Caroline's phone went off at precisely one in the morning. Karma, if she'd ever seen it. She also happened to notice, as she was waking up, that she'd left the television on. It was tuned to a news channel, on which a reporter was explaining that a nurse from Hill Town Hospital had committed suicide earlier that evening. She quickly flipped it off before she could see any more, hoping desperately that it was a different nurse. It had to be. She prayed that someone would spontaneously come to her room and tell her that it was a different nurse (something like, "That was a different nurse," would do), for the sake of her clear conscious. Who could she ask? Surely someone could give her a name, an adequate place to start. Oh, right. The television. But then there was also the chance that it would tell her the death was her fault, so she left it off and tried to sooth her troubled mind and go back to sleep. But wait; the phone was still ringing. Fuck.

"Hello?" she asked, making her voice sound as groggy as possible. Maybe she could guilt-trip whoever was calling into hanging up. How dare you call the leukemia-ridden, stress-ridden CEO of Aperture and rid her from her much needed rest? How dare you disturb her slumber?

An equally disgruntled voice answered. "Is this Caroline Johnson?" it asked. "Because I have a few things to say to you." Caroline knew this voice, and she grimaced at it. Of all people that could have called her, why did it have to be him?

"Yes, this is Caroline."

"Well, if I understand correctly, my son is under the custody of your...science...people. Wheatley Collins. You know of this?"

She remembered what her daughter had said earlier that day. "Yes, I know."

"And may I remind you that he is legally still a minor, at the age of seventeen, and that I never signed any damn paper of yours?"

"No, you may not," Caroline blurted. "It's one in the morning, and, if you don't know, people usually like to sleep at this hour. Maybe if you learned from this social norm and got some sleep yourself you wouldn't be quite so grumpy right now-"

"Ms. Johnson," he started again, angrily.

"Please, call me Caroline."

"Okay, Caroline," he spat. The name sounded awkward and nasty on his tongue. Caroline had never been addressed in that tone before. Nobody had dared. But she supposed that nobody had ever dared berate Mr. Collins like she had, either. She shut her eyes in disgust; not at John in particular, but at the entire situation. She wished Aperture would just let her die of leukemia like a normal human being. "I guess I'll remind you anyway. So now I'm reminding you. Wheatley is still under my jurisdiction."

"Okay, John-"

"It's Mr. Collins."

"Okay, Mr. Collins. I'll send someone to meet you at the prison tomorrow so you can sign the papers."

"This is not about papers!" His voice, at unreasonably high volumes, was barely intelligible over the phone. Caroline hung up. She had given him what he wanted, hadn't she? Now, he would have a chance to put his son back behind bars. And he would be happy, the soulless arrest-o-holic. Because criminals would pay or whatever. She waited in case another call came. After about two minutes, she was pretty sure she was safe, so she let herself drift back into a comfortable slumber, with pleasant dreams of dieting gels and mantis men and-

Fuck.

"Yes, John?"

"Never in the last twenty years of my life has someone had the nerve to hang up on me."

"And never in the last twenty years of mine has someone called at one in the morning."

"Well, this is a first, I guess. Hooray. Throw a party. First one in the morning call. Anyway, as I was saying, Wheatley is my son, and I get to decide what happens to him. And I have decided, officially, that he should go through with the punishment that every other criminal must suffer. If all criminals knew they would get to be important people at your...science...place, then what do you think this city would look like? That's right. The streets would be littered with crime. I won't stand for this, especially not when the subject in question is my own son!" She opened her mouth to speak, but he wasn't done with his rant. Caroline wondered if she should go to sleep again and set an alarm for when he was done. Unfortunately, the timer on her phone was only programmed to a twenty-four hour clock. "My son will get what he deserves. He has, by breaking the laws which have bound this community together, shamed our city, our judicial system, and my family name as well as set a poor example for all youth of his age. If he does not face the consequences, then what is to be said about the others? If you think you can appeal to me through some blubbery paternal feelings or whatnot, then you're wrong. I stand for justice, for truth, and for a tightly knit community that will uphold our values, not compromise them. That's right. Our values are what hold us together. And those who choose to ignore them or seek to change them will feel the full force of-"

"He jaywalked."

"Exactly."

"He walked across the street in a place there wasn't a crosswalk."

"There's a reason we have crosswalks, you know."

"And what reason is that?"

"Safety. I want my son do be safe. Wouldn't you, if you had a son?"

"You sentenced him to death. Is being dead safe?"

There was a long stretch of silence. Maybe there was a heart somewhere inside that cold chest of steel. She waited smugly for an answer, glad that she had shut him up. After what seemed like hours, one came: "Yes."

Then he hung up.