...Shouldn't this have been the promt that inspired that other story, and not "Opposite"? *shrug* Ah well, that's how it goes, I guess.
Colors
Aperture was colorless. Or at least, mostly colorless. Portal surfaces were white. The other walls were black. Buttons, cameras and turret optics were red (so was blood), portals were violent blue and orange (as was her jumpsuit.) That was it.
Horrible, retina-scarring colors. She hated them. They made the adrenaline in her system rush, and her stomach twist, and she wanted to vomit, but she couldn't because she hadn't eaten anything but the weird, nutritious sludge she found in cans laying around the place (labeled "Aperture brand Beans!" in cheerful black letters, on blank white paper.)
She was horrible, the cores strapped to Her chassis brilliant circles of the colors she so craved. Violet. Golden. Birthday blue. Even the red had a softness to it that suggested roses more than it suggested neon signs.
She burned them. Killed them. Every last one. And when that last explosion went off, she finally got what she wanted.
Bright blue sky (not a cloud in sight.)
Green trees.
Yellow-green grass.
Off in the distance, a deep blue pond.
And then her head cracked against the black asphalt with its white traffic lines, and she knew no more.
…
Beige. The room was beige.
The voice told her she was still in Aperture Science. After trying the door, the windows, the closet, and under the bed, she confirmed that she was really and truly trapped this time.
She punched their precious painting until she left smears of red on the wall. With nothing better to do, she climbed back into the bed.
…
The room was disgusting. The voice was stammering, spluttering, glitching…she ignored it, struggling out of the bed and stumbled around the room until she could do it without wobbling. It was then, straightening and trying to think, she noticed the other voice. He was panicking, begging her to come open the door, that he couldn't do it…he sounded human enough.
She didn't trust it. She hadn't seen any signs of another human (besides the mysterious painter who left her the sludge) since she'd donned the jumpsuit. Which meant that, as human as he might sound, it was probably just a trick. After all, a turret sounded exactly like a lost child unless you knew what to listen for. She armed herself with a lamp and went to the door. The handle had rusted away to nothing. It was a simple matter of pushing it open.
He screamed and recoiled at the sight of her, flinching back on his rail, eye mostly closed. When he wasn't immediately bludgeoned to death, he opened it again.
She was struck still.
Blue. His eye was blue, almost white in the middle but fading to dark at the edges… a bright blue star in the middle of the dismal white-black-red-orange of Aperture. It flickered from side to side in a nervous manner, and she realized she was still braced to deal a fatal blow.
She still had no idea whether to trust this robot. But on their own, the personality cores had seemed harmless, and she wasn't as coldblooded as She would have people believe. The human's fingers uncurled, letting her weapon drop to the floor.
Besides, she couldn't bring herself to smash that miniature sky.
Least it's not angst, right?