A/N: Just a little thing that came to mind one lonely night a couple weeks back. I suppose this is a bit of an homage to all the wonderful stories in this fandom. :)

Realities

It takes less than five minutes. Three minutes, forty-two seconds, point one nanosecond, to be exact. It's a long time, really, when considered in some regards.

They all begin the same: a farewell speech, a final lullaby, and a door flung open to reveal blue sky, golden wheat blowing in a gentle summer breeze. There are no external sensors to describe conditions above ground, but this seems like the best way to start.

Three minutes, forty-two seconds, point one nanosecond.

Each is different. In some, the world is no different than it was when she drove into work that day. She finds a town, a city, moves into a house, an apartment, a hostel. In one she has a roommate. In most she lives alone with just a singed box for company. In a particular favorite, she finds a girlfriend with brown hair and a red kerchief around her long neck.

A few times the moron makes an appearance. Sometimes she forgives him, sometimes not. More than once he is crammed into a human body and she likes him anyway, somehow. Twice she kills him, which feels like satisfaction.

Three minutes, forty-two seconds, point one nanosecond.

A very creative scenario has her fighting alongside a rogue Black Mesa employee and his ragtag bunch of colleagues against aliens from another dimension. It seems funny, but she likes it and that's more important.

Three minutes, forty-two seconds, point one nanosecond.

They all converge at the same point. A soft, comfortable bed with a radio on the nightstand, a stranger whistling through an open window, a strangely clear memory of a lullaby heard just once. She is always old, sometimes scarred, sometimes not, mostly content and satisfied with a life well-lived.

Three minutes, forty-two seconds, one nanosecond.

The last breath hitched out of her lungs two minutes, sixteen seconds ago. Her heart is shuddering to a stop, her brain shivering out of existence in sparks and fits. Cold water puddles under an arm outstretched, wrenched from its socket by the explosive forces that tried to rip her from the earth. Mercifully, she was unconscious before the pain registered. Her lips are blue, her skin pale and chapped. Really, it's something of a miracle that there is even this much left of her.

Three minutes, forty-two seconds, point one nanosecond.

This is precisely how long she lives after the portal is closed. A thousand lifetimes, all rich, long, and wonderful.

The cables attached to the back of her skull disengage and slither quietly away. The floor panels gently drop, carrying her body into the earth from whence, or so it is said, she came. It isn't really how GLaDOS wanted things to be, but she hopes, in as much as she is capable of such a thing, that it was reward enough.