Second Chances (Chelley)

A Second Chance at Life.

It was quiet.

Consistency thrived at nighttime, perhaps that's why Chell loved it; the droning of... well, anything, really, was calming. It was all she knew. For years of her life, the only years of her life, what she heard was constant. The sound of machinery, pistons in the walls shifting and groaning, the buzzing and humming of the tests--it was always there. When the sound didn't stop, or change courses, niether did her mind. Being able to focus was one ability Chell had never lost to the brain damage. At least, she assumed she'd always been this way. She came out at night to sit and think. It was routine, which was yet another thing she loved secretly, in the back of her mind. The evening was full of noise, and it still remained quiet. The repetitiveness of crickets chirping, the sound of wind (which never stopped because of the river nearby) and even the steady sound of the old, rusty porch swing creaking under her weight. It had been like this every evening, at exactly ten o'clock, for the past three years. Chell would sit on her porch swing, and she would think for maybe a solid hour or two before going to bed. Sometimes she would read, or listen to her radio quietly through the heavy static, but other than that, nothing changed. And that's how Chell liked it.

Staying at Aperture (though she never spoke the name, made her feel sick to her stomach) definitely had an everlasting effect on her nature as a person, but she despised the place more than she despised change. It would be an understatement to say she wanted to forget the only life she had ever known. Chell wanted a fresh start. And she had gotten just that.

This was her second chance at life.

0--0--0--0

"This is your second chance at life."

Her voice was one he wished he could have forgotten. Even after all that time, he still couldn't get that bloody voice out of his memory. It was always gawking at him about how he didn't do anything right, even when he wasn't even doing anything in particular and just trying to tune out Spacey's loud and obnoxious rambling. It was Her voice. Calm, and unforgiving, and deadly. It reminded Wheatley of the lady with the portal gun. Which was something he wouldn't dare ever say to the lady directly--she'd probably kick him all the way back up to the moon and back.

"And you're not going to blow it this time."

To put it simply, Wheatley hurt. A lot. He had just crashed back down to Earth (unwillingly, he made it a point to remember that he didn't ask to drop in for a visit) and as Her thank you for the surprise, She tossed his battered little body into a core transfer device. And now, his lanky, awkward form laid sprawled out on the metal floor of Her chamber, clad in a bright orange Aperture jumpsuit almost too small for his surprising height. The pants, tight around the ankles, only went down to about mid-shin, but didn't really make him feel as ridiculous as She'd expected--albeit it did take a huge chunk out of his confidence. Wheatley wasn't really focused on his new body, but instead the throbbing pain that came in sudden, dizzy bursts in his forehead. Maybe that was because She had (purposely, of course) dumped--literally dumped-- him out of the transfer device after the process had completed, and he'd landed flat on his face. Much to Her amusement, the thick-rimmed spectacles had fallen off his face in the process, and had skidded off to somewhere in the chamber, most likely far from his reach without standing to retrieve them.

"At this point you may be wondering why I saved you. On any other occasion, I might have said, 'That's an excellent question.' But, really, if you get right down to it, it's just common sense. So, at least you have that going for you nowadays. A lot changes in three years." Her voice was feigning sincerity, something She expected to soar right over the little moron's head. But he hadn't really paid attention. "To answer your not at all special or uncommon question, the reason I did this is because I felt bad."

This caught his attention. A hand moved slightly from his face so he could see a fraction more of her blurry figure, but not enough to allow much more of the blinding white light into his eyes.

"I felt bad for leaving you in space all those years to suffer, and live out your biggest regret without ever apologising to me," She stopped in a mock sigh, "But now, you don't have to apologise. I already know how sorry you are for nearly destroying my facility, and putting me in a potato battery. And now, you're going to be even more sorry."

He felt his new simulated heart skip a couple of beats before rapidly flurrying in an attempt to catch back up with itself. Wheatley turned and tried to crawl away as fast as he could figure out how to move everything individually, but collapsed not long after. Instead of attempting to reason with Her, his brain skipped straight to full-on pleading, and then screaming when he realised that talking was difficult, and he had no idea how humans are supposed to talk.

"I could put you through everything you threw at that lunatic when you nearly killed us all. But, luckily for you, I don't have time for that. I'm also not that stupid. So, we'll skip straight to the testing."

A claw shot down and grabbed his frail body by the waist, and suddenly the entire room was a blur.

"You know, I should really thank you. Without your help, I never would've realised how much worse things can get. So, I'll project that lesson onto you right now. Even though things may seem really, really bad in the next few hours, just remember. They can always, always get so much worse."