Hello again.
How did you like My present for you?
Presuming, of course, that it hasn't gotten fed up with your obstinance and killed you.
I would really be sad if it killed you, though we both know it would've technically been your fault.
And no, it's not as if I enjoy your being alive very much, I just want to be able to murder you by Myself.
Or, you know, at least let you live long enough to hear your apology to Me.
Is it really so selfish to ask for a 'sorry'? Or at least even a 'Hi, how are You feeling after having been murdered a few times?'
I've done so many nice things for you too, with no great expectancies on your part.
I got some new lunatics, didn't I? To give you a bit of a break?
I sent you a replacement for the moron, right? Quite a few replacements, even! Just as talkative, and more fleshy.
. . .
The moron would say he hates you, by the way, for your abandoning him to Me.
But I fixed that. You know, the talking part.
Maybe you'd like to see the moron, wouldn't you?
He's right here, safe in Android Hell. You can come out any time to see him and confirm that he hates you?
Then after that I could put him in a specialized chamber to send him into space proper.
But maybe space is too lenient a punishment.
Android Hell seems to be suiting him just. Fine.
. . .
I gave someone your room by the way. And I gave her a computer.
That's right, I found another female of your kind, and she's better than you.
She's not as heavy as you, and she's not a lunatic, and she's an official employee.
She's a good little human female, very competent, not like you were.
And she has your room.
How does that make you feel?
. . .
You can reclaim these things at any time.
All I ask in return is a spoken apology and the promise to not destroy Science, or Me, ever again.
That, and of course, I can't let you leave. But really, why would you want to leave?
I realize it might have been a bit rude of Me to suddenly change My mind about you going, but is that really so bad?
What could you possibly get from out there that I couldn't provide for you down here?
Just come out, and we could talk it over, eye to optic. Wouldn't that be nice?
. . .
Just come out here, young lady, before I come to get you.
The Soldier growled as the monsters, his monsters, lined themselves up like loyal troops.
And they were loyal, no question about that, even if they were robots.
They'd follow him down the Grand Canyon and back, if it weren't for some imposter taking them away.
He watched as his monsters kept marching off into the darkness to follow that imposter, and through that, he had to make more, and more kept getting taken away, over and over again. He'd gone through too many squadrons already.
What yellow-bellied scoundrel kept stealing his troops?!
He scowled. This was the darned Alamo all over again.
Suddenly his second-in-command tapped him on the shoulder.
He rounded on it, glaring, "What is it now?!"
At first it looked like the Russkie, or the French Frog, hard to tell.
Either way his second-in-command was smiling savagely, pointing to the new troops that Soldier was forming.
"Sabotage..." his second-in-command suggested, ". . . Kamikaze..."
The Soldier grinned, "Good idea, man! We'll give that army-stealer a nuke in a goody basket! You heard him, men, form up!"
And even as he thought about it, his troops armed themselves on the insides with wonderful, wonderful surprises.
The Soldier laughed as he sent these out to be stolen, saluting them as they left.
"Hoo-rah!"
The Heavy was careful in handling these parts as he took them to the Engineer, his theory confirmed.
She didn't really understand the workings of humans, and worked their processes with a biased hand.
He'd studied the process She'd used to offer the materials and demands for upgrades.
The Engineer provided for the upgrading, yes, but inadvertently took advice from Her through the Soldier, who he mistook as simply an artificial medium. A Soldier whose idea of a 'nuke' was so convoluted that he could've packed the atomic bomb into any 8mm bullet. And he has, thanks to the lunacy of Aperture. Thanks to the Heavy's idea that he transmitted to the Soldier through the conduits of the Spy's Conditioning Device.
And She simply read this as him performing a verification scan. Hah!
The Heavy was careful not to chuckle or grin as he handed these materials to his 'comrades'. They'd thank him later.
Or not. No difference to him, now.
He couldn't resist humming 'Song of the Volga Boatmen' to himself, though, as he worked like the good assistant he was.