#hhhhhhnnng

ajf;slakdfj likewise. it would be a pleasure to be hunted by you

OKAY THIS IS FINALLY DONE *collapses* I know this chapter is barely 2k (actually it’s 1.8k rip me) but I spent an ungodly amount of time on this chapter because I’m such a perfectionist. Thank you to @starry-nightengale once again for being my awesome beta~!

Before I put the chapter under the cut, just wanted to let y’all know I set up a ko-fi! It’s completely optional! I just set it up in case anybody wanted to send me a coffee. Here’s the link, if you’re interested: https://ko-fi.com/M4M299NN

Without further ado, here’s the chapter:

The reboot was slow.

First, his visual processor blinked to life, peering at the blue sky above him. A few clouds resembling conversion gel spotted the canvas.

Next, the tactile system came online. Dirt crumpled beneath him and he felt a grainy sort of mud cling to his…handles? He wasn’t certain, as they didn’t feel like the handles in his shell. There were more points of articulation, and were below him instead of above him like his handles were. He attempted to roll down, but the motion only moved one part of himself- his head. He peered down to see a torso, arms, hands, and a mess of legs and feet.

Oh God, he was in a bloody android body.

“This can’t be happening,” he said to nobody in particular. Talking felt different. Before, he simply willed the sentences out, and they reverberated through the air. Now, he had a mouth and a tongue and they clacked together to form words. Somehow he knew how to take the thoughts in his mind and contort them into sound, as if it were ingrained in him somehow.

The scent system was next to load. The stench of caked, sour gelatin that clung to every inch of his body snaked into his nose. His throat and stomach clenched in an involuntary motion, climaxing in a cough that turned him on his side.

A rubbery, crumbling sensation in his mouth registered, and he recognized this as taste. He immediately spit to get the coarseness out, groaning at the sight of the gel coated with saliva. Was there anywhere on him it hadn’t nestled into?

With a jerk, his arm flew up above him, and after multiple spasms, his hand finally met his face. His fingers, which he was still learning how to operate, ran along his cheeks. The skin was tough and hurt when he tugged at it. The notion that he was an android was still fresh, and an emotion clawed from his stomach into his mind. His hands trembled and clenched, and a tightness settled in his shoulder blades. The feeling of fright was familiar, but its side effects were new.

He was outside. Well, at least he thought he was. This could all be a simulation, another test designed by Her, but he had a hunch it wasn’t. Everything was too real, without the blemish of panels and cubes. Not even She could simulate the brittle sensation of dirt.

He was alone. Immediately his thoughts drifted to her, his only friend. But she wasn’t here to rescue him now; he wasn’t sure if she even would after the way he acted. He willed her to appear in that hideous orange jumpsuit and save him. Drag him by his legs- his spiraling, clumsy legs -and take him away from all this. His memory began to recall Her words as he plummeted through the atmosphere: how the lady had amnesia and didn’t remember him, how there were going to be modifications, how he had a choice to make. Then there was the singeing of his shell, and here he was.

Was he…was he human?

She said he was, but he wasn’t sure how much stock he could put in that. Truthfulness was not one of her outstanding qualities. Then he remembered Her comment on how She could see every single one of his thoughts, and goosebumps shivered down his arms. It wouldn’t be out of the question that She was monitoring him. God knew that monster had every kind of twisted Science you could imagine back There. There was no trace of Her presence inside him, no mocking voice, no crawling along his skin, but he couldn’t dismiss the possibility. If She was watching him, then he might be human. Not an android. Human.

The thought made him squeeze his eyes shut. Maybe…maybe if he just did as She said and found the lady, She’d place him back in his old core. Make reparations. Get it over with. The lady would hate him, but at least there was a chance he could go back. It was the only way. Disobeying Her always had grave consequences.

Air filled his lungs and he exhaled in a deep breath. Time to boot up the legs. His right leg pivoted upward, and proceeded to collapse onto the dirt. On his second attempt, he managed to slam his foot into the ground. His left foot soon followed, and he managed to stand up on his two legs with a wobble. The process was slow, but soon he had mastered standing, and then walking. “Mastered” was a relative term- in his definition, it was “not falling down repeatedly.” He struggled to move his limbs as he made his way through the field of wheat. He almost laughed. Wheatley going through wheat.

Someone had been through here not long before him; a faint path led the way. He still wasn’t sure what to make of being a human. It was an altogether different operating system. Before, he had felt pain, but it was simulated, only triggered so he would know he needed repairs. Now, there were appendages that went every which way, a stomach that perpetually nagged him, and a head that whined as if it were being inflated.

A companion cube marked the side of the makeshift road. The wheat around it was pressed to the ground, as if something- or someone -had been lying there. His head swiveled as he examined the surroundings. Not a soul in sight. Had the lady been here? There was nobody else it could be, as she was the last test subject, but he couldn’t say for a certainty. Regardless, someone had been here not long ago, and it was his best lead yet.

How was he supposed to bloody know where he was going? He had no map, no clues, save for the cube he had passed. Perhaps there was some kind of map hidden away in this new body, but he couldn’t find it. He hadn’t given the lady near enough credit. He had heard the phrase “put one foot in front of the other” used to describe a situation where one needed to focus on the simple tasks, but the awkward alignment of his limbs seemed incredibly complex.

What would he say to her? What could he say? Knowing She was watching made it all the worse. All of his flaws added up and toppled over, forming him, the dumbest moron who ever lived. He could almost feel Her judgmental glare, and it made a feeling he had never experienced before pulse in his stomach up to his throat.

So this was what nausea felt like.

There were perks, though, to this whole “human” business. Even though he had been without his rail for a while, the freedom to walk wherever, whenever, was intoxicating. It was similar to the power surge he got when he took over Aperture. The reminder coursed through him with a shudder, triggering a gnaw at the bottom of his head. He could feel guilt as a core, but nothing like the self-condemnation that made his throat tense and head throb.

After what seemed an eternity of stumbling through wheat fields, he came into a clearing. The shed She had kicked him out of was far outside of his range of vision, now, and a dirt road sat in front of him. The faint outline of footprints drifted to the right, and his uncooperative legs reluctantly started down the path. Better than nothing, he supposed.

There was this ache in his stomach- he supposed that was hunger? A burning pit was thumping in his midsection. Oh, God, how many times did he mock the lady for clutching her stomach? He knew pain, but hunger wasn’t exactly that. Uncomfortable wasn’t the right word- maybe nagging and persistent? Either way, he felt that pain in the back of his head again, the one he knew was guilt.

He had treated her bloody terribly, hadn’t he?

Chell was uneasy.

This house wasn’t hers. She had no right to be here. And yet…as her hand grazed the wood paneling of the living room, she felt a connection. She recognized this place, maybe from a long gone memory.

Still, she felt she was impeding on something almost sacred, like her touch would turn the carefully curated home into ash. She didn’t realize how lonely she was until almost a day later, when it suddenly hit her like a stack of books that fell from a top shelf. She craved companionship. As her fingers skated across the glass of a picture frame, she realized she wanted this. Not necessarily a family, but someone she could laugh with. Trust. Love.

The compassion was obvious in the photographs- in one shot, the boy, then a young child, was laughing while the mother looked on with a smile. Another, which must have been one of the most recent, depicted the family dressed up but still effervescent with happiness. The father had his arm wrapped around the mother’s waist, and the backdrop of balloons indicated they were at a party. Two smiling faces in the background- one of a redhead woman and a man with brown hair -punctuated the scene, and her yearning for friendship only deepened. The taste of her freedom felt earned, as if she had fought for it. But what point was there in freedom if there was no one to share it with?

Was she all that was left of humanity? And if she was, could she bear it?

The footprints had grown faint, and so had Wheatley. He had taken a turn or two, aimlessly hoping that the next rotation of his feet would lead him to his destination. His hope had begun to ebb away when he saw the cottage.

It was a cute little thing, with faded blue siding and white shutters. Abandoned flower bushes encircled the house, and tired ceramic flowerpots populated the porch steps. Tentatively, he willed his feet to climb the stairs, wincing when the wood creaked. She probably wasn’t even here; this was a stab in the dark. He raised his hand in a fist and knocked.

Chell froze when she heard the creaking of the steps and the eventual knock. What could she do? What if it was the owners? How would she explain herself? There were no nearby windows, so she couldn’t easily see who was there. She willed herself to stay calm as she she slid her feet across the wooden floor towards the door and inched it open.