"Sir, he is completely and utterly broken."
Cave Johnson kneads his temples with his thumb and forefinger. The pressure won't do much to ease the migraine stressing against the casing of his skull, but habit trumps any rational thought; his hands feel better when they're busy. He often finds himself imagining what it would be like to smash his head against the wall. Almost anything would be better than this constant beast of a headache.
"Gladys," he says, giving a pointed scowl, "you know I don't like bad news."
"I know." She stands before his desk, a slim and spindly pillar of stoicism. Her silver skin glints under the dim lamplight of his office, halfway hidden by the pressed fabric of a stark white suit. Snowy synthetic hair drapes down half her face, and the glow of her left eye bores into him, yellow and still, unblinking and empty. "I don't like it, either. But this is the truth: he's broken. And it's becoming a problem."
"All right." He sucks in a breath between his teeth and runs the pad of his thumb along the dark, wooden edge of his desk. "All right. Go on. Tell me how."
"It was last night. He awoke. Far too early in the process." Her voice is smooth, powerful; a polished amalgam of human and machine. "He doesn't know what he is. He doesn't know his purpose. He is confused and in distress."
"And the Core?" asks Cave.
"Stable." An audible sigh of steam. "Apollo reports all readings are normal. We can be grateful for that, at least."
Cave grinds his molars. The pulse in his head is overwhelming. Stars burst beyond his vision and a halo encircles the small lamp to his right. "Well, this throws a wrench in things, now, doesn't it? Everything was going so smoothly. So, what happened? What's he doing now?"
"He is currently confined to the Suspension Chamber," she replies. "Unfortunately, Curie was not able to sever his connection to the Grid before he woke. He is still connected."
"He's still connected?" Cave erupts from his chair. The room is spinning and pain splinters down his neck, but anger boils under his lungs and he shoves it into his voice because he needs to be strong, he needs to be. "Why? What happened? Didn't anyone shut him down?"
Gladys lowers her gaze to the floor. "No."
"He's still connected to the goddamn Grid and he's still awake?"
"It was an oversight," she insists. "Curie could not—"
"Get him out. Now." Cave grips the arm of his chair to keep steady. It's difficult to stand, but he forces himself to stay on his feet. "I don't care what it takes. There is too much there for him to take. It will destroy him. Someone needs to cut the cord. Get him out. Have Rickard bring his toys, I don't care. Just get him out."
"Yes, sir. I will tell the others." Gladys pivots on one foot and turns to leave.
"Wait." His legs are trembling, his fingers curled into pale fists. "Gladys. Keep him intact. He's our last chance. You know that. That Core is all we have left."
"I'm aware. Still, that doesn't change the fact that we can't repair him." Gladys folds her arms and gives him a sidelong glance, silver fingers clasping the white of her suit. "The damage is too extensive."
"Too extensive?" Cave shuts his eyes and tries to process what is being said. "You told me the Core was fine. It is fine, isn't it?"
"It is," says Gladys, "but his programming is not."
"What?"
"If you recall, sir, I said he is in distress. We are not programmed to feel distress. Or anything, for that matter. Something is wrong."
A moment passes by before Cave gathers himself enough to respond. "Honestly, I thought you were being facetious."
"If I were capable of love, I would marry sarcasm. He is very much broken and we don't know how to fix him. This isn't a hardware problem. We can repair our outer shells like anyone else, but automatons programming other automatons is… " Gladys's lips thin out into a firm frown. "Well, you know my stance on that. Sir."
Cave lowers himself back into his chair with care. There is a sharp, roiling pain in his stomach, like something has it in a vice, and his migraine seems to be getting worse.
"I don't know if I can fix him," he admits, sliding a cool palm down his face. "His brain structure was a prototype from my father's mess of scrapped code. I modified it; I didn't create it. If something went wrong… I wouldn't even know where to begin."
"Sir, you said it yourself: that Core is all we have left. We must do something or Black Mesa will dismantle us. Their chimeras are getting stronger with every build."
"I know that." Cave forces a swallow. "Believe me, I know that."
"So what will we do?"
"Shut him down. Pull him out of the Grid."
"Is that all?"
"Yes, that's all. For now." He dismisses her with a wave.
"Sir," she says, taking one step toward his desk, "you know we need to—"
"Yes, I know what we need to do," he shouts, "but that's for me to know and for you to do later. Now go get him out of that goddamn chamber, and if that Core is harmed in any way, shape, or form, I swear to god, Gladys, you won't have to worry about Black Mesa—I will dismantle you myself!"
It's an empty threat. He knows it, and she knows it as well. Gladys is his oldest, his first; even if he could somehow overcome that and try to disassemble her, he wouldn't have the physical strength to carry through with the task.
Gladys stares at him from the center of the room, her yellow eye climbing up his neck and piercing through his throat. She straightens herself, lacing her fingers together like thin bouquets of silver needles.
"I will tell the others." Her voice is a low, dangerous monotone. "We will cut him off the Grid, shut him down, and retrieve him from the Suspension Chamber. What would you like us to do with him after this has been accomplished?"
Cave knows he should apologize, but he doesn't.
"Bring him to me."
His hands are on his temples, but his migraine will not be assuaged.
"I want to see how broken he is for myself."