Wheatley is slumped on the sofa, arms spread out and head tilted back, eyes closed, still dressed in his slacks and the button-down with the Aperture Laboratories logo embroidered on the breast pocket. Ever since he first took the job there as caretaker, he's enjoyed it, enjoyed getting to know the people and taking on work that is so important yet so domestic in nature, and yet lately, he's constantly tired and drained, and on (decreasingly) rare circumstances, has taken on a most uncharacteristic temper. Lately, he's mentioned, a lot more people have been living in the residential area; much more than one caretaker can be reasonably expected to keep up with.

Lately, there's really seemed to be something off about Aperture Laboratories. Especially with the news stories that have mentioned that place.

For his part, yeah, he knows Chell has a problem with the place, but it's not like they're evil or anything.

They're evil, Chell signs, before realizing that Wheatley's eyes are closed and deciding it was probably a bad idea anyway. She sighs and grabs a blanket, which she tosses over him. She hates what's happening to him. She has to fix it before it can become irreversible, but how?

When he feels the blanket, his eyes half open, startlingly blue for his dark, grey-ish complexion, and he smiles at her, a little lopsided. But then he frowns, and he puts in the effort to make his eyes focus on her. "What's wrong? You've got a look."

Chell shakes her head, and waves a hand towards him dismissively, as if waving off an insect. It's nothing.

"That's not the look of nothing," Wheatley says, pulling the blanket more snugly about himself. "That's the look of Chell with a very strong opinion. Mind, all your opinions are very strong."

Chell folds her arms and nods proudly. Of course she has strong opinions. And she keeps them, too.

Catching on (more quickly than he would have done with someone who wasn't his twin, but still less quickly than somebody with more sense would have), he tilts his head back and groans. "This about work? That's the look you give me when it's about something I did. Is it work?"

Chell nods, and strides over to Wheatley. She leans over him with a frown. Of course it's about work.

"Man alive." He drags his hands over his face, looking at her over his fingers. "There isn't a job on Earth that won't wear you a little thin. At least I like the work."

Chell reaches under the blanket and pokes Wheatley in the ribs. She runs her thumb over three of them to drive home her point.

"Hey!" He swats lightly at her hand, and shimmies a little away from her on the sofa. "You know that I have always had trouble keeping on weight."

Chell nods, conceding this much, but is quick to counter, Yes, but it has never been this bad. What about the anger? The odd hours? Wheatley, something isn't right.

Wheatley pulls the blanket over his face, which is something he never does, because having grown up with a mute person he considers it "the same as putting my hands over my ears and saying la-la-la-la," in his own words. "I do not have anger issues."

Chell stares, eyes wide, brow furrowed. It is an expression of outrage and disbelief.

At length, after a few very long moments, he lowers the blanket enough to look over it at her. He looks unapologetic. "What, exactly, do you imagine isn't right with Aperture?"

He's not in one of his uncharacteristic tempers, but he's nonetheless in an uncharacteristic mood.

I imagine they are working you too hard and it is doing something to your head. Chell signs frustratedly; her body tense, as if she is torn by fight or flight.

"I'm not gonna deny that they should probably hire some more caretaking staff," Wheatley replies, "but that doesn't make them evil. And nothing is wrong with my head. I swear, lately you're like a hypochondriac, but with me being crazy instead of you being sick."

Chell rolls her eyes. I didn't say they were evil, and that isn't what a hypochondriac is.

"A hypochondriac is somebody who always things something really awful is wrong with them," he says a little haughtily. "So close enough. Don't worry so much about it. It's just work, and it pays pretty well besides. I doubt I'd get it a whole lot better somewhere else."

It's somebody who has a mental illness that makes them diagnose themselves with diseases they don't have. Chell corrects, not to be deterred. Stubborn, stubborn. Wheatley, it is not just work if it's making you act differently!

He lets the hypochondriac issue drop, because he has long since learned not to argue small points with his sister. However, this, in his opinion, is not a small point. "I am not acting differently. In what way am I acting differently?"

You are aggressive, and you aren't sleeping, and you act skittish. Chell lists off. Even now you're acting skittish. And you're so defensive! What about Aperture do you care so much for?

"I am not aggressive, and for your information, I'm not skittish either," Wheatley says, the words actually stepping on the end of her signs as he says them. "I just don't understand why you've taken such an issue with my job all of a sudden, I've had it for ages."

His tone of voice is not really doing much for the not aggressive argument.

Chell purses her lips and furrows her brow. It's because you weren't always skittish and aggressive like this. The way you're talking is hostile. You were never like this before. Her hands are moving fast, like she can't slow down or she would risk running out of steam.

"I am fine," Wheatley snaps, pushing the blanket off as he reaches the end of whatever patience he'd brought home with him. It suddenly almost feels like he wants her to pick a fight with him. "Honestly! What is the malfunction here? I can take care of myself, you know?"

I know that, Chell signs, but even she can see that she isn't about to win this one. It's so frustrating; as if to lose this argument is to lose another piece of Wheatley, to watch him drift just a little further away, and she knows she's helpless to stop it. I just want you to be healthy because I love you and I am worried about you.

Her non-aggressive approach softens him a bit, although it doesn't take the edge from his voice. "I love you too. You can be a right pain in the ass sometimes, though, you know. Stop worrying about problems that aren't problems and go get some sleep, you hypochondriac."

Chell frowns again. Her expression is dark, and she turns it away from Wheatley. She doesn't like this at all. This isn't like him. None of this is right and she just can't figure out how to fix it.

She would argue all night, so she forces herself to go to bed.

Wheatley is not good at fighting. It's not a thing he likes to do, and under regular circumstances, the last thing he would ever do would be to pick a fight with Chell. Not only because he loves her, but also because he's a little afraid of her and knows he would never actually win. It's not like him to argue with her. It's not like him to snap or become short tempered with her.

Another thing that is not like him is that he does not return from work the next day.

Chell waits up for him. She waits up until it gets late and she should go to bed again. She keeps checking her phone. She keeps feeling like something is wrong. All day long she can't shake this feeling. And then nothing happens.

Nothing continues to happen all through the night, and into the next morning. Despite his recent keeping of odd hours, he's never done an extended shift without at least giving her a text to let her know. And he's definitely never disappeared all night without so much as a call.

Chell is worried. No, Chell is scared. She has sent Wheatley text after text and they have all gone unanswered. She sends one more text, this one to her school, and then she waits a little longer at home, and then she leaves.


The flat they live in is very much a home. Though not especially big, it has two bedrooms, and enough room for both of them as long as they don't mind their space overlapping, which (as not just twins, but twins without parents) they never really have. The line of which possessions are whose is a little bit blurred, outside of respective phones and Chell's books for school, and there's often just a little bit of clutter about— not enough to call a mess, but enough to show that it's lived in.

Even from the outside, it's obvious that Aperture Laboratories is nothing like that. The building looks clean, smooth, and compartmentalized, impersonal less in the way of business and more in the way of shooting a stranger in the head. It's deceptively small, but still bigger than their apartment, and Wheatley has told her about how it extends underground.

Chell is not sure how to approach this sinister building, or what she is to do once she has done it. She supposes she should ask for Wheatley.

She takes her phone from her pocket and she opens her speaking app. Too bad it can't give her the words to say.

There is an entrance that seems to be the public entrance, at least in a manner of speaking; the whole building gives off the vibe of by-appointment-only. It opens into a reception area that is pretty wide, with two or three dozen chairs, a nice carpet that muffles her footsteps, a high ceiling that makes the room seem larger than it is. To one side is a reception desk behind a glass window, the kind with a little sliding door at the bottom for the exchanging of papers or money, and at the back of the room is the sort of thick, locked door that you have to have a badge to get through. The kind of badge Wheatley has, but she doesn't. There isn't a single human being in sight, but there is a buzzer by the desk, watched over by two security cameras in opposing corners of the room.

Chell approaches the buzzer. She feels suddenly meek, in a crippling, uncharacteristic way. She does not know what's about to happen, but she does know that things will change drastically once she presses it.

It is a slow process, working up to it. It has a very sudden payoff when her finger hits the button.

The contact is announced by a buzzer so loud that it seems to fill the whole room, and the fact that there's not much going on up here only makes it seem louder. Behind the counter, on the back wall, a bright light comes on, illuminating a metal sign in the shape of the Aperture Laboratories logo, just the same as the one on Wheatley's work shirts. Just behind the glass barrier, an intercom lights up as well, but at first, the reward includes no suggestion of actual human life coming to tend to her inquiry.

Finally, what sounds like a prerecorded message comes from behind the counter.

"Welcome, future pioneer of science. If you're here for a test, then someone should be manning the counter, and you shouldn't be hearing this, so if you are, let me know who they are when they get back so I can fire them. Otherwise, you probably shouldn't be here. If it's important, press that red button a second time and someone will be with you shortly."

Chell is taken aback by the display and startled by the voice, which causes her to gasp softly. She was not sure what she expected, but it certainly was not this. When the voice bids her to, she unhesitatingly presses the button a second time.

The intercom beeps softly, and the same pre-recorded voice requests she wait a moment, have a seat. There is another long pause. The prerecorded message clears his throat. Finally there are a pair of clicks, and a different voice comes through from the other side. "Aperture Laboratories."

This one isn't a recorded message.

Another surprise, smaller than the first. Fortunately, Chell is prepared. She wakes her phone and types out her message, and a moment later it reads out mechanically; "Hello. I am looking for a caretaker. Wheatley."

There is a little bit of surprise on the part of the person on the other end. Maybe it's just the intercom connection, but her voice sounds a little too high and robotic, somehow. "Wheatley? That moron? He probably overdosed in a bathroom stall somewhere. Who's calling?"

Chell feels the blood rush to her ears, making her hearing muted and nearly causing her to faint. She can not have heard that correctly. The ground crumbles beneath her feet and leaves her floating in impotence.

Her fingers trembling slightly, she has the phone intone, "Overdose. No. Wheatley. The Caretaker. I need to see him. Where is he."

There is a soft, slightly impatient sigh from the other end of the intercom. "I heard you the first time. Look, this is a highly secured facility. Unless you can tell me who you are and what you're here for, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Chell frowns. She wants to fight but there is nothing to fight with. She just wants her brother back. "I am Wheatley's sister. Chell. I'm here for Wheatley." the computerized voice states.

"Oh." This is a sound of a little more surprise. A long, stalling moment passes. "Nobody by that name works here. Or has ever worked here. Kindly see yourself out."

Chell snarls. Her fingers tap audibly against the phone, which is jostled by the force of her terrified hands. "You recognized the name Wheatley immediately. What is going on here. Give him to me. Now." The tiny computerized voice is woefully insufficient to convey her anger or urgency. It's actually very monotone, and sounds like the voice they give those helper AIs on phones.

"I thought you said... another name that wasn't Wheatley. Westley, maybe. Sure. Anyways, even if he was here, which he isn't, I couldn't just give him to you, because everyone in this facility is currently at work and is therefore busy." The woman says, pretty unconvincingly. (She finds the gentle tone of the voice up on the lobby curious, given the angry words coming out of it, but she doesn't say anything about it.) "Including me. Now, if that's all..."

Chell is gritting her teeth. She wants to punch the speaker and whoever is saying the words coming out of it. What an obvious and flimsy lie!

"I won't be dismissed. If you won't let Wheatley out you will let me in."

"I will not let you in," the voice says, her irritation growing. "This facility is accessible by staff and authorized guests only. I'm sure he will be back before you know it. He probably just got distracted feeding squirrels, or shooting up. Why don't you go home?"

Chell taps rapidly on her phone, her anger at a maintained high. "That's the second time you've referenced drugs. When did Wheatley start taking drugs. Is this something the company did."

"Look, if your brother is doing drugs, that's sad, but it's not my problem. Is there anything else?" The voice asks, clipped, clearly looking to bring this conversation to an end.

Tap, tap, tap. "You're really bad at this."

"Bad at what?" Her voice is flat. She isn't even bothering with faux innocence. "Look, you clearly have nothing important to say, so I'll just let you off the line to go look for some addict somewhere else. Thanks for visiting Aperture Laboratories."

"He is not some addict he is Wheatley the Caretaker at Aperture Laboratories and your careless circular talk isn't going to deter me." Chell's phone intones, one long sentence not remotely as angry as she is. Who the hell does this woman think she is to insult Wheatley and try to keep him from her? She has no idea what she's dealing with. Not who. What.

The intercom clicks and the light on it turns off. Whoever is on the other end doesn't care what she's dealing with. She's done dealing with it.

Chell puts her phone away, calmly. She wishes she could reach the intercom from here, but she can't, so she punches the shield instead, which of course only hurts her fist and does nothing to the glass, which of course makes her even angrier.

Once she's done shaking her open hand and making hissing sounds, she looks for another way in.

There is a door into the booth with the intercom, but it's locked. Inside the booth itself are two more doors, and then there's the one at the back of the room with the little panel where you scan a badge to get in. There's a vent, too small for a person, in a high corner. There might also be another way from the outside of the building. Chell goes outside to check around there. She is alert and scanning, because she's sure she's being observed even now.

There are cameras. There's an entrance to an underground parking garage, but that's gated, too. There's another door or two, all securely locked. The building seems way too high-security for somebody as easygoing as Wheatley to work at, although he's described it to her before.

Chell keeps on looking. This is deeply unsettling; how much more did she not know about Wheatley? How much could she never have guessed about Aperture Laboratories? This is like a scene out of a thriller and yet here she is, living it out. A nightmare she can't seem to wake up from. She pinches herself while she walks, just in case.

What exactly do they do, down there? Wheatley has spoken a little about it, here and there, but not enough for her to get a clear picture, especially now, seeing the building as she is, easily twice as horrible as he'd ever described it.

Someone is probably going to approach her if she doesn't find a damn entrance soon. Chell feels a twinge of anxiety as she continues making her way around the premises.

Still nothing. But it isn't a person that interrupts her— it's a prerecorded message. "Hey, you! Yes, you, the person loitering in the parking lot. This is not public property. If you have an appointment, please check in at the lobby. Otherwise, get lost."

It comes out of a loudspeaker on the side of the building, and its sudden loud blaring startles Chell, who stumbles. Is there a timer or something on there? She isn't in the parking lot, per se. It's bizarre, sharp and disorienting.

It takes a moment before she recovers and continues on her way around the building, determined to circle it until she reaches the front lobby again, vigilant in her search for an entrance, any entrance at all.

She comes to another door that opens into a tiny elevator lobby, but this one requires an employee badge too. It seems they're serious about the employees and guests only policy. But there's nobody around for her to be the guest of. The door is a double door, the same kind of glass as the shield around the receptionist's desk in the lobby. There's a narrow space between the doors where they meet, as well as some cracks in the lower corner of one. The panel has a tiny red light on it, and a groove where a keycard can be inserted. There are four lifts on the other side, each with different numbers on the panel beside. One is out of order, as announced by a sign with red letters.

First, she checks the cracked one. She pushes on the glass to see how bad off it is, wondering as she does if this is going to set off an alarm. It's not bad enough that pushing on it would do much, although it does dislodge a little shard. A good old fashioned donkey kick might get through, or it might not. It's hard to tell whether there is an alarm; there is a camera, but it seems to be looking towards the elevators, and not moving. Possibly, it's also out of order.

What's there for it? Chell checks the space between the doors with her finger first, just to make sure she isn't going for the more extreme path when a gentler one would suffice. She finds that there's enough space for her to wiggle up to the first joint of her fingers, but no more than that. She could probably do something with the lock in there, if she had something to reach it with; the doors rattle, but hold against her.

She does not know how to pick a lock, and this place is too tidy and featureless to have tools lingering about. She briefly considers going home and coming back with tools under the cover of darkness, but every moment she wastes is a moment Wheatley may not have to spare, so she stands upright, draws on her frustration with the woman on the intercom, and kicks the cracked glass.

The crack gets bigger under the pressure. The pane does not break all the way, but another kick might do the trick. As long as an alarm isn't sounding, she's good to go. Chell kicks it again, harder and angrier. Telling her Wheatley isn't here! Mocking him! Making light of the fact that, apparently, he's on drugs and Chell never even knew about it!

The crack deepens, widens, buckling the glass on the inside. How long has he been on drugs? Does he know he is, or is this some sick thing the company is doing? Did the voice on the intercom really thing she would buy that nobody by that name even works here?

Chell channels every question into a kick. Kick after kick after kick, unrelenting.

Finally the glass gives, shattering with a powerful force into the room and all over the floor. She wastes no time in ducking through it, and hurrying to one of the elevators in the hopes of getting inside before someone notices what she's done.

The farthest elevator to the right has a little sign below the numbers that reads "Residential - Relaxation," which sounds like exactly what she needs. This elevator is the one with the Out of Order sign. The other three, from left to right, each have their own text below the numbers: "Main Elevator C - Primary Testing Tracks;" "Secondary Testing - Maintainence Access;" and "DO NOT USE."

Chell pauses only long enough to read the labels, the fear of being caught in the lobby too great for her to linger. In a split-second decision, to the Maintenance Access elevator and takes it.

The doors of the elevator open and close smoothly for her, allowing her the privacy of the unobserved interior, a simple box with a sleek white floor. There are two sets of doors, one attached to the wall and one attached to the elevator itself; the walls are glass panels, but it is blocked from view of the lobby by the exterior doors. There are up and down buttons, a numerical pad, and a keycard slot on a panel on the side of it. Fortunately, when she pushes the button to descend, it does not demand anything more of her, but agreeably begins to sink down below.

Chell folds her arms and waits impatiently for the elevator to reach its destination. Her mind is entirely on Wheatley. Where is he? What's happened to him? Why would the woman over the intercom lie about it all?

The elevator spends a few minutes descending; it treats her to views of underground architecture, to hints of what must be science going on out there, tubes and cables and all sorts of bizarre things. It comes to a stop, finally, with a gentle whoosh, and the doors open to reveal a hallway stretching forth into a sort of hub; halls going this way and that, another pair of elevators, a few stairwells, some doors. It would be fair to say they've tried to embrace an open design; the ceiling and walls stretch out, many of them glass, some of them only half-height in a modest boast about the vast facility around them. Nobody is near the elevator, but people are moving around up ahead.

Chell ventures forth at once, looking purposeful instead of as lost as she feels. She checks the walls for signs, hoping that she can get a clue as to where maintenance is and how it might connect to the care facility, or whatever the formal title for Wheatley's workstation is. Also, a change of clothes seems like a good idea.

A couple people notice her, but nobody pays her a second mind, at least not yet. There are many signs on the walls; posters encouraging workplace safety, among... other things. Every single hallway and staircase and door is labelled, some more helpfully than others. Authorized personnel only! covers half a wall. There's a door labelled orientation, a hallway with a directional arrow indicating Secondary Test Tracks, which are both very informative, and two staircases labelled C500 and C501, which are not. Pictographs seem to be fairly popular down here: there's a box with a heart on it, what looks like a jumpsuit with an X over it, a locker and bag, a warning triangle, some kind of strange tube with legs and an eye... if it can be a symbol, then it's been printed on the wall just inside an opening to another path. It's like Wonderland.

Uncertain what to do and finding no sign of the maintenance or anything remotely to do with her brother, Chell continues walking purposefully down halls and through doorways. Anywhere that doesn't have a lead door or a card slot. She has no idea where she's going, but that doesn't matter! Sooner or later she's got to come up with something. Hopefully starting with an open locker or closet for those clothes.

Every single door and opening seems to be locked, but this time, luck is on her side. Fittingly enough, down the hall marked by the symbol of a locker and bag, there is a locker room, and the door is not shut all the way, rendering the pin-pad lock pointless. It's abandoned now, because it's just not the time of day that people are starting their work days. It shouldn't be hard to find something in here.

Chell tries not to hurry as she ducks inside, but then she is all movement, quick and bustling looking for something with the Aperture logo on it.

It isn't hard— it seems like everything has the Aperture logo on it, even many of the personal effects. The clothes, the bags, the walls, the lockers. It's even quite possible that she can find a key card in here. There are jackets, a couple of jumpsuits, even a labcoat, although it's obviously a little far from its proper place inside the facility.

She selects a jumpsuit that looks to be about her size, maybe a bit large. She dresses quickly and shoves her old clothes into a locker, stopping only to remove the phone from the pants pocket. They are no longer needed. Then it's time to return to the halls, and hurry.

As many signs as there are, nothing conveniently says "residential" or "caretaker" or "this way to Wheatley." She can go up, down, stay on the same level, or ask someone for directions to the residential area. Down seems to lead to testing areas; this level is mostly metal and catwalks and office blocks; up, it's hard to tell.

She decides to try asking somebody, because she's been walking in circles for a while and this is getting pretty old.

There's a figure that sticks out more than anybody else- an unrealistically white- haired woman, visible only from behind, who sticks out too much to be a good choice to ask. She's definitely someone important. Even from behind, she gives off an air of not only being flawless, but of being completely and unerringly aware of being flawless.

Before Chell can even decide who to approach, however, she's intercepted by an address that sounds like a prerecorded message at first. Mostly because it's exactly the same voice as those messages, in exactly the same tone. "You there. Yeah, you, the one in the jumpsuit."

As if half the people down here aren't wearing jumpsuits.

Regardless, Chell stops. She turns to look at the man addressing her with an air of surprise, not even the remotest idea what she's in for.

"Yeah, you." The man belonging to the voice has angular features, fierce sideburns, a brown suit, and a voice that makes everyone in the immediate vicinity either flinch or roll their eyes. The white woman turns to look at him. He only looks at Chell. "What exactly are you doing? You just came out into the hallway and started looking lost."

Chell hesitates, going full deer in headlights for a moment. Then at last she comes to her senses, gets out her phone and has it read out, "I'm a new hire. I wasn't sure where I'm meant to be."

The white woman turns to Chell in sudden, undisguised interest. Her face is inhumanly beautiful— both in that she's too beautiful to be human, and in that she clearly isn't. One eye is hidden by her hair, and the other is a bright, vaguely glowing gold; well-hidden but visible joints and rivets speak to something that could be extremely good costume makeup, if only they were anywhere else. She speaks, not the man, and he seems a little surprised by her interjection, but doesn't contest it. "What did you say your name was?"

For a moment, Chell is struck by her beauty. Words fail her to describe the perfection of this woman, regardless of the fact that clearly she is not human. Surely she must have been carefully designed by the most careful hands in the world to surpass any mortal woman?

The moment is shattered the instant Chell hears the woman speak, and then all the blood drains out of her. Oh. Oh dear. Could she lie her way out of this? Probably not. She swallows.

"I said I am a new hire." the phone intones.

The perfect woman takes a perfect step forward, the movement flowing with the grace of water. Her chin lifts slightly, her golden lips set in the slightest frown. The man in the suit gives the floor to her. Is she the person in charge? If so, why was she answering the phone at the front desk? "Oh, silly me. What is your name?"

There is no escaping the terrible intent of this immeasurably beautiful woman's slight frown. Trapped in the question, Chell can only type her reply in her phone, and listen as it confesses her truth, "Chell."

"Chell." The woman assesses Chell for a very long moment, gleaming eye cold and appraising. "Are you looking for something down here?"

"Caroline, is there a particular reason we're wasting time with this nobody in maintenance?" The man interjects. He does not talk to her like he is talking to his superior. Quite the contrary, his words demand an immediate answer.

The woman gives him one, although her eyes narrow as he says her name. "Oh... I believe I know her. That's all. She has a very distinctive little... voice."

Chell feels her ears heat up. She swipes her thumb across the screen, quite trapped in between the white woman's cruel appraisal and the man's demeaning attitude. "Work."

"Right." Another long, appraising moment, during which both of them watch Chell. It almost feels the woman is deciding Chell's fate in her head. "What's your job function? Are you the new caretaker?"

Chell is beginning to feel like the two of them might devour her, and she would be helpless to stop it from happening. She glances at her phone, and then up at the woman, and then back at her phone. "Yes."

"What? I never authorized any new caretaking staff. Matter of fact, I distinctly remember vetoing that idea," says the man, looking at Caroline. She lifts her chin, eye gleaming with malice.

"Exactly," she says to him, and an expression of recognition appears on his face.

He looks down at Chell. He's extremely tall, and it makes the towering effect even greater. "How did you get down here?"

Chell is not about to back down, even though she is afraid. Her finger moves blinding fast across the screen, and then she looks up at the man while her phone speaks. "I was let in when I was hired of course. I must have gotten the wrong department. Your assistant is very intimidating sir. Can you tell me where I am supposed to be?"

"Intimidating? Caroline? Maybe a little, but don't let her scare you. That's my job," the man says, puffing out his chest. "And I have no idea where you're supposed to be. I own this place; I work on a greater scale than that. But I like your balls."

Caroline's bared teeth suggest that it would be a bad decision not to allow her to scare you, but she defers to him. "If you're looking for orientation, you're about four hours late."

"True," he observes with a nod. "I would probably have to fire you for that."

"Mr. Johnson, you already have so much on your agenda," says Caroline in an approximation of sweetness (not a very good approximation). "Why don't you just let me deal with this... interruption?"

Chell looks apologetic, but puts on her sweetest expression, too, hoping to impress her new boss's boss. She is much better at it than Caroline. "Thank you, Mr. Johnson," her phone reads out. "I'm sorry I didn't recognize you; it's an honour to meet a true pioneer in science."

She looks to Caroline next, too smart to ignore her in favour of schmoozing (she couldn't if she tried anyway). "I apologize for putting you out."

Caroline tosses her head, unimpressed, but the platitudes absolutely land their mark on Mr. Johnson, who positively swells with pride and ego. She has made a good impression on him. "It's always good to meet a fan. Tell you what, you thought you were supposed to be caretaking? Then our head caretaker will probably know where you belong. Probably part of the cleaning staff."

The words make Caroline scowl, not only because of the way it's all working out for Chell, but also because that logic is incredibly faulty. "I'm sure he's... busy, at the moment. He tends to be holed up around this time of day. Why don't we just go to one of the overseer offices and look her up in the computer?"

Chell perks right up at the mention of the head caretaker. "Thank you, I would love to speak to the head caretaker, Mr. Johnson," her phone says, almost with some semblance of perkiness. It doesn't match the light in her eyes. "You are too generous. I won't disappoint you."

"See that you don't," Mr. Johnson says matter-of-factly, as if it's a given that anybody working for him should know better than to disappoint him. Still, she's made a unique impression on him, and there's no doubt that for however long she's down here, he's going to pay attention. "Come on; Caroline and I happened to be heading that way on our little walk, didn't we?"

Caroline positively grinds her teeth. "Yes, sir, Mr. Johnson."

Feeling hopeful, Chell falls right in step beside Mr. Johnson. He is so imposing in person! It might just be his presence, but it is one hell of an intimidating presence, to be sure. He and Caroline both inspire Chell to walk with a straight back and a perfectly forward-facing gaze, her jaw locked and her heart beating a little faster; even the hairs on her arm standing at attention.

And these are the people Wheatley works for? No wonder he's so on edge about them. Chell takes an immediate dislike to the both of them, and can only aspire to get back to him and away from them as fast as possible.

Caroline gives Chell a fierce look, and moves to walk on Mr. Johnson's opposite side. She makes her intimidating stride look effortless, the clicks of her heels on the floor as snaps of warning. As much as Chell dislikes her, the feeling is clearly mutual. She'd be perfectly happy to walk in dead silence; unfortunately, Mr. Johnson seems to be a conversationalist.

"So you're new here," he observes to Chell with his commanding voice. He is not as tall as Wheatley— nobody ever is —but he is taller than Chell, and has a powerful presence. "What brought you to work at Aperture?"

Chell looks down at her phone to type. "I want to help further science." she feels is the correct answer, following the pattern. She isn't sure she should mention Wheatley to him, given the way Caroline reacted (and is continuing to react).

It is, in fact, the correct answer. Mr. Johnson beams. "Well, then, you definitely came to the right place. There is no finer facility in the world— and I'm not just saying that because I built it."

"Are you sure that's the only reason you came here?" Caroline asks flatly.

Chell swallows and shakes her head. She isn't sure how long buttering up Mr. Johnson can keep Caroline at bay, but she's got to keep saying what she's saying if she's going to have a chance at reaching Wheatley. Whatever has gone so wrong, she has to find him and know for herself. She has to get him out of here.

"No, you're not sure?" Caroline asks, her golden gaze seeming to dig right in to Chell.

"Caroline, would you care to tell me what exactly is going on between you and this young lady?" Mr. Johnson asks, finally looking down to his assistant.

Chell tenses up. She doesn't want Caroline to tell him about Wheatley; heaven only knows what will happen if she does, if he believes her even just enough to question Chell about it. Quickly, the young woman has the phone ask, "Mr. Johnson, what inspired you to found Aperture Science?"

His attention returns to her, surprised but impressed by her words. "Well, that is a very interesting question, young lady! And one with an appropriately interesting answer. It all started a long time ago— quite probably before you were born, as I'm a little older than I look..."

Caroline clenches her fists, but says nothing else about it. Chell has found the perfect conversation starter to keep Mr. Johnson talking for at least a few minutes, by which time they're sure to have already found Wheatley.

It comes to Chell as a huge relief. She half-listens to Mr. Johnson as he rambles about Aperture and his personal history and all these things she does not actually care about, but which fill the air and keep him from questioning her or Caroline about why she is really here.

It isn't far that they have to go, either. Seemingly before Mr. Johnson has realized it, they've come to an entirely different segment of the facility. "This is it, the caretaker's office. Didn't mean to talk your ear off!"

He laughs. Caroline is giving Chell a look that indicates she's coming for her.

Chell is a little worried about this. Caroline gives the impression of someone who is dangerous even when you manage to keep in her good graces, and here she's basically flipped her off. Hopefully she isn't going to have to deal with the consequences of this just yet.

"Thank you, Mr. Johnson! It was really informative."

"Just don't get too used to it," he says, but he's clearly pleased, and not at all apologetic for all the talking he's done. He reaches out and takes the doorknob in his hand. "If he's not in here, you can just sit down and wait for him to get back."

He pushes the door open, and steps inside ahead of Chell.

Chell swallows, and tries to be ready for whatever will greet her as she follows him in.

The room is a slightly messy one, peculiarly less tidy than he is at home. There's a desk, computer, filing cabinet, countless papers— all the usual things one would expect to find in an office, except the person who uses it. It's empty.

"He must be working," Caroline observes stiffly, sounding a little disappointed. "Too bad. I had hoped for a word."

Chell feels her stomach drop. She checks the top papers, as surreptitiously as she can, and has a look around.

"That's alright," says Mr. Johnson, clapping Chell briefly on the shoulder. "Sit down and make yourself comfortable, I'm sure he'll be around sooner or later. Unfortunately, Caroline and I have places to be."

Chell nods, putting together a cheesy smile for Mr. Johnson that she sure doesn't feel. She sits down as bid as soon as he's stepped away from her, and waves good-bye after him and Caroline.

Caroline lingers at the door after Mr. Johnson has gone through it. "This isn't over," she hisses almost inaudibly, and the door shuts behind her with an unnervingly final sound.

Chell shudders as the door swings shut. She feels a chill, like she's just made the most powerful enemy in the world. But what alternative was there? The woman had it out for her as soon as she challenged her lies about Wheatley.

Well, that's neither here nor there. Chell begins to investigate the papers.

Looks like a little bit of everything. Company paraphernalia, calendars, forms of all kinds, letters from "residents". It all seems to have to do with his work, and it all seems like the kind of work he's always said it was. A lot of them are notes or notebooks or sticky memos. Some of it is more difficult to understand than others, though; some of it is as straightforward as relaxation vault 18 air vent issue with all the related details scrawled in his quick, loose handwriting below. But then there's more cryptic little notes. Stuff like times or dates without context. Stuff like ask rick about testing initiative. take answer with grain of salt.

How strange... Chell wonders what the notes mean. Clearly, these have nothing to do with his disappearance, but something else here might, if only she can find it. She has to work quickly, though; the last thing she wants is for Caroline to get away from Mr. Johnson long enough to double back here and catch her snooping.

Not much pops immediately as potential evidence. A cup of coffee is on the desk, still somewhat warm. He's been in here. The computer is on, but locked with a password. There's also a couple of syringes in the garbage can; they might have been obtained from any of the labs down here. No effort has been made to conceal them from view.

The coffee is a good sign, at least. As with Mr. Johnson's apparent belief that Wheatley should be at hand, it gives hope that he is still here, still close. Chell gingerly picks up one of the syringes and looks it over before tossing it back. He is handing in his resignation as soon as she finds him!

She checks the computer and tries a password. If he is close at hand, though, what is he doing? Just... working? Normally? As if he hasn't been worrying her sick, hasn't just apparently up and decided not to go home?

Wheatley's password, of course, is easy to guess, for somebody that's been living with him his whole life. He's never been one to get too creative, there. It lets her in on the third try, with a warning about how she's going to lock herself out, to a tidy desktop lined with icons for work programs, half of which are variations on the Aperture logo. The wallpaper is a field of wheat— he's always liked the aesthetic of those, in a slightly vain way.

There is the sound of someone coming near the door.