Synopsis: After the events of Portal (1), Chell awakens in her cryo-chamber but instead of getting moved directly to the testing track, she escapes. As she makes her escape, she discovers things about Aperture. It seems that beneath its not-so-innocent top layer is something even darker. No one is who they seem or claim to be, and the crimes of some were actually committed by another. Chell can dance to the fire, but can she handle the heat?
I suppose I'm making this fic to challenge some of the theories people have about what really happened in the past.
What do we really know about Caroline? Suppose she wasn't quite the nice and meek person we think she is? What really happened to Cave Johnson? What's in those Weighted Storage Cubes? Who really set off the neurotoxin that wiped out most of the facility? And etc.
Fairly AU and will probably contain spoilers for both Portal 1 and 2, whose content and characters belong to Valve.
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You could hear it echo in the cryo-chamber. They spoke in quiet terms, faces pressed against the glass, stained by the subtle tones of their skin.
"She may sleep forever, but I find security in knowing she will one day wake," the man sighed.
"You did all you could," his companion consoled. "At least she's still alive."
They remained there for a time, in silhouettes a lean figure and a stout friend.
"I just hope she doesn't pry into those weighted storage cubes. From what I've seen, her heart's not too steady. Curiosity is quite the vice."
"Curiosity… is not such a bad thing," he countered. "I've lived a good many years; I've seen things. She didn't demonstrate the slightest twitches of surprise that our delightfully devious machine host had insincere intentions. I do believe she's prepared for what's inside those storage vaults."
"…Or is she?"
In a voice so meticulously quiet, it was like the faint ticking of a silver watch: "Our little bird will spread those broken wings someday…"
Love whispers softly but assertively. Strong words crush strong doubts.
And the gaunt man… He would never give up hope, never let that insidious spider spin its final strand of despair around his hopeful heart.
His thoughts turned to those crucial seconds before. A flash of faith it was, that button, a furtive fuse that breathed life back into the lone inhabitant of Relaxation Chamber 0343. And now, the deed done, the muttering man was free to let his fleeting heart flutter slower, slower.
A mother scolds, but a father grieves. Love isn't choosy: flesh or metal, it's all the same.
The soft rise and fall of her inert body gave the man strength. His clenched, age-weathered hands loosening gave the cube relief.
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"…So I tell him 'thanks, good sir, sorry for ruining your, ah, wallpaper. Never… never liked daffodils anyway.' But then—then d'you know what. It turns out oh, he's dead. The whole time. Could'a said something at the start, couldn't he? Just brilliant, just—bloody brilliant. I'm never getting out. Of here. Am I? Well so long and thanks for all the—the—"
The metal core paused as he was cutting a sharp curve on his rail, his swiveling optic receding with apprehension. Red eyes glared at him: pinpricks of blood dotting an undulating wall of cold steel.
The queen was dead but her eyes watched on.
"…Fish?"
Cautiously, the core plunged into reverse, his one eye no match for the hundreds that hid beneath their paneling.
"S-sorry what? I was only doing what you—you told me to. Attending to the cryo-subjects. Heh yeah, that's me—good old obedient little Wheatley. Just doing his job. Just doing what sh-she told me to."
Wheatley eyed the block of relaxation vaults meaningfully. Only one more section to search and the whole perimeter would be secured.
Receiving no response, he proceeded to continue on his way toward the vaults, occasionally flipping his optic back to sneak a glance at the panels. Their ever-gazing eyes focused on him all the while. Not creepy at all.
How he hated the damned things! Of all of the opprobrious mechanisms in Aperture – the confining Management Rail, the sentry turrets who shot at anything that as much twitched – he detested those wall panels the most. Simply disgraceful really!
The core turned another corner, surveying the layout of boxy cryo-chambers clumsily stacked together like slabs of fetid meat in a processing plant. Circles of light illuminating the vaults indicated status: red if the inhabitant was dead, green if he or she still lived.
Wheatley eyed the sole beacon of green amongst the thousands of scarlet beads. He wondered briefly if it wasn't some asinine joke his coworkers were playing on him again. Didn't seem terribly likely that anyone would be still alive now.
"Alright, I just—I just waltz in like I know what I'm doing. Which I do. Deal with the human. Then escape. Easy plan—easy four-part plan right there. Ahm. Well here goes… something."
And with that pep talk out of the way, he approached the lone vault and activated the switch that would circulate consciousness back into the chamber's lone inhabitant.
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The girl slept; slept for how long, she didn't know. But when she awoke, she discovered that her world had faded to grey.
Stiff limbs and a jarringly jovial voice greeted her. She forced herself into an upright position, feeling as if every bone and every patch of skin were substituted for cold metal.
Her surroundings were bleak and rather dimly cast: a high contrast to the cheerful tones of an automated announcer.
"You have been in suspension for nine nine nine nine…"
She tuned the voice out and carefully stretched. Her long arms brushed against age-worn wall peelings; her legs rested by the ruffled sheets of her bed.
As her limbs gradually ceased to feel cold and numb, she began to hear an incessant voice from the exterior of her room. It sounded slightly more human than the voices she was accustomed to hearing in Aperture. It also called up a curious recollection, which confused her: where could she possibly be recognizing it from?
"…Anytime? Anytime at all would be just fantastic. I mean, you know, it's not as if I've got hundreds of thousands of frozen test subjects waiting for me or anything. Not like this whole facility is going to collapse. No rush. At all. I can just wait here. Forever—forever waiting for you to open the door."
She edged toward the door, hearing the wretched whir of machinery, the piteous slicing of sparks echoing off the walls outside. She snatched the door knob and twisted it open.
"Finally! I do thi—Oh God what have you done to yoursel—I mean… Everything's fine, you look fine, everything's… Just don't panic!"
The heavy door made to swing shut, but the girl jammed her foot by the doorframe, her arms outstretched to brace herself as the door slammed into her right boot. Her foot throbbed with hellish fire but she held steady.
The metal construct who had so casually invited himself into the room paused to stare at her as she stood, her right foot propping open the room's door. His optic cast a disquieting blue glow over everything. Awash with deep cerulean, the room was like the sanctuary of some skulking sea demon on the prowl.
The metal thing spoke uncertainly. "What're you—Where are you going?"
Suddenly, the girl had shoved the door aside, stumbled out the door, and took to the outer catwalks. And it was there that she ran, ran like the whole world was upon her heels. She was a precarious drop of seawater plinking into a cup, stirring up its contents and sloshing up a chaotic whirlpool of hidden turrets dropping on either side of the catwalk.
Amid cries of "Come back! Please do! I'm only trying to help!" and the mechanical pleas of the turrets, the girl made her escape. She didn't trust what that robotic menace had in store for her, not after being forced to deal some permanent damage to that megalomaniacal supercomputer.
Hopping past yet another curve, her keen eyes flicked to her right and spotted a jutting panel. Quickly, she rolled behind it, tucking her legs into the small, claustrophobic den. She gasped like a dying fish for breath, supporting herself against a dust-ridden office desk.
Heavy footsteps clunked wildly from outside. The grinding of each step seemed to complement the frantic cries of the immobile sentry turrets.
Aperture was quite the spoiled child, never wanting to let her go. She broke one of its toys, now it was sending another in its rage. Would it never learn to let go of that futile wish to preserve what never had a chance anyway?
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Would very much appreciate any reviews to help me fix things or let me know how I'm doing so far!