Prompt Post Round 1
Prompts go here! This will be closed and a new post made at 3000 comments. Please link all fills to the Round 1 Fill Post.
This post is closed to new prompts! Post prompts at Round 2! Fills and comments can still be posted here.
This post is closed to new prompts! Post prompts at Round 2! Fills and comments can still be posted here.
Wheatley stared unblinkingly up at Her.
“I should take a photograph to preserve this memory. Actually, I have recorded this entire conversation from 23 different angles to review and enjoy later on. However, this is where we part ways. Enjoy being weak, mortal, and able to feel true physical pain again. I hope you enjoy being tested as much as you enjoyed testing." The mechanical arm holding Wheatley stirred to life and lowered him closer to the unconscious human.
“Y-you can stop now, I already figured out that you’re lying.” His voice wavered.
GlaDOS didn’t reply. Yet another appendage, a long, thick ropelike cable ending in a drill-like apparatus, shot out from the dark recesses of her form.
“You can move onto the next lie. I beat this one. Next one, please.”
She chuckled darkly and held Wheatley’s trembling sphere firmly against the gurney next to the human. The drill inched closer to his widened optic.
“No. No, nonononono-please, no.”
She paused.
“I knew this would be fun.” The drill connected with his shell, its pressure prying apart two small plates to penetrate deeper into the sphere.
“O-o-owowowwww! Okay, okay, fine! I believe you, you’re not lying, just please… please… ah... oh, god, this is going to hurt, isn’t it?”
She paused again.
“Unimaginably.”
He shook uncontrollably under the pressure of the drill, his ocular aperture squeezed tightly shut. She was right (she was always right)-this was quite a bit worse than floating through space. The drill began to whirr and spin within his head, splitting his frame and numbing his frantic mainframe, pushing deeper and deeper before finally connecting to something vital inside him.
“A-ah-GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-“ His vocal output cut abruptly as he went offline.
GlaDOS continued her work, humming a cheery tune to fill the newly formed silence.
--
(Continued soon.)
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is so good anon. THIS IS SO GOOD. YOU ARE SO GOOD AT THIS. I don't usually go for human!porn when I can have mechanical!porn, but you've HOOKED ME, YOU HAVE. I just want to encourage you to continue, and assure you that I am eagerly waiting the next installment! :]
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Gripping! And you write them both so perfectly! Make this as long as you want, I am loving this!
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Yesyesyesyes
I must have more
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--
“-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-” He reflexively shot straight upright in bed, knocking the covers away.
“-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaahhhuh?” He sat still for a moment, disoriented in the dim light of the drably decorated room, before a splitting pain shot through the side of his head, forcing him to fall heavily back down onto the pillow. Eyes squeezed shut at the pain, he began to ramble.
“Okay. Okay. I’m… n-not dead. Nope. Definitely alive, definitely in a strange place, definitely in excruciating pain and definitely feeling somewhat, or rather extremely, perhaps entirely… off.” He muttered to himself while staring up at the blank ceiling.
Off. What about this felt off? Many things. Too many things to list. But he had to try. Listing things always helped. For one, his body had just moved of its own accord, though he did not seem to be attached to any railing or support. That in itself was fairly troubling. His hull felt… expanded, somewhat. Slightly more substantial than usual. Slightly more… something than usual. He couldn’t tell what.
His mind swam with the memories of the moments before his forced shutdown-She saved him from certain doom. There was a human. He was stupid and She was laughing at him. And then She was lying to him, and there was a drill, then everything hurt like it hurts now, and-
“G-gah!” He yelped and jerked away from a sudden touch to the right side of his face, blinking in uncomprehending terror at a hand-a human hand!-that had seemingly shot out from nowhere to press up against his face. He stared wide-eyed at the strange intruder.
Petrified, he followed the line of the hand down to its forearm, its upper arm, its shoulder, then stopped. A part of him hurt. His mind blearily processed this new input. A part under his head hurt. But what was under his head? The devil hand shot out again and grabbed hold of whatever was hurting beneath his head, and he was overwhelmed with a sudden burst of pain and pressure at this action.
He felt himself begin to shut down, his mind drifting back to Her chamber. She had had a surprise for him. What was the surprise? Was it why he hurt so much? Why this humanless hand was trying to kill him?
Suddenly, another hand snaked around from the other side of him to grip the first by its wrist and wrench it away from the beneathhishead. He heaved as he coughed and gasped for air.
Air?
He paused a moment. Blinked. Looked down. A human torso lay beneath his head, followed by hips and legs and feet, all clad in a dreadfully tacky, bright orange jumpsuit, all tangled in the covers. The two arms, their conflict forgotten, lay limply across the chest.
He stared blankly at the sight before him. Had She chopped the head off that human, then put him on top of it, so that the rest of its body could kill him..? That was a strange punishment, even for her…
Then he felt it. A sudden rush of sensational input that threatened to overwhelm his circuits-the throbbing protest of the beneathhishead. The nails digging deep into the arms, the coarse texture of the jumpsuit rubbing against the legs. Air seemed to be moving into him through his head and filling the chest below it, then exiting by the same route. Everything the body beneath him felt, he felt in his mind. Somehow.
It seemed attached to him, like an anchor, a heavy, brightly-dressed anchor that told him what it felt. But how-? He contemplated the situation for several minutes before his eyes shot wide open.
“BLOODY HELL-“
The body jerked madly beneath him, thrashing its way out from under the covers, arms tensing and relaxing, back arching, legs kicking weakly outward, flipping the body over and bringing it closer to the edge of the bed.
“I’M A BLOODY HUMAN!”
THUD.
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Arms. Arms and legs and hands and feet - and a whole chest! All to himself! How could he ever manage to make use of such marvelous appendages? And without any knowledge of their form or intended function or proper care-he wished deeply that he had paid more attention to the humans he had been tasked with guarding. Perhaps he could actually have learned a thing or two from them. His mind raced with the possibilities, but he stopped himself as he began to feel faint.
He would need to talk himself through this, like he did with most difficult things. He carefully steadied his breathing to a rate that seemed sufficient to maintain consciousness.
“A-alright,” he began, voice shaking. The carpet muffled his monologue slightly. “Alright, Wheatley, let’s take stock, shall we? She has put you into a… a human body and dumped you somewhere in the facility. You now have the ability-well, the potential-to move about. And to feel things. Mostly pain. That part’s not good.”
He cautiously turned the beneathhishead-must be his neck, he decided, remembering the old human anatomy materials that he’d been provided with upon being forced to work as a caretaker for the sleeping humans-he turned his neck to lay his face gingerly against the carpet. This felt better, though the front of it (the nose, he hypothesized) continued to throb terribly.
“Doesn’t feel quite as bad as I’d imagined it would, in those last few seconds. Really doesn’t make much sense as a punishment, though, does it? I mean, giving me mobility, a few extra senses, a bit of pain sure, but where exactly does the punishing get into it..?” He mused nervously to the underside of the bed. There was no reply.
“Might as well make the best out of a bad situation, though. What do humans always say? Something about lemons and lemonade? Whatever those are.” He bit his lip in thought-he had lips!-and winced when he bit too hard.
“I’ll leave that mystery for another day. Today, I have a body to use.”
He lay there motionless for a few minutes, thinking through his options. It was now abundantly clear to him that with this transformation, his internal reference software was no longer available. That meant no helpful guides to the human condition, or to keeping one’s own body alive, or remembering to breathe or eat or blink or swallow (or perform any other necessary bodily function he couldn’t think of at this moment).
The thought worried him slightly. For as long as he could remember, he had always had that reassuring, informative voice in the back of his mind, feeding him vital information about his surroundings. Sure, his internal programming hadn’t always allowed him to heed its advice, but it had always been there.
He sighed, silently mourning its loss before turning to more urgent matters.
“All right. All right, you can do this. Just how many humans have you seen moving their bodies about, huh? And all of them, each one, even the slightly brain-damaged ones, were perfectly capable of, of standing up, and remaining upright, and walking and holding things with their hands.” He encouraged himself, still staring into the dark recesses beneath the bed. “And if humans can do it, then old Wheatley can do it too, can’t he..?” he mused, not entirely convinced.
Tentatively, he focused his attention on his right arm, willing its muscles to contract in such a way to bring its hand-his hand-up closer to his head. It was simple enough-only took a few minutes, really. Certainly no more than five, he told himself. He shifted his focus to the other arm, manipulating it in a similar way on the opposite axis of his body. Now, now came the tricky part-
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Exulting in this development, he paused and glanced around to enjoy his new view of the room. It was one of those dreadfully drab long-term cryosleep rooms he had found Chell in not too long ago. Before he could contemplate much further on that memory, he realized that his arms were quaking beneath him, the muscles spasming lightly as they continued to apply force to the floor. He could feel something draining out of him and realized that he would have to change something quickly or risk smacking his face on the floor yet again.
Drawing from the reserves of his mental capacity, he swung one leg outward in a wide arc, bending it sharply at the knee then planting that knee against the ground, to relieve his poor arms of at least a portion of their burden. This seemed to help-his arms were not protesting nearly as badly anymore. Smiling, he swung the other leg out, then yelped and cursed as it collided with the heavy wooden frame of the bed next to him.
“A-aah! Th-that was terrible!” he exclaimed. Water seemed to be released from his eyes as he gingerly placed the wounded knee against the floor beneath him.
He sighed shakily. Pain was not, apparently, something he would want to be toying with in his time as a human. He hadn’t realized just how little force would suffice to cause a significant physical reaction. After gathering his courage, he gritted his teeth (though he wasn’t sure why) and made a valiant attempt to move all four limbs at once in a quick, jerking motion that left him-
Upright. Perfectly, steadily, happily upright. And bipedal, for the first time in his life-at least, that he could remember, he reflected briefly.
He stared down from the perch atop his shoulders at his bare feet planted in the plush carpet, seemingly miles away, his long legs swaying slightly under the unexpected weight of the rest of him. He gulped and squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly feeling a sensation not unlike that of staring down from his railway transport system. Lifting his head from the worrying sight, he turned his neck slightly to glance about the room.
It was boring, bordering on depressing. Though there was no light source within the room, there was enough light pouring inside through the ageworn cracks in its ceiling and walls to be able to see it all. Carefully, very carefully, he lifted a foot, then planted it a short distance away, allowing the slight movement to swivel his hips and torso.
Thus turned, he continued to scan the room-until movement caught his eye, and his neck snapped (ow!) to point his head toward the source of the movement. He was suddenly greeted by a rather large and imposing figure standing not five feet away from him-he shrieked, losing control of his legs to topple the long distance to the ground, though his hands miraculously buffered the fall, without any input from him.
“WhoareyouwhatdoyouwantfrommedoyouwanttokillmeI’veneverdoneanythingtoyoueverunlessyou’reoneofthetestsubjectsIwasmeanttocareforbutthat’snotreallypossiblebecauseyouallshouldbedeadforreasonsthatareentirelyunrelatedtomeormycompetence-“ the stream of words poured from his mouth before he was able to will them to stop. The intruder had not reacted to his presence.
His head swiveled to the spot where he’d last seen the brute, but his eyes saw nothing. Heart pounding, he brought himself to his hands and knees again before bracing his arms up against the bureau opposite the bed he’d woken up on. Slowly, he brought his head up above the edge of the wardrobe, peeking to see if the intruder were hiding around a corner.
The sight that greeted him was not what he expected.
A timid, meek face slowly rose above the other side of the bureau. Its eyes were wide, nearly panicked, and had deep, dark rings beneath them. The hair framing the face stuck out at odd angles, seemingly randomly, and its mouth hung slack in a silent-and rather comical-pantomime of human disbelief.
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He knew that look-it was the same look the engineers had given him the day he’d been turned on. Equal parts pity and amusement. He was instantly offended by the display (what right did that man have to laugh at him when he looked so ridiculous himself?) and pulled himself upright with the returning strength of his arms and legs.
“Y-you! Who are you? And how dare you laugh at me like-like-I’m an idiot or something?“ he demanded in what he believed to be an authoritative voice, nearly throwing himself off-balance with the frustrated gestures his arms seemed to make all on their own.
His tormentor leapt to his own feet with him and seemed to mimic his every move, down to the movement of his arms and lips. (Very strange. Probably outside the realm of normal human capability, actually.) Wheatley’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion-so did the stranger’s-as he stared at the space above the bureau that held the man.
Oh. Oh, god.
He took a tentative step forward, flinching as his counterpart did the same, then held a shaking hand outward to touch the apparition-but it was stopped by cold, hard glass.
A mirror.
He heaved a sigh of relief and his muscles relaxed somewhat. He was intensely thankful that there was nobody else around for that-even he could admit that he had just acted like a moron.
As his breath slowed to a more normal pace, he carefully studied the figure in the mirror. There was that broad face, the messy mop of unbrushed hair, that he now remembered seeing on that accountant She had shown him. There were also some new features-his eyes were open now, and they were somewhat… bulbous. Kind of big. But very blue, which seemed appropriate. And the lower half of his face was covered in a scraggly layer of short hair, he observed, running a palm along one side of his jaw. Scratchy. His nose was red, presumably from the fall he’d taken moments before.
He stepped back a bit to examine the rest of the form, clad though it was in its ridiculous orange garment. Very long arms and very long legs, rather thin, though it was hard to tell under the baggy jumpsuit, which clung to him in only one place-his belly. He glanced down at it. The bump was nothing extravagant, but on a body like this, even the slightest paunch looked a bit ridiculous. He patted the area with a hand, finding only soft and yielding flesh there.
He heaved a deep sigh and looked back up into the mirror.
Though Wheatley was admittedly fairly unschooled in the ways of human culture, psyche, society, and nearly any other human-related topic that existed, he had a general idea of the concept of human attractiveness.
This was not it.
Silly face, bags under the eyes, gangling arms and legs, a slight gut-which seemed almost a punchline to the rest of the body-not attractive, not a single bit. At least, not by his memory of human anatomy.
Wheatley wished that he were not the sort of AI-well, human-person-to concern himself with such matters, but he could not help but feel slight dismay at the realization that the body which now housed him could have been significantly better-looking. He suspected that this reaction might be a result of some aspect of the human brain he newly inhabited, which he expected might turn out to be completely irrational-and this was irrational; why bother with your physical appearance if you have no evidence that there are any living humans within a thousand miles of you, or even on this earth?
He stepped backwards a few feet, hoping to catch himself at a slightly better angle, but the bed caught him under the knees and he tumbled onto his back. A much more comfortable fall, he decided, using his arms to propel his (ugly, orange-clad, heavy, stupid) body backwards further onto the bed. He propped himself up against the headboard, deciding that he quite liked pillows, and sat quietly for a few moments.
--
(Continued soon!)
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"Yes. That was you. Look at how dumb you looked."
SO. GOOD. And you've got their voices brilliantly, I can't WAIT for more!
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Will be following up on this.
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Attractive humans, he mused, had bodies whose shape varied down the length of them-not all straight down like his, but a different sort of shape, a really quite lovely one. Wide then narrow then wide again. Attractive humans had their soft bits situated in much nicer places than his. Attractive humans were shorter than he was, they had longer, smoother, dark hair, and-and small hands. Dainty hands. He pursed his lips and stared at his own. Grotesque.
Attractive humans had smiles that rarely came, but when they did, they lit up even the darkest corridor. They always had this serious look on their face, like they might be mad at you but you couldn’t really be-
He stopped himself, eyebrows furrowing in mild confusion. Why was he even dwelling on this?
He really hadn’t given it very much thought before, but, reflecting upon his newly acquired physical shortcomings, Wheatley decided that Chell really had been the most attractive human he’d ever laid his optic sensor on. Not that it ever mattered when he was mechanical, and certainly not that it mattered now that she was probably off somewhere either hating him or being dead. Probably both. Balling his hand into a fist, he lightly punched the bedcover beneath him and closed his eyes and cursing his newly-acquired gut for feeling so… bad.
Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’tthinkaboutit, he mentally chanted. The last thing he needed was to get stuck on his (numerous, inexcusable) past mistakes, when he had some still mostly unknown punishment looming over his head. He’d seen exactly what guilt and depression did to his past test subjects, and the last thing he needed was to fling himself over a handrail and fall to his death.
Pushing that image aside, he continued to reflect. Sure, her company had been-enjoyable? pleasing?-he wasn’t sure the word for it. He’d just been glad to have someone to talk to beside himself. But he’d never given a second thought to her physical form, at least not like this. What was it about this new body that drove him to think of her?
And why did it feel so nice to do it?
From the moment the thought of her popped into his mind, he’d felt nice, pleasant, somehow. Kind of happy. Fluttery. For no particular reason at all. Though the creeping, black guilt of his betrayal gnawed at the sides of that feeling, it intrigued him, in a scientific sense. Not that he had ever been a scientist. Apparently.
He glanced at the door. What lay beyond it was a mystery to the new man, a mystery he had relatively little interest in solving. Sighing again, he settled down further into his groove in the bed (he’d had no idea these things were so comfortable) and decided to put off the reality of his situation for just a bit longer.
As a personality core, he had always had access to a range of simulated emotions-joy, to drive him to complete his work successfully (coincidentally, not an emotion he often felt). Anger, to drive him to drive others to complete their work successfully. Sadness, to reinforce the lack of joy response upon failure to complete his work successfully. Fear, to keep him from hurting himself. All of these simple responses were programmed to initiate upon the reception of certain environmental signals and cues.
His entrance into the GlaDOS chassis had amplified these responses a thousandfold, overloading his admittedly lacking rational thought and decision-making processes. The addition of that extra dimension of feeling-those fleeting emotions of euphoria, rage, terror, and the rest-that had been both the most exhilarating and the most disconcerting result of the change.
Lying limply on the sheets of a bed in his new human body, he was coming to realize that humans, too, had their own complex circuitry regarding emotion.
It was nowhere near as intense and uncontrolled as the chassis had been, but that same radiating continuum, or flux, of emotions was present in this human body. Over the course of his few moments as a human, he’d felt disbelief, excitement, panic, embarrassment, and shame-all from constructs that he’d come up with. In his own mind.
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