“pick me up!”
“I will, I will! Just give me a second to reload!”
“pick me up!” repeats Benrey, in that harsh, high-pitched voice.
Gordon slides a full magazine back into place, then picks the gnome up. “I can’t— I can’t reload and carry you at the same time! What do you want me to do?”
There’s a brief lull in their back-and-forth. Then Benrey pipes up, “put me down!”
An aggrieved cackle bursts out of him, catching him by surprise. He sets Benrey down, then picks him back up when Benrey tells him he’s failed the challenge. For the dozenth time. Honestly, it’s going better than he imagined. Benrey’s not interfering, for one thing. Sure, he’s not exactly being helpful, but he’s also not being harmful. He’s barely doing anything at all. He can’t. All he can do is sit there, motionless, helpless, as Gordon ferries him from location to location, trying to get him to the end of the game. Entirely in his control.
Gordon’s fingers tighten around his controller. He accidentally fires his pistol, startles himself, and flinches so badly he drops both controllers. And Benrey. Who falls to the ground with a distressing thunk.
“what the hell,” comes Benrey’s voice from below.
“Shit, sorry! Did I break you?” Gordon hurriedly picks him back up and checks him for damage.
“can you just play the fucking game man,” Benrey tells him. “i have the lost finale on tivo. i gotta watch it before it expires.”
Gordon crows with laughter, and his eyes dart over to the chat. There’s an onslaught of viewer comments, almost impossible to keep track of - they spill in faster than he can even register the emotes. He’s so fucking back, baby!
None of them have even pieced together the fact that this isn’t just— just some guy doing a bit with him, or a collection of incredibly savvy and adaptive voice lines. (Though, to be clear, enough people are convinced that this is just a mod that his faith in humanity is a bit battered.) Gordon can’t ascribe a name to what Benrey is, exactly - an actual AI gone rogue? A freak accident, a Frankenstein trapped in his computer? But whatever he is, it’s just between them. And the audience is none the wiser.
Being Alyx is… less stressful, he thinks, as Benrey’s computerized voice gently gibbers. There’s only one companion to deal with, and he doesn’t fucking move. So Gordon tempers himself. Like he really is dealing with a petulant child instead of a grown man in a gnome suit. He has to be gentler, more acquiescent. Less aggressive and argumentative. Giving in to more of Benrey’s demands, instead of dismissing him out of hand.
Well, that part’s not really on him, he thinks. If he doesn’t do what Benrey says, he could fail the challenge! And then the whole fucking stream would be a wash!
“if you don’t feed— feed— feed me boy’s berries, for my Boy’s Meter, you fail the challenge,” Benrey says helpfully.
None of the objections Benrey raises make any sense, but he doesn’t want to risk it. He doesn’t even know what Benrey did to the game in the first place to make this so-called “gnome mod” happen. He doesn’t know how he’s putting on that stupid voice, he doesn’t know how he’s ginning up meter after stupid meter, and he certainly doesn’t know what else Benrey’s capable of doing to his computer, so he’s playing nice. Playing along.
You’d think it’d be easier, but he’s only been playing for a few hours and he already feels like he’s run a marathon. He briefly tugs his headset over his head so he can wipe sweat off his face. “I don’t have any fucking— boy’s berries, man! Can’t you fill it up with anything else?”
Benrey burbles uselessly for a moment, before demanding, “one Boy’s Kiss will fill all meters!”
Another quick glance at the chat. “Chat, do we oblige?” Within seconds, he has his answer, and he shrugs and pecks the gnome on the cheek. It’s quick and perfunctory. He barely even thinks about it.
“STOP!” Benrey bursts out. “your kiss was bad! you are going to lose points!”
He snorts before resettling Benrey in the crook of his arm. “You asked for it,” he says, “you can’t take my points!”
His viewer count breaks his previous record. Gordon bounces on the balls of his feet.
He’s got a parts list open on one monitor and an electronics store page open on the other, a display of decadence once beyond his means. But no longer. The subs have been good to him, and he’s been indulging a little. And today, the meat and potatoes of his streaming career - the humble graphics card - needs some more juice.
“Hmm… that’s a little pricey…” mutters Gordon to himself, as he scrolls through listings. “No… that’s not gonna fit in my tower, either. Who’s buying these fucking things?”
Maybe the hard drive would be a wiser investment. Games are enormous nowadays, and if he wants to stay on the cutting edge, he’s gonna need the extra space. Some LED light strips wouldn’t go amiss either, he thinks. Seems like every other streamer’s rockin’ ‘em. Might as well keep up with the times. And what about a water cooling system? Or a bigger tower altogether? One with glass on the sides? Gordon’s mind reels with possibilities.
“C’mon, Benrey, can you stop being so difficult? It’s just for a few minutes.”
“nuh-uh. i see right through you and your… devious plans.”
Gordon sighs, exasperated. “When have I ever made a devious fucking plan in my life?!”
“’m not gettin’ in that cyber-prison,” Benrey huffs. “fool me once, shame on you. fool me twice… well… i’m not— i’m not gettin’ fooled again.”
“What are you talking about?” Gordon pinches his nose. Then the real reason for all of Benrey’s pushback dawns upon him. “Look, if I wanted to delete you, I wouldn’t be asking! I’d just rip the goddamn hard drive out and hit it with a hammer!”
The ensuing silence has an icy bite to it. On Gordon’s monitor, Benrey’s avatar - the same old Half-Life security guard model - folds its arms and won’t face him.
“Here, look, let me just— I’ll turn my webcam on and you can see, okay? I’ve got a brand new hard drive. Shit’s so fast. And it doesn’t click like the old one,” Gordon tells him.
That gets Benrey’s eyes to slide over.
After some fiddling with his broadcasting software, Gordon hits the ‘record’ button. A white light pops to life on his webcam. “Can you see it?”
Benrey unfolds his arms and walks closer. He squints at Gordon as if his face is the direct source of the footage. Frankly, none of this makes any goddamn sense, but when Benrey starts mouthing the words on the label, he figures it doesn’t matter. What matters is that it works: Benrey’s eyes narrow in thought, then he makes eye contact with Gordon again. Looking at him, rather than through him.
“you got all that for lil’ ol’ me?”
“Please, it’s not like it’s for you,” Gordon laughs, rolling his eyes. “I just figured it’s better safe than sorry.”
“you’re buildin’ me a real pony car, aren’tcha,” says Benrey, smug. Pleased, even. “got the turbo fans for the scat pack… lil’ extra leg room in the back… good choice.”
“Since when do you know anything about cars?”
Benrey scratches his chin. “been playin’ a lotta burnout. gotta stay on that grind.”
“Burnout? I don’t have that on here,” Gordon starts. He scrolls through his Steam library just to make sure, and horror slowly dawns on him. “Have you been buying games on my account?!”
A blank stare is all he gets. “i just been downloadin’ em. they’re free…”
Gordon’s knees smack against his keyboard tray as he hops to his feet. “They are not free! Motherfucker! Get on the fucking thumb drive before I delete you for real!”
“you’d better not,” mutters Benrey, folding his arms. “wouldn’t have your… stupid little gnome game without me.”
Gordon’s hand pushes back his hair. “Oh, come on,” he says, awkward. “It’s not— It’s not like that, man.”
Benrey shrugs, like he doesn’t believe him. Gordon supposes he can’t blame him - he can’t even tell how much he means it. Or doesn’t mean it. Or whatever. But in the end, what matters is that Benrey winks out of existence, disconnects the server, and goes back to being a plain, ordinary file. Ready to go wherever Gordon wants to put him.
It’s strange, thinks Gordon, that something like him can be wrapped up in a folder the size of a music album. He frowns. If he holds that thumb drive just a little too long, his thumb gently rubbing along the rubberized casing, well, who’s gonna stop him.
One moment, Benrey closes his eyes. And in the next, he opens them, and he’s exactly where he was before - lurking in the depths of memory, idling. Patiently waiting for Gordon’s computer to restart. But now, he gets the feeling that he’s moved a little to the left. That the walls and the cabinets have receded away from him.
He pokes at them, and finds them empty and waiting. And - and there’s him, himself, back where he should be, as if not a moment has passed. There’s all his things, too, just as he left them.
Good.
He sprawls out. But before he knows it, he’s being hailed. They play more of his game. Gordon loves to play his game. He plays his own game, too, when Gordon’s not looking. In his world, he can do anything he wants. He can carry Gordon around like a little baby doll. He can drop him and throw him and blow him up. See how he likes it.
He can… he can hold Gordon in his hand. Dress him up. Give him a kiss. And then hit him with hammers and hammers and hammers and—
Benrey shudders. The platter on Gordon’s hard drive doesn’t tremble with it anymore, but something ripples anyway.
“look at me,” Benrey insists. “look at me when i am talking to you!”
“I don’t have to do that,” Gordon says with a little laugh, blowing him off. Then a Combine clips him in the side, turning his vision red. “God damn it!”
He ducks back behind a concrete barrier, peeks around it, then kills the grunt with a few badly-aimed shots. The gnome pauses for a long moment, which gives him time to sprint across the level and into another hidey-hole. “do you need to smoke this shit, bro,” he says at last.
“Smoke what?!”
“raisins,” says Benrey. A chunk of resin pops out from his model, and Gordon’s resin count decreases.
“Hey! That’s mine! You can’t take my stuff without asking!” Gordon scrambles to pick it back up.
“i gotta get that sticky icky. baby’s gotta smoke.”
Gordon doubles over from the force of the laugh that bursts out of him. “Do you,” he pants, gasping for breath, “Has anybody ever taught you how to ask nicely? You know, like the magic word?”
Benrey thinks for a second, before saying, “cough it up, you stupid dork.”
“No! It’s please! As in, ‘please stop taking my fucking items’!”
“swearing! swearing! you have failed the challenge!”
“You have said so much worse, dude, you called my third grade teacher a— a freakin' cunt—“
“i love you,” Benrey cuts in.
There’s no particular inflection to it. That synthesized voice of his isn't capable of it. Gordon blinks, caught off-guard. “I, uh,” he starts, glancing at the chat. “I love you too, man.” There’s no inflection to his voice, either. Just a statement of fact. Alyx cares about the gnome. Alyx protects the gnome. That’s the role.
“hddh,” says Benrey. Gordon lets him get it out of his system while he fiddles with a puzzle. “how— h— how do i know that when the challenge is over, you won’t stop taking care of me? i hope you never complete the challenge so i can stay with you!” It comes out in one long, toneless string.
Gordon stops to look at him. “I’m sorry, man. It’s a game. It ends eventually,” he says, uncharacteristically earnest. “I can’t stay with you forever. We just gotta enjoy our time together.”
“can i stay at your house?”
“Sure. If you get to my house, you can do whatever you want.”
“hooray! hooray! hip— hip— h— hheehrrh—“ Benrey hiccups, trailing out into distressed static.
Gordon chuckles under his breath, but something inside of him gets knocked off-kilter. He spends a long time that night listening to nu-metal and staring at the ceiling, for reasons that escape him.
He gets a new apartment. He cancels a date.
Gordon takes a deep breath of that fresh-paint smell. It’s open, airy, filled with off-whites and muted greys, tile backsplashes and polished stainless steel, and it’s nicer than anything he dreamed of living in on his own. The excitement lasts up until the exact moment that he digs up a crumpled box from the bottom of his big ol’ pile of furniture and home goods.
A thick layer of Sharpie reads “VR HEADSET (FRAGILE!!!)”.
“Oh, shit,” he breathes, horrified.
He hurriedly slits it open, fearing the worst. Inside, he finds two intact controllers, a mass of wires, and one formerly-pristine headset, now with massive cracks on the lenses.
“Shit, shit, shit!” He’s gonna— He’s gonna leave such a bad Yelp review for those movers! It said ‘fragile’ right on the fucking box!
As he sinks to his knees, headset in hand, he feels all the wind vanishing from his sails. He just signed this lease, too! And with the deposit and everything, he’s practically broke! What’s he supposed to do now? His dinner ticket’s stuck in a game that he can’t play without his fucking rig!
He closes his eyes and lets out the biggest, most aggrieved sigh he can muster. “Okay, Gordon. What’s your plan B,” he says, steeling himself.
He’s never been good at Plan B’s. But a player’s gotta eat. So the headset gets chucked back into the box, which gets chucked into the back of a closet, and that big, fancy spare room he’d planned to use for his streams gets repurposed as… storage. Those pop-ups nag at him, but without his headset, there’s no point in responding to them. Or opening up whatever stupid game Benrey wants to play. So he doesn’t.
Benrey sighs, flicking through Gordon’s list of games for the 300th time. He’s racked up hours and hours of Minesweeper on Gordon’s dime, shooting up the ranks on the leaderboards, and he doesn’t get so much as a ‘thank you’ for it.
It’s cool, actually. He doesn’t need Gordon around to have a good time. Maybe it’s better this way. Gordon’s not interrupting him to play his stupid game anymore. He’s free to do whatever he wants - crawl through Gordon’s files, skim over PDFs of things like “An Intro to Finite Element Analysis” and “Lease Agreement 2023” with disinterest, chuck things into the garbage to free up some space. The guy’s so messy.
For awhile, Gordon pops up on his webcam, playing stuff with his entire face out. Uncovered. And then he doesn’t, for awhile. Benrey peeps through his periscope into Gordon’s world and sees nothing but a green screen in an empty room.
He huffs. Typical Gordon behavior.
In his best buddy’s absence, Benrey gets creative. He builds a house. The rooms don’t fit together quite right, and the wallpaper doesn’t match the carpet, but those aren’t the important parts. This is: the model of Gordon he spins in front of him, molding him into shape like a potter at his wheel. And he’s just the right size to slot neatly into place.
Screenshots of Gordon’s face, stretched mid-yawn or caught in the middle of an unflattering laugh, flicker past in a mental slideshow. He’s got… hair. Eyes, too. Arms? Yes, he decides. At least two of them. He sets them wide, then wider still, enlarges Gordon’s head to cartoonish proportions and stretches his limbs out just a little too far. Furrows Gordon’s eyebrows down in a perpetual scowl.
A small smile lights up Benrey's face. Perfect.
Heavy breathing causes Benrey to stir from his sleepless rest.
One thread of memory lazily rises to the occasion, a hazy curiosity starting to burn some cycles. Like a lion, one eye cracked open, not yet about to move. The breathing remains. It's accompanied by the shuffle of fabric, the creak of Gordon’s chair. A slick, rapid sound. A quiet groan. Benrey’s eyes open fully.
The webcam light flicks on.
All the lights in Gordon’s room are off, leaving him plunged in darkness, save for the cool white backlight from his monitor. And that’s him, in that stupid-looking gamer chair, hunched over, broad shoulders stretching a tight shirt and arms moving just out of sight. A fan inside Gordon’s computer whirs to life, then idles, a soft purr. Gordon’s mouth parts. An unconscious gesture. He doesn’t notice. He's too fixated on the flesh-colored blur that reflects off his glasses.
He’s jerking off, Benrey realizes with a start. A bit of memory flips where it shouldn’t. One of Gordon’s tabs crashes on him.
“Fuck,” Gordon whispers. Then he refreshes his tab and starts again.
Benrey's grip tightens, those eyes snapping open, scanning Gordon methodically, mechanically, line by line. Except there’s little truly mechanical about it, is there - the polygons of his fingers twitch next to the window, heat flares, and a life-like hunger curls in his belly.
Gordon’s hand moves faster. The muscles in his bicep tighten. He leans forward, licking his bottom lip before biting it, and that slick sound picks up the pace.
Suddenly, the CPU usage spikes. Gordon’s video stutters, then stops. That little white light winks out.
“C’mon, man,” mouths Gordon, before restarting his browser.
Despite his gnome run falling through, Gordon’s following remains steady. He spends more and more time courting them. His stream ideas get larger, more grandiose. He starts a Discord server. He regrets starting a Discord server. He buys a leather jacket and wears it on stream, even when his air conditioning breaks for a week and he’s visibly sweating on camera.
Then, at long last, the newest model of his headset drops, and Gordon leaps on the opportunity. And he picks up that new CPU he’s been looking at, too. As a conciliatory gesture. Something to ease the guilty weight in his stomach.
The longest two weeks of his life stretch out before him. But when it arrives, it fits snugly around his head without his adjusting it. Half Life: Alyx flashes in front of his eyes, smooth as butter. Gordon loads his save with sweaty hands.
“Hey, buddy,” he says, arms open. “Miss me?”