(1) let the games begin

[artificialmoron]

A: 850 Goldberg Street

[There is screaming coming from the master bedroom shortly after dawn. Frantic, incoherent type screaming, apparently by a distressed male.]

Ah! Ah! What's going on? Ahh!

[Yeah, sorry housemates, you might want to check on that.]

B: around town

[Wheatley was supposed to be in space, he knew that much. In space and a core, which certainly not the form he was currently in. He had a body and limbs and hair and, apparently, horrible vision without corrective eyewear. As far as he can tell, he's human. And his housemates make things only minimally better, so he's gone wandering.]

Hi. Yes. You. Can I ask some questions?

Comments

[artificialmoron]

So is being made out of time. What exactly do you do?

[arrow_to_the_butt]

Right now? Drink coffee and laze around. There isn't much for someone in a pet position to do without getting shooed out the door of everything you WANT to go to.

[artificialmoron]

You don't exactly look like a typical human pet, if you don't mind my saying.

[arrow_to_the_butt]

Cause I'm not supposed to be a pet. But I was made a pet by this stupid place.

[artificialmoron]

What are you usually?

[Yes, an Imagin, he knows, but that doesn't make any sense.]