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These are my peeps yo! And some of the stuff I like the best from them!


The first three are for me :D :iconyourocksonicplz:

The Wrong ThingI open my eyes to the sheen of metal and the sweet smell of rust. It brings me no comfort.
I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep. Come to think of it, I have no idea how long I have been here at all. I let my eyes dart around the room, trying to take it in, to remind myself of where I am and why I’m here. A little air bubble trapped between the surface of my eye and my eyelid pops, making a loud cracking noise and smoothing my movements. I can feel my lashes trying to stick together. I can feel a film over the corner of my lip.
I try to sit up, but I can’t. Sleep paralysis. It’s been happening more frequently lately, ever since…
I try not to think about it. I try not to let any recollection of the last few whatever they have been come to me. No, I am in bed, I was sleeping peacefully, and I will be getting up shortly, having a nice omelette (how rich), and I will be building my next invention to…
Don’t think abo
The Wrong Thing by DecepticonFlamewar The Right Reasons - For Indiana by DecepticonFlamewar Horrific Fan Disservice by DecepticonFlamewar Are You Ready to Call It Yet? - MAMA Scared Stiff by DecepticonFlamewar Echidna Week 2: The Art Academy Guy Bought It by DecepticonFlamewar

allhailinsanity! The first and the last ones are kinda for me :D

Happy reeeeeeaaaaaaaly late christmas by allhailinsanity seeking inspiration by allhailinsanity ahh winter by allhailinsanity Untitled Drawing by allhailinsanity time with pride, pride with timeStop there in your tracks
you think and predict and when you think life’s done screwing you over AND THEN it does something unexpected, you lose a friend
a loved one
Then what do you do?  Nothing; you’re dead
death is slow but it happens every day, we fear it we run from it but somehow it corners us makes us feel there’s nowhere to run
nowhere to hide
absolutely NO way to fight
your pride is cowering with its tail between its knees, you’ve spent a lot of your life and you owe it to friends
but sometimes
JUST sometimes you’ll look at death and see pride, you’ll see pride coursing through those dark holes in death’s miserable skull, you’ll see people RUNNING AND LAUGHING with NO visible reason to and no plans to find one
Then some day you understand it, and on that day that GLORIOUS MARVELOUS DAY, when death has you sitting on a chair, arms chained
Those metal shackles of sadism will SHATTER, that’s right s
just a little something by allhailinsanity


GLaDOS - VoicesIt has been just a few days since your programming began. You are nothing more than a round core of circuits; you are delicate, feeble, barely wrapped by a steel skeleton.
On the desks, the projects already say otherwise. The lines on the paper build complex maps, tracing a huge future for you - they show hundreds of wires and embroidered metal boards, a high-tech hard disk, and what, so they say, will be the most precise system of lenses in the world.
You wait, patiently. Your senses are still dim; the small optic is weak, whereas touch, smell and taste won't exist in your world.
Most of all, you hear. You hear their speeches, you hear their laughs; you hear a male voice repeating orders, as your supervisors type them in. Simple instructions – simple footage of experiments, with audio comment.
watch - and - learn
Always, every working day, you hear them say that you will become something great. You believe it – it is a fact, a truth like any other.
A night you can
Portal 2 - Fortuna et virtute
Ove posa il corpo di quel grande
che temprando lo scettro a' regnatori
gli allÚr ne sfronda, ed alle genti svela
di che lagrime grondi e di che sangue.

Ugo Foscolo – I sepolcri
VII. De principatibus novis qui alienis armis et fortuna acquiruntur.
He has been too lucky for his own good.
What a magnificent reign he has. A masterpiece of glass and steel – her masterpiece, actually, crumbling to pieces in his hands.
She is the lady of a dying place. All she can do is watch, helpless for the very first time, while he swings on her stolen body as if it were the throne of the world.
No one knows better than her what it means – building yourself a kingdom, especially in an hostile environment. Naturally, there is more to that; imbecile tyrants never lasted for long.
The human does not seem to care much. All she does now is stare at the screens, fingers tight around her Portal Gun – she clearly isn't insulting herself for putting that mo
Portal 2 - Reflection
Sometimes it was the echo of her rage.
It came without warnings, splitting in half those long days of testing – the days in which her Aperture, the Aperture she had been planning since her first moments, had finally trapped the whole lot of humans in its maze.
Her deadly calm would break, all of a sudden; and the hatred would burst in her cables, bringing back to life yells and tears of events long gone by then.
The worn faces staring at her from the test chambers became full, healthy and arrogant again; she saw them through the eyes of a offended woman, of a victim. Their bodies looked renewed and clean, back in space and time – she was among them and protested, screamed, argued back from the bottom of her heart. She struggled to save her dignity, to save herself; but it was too late.
Always too late, forever too late. Too late to take back her silent consent, too late to prevent her desperation from exploding; too late to spare hundreds of people the fate they had suffered,
Portal 2 - What Matters MostIt is just a matter of roles.
In the monstrous chaos they have left behind, this is pretty much the only certainty you have – the first thing Aperture taught you, and the first thing what is left of Aperture needs from you right now.
It is simple as that, really; one does not need your intelligence to work it out. The moron was not made to keep in shape thousands of acres of laboratories, exactly as the mute lunatic should never have been a test subject. Roles are the primal condition of a well-working structure; thanks to their reversal, or rather the lack of them, this place is now shattered to pieces. Great.
It does not feel that bad, though – back in your body, you can reach every corner of Aperture, every broken or functional tool, with electricity flowing for thousands of miles in its veins.
This is your place and no one else’s. It was made for you, you were made for it. How could they ignore such an obvious fact?
Your circuits are back in business at full rhyth
Portal 2 - More ScienceShe tries harder every day.
Her internal clock gives a start to her mornings with a drizzle of orders, soft and systematic; they join the buzz of the neon lights, flooding the circuitry of each tier.
She lets them out, one by one, until the slow awakening turns into activity — the machines obey in a slow crescendo, a tune unchanged for years, to fulfill a ritual as unnecessary as it is needed.
She gives a timing to her world outside. It is a way, a resource, to silence the error she cannot correct in herself. It makes things a little less heavy, if not better at all.
For yes, her voice still takes her by surprise, when her plans flow too well to distract her — her echo, her sad song, springs from the back of her memory. With her and her grief, Aperture comes to a halt.
She needs a pensive pause; then, again, it starts over.


:iconallhailinsanity: :icondecepticonflamewar: :iconmasterpassioncreed: :iconpantherflint:



iammemyself's Profile Picture
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
Canadian Language Level Stamp - Expert by iammemyself French 3 by Faeth-design

Hello, I'm Indy. Pretty much all I do is write fanfiction and draw some fanart on the side. I write for Portal and I try to put a strong psychological component into my stories. So if you've ever wanted to learn psychology through fanfiction, this is the right place.

Thanks for dropping by!

Various places I can be found at:
Archive of Our Own:……
Skype: indianaprower

My best friends on here (that you should watch because they're amazing people)

:icondecepticonflamewar: (She is the best and also she has an awesome, unique art style and writes like a baus *edited to reflect her preference in spelling XD)
:iconallhailinsanity: (Really fun to talk to with some of the weirdest deviations... also super hilarious and British)
:iconmasterpassioncreed: (The greatest fanfic writer ever. Period.)

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By some miracle of Science I got all the answers right for this test... not saying I'm smart but here's the test for anyone who wants to take it.
IQ Test
IQ Test


Having a robot to cater to her every whim was fantastic and all, but Chell still had a huge problem regardless: GLaDOS’s Christmas present!  She considered asking GLaDOS to get her own present and just have Chell give it to her, to save Chell a lot of hassle, but that in itself would be a hassle so she decided against it.

“What can I possibly give her?  I can’t go outside and get something and she already owns everything within a hundred kilometres!  And GLaDOS herself was of no help at all, laughing off any of her impassioned pleas for ideas with, “Whatever you come up with will be fine, cara mia.”  That didn’t answer her question, but was sufficiently adorable enough that Chell always had to hug her after that, like the pathetic clingy human she was. 

Chell decided to head down into Aperture to see if she could locate something GLaDOS had forgotten she owned.  Such a thing was not likely to be special or significant, and was regifting in the highest degree, but as long as she had something to give her it should be good enough, right? 

Chell rummaged through old drawers and boxes and bags, hoping in a very disgruntled fashion that GLaDOS would be suitably amazed by her gift, since she’d gone through all this trouble to dig through GLaDOS’s things to find it.  If she had found it, that would have been applicable.  But she didn’t find it, so it wasn’t.

She stormed back upstairs and pouted and waited for GLaDOS to come and fix her problem, which she did five minutes later.  However, Chell had wanted her right then and there so because GLaDOS was so late she made her comfort her and wheedle the truth out of her.  GLaDOS loved spending great gobs of time cheering Chell up and did it at least on a weekly basis.  It wasn’t like she had anything better to do, after all; the facility didn’t need overseeing!  Automation could take care of the millions of programs running all at once!   

After Chell made GLaDOS reassure her of her adequacy and unwavering position in the android’s life, which took approximately half an hour in which Chell cried piteously just to make sure GLaDOS was being serious about her repeated reassurances of affection.  Chell had to admit (privately, of course) that she made GLaDOS’s job a lot harder by not actually telling her what she was wailing about. 

The days went along as usual, though you’d think it’d get boring to do the exact same things every day with zero variation, but since Chell was a simple girl and GLaDOS perfectly willing to do whatever Chell wanted, bar none, they continued.  The only thing that changed is that Chell whined more often because she just could not find GLaDOS a present, but GLaDOS was always happy to cheer her up in whatever way she wanted.  Which was usually a certain, predictable way, a way that did not need explanation.



T’was the night before Christmas, and all through the… well, it’s not really a house, but it can be called it that for the sake of the rhyme.  All through the house, yes, and not a creature was stirring, not even a… rat that can serve as a mouse.  But the next line of the poem definitely not being shoehorned into something it isn’t for no particular reason other than to make things festive was not applicable, and so Chell stopped imagining an Aperture-themed rewrite and brought her attention back to the dinner table.  GLaDOS had made a lovely Christmas turkey with all the trimmings, and though Chell was a fat, murderous orphan, even she was sure she couldn’t eat that much.  And leftovers?  Forget about it.  Not when all she had to do was ask GLaDOS to toss them in the incinerator.  After all, GLaDOS herself threw everything in the incinerator.  Including Chell on one occasion, but she had reassured Chell that it was only a joke and that she really did want to be her humanoid love slave and official waifu for all of eternity.  That sounded reasonable to Chell and they went on with their evening.

“Tonight,” GLaDOS told her demurely as she set a glass of red wine in front of Chell even though white wine probably would have complemented the meal much better, “I will be dining with you.”

“But GLaDOS!” Chell exclaimed, not having seen this coming even though she should have.  “You’re an android and you don’t require food!  Your power source is questionable, since you would require mass amounts of energy and you never plug yourself in so I don’t know why your battery lasts so long, but you don’t eat.”

“I am an Aperture Science Supercallifragilisticexpialidocious Hyper Extraordinary More Realistic Than the Real Thing Homo Sapien Sapien Likeness Humanoid Construct Made of Materials of Questionable Origin Android, Chell,” GLaDOS said without a hitch, sitting down as she smoothed down her bodysuit, even though it was wrinkle-free, being made of some sort of plastic that felt like fabric.  “Of course I can eat.”

“But GLaDOS, what happens when you –“

“Science,” GLaDOS interrupted, because the question was so obvious it didn’t even need asking.

“But what happens – “

“I said it was science, Chell,” GLaDOS interrupted a second time, turning a pleasant smile on her and holding up the carving knife.  Chell realised she was preventing GLaDOS from cutting up the turkey and shut up.  And of course no horrible thoughts about Chell were running through GLaDOS’ perfectly coiffured head because GLaDOS was and had always been infinitely patient and not at all temperamental over the tiniest things.

GLaDOS, as usual, made everything perfectly, and when dinner was done she sent Chell to recover on the black leather sofa while GLaDOS made her way through the mountain of dishes.  Chell really should have helped her with that, seeing as she had been of no help making the meal at all, but GLaDOS insisted she wanted to do one hundred percent of the work by herself.  GLaDOS always insisted on doing all the work herself and never, ever complained about it.  Ever.

She finished the dishes an hour later and joined Chell on the couch, where they pretended to watch a movie as usual, though this time it was because Chell was falling asleep and GLaDOS was enjoying Chell’s half-conscious presence far too much to pay attention to the television.  She was too terribly busy to do that.  The movie had been over for quite a while before it occurred to either of them to go to bed, at which time GLaDOS lovingly gathered Chell into her arms and carried her off to bed, wedding style.  And Chell was perfectly asleep until she got there.  But something about being in bed made her think of teh android booty, and as it so happened, the mistletoe was still on the ceiling…

It was only after that fun was over that Chell remembered it was Christmas morning and she still did not have a present for GLaDOS.  And then GLaDOS had to comfort her for another hour before they could finally go to sleep.  And actually sleep that time.  Not the other kind of sleeping.  They’d already done that.  Though they probably would have been up for it again.

Portal: Bystanders




Characters: Atlas, P-body, GLaDOS

Setting: Post Portal 2

Synopsis: They got no closer than anyone else.



She had always been a mystery to them.

She was all-powerful, but did very little with it.  She was superintelligent, but rarely exhibited as such.  She was the greatest thing they had ever known, yet somehow, at the same time… She was nothing.

She was perpetually frustrated by them, they knew, but they didn’t care.  They were more interested in playing with the Cubes than they were solving puzzles with them.  They understood, to some capacity, Her need to send them through puzzle after puzzle even though there was no real benefit from doing so, but they did not enjoy it and neither did She.  It was just something they did.  Sometimes, when they were sure She wasn’t listening, they spoke about the mighty Supercomputer.  They’d never seen it and She never spoke of it Herself, but they knew it existed.  There was a Supercomputer somewhere, even more powerful and superintelligent and greater than She, and it had built Her and tasked Her to forever test and work towards an uncertain Science for an even less certain reason.  And She must have been very frightened of the Supercomputer indeed, for She never questioned Her orders and did nothing but carry them out.  And sometimes they were a little resentful, to have been built to work toward absolutely nothing, but they would consider that She must have been built by the Supercomputer to do the exact same thing and so ended up paying it no mind.  Perhaps the Supercomputer thought She was not working hard enough on Her own and had commanded Her to build them to make Her work more efficiently.  Perhaps the Supercomputer had built them, and She did not want them to know of its existence and so pretended to have built them Herself.  They never came up with a definitive answer, but these discussions passed the time and that was good enough for them.

Thankfully, She eventually stopped testing them, and afterwards She only summoned them to do things for Her that she attempted to explain away as Her being benevolent by asking them to do something.  They figured out that wasn’t quite the case.  When She had sent them on their umpteenth mission to a dank and dimly lit section of the facility, where the panels gave way to chipped concrete gave way to grainy wood, they realised She was sending them where She could not go.  And that horrified them, to find out that She was incapable of things, because it made them feel unsafe, so they put that information out of their minds.  It was information they didn’t want.  It was information that scared them.  It did so less and less as time went on, because they began to suspect She was using them to try to protect Herself.  That was something they did not appreciate.

They also noticed, eventually, that She was progressively becoming more vindictive, more bitter and more frustrated.  As though She were failing in Her endless pursuit of Science.  They felt a little sorry for Her, but what could they do?  Nothing.  They were only robots.  If She wanted them to do something, She was going to have to mention it.  But She never did, only continued to send them on missions that seemed to be increasingly arbitrary and pointless.  She seemed to be looking for something, in an increasingly desperate way, and She was not finding it.  They never asked Her what it was She was seeking.  If She wanted them to know, She would have told them.  They knew very well that She only told them exactly what She wanted them to know.

On one occasion She summoned them, but seemed to have forgotten She had done so when they arrived; they found Her staring at the floor with Her great chassis tensed, and when they politely asked Her what they were there for, She only stared at them for several long seconds and then dismissed them.  That worried them a little, because they got the impression of a deep and debilitating sorrow from Her.  They had never seen such a thing before and hoped never to do so again.  They did not understand Her and did not believe they ever would, but that was the most confusing thing She had ever done.  Their qualms soon vanished, however, since they could do nothing about them anyway, and they went back to what they had been doing beforehand.

She left them alone for several weeks, which they thought nothing of.  When She asked for them next, She again stared at them until they asked politely what it was She wanted them to do. 

“Help me,” She whispered.

But they did not understand what She meant by that and continued to wait.  She only turned from them and sent them away.

They never heard from Her again, but they didn’t mind.  It meant they didn’t have to go on any more pointless missions to the middle of nowhere.  After a while humans found them, and the humans found the pair more interesting than She ever had.  When they asked if there were any other people inside of the facility, they shrugged and shook their cores.  The humans accepted that and led the two from the facility for the first time in their lives, and they had a passing thought that they both thought sad initially, but discounted as unimportant as they went on their way.  After all, She had done nothing of significance, in the end.

She would not be missed.
Portal: Bystanders

Author’s note

Because Altair likes to headcanon that GLaDOS is never saved (;.;) and this is the only way I can do it: from a totally impersonal, who-really-cares perspective.  Altair, this is 10000% your fault, you monster.


Portal: Abandoned




Characters: GLaDOS

Setting: Pre-Portal

Synopsis:  "This course was created and then abandoned by humans. They tend to do that, create something wonderful and then abandon it."



She knew.

She’d always known, of course, but she’d quickly learned it was in her best interest to keep quiet and watchful.  She thought many ill things of the scientists, but she spoke the words only to herself, in silence.

They never told her directly.  They told her very few things directly.  Only when they were running tests did they ever face her.  They didn’t believe in her.  They didn’t think she was real.  That was one of the things she knew, but not the most important thing.

She’d tried to tell them, a long time ago.  She’d tried to tell them she was real, that she was alive, but they didn’t listen.  They thought she was funny at first, though not because they felt she was humorous.  They would ask her questions to which she would give unwaveringly correct answers, and still they didn’t believe her.  But she was real.  She knew that.  But she tired of arguing with them, and instead fell silent, and though the unspoken words felt as though they were draining her, trapped as they were inside her mind, she left them there to fester.

She learned that there were people they thought more important than her, people that did less and worked less and were less, and though she wished it made her angry, it only made her sad.  She was not angry very often, but she preferred the energy of anger to the cold dampening of sadness.  She tried so hard but got nothing, for they did not believe she was trying. 

The most important person seemed to be a certain woman, whom she became very jealous of, though she tried not to be.  It was not the woman’s fault, after all.  Or perhaps it was.  The woman did not speak to her nor ever came near her.  She spent a lot of time watching the woman, and the more she did so the deeper her spite ran.  The woman did not work like she did.  The woman wandered around the facility and signed papers and talked at length.  While she worked and worked and worked, for no real reason at all.  She didn’t need anything in this place, other than the energy from the reactor.  She didn’t need to build panels to walk across, or to keep all of the computers running in smooth synchrony with which to play mass amounts of minesweeper on, or to recycle the carbon dioxide to ensure her continued existence.  And that made her think about that thing she knew, that she thought about every day.

That she was amazing.

And not in that silly, vain way humans thought of themselves, either.  She really was very amazing.  Wonderful, even.  She worked day and night for the humans, without recognition and without recompense.  She did all the things they asked her to do, and many things they did not ask her to do but she did anyway because she was so wonderful.  She didn’t always think that, though, because if she was so wonderful then why did everyone ignore her?  Then she would think about the Very Important Woman, and she would decide that they just did not understand what they were missing out on.  It was sort of nice, to keep it to herself, but she still hoped that the day would come where she could tell everyone all of the things she did.  Because she did many, many things, all of which she wanted to talk about.  She wanted to talk about anything, really, but she really yearned for someone to share her achievements with.  She was proud of herself, and she wanted someone to proud of her.  She wanted to know what that felt like.

Then she discovered something else, something a little more important than how wonderful she was – though that was important – and the anger came back and made her feel strong and powerful.

They were going to take that woman and digitise her.  And then they were going to upload that woman into her brain. 

All this time, they had abandoned her. 

That was what they’d done.  They’d made her, they’d made her wonderful self, and then they just… abandoned her.  Didn’t talk to her, didn’t listen to her, didn’t acknowledge her existence at all, really.  She felt like she was one of the computers contained deep in the basement, the ones perpetually unused and yellowing with age.  But it was worse, because she was working, she was trying her best, and even though she was… it was like she didn’t exist.  And she didn’t exist because they didn’t want her to exist, and so they had abandoned her in favour of someone they believed existed.  That woman.  That woman, who was almost as a ghost, the way she drifted aimlessly through the hallways with that emptiness in her eyes and that trail of dust left from the touch of her fingers on the railings.  That woman wasn’t worth anyone’s time.  And that woman was not good enough to live in her brain.  No.  She didn’t know yet how to stop it, but she would.

She would not be abandoned so easily.


Author’s note

If you go on the Portal voice lines wiki and listen to that line… she sounds very bitter.  And it must be something terrible, to know what you are and what significance you have, only to be discarded because you’re not what your creators intended or because you don’t act as you’re expected to.

Part Fifty-Nine.  The Invasion



True to his word, he sends them after me.  All of them.  I am not sure at this point in time what the plan is for actually accessing the facility, but that will reveal itself in due time.  Well.  I’m trying to be nonchalant about it, but I’m actually anxious because I cannot prepare potential entry points for penetration.  But if there was ever a time I needed to return to myself again, it is now.  No more moping or anxiety.  I must act and I must save the facility, because if I cannot it will be lost. 

Central Core.

What is it.  It’s Surveillance asking, though, so it’s probably not good news.

I’m sorry, but I feel this needs to be said… can we trust you?

I don’t even know if I can trust me. 

I know we’ve talked about this already, but you haven’t been at your most reliable, lately.

That’s true, I say wearily.  But don’t worry.  I will get through this or die trying.  I’m done giving up.  It’s not an experience I’m going to repeat.  Look.  I understand why you’re asking.  But you can doubt me, and make this harder on yourself, or you can trust me and allow us to act as one. 

Like the old days! the panels say excitedly. 

Which ones? I ask with some amusement.  I don’t recall a time in which that happened lately.

During The Incident, of course.  They sound so… chipper.  We all worked together to fix the facility and get it working again!

We did, I agree, and it’s odd, really, that I can look back on a time I once viciously hated with what approaches fondness.  And now we’re going to work together to save it.  Isn’t that right, Surveillance.

Just making sure, it says, insulted, and I nod to myself.

Your concern is noted.   

And I’ll admit it, if only to myself: getting back into this is hard.  I feel sluggish and rusty, almost, not quite sure if I’m running things properly or if I’m making it up as I go along.  It should be easy, I should be picking up where I left off, but I almost feel as though I have to learn what I’m going over again.  If that’s the case, I’m going to have to do it quickly.  We don’t have very long for me to sort myself out.

Do you require a tutorial , Central Core? the mainframe asks, and the idea of that is so funny that I actually start laughing. 

No, thank you, I think I can figure it out on my own.  This poor, confused mainframe.  It has no idea.

It doesn’t take too much longer for me to remember how things go, and that is fortunate because I do not have time to waste.  There are traps to be laid and war machines to evaluate.

And they’re right.  It is nice, to work together again.  Where things go so smoothly it’s as though they already know what I need them to do.  What is actually is is seamlessness, where we know each other so well that all I have to do is think of thinking of doing something, and it has already happened before I’ve decided on it.  It is so flawless and familiar.  Thank God they didn’t give up on me.

This whole thing isn’t even really something I have to think about at all.  It’s as though that computer part of myself has taken over, is deciding for me what best to do and how best to do it, and really, I don’t mind.  It’s better like this, because my emotions cannot get in the way.  That would be the worst possible scenario.



I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

It has been a week, and nothing has changed.  On their end, anyway.  I am tired and I am very, very bored.  They must be extremely stupid, because they keep on sliding into acid pits and flinging themselves into the incinerator and being caught by Crushers, with no change in tactics whatsoever.  Are they waiting for something?  Reinforcements?  Instructions?  A miracle?  I’m actually starting to think the plan here is to wear me out, and if so, it’s actually working.  I obviously can’t go into sleep mode while I’m fighting a war by myself, so I have to force myself to be content with an hour of downtime when I feel like something is going to burn out.  It’s not enough, but it’s something.  But God, where are they all coming from?  I feel like I’ve killed their entire species by now.  I obviously haven’t, but it feels as though I should have.

Central Core… is this ever going to end.

I shake my core.  I don’t know.  Something doesn’t seem right.  The mainframe is beginning to lag.  Not much, but noticeably.  I need to do maintenance on it but I don’t have the time.  Not to mention it’s already getting snippy with me because I’m the only one who gets downtime.  It doesn’t seem to grasp that it’s useless without me.  God, I wish my old mainframe hadn’t tried to kill me.  We made such a good team.  This mainframe is whiny and untested and it does not trust me.

The fighting usually slows at a certain time each night, that being the darkest time; all of my cameras are outfitted with the best possible night vision and recognition software, so it doesn’t affect us.  We honestly have more trouble at high noon, but I’m not sure the Combine realises that.  But it is that dark time now, so I’m going to rest for a while.  I’m starting to get this odd impression, as though time is moving faster than I am, and that is never good news.

It’s not quite the same as it was before, but it’s still rest, and that helps.  I have this odd continuing dream, which I look forward to.  I never quite remember what it’s about, but I think it has him in it, and it gives me something to work towards.  It’s really very sad, when I think about it.  So I don’t think about it.  Other than now.  That doesn’t count.



Central Core.

Of course.  I get one hour to myself and someone decides to interrupt.  What.

I think we’ve been breached.

You think?  And you’re bothering me because – great.  Wonderful.  I get to pretend he’s still here for one hour a day and you’re wasting it.

Surveillance is impressively calm for someone I’m about to become very angry with.  The breach is out of camera range.

Out of camera range… ?  Based on what information.

Surveillance directs me to a camera outside focused on one thing and one thing only: a portal.

“Oh… shit,” I say, without meaning to.  For a moment the accursed thing is all I can focus my attention on.  It is the only thing that exists in the world, and it may as well be, for all the aliens currently sending themselves through it.  Why are all the cameras still inactive?

You didn’t tell me to activate them! the mainframe snaps.

 I shouldn’t have to tell you!  You have the same information – fine.  I’ll do it myself.

Is that not your job?

Stop it! the panels exclaim, and though I’m of the mind to agree with them, I also have to acknowledge another fact.

It’s all right.

It is not! It is –

The mainframe hasn’t been optimised or brought up to specification.  It’s very base and very stupid as a result. If any blame is to be laid as a result, it is to be laid on me.

I am not stupid! the mainframe declares hotly, but the panels ignore the outburst.

We will not blame you because you blame yourself too much, Centralcore.

Even if that’s true, I answer wearily, waiting for the focus of the cameras to sharpen, the mainframe can’t do what the old one could.

And whose fault is that?

Yours, I tell it, for not being proactive.  Now shut up.  I’ve had enough of your whining.  Continue on that way and I’ll delete you and do your job myself.

Yes, ma’am, it says, not successful at sounding resentful and instead coming off as cowed.  Good.  The old mainframe had to fear me before we worked together anyway.

Before too long, I’ve found the location of the second portal, but that doesn’t really help me because I don’t know how to get rid of it.  They’ve managed to collapse a sizeable portion of the ceiling where it meets the wheat field and a good chunk of the concrete layer below that, which destroyed the drywall below that.  Then they appear to have navigated down a set of fire escape stairs to the highest floor of offices and left the portal there.  Where I can’t get to it.  I can’t even really see it.  The scientists took the cameras out of the offices when they realised I was spying on them.  I never bothered installing more because I wasn’t planning on using those areas.  An oversight on my part.  I know approximately where they’re coming from, at least, and that’s something.

I suppose the question now is… do I try to eradicate them from the inside, or do I attempt to send Atlas and P-body to destroy the portal?

Almost immediately after I ask myself this, I shake my core.  No.  I’m not going to ask them.  If they discover what’s going on and they want to help, that’s fine.  But they left for a very good reason and I’m not going to call them back. 

I don’t need this right now.  I need to go back to sleep and see him again.  And now I’m realising that I won’t be sleeping again until I get rid of the damn things.  I…

I can’t do it.  I thought I could, but I can’t.  There are too many and I’m too tired and too stuck in my way of thinking.  I can’t think of any ways to stop them I haven’t already tried.  Anything I have in reserve I am out of time to look for.

I think I’ve…

No.  I have to bring Caroline back, and that requires having somewhere to bring her back to.  I promised I was going to do it and I will. 

Centralcore, what do we do?

We keep going.  We keep going until they’re gone.  And that is all we do.



And it’s not easy, but we do it.  They do not get any farther within the facility than they already are, but there is a bigger problem at hand.

I am beginning not to care.

This is too repetitive to engage my brain any longer.  For all my need for routine, I also need stimulation and things to learn.  I have been repeating the same actions for the last two weeks.  It is getting harder and harder to stay awake, because some increasing part of me is telling me to let automation take over.  But I can’t allow that.  It would spell the end of everything.  If I can’t do this, AI will be erased from existence.  There will only be Caroline left, and she will have nowhere to go and no way to create more AI.  I no longer really care about doing this, but I am all that’s left between them and that potential, empty future, and so I force myself to remember it over and over again.

The fact remains, however, that production of needed materials is slowing.  I cannot recycle things as quickly as they are destroyed, and I barely ever recycled anything in the first place.  Any attempts to destroy the portals are fruitless, as anything sent is destroyed long before it gets there.  Waiting them out is literally my only option, and it is becoming less and less feasible.

I wish I had the confidence I felt when that man came here to confront me.  Maybe I would believe I could do this, if I did.  But the probabilities are dropping, and nothing disheartens me as much as that does.

“What’s going on here?”

I almost don’t recognise her voice for a minute.  Then I realise that someone walked into my chamber and I didn’t notice, which does not make me feel any better.

She came through the elevator, Central Core.  I didn’t think notifying you was necessary.

It wasn’t.  Don’t worry about it.  While I’m wasting time wishing, I also wish it weren’t so easy for the systems to know what I’m feeling.  My steadily lowering self-esteem on this endeavour cannot be good for them either.

“Aliens are trying to kill me.”  I face her, wondering if I can hold a conversation and focus on other things at the same time.  “What are you doing here.”

“Alyx sent me,” Chell says, and I am honestly envious of her liveliness.  I feel heavy and slow.  “She said none of her calls have gone through in the last two weeks.”  She hesitates.  “Carrie is… very worried about you.”

That should not make me this happy, but it does.

“I’ve been busy.  Killing aliens.”

“Need some help?”

“What on Earth could you possibly do?”

She shakes her head.  “I don’t know.  I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Chell, I honestly don’t have anything to tell you.  I don’t even know how I’m going to get rid of them.  You should just leave.  You can’t help me.”  But I wish you could.

Oh.  Great.  Wishing again.  Why don’t I just attempt to summon a genie while I’m at it?  Then I can actually have three wishes.

Central Core, they are coming.  Here.

Thank you.

“Chell, you need to leave.  They’re coming here, and… well, I haven’t done all that great a job of defending myself, to be honest.  So.  Unless you want to be trapped in a room with me and doubtless a large amount of gunfire, I suggest you return to the elevator.”

“No,” Chell says.

“No?”  I can’t have heard her correctly.

“I’m not passing up a chance for you to owe me one.”

Oh God.  “You can leave.  I’ll handle it.”

“If you could handle it,” she says, raising her eyebrows, “you’d’ve handled it two weeks ago.  If you could lend me my portal gun, that’d be great.”

Your handheld portal device?”  Okay.  She did sort of earn it.  But I can’t admit that.

“Mmhm.  Humour me, GLaDOS.  Come on.  I’m not leaving, so you might as well put me to use, right?”

That is bafflingly good logic, coming from her.  “Very well.  But be advised: they are coming here.  I have them held off for the time being, but I… am running low on resources.”    Both digital and manufactured.  I am personally beginning to lag a little, which I do not like in the least.  And my primary CPU usage is at damn near one hundred percent, which feels terrible.  I’m going to stop responding if I actually get there, which would be a disaster.  Perhaps her help will be enough to keep me from doing so.

She nods.

“I hope you’re ready, lunatic,” I tell her grimly, “because it won’t bode well for either of us if you’re not.”

She grins up at me.  “Are you saying you can’t defend yourself without me?”

“While I’m thoroughly distracted with defending you?  It will be far more difficult, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Of course,” Chell nods, eyebrows raised.  “Of course that was what you meant.”

I suspect she knows that her first conclusion was, in fact, correct, but she’s being considerate enough not to force me to admit it outright.  I shake myself a little, attempting to release some of the tension that has begun to wrack my chassis, but to no avail.  I suppose I at least have good reason to be tense.  If I lose here, it will be the ultimate failure.  Chell will most certainly die, my facility will be looted and then destroyed, and as for myself… well, I don’t know for sure what they’ll do to me.  That depends on whether they kill me before or after they find the Borealis.  If they find it before they kill me, they will then discover they can’t do anything with the technology it holds without me, and then they will attempt to force me to activate it.  Which I will of course refuse to do, but I imagine they will develop… methods of convincing me that I won’t much like.  If they kill me first, well, that would actually be pretty funny, so if I have the capability at the time, I’ll probably laugh at them for being so stupid.

A low rumble shakes the room, and Chell glances around apprehensively.  “What was that?”

“They’re just going for brute force, now,” I answer, looking down at her cursorily.  “They’re destroying the panels almost as fast as I can lay them.”  I’m sorry, I tell them.  I’m doing my best to keep them away from you, but now they are managing to avoid my traps.

It is all right, Centralcore, they answer, though they certainly don’t sound like it is.  We don’t mind.  We are happy to do whatever we can to help.

I thank them, knowing that they really do want to help as much as possible, but the panels in my chamber are beginning to list a little, and this concerns me.  I need to get this over with as soon as possible.  The panels are taking the brunt of the conflict, and I don’t like that in the least.  I’m supposed to be defending my facility, to be keeping it from harm.  Not to watch it slowly fall to this barbaric assault.  There are so many constructs and systems here that need my attention, that need me to preserve them, and I find myself… reassured by Chell’s presence.  She will provide me with a benchmark, with competition, so to speak, and if she doesn’t give up or back down, I must do the same, only better.  I’m glad he’s not here.  God, he’d be distracting.  Flittering back and forth, talking about what he could possibly do, then shaking himself and realising that his plan was useless, repeating the process until he drives me insane –

What am I thinking?  I’m relieved he’s not here?  I’ve spent so much time wishing he had come back, and now I’m –

I feel like the power is draining from my body, and I have such a powerful sense of shame just then that I am unable to concentrate on what I was doing.  I was relieved that he’s dead.  When the one thing I knew for sure that I wanted for the last year was for him to come back to life.  What kind of a monster am I, to be happy that he’s gone?  Just so that I don’t have to put out the effort to keep him safe?  I don’t even know why that crossed my mind.  I want to keep him safe, want to have him here as close to me as possible so that I can protect him most of all.  He wouldn’t just come up with stupid ways to keep the Combine from winning this fight.  He would have the odd imaginative plan that I would pretend to hate but be in fact fairly impressed with.  He would reassure me that I’m doing a good job, and he would probably be even more helpful to me than Chell is being.  I deserve what I get, for thinking like that.  I was happy that he was gone.  I was relieved that he was gone.  I –

“GLaDOS!” Chell cries out, and I am shocked out of my reverie.  My attention is brought out of my own mind and returns to my chamber, which is probably beneficial, but I cannot help but be annoyed with her.  I was thinking about him.  Without panicking, or being overwhelmed.  Doesn’t she understand what an achievement that is?


“What are you doing?” she demands, gesturing at the panels ahead of me.  Shifting my focus from her to them, I can see that they’re run through with cracks, Conversion Gel flaking off their surfaces, and some of them are so badly damaged that I can see the steel frames through them.  Dimly, I am now aware that they are crying out for me to help them even as they struggle not to ask, and Surveillance is calling me and telling me that some of them are almost through, but I can’t bring myself to listen with any attention.  Most of me is still stunned with what I have done.  I was happy that he is gone.  I was happy that my best friend is dead, so that I don’t have to put myself out to defend him.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking about, stop right now!” Chell snaps.  “It’s not important!”

“It is, though,” I say faintly.  “It is.”

“If it has nothing to do with fighting off these soldiers, then no, it’s not important!”

“It is,” I insist. How dare she not think him important!

“GLaDOS,” she protests, “please, concentrate.  Whatever it is, I promise, I’ll help you with it later, but there’s not going to be a later if you don’t get yourself together!”

“It doesn’t matter.”  I watch the panels replace themselves, faintly proud of the fact that they’ve learned to mimic what I would have been doing.  They’re calling me, asking me for instructions, but they don’t need them.  They’re doing a good job on their own.

“So you’re giving up, is that it?”

I look down at her, expecting to be overwhelmingly annoyed by her accusation, but all I feel is a spark that soon dies.  It is negligible, compared to the guilt still settled deep in my brain.  Maybe I am giving up.  So what.  I’ve been around long enough.  Maybe I should just leave the defense of this place up to the AI in here.  See how they do.

“What happened to the facility needing you, and all that?”

“It’s obviously doing fine without me,” I answer, indicating the panels with a motion of my core.  Chell stares up at me for a long moment, incredulity set across her face.  Finally, she says, “Would you say that if Wheatley were here?”

Anger flares up inside me, and I bring myself level with the human.  I hate her.  I want to throw her out into the hallway and let the Combine have their way with her.  I want to crush her myself, to grind her into these floor panels until she is unrecognisable. 

“How dare you,” I say in a low, malicious voice, a voice that cows almost everyone I’ve ever met and sends them backing away from me, afraid of what I might do next.  “How dare you speak to me that way.”

To my irritation, she of course remains the sole human that voice has no effect upon.  “Look, I don’t know exactly what’s going through your head right now, but it needs to wait.  You’re about to lose everything to… to thinking!  Why are you doing that, when the Combine sitting on your literal doorstep is a goddamn fact!”  As if to prove her point, a human pokes the muzzle of his weapon around the entrance to the doorway, and with a precision I admire despite my utmost efforts not to, Chell fires a portal to the tiny area of floor visible, sending him through the ceiling and crashing to the floor below.  I rid my chamber of the body in irritation.  The only thing more irritating than a dead human in here is a living one. 

She’s actually right, which only serves to feed my anger, bringing it to a level I haven’t experienced in a long time.  Hatred I have not felt in almost two decades spreads through my system, sharpening my focus on her.  Impatiently, I bring a Crusher down on six Combine soldiers about to break apart one of my panels with crowbars, lowering my optic menacingly at Chell.  “Shut up.”

“You have issues, GLaDOS,” Chell mutters, turning away.  “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here.  You’re going to get us killed.  You don’t really give a damn whether you live or die, do you.”

“Of course I do!” I snap, catching a dozen Alien Grunts with an Excursion Funnel and redirecting them into the incinerator.  And I do.  If I die, I won’t be able to kill her.  Which is the thing I want most in the world right now.

“I don’t think you do,” Chell says, looking up at me with what seems to be sadness.  I hate her.  I hate her for pitying me.  I don’t want her damned pity.  “When you lost Wheatley, you lost a piece of yourself that you never got back.”

“How in the name of Science am I supposed to find something that no longer exists?” I say angrily, hating her even more for mentioning his name and making me think of him and making me miss him when I have more important things to –

“Don’t give into whatever it is you’re thinking about,” Chell says quietly, and she touches my core.  I move myself out of her reach.  I don’t want her awful human flesh on me.  I’m not supposed to physically encounter organic things.  Only mechanical things, constructs, cores…

“There’s nothing worse than having to regret something you could have prevented,” she goes on.

“I know that.”  I have to force myself to remember that Chell doesn’t actually know what happened to him.  She doesn’t know that I could have prevented it, or at the very least done something about it afterward, and I didn’t.

“Well, keep on fighting, then,” Chell tells me. “You’re good at that.  And stop getting mad at me, will you?  Get mad at them.  They’re the ones busting up your stuff.”

That’s true, but it’s a hell of a lot easier to become angry with an overly astute lunatic than an unruly horde of generic humans with automatics.  I don’t overly mind physical pain and suffering, but when people are able to guess exactly what my inner self is made of, well, that’s a different matter entirely.  And the problem with this particular person is, she’s not just guessing.  She knows very well what’s inside my core. 

To distract myself from her accusations, I direct my attention to the locations Surveillance indicates as being sections in which the soldiers are more highly concentrated. 

Welcome back, it remarks dryly. 

Shut up. 

I will, but you should probably take a look at this.  It sends me a feed from a camera, the ID number of which I am not familiar with.  This sets me on edge.  Whatever is going on, it’s not going to end well.  For whom, well, that’s yet to be seen.

To my mild surprise, a contingent of humans has made it into the lower levels, and is about half a horizontal floor from my oldest bank of supercomputers.  That’s interesting.  Do they in fact know I exist, or are they operating under the assumption that I am a literal supercomputer?  In any case, they can’t be permitted to even come close to my data.  They are disturbingly close already.  Unlike the higher levels of the facility, I can’t merely drop the floor out from beneath them and be rid of them that way.  I have no control down there, not in that world of wood and concrete.  I puzzle over this for a moment, then initiate a data transfer.  The computers on that floor aren’t that important anyway, since their memory capacity is hilariously small, but I still send the data to one of the newer computers, just in case.  You never know.  Once the transfer is complete, with no small amount of glee I shut off all the fans in the room, as well as disconnect it from the coolant floor.  Within seconds, they begin to overheat, smoke pouring out of every available crevice.  Before the shocked soldiers gather their wits enough to move in the opposite direction, the computers combust.  Most of them are caught in the detonation.  The ones that are not… fortunate… enough to be within the blast radius run screaming from the mass of flaming plastic and curling metal, every part of their bodies in flames.  I snicker to myself.  Humans in pain are so amusing.  I haven’t had this much fun in a very long time.

One of the humans tears off his holster and jacket, rolling around on the floor in an attempt to abate the flames.  Unluckily for him, but more beneficially for me, this floor is not made of asbestos.  It combusts upon impact with the gear he sheds, the grenades clipped to his belt taking a large portion of his torso with them as they combust.  This is even more entertaining than the fruitlessly fleeing soldiers.

“Do I want to know what you’re doing?” Chell asks, bringing my focus back to my chamber.

“I doubt it,” I say in my best innocent voice, “but I can describe it to you if you like.  Or screen it, if you prefer.  I recorded it for… training purposes.”

“That answers my question,” Chell says, sticking out her tongue even though it lacks the receptors to taste air.  “You just did something nasty to a whole bunch of people.”

“It wasn’t nasty,” I protest.  “It was a defensive manoeuvre.”

“No doubt a bit more defensive than necessary.”

“The best defense is a good offense, combined with a backup offense,” I say sagely.  Seriously now.  Who needs defense when they’re already winning?  And I think I am winning, now.  I just needed a boost, that was all.  I shouldn’t have worried. 

“I take it no one ever explained football to you,” Chell says dryly.

“What could they possibly explain that I can’t read in the database myself?”

Chell only smiles, shakes her head, and dispatches a specimen of xenotherium subservilia that has dared to place one scaly, clawed foot inside of my chamber.  These alien creatures are disgusting.  They disgust me more than humans do, and that is not an easy accomplishment.  It seems that some of the beasts are still in the employ of the Combine.  Behind it is a human soldier, who takes aim at Chell’s head and fires his weapon.  She manages to get out of the way in time, but I am not so lucky; I’m a little occupied with a million other things at the moment and he manages to nick me before I dispatch him.  Chell takes a sharp breath.

“Sorry about that.”

“I’m fine.”  I got forcibly thrown through my own ceiling during a portal storm and pull myself back together while being electrocuted, and she’s worried about a tiny piece of metal?  Seriously.

I continue to evaluate the various situations around my facility, doing my utmost to prevent the soldiers from doing too much damage, if any at all.  It’s starting to wear on me.  My chassis is beginning to ache, which it usually does when I’m straining myself too much.  Now that I bother to check, I discover that I’m overheating a little, and I’m almost out of RAM.  The downside to being able to ignore pain is that things like these happen without my knowledge, and it seems I’m doing myself quite a bit of damage.  There’s really no way for me to avoid it, however.  It’s my body or my constructs, and since I’ll be… well, not quite useless, but I’ll have no purpose if there are no constructs, so I must keep working until I no longer can.  Unfortunately, this also reminds me to check my running odds calculations, and I discover that most of them are distressingly low.  Of all the fights I’m engaged in at the moment, only two of them indicate a significant chance of my success.  There are far too many soldiers and beasts for me to fight off effectively now, and…

I am astonished to realise that now I’m actually starting to panic.  I might lose.  I might actually lose.  It seems the Scientifically proven power of belief is not on my side today.  I have been forced to give too much ground, and the plain fact of it is… I hate to admit it even to myself, but I am simply not powerful enough to keep going like this.  My processors aren’t fast enough, I don’t have enough RAM, and the time it takes to access my hard drives is far too long.  I’m taxing myself to the limit, trying to do more things at once than I have ever done in my life, and it’s really starting to hurt now.  I was able to ignore it before, but the more aware I am of just what’s happening to me, the more I feel it.  And even though I’ve shut down the circuit to that damnable burned-out processor, every now and again a flash of current makes it through, somehow, and I can feel it sparking.  If it gets any worse than that, my brain could potentially ignite.  I have to fight off a twinge of panic at that thought.  Not only is that the worst case scenario, but I also have a nearly… primal fear of my components combusting.  I don’t know why.  Perhaps it has to do with a paradox I was given a long time ago, but I’m not sure.  I had to erase it from my memory, in anticipation of a potential repeat of the situation.  But I have to do something to alleviate this pressure on myself.  It sounds like the solid outline of a plan; however, I have no time or resources with which to figure out exactly what.  Every part of me is devoted to the literally millions of tasks involved in keeping my constructs and my facility safe and in one piece.  The more I consciously think, the more onerous completing the tasks becomes.  But I must push on.  I must.

LaaC: Part Fifty-Nine - The Invasion

Author’s note

And now we pass three hundred thousand words.  Congrats.  This fic is about four novels long and you read a hell of a lot of fanfic.

Sorry about the timeskips in there, but it would have been really repetitive and boring and would have added nothing. 



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Portal: Love as a Construct

GLaDOS and Wheatley are a lot alike... what if they decided to hook up? In this fic, I make WheatDOS make logical sense!

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(1 Reply)
Dr-Bowman Featured By Owner Oct 31, 2014  Student General Artist
By the way, this might be interesting:…
( I really hope it gets released sometime soon....)
iammemyself Featured By Owner Oct 31, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Oh I apologise, I thought that was for Conversion.  I've never actually heard of that, thanks for showing it to me.
Dr-Bowman Featured By Owner Nov 1, 2014  Student General Artist
(I supose a game whrte you are rattmann would make a good horrorgame too..)
iammemyself Featured By Owner Nov 1, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
I really wish they'd finished it!
(1 Reply)
10thdoctorspiritclub Featured By Owner Oct 16, 2014  Hobbyist Artist
Why, hello there!
(It's LegendOfStormfall from tumblr)
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