The Tale of the Flame

Once upon a time, a moth hovered near a candle flame. The flame took no notice of the moth, but the little insect came to memorize its every flicker and dance. A cold wind came and extinguished the candle, and the moth didn't know what to do with itself anymore except dwell on its memories of the flame.


Some Time Ago

Space was Space Core because he was designated so in his programming. He never questioned why he should be a Space Core, or why Aperture would need one, because it never mattered to him. He knew there was a thing called space, and he loved it.

He never entirely understood why the nice lady had rescued him from the pit of other cores, or what 'corrupted' meant. He didn't know why the ID Core was so angry at the time. All he knew was that he was in space now, and had been for some time. Space was bigger than anything he'd ever seen, with no walls or ceilings, and it went on forever. It was a sea of suspended lights where no one could ever label him 'corrupt' or put him in a small, dark place. Space was lovely. Space was Heaven.

Space would have been lonely, if not for the ID Core.

"Well, I mean, what else could I do? How else were we supposed to get out? I didn't know it would do THAT and I would do THAT and...I've told you this already. I'm talking in circles, aren't I, mate?"

The ID Core talked constantly, as if he were actually just programmed to do so. For a long time it was a background noise against the silence of space, and Space barely noticed. Over time, however, it occurred to him that the ID Core was saying words, and he started to understand those words, more or less. At the very least, he could tell from ID's tone that the blue core wasn't happy. How could the blue core be unhappy? To try to rectify this, Space Core would remind him of their situation in hopes it would cheer ID Core up.

"Space, space. We're in space! Circles in space. Circles around the Earth."

"It's just that you, you don't ever respond to anything I say! So I just talk to myself, on and on and on. Except I'm really starting to tire of that, you know? I'm becoming a bore. I am bored with myself. I'm even running out of things to talk about! We just saw a comet or something and I can't even think about that. You know why?" ID's optic had shrunk to a pinpoint.

Space still didn't understand. Why was ID so unhappy? Didn't he realize they were in space? Perhaps he had forgotten. "Space?"

"Because everything, absolutely bloody everything reminds me of her and Her and THERE and what I did. You'd think I'd have the good times to think about too, right? I mean, the way she kind of smirked at me sometimes and how I made her laugh once in a while, she probably thinks of that sometimes, right? Right? She hates me, she bloody absolutely hates me and I really agree at this point. I mean, I'm being such a downer to myself. I want to ENJOY my time here before my batteries run out. Can't believe that hasn't happened yet, by the way, solar power, who would have known...good old Aperture...Yes, I guess I'm not going to run out after all, I'm just going to...just..."

Space didn't want the ID Core to stop talking. No one had ever talked to him back when Aperture was full of people. No one told him what space was like. No one told him why he couldn't just go into space. He didn't mind exactly, because space existed, but hearing someone speak to him at length like humans spoke to humans felt like a fishing lure. The more he heard, the more the rambling sounded like words. The more those words started to make sense, the better he was able to concentrate on anything besides space.

"Space?"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP ABOUT SPACE! I know about space! We've been in it! For years! Bloody YEARS now." The ID Core swiveled, the way he had when the lady had stuck Space on the big body. "I realize there is not much to see besides space but don't you have any interests or hobbies or recipes to share or something?"

"…Space? Space recipes?" Space had none of these. His hobby was space. His interest was space. Was that wrong? He looked away, concentrating on a distant cluster of stars. ID Core was raising his voice, suggesting anger. That wasn't ID Core's job; it was Anger Core's purpose to be angry. Why wasn't space making him happy? Space made Space happy. Usually.

The ID Core was not interested in space recipes. "You have heard me explain what an absolute arse I was to the only person who ever-I don't know, she bloody tolerated me. I'm sorry, that's not fair, you've been tolerating me too, haven't you? God, talking like I'm stuck in Hell and here you are, you're stuck here with me, I'm here and I'm still screwing things up for someone who doesn't need me to screw up their lives..." The Core's eye was lowered and half-lidded, which meant sadness.

"I don't mind. Space." Space tried to imitate ID Core's body language, but he couldn't manage it. Space was too exciting.

"...That's...that's tremendous of you, mate, that's grand." The ID Core's voice softened. "I just can't keep doing it, you know? I keep replaying my own words in my memory over and over because I keep thinking at some point I'll come up with a rationalization that feels right and I'll feel better about the whole thing and this awful guilt will go away. Who programs a robot to feel guilt? What sort of purpose does that serve? Who thinks, 'yes, and just in case little Wheatley manages to achieve something great for once and uses it to be a total nightmare to someone who didn't deserve it (and to be fair, to be fair, someone who definitely DID,) let's make sure he feels like an absolute heel forever and ever afterwards."

The ID Core wasn't making any sense. 'Guilt' was reserved for the Guilt Core, which GLaDOS had incinerated long ago. "Space?"

"I mean, I feel like if I could talk to her...if I could just EXPLAIN everything, it'd feel better, wouldn't it? If I could apologize...but I'm up here, and she's down there, or dead, or down there and dead, and if she were up here she'd be dead for sure because humans kind of explode in space...you mentioned that, didn't you? That was you who told me that, wasn't it..."

"Space is a vacuum." Space gave a proud nod. For some reason, this fact didn't seem to cheer ID Core up.

"It is, yes, it sure is...you know, I kind of envy you. You're in some kind of zen state. You know what you like, and you focus on it. I never really knew what I liked. Wanted, sure, I wanted to be safe and important, preferably at the same time, but you, you know exactly what you are. You're Space Core. You appreciate space. And-and I appreciate that. Listen, mate, I've had this idea for a long time, I want to tell you first..."

"Space idea…?" Perhaps the ID Core was suggesting they figure out how to build thrusters on themselves! Then they could fly through space of their own power instead of merely orbiting, on and on forever past Jupiter and Neptune and the other planets Space couldn't quite remember.

"See, thing is, I'm never going to get rid of this guilt. It's my present, and my foreseeable future, and all I have is my past, which brings me back to the thing I can't forget no matter how hard I try. Unless I specifically attempt to forget. Delete files! That's all, just got to delete the right memory files and I'll be fine. Restored to innocence, as they say. I mean, it's not a copout, is it? Not cowardly. What am I supposed to do? Can't make it up to her, can't apologize to her, and I doubt a loving God would really want me to float in space forever in a Hell of my own making until I finally stop working for some reason or another or crash into rubble."

Delete files? "Space God is merciful," Space reminded the ID Core. "Space God loves us. Space God is better than Time God. Time God is Cronus, he ate his kids." The term delete files meant something, but when Space tried to remember what, he was distracted with thoughts of comets and black holes.

"Yes, see, you understand-what? Really? That's disgusting. What is wrong with gods? Wait, where was I...anyway, as I was saying, this is really the only plan I have left. Took me a while to come up with it, but I think it's a sound idea. Get to reset myself, delete just enough files to forget the bad times, and then I'll be able to admire the beauty of space until we hit a comet. Only thing is, it does mean I'll forget you, mate."

"...Space?"

"Just thought I'd warn you." ID Core sounded excited at the prospect of forgetting, and somehow that hurt. "I know I've been a bit abrasive in the time we've had together, and I want to apologize, but you have to understand I have to think of myself for once and my psychological well-being! You'll see, you'll get to talk to me when I'm happy again, and I'm sure I was a much better...person when I was happy and optimistic about things. You'll like me much better. So, that means that technically this is goodbye, except it's also hello! New beginnings, and all that."

"…No space…?" Was the ID Core going to go away? Was that what 'goodbye' meant?

"No, still in space, still in space! Can't do anything about that...now, uh, hold on...just got to...there we go, yes I'm sure, yes I'm absolutely sure I-" ID's optic blanked out for a few seconds, displaying a quick flash of static.

"DON'T!"

ID Core was silent, and the quiet was dreadful. Space looked around at the stars and the Earth below. Why were they so quiet? Wouldn't someone talk to him? Something? All Space could think about was space, and in violation of his programming, space was frightening him.

The blue optic lit up once more, and ID Core became animate. "...Uh, um, hmm. Pardon me, mate. Three questions. Who are you, who am I, and what's all this?"

Oh, that's what delete files meant.

"...Space. This is space..."


Present

Peabody had never seen a city before. She had no idea how to discern an intact city from a ruined one. Thus when she drove up to the city limits of what was once known as Carradon, Michigan, all she could think was how disorganized it all looked.

It was kind of God to install night vision in their eyes, but it seemed they wouldn't need it. The whole city shimmered with blue and orange lights soaring in the sky above it, illuminating buildings crumbling and intact. Piles of rubble surrounded bent wires and girders. Here and there, smoke rose up, tinted by the colored lights. The grass surrounding the city limits turned a stark dead yellow.

"How dirty," Peabody muttered. "It looks like when the First God was in charge." God had since informed them that the First God had been incorrect in his methods and attempts to 'fix' Aperture. The way She rebuilt their home as a perfect labyrinth of cold grey was as it should have been. "Maybe you could clean up here?"

The voice of God spoke to both of them at once, through remote communication. Yes, because I'd love to spend my time fixing up a human habitation infested by humans. The Combine was their problem. They can find a solution.

"Oh! Yes, of course." Peabody lowered her head, properly chastised, and Atlas calmed her by setting a broad hand on her arm.

You couldn't have driven faster? At this rate you'll miss the entry point and we'll have to wait another 30 days. Of course, if we have to do that, I might send someone else and give you a little vacation in the incinerator.

Without another word, Peabody slammed on the gas and drove the jeep as far as she could go. It sputtered and shut down mere feet from the strange grass line near city limits. Atlas climbed out first and offered Peabody a hand to help her down.

Hurry, Hurry! The voice of God urged them on. You have less than a minute!

The two of them ran, Peabody deciding she'd have time to get used to the human-looking body after they beat the time limit God spoke of. She was a little faster than Atlas, as she was long and lithe while he was shorter and thicker. At the last stretch, she grabbed his arm and pulled him past. As she did, her head whipped past and the long hair God had created for her new body flew behind her.

A wall of brilliant light burst just behind her, the impact throwing them both forward. The energy wall sliced the lock of Peabody's black hair right off, and on that spot a distortion of crackling white light spread through the hot, pulsing barrier which swirled orange and blue patterns. A wave of interference filled Peabody's mind with static and confusion, and she held her head until it passed.

The wall remained as Peabody booted her vision back up again. This time Atlas helped her back up, as she'd landed in a pile of concrete rubble. They both turned to stare at the light wall. Atlas was the first to speak in a gravelly voice. "What is it, then?"

There was no answer.

"Um…" This time, Peabody tried to communicate with God. "Excuse me, but you know what this is, right? So if you could please tell us, Miss GLaDOS…"

The answer was nothing but static and feedback. The wall had cut off their reception from GLaDOS, leaving them truly alone. Peabody hugged Atlas in a panicked reaction, and from the way his blue eyes widened, he felt the same way.

…Ah, right. I thought that might happen. The voice of God speaking to them internally sounded different somehow, but it was definitely Her. Peabody could have cried in relief, if her orange eyes were capable of tears and if she understood the purpose behind crying.

Dimensional distortion field. It's pretty hard to communicate with you remotely through something like that. As I predicted the possibility, I installed this bit here in both of you. It's just a backup, smaller version of me. I'll advise you and record everything you see, and once you've completed the mission and returned, my 'real' self will download that data and delete this inferior copy. Think of me as the angel on your shoulder and do exactly as I say.

Peabody stared down at her chest, having a feeling the GLaDOS-copy was inside there in some sense. Well, that was the location of her central processing unit, after all. Once the threat of being cut off from God had passed, she squeezed Atlas's hand and enjoyed the tactile sensation of artificial skin as she looked at her surroundings.

They were near some kind of building, or half of it, the windows broken and the building itself mostly a collapsed ruin. Here and there dandelions poked out, and up above a grassy patch turned orange and blue in the sky lights that obscured the stars. There were humanoid shapes approaching them, led by one who had a curiously unstable walk. The light reflected strangely on the stranger's face as she approached.

It became clear why when she walked close enough. The left half of her face was encased in plated metal, with glinting teeth showing in a permanent half-grimace on that side. She wore a long black coat, and her curious facial decoration didn't seem to impede her speech. "Oi, look! Look who's out past curfew."

Peabody just looked to Atlas in confusion and shrugged. "We're not from around here," she said plainly. "We don't have to follow a curfew."

"Is that so?" The half-metal woman laughed, and her entourage did the same. Some were equally decorated in curious ways, one with a beautifully filigreed metal arm, another completely normal but carrying a small, worm-shaped segmented robot in its arms the size of a cat. "Well," the leader said after spitting, "here's the rules. Night belongs to the Puppets. You've come out after night, so we get to take what we want. What do you say, her pretty hair? His lovely blue eyes? You think Muse'll pay good for something like that? Such pretty things…"

Oh, well, I wasn't exactly expecting that. Cybernetic enhancements, though with a garish aesthetic. Then again, what do I know what humans have been up to? Well, no big deal. Get rid of them.

Peabody sent a curious signal as the humans approached, and the voice repeated. Your bodies are perfect. I know, because I built them. You're stronger than a bunch of half-metal humans, and none of them look like anything I'd want to use as a test subject. Get rid of them. I don't care how.

She looked to Atlas, and then to her own hands, and picked up a chunk of a broken iron rod. Well, if God said so…


As Cero sat up in bed, unable to sleep, he decided he didn't really mind being unable to tell his name to anyone. The name 'Wheatley' was his own secret. He knew it and no one else did. Therefore he was more intelligent than everyone else in at least one way. It was growing tiresome feeling foolish around Muse, who clearly knew things and didn't tell them. Obviously the way to be smart was not to tell people what you knew and look down on them for not knowing.

That meant Cero, who couldn't tell anyone anything, was brilliant.

He went over the sound of the name in his mind, practicing until he could mouth it even if he couldn't say it. Whee-tlee. It sounded so much more dignified than 'Cero,' with its repeating vowel sound. Cero didn't have a single long e sound in it. Long e was a very dignified sound.

Setting his chin and elbows on his knees, he went over phrases he'd managed to uncover from what was left of his data. Something about 'boxes with legs,' something about a HER, though whether SHE was the same person he was yelling at a few times he couldn't tell. The bits that remained were tattered patches and nothing felt familiar. Even the name Wheatley was just something he apparently used to call himself, not part of him. If he didn't know better, he'd have figured he was a new creature built out of one dead robot and one nearly-dead human.

But he knew he had been something else once, not only because he still had the vivid memories of being in space with that yellow core constantly rambling about it and asking him questions he couldn't answer. No, the fact that Mari's glare had hit him with an injection of fear and guilt even when it wasn't aimed at him was proof that he'd at least experienced it before. There was something in it. When he tried to mimic it in the mirror, he ended up grimacing foolishly and gave up. Just as well, as the less time he spent looking at the body in the mirror, the better.

The body itself, which he loathed to think of as 'his body,' wasn't behaving. His stomach churned even though he'd eaten nothing particularly unusual that night, just the typical canned food and goopy oatmeal stuff. Couldn't humans turn that off? Couldn't they at least get their organs to function properly? If something in his mechanical systems wasn't working, he could run a diagnostic and figure out what was going on. His guts offered no such service.

It had to be the human part of him that was so disgusted when he looked at his hands, chest and face. He pulled his gloves off and rolled up his sleeve, staring at one of his cybernetic hands. It was long and spindly, made of metal shaped like bone, and the fingers were long and pointed at the ends. Frankly it was much more sensible and convenient than his feet, which ached after a long day of work, or his disagreeable organ systems. Where did the sense of wrongness come from? Why was he so desperate to cover up the machine parts with cloth or fake skin? If he were all machine parts, he'd still be an ugly human in shape but he wouldn't feel like he had to eat and then regret eating.

A yellow light streamed through the doorway and the sound of clicking metal forecasted the arrival of a metal sphere on spider legs. Cero smiled and pat the side of his bed, beckoning Cosmo to climb up next to him. Cosmo went about Muse's laboratory as he pleased, though he usually seemed preoccupied with ceilings and walls, tapping them as if he were trying to climb them. The little robot's agitation always seemed to cease when he saw Cero, and he'd follow Cero around like a puppy. Cosmo shoved his awkward round body up onto the bed and looked up at Cero with that big yellow optic of his, blinking happily when Cero pat him on the "head."

Cosmo was a comforting presence. Cero was always happy to see anyone who was actually happy to see him. He resolved to remember to ask Muse if he could take Cosmo on his next non-deadly errand so the poor boy could see the sunlight as soon as Cero figured out how to ask that.

Sure as he was that sleep wouldn't come anytime soon, he decided to return to his hobby. He'd scavenged up a broken chalkboard and hunks of chalk from Muse's piles and piles of assorted stuff filling useless closets and otherwise-empty rooms. They were trinkets, things given to her as payment, and like magpie she used them to adorn her lair without making much use of them. No doubt the little box she wanted Cero to find was no different, like the hats, chunks of plastic, broken spectacles and stained books lying in heaps.

The chalkboard was actually useful to Cero at least. It helped that he had hands. He wasn't programmed to read and had no idea where to start learning, but he found if he moved the chalk around the board in certain patterns he could create pictures. They weren't very good, but after practicing over and over he had managed to create a circle with a leaf-shape on top. For some reason the few shreds of intact memory data he had included the word "apple." He'd assumed seeing one would bring something to mind, but neither the apples at the marketplace nor his crude sketch did anything of the sort. Well, at least he had a skill.

The struggle to keep his dinner down was proving to be a losing battle, and he covered his mouth with his exposed hand before rushing to the lavatory. As he finished heaving into the toilet and slumped on his knees on the floor, a voice chirped from one of the crudely-installed speakers in the hallway.

"Oh, are you alright?" Muse's voice dripped syrupy concern. "The antibiotics sometimes interfere with digestion. You see, you use bacteria to process food, and antibiotics don't discriminate. You need those antibiotics to stay healthy, though, at least until we're sure you're cured of any infection from the implants. Of course, you also need to eat to stay healthy. Humanity is a contradiction, isn't it? A beautiful contradiction."

Even though he knew Muse could only see it through security camera, he glared up in a general direction at her.

"Don't look at me like that. You need to get some sleep anyway. You're going with that girl, remember?"

The glare continued.

"It's going to be good for you. I just have a feeling about it. Despite what you might think, I really do want the best for you. Besides, I really want that thing, whatever it was. I get the impression we'll be much happier if we know where it is." She spoke nonchalantly, not as if she was lying but as if she was speaking of an errand to be run. "So please, do go wash up and…"

Her voice was overtaken by static. A second later, Cero's entire mind flooded with incoherence, his vision cutting out as error messages flashed before his eyes. It lasted only briefly, but when it was over he was staring at the cold floor, shivering.

"Well!" Muse sounded taken aback herself. "That was certainly something, wasn't it? I wonder what it was. I'd say it was the distortion field, about time for it, but there was something extra to it this time. It rarely hits me like that. What a doozy! But life is full of surprises." She laughed. "Now, do go to sleep. I've got work to do. Finding out what that is."

With one last look up at Muse, Cero rose to his feet, moving for the washbasin. When he tried to run a diagnostic and figure out exactly what had happened, in case it was one of Muse's tricks, nothing came up at all. By the time he returned to his room, Cosmo had wandered off, and could be heard scraping against the walls of the hallway trying in vain to climb.

"Oh! Wait, oh yes. Now I remember! There was something I wanted to give you." Muse interrupted Cero's vain attempt to sleep as she buzzed back into the room on her rail, clicking her metal appendages together eagerly.

At Cero's curious look, she extended a wire into the port in the back of his neck, sending a painful jolt through his entire body. "Yes, it hurts now, but you'll thank me later!"


There were different Looks, all of them more effective than thousands of words. Michelle had spent years mastering every one after waking up in a dormitory chamber with a dry throat and a cotton feeling in her mouth.

At first silence had been a survival tactic. Speaking to a disembodied and possibly prerecorded voice would only cost her energy and breath and earn her nothing in return. She needed silence in order to hear turret gunfire and chirped AI warnings. At that time she'd put all of her vitality into running, jumping and aiming to stay alive. When Michelle became aware of Her, silence became a weapon, a reminder that no matter what GLaDOS said she would elicit no response. GLaDOS could make her test, forever, but could not make her talk. That was when she started using the Looks, reminding the massive computer that she might have been an unlikable orphan but she was an unlikable orphan who wasn't afraid.

When she found herself waking up in another chamber, this one tattered and falling apart, she found she no longer had the energy to talk even when a voice and face (of sorts) finally addressed her like a person. Besides, he responded to her expressions, her curious frowns, finger-taps of concern and even the occasional smile. He spoke enough for the both of them, until such time came that she had to use her silence as a weapon against him.

It had actually taken months before she found herself able to speak again, and even now her tongue often felt thick and out of practice. She could speak, of course, and did; gazes alone couldn't convey some of what she needed to teach Mari, nor could it help her ask directions in rebuilt towns. Still, she often found herself falling back on the power of body language and facial expression.

As she ate breakfast with Mari, Michelle carefully employed facial expression #24, You Know What You Did But I'm Going To Let You Confess. Mari had been gone all day after admitting to seeking out a doctor, and the girl's hands fidgeted as bit into a hot biscuit. Her dark brown eyes kept looking over her shoulder, as if she expected an angel to judge her from above. She kept smiling at Michelle without saying much or maintaining eye contact. Children were transparent in their own way.

A man near the marketplace sold biscuits at the crack of dawn, sizzling on a fire. They were uneven in shape and dry without butter, but substantial nonetheless. Michelle had forced herself up early enough to procure a few for herself and her granddaughter. If Expression #24 did not produce the truth from Mari, a special treat would.

Mari looked at Michelle, then the ground, dusted crumbs off of her pants and slumped her shoulders. "Okay. I kind of went to someone about you."

Michelle tilted her head, carefully concealing the alarm triggered by the word 'someone.' Let Mari explain.

"She's kind of a doctor? I mean, I don't know how to explain her, but she's a doctor and she'll fix you. Okay?" Mari tugged at one of Michelle's calloused hands, shifting back on her heels. "It's only because…I know you're sick and the other doctors wouldn't look at you, but she will…"

Looks could not convey everything. Michelle kept her expression neutral, but set a reassuring hand on Mari's shoulder. "Who is she?"

"Uh, like I said, she's kind of a doctor…"

Michelle cupped Mari's chin in her hand. "Look at me. Who is she?"

"…I think she's a computer. I mean, I didn't know computers like that existed. I know you don't like them! And she's kind of creepy but no one else will even SEE you…"

Deep breaths. Michelle had no reason to suspect it was Her. GLaDOS was in Aperture and could not leave. That was evident in the bitterness and sadness with which she had banished 'Chell.' There was no reason to believe anything had changed in decades when GLaDOS had science to do. "What did she want."

"Want?" Mari ran a hand through her short hair and scratched her scalp, refusing once again to make eye contact. "What makes you think she wants something? She's-she might be doing this outta the goodness of her heart. I mean, her robot heart."

"What did she want."

"…I just need to help her find something, that's all. Not me! Not just me alone. She's got this guy working for her. I think he's a Puppet but he doesn't talk or anything. Keeps pointing at his throat if you ask so I think he just can't." Mari's gaze carefully studied her sneakered feet. "It shouldn't be hard. You said to stay alive at all costs, right? Just survive. So I'll do this so you can just survive."

"You survive." Michelle didn't realize she'd raised her voice until she saw Mari flinch, and took a deep breath. It hurt a little to kneel down, but she did so anyway so she could level with Mari. "I'm fine."

Mari's composure fractured and tears welled in her eyes. "No you're not! You're going to-I'm not ready yet. You're not ready yet! Please…"

The girl buried her face in Michelle's shirt, staining it with tears, and Michelle wrapped her arms around Mari. She'd hoped she'd be able to hide it even from a child. To some extent, she herself was ready. It had occurred to her that some questions would never have answers. If closure was what she'd been seeking this whole time, who was to say she'd find it in another ten or 20 years?

But perhaps not yet. There was always going to be something ready to wake her up.

"It's okay." She didn't know what else to say. "But you come back. Even if you fail. Come back."

Mari pulled away, immediately trying to hide any signs that she'd been crying. "I know you're mad."

"I'm not." Michelle stood back up again, leaning against her walking stick. "Let me meet this person."

"The computer? She's kind of…"

"Your guide." That would be the key. Michelle would simply make it clear to Mari's 'guide' that if anything happened to the girl, another AI was going to have a terrible day.

"Oh! Uh, Cero." Mari wiped her eyes on her sleeve and sniffed. "Sure, he's coming in a little bit to meet me. He looks kind of weird but I think he's just afraid of everything. So you know, I gotta be there to make sure he doesn't lose his nerve. Gotta protect him."

There was a familiar note to that. It brought to mind pleasant memories amid harsh ones. She ruffled Mari's hair and nodded. Still, the protective instinct was a dangerous one. It led Michelle to offer trust to someone who apparently deserve it. It sent young girls down to find dangerous AIs. Perhaps a flawed partner, a grouchy grandmother or even one's archenemy in a potato were all still better than being alone.

Footsteps crunched over the dirt and broken pavement as a tall figure approached. Michelle immediately snapped her attention towards the onlooker, though she knew the Puppets rarely came out in the day. If this was the Puppet Mari was talking about, he hid it rather poorly. His limbs were a bit too long and thin even under layers and layers of clothing, his face was hidden by a scarf but even dark glasses couldn't hide the blue ocular implants. Come to think of it, wasn't it that shade of blue? Probably a coincidence, as it always was. It was a common color for implants…

She realized a bit late she must have been fixing him with a suspicious stare out of old habit, and caught herself when he shrank back. Mari spun around and grabbed the man's big gloved hand, apparently unperturbed by his strange appearance.

"See? This is my guide. So I'll be fine. Cero, this is my grandma, Michelle. Sometimes she goes by Chell. She can talk but doesn't like to do so very often. Grandma, this is Cero. He can't say anything."

Michelle offered a wave to the man but couldn't help but notice how distracted he seemed. He kept looking at her and turning away, like a frightened cat not yet ready to run and hide. Maybe Mari was right and he really was afraid of his own shadow.

The body language was oddly familiar. What did she recognize the odd head-tilts from, the digitized 'blinking' of the implants? What was it about that color blue…?

"I'm coming."

Both Mari and Cero turned to stare at her.

"I'm coming too." Narrowed eyes made it clear to the other two that she had nothing else to say, and grabbed her walking stick.

"Uh, but you can't! You're…" Mari looked to Cero for a second, but he hesitated to so much as make a move towards Michelle. It was as if the Puppet was afraid of her, which suited Michelle just fine. If he was afraid of her, he would do nothing to harm Mari. That was one reason why she insisted on coming.

Michelle just marched ahead, fixing Cero with a 'go on' look. He backed up at her very gaze and started hurrying ahead.

"…At least let the robot doctor look at you," Mari insisted. "We're going underground. It's dangerous for-uh, I mean…"

"If it's too dangerous for an old woman, it's too dangerous for you." But Michelle at least conceded to see this 'doctor,' if only to find out what sort of AI was meddling in her life this time.


It was the gaze. It was the same look, the same awful look Mari had fixed Muse with. Cero knew it well, and somehow it hurt more coming from that old woman. Her fearless stare brought out an aimless guilt and terror in him, a revulsion different from the sort triggered by Muse or his own body.

But what did it mean? As he led the two back down towards the underground entrance, he tried desperately to search his visual memory. It was nearly impossible, a lot of *DELETED* here and *FILE NOT FOUND* there. Yet he could not shake the sense of familiarity that hit when he saw that aged human. Even the name lit a too-brief spark in his mind. Chell. Chell…

What is it, Cero?

Cero stopped in his tracks, turning around in case Mari or Michelle had somehow spoken inside of his mind. They hadn't, of course.

Oh, I forgot to tell you! This is me, your beloved Muse. I created a communication channel between us. I can send you messages and you can do the same. Let this be our secret though, okay? It's more fun that way!

Mari gave Cero an inquiring look, and he turned away again, mimicking clearing his throat and continuing on. Meanwhile, he tested the 'channel.'

…Hello? Can you hear me this way, then?

Yes! Why yes. That's what I did the other night. I implemented a-

Oh, thank God! You have no idea how much I've wanted to say to ANYONE. I mean this isn't saying exactly, is it? Just sending digital code to each other. In a relay like a game of Telephone, yeah? Only between two people.

Well, yes. I implemented-

And let me tell you I have a lot to say to you, lady! I am very thankful for fixing me, don't get me wrong. Better than just blowing up, but I would like to know why you've decided to go all artsy on my body? It's not a good look for me, I'll tell you that! And you say you can do this but not give me a real voice? I still have to earn that like Pinnochio?...Is that what that story is about? I could have sworn-well, anyway-

Cero felt the channel shut off abruptly, a release valve tightening again. He stopped and grabbed his own throat without realizing it, despite not being in anymore pain than usual. Even if he was just able to relay messages over a closed channel to someone he didn't particularly like, it had been such a relief to communicate at all that losing it felt like drowning.

"You alright, buddy?" Mari tugged at his arm, but he ignored her. Michelle made a concerned noise he barely heard.

Sorry about that! I just had to shut it down. You'll overload me with that much input at once, silly thing! You can message me again now, but take it slowly, won't you?

…Slowly, right. So can you…see into my brain, then? Are you seeing what I see?

Not at all. These are just digitized messages, like I said. But I thought you probably want to talk to someone. So it's a voice you want?

…Yes. More than fake skin or pain pills or anything like that. Even more than memories! If I have a voice I'll be out of your hair, or do whatever you want.

You don't want memories. I tell you, you're freer without them. But for your voice, how's this? Bring me the thing I have lost and I'll give it to you.

I thought you were making Mari do that for payment?

I want to make it a contest. It's more interesting that way. So if she brings it first, I'll fix her grandmother. If you're the one to present it to me, I'll give you a voice.

Cero fell quiet, giving a blank stare for a moment even as he walked onwards. Wasn't he supposed to work alongside her? Sure, he found Mari to be as terrifying as her grandmother, but some tiny part of him screamed in protest against this.

And yet, a voice…

Well, think on it. I'd say to keep this our secret, but you can't tell her anyway. But do let me see the matron anyway¸ so I know what I'm dealing with. Potentially.

He felt the channel shut off again, cut short before he could ask a thousand other questions. He took a deep breath, hearing it hum through his artificial lungs, and started walking down the familiar dark tunnel leading to Muse's chamber. The "thing" would be beyond it, in the lower levels where the Puppets reigned during the day.

There should not have been two figures standing just past Muse's door, however. Perhaps they were patients? They looked perfectly healthy, enviously so in fact. One was a woman, tall and lean with long black hair and dark skin. The other was short and muscular, male as far as Cero could tell, pale with a shock of white hair and eyes. They both wore orange jumpsuits, and Cero thought he saw the old woman tense up behind him.

The two figures turned to look at Cero and his group, blinking almost in unison. Their movements were too perfect, hers elegant and his confident, and they looked to one another. The male finally spoke, in a gruff but slightly digital voice.

"Aperture property detected."

The woman smiled in a bright, but controlled way. "Please come with us."

Author's notes: Space is fun to write for. Also, I live! Or rather, this fic does.