In Plain Sight
It wasn't like they were not there to see it.
They were all present when she was given the news, and her lips tightened in such a thin line they hurt. They heard her refusal, spoken with greater force by her face – it rang clear in the air, without ambiguity.
She never hid, to any of them, how much she hated being ignored. She had no need to mince her words, and never put reins on her menacing tone. But they had orders to follow, and they did nothing more than registering it all.
They walked behind her when she visited the labs, and left an uneasy aura in her wake. They observed her gestures as they split the air in half, with growing nervousness, until they burst in an icy refusal – she would not pay attention to a project she wanted nothing to do with, oh, no. She was crystal clear about that. And they lead on without answering, protected by their silence.
When her rage sprang like a river and flooded Aperture, they did not move a finger. They followed its evolution into frustration, nevrosis and intense fear, still bound by their firm prohibition to do anything about it. They worked according to plan, and her emotional involvement was not to be considered.
Her secretary caught her crying in the toilet. Her wails were loud enough to break the barrier of the soundproof door. She came out fifteen minutes later, with mascara dripping from her lashes. It was true – she never dared wear her make-up any less than perfect. But he saw it.
None of them was absent when the time came. They all went to see her off, embarking in a journey no human being had dared consent to. Her eyes were drained, with no pain left to cry out, and screaming for help. No one focused on them.
They were never far from her, while the change happened. Everyone could see.
They would have been saved, maybe, if even just one of them had paid attention.