A.N.
Hi! Sorry for the impromptu hiatus, I just decided to stop writing anything through summer, then I totally forgot about it, and then I eventually had to re-read this story just to figure out how to end it.
Please read this chapter slowly for the best reading experience.
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His back was wet.
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What was that sharp pain?
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Something heavy is on top of him.
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Why is he in the café's kitchen?
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"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo"
Was that an Emergency Klaxon?
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What? No. Emergency Klaxons aren't just found everywhere, they're only installed in Class 2 Hazard zones.
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What in god's name is on top of him?
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"BLLEEEEEESSSHZZZZZP, BLLEEEEEEESSSHZZZZZP," Huh, someone must have left the TV on, "BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP-This is not a test. Multiple nuclear warheads have been confirmed to have been fired at the North American Province. Please make your way towards the nearest fallout shelter orderly. Please follow all instructions given by local and federal law-enforcement personnel. Please do not bring any unnecessary supplies or items."
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A… Nuclear warhead?
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Why is it so hard to breathe?
Suddenly, it sounded like someone was banging on the door.
"BANG BANG BANG-Hello?! Is anyone inside?!"
He disregarded the impoliteness for the time being and tried to answer with a 'Yes', but all that came out was a faint whisper and a soft wheeze.
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He really should try to get whatever's on top of him off.
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"IF ANYONE'S IN THERE: STAY AWAY FROM THE DOOR!"
He heard a rather loud wood-crunching sound, followed by many hasty footsteps.
"h..e..l…o-*cough cough*" He wheezed out, trying his hardest to speak.
"Hello? Is anyone in here?" A man's voice inquired. He sounded rather far away, so he must be in the main café area..
Huh. He doesn't remember anything as heavy-seeming as whatever is on his back in the kitchen. Other than that really big fridge… But why would a fridge fall on him?
A disheveled, panicking man appeared in the doorway from the hall, he appeared to be wearing some kind of splotchy winter clothes, there appeared to be a namey-type word on the left side of his chest and a tiny flag on the right side of his chest.
"Sir! Hold on!" The man scurried over to him and shined a rather bright flashlight at him.
"W-*cough*-..il...ll...d-o..." Wheatley sputtered.
The man knelt down and started to move whatever was on his back off of him, it appeared to be large chunks of some plasterish rock and large chunks of wood.
Wheatley could breathe properly again, but his legs would barely move
"Tha...*cough cough*...nks…" Wheatley managed to say.
Wheatley looked up and saw a large crevice in the ceiling and on the floor, as if an earthquake had struck. Maybe he fell through the floor…
"Come on, we need to get to the bunkers before the-"
A very loud whistle interrupted the klaxons and the man.
"FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-"
"WE HAVE TO GO! COME ON!" The man yelled, practically yanking Wheatley from the ground and starting to drag him into the front area.
"eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.' Just as they got into the front area, the whistle stopped.
BVWOOOOOOOOOOM
On a scale of one to ten on the Bollocks scale, Wheatley would rate his situation a 9.7956837.
He woke up slowly, there was surprisingly little rubble on him, but the man from before was nowhere to be seen. There was a god-awful pain in his leg, and it felt like his back was covered in fluid.
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His heart rate was higher than he ever remembered it being, then again, he didn't remember even having said heart for very long.
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The café had all but collapsed. Somehow the front area had luckily stayed mostly straight, with just a slight curvature to the all-but-nonexistent walls, and most of the roof was nowhere to be seen.
Trying to stand up, Wheatley picked himself up with his arms.
He instantly realized exactly how horrible the pain was; his back was on fire, his left leg felt broken, his right leg was bruised and bloody, and his fingered tingled with pain.
"AAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" Wheatley screamed, the sound echoing.
He screamed and screamed for what felt like forever, trying his damndest to push the pain into the back of his mind, lock it away, throw it out, give it to GLaDOS, ANYTHING.
He writhed in pain for multiple minutes, maybe... Maybe he shouldn't try to move anymore...
NO.
He was GOING to leave.
Ignoring the pain and biting his tongue until it bled, he used a piece of wood to prop himself up, looking out the now-nonexistent window.
...
What happened?
All buildings on the street were either collapsed or deserted, the street was filled with clutter and there was a reddish brown haze on everything.
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His heart felt like it was going to burst from his chest.
Starting to move, Wheatley slowly limped, inch by inch, out of the exit and onto the wrecked street.
Wheatley knew what a nuclear warhead was. He almost felt like he had the inkling he may have at some point helped design one. Maybe Aperture had built one or two. For some reason he remembered a long script of code to control one, but not the foggiest idea of why he knew.
'Just keep thinking about that' Wheatley told himself 'the pain will go away if I just keep thinking'.
His makeshift plank-staff suddenly snapped, and onto the ground Wheatley fell.
Why do these things always have to happen to him?
His legs now felt like they were being ground into bits. His back felt like it was going to explode, and he was pretty damn sure a heart should not beat as fast as is heart was beating.
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He was tired.
Looking back at the destroyed café building, he saw he had barely gotten across the street. The red haze just seemed to get thicker. He started breathing more heavily as he realized just how screwed he was.
The dust was horrible.
He realized his lungs burned with each breath. Was this a side effect of nuclear fallout?
He was really tired.
He remembered something about adrenaline being used in dire situations in humans, and after it was used up the human in question would feel incredible fatigued.
Why couldn't he just have stayed a core?
The haze got even thicker as the dust kicked up more.
If he had just stayed a core none of this would have happened.
Maybe a little sleep would be good, some rest, a nice long nap.
Come to think of it, why was he in this smelly, squishy, human-y body? What did he do to deserve this?
Was this all because of what he did to her?
Maybe it's a good thing he's not a core anymore, his burnt out Aperture Science Intermittent Discharging system wouldn't have been able to take the EMP from the fallout, he was pretty sure he'd have died instantly.
He was so tired.
Maybe if he stayed awake long enough, someone will come.
'Someone will help' he told himself, 'someone will come'
His eyelids wanted to close, his body wanted to kill him, he just wanted it all to end.
'Hold on, just who do you think you are, body? You can't boss me around. No one bosses me around' He kept telling himself, trying to get some form of comfort.
Sleep will end it.
Sleep will help.
Sleep will make everything better.
'Hold on, why do I keep thinking about that? Sleep's not that great, I mean, come on, I've wasted half my life just sleeping! Yeah, it's bloody pointless, innit?'
Everything.
'Sleep's useless! I'd just be wasting my time if I were, in fact, going to sleep! And why'd I wanna do that?'
Better.
'...But, come to think of it, I've never really felt pain while sleeping, have I?'
Everything.
'Maybe, maybe just a bit of the old 'standby mode' wouldn't hurt, would it?'
Better.
'yea, just a bit of a nap, and I'll wake up, and all of this'll just be a dream'
...
'It's all just a dream, that's it.'
...
Mumbling, Wheatley said, "It's... All... A dream..."
Darkness engulfed him as he fell asleep.
The End.
A.N.
I intentionally made this chapter more of a mess than normal; Wheatley's mind would be the most scattered of scatterbrains with that much radiation running through it.
This horrible end is the most fitting end for this horrible story. Abrupt, never seen coming, ridiculous, and outright stupid.
For those of you that don't know, in the cold war Russia and the US each set up a preemptive-strike automated defense system. If either side launched or detonated a nuclear missile then the system would automatically launch its own nuclear missile.
Or, that's how it's supposed to work.
In reality, it was a big seismic sensor with a dead-man switch attached to it. If the seismic sensor registered a big enough abnormality or if someone pushed the 'Last man standing' button, the warheads would launch.
But remember it's a seismic sensor. That means that a big enough shake or earthquake could set it off.
Now in real life, these systems have long since been deactivated (iirc), but in this story's plot, the system was never deactivated/reactivated because of the Combine.
If you couldn't tell from the subtle (HA!) hints, there was an earthquake that damaged the café's structure, causing pieces of the roof to fall on Wheatley and Wheatley to fall through the floor. Also causing the preemptive strike system to launch its missiles, and the Russians' side retaliated.
Anyway, me playing CoD 4 again recently inspired this, particularly that 'scene' where you slowly die from radiation helplessly. Plus the fact I've been meaning to end this for a while.
Also GLaDOS's remote 'droid' stopped functioning after the initial earthquake because the earthquake did/would take out the signal repeater for it.
Honestly, I stopped liking this story around chapter 18. This is the cringiest story I have ever read (somehow even the original short story I wrote when I was 8 was less cringey), and I'm happy to finally end it.
Thanks for reading this far of my cringey story. I now get to re-write multiple particularly awful scenes in my alternate-reality story, and my best story so far is A Christmas Moron, which I need to finish soon.
Thanks for reading!