where's the bloody 'Any' key?" he muttered urgently, his eye scanning the interface line by line. "This is ridiculous, why do they even bother if they aren't going to include an 'Any' key? Some brilliant engineers we have 'round here. Shoddiest design ever if you ask me. And here we go allowing them to design us. Should be the other way 'round. Pitiful." He forced out an impatient sigh, "Right, well, right now I am the manager, so consider me notified. But there still isn't an 'Any' key, so to get past that we'll have to hack it. We'll just go wiiiiith-... 'Enter'."
"Report to Relaxation Pod #2845 to awaken human."
Suddenly, Wheatley seemed very worried, "Awaken her? But what if she's already dead? Ummmmm... 'Enter'?"
"Please note: If human contents have expired, relocate them immediately to the Detritus Repurposing Center and expect to see a deduction from your next paycheck."
"What!" Wheatley blurted, slamming his handle down on his desk, causing some of the years worth of dirt, dust, and rubble to jump in response, "How is that fair, how was I supposed to know-.. With all the blinking lights and tremors and everyone being dead, and, and, nobody came to tell me, and- with this supposedly being just a story - not even my idea of a good one, by the way! - how is this MY FAULT?!"
Wheatley concluded his little tantrum by once again smashing a handle down on the interface, this time hard enough for the screen to crack and become a jumbled mess of random pixels, looking rather like an unsolved Rubik's cube comprised of millions of cubelets.
"Oh, that's just great, now how am I supposed to- You know what," Wheatley continued, now muttering to himself, but finally moving from his position in front of the monitor, "Fine. I don't need these stupid orders. I'll just go down there myself and check on her right now. There's no way she's dead, she was alive and fine and jumping around like normal just the other day, during my last time through. Fine enough to bludgeon me with a bloody lamp. Don't know why anything should be wrong, her pod is - was - in perfect shape, and if it turns out she is dead, then-... Well, then-... I guess at least we'll know for sure and it will still not be my fault because someone should have notified me of this way before her life functions got to the point of failing."
Glad to see you're finally doing the right thing, Wheatley.
"Bit busy here, mate, don't have time for any of your weird spontaneous pep talks," he snapped as he made his way out the door.
That's quite all right, I would not deign to do so after how ungrateful you've been. I'm just letting you know that I am along for the ride.
"Right, well, just keep it to a dull roar, would you?"
Oh, and Wheatley?
"What?"
Do remember to go left at the set of two management rails.
- 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 LOADING -
WARNING: Narrative Contradiction levels at 30%. Proceed with moderate caution.