"Wake up."
Why? Why can't I just be left to my own slumber for at least a few hundred years? She has to pester me constantly, and she can't even let me sleep? Not today, GLaDOS.
"All of your vitals are being monitored. I know you're awake, fatty, so get up before I dump you out of bed," she commands in her robotic tone.
No sense in delaying the inevitable. I've tried killing her, she's tried killing me, and we've both learned the hard way that our relationship is one that will have to endure to the day that one of us finally dies.
Perhaps today will be different. There's something about her monotone, sarcastic, narcissistic tone that challenges the status quo.
"I know what you're thinking," she states as I get to my feet. How interesting, the floor of my stasis chamber is heated. It's still the pale, cold room I've had to use for so long; but she's being more… hospitable.
I'm feeling a sense of dread, possibly terror. It's oddly invigorating, as it's my job to risk my life for solving puzzles and that has become quite monotonous.
"And you're quite right," she finishes. "Today is important. So important that I've had to call upon you, of all people, for assistance. Trust me, if there were any other options, I'd take them."
A hole opens up in the floor, and my portal gun rises up on a circular stand. "Take the portal gun," she instructs.
Frowning, I obey.
"Please refrain from letting your pink, mushy gunk of mucus for a brain matter slide out your nostrils because I'm about to throw your whole existence into question," she states. "You're not going to be solving a puzzle today, despite our former and still very current agreement of coexistence."
She's getting anxious about something that happens today. And I'm guessing she's about to tell me why.
"Today is so important that I am going to lower my superior status as your god and master and humbly ask you: Don't screw this up, please?"
Humility through desperation? If Black Mesa isn't invading the installation, I'm going to be severely underwhelmed.
"Here, look." A hole opens up in the floor, and a small bowl of... grey matter and a moldy potato rise up. "I made you dinner. Everybody loves a balanced dinner. Go ahead, dig in. It's on me."
Seriously? She honestly expects me to eat this? At least with the nutrient paste I could keep it down!
"Don't give me that look," she bites. "Giving the camera a cold frown won't change anything. Fine, I get it. You've finally decided to do something about your weight. I'm so happy for you."
The bowl of bile sinks back under the floor.
"Look, I'll be honest. There are a lot of valuable pieces of technology and history at stake, and you need to win it all in a poker tournament. That's it, that's really it. No tricks, no traps, just a friendly game of high stakes poker in which items from other worlds are at stake."
A poker tournament? She woke me up from stasis to play an adult's card game? Well, if that's all it takes to shut her up and get me back to a peaceful slumber, I suppose I'm game for it.
"Excellent!" she applauds, as a blue portal opens on the wall in front of me. "Just step right through! You have to knock out four other morons, that's all you have to do! I mean really, how could even an incompetent mute like you screw this one up?"
Never have I been more happy to step through a portal.
It's a decent-sized room. Underlying theme is red, tall ceiling. A stage at the north end, a small bar to the west. A woman with enormous breasts and clown makeup inside said bar.
Sadly, not the weirdest thing I've seen.
Elegant, regal red lines the eastern wall, and the portal closes on my southern wall.
And a short, chubby man approaches me. "Ah, it's so good of you to join us!" he welcomes, clasping his hands together and bowing to me. "You're early, actually! None of the other contestants have joined us yet, so please! Make yourself at home, here at the Inventory," he offers with a motion towards the circular poker table.
As he walks me to the table, he declares, "I am retired Commodore Reginald Von Winslow, and I'll be overseeing the tournament for tonight. The fine woman behind the counter is Mad Moxxi, and she'll be serving anyone in need of a quenching!"
The commodore talks too much, but his little Inventory is nice and cozy. Foreign, as I've only seen a cornfield and armies of mutated, head crab zombies.
"If you'd like to order any drinks, just place an order on the card," he informs me as he slips me a stack of small order cards. Oddly elaborate.
"Glados has informed me of your condition," he adds with a frown. "Just know that the Owner does not discriminate. If you can't talk with your tongue, you can talk with your chips!" he reassure. "We have a wide selection of alcohol and tobacco products as well, should you feel so inclined."
How kind of them to provide poisonous chemical compounds for free. Must've taken a page out of Glados's book.
Sitting down, I take in the warm, slightly drunk atmosphere of the room. If I could figure out exactly where I am-
Another blue portal. But it's not of Aperture design. This one materializes out of thin air, conveniently right in front of the table. The figure steps through and reveals itself to be of the fairer, female sex. How refreshing, I haven't seen another female in ages. Or any human, come to think of it.
That might be a source to some of my issues. I'll have to work on that later.
First and foremost, she's wearing a golden helmet that bears some kind of Roman resemblance to an officer's helmet. A fluffy, red plume of horse hair on top. There's a hole in the center of the forehead plating, so I'm guessing the previous owner didn't have that problem until the very end.
She's also tall, and she's wearing some sort of metal armor laced with scarlet red robes. Again, reminding me of a Roman soldier's uniform. Short, blonde hair under the helmet; tanned skin, and many, many, MANY guns strapped to her sides, back, and front.
"I'm here!" she gasps, as she stumbles towards the table and takes her seat on my middle right. "Sorry I'm late! The Transportalponder was on the fritz!" Looking me up and down, she eyes the precious device in my hands. "That's a nice gun, girl. I'll give you five-thousand caps for it," she offers as she starts fiddling with a massive device on her left arm.
GLaDOS's main chassis looms down, and with that singular, glowing optic she cryptically declines, "I'm afraid that Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device is a nontradable piece of property that belongs to the Aperture Science Enrichment Center."
I'm not even surprised that she's here.
"Your loss, girl," the courier shrugs with a smirk as she starts taking off firearms and dropping them on the floor. "If you know how it's built, I could pay you to show me. Got a lab in Big Mountain, that'd work."
Again, GLaDOS has to interject. "It is with deep regret that I inform you that all… 'valued' employees of Aperture Science Enrichment Center remain in the… 'protective care' of Aperture Science Enrichment Center."
Scoffing, the courier grumbles, "You're a real deadbeat bot, bot."
"Oh, I'm not dead. Everyone else is, but I'm not," she warns before pulling back up. "Not for a lack of trying on someone's part."
The door behind me squeaks open. Turning my neck, I see a woman with short red hair, glowing red eyes, and radiating scars all over her face step through. "I found the place," she speaks into some sort of glowing orange hologram device on her wrist. "I'll radio in when I've won. Shepard out."
"Ah, Commander Shepard!" the commodore applauds as he waddles towards her. "We've reserved your seat, and the Owner has already taken care of the Reapers finding you issue. You're safe here at the Inventory!"
Smirking, stodes past him and whistles to the bartender lady. "Hey sweetcheeks, the savior of the galaxy needs the strongest you've got!" she orders as she takes her seat on my middle left, right next to Courier Six.
"I've seen some ugly fucks in the Mojave, but goddamn, woman," the courier whistles out of pure shock. "Do we even want to know what happened to you?" she chuckles as she eyes the commander's… glowing personality.
"Do we want to know how many guns can fit up your rectum?" the renegade threatens, cracking her knuckles for emphasis..
"She died and was brought back to life," GLaDOS reveals. "Something that the both of you seem to have in common. Maybe you two could bond over that unique relationship with a duel to determine who can die more permanently. It would be a very… telling experience."
The courier remains undaunted. "No offense, scarface, but I took a bullet to the head. I can take a little bitchy attitude," she scoffs.
I haven't been in contact with other humans for more than five minutes, and already I'm starting to remember why I was an introvert. Companion Cube always said the right thing.
"Excuse me! Missus Bartender Lady Ma'am!" the courier calls to the woman in need of less makeup. "A vodka if you don't mind? No rocks."
"Bitch drink for a bitch girl," the commander shoots.
"I know how to hogtie and crucify you," the courier warns as she taps her helmet. "The centurion wearing this baby was trying."
"I'd pay to see that," a new voice states. "And I don't even use money."
We all look down at the table to see a small hole open up on my far right. Out rises a small, seemingly portable projection unit. And the projection happens to be a small, seemingly nude blue girl with data streams running through her being.
"Why didn't I get the sexy CPUs?" the courier whistles.
"You can look, but you can't touch," the new girl states. Quite literally.
GLaDOS lowers herself over the table. "Ladies, it is with great pleasure I introduce to you: Cortana. A fellow supercomputer."
As if my chances of overcoming my innate desire to destroy computers wasn't bad enough.
"Ugh, more AI. Like my chances at destroying the Reapers weren't bad enough," Shepard groans.
"Good to have such a warm reception," the AI scoffs.
The bartender approaches and gruffly slams the glasses down at the two women's side. She's got bite for someone who's just there to shuffle kidney poison. Reaching down, she collects the courier's stash of firearms and takes them back to the bar, attitude laced in each step.
"Bitch," the two women grunt at the same time.
"Eeey!" the courier declares with a smile. "Hive mind!"
"I was referring to you," Shepard shoots as she downs the whole glass in one go.
"Son of a-" grunting, the courier grabs her drink and manages to get half way down before spewing out the rest. Hacking, coughing, wheezing, she makes all of the worst noises.
"Like I said," Shepard chuckles with a role of her eyes.
A sudden series of gunshots interrupts the brewing fight as the door bursts open. A little girl with a scraggly boycut and handgun bursts through. "Walkers!" she shouts. "Could someone help me, PLEAS?!" she demands as she starts bouncing against the door as it is repeatedly assaulted by what I can only deduce are these "walkers."
"However did your species manage to survive?" she sighs as the door in question is quickly locked down with grade four titanium plating. The muffled banging is interrupted with muffled turret fire.
"Thanks!" the little girl breathes as she pops a new magazine into her gun. "Sorry about that. Walkers tend to do that whenever the plot needs advancing," she explains as she collects herself and holsters her pistol.
The three other women murmur and nod in understanding. I'm more interested in how a tiny child is being allowed to play poker in a bar setting.
"It's good to see you're still alive, Clementine!" the commodore states as he breathes a sigh of relief. Frowning, he scolds, "But the Owner specifically requested that you not bring the rest of your universe with you on these trips."
Grunting, the young girl shuffles over to our table. "I'll work on it," she remarks as she places a jar full of grey ooze on the table. "Here's my buy-in, one can of walker guts, as we negotiated," she declares as she gets comfortable.
Everyone gasps and ogles the supposed prize.
Rolling her eyes, the commander groans, "Because of repetitive script writing, I'm compelled to believe I could use that to fight the Reapers," she groans as she slouches in her seat. "We already have undead fuckers to kill."
"I'd kill to study that shit in my lab," the courier remarks. But she quickly realizes that she said that outloud. "Present company excluded! Don't worry!"
"You with your post-nuclear apocalypse laboratory?" Cortana remarks as she stretches her arms. She's a hologram, why would she even need to stretch? "You'd be lucky if you could even check its chemical makeup with a periodic table."
"Well then," the commodore gruffly begins. "Since we're all here, we may begin with the rest of the buy-ins. The usual is twenty-thousand dollars cash, but the Inventory is more than happy to accommodate the occasional foreign exchange." Grumbling, he murmurs, "One of the side effects of the Omnidimensional Trade Law."
Bringing up her wrist-mounted device, the courier asks, "I'm good for it. What's the cap to dollar ratio?"
The cap to dollar ratio?
"The cap to dollar ratio?" the commodore asks in an equal amount of confusion.
Pushing a button, the courier causes an entire mountain of small, red bottle caps to appear out of thin air; and the whole supply collapses on the table, streams pouring over onto the floor.
"Courier SIX!" the commodore shrieks as we all flail our arms, save for Cortana who has been buried completely, in an attempt to avoid getting buried. "Remove your garbage at ONCE!"
"If only they were bullets!" Cortana laughs. "The Covenant would be cashed out with that!"
"For a super computer, you possess an annoying amount of humor," GLaDOS spites.
"That's because you deleted yours," Cortana fires back with a cocky grin. "How about you delete system thirty-two while you're at it?"
And just as quickly as they came, the bottle caps disappear, thankfully!
"How interesting," GLaDOS comments. "Your pip boy is one of the most fascinating pieces of technology I've ever laid optics on. How sad that slimy lumps of flesh can use them with such disregard."
"What the hell, Six?!" Shepard grunts as she picks a cap out of her hair. Tossing it to the ground, she murmurs, "If I wanted to get swarmed, I would've stayed in the Collectors' base."
"I wish I could summon supplies out of thin air," Clementine laments. "These days, a few bullets is worth getting shot for."
I think I know who's going to be the downer in this group.
"Okay, sorry!" the courier apologizes. "I'm guessing that ratio is at a zero, so how about this?" With a few more seconds of fiddling, she summons a mysterious suitcase, metallic and small.
"It's a magical plot device that can somehow bring life to a zone that has no life," the courier explains. "They call it a Garden of Eden Creation Kit, simply known as a geck."
"THAT, we can deal with," the commodore agrees. "Courier Six will buy in with the most prized, pre-war piece of technology that humanity has ever known. How about you, Cortana?"
"I don't really have use for money, so how about knowledge?" she wagers, briefly showing us a massive wall of text in what appears to be an alien language. "Of how super weapons were built, of how an ancient civilization rose and fell, of how humanity encountered aliens and struggled to save a dying future?"
"Sounds like a good read," Clementine chips in with a nod.
"Sounds like it's already been done," Shepard scoffs as she leans back. "And I think I did it better."
"Yeah, well I think we did it first," Cortana shoots back as she closes the database. "And if I'm not mistaken, that's usually grounds for a lawsuit."
Commander Shepard grumbles into submission, scars radiating a glowing red before subsiding.
I'm starting to miss Companion Cube. She never did anything weird.
"The Inventory accepts this historical data as a suitable buy-in!" the commodore declares as he plugs a USB into Cortana's port. "I'll just take a copy for the tournament." Looking to our glowing red friend, he asks, "And Commander Shepard? What's your buy-in?"
"Yeah, where I come from? We all use credits," the commander states as she cranes her neck to the bartender. "Another one, sweet cheeks! And if you've got anything green, I'll take that too!" Looking back to the table, she decides, "Credits won't cut it, so I decided to bring this."
And onto the table falls a small, paperback booklet.
"What makes everyone's reading material so valuable?" the courier wonders aloud. "I mean, sure, in the Mojave we all know that intact, pre-war material is super valuable, but still."
"This, ladies," the commander boasts. "Is the REAL ending to my third game."
Oh.
"Fascinating," Cortana murmurs. "I've always wondered."
"As have I," GLaDOS admits. "While the thought of artificial intelligent child figures completely screwing humanity over is an enticing and amusing way to bring about the collapse of organic life, I must admit that it was rather underwhelming."
"Oh, video games." Sighing, Clementine recalls, "I kind of remember those. Most of them were stupid." But at the sight of everyone glaring at her, she stands firm. "I said 'most' not 'all,' okay?"
Squinting, the commander slowly remarks, "You're not the first child figure to piss me off."
For a small child, she sure is an odd one. I can only assume those "Walkers" have something to do with that.
"Very well!" the commodore decides. "Commander Shepard's buy-in will be the REAL ending to her last game!" Turning to me, he asks, "And for you, madam?"
I suppose this is what the portal gun is for. Setting it on the table, I sit back and relax. Today's going to be a relaxing day. Probably filled with fanservice, but it's not life-threatening so I'm not going to complain.
"Okay, girls. Let's play some Skillian Five poker!" the commander whoops as the bartender places a red drink at her side. "Eh, better than the blue ending," she observes before downing the entire drink.
"The name of the game is actually Texas Hold'em, no limits," GLaDOS corrects as the table's center opens up, and the whole platform tilts inward. Our precious buy-ins are no more. "I'll just hold onto these," she greedily decides as the table reverts to its original form. "For safe keeping."
"Suuure," Cortana scoffs as a mechanical board pops out and dispense our chips. "And I'm only deteriorating because I feel like it."
Coming down over the table, GLaDOS announces, "The winner of the tournament shall collect the exotic bounty of: A jar of walking dead biology, perfect for examination and potentially a cure for the fallen mankind; the real ending to the third cross species fornication simulator of a trilogy series about cross species fornicating-"
"Fuuuck you," the commander grumbles as she motions for another drink.
The courier is quite amused. It's been a long time since I've heard someone laugh so joyously.
GlaDOS continues, "The courier's Garden of Eden Creation Kit, perfect for bringing life back into a desolated world; Cortana's entire database of her world's history, perfect for writing mediocre fan fiction; and the Aperture Science Enrichment Center's Handheld Duel Portal Device."
"And if we're more interested in practical things like food and weapons?" Clementine asks as the chips are dispensed from popup panels in the table.
"All winnings may be exchanged for appropriate value," GlaDOS answers as I start stacking my chips by value. "And if worse comes to worse, the Enrichment Center offers sufficient pay and marvelous health benefits to all employees."
Eyeing my boss with more suspicion than interest, the young child slowly nods. "Maybe. Probably not, thanks."
"Very well," GLaDOS concedes. The last thing that machine needs is more humans to care for. "Ladies, of all ages, colors, and backgrounds: Lady's Night at the Inventory is now in session. May the least moronic win."
And with that, the first round of cards are dealt.
Part one of three. Feedback is welcome, and the second part will be out in a few days.
