A/N: Stop – read this before reading anything more. This is important!

Have I got your attention?

Good.

This is me, PastSelf, and welcome to Miss Redacted's official sequel, Olympic Gold. However, before you start, there are a few things you need to know. Number one is this: if you haven't read my other story, Miss Redacted, this story will make no sense at all, so go back and read that one first. I'm serious. There are major spoilers for Miss Redacted in this story – well, duh, it is the sequel, after all – and reading this by itself is not the best idea. I repeat, read Miss Redacted first!

Thank you.

Also, this is majorly based on the Portal 2 fanmade mod 'Portal Stories: Mel'. You don't have to play through the game to read this story because – like in my last book – I have added snippets of the game to the story so you know what's going on. If you have played through the game, congratulations on getting through some majorly hard puzzles. If you haven't played it through, as I said, it's not important, but there will be spoilers inside this fanfic. The mod is free on Steam, or you can watch a walkthrough online. (Harry101uk does a fantastic walkthrough, just saying.)

Last thing: when playing Portal Stories: Mel, you can play one of two ways: smart Mel or stupid Mel. Stupid Mel dies a lot, gets all the achievements, and takes the elevator, not the stairs. I'm writing out my version of smart Mel. Challenge mode. That's how smart she is.

That's it. That's all I've got. So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the story. PastSelf out.

Olympic Gold

Chapter One

The Olympian

The year was 1952 and the time was close to midnight, or maybe a little past. The underground tram squeaked and rattled a little as it rode along its rail, but for the most part the ride was smooth. The carriage was empty except for Mel, who was standing up in the middle of the aisle in the back half of the tram, taking deep breaths and trying to stay awake.

She had started the ride seated, but as the ride had proven to be a long one with no major jolts, she had risen from her seat and begun her nighttime stretches. She was alone. Nobody would see and nobody would mind. Best to keep limber. She had no idea what kind of testing she would be doing.

After she had completed her stretches with no change in scenery outside the windows other than more rocks, Mel simply stood with her arms at her sides, trying to suppress her yawns. There she was when the announcement cut in.

There was a jingle from the overhead speakers and a crackle as if someone was tapping a microphone. "Is this thing on?" a man's deep voice asked. "Yeah, okay." He cleared his throat. "Greetings, astronaut, olympian, or war hero. My name is Cave Johnson, and boy do I have something to show you."

As the announcement played, the tram slid out of the stone and concrete tunnel and the view finally changed. Mel could see open stations to the sides filled with scientists, their lab coats flapping below their knees, the round Aperture logo patched onto their backs. The station walls were made out of white and red bricks and Mel could see signs pointing the way to offices. She walked back and forth to each window, her tiredness momentarily gone.

"You're here because you're the best the world has to offer," continued the disembodied voice of Cave Johnson, "and I don't say that lightly, mind you. So take that as one of the biggest compliments you'll ever get in your life. Even if you don't know who I am."

Some sort of red lit storage area flashed by on either side. The tram was moving slowly, so Mel was able to get a good look out both sides before it disappeared.

"In the beginning, I started a shower curtain company making asbestos-laden shower curtains for the military—"

Wait, what? Mel's brow crinkled. Maybe she should have done more research before agreeing to come here.

"—But I kept dreaming bigger and better. And you know what? That dreaming became doing. Lots of doing which brought you here. You're riding into the little Michigan town of… uh… wait." The man seemed to be asking someone else in the room, "Where are we again?" Mel could hear that someone muttering incoherently and Cave Johnson replying, "Uh-huh," before turning back to the microphone. "Okay. So, 'there' still doesn't have a name yet as we're the ones who built it, but that doesn't matter. Point is, you're riding there and you'll soon be at Aperture Science Innovators."

Mel could see a waterfall out the left-hand side of the train and she leaned against the back window to see it as it disappeared. These spectacles, meager as they were, had already captivated her. Chills crept up and down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold of the tram.

"We're still getting some of this stuff together, but there's a lot of science we can do in the meantime. You've been selected from a large group of candidates for a special test in our temporary testing areas," Cave Johnson continued. "When the train arrives at the station, head into the town and into the Aperture Building. Don't worry, you'll know where it is."

The outside closed into yet another tunnel and went around a dark bend.

"You'll get some more prerecorded messages once you're there. Now, get ready to do some science! For now, though, we're going to put on some nice music for you. Enjoy the ride."

Mel leaned back on one of the vertical rails and smiled as the speaker crackled and began to emit music. It was a sweet little tune with a female voice singing. If Aperture Science kept this up with the grand sights and pleasant sounds, it was well on her way to becoming her favorite place.

After about half a minute, another station opened up before her. Mel glanced curiously into one of the open windows of a nearby office and was surprised to see a spurt of gunfire, muffled by the walls. Weapon testing? She didn't remember Aperture being a military sponsored organization. Nothing was going wrong, though. There was a scientist standing right next to one of the weapons. Why was it so low to the ground?

"Alright," Cave Johnson's voice cut back in again as the train jerked to a halt, making Mel stumble. Luckily she was holding onto the support bar, but it was still an unpleasant jolt. "You're now arriving at Aperture Central Stay-shoon. Wait. Chris, get over here." He was talking to another person again. "How do you spell station? Hmm? Okay, think about that for a second. Okay. Does station have an extra 'o' before the 'i'?"

Mel winced a bit as poor Chris was noisily told to pack his bags and get out. What kind of a place was this that fired its employees for a simple spelling error? She felt a little embarrassed as if listening in to a private conversation.

But then the place opened up again and she forgot Cave Johnson's words. The train came to the end of the line, the station on her right, and a chain link fence separating an enormous gorge on her left. Mel felt a thrill of excitement as the doors hissed open and she could not repress an excited smile as she disembarked.

()-()

Mel woke with the feeling like she was falling. It took her only a second to recognize her room and calm her thumping heart. Only a dream, she reminded herself. Only a dream.

About what? She closed her eyes in the darkness, trying to remember. Aperture again. That place. That wonderful, terrible, brilliant place. Why was it she always dreamed of Aperture?

Mel swung her head around to look at the clock. 5:03 in the morning. She sighed but rolled obediently out of bed. Once woken, she could not go back to sleep, no matter how dark the night. She had learned that pretty quickly.

She touched the lamp beside her bed and it glowed with a warm radiance, illuminating the small apartment room with its forest green walls and white trim. There were a few pictures hung on the walls in cheap, affordable frames and a tall vase of fake flowers in the corner. Curtains hung over the window. There was not much else.

Mel padded toward the bathroom, her bare feet rustling on the gray carpet, undoing her hair and brushing it out with her fingers. Once at her destination, she stared dolefully at herself in the mirror. She was still tired and the black circles under her eyes showed stark against her pale skin. Her messy red hair streamed over her shoulders in an unkempt, frizzing mess. The smeared remains of the makeup she had somehow neglected to remove from her face made her lips seem like they were bleeding. She could only imagine what it had done to her pillow. In all, she looked like an absolute mess.

With a shake of her head, Mel turned away from her reflection and began to unbutton her nightgown, cranking up the shower to full blast and turning the Artificial Scent Flue dial to roses. Shedding her clothes, she stepped inside and turned her face to the warm water, letting it wash away the sign of sleep.

It was a ritual with Mel to think over the next day's activities while in the shower, thinking up a schedule to prepare herself. First makeup, then breakfast. She would take a Technological Transport (TT for short) to work at 8:00 and work until 5:00. Did she have any leftovers she could take for a lunch break? Yesterday's meat and vegetables would work. Get home, spruce up. What about dinner? Well, Liam would always…

Oh, wait. Liam. Mel winced at the unpleasant recollection. Liam had broken up with her last night. Mel looked down, tapping her toe against the inside of the shower. That's right. He had done one of those movements again, hadn't he? The one where he put his hand over his head, just naturally, maybe for a yawn, and she had freaked out. Dodged as if he was going to hit her, even though he had told her time and time again that he would not.

Now she remembered. They had been dancing. He had raised his hand and she had fallen into a crouch, one hand protecting her face, the other raised as if to ward off a blow. Mel hissed out breath between her teeth as she began to lather her hair. Of course Liam would never hit her. What was she thinking? Stupid reflexes that remembered things she didn't.

And it wasn't only when he raised his hand. Sometimes it was when he touched her, just tapped her on the shoulder, and suddenly she would be up in bristles with no explanation. He might take her arm unexpectedly and she would flinch away. Yes, she would apologize, but it would happen again. And again. As many times as it came.

Last night, Liam had told her that he had had enough. He was tired of tiptoeing around her spontaneous reactions and if she couldn't keep her own reflexes under control, he wasn't sure what else he could do. Mel had tried to communicate with him, but that had led to even more trouble, and he had stomped out, leaving her to figure out a way home.

Surprisingly, Mel reflected, she wasn't too disappointed by his decision. Yes, it was nice to have company, but what good was it if he scared her every time he came around? It wasn't just him, it was every man she tried to get close to. What had happened that made her so afraid of men?

Not for the first time she wracked her brain to remember, her hands moving smoothly as she scrubbed herself down. The night on the train, coming into Aperture, was the first and only intact memory she could recall. The rest of the memories were dim, flickering things which would pop up unexpectedly and peter out before she could analyze them properly. A voice. A touch. The thought of a blurred but angry face. That was all.

The rest she had gathered from clues she had put together and experiences that unlocked evidence. Her friend had told her the most. He probably didn't realize that she didn't remember, but the clues he gave out were the most helpful of all. An olympian, he had said. She smiled as she remembered his words. "You should have gotten that silver medal."

The Nuremburg Olympics. She had done research on them as soon as she could. The name had evoked a flash of excitement, even when she could not connect it to anything else. Running. Running like the wind. A voice speaking loudly. A feeling of triumph, but then crying afterward. No answers to any of these silent questions.

And now… now it was the year 5422, thousands of years later. She had slept for so long, her past had all but evaporated from her mind like water on pavement. Mel turned off the shower and mopped herself off with a towel, putting on dry clothes and brushing her hair, her heart heavy as again the realization sank in that her time, her friends, and whatever family might have existed, was long gone and she could never go back.

Putting down the brush, Mel walked to the front room where her most prized possession stood: her Electric Chordom. The Chordom was an instrument rather like a keyboard that gave out electrical sounds that could be translated to music. Instead of keys, however, there were little metallic pedals that she would push with her fingers, evoking the sounds. Mel smiled as she saw it and sat on the bench, drawing it up close to the Chordom and plugging in the headphones. No need to wake the neighbors at this time of morning.

Closing her eyes, Mel began to stroke the pedals, letting loose a music that no man from her time had ever heard. The melody was sad, wistful, and had a dark undertone. Mel smiled and pushed a little harder, urging the instrument to greater volume. It had not taken her long to learn to play this strange device. She must have known how to play the piano before. Not for the first time, she wished she could sing.

But that was impossible. No sound would ever come from Mel's barren mouth, musical or otherwise. Nothing but hisses between the teeth or strangled gasps. She had tried. Nothing came.

Aperture had not taken her voice from her, she knew. She had been mute long before Aperture had come for her. But what did it matter? She still had music, she still had language in her fingers and in her pen. She had risen up and become an olympian all of her own accord.

Mel pinched her eyes even more tightly closed. Forget, she told herself. Forget for now. Mel let the music surround her and ignored everything else.

()-()

The space port at New Toper was a busy place, especially on a late Friday afternoon. Of all of the docking stations, the one for Flight 18 was the busiest of all. Flight 18 had just arrived from the Ritcher Settlement – one of the wealthier establishments on the planet Mars – and all the passengers were leaving the spaceship in a collective rush. Businessmen, families, and Vortigaunts alike, all were happy to be back on Earth in time for the weekend. They swelled into a tide and swept into the space port, where they moved slower and slower as they progressed, like a river who in its old age realized that there was really no hurry to get to the ocean, so it might as well take its time.

The clump of people who disembarked gradually began to drift away in little streams and eddies, trickling their separate ways as they decided where they were trying to get to. Some people walked off swiftly toward the door. Others went to gather their paraphernalia at the baggage counter, where their luggage had been teleported at the beginning of the flight. (The teleporter was not deemed safe for customers or any 'valuable' belongings. If anybody had any complaints over their luggage opening, spilling, switching to a different case, or any other mysterious happenstances, they should have read the fine print on the Teleportation Agreement page 41a.)

A large chunk of people still remained after the first mad rush had hurried off. These stalled by the large fountain in the middle of the space port and stood looking around, some staring up at the high, glass domed ceiling which let in the last glimmers of the sunset, others looking around for a space port guard or somebody to help them find out where they needed to go next. Still others craned their necks for the sight of a familiar face.

In the most congested clump of humans was one of these latter types. He was a tall man, far taller than anyone else there, but he still stood on tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the person he was most desperate to see. His face wore the expression most would call 'anxiously hopeful', and his wide, protruding eyes, peering through rectangular glasses, bounced about the room as he searched, constantly getting distracted by queer objects or people. His hair was disheveled as if he had been madly ruffling it (he had) and his tie looked as if he had been alternately loosening and tightening it in agitation (that too). There was a strange, circular logo on the pocket of his shirt.

The man held a bag in his hand that he had bought the day before the trip began. It was covered in painted flowers because it had been the cheapest thing he could find on such short notice (it actually wasn't, but he hadn't quite caught the concept of modern cyber currency [three tacks were less than fifteen blips, right?]) and besides, he thought the flowers were really pretty. The tag on his carryon read "Name: Ley, Stephen. Home planet: Earth. Species: Human" in thick black letters. But although 'Ley, Stephen' might have been the name on the bag, most of his friends called him Wheatley. No last name attached. Just Wheatley.

After staring for some time at another knot of people who were coming steadily closer, Wheatley's mouth spread in a wide, openmouthed grin and his hand shot straight up in the air, waving madly and yelling with a European accent that nobody had heard for centuries, "Oi-oi! Chell! Hey, I'm over here! Hello!" He began to wade through the crowd, occasionally tripping over a shorter person as he made his way over.

Similarly, the figure addressed as Chell gave a wave and began to push her way through the crowd to the tall, lanky man who many people were staring at in irritation and/or bewilderment. The person accompanying her, a friendly, good looking man with a short beard and rolled up sleeves, followed closely behind.

Wheatley knocked past a few more people, shouted an apology after them, stumbled a few more steps, dropped his bag, and ran headlong into Chell, giving her a long, hearty hug and nearly popping her head off in his enthusiasm. Chell wrapped her arms around him, for even though he was tall, he was thin as a broomstick, and even though the hug was surprising it was not at all unwelcome.

"It's so great to see you, luv!" Wheatley's words came in a rushing prattle. "I've missed you so much! How- how're you doing? How is everyone? Have I missed anything while I've been gone? I haven't, have I? Ohh, I really hope I haven't missed anything important. Well, too important. Nothing crucial to the production of Aperture. Or anything. I haven't, right?"

Chell almost laughed at being baptized by words within seconds of their encounter. "Everything's fine, Wheatley," she said in the simple, concise way she always said things. "Not much has changed since you left."

"It feels like bloody years, though, doesn't it," Wheatley exclaimed, waving the flowery bag around in one hand and rumpling his hair with the other. "I mean, I can't have been gone much over a month, but it feels like I haven't seen you in… forever!" He clasped her tight in a one-armed hug before letting her go again and inspecting her closely. Even though both of them were grown up and relatively the same age, she would always be the brilliant little girl from the testing track to him.

Chell looked good. That much he could see from a single glance. Her dark hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and she had silver clips holding back her long bangs. The pearl necklace accentuated her striking gray eyes. And, Wheatley noticed with some surprise, she was wearing a dress. He had never seen Chell wear a dress before. Yes, granted, he didn't expect her to waltz around in a jumpsuit everywhere, but it was still a bit of a shock.

Chell reached back and pulled her companion forward. The man had been hanging back during the reunion and Wheatley had not noticed him. Now he did, with an even larger bout of surprise. "Wheatley, this is Jack." Chell gave the red-haired man a smile and – could he have imagined it? – the tiniest hint of a blush. "My boyfriend."

Wheatley almost openly gaped. So, this was Jack, was it? Chell had told him about Jack, sure, but he seemed so much more real when standing right before him.

"Jack," Chell continued, "this is Doctor Ley. One of my oldest friends."

"Call- call me Wheatley." Wheatley shook off his shock, fumbled the carryon bag, and shook Jack's hand, smiling but scrutinizing him more carefully than any father would have.

Jack was a tall man, but not nearly as tall as Wheatley. He had muscle definition that would be more suited to a lumberjack, but hands that were deft in whatever work he put them to. He had a short, orangish beard, twinkling eyes, and a genuine smile that made anybody transfixed by it immediately want to like him. Wheatley was trapped in his firm handshake before he could pull away.

"So, you're Wheatley," Jack exclaimed, his smile becoming even brighter. "I'm so honored to meet you. Chell keeps talking about her Doctor Ley."

"Well, cheers getting her to talk, mate," Wheatley chuckled, wringing feeling back into his hands. "She doesn't do that nearly enough."

"It's good they've got you, then." Jack waved his hand and began to lead the way to the luggage pickup area. "I've seen you on the Viewscreen talking about Aperture. You have a natural gift for the camera."

"Do I?" Wheatley perked up a bit. "I mean, I do like to talk for people, but… don't know if I'm what you call 'naturally gifted' at… at anything. Not saying that I'm not, not saying anything like that. Just, you know. Working away at it. Doing my job."

As he talked, he waved his hands around, nearly braining the people passing by so they saw stars (and possibly flowers, depending if they were on the side with the bag).

Wheatley had been traveling from place to place answering the endless questions about Aperture Facilities. Chell and Rattmann would not say anything in front of a camera and Caroline was too busy most of the time. They had gifted the job to Wheatley who went at it with all the enthusiasm his optimism afforded him. Namely, almost limitless.

Wheatley had spent the last two months being questioned, probed for information, and asked about his time as a robot. Wheatley loved to talk. Absolutely loved it. Some people had difficulty getting him to stop talking. As fun as it was, being able to talk all you wanted and everybody liking it for once, Wheatley had to admit that it was tiring. He was glad that it was over.

"You will not believe some of the things these future people ask. The cheek!" he huffed, pulling his black suitcase out of the pile and inspecting the contents. "Oh, look at that. My clothes are all unfolded again and I'm sure I had them folded before we left. Bother teleportation. I'm never going through one of those things myself, I can tell you. Anyway," he snapped the case shut and began to roll it through the space port. "I was in this one place, somewhere in Asia or someplace like that – lots of fireworks going on all night, couldn't sleep a wink – and they started bringing up people straight out of the audience to ask questions. It's good, it's fine, I like questions as long as they're nice ones. But then this girl comes up to the mic and starts asking me this… bizarre, really random stuff!"

"What kind of bizarre, random stuff?" asked Jack, taking the suitcase and rolling it for him.

Wheatley squirmed. "Just… you know… how I was once a robot… and how I'm not now… and how it's different." A pink flush crept to his ears. "Different-bodily-functions-I-might-or-might-not-have-a-hold-on-because-I've-been-out-of-practice-and-that-sort-of-thing," he finished in a rush.

"Oh," winced Jack and Chell cringed.

"I know!" exclaimed Wheatley. "I could hardly believe she had even thought that, much less said it out loud! I mean, don't you future-y people have any sort of stopper on your mouths? You should think before you speak, that's all I'm saying."

Chell thought that he should be one to talk, but she didn't say it out loud. She had a pretty decent stopper herself.

"So, anyway, crowd goes wild and I'm sitting up there like a big idiot with my mouth hanging open feeling everything go all hot and it goes on for ages and ages and I don't know what to do. Finally they stop the program 'cause I don't answer, but it doesn't make anything any better. I had enough trouble getting a girl to notice me way back when, but now I have them practically throwing themselves at me just because I'm famous. And not the nice girls, either! Really kind of… scary girls, aren't they? The ones your mum always told you to watch out for. It's just… really confusing."

Jack chuckled, opening the door for them to exit. "Welcome to the life of a celebrity, Wheatley."

"Whew, kind of nippy out here, isn't it," Wheatley laughed, rubbing at his arms. "Um… hold on a second, where're we going?"

"Jack and I are taking you out for dinner," said Chell.

"Oh, really?" Wheatley beamed. "Well, isn't that nice of you."

"Here. Hop in." Jack held open the hovercar door for Wheatley to squeeze inside. "We'll take you back to your apartment afterwards too, okay?"

Wheatley scrunched, his head brushing the ceiling. "Thanks, much obliged, mate," he huffed, trying to wriggle into a better position.

Jack took the wheel and Chell the front passenger seat. She twisted around every so often to see how Wheatley was getting on, mostly remaining silent while Jack and Wheatley talked. Jack had a gift for conversation and there was never an awkward pause. As for Wheatley, well, he had been away for enough time to stockpile a whole armada of stories to fill the time.

Halfway through his story about wearing the Visual Simulation Headset on his way to Mars for the first time – airplanes were bad enough, but for spaceships he needed a distraction – and how they eventually took it away because he was being too loud for the other passengers, exclaiming about how detailed the virtual reality world was, Wheatley realized that he was really happy. He knew that there was a difference between hopeless optimism and genuine happiness and this was definitely the latter. Just having them – well, at least Chell, really – sitting there just listening to him talk made him wish that the moment would go on forever.

Just like old times, he thought, and then winced as painful memories crashed in.

Ohh. Just thinking back to the old times, the old days when we were friends, good old friends. Not enemies! And I'd say something like 'come back' and you'd be like 'yeah, no problem' and you'd come back. What happened to those days?

Wheatley jumped and glanced guiltily at his companions as if the thoughts had been spoken out loud, but neither seemed to notice. His prattling skipped a beat and the happy feeling died away. I am sorry, he thought yet again toward the back of Chell's head. You have no idea how sorry I still am to you.

Then Chell turned around and Wheatley scrambled to pick up the slack on his story. "So, anyway, the bloke was like, 'c'mon, give it to me, why don't you?' and then I was like, 'nononono, c'mon, mate, I need this. I get serious anxiety issues from just looking at the moon. Spent way too much time looking at it in space. I actually physically need it.' And then he was like—"

Chell smiled and leaned her cheek against the headrest, watching Wheatley's animated gestures and listening to his wild words. Just like old times, she thought, but the only memories this roused for her were good ones.