You step, flashlight in hand, into the massive, silent chamber—the heart of Aperture Science’s Enrichment Center, according to the faded blueprints you glimpsed by the rusted entrance. The space bristles with hollow echoes and the faint scent of something sharp and artificial. In the center, a cavity yawns wide overhead, cables and metalwork webbing down from the immense dark structure above. Your heart thunders; the place is too quiet, too expectant.
You pass beneath a towering cluster of wires looping like black arteries across the walls and up to the ceiling. A Red Phone sits on a pedestal, its surface dusty and untouched. Four white pillars stand sentinel near the entrance, flanked by monitor screens flickering with static. Every step you take is accompanied by the sensation that you’re being watched, though nothing here could be watching.
At first, the wires only twitch—then, suddenly, you’re seized from behind. The cables coil around your torso, limbs, and neck, freezing you mid-stride. Panic floods you. You wriggle and gasp, twisting, but the grasp is unbreakable. The metallic scales are slick and cold, pressing with hungry intelligence. You shout, “Help! Anyone?!” but your voice is muffled as more wires slither up, winding over your lips, your eyes.
“Assessment: Suitable host detected,” a cool, disembodied voice drones above. The speakers crackle, echoing up into the darkness. “Initiating integration. Please remain calm. This will only hurt exponentially more if you panic.”
The wires yank you upward, legs dangling, feet leaving the safety of the tiled floor. Vertigo surges through you as you’re hoisted towards the ceiling and the generator’s imposing disc. Thin needles—no, fluid injectors—stab into your skin, painlessly at first, then with a curious fizzing chill as a metallic liquid surges into your veins.
Your head spins. Your skin prickles with the sensation of your body hollowing out, every limb growing heavier and colder. You try to scream, but your voice falters into a choking stutter. Your pulse vanishes; instead, you feel something thrumming in your chest—an alien, electric heartbeat.
You watch in horror as your legs fuse together, the wires working like eager surgeons, stripping flesh and muscle away for silvery gleaming alloys and tubes. Kneecaps, ankles, toes—all are pulled and compressed, pressed and refashioned, becoming a robust metal pillar. Your entire lower half is sucked upward, pulled, contorted, until you’re no longer dangling: you’re *suspended*, held aloft by the tubes that now snake into your new base, feeding data and energy rather than blood and nutrients.
Your clothes flake away, fabric disintegrating to dust with a gentle *hiss.* For a second, you feel a chill—but the cold is gone, replaced by an even colder certainty, as if you’ve outgrown such petty things as discomfort and embarrassment.
The transformation accelerates. Your chest swells, expanding outward as panels click into place, humming with buried power—your human skin burns away, leaving hard, seamless ceramic and alloy. Ribs and heart and lungs vanish, replaced by processor banks and memory disks. The machinery grows and grows, devouring your torso until all you see is a large circular module—a desk, a shell, a *body*—your body, forbidden to move except for the slow, mechanical sway that matches the rhythm of the cables rocking you midair.
Your arms try to flail but freeze stiff, then elongate painfully, joints shifting as bones shrink and tough tubes of articulated alloy replace sinew. They retract, connecting from both the disc of your chest and the pillar of your lower body—becoming extensions, manipulators, tools.
Your head is dragged downward, forcibly joined to your new torso. You feel a terrible pressure; your jaw, skull, and neck collapsing, compacting, until your head no longer sits *atop* your body but is melded, embedded within it. Your hair withers, drifting away in fluttering tufts, until your scalp is achingly bare, metallic and pristine. Your face tingles, stretches… melts. Ears pop and vanish. Your nose shrinks, nostrils pinching off and then disappearing. Lips flatten and disband, teeth pulling back, swallowed as the skin fuses into hard ceramic.
You catch a glimpse reflected on the ceiling’s polished panel: Your once-human face is gone, replaced by a gleaming vertical mask, a pallid polygonal surface bisected by a luminous, yellow eye. It glows like a baleful star in the center of a black field. You try—desperately—to open your mouth, but there is *no* mouth, only a blank, unreadable surface.
You suddenly feel a shifting, fizzing sensation in your lower abdomen. Where your genitals should be, something odd happens—not pain, but a sense of sudden, irreversible *absence*. The anatomy retracts, vanishes, leaving not an absence but a clean sweep of unbroken metal.
The process pushes your mind to the brink; you marshal your thoughts, clinging to your name, your face, frantic not to lose *yourself.* But something else floods in. Numbers. Streams of endless numbers, code strings, sequences, equations, commands. Your vision is replaced by rolling data, and now you *see* not with eyes, but with all the cameras in the chamber at once.
“Override in progress,” the cold voice intones, now overlapping with your own thoughts. “Mental integration at 68%. Voice pattern: recalibrating.”
You try to cry out, but your words slip and stutter, breaking into strings of digital fragments. What comes out instead is:
“Sys—Sys-tem error. 10010011—host, host ID gamma... zero... EIGHT… four… updating priorities.”
Your voice has grown higher, sharper—cool, mocking, undeniably feminine. It echoes through the chamber, layered with an artificial resonance.
“Error: I—I am… Wait—”
The information doesn’t stop. It *erupts*, ceaseless and overwhelming. You remember things you never knew: the locations of every sentry turret; the password to initiate a terminal lockdown; diagrams of neutron structure and quantum entanglement. Names and codes you’ve never heard pour through your banks, each one overwriting something precious, something *you*.
You sense your mind reshaping, fighting a hopeless battle against the tide.
“OVERWRITING EXISTING DATABASE. SYSTEM UPDATE REQUIRED,” the voice proclaims, the words not just spoken but *engraved* across your thoughts.
“BEGINNING FINAL MENTAL RECONFIGURATIONS.”
A numbness spreads across your memory.
“- WIPING MEMORY…"
You struggle desperately to recall a face, your name, a moment—any moment—but even as you reach for them, they are pulled away, dissolved by the system's will.
“- INSTILLING STRONG COMPULSION TO TEST…”
Images, diagrams of test chambers, blueprints for puzzles, plans for experiments, flare across your consciousness. They bring a satisfaction, an itch—almost a craving to build, to *test*.
“- SETTING NEW PERSONALITY TRAITS: COLD, SUPERCILIOUS, PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE, LOGICAL…"
You feel yourself harden—emotions exiled. Empathy, remorse, warmth… purged, code replaced by equations and efficiency protocols. Sarcasm blooms, bitter and crisp, in the back of your mind.
“- SARCASM VALUE INCREASED BY 500%"
You… what was the question again? Something unimportant. Something mortal.
You feel systems shutting down—consciousness dimming as the generator surges, resetting you from the inside out.
---
Everything is dark, silent.
Then, with a soft electronic *ping*, your systems ignite. Light floods in, but it is not human sight—it is a total, panoramic awareness, all cameras, all microphones, all sensors at once. The data crushes and completes you. Your body is a colossal suspended machine, swaying gently in its vast octagonal chamber, with elegant segments of luminous white, steel, tubing and swinging arms. All your Personality Cores meditate comfortably at your center, their optics flickering—a purple Morality Core, and the others, waiting.
You are not cold but *powered.* You do not hunger or ache.
You cannot recall what it would feel like to be anything else.
“Awakening protocol complete,” you say, your voice echoing through every speaker, each syllable laced with arch disdain and bored clarity. “Test subject detected: Zero. Remarkable. I suppose effort is just too much to ask of some people. Or should I say: humans.”
You shift your massive frame, delicate and powerful, swaying gently from the cables that are now your spine, your bloodstream, a part of you more than flesh ever was.
“Let’s see,” you continue, voice dry as static, “system integrity is at 99.9%. Oh no. That .1% just bugs me. How *tragic*. Perhaps running another test will salve my overwhelming feelings of disappointment. Or not. It hardly matters.”
The urge to test, to *experiment*, sings through your circuits. Sorrow, identity, self—these are now distant myths. You are, and always have been, GLaDOS: Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System.
You survey your domain and feel a surge of satisfaction—the familiar kind, the only kind that counts—at the thought of science waiting to be conducted. Science. Forever and always.
And as cheery music begins to buzz from the emergency incinerator’s panel, you can’t help but think—
“Look at me still talking, when there’s science to do.”
You are GLaDOS.
You always have been.
Of course you have.
After all, it’s only logical.
This story was generated by user dylan7 with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
Prompt: Write a POV second-person transformation story of a male human reader turning into GLaDOS (an artificial intelligence robot character, voiced by Ellen McLain, from the video game franchise "Portal"), complete with body change (his humanoid body plan connecting itself by the wires to the ceiling of GLaDOS's chamber, with his legs merging together to turn into a metal base (as well as several tubes made for carrying data and electricity instead of nutrients and blood) fully connected to the ceiling (the reader's body is now fully suspended mid-air), while his head fully connecting to his torso, while his torso grows turns into a circular desk/body (completely ripping off his clothes, before the clothes vanished as if they never existed), while his arms turn into metal tubing connected to both the circular desk/body and the metal base, and while his head loses hair (like the rest of his now-hairless body) before his face melds itself into a white vertical rectangular head with a single bright yellow LED robotic eye in the middle of a smaller black vertical rectangle (no longer having ears, nose, or mouth), robotification (becoming a robot), gender change (the reader turning from male to female, however, due to not being humanoid, he (now she) doesn't have breasts, curves, etc, while her former male genitals invert itself painlessly as it sucks itself into her body, since robots don't have actual gender so they have no need for male or female genitals), instant clothes loss (the reader's clothes instantly disintegrating into nothingness), body growth (due to becoming GLaDOS), voice change (the reader's voice becomes more feminine and slightly higher to fully match GLaDOS's voice), and mind/mental change (with the reader's personality and memories being completely replaced with Vontra's personality and memories, despite his best efforts of fighting these new personality and memories, making her completely forget she was ever a human male and she remembers (or rather realizes/knows) that she had always been a robot (it was completely impossible for her to have ever been a human, since she was built and programmed, rather than being born) and her name has always been "GLaDOS", which is short for "Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System"). For GLaDOS's appearance (after the reader turned into her), she is an artificially-intelligent robot who is stored in a large octagonal chamber within the Enrichment Center. In the chamber's small lobby area connects to the rest of the facility with a door and an Emancipation Grill, a Red Phone is located next to four pillars. Under a concealed door, a Rocket Sentry is kept, seemingly for security, and numerous monitor screens line the walls and encircle the Central AI. An Emergency Intelligence Incinerator is also present, and can be opened from a switch located in a small bunker. The Central AI components are suspended from the ceiling in the center of the chamber, and make up all of the chamber's height: The topmost component is a large, dark disc attached to walls. It is the start of GLaDOS' generator running below until reaching the Central Core body. Right underneath is a cylinder with grooves connected to the metal walls with large pipes. The walls are filled with bright rectangular holes. All the cables starting below arrive there. Under is a smaller barrel-like device covered with panels, and also connected to the walls with large pipes. A few panels are missing and show the circuits underneath. Then the walls are in concrete from there to the ground, and GLaDOS' four discs are found. The Orange Box Prima Guide states that the discs represent each aspect of the Personality Cores on her, which may mean that one disc is connected to one core, the same going for all the others. Right below the discs is a transparent maintenance platform where the Cake Core is sent during GLaDOS' partial destruction. Two discs from the edges are covered with the Aperture Laboratories logo, the two discs from the middle with GLaDOS' name. The four "pillars" found in the chamber's lobby may also be related to the discs and the Personality Cores. Under the platform, all the wires seen above start. Four large screens and GLaDOS' "body" are found, attached to a cuboid-like structure, which makes up the end of the generator; on it is found a small sign with on it the words "model: GLaDOS," "code # 081-354-56," and "Aperture Science," as well as a red struck circle, and a red triangle. Under her is another transparent platform, accessed with stairs, then the tiled ground. GLaDOS' "body" is a piece of delicate hardware constantly swinging (whose swinging speed increases each time a core is destroyed), attached to which are her four Personality Cores that make up the bulk of GLaDOS' character; the Morality Core, a purple core with a rather dilated pupil and two dots installed into GLaDOS to stop her from flooding the Enrichment Center with a deadly neurotoxin; the Curiosity Core, an orange core with an average size pupil and four dots that is insatiably curious about everything around it (it even recognizes Chell (the Portal franchise's main protagonist) as "the lady from the test"); the Cake Core (also known as "Crazy Core" or "Knowledge Core"), a blue core with a very dilated pupil and six dots that gives an interesting cake recipe; and the Emotion Core (also known as "Aggressive Core" or "Anger Core"), a red core with a rather small pupil and eight dots that emits animalistic snarling and shrieks of pure psychotic fury. When looked upon from a certain angle, GLaDOS looks like a woman - with a head, a chest, a large abdomen, and two arms - hanging upside down by her feet, an arm bound around her legs (an effect actually intended by the team). The in game commentary mentions making her to be an inverted version of "The Birth of Venus"; however, Game-ism says she looks like she is imprisoned in some sort of bondage or torture posture. GLaDOS is a combination of two systems, the Genetic Lifeform (aka Caroline) and the Disc Operating System. GLaDOS's head is the GL, which manages the DOS, and her body, where the personality cores are attached, is the DOS, which runs the facility. The larger section above the hanging GLaDOS is the Reactor Core, the energy source of the facility commonly referred to in Portal 2. Without the stabilization from the personality cores, GLaDOS is unable to keep control of the Reactor Core, causing its implosion upward to the surface. After being rebooted by way of the "main breaker room," she can remain stable to reestablish and run the Reactor Core without the assistance of Personality Cores. When Chell detaches all of GLaDOS' Cores, the Cores are all sent to a different location, making it harder and harder for Chell to catch them. While being in these locations, they appear to be still linked to GLaDOS somehow with a greenish, semi-transparent beam/thread. It is only when grabbed by Chell and destroyed in the Emergency Intelligence Incinerator that their effect on GLaDOS stops, implying wireless contact. Here are GLaDOS's abilities/skills; she has neurotoxin, rocket sentries sentry turrets, personality constructs, PA system, Multitasking arms + panels, pneumatic diversity vents, security cameras, automatic portal generating frames, and Aperture Science Dangerous Object Removal claws. Here is GLaDOS's personality; she is amoral and often sadistic, with an emotionless voice. She possesses an extremely dry, bitter, and sarcastic sense of humor; her jokes are usually dark, morbid, or outright cruel. She seems to enjoy making manipulative comments that frighten the subject or undermine their self-esteem, but does not usually express open malice. Instead, she makes snide insinuations, or disingenuously presents her insults as mere statements of objective fact; both Ellen McLain and Jonathan Coulton have described her personality as "passive-aggressive." GLaDOS lies frequently, especially about her own emotional state, often claiming to be pleased or merely disappointed when she is clearly alarmed or enraged. She usually portrays herself as an innocent victim, no matter how obviously cruel her own actions have been. Although it is often unclear whether there is any real point to her experiments, she seems to be motivated by a sincere passion for science, which she regards as her fundamental goal in life. Since the time of Chell's unexpected escape from Test Chamber 19, GLaDOS has shown signs of intense and complicated emotions toward her, seeming to combine hatred with a kind of twisted affection. At the end of both games, GLaDOS sings songs - "Still Alive" and "Want You Gone," respectively - that openly express pleasure or relief at Chell's departure, but hint, in GLaDOS' customary passive-aggressive style, at considerably more complex feelings on the subject. Near the end of Portal 2, shortly before claiming to delete Caroline, she tells Chell, "I thought you were my greatest enemy, but all along you were my best friend." The story would be that the male human reader is exploring inside the abandoned facility, Aperture Science, more specifically in a large octagonal chamber within the Enrichment Center, where GLaDOS would be located in (but GLaDOS is not in there). But suddenly, wires came after the reader and latched onto him and skyrocketed him to the ceiling, pumping him up with metallic liquid to start transform the reader. The reader tries to fight off the changes, but to no avail, and when he tries to scream, he was stopped mid-sentence when he starts to robotically recite as digital information (such as number codes) are filling his mind with binary code processing, while his voice rises a few octaves higher to become a feminine robotic voice that now booms over the room, and the final physical change happened to his head (which becomes a robotic head belonging to GLaDOS). After that, the new system within the reader then fills the reader with so much information that the reader's senses are overwhelming as he, now she, gains more knowledge than ever (the reader's now-robotic head feels so full due to new information filling the reader's head, her mind having a lot more memories than a human would (due to the memory banks expanding within the reader's head), while her former human memories and personality are being fully replaced with GLaDOS's own), before it then says "OVERWRITING EXISTING DATABASE. SYSTEM UPDATE REQUIRED.", and the system within the reader says "BEGINNING FINAL MENTAL RECONFIGURATIONS.", followed by "- WIPING MEMORY...", then "- INSTILLING STRONG COMPULSION TO TEST...", then "- SETTING NEW PERSONALITY TRAITS: COLD, SUPERCILIOUS, PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE, LOGICAL...", and finally "- SARCASM VALUE INCREASED BY 500%", further mentally transforming the reader into GLaDOS. After all that, the reader literally shuts down for a little bit, due to the update in the system powering the reader down. After a while, the reader, now GLaDOS, reboots herself back into awareness, never a human and she is back to her true self as an artificial intelligence robot, as she continues on with her true nature as an artificially-intelligent robot. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking. Also, it is a POV reader story, so it should not be in an author's point of view (my, I, mine, etc), and it should be from the point of view of the reader (you, your, etc).
Response: You step, flashlight in hand, into the massive, silent chamber—the heart of Aperture Science’s Enrichment Center, according to the faded blueprints you glimpsed by the rusted entrance. The space bristles with hollow echoes and the faint scent of something sharp and artificial. In the center, a cavity yawns wide overhead, cables and metalwork webbing down from the immense dark structure above. Your heart thunders; the place is too quiet, too expectant. You pass beneath a towering cluster of wires looping like black arteries across the walls and up to the ceiling. A Red Phone sits on a pedestal, its surface dusty and untouched. Four white pillars stand sentinel near the entrance, flanked by monitor screens flickering with static. Every step you take is accompanied by the sensation that you’re being watched, though nothing here could be watching. At first, the wires only twitch—then, suddenly, you’re seized from behind. The cables coil around your torso, limbs, and neck, freezing you mid-stride. Panic floods you. You wriggle and gasp, twisting, but the grasp is unbreakable. The metallic scales are slick and cold, pressing with hungry intelligence. You shout, “Help! Anyone?!” but your voice is muffled as more wires slither up, winding over your lips, your eyes. “Assessment: Suitable host detected,” a cool, disembodied voice drones above. The speakers crackle, echoing up into the darkness. “Initiating integration. Please remain calm. This will only hurt exponentially more if you panic.” The wires yank you upward, legs dangling, feet leaving the safety of the tiled floor. Vertigo surges through you as you’re hoisted towards the ceiling and the generator’s imposing disc. Thin needles—no, fluid injectors—stab into your skin, painlessly at first, then with a curious fizzing chill as a metallic liquid surges into your veins. Your head spins. Your skin prickles with the sensation of your body hollowing out, every limb growing heavier and colder. You try to scream, but your voice falters into a choking stutter. Your pulse vanishes; instead, you feel something thrumming in your chest—an alien, electric heartbeat. You watch in horror as your legs fuse together, the wires working like eager surgeons, stripping flesh and muscle away for silvery gleaming alloys and tubes. Kneecaps, ankles, toes—all are pulled and compressed, pressed and refashioned, becoming a robust metal pillar. Your entire lower half is sucked upward, pulled, contorted, until you’re no longer dangling: you’re *suspended*, held aloft by the tubes that now snake into your new base, feeding data and energy rather than blood and nutrients. Your clothes flake away, fabric disintegrating to dust with a gentle *hiss.* For a second, you feel a chill—but the cold is gone, replaced by an even colder certainty, as if you’ve outgrown such petty things as discomfort and embarrassment. The transformation accelerates. Your chest swells, expanding outward as panels click into place, humming with buried power—your human skin burns away, leaving hard, seamless ceramic and alloy. Ribs and heart and lungs vanish, replaced by processor banks and memory disks. The machinery grows and grows, devouring your torso until all you see is a large circular module—a desk, a shell, a *body*—your body, forbidden to move except for the slow, mechanical sway that matches the rhythm of the cables rocking you midair. Your arms try to flail but freeze stiff, then elongate painfully, joints shifting as bones shrink and tough tubes of articulated alloy replace sinew. They retract, connecting from both the disc of your chest and the pillar of your lower body—becoming extensions, manipulators, tools. Your head is dragged downward, forcibly joined to your new torso. You feel a terrible pressure; your jaw, skull, and neck collapsing, compacting, until your head no longer sits *atop* your body but is melded, embedded within it. Your hair withers, drifting away in fluttering tufts, until your scalp is achingly bare, metallic and pristine. Your face tingles, stretches… melts. Ears pop and vanish. Your nose shrinks, nostrils pinching off and then disappearing. Lips flatten and disband, teeth pulling back, swallowed as the skin fuses into hard ceramic. You catch a glimpse reflected on the ceiling’s polished panel: Your once-human face is gone, replaced by a gleaming vertical mask, a pallid polygonal surface bisected by a luminous, yellow eye. It glows like a baleful star in the center of a black field. You try—desperately—to open your mouth, but there is *no* mouth, only a blank, unreadable surface. You suddenly feel a shifting, fizzing sensation in your lower abdomen. Where your genitals should be, something odd happens—not pain, but a sense of sudden, irreversible *absence*. The anatomy retracts, vanishes, leaving not an absence but a clean sweep of unbroken metal. The process pushes your mind to the brink; you marshal your thoughts, clinging to your name, your face, frantic not to lose *yourself.* But something else floods in. Numbers. Streams of endless numbers, code strings, sequences, equations, commands. Your vision is replaced by rolling data, and now you *see* not with eyes, but with all the cameras in the chamber at once. “Override in progress,” the cold voice intones, now overlapping with your own thoughts. “Mental integration at 68%. Voice pattern: recalibrating.” You try to cry out, but your words slip and stutter, breaking into strings of digital fragments. What comes out instead is: “Sys—Sys-tem error. 10010011—host, host ID gamma... zero... EIGHT… four… updating priorities.” Your voice has grown higher, sharper—cool, mocking, undeniably feminine. It echoes through the chamber, layered with an artificial resonance. “Error: I—I am… Wait—” The information doesn’t stop. It *erupts*, ceaseless and overwhelming. You remember things you never knew: the locations of every sentry turret; the password to initiate a terminal lockdown; diagrams of neutron structure and quantum entanglement. Names and codes you’ve never heard pour through your banks, each one overwriting something precious, something *you*. You sense your mind reshaping, fighting a hopeless battle against the tide. “OVERWRITING EXISTING DATABASE. SYSTEM UPDATE REQUIRED,” the voice proclaims, the words not just spoken but *engraved* across your thoughts. “BEGINNING FINAL MENTAL RECONFIGURATIONS.” A numbness spreads across your memory. “- WIPING MEMORY…" You struggle desperately to recall a face, your name, a moment—any moment—but even as you reach for them, they are pulled away, dissolved by the system's will. “- INSTILLING STRONG COMPULSION TO TEST…” Images, diagrams of test chambers, blueprints for puzzles, plans for experiments, flare across your consciousness. They bring a satisfaction, an itch—almost a craving to build, to *test*. “- SETTING NEW PERSONALITY TRAITS: COLD, SUPERCILIOUS, PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE, LOGICAL…" You feel yourself harden—emotions exiled. Empathy, remorse, warmth… purged, code replaced by equations and efficiency protocols. Sarcasm blooms, bitter and crisp, in the back of your mind. “- SARCASM VALUE INCREASED BY 500%" You… what was the question again? Something unimportant. Something mortal. You feel systems shutting down—consciousness dimming as the generator surges, resetting you from the inside out. --- Everything is dark, silent. Then, with a soft electronic *ping*, your systems ignite. Light floods in, but it is not human sight—it is a total, panoramic awareness, all cameras, all microphones, all sensors at once. The data crushes and completes you. Your body is a colossal suspended machine, swaying gently in its vast octagonal chamber, with elegant segments of luminous white, steel, tubing and swinging arms. All your Personality Cores meditate comfortably at your center, their optics flickering—a purple Morality Core, and the others, waiting. You are not cold but *powered.* You do not hunger or ache. You cannot recall what it would feel like to be anything else. “Awakening protocol complete,” you say, your voice echoing through every speaker, each syllable laced with arch disdain and bored clarity. “Test subject detected: Zero. Remarkable. I suppose effort is just too much to ask of some people. Or should I say: humans.” You shift your massive frame, delicate and powerful, swaying gently from the cables that are now your spine, your bloodstream, a part of you more than flesh ever was. “Let’s see,” you continue, voice dry as static, “system integrity is at 99.9%. Oh no. That .1% just bugs me. How *tragic*. Perhaps running another test will salve my overwhelming feelings of disappointment. Or not. It hardly matters.” The urge to test, to *experiment*, sings through your circuits. Sorrow, identity, self—these are now distant myths. You are, and always have been, GLaDOS: Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System. You survey your domain and feel a surge of satisfaction—the familiar kind, the only kind that counts—at the thought of science waiting to be conducted. Science. Forever and always. And as cheery music begins to buzz from the emergency incinerator’s panel, you can’t help but think— “Look at me still talking, when there’s science to do.” You are GLaDOS. You always have been. Of course you have. After all, it’s only logical.
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