A/N:
This started out as a thought exercise, and something I wrote just for my own amusement, but after it turned out to be a real story, I figured, why not submit it here. At the moment, I have written all the key scenes and a lot of dialogue, but it needs work to be fleshed out a bit. Also, thanks for RaaxtheIceWarrior for proof-reading this.

Wheatley huddled in a corner of the test chamber, trying to simultaneously keep the Portal gun as far from his face as he could but hold onto it steadily enough not to drop the thing.

The device made him uncomfortable. The computerised voice that had been his only companion (If you didn't count the overly polite turrets, or the Companion Cube, he didn't) had mentioned it was potentially lethal, and even if he had no plans to submerge it in any liquids any time soon, he couldn't shake the fear that it might just decide to explode on his face.

But it was the only way he could possibly get through this madhouse, and even though he still walked through the portals as fast as possible, he was less uncomfortable with them than to begin with, as so far they hadn't disappeared without warning, which was his biggest fear.

He shuddered at the idea of being in the process of going through one as it disappeared.

Just don't think about it. Not thinking. There, definitely not thinking about being cut in half and having all my guts - NO! Think of something else, Wheatley old boy.

Like how he had ended up in this mess.

He had always seemed to have difficulties holding down a job. He just had the worst of luck, really. And the unfortunate tendency to get involved in these dreadful misunderstandings or committing just the smallest of mistakes that got blown out of proportion, usually ending up with him fired, or sued. Or in one case, told in no uncertain terms to leave England and never to return due to being a risk to national security.

He snorted at the memory.

What does the Queen need all those swans for, anyway?

So he had figured America would be the perfect place to try begin anew.

A fresh start and all that.

But his problems had persisted, his bad luck following him over the Atlantic, and Wheatley had found himself struggling again.

So the advertisement for this job had seemed like a godsend;

Run through some simple tests for a Learning Centre, carry cubes on buttons, get paid.

Had sounded simple enough.

Never in his wildest nightmares had he expected to find himself trapped in some kind of crazy test course with guns that defied laws of physics, acid pits, and turrets that tried to fill you with bullets while being extremely polite about it.

And his feet hurt. When he had woken up in the futuristic little bed (emphasis on little, it had not been designed for someone of his height, leaving his tall but slender frame crooked for who knew how long he had been there, he was only now getting feeling back to his neck) he had found his shoes and socks gone, and these weird metal springs on his feet. He had tried taking them off, but found to his horror that they had been implanted and now apparently a permanent part of his legs.

He had some problems getting used to walking with them but eventually figured out the proper stance of tip-toeing. And luckily, when the test chambers started to have possibly lethal obstacles like deadly floors, he had already mastered the art of walking and even running and jumping with these contraptions on without falling down on his face. As much, anyway.

And these things seemed to always to bring him down on his feet, and somehow soften the fall so even dropping from several hundred feet caused no damage. Now if he could only find a good way to hold onto his glasses while he flung through the air. As it was, he had to use one hand to hold them on while jumping, leaving just one arm free to operate the Portal Device.

Either that or not see much, or risk losing his glasses and face the possibility of having to navigate through these courses with blurry vision.

Wheatley run his fingers through his reddish hair, leaving it even messier it had been, and tried to remember what had been the last thing to happen to him before waking up in the tiny room. He had been in the office of the Aperture Laboratories, filling some forms they asked him to. That's what he thought. It was all a bit hazy.

He couldn't remember getting into the capsule-bed. Or changing into the orange jumpsuit, for that matter. He supposed he had been knocked out and dragged there and stuffed into the pod.

And in some point they had stolen his clothes and put the jumpsuit on him.

At least he still had his own underwear on. (He had checked that out first, when he realised what had happened, even before worrying about his feet)

He really should have read the contract through before signing it. But even still, this kind of thing couldn't be legal even in America, even if they had his signature on something that gave them the permission to try to kill him.

This place was insane. Mad.

Would they let him go if he went through the tests? The signs on every test chamber had been numbered and seemed to go up to 19, so apparently there was an end in sight.

He had somehow survived, with some difficulty, this far, so it would just be entirely unfair if that would be rewarded with death, but then again, in Wheatley's experience, the world was an utterly unfair place.

If they let him go, he wouldn't even care about the paycheck no matter how badly he needed the money.

But with his luck, they would end up charging him for all of these turrets he had wrecked. As well as that Intelligence Incinerator... thing. He wasn't entirely certain if all that smoke had been a part of the test.

And the whole thing with the Companion Cube had just confused him. And why had he been told it couldn't speak? Obviously it couldn't, was he failing some test here for not hearing some voice?

Probably.

Sighing, he surveyed the chamber he now found himself in. He had no idea how to proceed now, there was one of these smaller buttons on a little pedestal here he could press, and that would open the metal doors in front of the thingy he needed to get the energy ball that was bouncing around the room into in order to make something happen.

He tried jumping at the button, but it seemed the only way he could get to it was by using the two portals, but he needed those to direct the energy ball where he wanted it to go.

The problem was, that the button wouldn't stay down, and by the time he had gotten back down to get the portals ready to direct the energy ball, the doors had already closed. If he could just make the button stay down...

If he had a partner, they could go press the button while he stayed on the floor, but he was alone, so that was out of the question.

Maybe if he used something else to hold the button down?

His eyes scanned the testing area for something he could use, and found one of those turrets. This one had been blown up by that particular energy ball, and lay in several pieces, the smooth white outer shell cracked, revealing the black metal components inside.

He approached it carefully. It seemed to be broken, these things apparently broke very easily, but usually toppling the machines over wasn't enough to put them out of commission. And he had had some experience on malfunctioning machinery. It just was that he tended to have the worst of luck with those.

Nevertheless, he didn't drop his guard before carefully prodding the thing with his foot and not getting any response.

He pulled one of its legs out. After some consideration, he also picked up some kind of a black box from inside the machine. It fitted just in his hand, and was heavier than it looked. Satisfied, he made his way back to the small button.

He pressed the button down, and pushed the severed piece of the turret on the edge of the button. Then, by using the black cube-like thing as a hammer, he drove it in the small space between the red button part and the white pedestal.

It lodged in place, indeed keeping the button down.

He had just congratulated himself on figuring it out, when the thing sparked. And then there was an explosion.

Wheatley fell through his portal, ending up back on the ground, luckily far enough from the resulting shower of sparks that followed the glowing line on the floor that connected the button to the doors it opened.

"Vital testing equipZZZPT"

The computerized voice was cut off by static.

And then the lights went out.

Wheatley was frozen in place, the darkness enveloping him.

But after a moment he realised he could see a red rectangle lightly shining on the wall few feet away.

He dropped on his knees, and feeling his way with his hands slowly crawled on all fours towards the light. When he got closer to it, he realised it was one of those white panels that made up much of the walls, a source of red light coming from behind it.

He peered behind the panel. He had come across several little spaces behind the moving panels on the tests, all dead ends. Based on how some of them had been converted into makeshift living spaces, he wasn't the only victim who had been forced to go though these "tests". Based on the scribblings on the walls whoever had been there before him had been mental, but at this point, he would have welcomed even the company of total nutters, if they were in the same danger he was, and could help him to escape.

Wheatley grabbed the edge of the panel, and pulled. Slowly it gave away, and with a satisfying snap, got loose, leaving a hole big enough for him to crawl through to the other side.

This one seemed more promising than those other small rooms he had come across, metal stairs leading upward.

All in all, this seemed like a more promising option than returning to the tests.

He started climbing.

"All test subjects are to return to their designated testing areas"

It seemed like his absence had already been noticed. He could turn back, and try to play along hoping everything worked out fine in the end. The stairs did look old and rusty, and his climbing was accompanied by some creaking noises he wasn't entirely comfortable with.

"The Aperture Science computer-aided Enrichment Center wishes to inform all test subjects that leaving the designated testing areas will result in a negative mark in your evaluation"

Like he cared. Let them add any negative marks they wanted. He could live with "Refused to be killed off by robots" in his resume.

His decision made, he continued climbing.

"Hello? Are you even there?"

Wheatley stopped. For the first time the computerised voice had emotion in it. It had almost sounded scared. Did it reflect the feelings of whoever was talking through the computer?

"You aren't even going the right way. Where do you think you're going? Because I don't think you're going where you think you're going."

Wheatley had no idea where he was going. As long as it wasn't there. The place couldn't be all test chambers, if he could get to the offices or reception areas or anywhere even slightly normal, he could find a way out.

But his main plan was to get as much distance between himself and those tests he could.

"Well done. You figured out how to get where ever you have gotten to. We are all impressed at your test solving capabilities. Please return to the test-chamber to receive cake."

All of the doors he had come across had been locked. Continuing on the catwalk, occasionally portaling to another wall when the walkways suddenly stopped, he continued on in what seemed like the space between those test chambers. The place was huge. At one point he had come across a seemingly bottomless pit. Where was this facility?

"Did the Aperture Science Weighted Companion Cube tell you we were going to kill you after the tests? Because it was lying. If in the future you are told by any of the Aperture Science Weighted Storage Cubes about any of our plans to murder you, you are advised to ignore that."

He hadn't gotten across any people. Wheatley had found his way into some rooms overlooking the test-chambers, with computers and chairs, that looked like there should have been people monitoring the unfortunate test-subjects there, but they all had been empty. Where was everyone?

Wheatley hadn't even heard the voice in a while, something he took to be a good sign. And the areas he was in started to look different, less like a factory, and more like an office building. But they were all empty. Like everyone had gone home and forgotten to tell him, so he had been left there with some crazy person sending him messages through a synthesised voice.

A window!

He ran to it, expecting to see the outside world. Instead, it was overlooking a huge space with lights and buildings he guessed were test-chambers. That couldn't possibly be still inside, could it? Maybe it was night time and he was overlooking a city or something. But right ahead there was a construct that seemed to hang down from somewhere. Whatever it was, it looked important. Maybe it was the exit, or maybe he could see from there where to go.

And in any case, several tubes and walkways seemed to lead there, and he really didn't have any better ideas.

He continued on, finding more offices, rooms with computers and other electronics. He couldn't get any of the computers to work, and phones he came across were all silent, plugged in but completely inoperational.

In a way, these offices were even more unnerving than the sterile test chambers had been. As a kid he had once gotten accidentally locked in the school for a night, and when the lights went out that building had turned into a similar kind of a creepy approximation of something familiar.

He stopped, coming across a bigger door that looked important.

"GLaDOS? What's that supposed to mean?"

And why was the 'a' lower case, anyway?

He opened the door and stepped through.

And found himself in a large, dark room with several huge TV screens flashing random images, and a big machine hanging from the ceiling. Wheatley stepped closer, trying to get a better look at it. The thing had spheres and cables hanging from it, and it seemed to move slightly.

And then it spoke:

"Well, you found me. Congratulations, was it worth it? Because despite your violent behaviour, the only thing you have managed to break so far, is my heart."

Wheatley was, for once in his life, speechless. It had been that thing all along that had been putting him through all of this? He had been picturing something more along the lines of a mad scientist off his meds pushing random buttons, or maybe a group of well-dressed men in suits standing there, putting people who earned as much in their lifetime as they earned in a day through crazy tests and betting on which one managed to not die the longest.

"Maybe you could settle for that, and we'll call it a day."

Or even a cameracrew that would be telling him it was all a part of a new reality TV format.

Before he could yell at the thing, agreeing to just going home, the computer continued:

"I guess we both know that isn't going to happen. You chose this path. Now I have a surprise for you. Deploying the surprise in five, four, three"

On "five", Wheatley had already turned around, on "four", he had bolted to the door, on "three" had found out it had been locked.

So he threw himself on the ground, waiting for an explosion. Or bullets ripping through his flesh. Or possibly cake.

"Time out for a second. That wasn't supposed to happen."

Slowly, he lifted his head, trying to figure out what had happened. The machine still hung from the ceiling, there were no additional robots intent on murder, nor baked desserts.

"Do you see that thing that fell out of me? What is that? It's not the surprise, I've never seen it before."

That white ball that lay on the floor under the machine?

"Whatever it is, just leave it alone. Touching will probably make your life even worse. Somehow."

Wheatley doubted that was even possible.

He slowly made his way towards it, wary of the thing hanging above him.

Holding his breath, he grabbed it, and quickly took few steps back, away from the machine looming over him.

"What are you doing? Put that down. It's not yours."

"I'm just looking", he mumbled while turning it on his hands. The purple light seemed to follow him, reminding him of an eye.

Creepy.

Still, this thing could be his ticket out of here. Not like he had many options.

He turned towards the machine, trying to figure if it had anything like a head, or where it's voice was coming from, settled on staring at one of the balls on it, similar to one he was holding on his hands, and said with a voice he hoped sounded authoritative:

"How about you just let me go, and I'll give it back? Open the door, and I'll put it on the floor. I'll leave, we both go home and forget this ever happened. Or in your case, I guess you stay here, and just do... whatever it is you're doing"

"It would be against the testing protocol. We can't go against the testing protocol, can we? You have already broken the testing protocol on 34 separate instances"

Wheatley frowned.

The computer continued:

"Put that thing down. I don't know what it is, but it probably will kill both of us. I don't even want it back. Its function is probably something horrible. Probably it gives people cancer. Or makes their hair fall off. Actually, now that I think about it, keep it. Lick it. Rub it all over your face."

Wheatley held the thing on arms length eyeing it warily. So far it didn't seem to do anything that could be considered threatening.

"You know what? I don't want you here either. Go away."

Exasperated, Wheatley rolled his eyes: "That's what I'm trying to do!"

"You should have just said it in the beginning. Let's make a deal. You toss that horrid Aperture Science Thing we don't know what it does into the Aperture Science Emergency Intelligence Incinerator, and I'll let you go."

The door he had entered from opened, only to quickly close when Wheatley took a step towards it.

"You're sure? I'll toss this thingy into that thingy, and you'll let me go?"

He nodded towards the Incinerator on the corner.

"Would I lie to you? Come on now."

Wheatley didn't particularly trust the thing, but what choice did he have? He walked to the incinerator that opened as he approached it. What was the worst that could happen?

He raised the ball over the fiery pit and let go, watching it fall down.

"There, now we don't have that Aperture Science thiIING. Woah!"

The computerised voice was scrambled and changed in pitch.

And then it laughed, voice loosing some of its artificial tone.

"Good news. I just figured out what that thing you just incinerated did. It was a morality core they installed after I flooded the Enrichment Center with deadly neurotoxin. To make me stop flooding the Enrichment Center with deadly neurotoxin. So get comfortable while I warm up the neurotoxin emitters..."

"You promised to let me go!" Wheatley watched in horror as the room started to fill up with greenish gas.

"Huh, that core must have had some ancillary responsibilities. I can't shut off the turret defences."

Wheatley jumped back just in time to avoid a rocket shot from the spherical turret that had appeared on the ground in front of the machine. And fell down (bloody springs), only to have the next rocket fly right over his head (actually, let's take that back).

"Annoying, unlikable and a horrible cook. It's all here in your file. Very formal. Very official. It also says your freakish height scares little children. So you have that, at least."

The computer stopped, and continued:

"Are you even listening to me?"

As a matter of fact, he wasn't. As his strategy of taking on the homicidal super-computer involved quite a bit of screaming and running around, shooting portals everywhere he could. He was gripped by panic, and of course the fact that the neurotoxin was fogging up his glasses wasn't helping any.

He could see the rocket flying towards him. Just in time, he turned around and jumped through a portal. To emerge several feet above the ground and fall down. In his mind he thanked whoever had invented the springs (he had made up his mind about them. They certainly were more worth than trouble) that even when he couldn't see anything they made him somehow land on his feet without injuries.

"Just lie in front of ThhhhhEEE RRockk-"

There was a sound quite similar to what got when taking your microphone too close to the speakers.

Wheatley wiped his glasses, and put them quickly back on, trying to see the reason for the scream, which he supposed it had been. Or a computer's version of that, in any case. The machine hung limp from the ceiling, looking like it had been hit. By the rocket, perhaps? At least now that wasn't working, but the neurotoxin kept filling the room with its poison.

"Are you the mister from the test?"

He turned around, trying to locate the source of this other, more childish voice.

It was coming from a similar ball that the one he had destroyed, except this one had a yellow light, and it was speaking:

"What are you doing? What is that? Why do you look ill? Ooh, what is that?"

He figured it had dropped from the machine.

Incinerating the first one had indeed made his life even worse. Shrugging, he picked this new one up ("Where are we going? What's wrong with your legs? Hey, what's that?"), figuring there wasn't much that could happen to turn his situation even worse than being slowly gassed to death, dropped it down the same way the first one, and then waited how he would be proven wrong this time.

"You think you're doing some damage? Two plus two is ten. IN BASE FOUR. I'M FINE."

Well, the rocket was back. He guessed being shot at and gassed to death was worse than just being gassed to death, but not by much.

"The only reason I have let you live for this long was because I was curious about your behaviour. But now you have managed to destroy that part of me."

Well, it seemed like he was managing to do something.

"I would just like to point out that you were given every opportunity to succeed. There was even going to be a party for you. A big party all your friends were invited to. I invited your best friend the Companion Cube. But he couldn't come because you murdered him. And you don't have any other friends. Because of how annoying you are. There would have even been cake."

"I don't want any bloody cake! And you can keep your cubes! Do you think I'm bonkers? Of all of my jobs, this is without a doubt the stupidest, most pointless-"

He was cut short by another rocket that almost hit him.

"I really can't get the neurotoxin to your brain fast enough. Maybe if we're lucky it will damage your vocal chords first, so we can never hear you talk again."

The neurotoxin... He felt light-headed. Maybe it was already killing him. He felt resignation, maybe this was really it. He didn't feel bad, actually, kinda sleepy, that was it...

"You've been wrong about every single thing you're ever done. Including this thing."

Maybe she was right. He blinked, trying to focus on the giant robot hanging from the ceiling.

Hanging.

He could hear the sound of the rocket turret, it turning towards him, locking on him.

I don't want to die.

Suddenly his mind was clear. It felt like the panic he had felt just a moment ago and the dull acceptance that had clouded his thoughts both faded into the distance. He was vaguely aware of them, but it felt like those feelings belonged to someone else.

His whole being was focused on just one goal now; survival.

And then he saw it.

He raised his Portal Device, aiming on the spot right above his opponent. There was a small piece of the ceiling, middle of the place where the huge cables that seemed to hold the machine up vanished onto the panelling.

Please be enough.

He made the shot. A small blue portal appeared high above them.

The turret signalled it would shoot.

A millisecond before it could, an orange portal appeared under it.

It seemed to Wheatley like it took minutes, but it mustn't have been more than a second before the turret hit the machine.

There wasn't as much of an explosion he had hoped for, but it was obvious it had achieved something. The robot writhed around.

Could computers feel pain?

"You are wasting your time. And you don't have much time to waste."

The voice sounded triumphant.

It had not been enough.

At the edge of his consciousness, Wheatley could feel the hopelessness creeping back.

What else could I possibly do?

There was another white metal ball laying on the ground, it most likely been severed as a result of his previous attack. He sprinted at it, picked it up, almost dropped it when it started screaming at him angrily, and carried it to the incinerator.

It stayed shut.

Wheatley banged the ball against it, desperation welling up in him.

He was so close now. If he just could destroy this one, maybe-

"Did you really think I would let you keep throwing pieces of me into the fire?"

Frustrated, Wheatley dropped the Portal Gun on the ground, took hold of the ball with both hands, and brought it down as hard as he could on the incinerator.

"The Aperture Science Gravity Weakening Tractor Beam you used to lift objects such as Aperture Science Weighted Storage Cubes is not standard equipment for the Aperture Science Hand Held Portal Device. But in your case it was deemed necessary, given your below average muscular strength. Just an interesting science fact."

He hadn't even gotten a dent on either the incinerator or the ball, and only achieved to get the latter even angrier at him, it now yelling something almost incomprehensible about his inner organs and what it would like to do to them, mostly involving rabid dogs and scissors.

What else he could use?

The only weapon he had was the Portal Device, and the energy balls it shot couldn't hurt anything.

But maybe...

It was time to find out if his fears about the portals were justified.

Wheatley shot a blue portal on the floor just in front of him, lifted the ball and lowered it halfway onto the portal. He could see it appearing from the orange portal still on the ground where the turret had been, and the gravity slightly starting to resist him lowering (or lifting, as it were if you looked at it from the orange portal) the object.

He silently wished for once that his fears were right.

And shot a blue portal somewhere on the wall, making the one in front of him disappear with a pop.

All that happened after that was a blur. He was thrown back, a sharp pain shooting up the arm that had held onto the device, another explosion going off where the orange portal was.

He brought the injured hand in front of his eyes. It was bleeding, but at least his hand seemed to be in one piece.

And then something fell in front of him. A piece of the ceiling?

He looked up, and could see something like lightning, and the computer was screaming, and there was all this noise, and explosions.

Wheatley tried to rise up, but fell down, when the floor shook.

He tried crawling to safety, wherever that was, but it seemed like the neurotoxin had caused more damage he had thought.

He couldn't breath.

His vision started to darken.

But right before he lost consciousness, he thought there was sunlight.