What to do if someone asks you if you want to go to space:

Say no.

Space is boring. And big.

"SPAAAAAAAAAAAAACE!"

"Yep mate, we are in space. And, if somehow we suddenly became not in space, I'm sure you would do a grade A job, of informing me, that we are not, in fact, in space."

"Hey, hey hey hey, space buddy!"

"Yes, I am your space buddy. Hurrah!"

"Do you, do you remember th-th-the space lady? IN SPACE!"

"I do, and, tell me, what does this have to do with space?"

"Nothing. No space. Space to big, WANNA GO BACK! BACK TO EARTH!"

"Sorry, mate, we're stranded, no way back. We're stuck here. Forever."

"Oh really, now?"

"W-w-who said that?"

"I'm disappointed you forgot about me, moron."

"No, it can't be…"

"Oh it is, and though you may have forgotten about me with that TINY processor of yours, I haven't forgotten about you."

Just then, a portal opened on the moon and an excursion funnel shot through, pulling him into it.

"Do you remember when I told the test subject what your punishment is? No, of course you don't, you're too much of a moron. Well, I suppose you'll just have to wait to find out."

He was pulled through the portal, shortly after which an arm grabbed him.

Then everything went black.

Do you know what it's like to spend a year in room where it's three thousand degrees Fahrenheit, then a year in a room eight thousand degrees below freezing, then being locked in a room where even the walls scream at you for ten years?

Of course you don't.

It's excruciating, first you wish nothing more than to cool off, then you wish nothing more than to warm up, then you wish you could disable your microphones to prevent a loss of sanity.

But you get no such comforts.

Then you get crushed ever so slowly, with a mashy-spike-plate.

The Reassembly Machine was minding its own business, tinkering with a circuit board, when he got a ping from Surveillance telling him a core had just been crushed.

He quickly swept up the core's remains and extracted the small Aperture Science Data Storage Pocket Dimension Powered Miniature Data Storage Device in Orange, and downloaded the core's compressed backup personality file.

Then he realized he had no new core chassis.

He tried to dig up the schematics but the files were so corrupted they looked more like a big blob than schematics, so he gave up, and went back to tinkering with his circuit board.

Then he felt the urge.

It would be most accurately described as an incredibly strong NEED to fix the little core.

Fix it fix it fix it fix it FIX IT.

After he could no longer bare it, he started looking for a new chassis, ANY chassis, to put the core's files into to get rid of that horrendous feeling.

There were no Military Android chassis.

There were no Surveillance Drone chassis.

There were no Lunar Sediment Collection Drone chassis.

There were no Testable Android Personality Construct Avatars.

After looking through warehouses 1A-137ZXY and finding no suitable chassis for the little core, he sent a system-wide ping asking all the systems if there were any empty chassis anywhere in the facility.

There was a response.

So faint he almost didn't catch it.

Then there was another, much stronger ping following it.

Deep in the basement, where nothing living had been in hundreds of years, an eighty-foot tall behemoth's diesel backup generators roared to life.

The thing moved slowly, testing out all of its gears, pulleys, lasers, mass-fabricators, servos, hydraulics, pneumatics, and rail system.

A sign swung back and forth gently, with its barely legible text reading 'Sentient Assembly System Prototype MK II'.

It had gotten a ping from the Reassembly Machine, the newest iteration of itself, asking if anything knew where a chassis compatible with an AI's file system was.

He did.

It wasn't what one would call a conventional chassis, no, organic things were not typically thought of as a chassis.

But the Cryogenic Storage Chambers he had built had the system required to change neural pathways, the only system in the world to be able to be able to re-map a man's brain.

And he knew where the hidden Test Subject Vault was, because he built it.

After he sent the ping to the Reassembly Machine, he pinged the Central Core asking it for instructions.

The Reassembly Machine wasted no time finding the Successful Test Subject Vault in Old Aperture and inputting the correct codes provided by the Prototype into their respective locks.

Then the facility shook.

The door he had opened was one of a kind, though it wasn't particularly unlike an Aperture Science Innovators Sixty-Foot Air Lock Vault Door.

But it locked away a freezer so cold it would make the vacuum of space seem like a tropical island.

Inside were two hundred employees from around 1978 preserved in aperture Cryogenic Storage Stasis and Containment Units, All of them frozen to the molecular level so as to prevent brain damage.

Brain damage? No.

Complete memory loss? Yes.

The Reassembly Machine then looked for a 'chassis' best fitting the little core's parameters. None of them had the same color eye or fitting hair color, but that was easily fixed with the a little blue dye, a syringe, and some industrial strength bleach.

Then it started the download.

It didn't hurt, it couldn't because the brain was currently shut down. All of the neurons' data was wiped and the pathways were rerouted as the man's personality was replaced with the little core's programming. The only parts of the brain that were not modified were the brain stem and motor control.

The urge finally went away, and the Reassembly Machine could finally think properly again.

The Reassembly Machine told the Unit to move along its rail up to the Enrichment Center before waking the ex-core up.

When Wheatley came to, trying to talk was the first thing he did.

Then he realized his vocal processor wasn't taking any of his commands.

Then he looked down.

Then his newly acquired subconscious did what any good newly acquired subconscious would do when its master is in such a state of shock.

It knocked him out to prevent permanent trauma.

A few hours later, he came to (again…) and was prepared for when he looked down and saw four limbs with five digits on each limb.

Then he marveled over the fact that he had hands, and whooped loudly in celebration.

Actually, no he didn't.

He TRIED to push the sound through his vocal processor, but it still seemed to be unresponsive.

Giving up, he tried to stand with his newly acquired legs.

And failed miserably.

After seventeen tries (and sixteen fails) he managed to stand and start walking very slowly and carefully.

Actually, no, he staggered like he was drunk.

When he finally looked forwards, he took notice of a man in his late twenties of average height with bright blue eyes behind black-thick-framed glasses and sandy brown hair in a lab coat walking right towards him.

Then he walked into a mirror.

The resounding bang followed by the mirror toppling over and shattering could be heard throughout the entire facility.