ataraxionlogs | What you don't know won't hurt you. Maybe the lies are true.

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What you don't know won't hurt you. Maybe the lies are true.

CHARACTERS: Topher Brink, Wheatley, Whiskey/Claire Saunders, Alex Summers, and Dirk Strider in A COMEDY OF ERRORS THAT ISN'T ACTUALLY THAT FUNNY.
LOCATION: The auxiliary science labs.
WARNINGS: SHADY BRAIN SCIENCE. PROBABLE PUNCHING.
SUMMARY: Topher finally gets his gun to work so he can put Claire back in her right head, Alex is here to supervise. Dirk's here to be Dirk. Wheatley is angry at almost everyone in this room.
NOTES: BACKDATED TO A FEW DAYS BEFORE THE JUMP.

It had taken awhile, but Topher finally figured out how to fix the gun enough to re-imprint Whiskey with Claire. The chair was safe in a lounge area somewhere in one of the upper decks, thanks to Netherlands, and Topher would never be able to thank Wheatley enough for his contributions to this screwed-up little scenario. It wasn't ideal, but once the gun was disabled and handed off to Claire to destroy, maybe that would be the end of it. They'd forget about everything else.

And if they didn't, the chair was almost ready. If he was allowed this one thing to go right, maybe then he wouldn't have to worry anymore. Until that moment, he had to lay low, pretend everything was okay, and hopefully no one would think too hard about everything.

Yeah. Good plan.

He stood in the middle of the science lab, holding the gun up. "Okay, guys. This is a really simple process. I point the gun, I pull the trigger... Bam. She's imprinted again, then everyone can go back to their little lives like all of this was just a really bad dream."

He paused and then gestured at Dirk and Alex. "Except for Saunders, who will want to wring my neck, despite my trying to save her life, so if one of you two could please make sure that doesn't happen, that'd be great."

Lowering the gun a bit, he turned to Wheatley and hissed out a pained, "I really, really owe you for this one, man. This could be going way worse."

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For the last few weeks, Whiskey had been staying in Alex's room. Surprisingly it was calming. Shd didn't understand this place, buf she also didn't know she had to. Things were simple. Alex took her out on occassion, and she had Anya and Bozo, Alex's pets, to keep her company. It was light, and nothing had happened to make her brain go off.

She had been told they were going somewhere. She didn't understand the concept of being fixed, but she knew it was time for a treatment. Alex was at being an impromptu handler, even if he didn't know it. In the room she stood by him, blinking at Topher. It was nice to see him again. Nothing he said really registered though. She simply stood there, waiting to be told what to do.

Alex had been more than a bit stressed about this entire situation...but he had brought it down upon his own head, and had to own it. He still didn't trust Topher or Wheatley, but if this would get Whiskey back to Claire...well. He didn't have much of a choice, did he?

Standing next to Whiskey, he squeezed her arm, gently, leaning it. "I will be fine, I promise."

He knew better than to promise, but she most likely would like to hear it...and unless something went wrong, it would be fine.

Looking over at Topher, though, he quirked an eyebrow, snorting. "She can do what she wants. I won't stop her."

Topher set his jaw in the closest proximity to a grin he could manage, which was more than a little smarmy, given the circumstances, which were bad all around, and anything he could have said in retort would have made it worse. It wasn't like anyone in this room was actually really and truly on his side, Wheatley, excluded, but even he looked like he'd hit his limit.

"Just like home," he quipped, unable to stay silent, even in the face of probable judgment. Alex truly was on his way to becoming a handler.

He leveled the gun at Whiskey and sucked in a breath. One, two... There was a flash, a slight buzz, and Topher held that breath in, teeth grit. Please work please work please work.

She stood next to Alex, trusting him. Though Topher was right, she would trust a piece of toast right now. She didn't know or understand what was happening or what was going to happen. Whiskey just knew she had a treatment. She stood in place, even with the gun pointed at her.

And then it hit her. It looked painful only for a moment. Just like before she paused and picked her head up. Claire paused for a moment and blinked. Where was she? Why was shy suddenly standing up. Slowly she looked around them, the group of people. There was a sudden deer in the headlights look. She took a step back toward the wall, bracing herself.

No. No, this wasn't her worst fear playing out in front of her, Topher holding some tech he didn't know. "What happened?" Her eyes found Topher's. Could she even trust what he would say?

Edited 2012-12-09 04:53 (UTC)

"Programming glitch!" Topher blurted out seconds after the immediate exhale of relief and also to cover up the whoop he nearly let out. It worked. "You glitched. I fixed it. Everything's fine now. No need to... do anything hasty or anything."

And in an act of pure desperation he hid behind Wheatley, because in some highly logical part of his animal hindbrain, he believed he programmed Claire to be incapable of punching through an innocent bystander to get to him. Unfortunately, this would be way more effective if Wheatley weren't roughly a head shorter.

Wheatley had remained uncharacteristically silent through the exchange, content to perch on a chair in the corner, watching the scene with a certain amount of disdain. His apparent displeasure (at the situation, at certain present parties), was more than evident on his face.

It was the face of someone who'd sold themselves into Oxygen Garden indentured servitude.

He wasn't even allowed to breathe a sigh of relief at the apparent success of the re-imprinting, because Topher was trying to use him as a human shield. Wheatley instantly threw his hands up in defense, even though he knew full well Claire had no reason to suspect he had anything to do with what had just happened.

"Uh--"

She stilled, eyes going wide. His movements, his actions spoke of his guilt. How could he bull face lie to her? That was right. He was Topher. She suddenly laughed, cruel and hard. She looked around the group. She probably could push Wheatley out the way. She certainly wanted to.

"Is that what he told you all?" She looked around him. There was an easier way to hurt him. "There are no glitches. I'm not Echo. I'm a permanent imprint."

Her jaw clenched, wanting to rip something a part. She felt sick. Her world crashed down on her once again. Nothing felt right. All the puzzle pieces scattered, jaded.

Alex let out a breath when Claire started talking again-- really Claire, not the child-like Whiskey. Topher's actions, though, hiding behind Wheatley, had him shifting his position, moving so that he was behind Topher. Only options were to step right into him, or move towards Claire.

Alex wasn't about to let Topher just walk out of this like nothing happened.

"He's been full of shit since it happened." Alex didn't believe it was a glitch--he never had. But he also didn't know enough about the system to know what it was, either.

"Woah, hang on, hold up."

Wheatley had no idea when he'd become the voice of reason in the room, but with Topher cowering behind him, Claire looking like she was going to murder the next thing that moved, and Alex moving into what was clearly a human threat display, the logical thing to do was attempt to talk everyone down.

"There's no need to get accusatory." He moved his hands from the front to the sides, in a clear back up sort of gesture to all parties, first addressing Claire.

"First time for everything, right? Current theory is that the jump drive's done something to your architecture. Caused a programming glitch. I know you don't want to believe him, but it's true."

He reached out to Topher, motioning for him to hand over the gun. "We've established that everyone wants to punch Topher in the face. I want to punch Topher in the face. But my desire to have everyone walk out of here alive outweighs my urge to punch him in the face. He's done nothing but hold up his end of the deal--he fixes the gun so he can fix the glitch, and then you two get to destroy the aforementioned gun in, ah. Whatever way you see fit. So let's get on with that."

Topher remained planted behind Wheatley and nearly snapped out something vicious, because both of them were being complete idiots right now, but then suddenly reason and logic happened.

And, really, Topher, being the only one in the room that ought to be aware that Wheatley and making situations better was not something that happened all the time (if ever), just had to stop his hissing and spitting mid-hiss and spit, and just look down at his friend with surprise... and a little bit of confusion.

"You are actually way better at this than you think," he murmured. Then part of that speech caught up with him and all surprise vanished, replaced with PURE OFFENSE. "...Minus the punching me part."

Still he coughed up the gun, anyway, mentally sending big, hopeful nerd prayers up to Space Jesus that Wheatley didn't... hit any buttons on that thing. Although, he'd actually deactivated it a few seconds ago just in case someone decided to do just that and half the room ended up drooling onto the chrome- one still couldn't be too careful with the way this stupid ordeal kept escalating.

"See? Everyone wins. And- and it's not even the first time and you know it. Look at Sierra and Victor and November when they got drugged. I think you remember that right? It led to your big wish fulfillment exercise that didn't work. Good times all around." He dropped his hands to his sides. "C'mon, Saunders, don't be so... you about this. I've had that gun in my locker since my first jump. I just... Brought it out because it was the only way to fix you."

Lies. Lies. Lies. But damned if those puppy eyes weren't trying to be convincing and it's easy to look unbearably pathetic when you're hiding behind someone all of seven inches shorter than you. "You're fixed. If you wanna keep it around in case it happens again, knock yourself out. Otherwise... set it on fire, throw it out the airlock, smash it with a hammer."

It was when Alex moved that she took noticed of him, realized he was on her side. It was-- odd. No one was ever on Claire's side. Boyd only took an interest because she was an active. And even then, he clearly had his own agenda given everything that had happened with that. "Please, Alex." She put her hand out to let him know it was okay.

And then of course Wheatley spoke and that look of pure fire and seething hate was turned on him. "Just because you're his lapdog doesn't mean you have any idea of what he's capable of. I know there was no glitch. I spent every waking moment noticing glitches and patterns in the actives." She grit her teeth, watching the tech get passed.

"How long have I been gone?" She fired the question at Topher. "You can't program that away, the gap in my memory."

"Oh, come off it," Wheatley snapped, raising his voice his ability to play diplomat rapidly dwindling.

"Yeah, you're an expert, we know. Are you an expert on the bloody jump drive, too? On space? On a ship that wants to kill us? Are you confident enough in your apparently boundless knowledge of interstellar travel to be absolutely sure that whatever supernatural anomalies floating about on this one-way ticket to space hell would have no effect on an active? Oh, yeah, sure, it can rip me out of my body and shove me in another one no problem, but there's no way it could possibly mess with your brain."

He was vaguely aware that getting angry would do nothing to help the situation, but then again, helping situations wasn't exactly what he was programmed for. The only good thing, he supposed, was he'd managed to twist the lie so many times that it wasn't even a lie anymore, not to him.

"Making another rule, right now. Putting it right up there with there's no need to get accusatory. New rule is don't assume."

That was something that set him on edge--the implication that he didn't know what he was getting into as far as Topher was concerned. They'd been over it more times than he could count, and in another jump or two, he'd be the one sitting in the chair, letting Topher poke around in his brain, and he couldn't stand being told he didn't know anything about it.

"I know exactly what he's capable of, thanks."

With that, he slammed the gun on the table before retreating back to his spot in the corner, sending an emphatic gesture Topher's way as if to invite him to answer Claire's question.

Topher blinked a few times before it caught up to him that he was supposed to be answering a question. He shook off his surprise (and actual genuine relief that someone actually stood up for him, because the ever increasing paranoia that he'd messed things up beyond repair had started to hit him- it was becoming just like home in the worst ways) and stepped forward, swallowing his pride and his fear and his anger and tried to be calm and rational, like soothing an angry tiger.

"He's right, you know," he said. "You can't predict these things. I can't predict these things. These nanites?" He pulled down the sleeve of his shirt. "They aren't just for show. They're living machines and they've got enough of a hardline into the brain to futz up all kinds of things. Just think for a second."

No, he couldn't program that away and he never intended to not explain it. "You were out for about a week. I had to fix the freakin' gun. It got... busted when it was brought onto the ship, I guess. It wasn't syncing right or-or I don't know. Either way, I fixed the problem. You're fixed. And this-" He snatched the gun off the table, dropped it on the floor and kicked it over to Claire, "-is all yours. It's done. Be mad all you want, but there's no conspiracy." He broke into a slightly crazy laugh and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Hey, assholes, how about you two shut the fuck up? Because you're both fucking liars." Alex's hands glowed red for a moment, before he forced himself to calm down. He shot Claire a look. He didn't care if she wanted him to back down--she might not remember, but he did.

"First off, it was closer to two weeks. Second, if you don't tell her the truth, eventually, I swear to fucking God I'll give you the worst migraines of your life. Or I'll melt your faces off, depending on my control level." Which was at dangerous levels of 'low' right now.

Moving to shove Topher hard (hoping to push him into Wheatley), he crossed back over to Claire. "Whatever. I'll tell you what I know, later." Out of hearing of them, out of their own spin. She could take it for whatever it was. "And I'll destroy that thing for you, too."

She didn't care what Wheatley or Topher said. Even after looking at her arm. She knew she had never glitched, not back at the Dollhouse and not here. Not once. She tried to keep Alex back, but he was leaving. Her eyes looked from him back to the gun then to Topher and Wheatley.

"I know what I know. You can fool the rest of them into thinking you're some cute neurologist that uses his hands far too much when he talks. But don't forget, I know what you've done, the lack of a conscious you have. I hope your little expirament worked, whatever it was." She may have gotten that part wrong, but if Topher would so easily give up his tech to be destroyed, there had to be more out there.

She picked up the gun, handing it to Alex. "Burn it." She didn't want to see it, be reminded of what she was. She looked back at Wheatley, still glaring. "Have fun being his lapdog, but don't be surprised if you get burned."

She had enough of this. She didn't know where she was going, but it was going to be out of there.

For the month or so that Dirk had been missing, it really did look like Topher and Wheatley really made strides toward their goal. Dirk had paid a quick visit to look around and grab his shades before a bunch of people succumbed to the urges in their masks, including both Bran Stark and Jake English. And just when Dirk thought that he could finally catch a break, something like this had to happen.

Apparently, Dirk just can't leave anyone alone without anything going wrong.

Then again, it might've been a long time coming. He knew that this was Topher's line of work. But he'd trusted the science guy because they were both scientists. Unlike Wheatley, they actually had the ability to use their potential in effective, productive ways. Dirk and Topher were alike; they knew where the boundaries lay and were capable of pushing beyond them. The thing is that, for whatever reason, Dirk never thought that Topher would push them this far. He didn't think things would come down to something like this, especially not after what happened on Strela.

Even though he'd basically stormed out of the room after reading Dave's communicator, Dirk had taken his time heading down to the lab. Bode his time, took the long way around, because he didn't want to face or confront this reality. Shit, it really bothered him, even if he'd never show it. Ambivalence set his brain to war with itself, torn between trying to reason with his science carnival of friends and just dishing out a piece of his mind.

And then, the science lab was right in front of him, and he opted for reason. He reserved that piece of his mind to deal with it later because there was a situation at hand. He'd bring it up again in the future, sooner rather than later, and on his own terms. On his own time. For now, here they all were, just trying to get this whole thing wrapped up.

So in response to Topher, he gave only one firm nod. It was all he could really offer without revealing the turmoil erupting through his heart and mind.

When it was all over and the smoke had cleared and it was just the three of them in the lab again, Topher shifted from one foot to the other and looked at Dirk like a sheepish puppy.

To be honest, this was actually the part that was going to bother him worse than Claire. He knew she hated him. The Striders were his friends, though, and them knowing the truth and distrusting him because of it was precisely why so very few people got to see this part of him.

"So, uh... I probably have some explaining to do, huh?" He chuckled, nervously.

His return gaze was a hard-set expression, unreadable beyond the slightest hints of his anger even though he was conflicted and confused and tired and hurt behind that facade.

Dirk had watched the debacle like a spectator as Topher and Wheatley lied through their teeth, but things never escalated to the point where Dirk felt it necessary to step in. And he probably wouldn't have stopped the girl if she'd tried anything, anyway. The fact was that she seemed to know more about Topher, was righteous in her anger, so Dirk had no right or place in stopping her except perhaps short of killing Topher. Honestly, Dirk didn't want to fight Topher or Alex or anyone else in the fucking room.

He just wanted to believe in his friends.

And it sucks because his friends lied. There's a time and place for theorizing about the jump drive and its effects on one's mind and body, on glitches and memories and body transfer. All of that might've been good food for thought at any time other than on-the-fly improv used in last-line-of-defense reasoning. But no, they'd just spun that shit up to save their asses after possibly doing something they had no business messing with in the first place.

As he looked straight into Topher's eyes through the tinted lenses of his triangle shades, he swallowed audibly before very deliberately grinding out, "Yeah. A lot of it. Start from the beginning."

Edited 2012-12-11 13:22 (UTC)

Topher was so annoyed by everything that the few parts of this that were lies just seemed like complete truths, because there was enough of the truth in them for it not to matter. Sure, she glitched or the gun glitched on her, but either way, it was a glitch. There was no malice involved in it. It was an accident.

"It was an accident," he said, neither confirming nor denying either way. "And whatever you want to believe, I don't exactly make a habit of going around and screwing with people's brains for funsies. You know me, man." His voice was coming out as a whine. "In eleven jumps have I ever shown you any sign that I might be a crazy person?"

That was the part that hurt, that regardless of how it happened or regardless of the fact that the only reason he was lying was to protect the tech long enough to fix Wheatley, that Dirk didn't believe him either way. And that was what he'd always been afraid of- that people would find out and no matter how he tried to spin it or justify himself, he'd always be a monster.

Was it any wonder why he stuck with Wheatley through everything? Because Wheatley was the only person on the damned ship who knew what it was like to be judged and despised for past deeds and know, without a shadow of a doubt, if they really knew the truth, they'd toss him aside- every last one of them.

"The only thing I've ever wanted to do with the tech on this ship you've always known about. You're the one who pulled me in on it."

Wheatley had more-or-less had enough. He knew there was no fooling Dirk, and despite the fact that he was reasonably confident Claire and Alex wouldn't be able to produce any proof (as long as they stuck to their story and kept it straight), that didn't mean he wasn't angry. Sure, Claire and her bodyguard had gone and destroyed their only piece of physical evidence, but he knew it was only a matter of time before they started screaming things on the network. Topher hadn't even been able to give her an accurate answer of how long she'd been wiped, who knew how he'd respond when the public accusations started flying?

"Okay, let me just interject with where I'm coming from." Because, if Wheatley knew anything about humans, it was that they'd be more than willing to get self-righteous and completely ignore his perspective on things (which was obviously the most important perspective).

"That woman--" and he points out the door in the direction that Claire left, "--is psychotic. And despite the fact that she is no stranger to being stuck in a body that isn't hers, she will not think twice about marching upstairs and taking a sledgehammer to the chair, with no concern for those of us who are also stuck in bodies that aren't ours. Which makes her a raging hypocrite, on top of being psychotic."

He thumbed in Topher's direction. "So when this idiot comes to me saying hey, guess what, Claire's glitched, she's walking around without a personality, what do you expect me to do?"

As he talked, it was difficult for him to keep his voice from getting low and dangerous, dripping with sarcasm. "You expect me to just point every self-righteous human in the direction of the chair? Oh, here's some shady brain tech, have at it? Me getting back in my body is completely secondary to whatever you humans think is right, why didn't I realize it sooner? Silly of me, really."

He'd said it before, to Topher, but it seemed relevant again, no matter how upset it seemed to make him. "You know what happens, if people believe them? If they find the chair? Topher sits in the brig for a month. I sit in this body for fifty more years, give or take, unless the ship kills me first. So think about that, before you get all high and mighty about what I should and shouldn't be doing."

Edited 2012-12-11 19:41 (UTC)

Though he was seething, Dirk was listening. He didn't say anything, didn't do anything. There were no explanations, only excuses, and a reminder that he was the one who teamed Topher up on this project to transfer Wheatley back into his robo-body. And then Wheatley accused him of being just like every other human who'd abandoned him or never gave a shit about the whole robo-body thing. Yeah, he accused Dirk, even though he was the first to assist Wheatley and Cave Johnson in their ridiculous science project. Even though he was the only reason that they'd actually gotten it done, even though he'd knocked Cave out before he could completely fry Wheatley. And even though he was the one who pushed the button that might've sooner ended Wheatley's life, Dirk was also the one who made up for it by rescuing him.

Yet the finger of blame now pointed at him. Dirk Strider, holier than thou human being who doesn't fucking give a shit about what happens to the science carnival.

He was deathly quiet, taking staggeringly careful breaths to suppress his lividity because any loss of control would be the end of everything.

"You think that I don't know that?" His voice came out louder than he'd expected it to. "You think that I don't remember bringing you into this mess, that I don't remember conferring with you ideas on how your tech could be used to put him back into his body? And you--do you think after my little space romp disappearance or whatever that I forgot I was helping you get back into the body I'd made for you? Think I forgot why I teamed up with Cave Johnson? Or why I fucking saved you when I realized that his machine was a complete failure?"

Fuck whoever brought him back here to have to deal with all this shit.

He turned to Topher. "You know what, all I'm asking for is a fucking explanation. I want to know what the hell happened with that girl in the first place, even if there's a background story to it or whatever. Fine, tell me all about it just so that I could understand and move on from there."

"We can't let anyone do anything to the chair 'cause we've come too far to let shit go down with it, alright?" He said to both of them before turning to Wheatley and jabbing an accusing finger out. "And next time you try to lecture me about being high and mighty, just forget it and shut the fuck up. I've been helping you ever since I landed on this space boat. And if you think that I've changed my mind and am just like any other human leaving you to rot in a body that isn't yours, then you're wrong. And you don't know anything about me."

Topher had hit the stage of 'WHY IS EVERYONE YELLING' part of this entire situation, even if he was contributing to it somewhat. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed in an over-exaggerated manner and then dropped them back to his side as soon as the conversation whirled back to him.

And somewhere in all that, he manged to get offended that Wheatley of all people called him an idiot until it occurred to him that he was an idiot. A big idiot. And if that didn't slap him in the face with how bad things had gotten, then nothing could. It calmed him a bit, but when he started talking, his tone still had a bit of a hysterical edge to it.

"You want to know the whole sordid tale of Dr. Claire Saunders?" He said. There were a lot of things he didn't explain in great detail to people, even after being here for as long as he had. In fact, when it came down to it, very few people really knew everything. And every time he explained it, he expected more and more people to react like Dave did. But since Dave heard and Dirk would hear his version eventually if Topher kept any details out, he had to just do the whole gory mess of a story.

"Okay, fine. Once upon a time, there was this girl. It doesn't matter who she was- what matters is that something bad happened to her. And she wanted to go away for awhile, just forget everything for five years, so she came to the Dollhouse. She signed a contract, selling away her life. They'd put her mind on a wedge, put her in storage, and for the next five years, they- we- got to imprint her empty little brain with whatever our clients wanted. And she was a great active- the best one we had. But then one day, one of our other actives went completely mental and sliced her face up with a pair of scissors before going on a mass killing spree through the entire house, including murdering our doctor." He paused to take a breath. "That's when my boss turned to me while I was still covered in the blood of half my staff, BTW, and told me we needed a doctor. She gave me the call. I could either imprint the broken doll or she'd..." He didn't want to explain the Attic, so he didn't. "...She'd be sent somewhere else. So I helped her. Gave her a permanent imprint and she became Dr. Saunders and everything was fine, except I felt horrible for what happened to that girl, so I... gave her an extra protocol. Advanced hacking skills. If she ever began to doubt what she was, she could hack the computers in the Dollhouse and find out. One day she did. She's been a little nuts since. In hindsight, that was probably not the best idea, but she deserved to know."

He pawed at his face with his hands. "I'm not a bad person. I worked for bad people. The tech's got issues, but all I wanna do is do something right with it. That's it. Claire doesn't understand that and her freakin' bodyguard really doesn't understand it, because all he's getting is a mishmash of crap from her." He threw his hands up. "The end."

Edited 2012-12-12 18:09 (UTC)

Again, there was silence. Even after Topher had finished relaying his side of the story.

Things were starting to make sense to Dirk. Really looked like Topher's story checked out and had nothing to do with whatever went down in Strela.

Speaking of which, Dirk probably should talk to his bro about that. At least, he'll be able to put in a good word for Topher. But as that thought lingered over Dirk, it suddenly dawned on him that he didn't know exactly what happened to his bro on Strela. What exactly happened to his bro? There was a hivemind on there, and it messed with his bro's head. Sure, godbro woke from his comatose during the jump that took place right afterward, but was there any other lasting damage?

But there wasn't any point mentioning any of this. It wasn't the discussion they were currently having.

So with a curt nod, he answered, "Alright, I think we're good here. It'd probably be for the best to find somewhere else to stash the chair in case the girl and Alex decide to open their mouths. I'm gonna talk with my bro and tell him you're clean. We're clean, man."

"Already taken care of," he replied, sounding more than a little bitter about it, his face fixed in a sullen glare at nothing in particular. "I'll be shoveling mulch in the oxygen garden until I don't have arms for shoveling."

Not that Netherlands knew that was something they were planning. If Wheatley knew anything about that country, it was that he'd still find a way to put him to work, arms or no arms.

Despite Dirk's assurance that he was buying the story, he couldn't help but feel incredibly offended by the entire situation. "I didn't--I didn't mean you, I know you're helping, I mean…it's the rest of them I'm worried about."

"Yeah." He was thinking, wondering what Claire and Alex were going to say if they actually went to spread the word. Would things ever escalate to the point that people would barge into their science lab and tear everything apart?

Honestly, how many people would get all self-righteous about accusations of funny business when the reality was that they were working to put Wheatley into a robo-body?

"You know, it's still technically in here. And if anyone wants to waltz in to tear everything apart, putting it up somewhere higher isn't guaranteed to save it. Sure, this is our base of operations, so all the tech and equip is in here. But it might benefit us to come up with an alternative."

That was Topher's feeling on it exactly and yet, it wasn't the matter of what they planned on doing with it- it was a matter of what they could do with it. And that was all anyone needed to tear down the entire operation.

He crossed his arms over his chest, relieved that this conversation was going constructive places and not... anywhere else.

"I'm open to suggestions- we're-" he pointed between himself and Wheatley, "- open to suggestions. It's gonna happen soonish. Pretty soon it won't be a problem anymore and after that, everyone can light the freakin' thing on fire for all I care."

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What you don't know won't hurt you. Maybe the lies are true.

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