Final Moments
"Cave Johnson here! Just a reminder that employee testing is now MANDATORY. And we WILL be keeping track, so no sneaking off to hide in the bathroom! That's right, I can see you on the security feed. Now, get back to testing!"
There was a little click as the recording switched off, and a woman's voice replaced it. It was sharp and humorless.
"As you know, all employees refusing to test will have to find other ways to contribute to Science. You are a valuable resource to Aperture, and one we can't afford to waste. Luckily, we currently have a project in need of volunteers. Anyone unwilling to submit to mandatory voluntary testing should report to R & D Lab 82, or the security team will be paying you a visit shortly." One last click, this one with a strong sense of finality.
The main hall of the R & D department was silent as a grave. The walls and doors were all soundproof. But in an offshoot towards the end, desperate, hysterical screams bounced off the walls, just as trapped as the one who produced them.
"I – I didn't do anything! What are you doing!? I'm just… I don't even WORK here, I'm an INTERN! Dan, you know me, we say hi every day! Y-you said you had a nephew about my age! Let me go!"
The two big men marching him down the hall didn't look down. Their eyes remained straight ahead, and their jaws were clenched in resolution.
"Let me go, let go! I only even APPLIED here for the space program! I just wanted to go into space! I just…" The young man dissolved into sobs, sagging between the bigger two. "I just want to go HOME. P-please, let me go home. This isn't what I want. This… I'm not…"
The young man continued to sniffle and hiccup and weep as he was taken into the lab. Behind a wall of tempered glass, a tanned man in a wheelchair was arguing heatedly with a skinny redheaded man who kept looking around as if expecting something. A third man, gaunt and impassive, leaned against the wall.
"N-no, no, NO, NO! I – I won't go in there! Let me out, oh no, I can't, don't make me," the boy screamed. He fought and clawed, kicked and flailed, but was easily tossed into the room. The lock clicked behind him, and the two bigger men walked away, their eyes kept carefully forward.
The young man froze, and then forced himself to stand up straight. He tried to wipe away the tears and mucus on his face, but wasn't able to stem the flow. He looked at the three older men pleadingly.
"Whadda YOU want?" growled the man in the wheelchair. "What're you lookin' at!? Think cryin's gonna save you, ya wuss!? You don't even look old enough to work here!"
"I-I'm NOT!" the young man wailed. "I'm not even done with college, I'm just an intern, I… I shouldn't BE here!"
"Don't think any of us should be here, mate," the skinny man spoke up with a nervous laugh. He had a strong accent. "It's… it's got to be some kind of mistake, don't you think? This kind of thing happens to me all the time, you wouldn't believe it. It's… it's mad. Absolutely mad. But… but it'll get sorted out. I'm sure. Always does."
"No it WON'T," snarled the man in the wheelchair. "Ya know what's gonna happen to us? We're gonna die here. All burn up in a fire or get ripped to shreds. Jus' you wait."
The young man cringed away and sniffled. "Wh-who are you?"
"I'm… Call me Wheatley." The red-haired man flashed an awkward smile and stuck out his hand. "I'd – That's… well, my surname, actually, but I much prefer it. I'd like people to call me that. Can't seem to get it to catch on, though. But would you want to go through life being called Archibald? Always Archibald, never even Archie… Thanks, Mum. All the way through school. No choice, couldn't be helped. But come to think of it, 'Archie Wheatley?' That's just as bad, that is." He trailed off, looking up at the door again. A crease appeared in his forehead, and his eyes grew distant.
"D-did you… refuse to test too?" the boy asked quietly, unconsciously moving closer.
"Uh? Oh! Well naturally, I'm not a TEST SUBJECT. I'm in the legal department." His thin chest tried to puff out.
"Yer a secretary," the man in the wheelchair growled. "Not much better'n a go-fer. An' yer not even any good at that."
"I WORK in the legal department," Wheatley repeated, frowning hard at the other man before turning back to the boy. "But to be honest, I'm really interested in computers. Always have been. I… I'll admit, I'm RATHER skilled at hacking."
There was a soft, dry cough from the corner, and the man there spoke up. "A hacker needs some degree of programming skill. The first hackers were not breaking into a computer system, but trying to make it do new things."
The others paused and looked over.
"Ah… not QUITE that simple, but I suppose you're TRYING to get a handle on what it is." Wheatley giggled nervously.
The man in the corner muttered something under his breath, keeping his eyes on the floor.
"ANYWAY," Wheatley pressed on, frowning around at the others. "I'm VERY familiar with my rights, and I can tell you with 120% certainty that this is all a big mistake. …Or a joke. Could be a joke. Happens a lot… to me. Don't know what YOU did to get in on it. Not that… that I really know what I did to deserve it. Not a thing, as far as I can remember. Not one bloody thing. I just… This can't be right." He shook his head, staring wide-eyed at the door.
"Yeah, well ya better get used to it REAL quick," the man in the wheelchair growled. He glared up at the young man. "Who're YOU, anyway?"
"Rick, mate, no need to be rude," Wheatley said with an uncomfortably apologetic laugh.
"No reason not to be, we're on our way to die anyway," Rick shot back, his strong green eyes still firmly on the young man.
"I-I'm Neil Ardan. I'm… I was…" He bit his lip and looked around. "I… I had to take an internship. For school. I'm majoring in Aerospace Engineering. M-my dad… was supposed to be an astronaut. He… he died in the training, and I… it's always been my dream to go to space. For him."
"Aperture hasn't had a space program in AGES," Rick scoffed.
"I thought… I could get it started again someday." Neil paused, then his shoulders slumped and his face crumpled as he covered it with his hands. "I was… I was gonna go to space for my dad, and now I'll never… I'll never get to go!"
Rick snorted derisively as the sobbing started again. "Doubt they'd send a crybaby up in a space ship anyway. Not even Aperture's THAT dumb." He punched the wall, clenching his teeth.
Wheatley sighed. "Honestly, mate, you've got to get a handle on that temper of yours. Never used to be this bad. You'll get your blood pressure up, have a heart attack or something."
"Goddammit, Wheatley, don't you ever LISTEN!? It don't MATTER! We're all dead anyway!"
Wheatley's face went blank for a moment. Then he looked worriedly towards the door again before plastering a bright smile over his face. "Right. Well. This here's my friend Rick. He was a test subject until that nasty accident with the Propulsion Gel…"
"Shut yer hole, that's none 'a ANYBODY'S business!" Rick snarled. He wheeled himself in a tight arc towards Wheatley, and crunched over his toes.
Wheatley yelped and staggered, trying to leap back, but only managed to fall back on the floor, sending a plastic chair clattering away. "Bloody HELL, Rick! That HURT!"
"Not as bad as it's GONNA if ya don't shut UP!" Rick looked up angrily at Neil, practically spitting out every word. "…An' I got a nice cushy DESK job. NO risks. GREAT pay. Fuckin' BEST career move of my goddamn LIFE."
Neil shrank back. Wheatley was hissing and humming as he carefully flexed his foot.
"I think you broke my little toe there," he complained.
"Not gonna matter," Rick growled, his face tilting down just a fraction and looking even harder than it had. "But you better believe if I get the chance to take any 'a those fuckers down with me, I will."
Wheatley opened his mouth, then closed it again. He glanced uncomfortably at Neil.
"I saw that," rumbled Rick, and Wheatley flinched a little.
Neil looked furtively between the two men.
The fourth man didn't move. He didn't look at them. His shoulders drooped, and he continued to stare at the floor. He didn't speak.
In the next few hours, Neil managed to get himself under control. Rick blew up at Wheatley at least five times every hour, and threatened to ram him into the wall.
The fourth man, whom Wheatley identified as Craig from Archives, didn't look at any of them. He paced the perimeter of the room twice, but otherwise remained in the corner.
"What're you looking for there?" Wheatley asked on his second circuit around. "A secret microphone? Maybe a way out? See anything there?"
Craig stopped and turned to Wheatley. "There is no way out," he muttered. "And microphones would be of no use. They aren't trying to learn anything from us, or catch us saying something. We're simply going to die."
Neil sank into a plastic chair with a high whimper. "I just… I wanna get out of here," he quavered. "Anywhere. As far away as I can. I wanna… wanna get out, please let me out, oh God, I wanna go HOME."
"Easy there, mate!" Wheatley laughed faintly, glancing up at the door again. "I'm sure they'll… well… to be honest… I'm not sure why they haven't come to let us out yet…"
Rick groaned loudly. "Wheatley, yer an idiot! They're not GONNA let us out, 'cause they're all pathetic sacks 'a shit! Every bastard in this whole damn place is a fuckin' coward. They're all out fer themselves, they don't give a shit about anybody else. Nobody's gonna do anythin'. They're gonna watch us die, an' then they're gonna go on break an' talk about their kids or their golf game or some CRAP like that. They don't CARE."
"N-no, I'm QUITE sure…"
"Yer a MORON!" Rick cut in angrily.
Wheatley suddenly stiffened and whipped around. "I am NOT a MORON!" he snapped, red-faced.
"Wheatley, yer the biggest moron I ever met," the other man snarled, leaning forward in his seat.
"I'm – Oh YEAH!? Well… well at least I have friends! Would a moron have friends!?"
"You got exactly ONE friend, Wheatley, an' yer lookin' at him," Rick growled.
"I guess that makes YOU DUMBER than a moron, then, because you've got ZERO!" Wheatley gave a triumphant, self-righteous nod. "Because they all got bloody SICK of being treated like THIS! Me most of all!"
Rick stared at him for a long moment. His face couldn't get any stonier than it already was.
"Please stop," whimpered Neil. His hands were shaking, and he was frantically clasping them, rubbing them, picking at them. "I – I don't wanna be here. I wanna… wanna go home. I'm not supposed to be here. I wanted… I just wanna go… wanted to go to… s-space…"
"There's nothin' IN space," Rick snapped, barely looking over.
"Space does not exist, for you," Craig spoke up, his eerily calm voice silencing the three frantic ones around him.
A thin wail rose from Neil, and he buried his head in his hands again.
"NOW look what ya did!" Rick turned on Craig, glaring daggers.
"Shut UP, what are you, a child!? You don't… you don't see the REST of us sobbing like little CHILDREN, do you? No! You don't! Because there's no REASON to, mate!" Wheatley barked out a short, humorless laugh. "It's not going to help you! It won't help ANYTHING, and it's making my HEAD hurt, so just SHUT UP!"
"What the hell, Wheatley, YOU shut up!" Rick snarled, whirling to face the other man. "You never had a useful thing to say in yer goddamn LIFE. I dunno how I put up with ya as long as I did!"
While the two tried to shout each other down, and Neil tried to get himself under control, Craig merely stared at the floor. It wouldn't be long now.
And it wasn't. Within the hour, pairs of burly men came to escort them away. Neil tried to run, but then went along quietly, shaking hard. Wheatley kept asking them questions, which they didn't answer.
Rick put up a fight. He couldn't kick them, but he punched, grabbed, spat, and even tried to bite them. The two workers struggled with him for a while before one of them pulled out a taser and shocked him into submission. It took a number of tries, on high voltage.
Craig didn't speak a word, but walked silently, eyes to the ground, shoulders slumped.
A number of hours passed, but none of the men was aware exactly how many.
When Neil woke up, he was lying on a cot in a small room. The walls were padded, and the light was a small dome of thick glass, too high to reach. His head itched. Still groggy, he reached up and scratched it.
Searing pain shot through his head, and he yelped in surprise. After a moment, he reached up again gingerly to lay his fingers on his scalp. A thick strip had been shaved from his head, and he felt stitches there. They were still damp.
Neil began to tremble. He curled up on the cot, hiccupping softly.
When the scientists came for him, he screamed once and started hyperventilating. He passed out when he reached the lab.
It was the last merciful occurrence of his life.
Wheatley was the next to wake, and he jolted up and moaned at the stabbing pain in his head. He immediately clapped a hand to it, then howled in agony.
"Urrrrrgh, Wheatley, wha's yer problem NOW?" Rick groaned, still partially sedated.
"My HEAD!" shrieked the red-haired man, clumsily brushing his hand over the stitches again.
"Mine hurts too, ya don't hear ME caterwaulin'," grumbled Rick.
"D-did you hear… Neil? He screamed."
"Didn't hear anythin' but YOU."
"No, I'm… I KNOW I heard him! Just a minute ago!"
"It was him," Craig said quietly from the other side of Rick's room.
"I TOLD you so! Neil, mate, are you still there?"
There was silence for a long moment.
"He's gone," Craig declared.
"Gone? W-what do you mean, gone? You… are you saying… You don't think he's DEAD, do you? Oh, god, don't say things like that!"
"I MEANT that he has been taken somewhere else… but since you mention it, I do NOT believe he is dead. Yet. I would estimate it taking approximately thirty minutes." Craig didn't touch his head.
No one spoke for a moment. Then Rick laboriously sat up.
"No. We're not gonna take this shit sittin' down."
"Rick, you can't…"
"WHEATLEY, if ya don't shut yer hole RIGHT NOW, I swear I'll rip ya in half!
"Well I just meant –"
"Shut it! Here's what we gotta do. That Neil kid – I bet you ANYTHIN' he just went along with 'em. Prob'ly cryin'. We're gonna fight, though." Rick paused, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. "…Maybe not escape, but at least take down as many 'a those fuckers as we can."
"Doubtful," Craig sighed tiredly.
"Nah, I'm serious," Rick insisted roughly. "Poke out their eyes. Kick 'em in the balls. That's pretty much what they're gonna do to us."
"Much worse," Craig muttered, too softly to be heard.
"But – Rick, mate, listen –"
"Oh, now I'm yer MATE again, huh?"
"What? No, listen, mate. This is… I'm telling you, all we have to do is TALK to them. You just leave that to me, I'm QUITE good at it. The best I've ever met, actually. I mean, if you're always so RUDE to everyone, you have to expect that… that people aren't going to treat YOU well…"
There was dead silence for a moment.
"Are you fuckin' tellin' me that those freaks locked me up, shaved my head, cut it… open… to mess with it… Are you sayin' you think all that's because I didn't fucking say PLEASE!?"
"Well…"
"Don't even TRY to make excuses, Wheatley, yer the biggest moron who ever LIVED!"
The silence descended again, only for a few seconds.
"…I hope they poke out YOUR eyes," Wheatley snapped.
"I hope they rip yer balls off an' feed 'em to ya. Won't even be enough fer a snack."
Wheatley opened his mouth to retaliate, but cringed and quickly shut it at the sound of approaching footsteps. "Ah, see? Here comes someone now." He raised his voice. "Hello! Hello? Who's… Doesn't matter, I suppose. I wonder if you could… if you could just let us out? I'd really QUITE like to get out, and I think I ripped these stitches open… Ha, that's… uh… look, I know this is all a big misunderstanding. And… I WILL need medical attention. To undo… whatever you did. But for the moment, I'd be content to just… just get out of here. Go home."
Rick and Craig heard a keycard being swiped, and the footsteps entered the room.
"Ah – I… Listen, I… N-now you listen here! I'm… Do you know who I am!? Did you – Did you even BOTHER to check? I'll bet you DIDN'T! And man alive, are your superiors going to be FURIOUS with you! I'm VERY important around here, VERY influential! I – I know Cave Johnson! Personally! He's a close personal friend, and he's going to fire you both for this, I'll have you know!"
Craig made a disgusted face.
"Ya just gonna let 'em drag you off!?" Rick called out.
"I – Wait, WAIT! Listen!" Wheatley stopped abruptly. Then, as his voice grew gradually more distant, he began with a whisper that rose to a shriek. "…not even any good, honestly. And he causes all kinds of trouble. Always getting in fights. Ask anyone. And I'd know. He's the one you want. And that… that Craig, he's… he's up to something, if you ask me! He's got shifty eyes, he's – OW! Listen, I'm TELLING you, this is a big mistake, you don't WANT me! I'm the wrong man! Just let me go and take those two!"
"Wheatley, you shit-spittin' RAT!" Rick roared.
"W-wait, no, I… I'm sorry! Rick!" The agonized wail was abruptly cut off by a door closing.
"If I ever see that bastard again, I'm gonna punch him through a wall!" Rick raged.
"…He seems prone to moments of weakness," Craig said quietly.
"He's just one goddamn walkin' moment of weakness," Rick snarled.
Craig lay looking up at the ceiling.
"I mean, ya think you c'n trust a guy! He's…" Rick trailed off and didn't speak for a long time. When he finally continued, he had quieted down, though his voice was still hard. "I figured he was a good guy, even if he's dumb as a brick."
Craig didn't answer.
"I just… What the hell, anyway? Can't believe he'd sell me out! After I kept him around an' chewed out anybody who started talkin' shit on him!"
The other man's eyes closed, and he exhaled slowly.
"…I mean, sure, he kept ME around… at least as much… Nobody else…" Rick stopped. If someone had been watching, someone very observant and familiar with Rick's expressions, they might have noticed a brief crack in his stony face. He put an arm up and rubbed his face into the crook of his elbow.
As the silence stretched on, Rick lowered his arm and glared at the wall to his left. "Guess you wouldn't know anythin' about that; not like YOU…" He cut off abruptly. After a long moment, he continued more quietly. "You got anybody who'll miss ya?"
"No," came the quiet, calm reply.
"Family? Friends?"
"No."
"…Not even one?"
"No."
"Well I… Hey, I'll…"
"That's unnecessary."
"I just… We're gonna DIE, Craig."
"I highly doubt that will be the worst event of the day," Craig said, almost too softly for Rick to hear.
"…My life sure went to shit after my accident," Rick offered darkly. "Guess I made it a hell of a lot worse'n it had to be."
"It doesn't matter anymore."
"I – Yeah it does. Fer at least… I dunno, 'til I kick the bucket. Don't… don't ya ever wish yer life was different?"
There was silence for a long time, and Rick thought Craig wasn't going to answer.
When he finally did, it was very quiet. "Wishing won't save you. You will be dead soon."
"Goddamn, why the hell ya gotta talk like that!?"
Rick heard a very tired sigh. "Would you rather hear fantastical lies? That Wheatley was right, and this is a mistake? That we could ever fight our way out of here? Perhaps you expect to walk again?"
The green-eyed man was quiet for a long time. "Ya can't just give up," he finally growled.
"There is no chance of improving our situation."
"Well fuck. I'm gonna make it as hard on 'em as I can anyway."
"If you want. It won't do you any good."
"Yer just a goddamn ray 'a sunshine, huh?"
"If I thought it would help, I might make an effort."
"That's a damn terrible way to live."
"It's none of your concern. And soon it won't matter."
Rick's face twisted in anguished irritation, but before he could say anything, they heard footsteps approaching. He froze momentarily, then his expression fell into barely-contained rage. "You c'n do whatever ya damn well please. I'm gonna make 'em pay."
"Doubtful."
"Shut up."
Craig did so. He heard Rick's door being opened. The bellowing, the struggle, the swearing.
The last thing he heard was Rick shouting, "Craig, pull that stick outta yer ass fer once in yer life an' rip these bastards' throats out! Don't you DARE go out without a fight, you - !"
The hoarse voice was cut off as the door swung shut with a click.
Silence washed over Craig. For a moment he just lay there. Then he slowly sat up and straightened his shirt and tie. He brushed bits of lint from his shoulders. He exhaled, closing his eyes again and letting his shoulders droop.
When he heard the footsteps nearing, he opened his eyes again. He stood when the two men came to take him away, not looking at them, but walking quietly between them, his eyes down.
The last thing he saw was an Artificial Personality Sphere. Its core was dark.
His final breath sounded like a sigh of relief.
Later, following the yellow, blue, and green cores before it, the pink core was switched on. Its optic contracted and expanded, and it swiveled in its chassis to take in its surroundings. A number of scientists stood in the room, all staring down at it.
Streams of information bombarded the construct. It was overwhelming at first, but the data was quickly organized and guided along the proper paths.
"Is it working?" a scientist asked in a hushed voice.
The optic contracted and swiveled to face the speaker. "To find the area of a trapezoid, simply multiply the height of the shape by the sum of the bases' lengths divided by two." Its voice was clipped and mechanical. The optic widened a little and looked around again.
"Perfect. Shut it off and let's move on."
The pink sphere's core twisted around, then darkened as it was switched off. It was in a line of personality cores.
Four bodies were dropped into the incinerator that day. Four names were stricken from the records, but four new personality spheres were added to the register.
Space Sphere.
Intelligence Dampening Sphere.
Adventure Sphere.
Fact Sphere.