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007 [AUDIO]
[Hey sup Tranquility IT'S WHEATLEY TIME. And if you don't know what that entails, YOU ARE ABOUT TO FIND OUT. Spoiler alert: it's a lot of petulant British whining.]
Yes, right, hello, sort of been a while, hasn't it? Two things. Well, three, I suppose, if you want to get technical.
One. I am...okay, I'll be honest, I'm in the market for a weapon. And a haircut. Either/or, really. I suppose the weapon is--is the more pressing issue, because, well, obviously we've got a monster problem on board. I saw the science department; you can't convince me there aren't other...abominations of that nature hiding away on this ship, and I'd rather not experience another situation where it's me, and no weapon, versus a bunch of vicious animals out for my blood. Sure, it's all well and good if the powers that be dump an entire arsenal in your locker, but some of us didn't have arsenals back home. Some of us had flashlights, which, for the record, I was not allowed to keep.
The haircut is...slightly less pressing, but I do think I need to look into it. I was under the impression that it would quit growing eventually, you know, reach a maximum length and then stop, but we're going on…what? Eight months? And that does--that does not seem to be the case. If it hurts, someone might want to let me know, and we'll just forget it, but honestly, I will never understand how any of you deal with all these pointless functions. Ridiculous.
I don't exactly have a lot to offer but I would...very much like to work something out, if possible. We can--we can negotiate.
Have I mentioned how hard it is to participate in our little established barter system when you don't have possessions? It's difficult, in case you were wondering, especially when you need weapons, or haircuts, or maybe clothing that isn't covered in buttons and zippers and laces. I mean, for god's sake, I'm starting to pawn of my furniture to get what I need around here.
Third. Mostly unrelated to points one and two, but still important. Cave Johnson, founder and CEO of Aperture Science, seems to have mysteriously vanished, as people tend to do around here. Seeing as I was his appointed personal assistant, I'll be assuming leadership of the company from here on out. All inquiries regarding Aperture activity can be directed to me. [hay GLaDOS haaaaay]
Oh, and--four things. I lied, I had four things. Ward or Resnik, when either of you have a moment--I'm sure your moments are few and far between but in the event you do feel like giving me the time of day, I've just got a question. Quick one. Won't take any time at all.
Yes, right, hello, sort of been a while, hasn't it? Two things. Well, three, I suppose, if you want to get technical.
One. I am...okay, I'll be honest, I'm in the market for a weapon. And a haircut. Either/or, really. I suppose the weapon is--is the more pressing issue, because, well, obviously we've got a monster problem on board. I saw the science department; you can't convince me there aren't other...abominations of that nature hiding away on this ship, and I'd rather not experience another situation where it's me, and no weapon, versus a bunch of vicious animals out for my blood. Sure, it's all well and good if the powers that be dump an entire arsenal in your locker, but some of us didn't have arsenals back home. Some of us had flashlights, which, for the record, I was not allowed to keep.
The haircut is...slightly less pressing, but I do think I need to look into it. I was under the impression that it would quit growing eventually, you know, reach a maximum length and then stop, but we're going on…what? Eight months? And that does--that does not seem to be the case. If it hurts, someone might want to let me know, and we'll just forget it, but honestly, I will never understand how any of you deal with all these pointless functions. Ridiculous.
I don't exactly have a lot to offer but I would...very much like to work something out, if possible. We can--we can negotiate.
Have I mentioned how hard it is to participate in our little established barter system when you don't have possessions? It's difficult, in case you were wondering, especially when you need weapons, or haircuts, or maybe clothing that isn't covered in buttons and zippers and laces. I mean, for god's sake, I'm starting to pawn of my furniture to get what I need around here.
Third. Mostly unrelated to points one and two, but still important. Cave Johnson, founder and CEO of Aperture Science, seems to have mysteriously vanished, as people tend to do around here. Seeing as I was his appointed personal assistant, I'll be assuming leadership of the company from here on out. All inquiries regarding Aperture activity can be directed to me. [hay GLaDOS haaaaay]
Oh, and--four things. I lied, I had four things. Ward or Resnik, when either of you have a moment--I'm sure your moments are few and far between but in the event you do feel like giving me the time of day, I've just got a question. Quick one. Won't take any time at all.
no subject
Ease up there, Hombre. Considering I couldn't get the words out, I am a cut above most humans, but I agree the fixation.... on... that is everywhere. And, apparently, will goose you in your sleep- let us not forget the part where I told her a world of no and no deed was done. Still. No more cracks. May your robot virtue remain pure.
[Because as much as he joked about that... yeah. That'd be weird.]
no subject
Yeah that's enough talk about sexytimes, it's gross just thinking about it.
And there are still more important things to talk about, maybe. One last important thing that he's probably going to be incredibly vague about.]
You said, before. That what you did back home was meant to help people. [He sort of has an idea, but MORE DETAILS NEEDED.]
How, exactly?
no subject
Topher proceeds to make his hair look more like a disheveled wreck by ruffling it and goes to... fiddle with something on the laptop.] If you wanna be blunt about it... I reprogram them. Fix the stuff in their heads that makes them not... work right. Like say a person had chronic depression. Antidepressants are a quick fix. The ideal situation would be to rewire the brain so whatever neurotransmitters aren't functioning right fixed themselves permanently. That sort of thing. It's the same thing people do to computers, but a computer won't develop schizophrenia if you cross the wrong wires.
[Hope...fully. Meeting GLaDOS and Wheatley has sort of changed the way he views computers.]
no subject
The plan is still a little out of his realm of understanding, but if one thing is for certain, the thoughts that bounce around in his head are starting to coalesce into a very, very, very bad idea.
It's one giant bad idea made up of smaller bad ideas that may or may not include screwing with his programming an enabling a potential Topher backslide. Not that Wheatley would know a bad idea from a good one.
He does understand, however, that what he's about to say sort of indirectly admits a few things that he's been fervently (and sometimes violently) denying, and he starts inching towards the general direction of exit, as if preparing for an easy getaway.]
If I told you--told you in complete confidence, by the way--
If there was something in the programming of a hypothetical computer that sort of--I don't know, if it--If it had protocols, or something, that...prevented it from doing certain things, or--or from functioning optimally, it's the same sort of problem, right? Like a virus, you said. And you're the guy who goes in there and gets rid of it. It works the same way.
no subject
Complete confidence. [Topher may not always be good at keeping secrets, but he's kept them where it counts- when it might hurt another person, like Sierra or Echo? That's when he can keep his mouth shut. And the fact that he knows- suspects, really- and has suspected that there's something weird in Wheatley's programming the whole time he's known him, even before it occurred to him he wasn't so bad- a glitch, a corruption that just led into a natural adaptation of the code... God, he doesn't want to believe that someone would just program a robot to be stupid... Yeah, he could keep that a secret.]
I do believe in patient-doctor confidentiality. [That gets him to turn away and face Wheatley, crossing his arms over his chest and just listen.]
Yeah. Same thing, basically. I can hack a brain in my sleep- computer programming... It's not nearly as tricky. Every system's got a set parameter, but they can be changed and they're made to be changed. All I'd need to do is find the problem and get rid of it in a way that doesn't... crash the entire system. [Shrug] Simple. Compared to curing a paranoid schizophrenic, it's nothing.
no subject
Topher could do it. Topher could get in his head and fix him, delete whatever forces him to choose wrong, over and over and over, that line of code that makes it so he destroys absolutely everything he touches.
Maybe, after that, after it's gone, he'll be able to do something right, for once.
And he doesn't want to admit the truth, so Wheatley will predictably dance around it as much as possible, but it's the only way he knows how to confess without actually confessing, even if the vague implications are probably enough. He doesn't want to put his trust in a human (a human who believes Her, even if She's right) but it's worth it if he can get fixed, even if he's not technically broken in the first place.
This entire conversation, in fact, is just one giant testament to how well he does work--not that he realizes it.]
If I--if I have something like that, and--
I think I do, I think I might--I don't know, sometimes I do things, and I don't know why and then when it's all done I just--why did I do that, and it's wrong, it's not what I wanted, I...
[It's obvious he's trying very hard to put words to something he doesn't understand and can't quite describe--all those painfully specific mental blocks, the nagging feeling that his decisions aren't exactly his own, not in the way they'd be if he was really human.]
I don't even know if you'd recognize it if you saw it, I have no idea what my programming looks like, on a--on a monitor. I don't even know if this makes any sense, but...take it out, if you find it, okay? I can't--I can't think, I can't think properly and I don't know what it is.
no subject
But Wheatley won't admit it and Topher has an idea of what he'd be looking for anyway, because it wouldn't really be that hard to track down. Besides, he has suspicions about Aperture and that makes it easier. You absolutely can't make a robot like Wheatley without drawing from a human brain in some way. Maybe it was an imprint they recoded and retooled until it stopped working like a human brain should or maybe they had other means, but Cave made a friggin' brain-transferring machine with scraps and that speaks volumes to the kind of work they did.
So if anyone knew how to fix him, he was the best bet. Any other programmer wouldn't know the first thing about a human brain and when it went on the wedge, it would be human until he painstakingly removed everything a robot wouldn't need. Something about that thrilled him, both because of a challenge and because someone needed him and only him. He could fix this. He could.
And Topher never saw four feet in front of his face, anyway, so all the ways this could go wrong never occur to him.]
I can fix it. It'll take some doing, but I can do it- no problem. [In some ways, he's sort of glad Wheatley won't admit the truth, because it means he's spared the irritated feelings-driven rant about how if Aperture was really going to program something to be stupid, they could have at least reprogrammed him when he stopped being useful as... what he was. The idea is sort of sickening to think about when he's come to think of Wheatley as a person, but it's not like Wheatley isn't asking him for exactly that.]
Just leave it to me. By the time we get you back in your body again, you'll be... functioning perfectly.
[WORST.
CHOICE
OF WORDS.]
no subject
Okay. That's--that's good. To know.
[THAT SURE IS A LOT OF WORDS. There's the faintest hint of agitation on his face, like he's just realizing that he shouldn't have said all that why did he even say that. It occurs to him that Topher plans to do an awful lot for him without explicitly asking for anything in return--it's so unlike humans, so unlike everyone on this ship (a ship where you can't get anything without a trade or owing a favor), he can't help but feel that much more wary.
For a brief moment, he looks almost scared.]
I have, to, um. [He sort of flicks his eyes in the general direction of leaving.] I have to go.
no subject
But that doesn't occur to him. For a horrified moment, Topher realizes the implications. It's a horrible burden of trust that Wheatley's placing on him, a secret he won't directly spell out, the fact that he's placing his programming in the hands of a man who one adventure in a hallway before now was merely passionately curious and, before that, sort of outwardly bitchy towards him. Who wouldn't be scared?
And yet, it's sort of hard not to take that personally, even with the facts laid out.]
...Okay? I mean, if you-[He cuts himself off and exhales, eyes flicking downward as he tries to dredge up what he needs to say. Except he's actually not sure what he needs to say, so it's more like he's stalling.] Just- just wait a second. One second. ...Obviously, not a literal second.
no subject
[He doesn't, really, but it's not like anyone really knows what neurotic robots do in their spare time.
What he knows is that he needs to think about something else, something that doesn't remind him of all the things he was built to do.
But he stops, obviously curious as to what Topher means.]
What is it?
no subject
I-
[I'm not like the others, I swear. I'm not gonna screw this up. I can get one thing right. I won't hurt you.]
I mean, you-
[You can trust me. You don't have to be afraid of me.
He gives up.]
I have no idea where I was going with that. [He shuts the laptop, like it's some sort of signal that he's ready to close out the conversation before he says something really stupid.] It'll be fine, though. You're in good hands. Safe hands.
[He pulls the laptop off the edge of the machine and starts to walk past, stopping and raising a hand like he might clap him on the shoulder reassuringly, but he pulls back awkwardly and just sort of nods, instead, before he moves on ahead.] See you around.
no subject
It doesn't.]
That's--that's fine. That's okay. I know.
[He doesn't know. He hopes, and shies away in anticipation of a touch that doesn't actually come.]
Well, you, ah. Know how to find me if you need me.