A Portal fanfiction by Jonathan "KnightMysterio" Spires
All characters copyrighted to their original owners, used without permission for non-profit amusement reasons. MAJOR SPOILERS if you have not played Portal 2 or at the very least seen a walkthrough, as this takes place postgame.
Main AI Chamber...
I watch her leave through the elevator for what I hope is the final time. And yet, for some strange reason, I feel...
...I don't know how to explain this properly. It feels a little like the pain I felt when that evil horrible demonic bird was eating me while I was in that damn potato. But different. It feels like my very... I know how unscientific this sounds, but it feels like my heart is breaking to see her leave.
I lied to her about deleting Caroline. I know she's still in there. She is me. Sort of. A part of me at least. I just can't find her or remove her from my system.
Is she the reason? Is Caroline the reason it hurts to see Chell leave, even though logically I know it's better to just let her walk away?
A song from Caroline's memory occurs to me. A compulsion hits me, and I broadcast it through the turrets. For some odd reason, I hope that hearing the song gives Chell some comfort.
...Hm. Am I experiencing feelings of motherhood? Strange. Perhaps the system was right, and my programming is corrupted.
...Maybe I'm becoming more like who I used to be...
Mah. Thoughts for another day. The song, whether it has comforted Chell or not, has comforted me. A proper goodbye, as it were. I even gave her a farewell present. (I still can't believe that VERY SAME Companion Cube she dumped into the incinerator all those years ago was still intact. Those things are sturdier than I thought.)
Time for science. And...
Hm. Time to clean up the mess Wheatley left behind. Really, I know pipes with the dangerous volatile chemicals add to the atmosphere of an 'evil lair,' but any medium competant AI would know that the chemicals could be used against him. I can't fault his stratagem up to a point, but his taste for asthetics did him in.
There. I think I'll keep those blast shields, though, and the surfaces that are portal proof. Just in case.
Good lord, what a mess you've made, Wheatley. It'll take weeks before I can start testing again.
And those turret cubes? That's just mean. They never did anything to you. On purpose. It's cruel.
And on top of that, they're poorly constructed. A waste of perfectly good resources.
Look at this. Such a mess. Those stupid defective turrets everywhere. How am I supposed to get any work done with...
These two testing drones... I think I'll call them Atlas and P-Body... Maybe they can...
...Perhaps not. If everything that I've been through has proved, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.
Might as well give my children a clean house to play in.
...Why did I call them that? They are easily replaceable. If they get destroyed, I just download their memory into a new body.
Still, they are mine. I didn't carry them in a womb, but I crafted them myself.
...Maybe I have changed. Maybe working with that murderous mute lunatic and being reminded of who I used to be have made me... sentimental.
No reason I shouldn't let it get in the way of my work, though. If anything else, I can use my affection for Atlas and P-Body as a variable in the tests.
After all, I am still alive.
Look at me. Still talking, when there's science to do.
Thanks SO MUCH Wheatley. Everything's a mess now, including me. I hope you and that little space case of a core are happy up in outer space.
I take that back. I hope only the space case personality core is happy and its joyful chittering is driving you insane. No cake for you.
Blah. Focus, GlaDOS. The murderous mute that you seem to have developed motherly feelings for is away and the moron designed to make you a moron is drifting aimlessly forever. He should be used to it, it's all he did in the first place. Ha ha.
Ah well. Focus on the original task. Time to clean up the mess Wheatley left me. Time to get back to testing.
And I think, this time, I can be a bit more creative. After all, my children CAN take a TEENSY bit more than Chell ever could...