The Long Apology
Chapter 2: Interesting Drug.
Summary: Wheatley has a very interesting dream, makes a pitch for a job in Human Resourcing (on a ship he isn't sure has humans on it) and events take a very surreal turn when he discovers Aperture Science has their fingers in all sorts of pies...or cakes. Whichever you prefer really.
A/N: I don't own any of the Portal characters or concepts. I don't even technically own Spacesuit as you shall see. I do own a great sense of gratitude for the creation of such a damn interesting universe. And as always, to my own personal test subject, who reads these chapters a million times over and still finds nice things to say.
Oh and sorry this took like a million years to post. Getting a new dog eats into Portal fanfiction time like nobodies business.
Wheatley was huge. Massive. Humongous. This is what it was like to be a big shot, he thought, his receptors overloaded with relays of information all whispering to him: you're amazing, Wheatley. This was what it was like to be important. Smart. In charge.
And he was amazing. He had fought his way here with Chell, leading the way for the great escape, he had promised his fair maiden nothing less. GLaDOS had been waiting for them, of course, and dealt a curve-ball in declaring her own, mind altering, love for Wheatley.
He had always suspected as much of course, all the sarcasm, the putdowns. The actions of a little girl on the playground too shy to admit her feelings.
After that emotional scene, it had been easy to coax her into the potato under the promise Wheatley had made (with metaphorical crossed-fingers) of making her his 'little woman' and then things had rapidly gotten ugly.
Chell hadn't been too pleased with Wheatley's playacting. It had been hard for Wheatley, knowing how Chell felt about him. How they had nearly kissed when they first met, him dangling from the ceiling, rainwater leaking down the pipes on to her vest making it cling in all sorts of inappropriate ways...
"WE'LL SETTLE THIS IN THE CAKE ARENA OF DEATH THEN!" shrieked GLaDOS.
"You said that didn't exist!" retorted Chell indignantly.
"I lied!" cackled GLaDOS before turning to Wheatley. "Soon, my love, science will bind us together forever!"
"Now, now...ladies, no need to get worked up about this. There's more than enough Wheatley to go around-"
"I'll never share you with that...that future bag of fries!" screamed Chell. "SHE CALLED ME FAT, WHEATLEY!"
"You have a lovely figure, love, honestly..."
"What about me?" demanded GLaDOS, her voice deathly soft. "Wheatley, we're the same...me and you. We could merge as one...she's just a mute fleshbag with fat thighs"
"Who are you calling fat? That potato is loaded with carbs, bitch!"
Wheatley needed to settle this dilemma and soon. He lowered the lights in the chamber and selected some easy-listening to set the atmosphere.
"Ahem, ladies, Cake Arena of Death then?" suggested Wheatley, vainly trying to drown out the passive-aggressive threats flying between the two.
"Fine!" snapped GLaDOS and Chell in unison. For some reason, Chell's jumpsuit seemed a lot more torn up now, revealing an exciting line of flesh across her tummy. She winked and blew a kiss at him, tossing her hair which was remarkably long now and curled around her shoulders.
The Cake Arena of Death resembled a small child's paddling pool filled with cake, cream and chocolate sauce. On the side, presumably the 'death' part, were tiny pink maces and spears. Chell's jumpsuit was practically non-existent now as she stepped in with a determined glare at GLaDOS who hopped in, best she could, being a potato and all.
"Let the games begin!"
For the first few seconds, GLaDOS had the upper...potato? Seeing as she launched herself as Chell's face and then bounced along her breasts and over the next few minutes, the screams ebbed away and became more...breathy and happy sounding.
"Oh, Chell...your touch-"
On cue, Wheatley lowered himself above the arena with the can of whipped cream, "So how are my sexy, beautiful ladies?"
"Unit...UNIT!"
"Wha...what? I was resting my eye for a bit-"
"You were in sleep mode" replied the Spacesuit, turning back to his work. Spacesuit worked in twenty hour shifts and Wheatley had been on the ship for fifteen, mostly racking his limited resources into making a pitch for a position on the ship so he didn't get booted off. He was never going back to that outside, no way.
Where was he going though? Spacesuit was very edgy with any answers to that saying it was none of his business. Wheatley needed a position of trust, of responsibility, if he was ever going to find out anything.
He felt the familiar sinking feeling, as cosy as a bed of rusty nails, of impending failure. His employment history wasn't exactly illustrious, being summed up as the following:
Okay, mate, I accidentally killed all the humans under my care, guided the only survivor through a hellish maze the likes of which you wouldn't believe and wasn't much help there either if I'm honest, attacked a psychotic AI and put her in a potato even though she was definitely better qualified for the job of psychotic AI, became a bit of a knob because of power absolutely and then was shot into space for aforementioned knobbery.
Oh, and he had been used as a projector on 'Bring Your Daughter To Work' day.
"Unit? You should be recording these measurements"
"Mate, I know but the ship is recording them, you're recording them, a video recording is being made...it's not like an explosion, you don't need it from all different angles" Wheatley pointed out. "A core of my standing - floating - needs to be where the action is if you catch my drift?"
"I do not catch your drift, unit"
"I was in Human Resources...might there be some humans on here in need of resourcing?" he asked hopefully. He mentally prayed that Spacesuit wasn't some sort of human-eating alien because Wheatley felt certain his human endangering days were behind him.
"Which department did you report to?"
"Banality. Very important department. I was in charge of...reading - to the test subjects! Making sure they didn't kill themselves through neglect and I had to make sure the other AI at the lab was doing her job...between me and you, she was a little slow...but yep, that's me...good ol' Wheatley down in Banality Department!"
"Banality?" asked Spacesuit.
"Yep."
"I don't think that word means what you think it means, unit"
"Company lingo, mate" answered Wheatley, smoothly. It wouldn't help to point out how stupid this Spacesuit was at the moment.
"How did you end up in space, unit?"
Okay, Wheatley, it's practically in the bag...just don't screw this up...
"You know that AI I mentioned before...she was a bit sweet on me, as the ladies are, but I was more into another...co-worker. Another girl. She went a bit mental, took over Aperture and punched me into space when I wouldn't go out with her" he said, adding his best 'women, huh?' look for maximum effect.
"Aperture Science programmed their units to feel love, attachment?" asked Spacesuit.
At least he wasn't questioning the physics of being punched into space.
"I wouldn't say...programmed, it's something I learned on the job, I guess"
"Where am I?"
"You're home, Wheatley, you're at Aperture Science. The procedure was a success. You should be very proud"
It took a few moments for this new, strange, thing called proud to happen to him and when it did, it was like a warm tickle in his brain. How lovely. He could feel proud forever.
"Your job is to be you, understand? Your programming, your coding, your natural personality will all help you do this"
Wheatley understood, somehow he knew he was destined for this and flickering into being was just so overwhelming...he never wanted to close his optic ever again. What would he miss? He wanted to know everything.
Over the next few weeks, he travelled through corridors, rolling along. Some of the engineers and scientists avoided him, lowering their eyes and hurrying down a corridor his track didn't cover.
The test subjects were friendly though.
"What happens when they get smashed like that?" he asked offhandedly. The chatter in the room died away and his handler, a young woman, looked up at him.
"Well, Wheatley, it's like sleeping. They just go to sleep"
"And repair?"
"No, they don't repair. They just stay asleep and then we put them into bed, underground."
It had been easy to accept then. But some test subjects were related, the same serial number, his handler explained to him. They didn't like someone they knew going to sleep before them, especially the little ones. They cried and wailed for days afterwards.
He had been rolling along the Relaxation Facility corridors when he came across a test subject, kicking at a vending machine.
"What's the matter? That machine is for Aperture employees only but I can have so-"
The test subject looked up at him, eyes hardening.
"My mother is dead and you said she'd be okay"
"What exactly are you proposing, unit?" Spacesuit was clearly wanting to get on with his work.
"I could manage resources, y'know. A bit of...testing here, a bit of testing there. Some counselling for any traumatised...you have rats. I could look after those, mate"
All Wheatley knew about rodents was they liked steamboats. And wearing shorts.
"You do not understand the work that is being processed aboard this ship...you don't even know the ship's name, how is it logical to assign to you an experiment chamber?"
Spacesuit was crunching on something again, thankfully giving Wheatley a few moments to construct a counter argument.
"I crashed into the backside of it and how am I supposed to know anything? You won't tell me anything, mate, and I do want to help. Honest" he widened his optic as far as possible, adding a little twinkle effect.
"You can ask the Smart Box what Aperture Science information it may have and then report back to me" said the Spacesuit after a minute. "I feel your data on that subject is biased and inadmissible as scientific evidence"
Alright! A job! A job that was asking questions! That had Wheatley all over it. He also felt a sudden rush of affection for Spacesuit, he wasn't so bad, he was proper decent even.
"Um, mate, where is the Smart Box? Actually, what is a Smart Box?"
"Every ship issued by the company contains a Smart Box containing all known historical and cultural data of planet of origin. In case of emergencies, the Smart Box can be used to communicate our history to hostile presences, only technology can communicate with it"
"Ah, I see. That's why you want me to go ask" answered Wheatley, feeling a little deflated.
"I did not request feedback" Spacesuit replied shortly. "There is an access panel across the room, attach yourself and run program Smart Box Alpha"
Maybe I should pitch a casual Friday or something for morale, thought Wheatley as he floated over to the access panel. Spacesuit needed to loosen up a little. All those pills he took made him grouchy.
"Salutations! This is the Smart Box program, planet of origin, Earth! If you have disembowelled the being on this ship, doing so is an act of war against-"
"No-one's been hurt, mate" interjected Wheatley. The Smart Box sounded like a refined him which was disconcerting. It also had chosen to represent itself as a little paper-clip which was depressing. "I'm here for some information-"
"Might I ask, good sir, what be your reasons for that?"
"Do I need a reason?"
The paper-clip had eyebrows which it was raising alternatively. It hopped over towards Wheatley who was represented, rather predictably, as himself but smaller and with go faster stripes.
"Oh, yes, my good chum, you see, we can't have the on-board specimen finding out all our little secrets now, can we?"
"I'm not with him, he's just...y'know. A Spacesuit. I'm not sure what he is, to be honest, though I guess I could ask you...if I could ask you..."
The paper-clip took out a clipboard. Man alive. "It says here I can only authorise information exchange with new lifeforms by way of their technology-"
"I'm with aliens, definitely, I...we're probing. Stuff. Decent blokes like but not people you wanna keep waiting-"
"Excellent, can I ask you for a simple description of your supreme overlords, good chap?"
"They're...monkeys. They're monkeys who can talk 'n stuff, super-intelligent. I think one might be a lawyer or something. They have very clean hands" answered Wheatley.
"Oh, splendid! These are obviously advanced lifeforms originating from Earth. Very exciting...now, my good chap, would you have any...alien circuit diagrams, I have a personal collection that is-"
"What? No. NO!" Wheatley reminded himself to discard the connection cable after he was done. What a pervert...
"Oh, well...as you are alien technology, I would like to extend our greetings. This ship is the Solor and is the exclusive property of Taurus Incorporated, the being on-board, if broken, should be returned to Aperture Science-"
"Aperture Science?" spluttered Wheatley. "What about that? Go back, rewind, stop! Go back to Aperture Science!"
Wheatley hoped She didn't have anything to do with this ship or life could become very uncomfortable indeed. It made being back outside look like an attractive proposition, maybe if he took a deck of cards with him or something to keep him occupied, it might not be so bad the second time around.
"-unless you have decided to eat him or her. This is a good moment to tell you that our specimens are fed a mix of medication throughout their working cycle to ensure clear results. Ingesting these medications may lead to dizzyness, hair growth in unusual places and almost certain instant death-"
The paper-clip paused, peering at Wheatley through a pair of glasses it had acquired at some point. "You wish to know about Aperture Science, good chum?"
"Well, yeah. What exactly do you mean by the body on this ship belonging to them?"
"You need to follow me to the video library, if you don't mind, watch the apples and pears, haha. Little joke, you understand, quite fascinated by the fact the monkeys programmed you to talk like a Northerner, nothing more confusing than a clever Northerner, is there?" the Smart Box chatted on. "Quite a brilliant move on their part, well, we're at the video library. You'll be wanting document 56A on the subject of Taurus/Aperture Science missions. Please understand that Aperture Science are just suppliers and do not promote or endorse the ideals of Taurus, good chap"
"Yeah, sure buddy, I'll keep that in mind" muttered Wheatley. Somewhere along the way, the paper-clip had gained a tie. And a pocket protector. For a shirt he didn't have. What an idiot. "Could you put this recording on for me?"
"Of course, our primitive technology probably looks like a Lite-Brite to you, doesn't it? No problem, good chum, enjoy"
Wheatley watched the paper-clip out of the corner of his eye fade away, then turned his attention onto the film. There was the little countdown he enjoyed, then a camera focusing in a small room. A woman stepped in from the left and cleared her throat.
"Good day to you, honourable investors! This is a video presentation for Aperture Science's recycling resources program, designed to help you" - the woman pointed outwards, causing Wheatley to look behind him in confusion - "gain real and meaningful results. Aperture Science is currently running a personality enhancement program that has led to a surplus of materials that we have recycled for your use"
The scene shifted to the woman walking along a corridor. "Aperture Science knows that results are important and unbiased, clear results are the aim of any establishment looking to make serious contributions, we understand your concerns here at Aperture and we sincerely want to help you"
Now for some reason, the woman was kneeling and drinking a cup of tea. "Honoured investors, I'm certain you will find the following video will answer all your questions, arigatou gozaimasu."
The recording flickered to a dark room, filled with people looking down at a stage. The applause was deafening as a man, looking a little worn and mentally frayed, waving a arm as he walked off. He was replaced by another, nondescript, woman though Wheatley kept his eye on the man. Cave Johnson. He sat in a chair and every so often the woman looked at him as if for reassurance.
"Good afternoon to you all, I think we can all say that was an enlightening speech by Mr. Johnson." she blushed and looked down at her notes. "We at Aperture Science understand that our activities are being closely scrutinised by the government to ensure we're complying with all laws so we are very pleased to announce our new proposal, designed to enhance our current financial position, has been accepted-"
More thundering applause. A few hysterical shouts of 'Cave!' - mostly from women - scattered throughout gave cause for the woman at the podium to glance at him, raising his hand in acknowledgement, her mouth moved in a almost invisible sigh.
"As legal and open for investment. Those of you we have kept informed of this process, we appreciate your support and can reveal the first ten products of this new venture" she turned to a screen behind her and a slideshow began.
Morendez, Stork, Krychoski - all humans looking frankly a little daft, mouths hanging open, eyes glazed over - Wheatley, Garett-
Wheatley.
This Wheatley looked like the byproduct of a giraffe and a major mistake. His sandy coloured hair, blue eyes and mouth, though ajar, turned down at the corners. It all combined to look nothing like a Wheatley. And Wheatley knew what a Wheatley looked like.
"What happened to the Wheatley one?" he choked out, hoping this was all a horrible malfunction of his understanding processor.
"Ah, my good sir, you called?" chirped the paper-clip.
"Yeah, yeah...just wanted to know what happened to the guy with the stupid hair, Wheatley"
"Funny thing that, my chum and you will get a giggle from this - he's the on-board specimen but I suppose your monkey overlords have already dealt with him, correct? If you could tell them that doing so will result in legal action-"
"Shut up! Shut up, you daft...stupid piece of wire! Just tell me about Aperture Science's personality thingymajig"
"No need to be personal, sir" huffed the paper-clip. "I assume you mean the personality core program?"
"Yes, hurry up or you'll have some angry monkey overlords to deal with" snapped Wheatley. He just needed to know it was a coincidence, a funny twist of fate. Hadn't he been designed as unique? All he was ever meant to be was Wheatley...
"Well, good chap, the personality core program was developed by Aperture Science to isolate a personality, if you will, in the most basic sense really to regulate a greater AI presence, the leftovers were placed in the recycling venture they started to claw back some money-"
"Wheatley is a personality core now?"
"I suppose, in the abstract, yes. The technology was designed to take what they wanted from a person so the remains still has mostly intact memories and mental functioning which we then use medication and sleep conditioning to control"
"And Wheatley is on this space ship in a squishy body?"
"Well, yes..." the paper-clip raised an eyebrow. "Why do monkeys want to know this?"
"No reason" murmured Wheatley, ejecting himself from the program.
Spacesuit was not pleased with the tardiness or the reluctant bobbing that marked Wheatley's passage across the room. If he didn't know better, he would have said the unit was downcast but he did know better.
"So, Aperture Science?" he asked. The unit's optic squeezed shut. "Report your findings, unit"
"...it's you. You're Wheatley" the unit bleated. It sank to the floor with a thud and powered down.
The unit has suffered massive damage as a result of consulting the Smart Box program, obviously. Pulling out cords and attachments, the man connected the unit to a visual playback device and after a few moments, the screen flickered to life.
It was not what he expected.
Not at all.
A/N: How will squishy Wheatley adjust to being the leftover emotional bits from core Wheatley? Will squishy Wheatley run off with Chell? How exactly did Wheatley end up as a personality sphere anyway? Find out soon!