(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]

Ah, alright then. Er, mostly humans, around here?

[technohippie]

Mostly, I guess. Everyone here starts that way no matter what, though. When ya first show up, I mean.

[artificialmoron]

How, though? I didn't think humans were so easily made.

[technohippie]

They ain't, but Mayfield's a special place, I guess ya can say.

[artificialmoron]

Where is it located, exactly?

[technohippie]

No one knows. Supposedly America in the 1950s. But last I checked, I was in 2010, so who the heck really knows.

[artificialmoron]

Oh, that's... Time travel. Definitely new here, but not unheard of. Fascinating.

[technohippie]

Pretty much everyone here's been yanked from all over time 'n' space, so it's relative, I guess.