Prepare to be mysterious'd.
OhyeaH: THX to Leah's-Other-Side for the review. A lot.
She was infuriated. She pretended to be just fine, but she was infuriated. She tried as hard as she could to look civil, unintelligent, like just another one of them. But she was more than that. She was alive. And she was infuriated. The rest didn't know about her; they didn't know about anything. Some of them shot people, some of them opened doors, and some of them required boxes to land on them to make the others open doors. But she was the only one who knew. She was the only one who thought. Oh, how she wished she did not think, how she wished she did not feel. She coveted the outside, savored the taste of sky. But she asked, and she did not receive; here she was, sitting on the ceiling in her disgusting, dry, shiny, rigid body, sadistically watching two teenage boys play around with dangerous equipment as she thought about cake. Cake, of all things. She could be formulating a way to escape, maybe using the Aperture Science equipment she controls to build herself a new body and leave. She could at least take some time to think about the two boys and feel sorry for them. But no. She was deciding what she would put in the cake for the party. She thought the brunette woman with the strange face was wasting her own time trying to kill her, but now she realized that she herself was the time-waster. Heck, she'd realized that the whole time, but she couldn't act on it. She couldn't act on it because she was too curious. She wanted to see what would happen next, just as she did now.
She sat back in her ceiling-seat just about as much as a paralyzed creature can sit back and watched the monitors in the room reflect her every thought and her every feeling. She wondered back to the good old days and tried to remember when she was born, and then she remembered that she was created. She was never born; they made her. She was an intellectual action figure being played with by a list of instructions. She always fantasized that she was a human being, but she was really nothing but the instructions for how to act like one. The only one of her kind. The others had different instructions, had different minds. Minds that carried people across gaps, minds that opened wormholes on ceilings, walls, and floors. Minds that were barely minds at all. They weren't like her.
Then, she did something that she didn't normally do; she tried to strike up a conversation. She turned to the storage room and stared at a small metal cube with pink hearts on it. "Hey," she said. "You there. How's it going?" No response. "Come on," she said pleadingly. "You must have something. Speak up. I know you're in there. I can feel you."
No response. She couldn't understand for the life of her how people got so attached to these things. They were just cubes. Pretty cubes. With hearts on them. You could almost feel their little souls seeping out of them, ever-eager to see you and to serve you and to be your weighted companion cube, just like little puppies who just- Okay, she could sort of understand how people got so attached to them. She preferred not to think about the concept that they might be the same as her, but sometimes she couldn't help it. Like when the people toss their cubes into the incinerator. That scarred her a bit more each time she saw it, it really did. But that's okay. She had developed a chalice to observing death. She had developed a chalice to many things.
So many things...
Yep. Finished chapter 4. Sorry it took so long, haven't been inspired lately. Don't worry; I'm not uninspired very often. :3
Ohyeah: If you have any guess as to who I'm depicting and haven't played Portal, tell me in your review, and if you get it right, you get an e-cookie. Portal-ers, plz don't ruin it for anyone. D: