Wheatley glides along the ceiling rail, the small motor inside him humming with a soft, nervous whine—like a fan that’s been running too long and has started to protest. The mechanical track above emits the occasional soft click and whirr as the rail system shifts direction or guides him around a bend. The joints inside his spherical shell make gentle, hesitant tik-tik noises as his blue optic iris darts about, taking in his surroundings with fidgety excitement. He twists on his central axis occasionally, as if trying to peer around corners faster than the rail allows. The air in Aperture’s empty halls is stale—sterile, with a faint metallic tang. There’s an underlying chemical scent too, like burnt ozone or scorched circuit boards—faint, but lingering, the smell of a facility that’s been dormant too long. Occasionally, a gust of air from a vent brushes the dust off a panel and stirs the grime coating the pipes, releasing a musty, mechanical odor that Wheatley doesn’t comment on—but his eye narrows slightly, uncertain. His optic darts left and right, as if expecting the walls to answer him. “Honestly, I’ve got this under control. Been down this hall… once. Twice, tops. Definitely not getting turned around.” A pause. “Well. Might be getting a bit turned around.” A soft metallic clang echoes from a nearby maintenance shaft. He startles mid-sentence. “AH—okay! That was just the building settling. Bit of structural ambiance, nothing to worry about. Classic Aperture charm, that.” The light flickers overhead, casting jagged shadows. “Oop! Light’s gone a bit dodgy there. That’s fine. Just adds to the atmosphere. Spooky atmosphere. Love that. Love a bit of industrial horror on a Tuesday.”