Portal: “The Quarter”

Act I: The Lost and Found

[1] The Surprise

The sound of silence. That made no sense. His processors would have agreed with him on that one. And yet, here was the crazy part, it was an understandable concept. For miles and miles there had only been emptiness. No civilization. Just him, pavement, and nature sprawling along and beyond the pavement’s edges.

And, of course, there was the wind that brushed by him and flicked the plant leaves. That was the sound, he figured, but did it really count? Leaves don’t talk, leaves don’t make for good conversation.

Even space (spaaaaace) was louder. He shuddered. Space. That had been maddening. Eternity. Black, black eternity. No way out. Stuck, unable to move, always with Earth in sight. And he could never shut down without that image still burned into his optic. Just. Out. Of. Reach. While the nimrod behind him was a broken record.

Hell indeed.

But now, he thought with each shaky step, now it was worse. Here was Earth. All of it. Under his feet. Feet, yes, he had those now. Feet, shins, knees, calves, bottom, middle, arms, top. A whole bloody body. And it stank. Literally. Horribly.

“Humans are the biggest maintenance problem ever. How did they survive for bloody thousands- hundred thousands of years?” he demanded of his surroundings. “There is too much to keep track of. No manual, no guide, no ‘here’s some instructions, Wheatley, so you don’t grime yourself up with your own fluids.’ None of that, no! Not even warnings about hazardous material!” he griped while resisting the urge to scratch his blistered legs. At least space wasn’t prone to give people rashes.

And yet such creatures managed to build him. They must have known how much of a pain it was to be a person, since life as a core was nowhere near as complicated. Everything was already connected. None of this-

Wait. Stop. His gaze targeted down at a plant he had been passing until he his legs quit moving. It was green, like, well, a plant. Leafy. But unlike other plants, the big thing- really important- there were little round blue things on it. Edible things. Things that he and his newfound body agreed on when he shoved the little blue rounds down his throat.

So he lowered himself down to rest on his knees, reached his arms out, grasped at the plant with a hand, and pulled the little round things off one by one. Carefully, though, so the innards didn’t splooge everywhere. The fabric covering his body- clothing, yes, right, already had enough stains from a variety of things. From his records, he believed proper human behavior was to avoid stained clothes. Humanity really was complicated, he had to conclude with a sigh.

Well. At least there was sustenance. So he started feeding himself. Slowly at first, then as many as possible that could fit in the space of his mouth without choking or having fluids trickle down his face. He had seen what that looked like, once, when he was near a body of water. His reflection looked animalistic, feral maybe, uncultured. Other human-y standards that weren’t met. Not that there were people to be offended by his behavior, but still. Principles and all that.

But in the present, there was no water to be found. Nowhere nearby, anyways. And now that he thought about it, it would be nice to have some. His throat was itchy, but not like his burning legs (though if water could heal those he’d sit in a dirty puddle all day). He wet his lips. This was annoying.

With no other choice, he slowly stood and continued his shaky steps over the abandoned road.

So…right. Everything had been connected. “Just plug in the wall and bam, access. Management rails, plugs, all a big part of something. Not much hassle. But here I have to get on these bloody itchy knees, grab at, hope I touch, feel, pull, then aim for the mouth which is not as easy as they made it seem. That’s just to eat. And all these other things humans have to do…sleeping, excreting, not being smelly any more…it’s all so ritualistic and complicated and takes so much time. Not that I’m ungrateful for being free. Being on Earth and moving and free from Her is a good trade for my real body, I guess. But…bloody hell, I’m thirsty.”

He continued walking and talking every so often, looking around for water. His cramped, sheathed feet continued on the black paved road under him. To the left was a heavily floral side of a high hill, to the right more plants and trees on a slightly downward slope. With how warm it was, he didn’t think it would rain. Besides, there needed to be clouds for that right? “The water cycle. Why do I even know that?”

The positives. Right. He needed to be positive. He was alive. He could move. He had gotten far from Aperture. Probably. If that’s where he ended up in the first place after re-entering the atmosphere. But he definitely was making progress in getting…somewhere. Hopefully somewhere with people. Preferably somewhere where she was. The lady.

“She had a name, didn’t she?” Not that he bothered to learn it. “I’ll learn it when I find her.”

Finding her. He chuckled. He hadn’t even found one human so far, and he had been travelling for…for…well, a long time. The outside was supposed to have people. Weren’t there supposed to be billions of people? Where were they?

“I can’t be alone out here. I just can’t be.” he said with some defiance with a dash of logic. If he was alone, then how did he have human clothes on in the first place? Why were there signs every so often if there was no one to read them?

Why was there- man alive. He had been walking for a long time. All day, it felt like. Where was water when he bloody needed it? He needed to sit in the shade. Or find water. The water was more important, he figured.

“Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?” he panted out after continuing on for another long period of time. His body was giving him obnoxiously negative feelings by this point, and he just wanted it to stop. “I’m getting you water, for crying out loud! Isn’t that what you want?”

Falling to the ground against his will and being too dizzy to get back up was enough to tell him how wrong he was.

Stupid body, he thought as he blacked

out.

—

He breathed. Sighed. Rolled over. His back cracked. But nothing hurt. Well, technicallyhis legs ached, yes, but his body wasn’t suffering from laying on hard ground. Very different from the usual routine. Actually, he was pretty comfortable. The ground underneath him was quite soft. When he moved about, it was actually flexible.

That just wasn’t right.

His eyes forced themselves open moments before he pushed up from his laying position. He turned over, belly-up, to get a look at where he was. Which was dark. Quite dark, really. Night-time dark. He looked up to see no stars. No sky. In its place was the perfectly rectangularity of a ceiling. A ceiling. He blinked, slowly. Ceiling. Making this a…room. He was in a room. Man-made. He turned behind him, trying to find…ah. There it was. Almost perfectly behind him: a door. Peeking out from under it, there was a sliver of light. From a lightbulb of some kind, he was almost positive. Just beyond the door.

Surpressing a sound of glee, he jumped out of the bed.

Owwwwwwwwwww

Okay, his legs didn’t ache. They were screaming bloody murder. He couldn’t help but cringe in the dark and surpress the desire to scream. It was a good idea to lay back down. Very, very good idea. He took an agonizing step forward.

Okay. Okay. I can do this. It hurts, but I need to find out where I am. Even if -agh!- my legs break from it. Good news is, they’re not itchy anymore. Or oozing white stuff. Optimism!

Awkwardly and still not completely awake, he shambled to the door and groped for a way out. No panels or automatics, sadly. Feeling about, he found a sphere (core) attached to the right of the center. Eyes closed, he could see the facility, its walls, the rare lonely door. Those also had knobs, usually fashioned like handles.

And they usually didn’t work from his own experience.

He slowly turned the knob.

It clicked. Assuming that was progress, he pushed the door outwards. It responded with a dull thunk, but didn’t budge. After considering for a moment, he pulled the turned knob in towards him. The hinges creaked aaaand…there it was. Opening. “Ahhhh…” He shielded his eyes as the light poured in. Another human problem, getting used to sudden brightness.

He peered over his hand into the light. His squint dissolved into wide-eyed shock. His hand fell down to his side while his gaze went down in front of him. His breath hitched.

“P-people. You’re…people!” He said, then let out a little round of laughter. Pure happiness, relief, along with lots of surprise. There they sat, just a few steps away. Two of them, crouched at the opposite ends of a low table. Both illiuminated by a lamp on said table. Both staring at him.

The one to the right- a male, opened his mouth. “Um…yes…we’re people. Like you. It’s, um, nice to see that you’re okay. Sir.” The male’s eyes flickered to the other person at the table, a female that looked similar to the male. But she was older, much older. She was a woman while the other a boy, really. Both had black hair and round faces. The appearence was familiar, especially the woman’s, but…

Meeting silence from the female adult, the boy then looked back up. “We hope you slept well and that, uh, you’re okay with being here. You were out cold when we found you, so I, um, dragged you back here. You were getting too close to the mines anyways. If we didn’t do anything-” a glance from the woman cut the boy off. “Um. My name’s Liam. This is my Mom, Chell.”

Wheatley blinked. “You are doing great, Chell” The memory…thought…thing echoed around his mind. HER voice went through his skull with that eeire line he heard oh-so-long ago. His gaze locked onto the woman.

“Do you know where you are?” the boy asked.

Wheatley shook his head, still looking at the woman.

“This is the town of Minepoint. Well, more of a colony, really. For now anyways.”

“Uh…huh.”

“So where are you from?”

Wheatley finally looked over at Liam, then averted his gaze entirely. “Oh. Um…far. Very far away.”

“Uh…okay then. How long have you been on the road?”

“Months.”

“Wow. Really? That’s a long way to go. Where are you heading to?”

“I…ah…I don’t really know anymore, honestly. It’s been such a long time.”

“Oh. Well, um…” He rubbed the back of his head and looked at Chell. She shrugged. He turned back to Wheatley and inhaled. “We, um, have a tub. You can wash there if you want…”

Chell just sat at that table, looking at Wheatley with truly icy-blue eyes. The skin around those eyes were a little wrinkly, same with around her mouth, but…

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Mmm?” Wheatley’s mind snapped back into focus and he turned to the boy. Liam. Right.

“Are you okay?” Liam was looking at him with concern and possibly some wariness. Probably wary. There was a gangly, dishelved, stinky stranger in their home.

“Oh, um, yes, I am. Thank you. For your hospitality, I mean.” He fumbled on through what was probably an unnerving first impression. “I should, um, bathe, yes?”

Liam looked at Chell again. “Ummmm…right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure, if you want to. Let me help you find the bathroom, then.” he said and got onto his own feet. Liam paused, then said “Oh. We’d still like to know your name.”

“Oh. Well.” OhGodwhatdoIdo. “It’s Walker.” What! Wait! “That’s me.” Nononono, if that’s her over there, you should not be lying! Especially right off! What are you doing I shouldn’t even be here these people don’t know me why would they take me in-

“Okay, Walker. Nice to meet you. Bathroom’s this way.” The boy led, Wheatley followed. A grown man following a child. He would inwardly comment on that if he wasn’t busy yelling at himself.

“How old are you?” Wheatley asked as Liam turned a lamp on, illuminating tile and a large basin of what seemed to be made of the same material with knobs on it. A bathtub. Basic human trivia.

“Fourteen.” he said nonchalantly, as if accepting and talking to crazy-looking strangers was as normal as eating.

“Years?”

“Umm…well…yeah.” The boy eyed him up. Wary again. “You?”

“Older. Than fourteen. Much, much older.” Wheatley avoided eye contact, instead continuing to peer about the room. “So, how does this work, exactly?”

Wariness turned into complete surprise for a moment. “Oh! You just turn the knobs. Right is cold water, left is warm. That’s all.”

The two stood there for an awkward moment. “I’ll leave you to it, then, Walker. Sir. We’ll be out here if you need us for anything.” Liam said, inching towards the doorway. He was two-thirds out when Wheatley spoke again.

“Thank you. Neither you…nor your Mum…even know me. And here I am, about to bathe for the first time in weeks. You don’t even know how long it’s been since I’ve slept in shelter. Or laid on something nice. Even my rash is gone.” The words just kind of flowed out, and he didn’t try to stop himself. He even attempted a smile, hopefully one that made him look a little more sane.

Luckily, the boy smiled back, having turned his face back towards the guest. “You’re welcome. Really. People need to watch out for each other, you know? Even if they don’t know each other at all. After the whole thing with the Combine and after Free Day, we’re lucky to be here at all. And, honestly? No one deserves to deal with the ants or the ticks, especially unconcious. So, y’know, feel free.”

Wheatley nodded. With that, the door shut and he was alone again. Alone, but in a sanctuary. He played with the tub knobs for a bit, but before getting into the water or even being completely undressed he had to shudder with a sense of excitement and accomplishment.

I really might have finally found her.

[2] The Learning Curve

So much was going on in such a small, tiny timespan. His eyes focused on the wall as he couldn’t help but go over recent events again. He was in civilization. With people! Civil people! Right out there! Just a wall between him and them! In a building! No bugs, no evil plants. And he here he was, sitting in water. Not just any water, mind you, but water under his control. Warmer, colder; more, less. Why couldn’t nature have that? Humans. So amazing sometimes. Like the lady. Chell. That was her, wasn’t it? He was almost positive. Not quite, since she wasn’t wearing orange or Long Fall Boots nor did she have a ponytail. And there was the wrinkly skin. He never factored the possibility of aging. A small oversight. But she didn’t talk. That was a plus. And had the same name SHE had said when the woman was under HER control, too. Most likely. He wasn’t really present when he overheard it. More like eavesdropping, but who was keeping track? Although he had to factor in the chances of finding her so quickly. If at all. He had been hopeful all those months of his search, and it sure felt like a long time, but consider the huge mass of land there was to trek…and that didn’t even count the other continents (if they still exist). It was just oh-so-unlikely. Not that his human mind was capable of processing the exact numbers in the time he gave himself, but it was still a lot.

And if it is her, though? he asked himself. Then what? I already lied. In the first real conversation I’ve had in months. First time as a human, ever, really; and I lie. Good first impression. Swell. Way to start the road to forgiveness. She probably saw right through it, too.

He leaned back on the tub’s slope. She might as well come in and drown me now. Not like I could blame her.

His eyes snapped open to a sound on his right. Human processing assumed that it was coming from the door. He froze. Was someone trying to get in? Did he do something wrong? What was the proper response for a bathing guest when the host (or one of them, anyways) was knocking?

The door opened before he could attempt to say anything. A person slipped in through the open doorspace.

“Chell! I-uh-I…hello.” He attempted a smile, his mind racing in the meantime. Was that the proper response? Was he supposed to get out? Look away? Ignore her completely? Start conversation?

She just stood there. Silent. Her body had pressed back onto the door once it closed, and her arms were crossed over her chest. She cocked her head to the side, gaze on him all the while. Her brow was slightly furrowed, but not looking irritable. Anger had to have a frown; her mouth was instead set in neutral line across the lips. He had watched that look from monitors during the harder, complex chambers. Difficult puzzles, very complicated. Lots of bottomless pits. She met them all with that hardened look of pure determination to understand until her face softened right before she ran off to solve the insanity. And once she got it, man, how she got it.

The (approximated) short-ish height, the round woman-y face, the brightly-blue eyes, the way the bangs fell messily around the sides of her face, her body movement, her positioning, her signature facial expression…

Yes, there could be no doubt; that really could only be her. That was her. Really. His breathing rate increased. The lady that he had needed to find. Er, Chell. There was something like a pounding in his chest. A really fast one. His heart rate, he believed. He had to wonder if there was something wrong with him. The adrenaline rush along with everything else told him it was excitement. Like when finding a pond when he was thirsty and grimy, or when he’d find shelter in the rain.

But this was ten times beyond that. Was it possible to be too ecstatic? He hoped not. It would be the utmost worst moment to die. No wonder he seemed to have avoided thinking about her earlier if he was going to pretty much explode with happiness. Not that he could express it outright, yet he was pretty sure he wasn’t doing a good job of keeping on a poker face.

Chell, on the other hand, was completely stagnant. If she was feeling anything about anything, he sure wasn’t about to get any hint of it. Not that that was surprising. She could take turret gunfire without much more than a slight lip-biting.

She…she doesn’t recognize me. Honest to God she doesn’t, does she? His thought process slowly approached that conclusion. She’s clever, but I here I am, fooling her. Must be some long-term effect of the brain damage. I couldn’t have outdone her with that name thing. But, well,…she’s noticing something, isn’t she? That’s why she’s staring like that? You can’t completely forget the voice of someone that tried to kill you, can you? Even if it’s been long enough to have wrinkly flesh…how long has it been on Earth, anyways? Over fourteen years, of course. More basic human trivia: humans grow one by every human year. If that boy really was her son, then it had to be at least that long. Basic logic. So, really, he had been in space for only a little while. Definitely not eternity. But looking up at her, he could see clearly that even after her long run in stasis, mortality wasn’t ignoring her. Obviously. I’ve been called stupid, but if she looked exactly the same I would have caught on much earlier. Not that she looks bad like that. Just…aged.

“You, um…you look lovely.” Well, that was quite out of place. Random. Though he did have to say something. Anything was better than an awkward staring contest.

Her expression did not change. Instead, after what felt like an hour, her right hand tilted out of the crux of her left arm. The right hand’s index finger stuck out alone in the direction of a little white slab on the farthest edge of the tub.

“Um…yes? Am I supposed to notice that?”

She nodded.

“Should I get it?”

Another nod.

Slowly, hesitantly, he eased himself up and hunched over to the other end of the basin. He had to be wary of the bad traction of human feet on such a surface, or else he’d inevitably go face-first into the faucet. He had met a good few things with his nose in his time, and he did not relish the idea of hitting pure metal. Even as a core, he had learned a Great Fact: metal cushions for nothing.

He grabbed the white block. It was smooth, very cold, almost stone-like and…it was gone.

Nothing. Just nothing in his wet hand. The fact slowly dawned on him just as he heard something fall into the water. God dammit.

He had to swallow a truckload of curses as stood and bent trying to find it again. He pawed through the water between his legs.

“Ah-ha! Got you, you little…or not. But this time! No. Oh, oh! I have you now! …False alarm.” It was getting quite ridiculous.

“Bollocks!” He cried out in defeat after fumbling about a few more times. It would have been easy to go on doing the same thing over and over like he had been to screw up every time, but a different idea came into his mind. It seemed like a bad idea, but anything was better than shouting at inanimate objects. The only thing left to do, really, was ask for help. With a heavy sigh full of frustration, he looked up to Chell again.

Immediately he noticed that she wasn’t staring blankly at him anymore. Her eyebrows were up instead of down. Her lips had parted to expose white teeth, a space between the two jaws showing the pinkness of tongue.

…Oh. Oh dear God. She was smiling. Chuckling soundlessly, even. At him, not with him. But he found that he had to smile back anyways. And laugh. Just the utter ridiculousness of it all let little peal after of little peal push out of his lungs.

“Okay, okay,” he said after a chuckle, “Can you help me out, here? I can’t get it.”
Her lips straightened again and closed together. The softer gaze she had held on him vanished. She didn’t look angry, though. Not like the anger he had seen before through monitors in another lifetime, anyways. No; instead her face reconfigured to something new, yet somewhat familiar. Yes, he had seen it once before, hadn’t he? Back when she was maybe five times taller than he was (back when she was taller than him at all, really), right after he was able to show off his abilities for the first time. He would say that he only opened the secret passage for them as a necessary means. But, really, looking back on it with a perspective that was 100% less corrupt and 100% less Intelligence Dampening (more or less), he had been compensating. No dignified core would eject from a Management Rail to end up optical-first on the hard tile flooring. In fact, if one with dignity did that, he would lose all dignity he ever had ever. Unless he could make up for it, a la hacking. And so he did just that (quite successfully, he could say with confidence) but again he had to eject himself down to utter helplessness. Just laying on the dark-dark grayness.

Her white-clad feet had come into view then, confirming that he had not landed on his optic this time. He then craned up the best he could to see her face and ask for her to kindly pick him up. Before she scooped him up in her arms like a good sport, she looked at him with a completely foreign look. At that time he only known two of her expressions: default blank and once surprise. Her expression looking at his utter vulnerable state held the tiniest, tiniest hint of a smile, with one brow slightly, slightly lowered. It was pity.

Looking at him like that simultaneously in memory and reality, she came over and ducked down. With a splash, the present ensued as her hand submerged down in the warm water to return moments later with the white slippery thing firmly grasped in her palm. She held it out to him at arm’s length. He reached for it, but she pulled back. With her other hand, she pushed down on his head, mainly with her palm. It didn’t actually hurt or move him at all. He moved himself down until the lower third of his body was underwater. The pressure left his head once he settled. Chell looked at the white slab in her other hand, then to him, then to the slab. Her hands went out palm-first (or one holding the slab, the other just the palm with splayed fingers). He tried to get the slab again, missed, and found it on top of his outstretched arm going back and forth over the skin. White streaks followed each rub with some bubbles mixed in.

“Ow-ahhm. U-um. Wh-what are you doing?” he tried to keep his pitch low even though Chell’s rough application made him cringe.

She looked up. The white slab came into view, presented to him again.

“Oh…um…” He didn’t understand any of it whatsoever. “I-if you know what you’re doing, I won’t stop you.”

Chell let out a rough sigh and continued the scrubbing. His arms. Shoulders. Back. His exposed knees and shins. Dirt came out from under his nails. She even made him close his eyes so she could scrub his face. He flinched when splashed his face after the roughness had stopped. Then it stopped. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at his whitened body.

“Right. So. What do I do now?”

Ker-splash.

He could only look at her with a blank face. “Um, yes, the water is quite splash-y, isn’t it?”

Her expresson changed again. Now that look, that was the evil eye. “I-I-If I offended you, I didn’t mean to. Honestly! My mouth just kind of runs by itself sometimes. On and on and on… Like I’m doing right now. Should stop. Yeah. I’ll be quiet.” He continually shrank under her dark look.

She eyed the ceiling and shook her head. Chell took his arm again. She looked into his eyes, then back down at his white-smeared skin. She dunked his arm down into the water up to his elbow. Then she pulled it back up to level.

There was no white nor bubble to be found.

“Oh. Oh. So that’s all it takes? That’s so bloody simple, isn’t it?” He copied her, splashed water on himself, used it to get the white off. “There. Okay. Good show. Now what?”

She handed him a plastic bottle. He flipped the cap open. It seemed that there was a nice smell trapped inside. Squeezing out the contents yielded more white stuff, this time creamy and thick.

Again, he was utterly dumbfounded. “Ummm…” He looked to her. She had to be able to clue him in on whatever he had to do now.

Chell’s head tilted to the side, her mouth turned down. Another familiar look. Another he had seen in the chamber where he disengaged himself from the Rail. This look had come before hacking, after he had plugged his core body into the panel. Yes, he had seen this minor and fleeting emotion after he told her she couldn’t watch him hack. His memory clocked the expression immediately after he told her that he was serious about needing her to turn around. It was a sub-species of irritation. It really said something. ‘Really, Wheatley?’ he got out of it. ‘Are you really that incompetent?’ As a human, yeah, absolutely, but I can’t really help it, thanks. I can’t help having been dumped into a body that was dumped out in the middle of nowhere that didn’t have a complete fact dump on human life outside of the basics! He wanted to say all that aloud so badly. Yes, I’ll do that and immediately get myself drowned. How lovely.

He would have continued his inner monologue for quite some time if pressure had not returned to his head in that moment.

“Ack! What are you-?” It started roughly brushing through his hair, dripping thick wetness down his head. ” Okay. Ahm. That’s really cold. Kind of tickles, too. Ahaha. Umm…so…why? Why is there stuff in my hair?”

Chell rubbed her hands through the air above her head. He mimicked the motions, causing her to sigh and push his hands down on top of his head. Then she repeated the motions over herself. So he rubbed through his hair, feeling utterly ridiculous. And it seemed to be producing bubbles as well.

“Do I clean this out with water too?” he asked with some exasperation.

She nodded.

“Oh. Really? Lookit that, I’m catching on now!” He was oddly exhilirated; how easy it was to change moods upon being right, or more likely just being a little less slow. Chell continued to look exasperated herself, and continually wary. She was eyeing him up again. Trying to figure him out. He knew he couldn’t get away with his facade (a real crap facade at that) for much longer. Everything about him was recognizable from voice to inflection to lingo. He wasn’t sure that he was even trying to keep a low-profile at all. Well, if she figures it out at least I can apologize while she drowns me. Or strangles me. Or some other dramatic death. Mission accomplished, I guess.

Lost again in thought, he didn’t notice her leave the room until the door loudly shut upon her disappearence. His head snapped up at the sound. Diluted white stuff continued to pour down his face and neck.

Oh no. She’s going to kill me now, isn’t she? Going to get something, come back, and be like ‘Ah-ha!’ and take me out. But silently. Not that I’m worrying about that. Just have to apologize, die, and that’ll be the end of it. Mission accomplished. Being human isn’t interesting anyways. All these weird customs and traditions and buttoning shirts and eating and…people. Other people. Finally. Finally find people, and I get to die. Would be nice to socialize first. Meet people. Make friends. Spend some time with…no, that wouldn’t happen anyways. She doesn’t like me. She feels sorry for me. I look like hell, maybe brain damaged. Right now she feels sorry for the dirty man, and then later she’ll hate me.You can’t like someone who tried to kill you, can you? I mean, she did try to kill me, but I was going to kill her first. Self-defense. Makes sense. If someone tried to bludgeon me with spiky plates I’d throw a rock at them or…something. Did she even like testing? You can be good at something and not like it, right? Great. Now I feel like the worst creature to ever have existed. Next to Her, anyways.

The door cracked open. In slid Chell, and she was indeed holding something between her arms. It looked like a big, dark ball of cloth. Upon unwrapping it, she shook articles of clothing onto the floor. She moved them aside with a foot. Her attention back on him, she stepped over towards the tub again. She sighed and leaned down. Slowly, she applied handfuls of water to his head. After that, more white goo. Her fingers seemed to tear through his hair, removing earthly undesirables. Rinse again. She stepped back, pondered, then grabbed the white slab and made him rub his body with it. Wash. Rub some more. Wash it off. Eventually he was sore and his fingers started to look like raisins. He wasn’t sure if that was normal, and he was somewhat afraid to ask.

Chell’s clothing was also getting quite damp. Luckily she didn’t seem to mind. She stood back up then started gesturing upwards with her hands. He stood. She gestured towards herself. He lifted one leg out of the tub. He had to halt then, thinking the worst. Yet he raised his other leg over anyways, coming completely out of the tub.

Now it was cold. He shivered and felt the water drip off him. That only seemed to make it worse. The dark cloth came back up into view, at arm’s length. Either she wasn’t going to kill him with it or she was going to be sneaky about it. He swallowed and took it. It wrapped all the way around his shoulders, luckily.

“Th-thank you.”

She nodded up at him. She let out a hard exhale and pointed down at the clothing she had brought in. The finger went to him next. She pulled down at her shirt in a light fashion. Put these on.

“Yes, o-okay then, thanks.”

Once again she nodded, then turned to the door and opened it.

“No, really. Thank you for all of this. Chell. I-I don’t know how to repay you.”

She finally smiled again. It was small, it was brief, but it was sincere. Her hand flicked on the ball of her wrist. Before he could even try to comprehend the gesture, he was staring at the door, alone once again.

Okay, so I’m still alive. “Ha.” Everything’s okay. “Ha. Ha.” I mean, I have clean clothing, shelter, and she didn’t kill me. “Hahaha…” And I got her to smile. “Hahahaha…ohhh. Ahhh. Yes. This is great, isn’t it?” He dried himself off and pulled the clothing on. With a bonus: no buttons. He found himself feeling strange, though. The clothes fit, amazingly enough, maybe even better than his old clothing. But he had worn the old, torn, disgusting articles for…months. That was probably way too long with how stained and smelly they were, but they had been all he had, all that lasted him long-term that had been given to him by whoever put him into that body . Yet he felt some strange emptiness, wearing something new with a different, lighter material. His original clothing layered with a thin sleeveless shirt, with a buttoned long-sleeve shirt over that, and a button-able jacket over that. Now he again wore a shirt without much in the sleeves department, but he had been given nothing to put over it. He didn’t know why, it just seemed to bug him.

For the lower half of his body, there were two articles. First there was a pair of little pants that went only inches down the legs. Over those went longer pants with legs that went all the way down to the ankle. The layering and clothing structure were basically the same as his old pants combination. Different colors, yes, but it felt right.

He took a moment to realize that he was treating clothing as if it was a serious science or something.

Which it wasn’t.

He gathered up his old clothes and opened the door. He stepped out. Paused. It seemed that the room had a smell he had never noticed before. It was very subtle, unobtrusive; it didn’t attack the nostrils. Not like the smell he had been producing months on end. In that moment he finally felt cleanliness. Clean body, clean clothing, pleasant smells. True blue sanitation. He had to smile about that.

It seemed that the ‘table room’ beyond the bathroom door was utterly bear except for its furnishings he had seen before along with its poor lighting. Well then. He easily figured that the people were behind one of the doors around the room, but… Owww. Oh yeah, his body. He swore that woman scrubbed his skin raw.

Laying on something soft seemed like a really good idea, much less awkward than trying to find humans that he could barely talk to. Luckily, the room he slept in was directly across the room from the bathroom, so no turning would be involved or having to remember which direction in the first place. He just marched on over to the door and opened it. He dropped the stinky bundle in the darkness then fell onto the little bed provided for him.

—

A soft knock rang out from the door. Then another, slightly harder. Then louder and louder, each one slow and concise. Slowly denumbing into a half-awakened state, he rolled over in rebellion and tried to ignore it. Another knock. And yet another.

He groaned. Too comfy. Don’t wanna get up. Maybe they’ll stop. Whoever it is.

They didn’t.

“What?” he had to call out when he could process speech again. It seemed that his mouth wasn’t completely calibrated, with the word coming out with a long ‘a’ and barely any ‘w’. ‘(w)aaaaaht’, really. Mouths could be so dysfunctional sometimes.

“Oh good, you’re up finally!” the door said. Okay, well, rational thinking insisted that the door itself wasn’t speaking, but a person behind it. Obvious, really, but it was always difficult to grasp sense first thing in the morning. He yawned.

“Liam? Is that you?” ‘Li’m? Izzat yew’. Stupid mouths.

“Yup,” came the response. “Mom wants you to know that breakfast’s ready. We’re having pancakes!” The voice sounded very enthusiastic about that.

“Mmm-kay.” It was a little hard to share the enthusiasm.

He figured that it wouldn’t be too hard to fall asleep again. His eyes were still closed, he still wasn’t completely coherent, and his speech still slurry. Besides, he could afford to sleep in. Yet he had to wonder, what is a pancake?

He found himself rolling to his feet and standing up (still quitepainful, by the way). He couldn’t help but notice that his room was visible now, but not quite daylight-bright. There were many cubes and rectangles about, some brown ones had open flaps but most were closed; some were wooden with more rectangles in them with knobs sticking out. Interesting. And his bed wasn’t much of a bed. According to definition, anyway What he had laid on was apparently just a long piece of cloth stretched between two poles. Not that he could complain. Compared it to the cold, unforgiving ground, it was as good a bed as any, especially compared to rocks and gravel.

It really was a homely little room, wasn’t it? Dark, cluttered, and not very spacey to begin with. He supposed it fit him in some depressing, self-depricating way. He quickly made his way to the exit, trying to keep from actually comparing himself to the crappy little room. He didn’t need to bog himself down human self-esteem issues. As he became more and more awake and his brain functions switched on, he quickly remembered and surpressed the guilt that never really left him alone. Already he was internally chiding himself for being a liar, and considered telling the truth. Which he still found to be a notoriously bad idea, at least for the time being. Right now he needed to be cheery. Focused on other things. Like pancakes. Pan-cake. He knew of cakes well enough. There was a time when SHE seemed a little obsessed with the stuff. Meaning SHE had been way more into cake than any artificial intelligence should be. SHE didn’t even have a mouth to eat cake! And then there was the ‘pan’ part. Pans…they were things. He knew that much. Stuff went on them. Or in them. He was trying to imagine a thing-like cake when he came into what he began to call the main room, what with it having doors all around it and the room itself being perfectly square with the table in the middle.

And there was Chell at one end of the table and Liam at the other. The lamp was still sitting on the middle of the table, but blatantly unecessary in the light pouring in from the right wall’s window. Also on the table there were white disks, with thicker brown disks on top of them. He sniffed. Oh. A new smell. A nice smell. He took a hesitant step closer, not entirely sure what to make of this.

Thunk. Just one flat-footed step was enough to give him away. Both dark-haired residents swiveled around, their eyes deadset on him almost immediately. He could only lapse into complete discomfort. Over and over he tried to form a coherent sentence, but each attempt fell flatter and flatter to the point of being completely dead on arrival.

Watching the pathetic situation, Liam’s expression turned into one of pity. “Good morning, Walker.” he said, and after a moment turned his attention to Chell. She started doing things with her hands; more gestures, really. Wheatley didn’t understand any bit of her finger and hand movements, yet Liam nodded nonchalantly at the sight. The boy looked back at Wheatley. “Mom wants to know if you would like to sit down and eat.”

“Oh. Umm…yeah sure.” He slid down in front of the table, aiming to sit on the cushion positioned centimeters from the table’s edge. The other humans continued their eating ritual, using tools to cut and carry the pieces without finger intervention. Chell put her own gray tools down, then, and pushed up from the table to walk away into another room, the only one without a door. The rectangular hole stood farthest back on the right wall, to the left of the window and facing the wall that had the door to the bathroom along with one more to the bathroom’s left.

He stared at it for a moment before turning to Liam while the boy scraped at some brown liquid on his white disk.

“So how did you know that your mother was saying things to you?” Wheatley asked.

“Sign language.” Liam responded, still concentrated on his food.

“What?”

“Sign language. You know.”

“No, I don’t.”

Liam looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Really? …You don’t know much, do you?”

That crossed a line. “I know plenty, thankyouverymuch-“

“Are you sure you’re not brain damaged?”

“What?” This time the line was really crossed. Or crossed again.

“I mean, you don’t even know how to bathe.”

Wheatley started to sputter out a (really, really poor) rebuttal, but was immediately distracted by the appearence of a disk placed in front of him. It was an exact clone of the other white disks on the table, stacked with a small pile of smelly brown disks. His gaze travelled up to the person who had set it down, Chell of course, and he continued looking up until he saw her face. He shrank away from the utterly dark look, even though she wasn’t looking at him. No, her glare was deadlocked on Liam, and even he squirmed under her squint and straight line of a mouth.

He looked down and muttered to himself. “I’m not brain damaged.”

Above him, he heard Chell exhale. She padded over to her side of the table and sat, still giving Liam a look. Liam, in turn, was still avoiding eye contact. He chewed his lip for a moment.

“Sorry,” Liam said. “I shouldn’t call you brain-damaged. You just, um…don’t know some stuff.” He glanced at Chell to see if was still glaring at him. She wasn’t. Instead her focus was on her food again. Utter silence. Tension. She looked at Wheatley.

He did the same to her, making eye-contact. They basically stared for a few awkward moments until Chell’s pupils flickered towards Liam then back to Wheatley. He also glanced over then looked back at her. “What?”

Chell turned her attention to Liam, gesturing things to him with her hands.

“She wants to know if you forgive me,” Liam stated plainly.

Wheatley sat up a little straighter. “Oh! Well…yeah, sure. We all say dumb things sometimes, right?” Great. They think I’m mentally impaired. “It’s fine, mate.” Considering the moment with the bottle of hair-stuff in the bath, he wasn’t horribly surprised at being called brain damaged. He couldn’t even muster much offense at the idea. They would think that, wouldn’t they. I look like hell, I was found unconcious and smelly and…stained, there are all these things that weren’t programmed in my processor that are apparently so simple. At this rate I might as well just out myself to save any little bit of dignity.

He sat there, caught up in his brooding while the others at the table continued eating. Eventually Chell gently poked his arm with her pronged tool. This made him flinch. He looked at her, and with the same tool she pointed at the brown things in front of him.

“Oh. Right.” He let out a little nervous laugh. Instinct told him to pick up the brown things with his fingers and shove them down his throat with as little choking as he could manage. Looking at his peers, this was obviously not the way to go and he had his pride to defend. Luckily he had been given tools much like the ones the other humans were using. He slowly picked them up, one in each hand, and mimicked stabbing the pronged tool into the squishy disk and cutting back and forth with the bladed tool. After succeeding in pushing the brown thing around, he thought to apply actual force.

When it actually started coming apart, he surpressed his glee and trooped on until he had it completely cut up. While parts were more shredded than anything else and some pieces were still attached to one another by the smallest of margins, he considered it a success and shovelled the stuff into his mouth one by one. And…oh man alive. It was incredible. Nothing in nature had tasted like this, even during the more desperate days. “Oh. Ohhhh. This-this is…”

“Do you like the pancakes?”

“-Bloody fantastic! …Oh. So these are pancakes? Pretend I didn’t ask that.” Wheatley amended when Liam gave him another questioning look. “But these! Pancakes! I love them!”

Liam smiled a little. “Do you want any syrup?”

—

Wheatley knew that he hadn’t eaten that much in one sitting. Ever. He had known that plates ago (plates being white disks, he had learned), and he definitely knew now. His midsection’s gurgling and slight pain were only the beginning of true comeuppance. But, he was satisfied. He sat and watched Liam get up and collect the plates and silverware (more vocabulary!), along with napkins after he took a moment to use the cleaner ones to wipe the table off of some of Wheatley’s messy enthusiasm.

“Thanks,” he said while Liam was passing by.

“No problem.” Liam turned back towards the end of the room with the bathroom, pausing a moment while looking at Chell. She signed something to him, and after a moment he started to laugh.

“What? What’s going on?” He really didn’t like being left out.

“Oh nothing. Mom just to wipe the syrup off your face. It bugs her.”

“Oh. I, um, wouldn’t mind if she did that.” Wheatley had to admit, looking at Chell as he did so. She, in turn, returned the look. Liam, meanwhile, continued on his path round into the doorless room.

“I mean,” he continued, “would you mind?”

She shrugged. The idea didn’t seem to bother her. She didn’t smile, she didn’t frown. Just no emotion. He had to wonder: now that she had the oppurtunity to do something that she wanted, wouldn’t it affect her mood?

He frowned and touched his face. It was indeed pretty sticky in some spots. Especially around his mouth. Too bad his tongue wasn’t long enough to cover it all…

Something started to wheeze on Chell’s side of the table. Wheatley had to see what it was. His eyes widened. Immediately he found that it was Chell herself was wheezing. His first thought was that something had to be wrong (he had never had positive wheezes, anyways), yet she was continually smiling. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her chest was heaving with each raspy noise belting from her throat.

What is she…? Oh. Is she really…? My God. She-she’s laughing! Pure, voiceless laughing. I would’ve never thought she could do that. He was, to put it plainly, utterly amazed. He sat there completely frozen. His tongue even still stuck out in the shadow of trying in vain to reach beyond his lips. Slowly, it slid back into his mouth, leaving it slightly unhinged. He could really do no more than stare like that. This was the same woman who had only recently ever smiled in his presence, which he considered an achievement in and of itself. Now she was showing the ultimate form of enjoyment, from what he was aware of, anyways. Warmth started to bloom in his chest. He felt very, very positive; as good as finding her, maybe even better. He was just so happy that she was happy. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure what she was laughing at exactly. But he didn’t care much for the time being. He just let the moment run its course, relishing it.

Soon, her breathing slowed down more and more into a pant-like fashion. Chell let out a sigh and opened her eyes and looked directly at him. She was still smiling a little, he was pleased to note.

“So, um…” He drummed his fingers a bit on the table. He was still struggling to accept the fact that she laughed, so much that for a moment it was hard to get himself to talk about it. “That was…interesting. I never, well…never mind. So, uh, what were you laughing at?”

She pointed over his way with a forefinger.

“…Me? I was what was so funny?”

Her responding nod made him smile and look away.

“Oh. Well. Thanks. That, um, that’s a pleasant thought. Me making you laugh.” So he was capable of that much, at least, even if it was a complete accident. He starting rubbing the back of his neck. Her eyes seemed to bore into him. It was embarrassing to be watched like this and yet it somehow made him smile. He felt so very weird. Happy as well, of course.

He looked back over. He let out a reflexive “Ah!” and flinched away. Chell had slid over next to him, something completely unexpected. Her face broke into a small, but noticably awkward grin for a moment, not completely unlike one of his own apologetic smiles. Her hands had also come up palms-out after he had jerked up.

He cleared his throat in a vain attempt to scavenge some dignity. “You kind of startled me there,” he said with his own awkward smile. “Some kind of alert would’ve been nice, but…well…um.” She’s still mute! If she didn’t alert you back then, she wouldn’t now! “No need to dwell on it. Anyways. So, um, yes? Can I, ah, help you?”

As Wheatley chattered, Chell pulled out a napkin then wet it. She raised it and dabbed his face. The first bit of contact shocked him into silence. She continued on diligently, going after every bit of syrup he had spilled on himself. The napkin even ran over his mouth. A little jolt ran through his body. It came and went within the flicker of time that the napkin touched his lips.

Chell herself seemed satisfied and sat back. Her face was going back to its default unreadable look, with a sliver of a gentle smile. He, on the other hand, had to force his eyes to return to normal size. Here he had thought the nerves and bones and flesh that engulfed his being were done surprising him.

“Thank…you.” he said once he pulled himself together. It was just a weird moment is all, he told himself. A little malfunction. Bodies do that sometimes. Like a leg spasm. Just a little…emotional spasm. Yeah, that’s it. Nothing to worry about.

Chell’s attention had turned to folding her napkin into continually smaller triangles. She certainly didn’t seem to have shared or notice his little zap. Maybe it really was a little hiccup not worth his attention. Instead, he watched the napkin shrink more and more. He didn’t exactly see the point in doing that, but he wasn’t complaining.

A voice from the edge of the room caught his attention. “What’s going on out here?” Liam asked from the door-hole with a look of confusion and amusement on his face. “I thought I heard laughing or something. What’d I miss?”

“Not much of interest, just-” Wheatley tried to respond, but Chell’s signing managed to cut him off. Her smile widened as she went on with her finger language, and even stuck her tongue out in mimic. Liam immediately laughed aloud and looked Wheatley’s way. Wheatley himself turned his attention to the floor.

I don’t want him to laugh at me. He thinks I’m a vegetable that does veggie things. Yes, I know, I tried to use my tongue. I just had a glitch in thought process, okay? Don’t judge me!

Liam huffed. “No, Mom, I wasn’t going to do that.” He looked a bit miffed, from what Wheatley could see when he looked. Chell’s face had, sadly, become unreadable again. He couldn’t figure the context of the conversation at all, and from the looks of it, he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to ask. It seemed like a topic-change could be useful to both parties.

“Soooo.” he leaned closer to Chell if just so she knew he was talking to her and her alone. “He doesn’t have a hairy face, right? Liam, I mean.”

She looked towards him with a raised brow. Nodded.

“And I do.”

Slow nod.

“Right? So how do I not have a hairy face?”

Back into the bathroom he went with Liam in the lead. It still wasn’t a particularly well-lit room, even if this time overhead lights flicked on instead of a portable lamp. They ignored the tub completely, passing it by to go to a counter with reflective glass running the counter’s length on the wall above it. A big mirror, not at all cracked or broken in shards like he had seen on the road once (that would end up piercing his hand when trying to pick up the pieces). Something like a chair sat behind the duo, but it did not seem of any importance at the time.

“In all honesty, I’m not totally sure that we can get all that off just with this kind of shaving cream and a razor.” Liam said as he pilfered about, pulling out and closing various hollow yet open rectangles under the counter. “I’ve never had to deal with that much yet. Obviously.” he punctuated with a little awkward laugh. “I’m really not an expert on this kind of thing yet. Dad would know better than me, or Rett, but…”

“But?” Wheatley asked, eyeing the items Liam pulled out: a metallic can stating GOOD SHAVE, standing next to a metallic stick with a wide rectangle flat on the end of it. Both things went on the counter for the time being between two sinks cut into the surface.

“Well…” Liam bit his lip. His face was a bit scrunchy as he continued talking. “My Dad’s been gone for something like four years now.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know. I guess it still hurts a little, but, y’know, four years.” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “He’s not coming back, and I’m just kinda used to that.”

“And how are you so sure about that?”

“He left us, first of all. That seems like a pretty final decision.” Liam sneered for a moment and a moment only. His face quickly softened again, though even Wheatley could tell that the kid was still emotional. “Besides, it’s not like he could find us if he wanted to. After the first two years we moved out here, and we’re probably never gonna go back.” He picked up the can.

“Wow. I’m really sorry, mate. Your father just leaving you like that, and your Mum…” Human lore had this habit of something called ‘true love’ and happily ever after, didn’t it? They did not abandon each other, as far as he recalled. “She must not have taken it well.”

Liam shook his head as he contemplated the metal canister. “Nope. It was…it was pretty tough for a while. But again, it’s been four years. Everything’s okay now. Except the electricity bullshit, but there’s nothing we can do about that.”

“Uh…huh. And what about this ‘Rett’?”

“Oh yeah! He’s a family friend. One of the few people that knows sign language around here, so we see him a lot. He knows pretty much everything, too.”

“Does he?” Wheatley said, not very convinced.

“Yup. Carl, my best friend, he’s lucky to have him as a Dad. Rett’ll probably like you, Carl too, but they’re off in CP today.”

“CP?”

“Civilization’s Progress. Stand still, okay? This is going to be cold. Brace yourself.” The fourteen-year-old shook the can. He put it close to Wheatley’s face and pushed the top notch down. Out spritzed thick white foam that landed directly on Wheatley’s cheek.

He lurched back. “Ah! Ah! That is cold!”

“Told you. Now stay still!”

The spraying continued across the whole lower third of his face, the border seeming to be right under the nose. Some even went onto his neck. Each burst was short, yet punctuated with a sputtering noise. Wheatley found it to be an earsore.

“I don’t know how you don’t know how to do this stuff.” Liam commented when he finished. The can disappeared back into the innards of the counter. “Were you raised by wolves or something?”

“Is that a serious question?” Wheatley asked while his eyes were on his own reflection. It was always weird to look at himself through human eyes to see a human face moving with his movements. He had eight months to get used to the darker-yellow-kinda-brown hair that had grown to the middle of his neck (would’ve been longer if he didn’t messily cut it with sharp glass shards), the stick-out-y ears, the kinda-wide upturned nose, the teeth-that-could-be-straighter-but-could-be-much-much-worse. And of course there was the beard that he was hoping to get rid of (it was so itchy). He was tall compared to the other humans so far, and horribly, horribly thin. And very sunburnt. Then there were the scratches and bruises scattered about his body and face. The only thing he could take comfortable familiarity in were blue eyes much like the sky. His pupils were black instead of white, of course, but he didn’t want to be horribly obvious, now did he? But his eight months were nowhere near the immeasurable existence in Aperture. Then his time in space. Even if he had a human brain and human feelings, he was a machine at heart…er…processor. A very human machine.

“See, you don’t even understand fake questions.” Liam quipped, picking up the other metal thing he had gotten out.

“You mean hypothetical?”

“Yeah. That. Anyways, you see this?” He held up the stick-with-flat-rectangle. It glistened.

“Yes.” Wheatley said, looking at it through the mirror.

“Well, look at the real thing. Yeah, like that. You’re supposed to pull this end here down over the shaving cream to take it off with the hairs. Straight down only. Okay?”

Wheatley nodded and took the thing. He twirled it a little contemplatively, then did as he was told. The device pushed the cream away to reveal clean skin underneath with each downward motion. He had gotten dangerously close to the right of his mouth, and as he pulled down there was a cutting pain on his chin. Of course, he reacted vocally.

“Owww!”

“Oh. You cut yourself.” Liam said dully.

“Well…yeah! I didn’t know I could bloody hurt myself with this!” Wheatley cried, melodramatically flailing the offending device.

“It’s a razor. It has a blade. Of course you can hurt yourself.” Liam rolled his eyes.

“It has a blade?”

“No need to shout. Here. Just put some toilet paper on it, and…there.” Liam put a little piece of paper on the wound. The blood quickly showed through it. Wheatley began to doubt how effective that could be.

He asked, “Can I hurt myself again, possibly?”

Liam shrugged. “You could, I guess, but not if you’re careful. You’re doing good so far. It probably won’t happen again. Just keep going.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, Walker. I am.”

Wheatley’s eyes shifted back and forth nervously as he thought for a moment. “Well…Okay…”

So he did. The next inevitable cut surfaced on his left cheek. That time he winced and bit back his want to yelp, then continued on once more under Liam’s insistence and promise that Wheatley wouldn’t damage himself anymore. If only by luck, Liam was right, and Wheatley came out of it with only two little papers stuck to his face. His hand couldn’t stop rubbing over the new smoothness after the residue washed off.

“Bloody amazing.” he murmured in awe.

“You’re so weird.” was all Liam had to say.

[3] The Meet and Greet

[COMING SOON]