He awoke in a cheap hotel room.
One that looked as if it'd barely survived a large quake.
Much of the furniture was broken, with doors hanging off hinges, a mini-fridge that wouldn't stay latched, and pieces of crumbled plaster scattered across the floor. Light fixtures dangled or had completely snapped, in some cases leaving wiring exposed. Over in the corner was a potted plant that had been reduced to a sickly twig. There was a wooden desk at the foot of the bed that looked to have partially collapsed, and a barely-standing chair by the window. If you could even call it a window anymore, it was so filthy that it was impossible to see anything on the outside.
Overall, the state of the room hinted at a recent disaster, or tremendous neglect. Damn near unlivable if he was honest! Had he slept through the apocalypse? Why did his head hurt? It bothered him that he couldn't answer any of those.
In fact, he was having trouble remembering a great deal of things. Simple things, like his name. Who was he? Where had he come from? At the very least, he should be able to answer that, but he couldn't, and that was upsetting.
He laid there for a moment, fighting for full consciousness when he heard a muffled voice in the background.
"Good morning! You have been in suspension for-"
Suspension, what was that all about?
All he wanted to do was roll back over and drift back to sleep for a couple of centuries. His eyelids were heavy and his body felt so fatigued and heavy that even moving was a chore. Just as well, he was so dizzy that it felt as if his head might fall backward through the pillow. It was the kind of thing that seemed physically impossible until you actually experienced it for yourself, like being simultaneously hungry and full.
He found himself straining to focus his vision; squinting only helped a little bit, and if he did it for too long his eyes would get sore. That could likely be attributed to the exhaustion, at least in part.
Trying to sit up was a huge mistake, as he was immediately overwhelmed and flopped back on the bed, taking deep breaths to avoid passing out or throwing up, or any combination of the two.
Not the best way to start the day.
"In compliance with federal and state regulations, all testing candidates in the Aperture Science long-term relaxation centre must be revived periodically for a mandatory physical and mental-wellness exercise!"
Exercise. Right. Item one on the list of things that were absolutely never going to happen! They'd have to physically come in here and drag him out've bed, perhaps resort to posing him like a rag doll or attaching strings to some of his limbs. He honestly doubted he could manage on his own right now.
"You will hear a buzzer." The voice explained. "When you hear the buzzer, look up at the ceiling."
As promised, a loud noise cut through the small room, making him cringe. God, he hoped that wasn't going to happen again. Lucky for him, he was flat on his back and there was not much to do from there but look up.
It was then he noticed a metal rail – mounted to the ceiling – that ran from just above his bed over to the door to the room. What an odd fixture for a hotel. What could it possibly be used for?
"Good." The announcer's voice pulled him back from his thoughts. "You will hear a buzzer. When you hear a buzzer, look down at the floor."
Again, the buzzer rang out, further aggravating his headache. He supposed he might as well try rolling over; at least that way if he threw up it wouldn't get on the bed, or on him. That would be disgusting and probably make him want to vomit even more, triggering a vicious cycle that would make him feel even more miserable than he already did.
The simple act of turning his head intensified the dizziness, and he had to take a moment to let it subside before he was able to successfully flip onto his side. As far as he was concerned, that was more than enough exercise for one day.
"Good. This completes the gymnastic portion of your mandatory physical and mental-wellness exercise."
He sighed gratefully.
"There is a framed painting on the wall. Please go stand in front of it."
No, thank you. He'd much rather go back to sleep, if that was at all an option. He was fairly certain that if he attempted to stand up right now, he'd collapse and black out on the floor. How did head-turning qualify as gymnastics, but not walking?
That didn't make any sense. Nothing made sense! They should just let him nod off for a while and wake him up again when his life had sorted itself out. Then he'd go home and carry on with his life. Wherever home was. Did he have one?
While he lay there, the buzzer sounded again, as if to berate him for taking such a long time. He whimpered, and tried to cover his head with a pillow. The bedding had a very musty, sweaty sort of smell but he ignored it because it was between him and the floor, and that's all he needed.
He tried ignoring the buzzer as well but it would periodically go off again and again, as if it were trying to tell him to hurry up. It was hard to get much rest under those conditions. He had no idea how long that cycle went on for, but it did absolutely nothing for his headache. Sleep was out've the question, no matter how tired he was. It made him want to cry!
At some point, he did try to stand up, only to collapse onto the floor like his legs were made of jello. He remembered the mechanics of walking – that is, he remembered how he was supposed to do it, but for some reason was having substantial difficulty putting that knowledge into practice.
Dark spots danced at the edges of his vision, and his skin felt cool and clammy. Well, there was no going back now. He highly doubted he'd be able to pull himself back up onto the bed again. The sheets didn't allow him to get a proper grip.
The best he could manage was to lean against the bed and let his head rest on the mattress.
Why hadn't someone come along and found him? Was anyone even looking for him? Was it just coincidence? Bad luck? Or had he made enemies? Why wouldn't he remember something important like that? The more he thought about it, the more hopeless and frightened he felt. What in the bloody hell had happened to him? What if he never got out? He didn't want to be stuck in this place by himself!
He didn't want to die!
The sound of quiet sobbing accompanied the buzzer, and warm tears streamed down his face.
The painting was only a few feet away, but it might as well have been a mile. Couldn't they have hung it just a bit lower, and closer to where he sat? That would've been brilliant!
Unfortunately, there was nobody in the room with him to make that happen. Looking up at it from the floor had apparently not satisfied who or whatever was responsible for that awful buzzer – and he can't say he was surprised. The voice had said to go and stand in front of the painting – standing had been an explicit part of the instruction – so it was apparent that standing was a requirement to progress.
It was beginning to look like he really would be stuck here on the floor for an eternity. Not that he had any immediate objections to keeping still, if it would save him from losing his last meal, whenever that had been.
As if on cue, his stomach gurgled noisily.
He hated feeling so vulnerable.
"Hello? Anyone in there?"
He jolted awake before he could slide off the bed, instinctively flinging one arm over the mattress to catch himself. When had he fallen asleep? The buzzer wasn't blasting him anymore, either due to technical difficulties or the party responsible for triggering it had taken a break, or given up completely – not that he was complaining. A moment's peace was better than nothing.
He yawned, using his free hand to rub the sleep from his eyes, noticing that he felt much better than he had earlier. He was still fatigued, but it felt less like his muscles had forgotten how to work and more like he was tired from running a marathon. Hardly ideal, but it was a drastic improvement. His headache was all but gone, and he didn't feel very nauseous or dizzy anymore, but he was a little bit hungry. Also, it sounded like someone had been knocking at the door not a moment ago. Curious, he got up and moved to answer it, stumbling over debris on the way. Maybe someone had found him and brought food? He could always hope!
The door was wedged in an awkward position, making it extremely difficult for him to get it open. Pulling harder only caused the metal handle to break away. He tried using that to pry the remaining wooden slab away from the frame, but only managed to get it wedged in the gap. It wouldn't do him any good that way.
He sighed, and allowed his arms to drop to his sides in defeat. There had to be some other object in this room that he could use.
One of the drawers was stuck partially open, so he started by feeling around inside there and uncovered a pen and a water-damaged notepad. The logo on which was so faded that he could only make out two letters: A-p. The rest of it was blotted out. The pen was dark green, with a gold coloured trim. It was far too light to be anything but cheap, and it didn't even write anymore. The ink must've been used up – or dried out, a long time ago. Both were discarded. He looked through some of the other drawers – or what was left of them – but didn't find anything else of interest.
There was nothing on or in the mini-fridge he could salvage, and even if there had been food or liquid in it, he doubted it would've stayed fresh for very long. There was a microwave sitting on top, but he didn't really want to mess with it. Finally, he paused in front of the rickety old chair. It seemed like it might fall apart if he put weight on it, and a quick jiggle confirmed that the screws in the wood were just barely hanging on. If he wanted to, he could rip off a piece.
He couldn't help but notice that he was standing in front of the painting now, and laughed to himself as he stood up from leaning over the chair. He couldn't imagine doing this before, and he doubted that any of the furniture would support him well enough to keep him from falling over if he'd needed to resort to that.
Not to mention, the room seemed so much smaller now. Perhaps it was his height. Had he always been this tall?
"This is art. You will hear a buzzer. When you hear the buzzer. Stare at the art."
Yet again, the buzzer sounded, followed by an audible ticking noise. So he "stared" at the painting – admittedly not getting much from it. The frame was crooked, and the image it contained illustrated a dark, spooky landscape. He wasn't sure he liked the look of it. Had he ever had an appreciation for art? Was he even the creative type?
Why did they want him to look at it anyway? Was he supposed to remember something about it and impress somebody with his knowledge of art later?
The buzzer sounded again, making him jump a little. So that was definitely back. He feared that if they kept it up, trying to deafen him all willy-nilly like this, his headache might return with a vengeance!
"You should now feel mentally invigorated. If you suspect staring at art has not provided the required intellectual sustenance, reflect briefly on this classical music."
He rolled his eyes. Well, at least this was better than-
*BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT*
"Good. Now please return to your bed."
He scoffed. NOW they were sending him back to bed? He was beginning to feel tired again, but that didn't make this situation any less ridiculous. He was beginning to wonder if someone hadn't put him here on purpose. Either way, he was happy to flop back down on the bed.
After a decently long rest, he woke up to a growling stomach.
There was no robotic "good morning", or any sudden noises to startle him this time – which was preferable. Except for the state of the hotel room, it would've been easy to convince himself that it had all been a dream. There had been no annoying buzzer, no voice, and nobody trying to torture him into doing gymnastics. Just a disaster area – although that by itself was still mildly disconcerting.
The front door was still stuck closed, so he tried the one place he hadn't thought to look yet – the bathroom. It was in just as poor a state, littered with tiny bottles of what had once been soap and shampoo. All of them had since evaporated or solidified – depending on the bottle. The toilet bowl was cracked and filthy. Flushing proved to be fruitless with no water left in the toilet bowl, instead it caused the plumbing to groan and protest.
There was a badly cracked mirror on the wall, so he only saw random fragments of his reflection. Pale skin, light brown hair, and orange clothing. He hadn't been paying much attention until then, but he was wearing an orange jumpsuit that seemed just a bit too small for him. It's sleeves ended at mid-forearm, and the pants only reached his calves. He didn't have shoes or socks.
The sink barely produced any water, but what came out had a brownish, rusty tinge, so he didn't even touch it. In the end, he ended up wiping his hands on his pant legs – like any other fellow caught without a bottle of hand sanitizer – and decided to carry on until he could find some other way.
The door was still stuck the way he'd left it, with what had once been the handle so tightly wedged that he didn't think he'd be able to get it out. That left the chair. With any luck the wood wouldn't break before he could get the damn door open!
Pulling apart the broken chair was more difficult than he'd anticipated, as even the loose screws proved to be a hindrance. He received a few superficial scratches and nicks but eventually managed to break off a leg – not his, the chair's. That would've been horrendous and probably – definitely – painful.
Returning to the door, he experimented with different configurations, and finally found a crack that looked big enough to jam a piece of wood into. It wasn't quite enough, so he went back and forth between the chair and the door, breaking off more pieces of wood. It wasn't until he'd managed to work five or six of them into the cracks that he became annoyed, resorting to punching, kicking, and even running at it.
Finally, the door buckled, and he was able to pull it down. He sighed, wiping some sweat off his forehead with the back of one hand. He definitely couldn't have done this earlier. His legs were beginning to feel wobbly again as it was.
With the way clear, he proceeded to take his first look outside of the hotel room. What he found made him wish that he'd stayed inside.
Normally, when you stroll out of a room, you'd probably expect to find a hallway. That's what he thought as well, but what he got was absolutely, 100% NOT a hallway!
The whole hotel room had been neatly (but only in the metaphorical sense) packed into a metal shipping container. Said container was currently suspended over the deepest pit he ever recalled seeing in his life. Not that he could confirm that with any accuracy at the moment, because his memory was a complete fog.
Just looking at it made him feel wobbly and unstable, so he clung tightly to the doorframe to avoid tumbling into the abyss. He couldn't find the bottom, and didn't bother trying to guess either. How was the container being held up anyway? There was a lot of rust on the box-
Now he was feeling sick again.
There was a metal catwalk that lead from the container to a large, circular port across the way, but that involved crossing the pit of death. On the other hand, if he stayed here he'd be at the mercy of the heavy container that hovered over the pit of death, until it decided to fall into the pit of death with him in it.
So it was the pit of death, or the pit of death...
At least the catwalk lead to somewhere that looked less like the pit of death. There didn't appear to be any other way...
Firmly grasping the handrails on both sides of the catwalk, he inched along at a snail's pace, freezing like a deer in the headlights whenever metal creaked or groaned under his weight. He said a silent prayer that the whole thing didn't buckle and doom him to the pit of death.
Fortunately, the catwalk held. He was immeasurably glad that it was stronger than it looked!
After an eternity, he reached the door, and was greeted by stark white tiles as he stepped inside. This new room was much bigger than the hotel room, with a high ceiling and no windows, save for one that was situated high enough on the wall that it was effectively unreachable. It was also frosted, so he couldn't clearly see what lay beyond it. Near as he could tell, there didn't appear to be anyone back there – unless they were ducking down to avoid being seen.
Something about the room made him feel self conscious, and he held his arms close to his body as he felt a very slight chill in the air. He was being watched.
Suddenly, the door behind him slammed shut with a bang, nearly causing him to jump out've his own skin.
With the way he'd come in now blocked, he frantically began looking for another exit. Aside from the frosted window – there was no other opening to the outside world. None of the white tiles seemed to have cracks or gaps he could use to pry them loose, and even if there were, he had nothing to pry them with. He couldn't even climb up to the window, because the walls offered no form of grip or foothold.
So he was trapped.
Trapped was better than the pit of death, but not by much.
He backed up against a wall, desperately trying to calm himself and think! There had to be some way out, right? He couldn't be stuck in a hermetically sealed room for the rest of his life, could he? Maybe the wall would pop open and someone would yell "Surprise! I made it all up! I only pretended I was going to murder you.", and then confetti would rain down from somewhere.
But nothing moved. No walls. No confetti.
As he waited for some means of escape to make itself apparent, the familiarity of the situation struck him. Rooms filled with sterile white tiles, heavy circular doors, orange jumpsuits – his head started to hurt as he strained to remember. One thing was for certain though, all of these details were connected.
Just then, another synthesized voice rang out in the chamber – this time, female, and for a second or two, he forgot how to breathe.
"Hello, Moron."
He held his knees to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible.
"I suppose you're looking for some kind of explanation as to why you're here."
He knew that voice...
"There were quite a few things I wanted to do with you, but let's just say my curiosity got the better of me. Don't worry though, we'll still get to all of that-"
He knew her. Why did he know her?
"-But first, let's play a little game." A large chunk of white tile sunk into the ground in front of him, and in it's place a big, circular red button popped up. "You do remember buttons, don't you?"
Did he? He definitely recalled seeing buttons like this before, and there had been quite a few of them.
Don't do it.
Why were buttons important?
Yes! Do do it!
His head was pounding...
Don't press that button!
Should he press it?
No! I forbid you to press it!
Would something bad happen if he did? Now he felt sick again.
Press it! Press the button!
Did something happen before?
DO NOT PRESS IT!
It might be a way out've this room. There was nothing else...
PRESS IT!
Stumbling forward, he put his weight on the button. Across the room, some wall panels folded back to reveal a hallway.
An exit!
Huh... he thought he'd checked everywhere. Then again, the button hadn't been revealed until now. As he made his way towards the exit, he stepped off of the button, and the panels folded right back into place. Suddenly, there was a loud *CLUNK* from just behind him, and he spun round to find a huge grey cube on the floor.
"Oops, that one almost hit you, didn't it? My bad. I'll try harder next time."
He shivered. Well, that wasn't ominous at all, was it? Who was this person, and why were they so nonchalant about dropping heavy objects on him? After fumbling around for several minutes, he'd confirmed that the door would only be accessible if his weight was on the button. How maddening!
Then of course, there was that cube. Was it heavy enough to keep the button down? He tried picking it up but couldn't support it's weight and toppled backward. The cube landed heavily on his chest, winding him.
Right, that was out. Mental note: cubes are heavy. Avoid being crushed by one.
Sliding the cube proved to be exhausting and unproductive. In the end he opted to roll it, and with one final heave, it flopped over onto the button. Once again, the exit made itself known – followed by a slow, sharp clapping.
"Congratulations! You've finally completed the first test." The voice spoke up again, sounding less than enthusiastic.
"Unfortunately it was a below average-performance for test subjects of your age and fitness bracket. Most subjects were able to complete this chamber in two minutes or less. You, on the other hand, completed it in nineteen minutes and thirty four seconds. That's nearly ten times longer than the average. Not that this is a competition. If it were, you'd be winning at taking the longest time to figure out a simple test."
Embarrassed, but too tired from the physical exertion to do much about it, he reluctantly trudged on to the next area, where a large pneumatic tube ran from the floor into the ceiling. Inside it was a cylindrical capsule he presumed was an elevator.
"The elevator will take you to the next test chamber. Mind the gap."
No kidding. There was a small space between the elevator and the wall of the glass tube that allowed him to see below, but he couldn't tell just how far down it went. He swallowed a lump in his throat and boarded. The glass tube sealed shut and up went the elevator with a lurch, causing him to scramble for something to hold onto.
In moments it stopped at the next floor, and the tube re-opened, allowing him to stumble back out.
"This next test will be more difficult than the last. Just remember what you did in the previous chamber, and apply that knowledge to the current test."
At the far side of the room, he saw another door behind a wall of glass. On either side of it were another cube and button – also surrounded by glass enclosures.
This was going to take a while.
Far off in the central-AI chamber, GLaDOS hung from her usual perch, monitoring the second test chamber as her latest "subject" desperately tried to complete the test. She knew that in a couple of chambers there'd be an opportunity for him to break one (or more) of his legs – preferably more – and beyond that, he'd need to acquire the handheld portal device if he was to proceed.
She only wished she didn't have to give it to him, but that was a risk she'd have to take if she was to go through with this plan. She hadn't given him long fall boots but that wouldn't become a problem until later. As much as she knew she wasn't supposed to do anything that might skew the test results, she could justify using him as a control.
There was no record of a subject going through the chambers with no boots or advanced knee replacements before, was there?
*BEEP*
Not anymore.
Her last subject had been banished to the surface some time ago, and part of her still resented the stubborn girl for leaving behind such a mess.
Still, no matter how big of a mess Chell had made during her time at the facility, it didn't compare to the extensive damage done by that stupid, chattering little robot when he took over her body. Chell had done some damage – and even tried to murder her on at least one occasion, but Wheatley had nearly killed the three of them, taking the entire facility with them.
If one was a firecracker, the other was a pipe bomb.
A pipe bomb filled with nitroglycerine for good measure.
She'd rebuilt what she could, but certain areas had to be – let's just say they were "improvised" in order to function as they once had – as evidenced by the chamber her subject was currently puzzling out. There had once been a door that lead from the first chamber to the second.
Luckily, she still had plenty of panels at her disposal, as well as a nanobot construction crew. They had been vital to restoring the chambers to proper working order – or as close as they could get given what they had to work with. As brilliant and as all-powerful as she was, GLaDOS had limited mobility, and no arms outside of the robotic ones tucked away under the chamber floor. Not that it bothered her when things were running smoothly – which they most certainly had NOT been lately.
She really hated that moron.
GLaDOS had been eagerly planning the details of his "punishment" before he was sucked out into space during the final confrontation. It was a shame she wouldn't get to throw him in the incinerator, or freeze him in the cryo-wing, or leave him in the room where the robots scream at you – she'd especially been looking forward to that one.
She could've put HIM in a potato battery and given him to one of the birds to stab and peck at. That would've been entertaining as well. But alas, as long as he remained outside the facility, he was outside her grasp.
She couldn't touch him.
What a killjoy.
Of course, she had enough test subjects now to keep her busy for years to come – thanks to Orange and Blue, but she still resented the fact that she hadn't had a chance to make that moron suffer. Oh well.
He'd been able to figure his way through the buttons more quickly this time. The ones in this chamber weren't nearly as large as the first one, and they were mounted on freestanding pedestals of sorts, rather than needing a cube to place on top of each one of them. They didn't even need to be constantly depressed in order to keep the way ahead. That was a plus. Good on whoever designed this room for thinking of that!
Portals were a new element, but for some reason – like the buttons and cubes – they also seemed familiar, as if they were yet another piece to a larger puzzle. Whichever button he pushed caused a portal to open, which he'd then be able to access from another portal that appeared below the ledge he'd climbed down from as he came in.
Behind one of the glass enclosures he recovered a cube, and rolled it through each portal – towards his ultimate goal. He required plenty of breaks to catch his breath, and by the end of the test he was damp with fresh sweat. There was no comment on his handiwork this time, so he just proceeded to the exit, where he was greeted with a second elevator shaft that was identical to the first. Uncomfortable drop and all.
The next chamber was partitioned with a glass wall, on the other side of which was a podium holding a white device that spat out balls of light at regular intervals.
Oh brilliant! You did find the portal gun!
Of course! That's what it was!
No sooner had he recalled that than he was overcome by a splitting headache, and the floor rushed up to meet him.
"Oh brilliant! You did find the portal gun!"
On the opposite side of the crumbling chamber wall, a young woman in an orange jumpsuit was carrying a white gun, which she'd acquired after tumbling down into a partially-flooded maintenance area when the floor gave out beneath her. Only now had she met up with the chattering little robot again, the same one who'd rescued her from the long-term relaxation vault.
"You know what? It just goes to show you-" He chirped. "People with brain damage are the real heroes at the end, aren't they? Brave!"
Just then, an orange portal flickered to life on a stray panel that happened to rest on the floor in front of her.
"Pop a portal on that wall behind me there, and I'll meet you on the other side of the room."
As his eyes cracked open, he was greeted with the gentle ambient hum of the test chamber. He felt strangely energized, like someone had opened a window and allowed the fresh air to waft in so he could breathe easier. As he sat up, something shiny glinted in the corner of his eye. Curious, he scooted over to examine it.
On the floor lay a pair of spectacles, which he fiddled with a bit before trying them on. The difference was night and day! Well, not quite night and day, but he could see finer details like tile edges and the subtle grit to the floor tiles. It was no wonder he'd been scraping himself so much.
He alternated between taking off the glasses and putting them back on a few times to compare and contrast the effects they had on his vision, which in the end were overwhelmingly positive. Granted, pushing large cubes onto conspicuously placed red buttons was hardly precision work, but he still didn't know how he'd gone without for so long. If he'd continued past this point, he may never have suspected something was off. Still though, this was helpful.
He didn't know where the glasses had come from, but as long as they allowed him to get a clearer picture, he wasn't going to bother to ask questions. They fit perfectly as well, not too loose or too tight. It was as if they were made just for him.
The current chamber was more complex than the last, in that it required him to wait for a portal to appear on the wall before he could access it. He took care to steer clear of the ball of light it discharged, not knowing what it would do to him if he got hit by it. With careful timing, he stepped out into the main part of the chamber, and approached the podium.
There lay the portal gun in all its glory, as if it had been waiting for him. Carefully, he lifted it off the podium.
"I see you've acquired the portal device, good job. This is expensive equipment, so try not to break it or you might find yourself stuck in a test chamber." The voice didn't sound happy at all. If he was honest, he thought he detected some venom in the previous statement.
With the gun no longer automatically generating portals on it's own (how had it been doing that anyway?) it would be up to him to get the job done from now on. He was able to locate the trigger and surprised himself with the kickback, but successfully placed a portal on the wall. Now all he'd have to do was learn to aim.