Misanthropy (Portal Fanfic)

Misanthropy
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“The Enrichment Center would like to remind all test subjects that the chassis is NOT A BED, and any lunatics found sleeping on it may face demerits and incineration.”

Chell grunted, looked between GlaDOS and the speaker system, and rolled over, flattening her grubby face against GlaDOS’s torso. She even had the stupid cube with her--GlaDOS didn’t need two weighty companions, much less two that she had tried to set on fire for reasons that were currently being vindicated.

“That means you, [Subject Name Here]. There are experiments to run, and you are halting the flow of progress.”  For effect, GLaDOS raised the portal gun up to Chell’s level and waved it slightly in front of her face.

“The Enrichment Center would like to remind you that--” she paused hopefully when her test subject sat up for a moment, yawned, and took hold of the gun.

Only instead of leaping off and scurrying to the test chambers in fear, she simply draped herself over the front end of the chassis holding the gun like a teddy bear. A few of GlaDOS’s gears twitched in agitation, until she felt Chell snuggling into her back as if it was the most comfortable spot in the facility.

Then, GlaDOS screeched with rage.

Somehow this didn’t wake Chell up. In fact, all she managed to do was cause her to pat the top of her faceplate and mumble affectionately. Or make sounds analogous to mumbling. She even rubbed her cheek against her neck rotor, to add insult to injury. It made her bedfellow seethe--she’d half a mind to make the command, to switch on the artificial synapse that would flood the room with neurotoxin.

But then she’d have no test subjects (besides Blue and Orange, but they didn’t exactly count) and a rotting cadaver on her back, which might attract bugs or something. Or, worse, birds. Sanctity forbid.

“Cake is currently being served in the south atrium! Limited supplies, test subjects only!” Even she had to admit that that was weak, and again Chell barely reacted, just sniffing half-heartedly against GlaDOS’s sensory receptors. Apparently she smelled metal, and not cake, so it was of no interest to her. Except she kept sniffing. Or breathing. Or something else that was abhorrently organic.

“...Just get off of me. Please.” She groaned, defeated. She started planning the test chamber that would let Chell know what it was to make a queen kneel in the streets--or, rather, to make a hyper-intelligent supercomputer say “please” in earnest. And perhaps that was a bad idea, too, because “please” obviously meant something entirely different to the sleeping mind of her meatbag attache.

Chell, even in bleary-eyed half-wakefulness, was still remarkably dexterous for a human being, and somehow managed to swing herself around on the cables to face GlaDOS, a stupid, sleepy grin on her face. Maybe she’d mistaken her faceplate for a can of beans, or maybe she was having some sort of sweaty, disgusting human dream. Whatever it was, Chell kissed her lightly on the side of her optic, stared at it (expectantly?) before crawling back up and nestling into the crook of her neck joint. She rubbed the companion cube briefly with her heels.

GlaDOS blinked.

In the time it took her to tell her optic to open and shut in confusion, she had reasoned that, if she could keep the entire Aperture facility running, she could certainly hold up a tiny scrap of organic life. She also reasoned that there were no sensory receptors in her faceplate, and returned to her business.
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