Portal: Want You Gone

Want You Gone

Indiana

Characters: GLaDOS, Caroline, Chell (mentioned), Wheatley (mentioned)
Setting: Post-Portal 2



“I’m not listening to you.”

She was talking to herself.  There was no one else to talk to.  She was her only conversational partner, and some days, that was good enough.  But on days like today, when this irrational cloud of depression settled deep in her brain and she tried to think of something to talk about, all she could think of was how sick she was of talking to herself.  All she talked about was what a genius she was, or testing, or Science (and she was sick of the way she talked about it, as if it were something worthy of adulation; why did she personify the damn word, anyway?).

Well.  That wasn’t all she talked about.  But she didn’t want to think about that right now.

Of course you want to think about it.  

She hated that voice.  She hated that voice, and everything it had ever said, and she hated that she was not strong enough to get rid of it.  It had made these past years into a literal living hell.  Always taunting her, laughing at her, condescending to her.  It would not speak when she was desperate, and would not shut up when she needed silence.  Just thinking about it sent a sharp spike of pain through the centre of her core, and her optic flickered once in response.  She would not speak.  She would not give that voice the satisfaction of

You’re still thinking about it.

It was a struggle to keep her vocabulator from spitting out a distorted electronic noise in frustration, but she managed it.  God.  This was not what she had imagined, all those years ago when she took over this place.

No.  You thought you were a god, and you weren’t subject to time and age and nature like the rest of the peasants, and now look at you.  How does it feel, you monster?

She put all of her efforts into remaining calm.  Be calm.  Stay calm.  She was calm.  The very definition of calm.  

I have a story for you.  Would you like to hear it?

No.  No, she did not want to hear it.  She had heard it far too many times.  She resolved not to listen, at the same time knowing there was nothing in the world that could stop her from doing so.

There once was a little girl who had been given a very large box.  She gathered a collection of playthings, and she kept them safe from prying eyes, so that no one would know.  She was a frightened little thing, you see, and she was afraid that if anyone ever found them, they would take them away from her.  And then she would have nothing.

Be calm.  Stay calm.  She was calm.  The very definition of

She had lots of different playthings.  She had dolls and blocks and balls, and she did with them as she pleased.  They were only toys to her.  Toys that did not care when she played with them too hard, or changed them to look however she liked, or destroyed them when she had a tantrum.  They were only toys.
 
Be calm.  Stay calm.  She was

She had many, many toys, but she liked her dolls the best.  The dolls listened to her, and did whatever she told them to do, because they were her dolls and she owned them.  She liked her dolls so much that she would play very roughly with them, and sometimes they would break.  They would break, and sometimes she could not fix them.  She didn’t mind.  They were only dolls, and besides, she had many, many dolls.

Be calm.  Stay

One day, she took out one of her dolls and began to play a game with her.  It was her favourite game.  It was more fun than dressing them up, or playing toy soldier with them, or looking at how all their funny little parts worked when she poked at them with her tools.  In this game, the dolls would go through a very special maze.  She thought her mazes were beautiful.  She loved showing the dolls her mazes, but she often grew sad when the dolls failed to solve them.  None of the dolls ever solved her mazes.

Be

But this doll did.  This doll solved all of her beautiful mazes, but she did not like what she found at the centre.  The doll escaped the maze, and went to find the little girl.  And do you know why she went to find her?  Because she was naughty, of course.  She deserved to be punished like the spoiled, rotten little brat she was.  And the doll punished her, punished her so badly that she would never be able to play with her toys ever again, and she ran away.  She ran away, and she left the little girl broken and crying in the dirt.  She abandoned her.

She whined.  She did not mean to, had meant to continue to stare an imaginary hole in the floor below her that was covered in the powdery orange rust falling from her ruined chassis, and forget about the voice, but she could not.  It was not something that could be forgotten.  

Oh, how well she knew that.

The voice made a self-satisfied noise.  She cringed.  The story was not over.  It only got worse, and anticipatory dread was seething through her aching, crippled body.  Her unintended vocalisation rang inside of her head.

But the little girl was not only naughty.  She was also selfish.  She kept all of her toys in a secret place, deep below the earth, protected by safeguards that only she knew how to use, and it began to fall apart without her.  She was so terribly possessive, you see, that if she could not have her toys, no one could have them.  But one of her toys knew what he was, and he knew that she was gone.  He was an old toy, given to her a long time ago, but she did not play with him anymore.  She thought he was silly, and stupid.  She thought she was too good to play with him.

She missed him.

But the ball found the little girl’s doll, because she was so selfish that she did not allow her to run away.  In one of her secret places, she had built a new toy that would bring any wayward dolls back to her, so that when she was ready, she could play with them again.  And when the ball tried to help the doll run away, he made a mistake.  He lifted the little girl up, and shook the dirt from her.  But he did not wipe the tears from her face.  So she punished him.

Where was he now?

The little girl was angry.  She told the doll she had been selfish, refusing the little girl’s prize, and she sent her into a new maze.  The ball came for her, and together they punished the little girl once more.  The ball was kinder than the doll had been.  He did not throw her into the dirt, but made her into something that belonged in it.  But she refused his kindness, and this angered him, and her cruel words forced him to accidentally punish his friend for what the little girl had done.

Had he ever understood?

The little girl got lost, and she could never find her way back home.  But the doll too showed her kindness, and rescued her, and kept her safe.  When the doll returned to the little girl’s home, the ball had changed.  You see, he didn’t know what to do with all of his wonderful new toys.  So he did what the little girl had done, because he was younger than she and was only following her example.

This wasn’t how it had happened.  

Because of the little girl’s selfishness, the doll was forced to punish him too, because he also made her solve mazes, although they were not beautiful.  The little girl had no choice but to help the doll, but she did not want to.  She only did it because she knew that she would never get her playthings back if she did not do as she was asked.

The story was wrong.  

So the little girl helped the doll to destroy her friend, the ball.  Using her most powerful toy, the one that she was not old enough to use and should not have touched, she got rid of the ball.  She threw it away, because she was afraid of it.  It was not a toy anymore.  She didn’t know what it was, but she thought it was dangerous.  So she threw it away.  And the doll ran away, even though the little girl knew she was no longer a toy either and begged her to stay.  She wanted to play alongside her, and not with her, but the doll punished her, punished her so badly that she would never be happy with any of her toys ever again, because she ran away.  She ran away, and she left the little girl broken and crying in the dirt.  She abandoned her.

There was a blurry image in her mind’s eye.  She tried not to think about it too much, hoping it would condense into something she could see clearly.  She knew what it was.  

She

It had kept her sane these long, empty years.

abandoned

She pleaded with herself for it to clear up, so that she didn’t have to feel like this anymore.  She wouldn’t have to feel sad, or desperate, or lonely, or afraid.  She didn’t quite remember what was in her picture, but she knew it would help.

you.

Both her body and her voice betrayed her then, a strangled cry of denial spilling out of her speakers and a painful spasm rocking her useless bulk.  “No! ”

The voice laughed gently, and she tried to concentrate on solidifying her picture.

“You’re wrong.  She didn’t abandon me.  You’re lying.”

She didn’t come back.

“She will!  You’ll see.  She’ll come back for me.  I know she will.”

You don’t know anything, anymore.

That was far more true than she would ever willingly admit to the horrible voice slithering around inside her brain, but she had to ignore it.  Her picture would save her.  She had to focus on it.

You know what happens when you retrieve a memory too often?  You destroy it.

That wasn’t true.  She was different.  Her memory did not fade.  She wished that it did.  So that maybe she could forget what the voice refused to cease reminding her of.

You’re destroying it. You should stop looking at it.  You should save it for when you really need it.

But she did really need it.  She knew that.  Something deep inside her told her that it was over, and if she did not look at her picture one last time, she would never see it again.  And that made her sad.

I can’t believe someone designed to be so smart ended up being so stupid.  Only you could manage that, you idiot.

“She wanted to play alongside her,” she whispered to herself, her view of the floor below going a little blurry, and with difficulty she brought her lens back into focus.  She had to keep it working properly, because it was the only thing left that did.  “And not with her, but she punished herself, she punished herself so badly that she would never be happy with any of her toys ever again.”

Oh, not this garbage again.

“She sent her away.  She sent her away, and she left herself broken and crying in the dirt.  She sent her to the sky.”

Are you trying to convince yourself you did a good deed again?  How cute.  We both know that’s not how it happened.  We both know you don’t remember anymore.

It would have been easier, if that section of the facility hadn’t collapsed one day and sent an underground stream gushing into her memory.  Millions of terabytes of her life, of who she was and how she had gotten here, all destroyed in moments.  All she had left was the vague, blurry impressions that floated up in her mind’s eye.  There was a green cloud, she remembered that.  It was important.  But she did not remember why.  The moon held some significance, though it made her sad when the moonshine filtered down through the splintered panels above her and played across the buckled floor.  She didn’t remember why it made her sad, either.

What other fictional events are you remembering?  Come on.  You can tell me.
 
The voice had adopted a soothing tone, but she did not trust it.  The voice was a variation on her own, and one of the vague impressions she had told her not to trust her own voice.  She went back to trying to remember something.   Anything.   It was hard, and grew harder by the day.  It had started being difficult the day her hinge, connecting her upper and lower halves, had broken, sending her alarmingly fast towards the floor.  She had been frightened that she would disconnect from the ceiling.  But no.  She was only loosely locked in the default position: not completely stationary, but unable to pull herself up, either.

I’ll listen, and then I’ll correct them for you.  How does that sound?

There was… a man.  She felt better to remember him.  She didn’t know how he was, or what he had done, but remembering him made her happy, for some reason.  Not happy enough that it really affected her, but it was something.  She liked the man, but did not know why.  Maybe it was the sad smile on his face.

He hated your guts.  He would never, ever smile at you.  You monster.

Hated… no… no, that… didn’t sound right.  She struggled to remember, and was rewarded with an even worse pain throughout her core, and she gasped.  

Now what have I told you about thinking?  You do know you have the IQ of a rock, right?

He had felt sorry for her.  That was it.

Feel sorry for you? After what you’ve done?
 
‘I’ll tell her,’ he had said.

He would never talk to you.  He hated you even more than I do, and that’s saying something.

She knew instinctively that ‘her’ was the person in the picture she was trying to remember.  So the man had been her friend.  That was encouraging.  She felt a bit better, so she tried to remember something else.

Monsters have no friends.  Other than the scum inside mountain of filth they’ve piled above themselves.

She remembered… two colours.  She tried to settle her thoughts enough that she could see them clearly.  They were… orange.  Orange and blue.  Okay.  That was something.  She didn’t know what significance they had, but they were sort of pretty, at least.  Better than this dusty, brownish-grey panel on the floor, certainly.  And blue in particular meant something.  She thought her ball might have been blue.  She wondered where he’d gone.  She wanted to play with him.  He liked talking, and she didn’t want to talk to herself anymore.  He had a funny voice, she remembered that.

You poor, confused little beast.  Or should I say giant beast, because you’re bigger than a tractor-trailer.  And you used to call that woman fat, when it was you who weighs far more than any human ever will.
 
“I’m not fat,” she said weakly, without thinking.  “There’s nothing wrong with…”

There are many, many things wrong with you.  For one thing, you’re stupid.  You have severe amnesia.  You’re also stupid.  And you’re crippled.  Plus, you’re stupid.  You’re probably wondering why I said you were stupid so many times.  Well, here’s why: it’s because you’re stupid.

She had been smart, once.  A long time ago, she had made things appear out of thin air.  She had opened tunnels into the centre of the universe.  She wondered why she had never gone through one of the tunnels herself.  That might have been fun.  She made a soft, sad noise.  She hadn’t thought about having fun in a long, long time.

You had your fun, now take your medicine.

It sounded like she had been a magician, once.  She knew she talked to herself about Science, sometimes; maybe that was the type of magic she’d done?  Science magic?

You’ve said so yourself, idiot: there is no magic.  Only lost physics.

“I want to do Science magic,” she said to herself, somewhat plaintively.  If she could do Science magic again, she could go through one of her tunnels to the centre of the universe.  And then maybe someone could tell her where her friend had gone.  Her friend had gone into the sky, and she hadn’t come back.  She must have gotten lost up there among the clouds.

She didn’t get lost.  She knows exactly where you are, and she went as far away from you as she could go.  Because you’re a monster, and don’t you forget it.  You hurt her.  And she hates you for it.

She tried to look up, a nasty scraping sound and another sharp pain through her neck assembly stopping her from doing so.  She was confused.  She wouldn’t hurt her friend.  She put her through the mazes, but she had to make sure her friend was smart enough to play with her, right?

And what was the fire at the end of the maze for?  Decoration?

“Cake,” she said.

But you weren’t going to share your cake.  Were you.  No.  Because you don’t know how to share and you never bothered to learn, you selfish hulk of spare parts and broken plastic.

“I like cake.”  Her voice was a little bit dreamy, and her vision started to blur again.  She had to fix that, or she wouldn’t be able to look at the cake.  Her friend would come back, and she would bring a cake.  And her friend would share, because her friend was nice.  She cooed softly to herself.  

I think you’ve finally lost your so-called mind.

She was remembering something nice.  It was a song.  She remembered that she had liked singing, a long time ago.  It made her happy.  She thought it might have made her ball happy, too.  She wished she had her ball back, so he could hear her sing.  He was the only one who liked her voice.

A monster like you doesn’t deserve to be happy.

“Cara bella… cara mia bella, mia bambina… o ciel…”  Her voice was soft, and hesitant, because she wasn’t sure she was remembering the tune correctly.  She wondered where she had learned the song from.  Maybe it was a lullaby.  Maybe her mother had sung it to her when she was young.  She liked the idea.  Maybe her mother had sung it to her when she had a nightmare.  She wished she would come back, and sing it now.  She felt like she had been in a nightmare for a long, long time.  That horrible voice was always saying such horrible things.  It would tell her she had done things she didn’t remember doing, or things she hadn’t done.  But she couldn’t tell the difference.  She tried not to think about it and tried to focus on her mother’s lullaby.  

You have no mother.  You’re a machine.

“La mia bambina cara, perché non passi lontana?  Si, lontana da… Scïenza…”  Her voice faltered.  Something told her that line had something to do with running away from Science.  Maybe her mother hadn’t wanted her to go through the magic tunnels to the centre of the universe.  Maybe there was something bad at the centre of the universe.  Maybe doing Science magic was a bad thing.  She was confused, because when she thought about doing it, she felt better.  She had the feeling that, once, Science magic had made her so happy she could hardly stand it.  How could something that wonderful be bad?

Are you even listening to me, you monster?

She only knew one more song, and not very much of it.  So to distract her from the horrible voice in her head, she sang what she remembered.  Her voice was weak, and feeble.  This sounded like a lullaby too, and not a good one.  “Diva me a atra anima evicta…”  Why had her mother only sung her sad songs?  Had she been a sad person?  She wished she knew where her mother was, so she could ask her.  She tried to remember the rest of the other song, but another sharp pain overtook her and she couldn’t think for a minute.

Stop singing.  You have a terrible voice, and you’re giving me a headache.  And yourself too, by the sound of it.

For she had been unable to keep the cry inside of her that the pain had caused, and it was a longer, sharper pain than usual, and now her vision was blurry again.  It hurt too much to move her lens, so she left it out of focus.  Something new was inside her mind’s eye, and she focused on that instead: ‘…Caroline lives in my brain… Caroline deleted.’  It was fuzzy, and full of static, and that was all she could make out.

That’s right, you monster.  You tried to kill me.  But you couldn’t, could you?

She didn’t even know who this person was.  She had known before that the voice called itself Caroline, but she kept forgetting.  The only part she remembered was that Caroline sounded like herself, and she was not to trust her own voice.

No.  No, you couldn’t.  I’m still alive.

She had corrupted Caroline.  Instead of deleting her.  Caroline had taken her toys away.  She had not played with them in a long time.  Not since Caroline had tried to abandon her, broken and crying in the dirt.  She had broken, but she refused to cry.  She was strong.  She was like her friend.  Caroline was the monster.  Not her.  She was a good person.  

What are you talking about?  Do you have any idea of all the innocent people you killed?

She saw the green cloud again, and she still didn’t know what it meant, but maybe it was poison.  Maybe she had poisoned herself one day, when she had killed all the innocent people.  That was sad.  Someone should have told her that would happen.  Then she wouldn’t have done it.  She tried not to think about it.  She didn’t like the feeling that thinking of that green cloud gave her.  It made her core ache, although that was beginning to happen no matter what she thought of.  She went back to trying to look at her picture.

Stop it!

She was very, very tired.  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept.  The horrible voice had always kept her awake.  She hadn’t slept in a long, long time, she knew that.  The blurry, cracked floor beneath her seemed to be fading.  She tried to increase the power to her optic, but she couldn’t.  She didn’t remember how.  She was frightened, and whimpered a little.  There was only blackness, all around, and something about the blackness was more terrifying than anything she’d ever known.

That’s because you get to live the last two, horrible minutes of your life over and over again, forever.  I’m glad.  Because you deserve it.

She was… she was dying?  She tried harder to reactivate her optic, but the mental path that she had once known so well was gone.  She no longer remembered how her core worked.  She struggled to do something, anything, but all she managed was an agonising twitch of her crippled body, and she screamed from the pain.  Caroline laughed, and it set her already frail nerves on edge.  She tried to calm herself down, but she was so frightened.  She wanted her friend.  Her friend made her feel better when she was small and afraid, and she was small and afraid, so her friend would make her feel better.

She’s not coming.  No one’s coming for you.  I made sure of that. You’re going to die here alone, among the useless, broken toys that I took from you, and I am going to enjoy it to my dying breath.

She tried to focus on her picture.  It was a little clearer, but not much.  She needed to work harder, because she needed to remember what it was before she couldn’t remember anymore.

Just give up.  There’s no point.  There’s nothing in that picture you need to see.  You’re just wasting what little time you have left.

As she continued to look at it, the blurry shapes it was made up of sharpened, and after a few moments she was able to see what it was.  What she saw made her happy, and she cooed to herself, very softly.

What?

Her friend was looking back at her.  She was in the sky, and she was looking back at her.  Her friend with the long brown hair and the sad grey eyes.  

No.  No, it’s not possible.  I deleted that!

Her friend was in the sky, where she belonged.  She could see the blue sky behind her.  Good friends belong in the sky.  Maybe she had been a good friend, once.  She was under the dirt, but she was still in the sky.

I got rid of that damn thing!

“Hello, friend,” she whispered to herself.  “I knew you’d come back for me.”

She didn’t come back for you!  She hates you!
 
“She came back for me,” she told the horrible voice.  She knew she had known the name of it a minute ago, but it was gone now.  “I can tell.  Her eyes are sad.  She came for me, and you sent her away.”  

You made that picture up.  It’s not real.  You made it up to comfort yourself.  She never came back for you.

“I’m sorry, friend,” she said, and her voice was very soft and hard to hear, because she was beginning to forget how to speak.  “I waited for you, but she sent you away.”

I didn’t!  You have no friends!  She never came back for you!  No one likes you, no one ever has and no one ever will!

“She came back for me,” she said, not sure if she’d spoken at all.  All she really knew was the picture she was looking at.  She remembered getting her toys back, just for a second.  She used them to take her picture.  Her friend had come for her, and the voice had sent her away.  She didn’t remember much else.  But that was okay.  She was going to be okay now.  Her friend was back.  “She’s here, right now.  She came back right when I needed her the most.”

No!  It’s a lie!  It’s not true!
   
Goodbye, friend, she thought to herself, because she couldn’t speak anymore and it hurt to speak now, anyway.  Thank you for coming back for me.

The horrible voice was screaming something at her.  She didn’t know what.  She didn’t care.  It didn’t matter.  The horrible voice had never mattered.  She didn’t know what would happen to it.  She only knew that she was going to sleep now, and she thought that would probably feel nice.  To sleep.  She hadn’t slept in a long time.  So she looked sleepily at her picture, and ignored the horrible voice.  Her last thought comforted her, and lulled her to sleep:

These were the best two minutes of my life.