"Huh… You're awfully quiet all of a sudden." Wheatley observed. "Spacey?"
When he didn't receive a response, he swivelled around in his casing to investigate, only to discover that the space core had gone still. His optic, usually bright orange-yellow, was completely black.
"Hmm, could be in sleep mode…" Wheatley muttered. "Spacey? Oi, Spacey!"
The space core remained silent.
"Spacey…?" Wheatley repeated, the pitch of his voice raising slightly. "You're not…" He paused, optic wide, then shrugged it off. "No, no this is fine. You're fine, I'm fine. Everything is just fine! I mean, it's not like I haven't been wanting a break—no offence, no offense meant! It's just, you're… you can be just a tad… much? Sometimes…?"
Again, he received no reply. Not so much as a peep—not about space or anything else.
"Not that it's a bad thing," Wheatley backpedalled, "being interested in, you know, 'things'… It's just, you rarely if ever seem to talk about much else—anything else. 'Space' this, 'space' that… Sometimes I can't get a word in edgewise, ha ha!"
He paused unintentionally, as if to give the space core a chance to say something for himself.
"Is… is any of this getting through to you? Hm? A-any of it…?"
Another pause.
"Because if it is, I'd really appreciate if you could do something to… I mean you don't have to 'say' anything, no, just uh… s-show me that what I'm saying is at least rattling around in there? Give a sign…? A nod? A hint?" Long pause. "Anything…?"
Wheatley himself was quiet for a long while, not sure what had happened or how to react.
"I guess…" He finally got out, "you really are gone…" The admission sounded wrong, somehow, as if he'd spoken too soon. He was beginning to wish that were the case.