Water was dripping somewhere behind the walls. He had reached what seemed like an abandoned office/residential complex, all musty and cold, in scattered disarray as if its occupants had left in a great hurry, yet there was no smell of mold or material decay that would be associated with this level of neglect, except for the smell of some type of animal, or animals. He sniffed again, and noted it smelled familiar. Birds, maybe.
He sang a bit to himself. Unprofessional, yes, but he hadn't sensed anyone in a while, and the silence was boring him.
"Histoire éternelle,
Qu'on né croit jamais,
De deux inconnus,
Qu'un geste imprévu,
Rapproche en secret..."
He saw white light shining from one of these offices, and stepped in, surprised to find himself facing a wall of semi-frosted glass. Interesting.
"Chanson éternelle,
Au refrain fan,
C'est vrai, c'est étrange,
De voir comme on change,
Sans même y penser..."
He peered into the room beyond the glass.
He noted it was some sort of strange chamber reminiscent of a work of Escher, made of those panels, but with many blackened scorch marks and broken things that sparked and twitched, and he smiled to himself, recognizing this signature.
That woman truly was insane, if she thought she could keep that person in line.
He could almost pity her. He rubbed the shock collar thoughtfully. Almost.
He moved on, finding another break in the walls that led to the catwalk-lined innards of this place. It snaked and wound seemingly at random, occasionally offering access to random niches and what looked like 'management' areas. This was where he was beginning to notice the graffiti.
It was nothing crude, and in fact was obscure in some places, but what greater pictures he could find were...strangely beautiful. He rubbed the substance with a thumb, and it came away flaky, only slightly smudging. Some form of spray paint. Abandoned cans of the stuff rolled away from his feet.
He stood back to look at it properly, and what he saw made his eyes widen behind his mask.
First there was that woman, that huge monstrous machine that dangled from the ceiling, yellow eye glowing. Beneath it was another woman, in a white dress and red scarf, looking like she was shaking hands with—he squinted—was that the Administrator? He was about to curse the woman in the purple suit when he saw that both women were holding what looked like knives or guns behind their backs. . . Food for thought.
After this picture there were eleven rough-drawn people, like cavemen drawings. He looked down, and saw a can laying broken at his feet, puddling with paint.
The painter had used their fingers for this one.
Eight of them wore solid orange,
one of them was a giant,
one wore white and purple, with black hair, and curved to resemble a woman,
and one wore orange and white, with yellow eyes.
These figures were surrounding one in blue and orange, also with dark hair, also curved to resemble a female.
Over them all was the symbol ∞ followed by a question mark.
This did not sit well with him.
The last symbol brought his attention. It was simple, but effective. It was a larger version of the 'Aperture Science' logo, as tall as a man, but it stretched to surround the logo of their Companies, the cross-hair, and in the interior combined circle was what looked like a crude representation of the world.
He thought it over, and his face met his hand, "Oh, merde..."
He was really missing his cigarettes.
After taking a moment to compose himself, he looked up to see an arrow pointing off into the depths of the back ways, and raised an eyebrow.
Whatever this mysterious artist wanted, if the paintings were to judge, the Spy might have a sympathizer in this place. At least someone to help him search. Given that he had no other leads to follow, he went in the direction of the arrow, his feet automatically moving noiselessly against the rough metal.
With luck, the one he met wouldn't be too hostile. He felt they could use some allies in this wretched place. Allies against those.
Those...things... Those weren't robots. Robots were crude, shaking, steel copies of men.
These were monsters, living aliens made of plastics and metal, with nothing to relate them to humanity.
They had no backs to stab, and if he had one of his sappers, he wasn't entirely confident one would work...
He grunted as his collar shocked him again, hissing through his teeth at the pain and sheer humiliation.
He appreciated the irony, of course. For all his sabotaging of machines, now he was being sabotaged by one. He was not amused by this.
He growled, stalking on, entertaining himself with thinking of all the ways those things could be killed.
Engineer hummed a bit to himself, as a turret made a pretty good effort to sound like a guitar, but just saying 'twang, twang, twing' at the right pitch wasn't quite cutting it, but he wouldn't fault the little guy for that. He stepped back from the construct skeleton, checking the joint-work.
He'd have to let it sit a few minutes to check the stabilizer pressure limits. The Heavy was bringing in more raw components for the materials She insisted he work with. He was getting a sort of 'forge' erected in the corner of the room. Progress went well.
"Hey, Heavy," he said, settling back as he wiped his forehead. The Russian looked up, "Da?"
"Want to tell me 'bout those portals I heard of?"
Again the Heavy paled, before he sighed, settling on a bench that creaked, "Yes, I can tell. Have time?"
"Sure," the Engineer said, leaning against the wall, "All ears." And he was. He wanted to find out more.
The Russian tapped his chin thoughtfully, before taking a breath.
"Portals..." the giant began, waving a hand in a vague circle, "Portals are like, eh, teleporters, yes? But... So much more."
Thinking, Heavy picked up a turret, much to its distaste, holding it with one hand, "Is made by gun, shaped like this," he gave the turret a shake.
"Put me down!"
"Held like this, it shoots portals instead of bullets. Only two exist at once. Ovals of orange and blue that, that bring the place of one oval straight to the other, and vice versa. Like doorway, you can step through. And you can put anywhere you shoot, as easy as shooting. From floor to ceiling to wall, does not matter!"
He waved the turret around, "BOOM, here, BAM, there, and is done! Should have been done!"
He miserably tossed the turret behind him.
"Wheeeee!"
Engineer winced at the crash.
"Owww! . . . You've made your point. I'm fine."
"But..." the Heavy continued, looking a bit worn, "The portals are only one size, da? Always. Only one width, one height, which are not of mine."
He gestured matter-of-factly to his bear-like form, before sighing, leaning his tree-trunk arms on his knees. "I...could not use those doorways."
There was a moment of quiet, broken by the turret's quiet, slightly resentful laments.
". . . What happened, son?" the Engineer asked.
The Heavy looked at the mechanic, and slowly shook his head, "I...I make it through, few times, barely. It got harder. I got slower. Put a portal on...eh, one wall, then other to place I want to go. I am getting through when," he mimed pulling a trigger, "Misfires. Wimpy little baby device. I fire again on accident. I miss." he swiped a hand rigidly through the air, viciously, "The portal can't be open when only one is there. The portal closes. Pagib ya! I am cut!"
He glares at the Engineer, and blows air through his nose, apparently not seeing the comprehension he wanted.
"Is like this, Engineer," he stated, "It does same things as teleporter, yet not. Does not need setting up at each place, can be done from one. And using it, there is no pause between places. It is like a window, of the thinnest glass that will let you pass through, you can see the place you go to and step as easily and as quickly as through doorway. I am stepping through, feeling its thinness." He traces a line with his thumb from the right shoulder and right hip, scooping off, and starting again across the right knee.
"I am ducking through, but too big. And the portal cuts, and..."
He pales, looking a sickly light green under the normally ruddy skin, "And is so quick, so thin, at first it is as if there is no cut. Even when is gone, for such little time, I can still feel my arm, side, and leg, can still move them. But they are numb, and so, so cold, like frostbite. Then," he gestured, "The bleeding catches up, the falling catches up, I see the things that made it through at the other side of room, still moving, until I lose too much blood. And when I Respawned," he shuddered, "That was worse. Portal cutting...did something. Sometimes I still feel," he thumped the shoulder that had apparently been 'cut', "I still feel that perfect cut. Sometimes, sometimes hand or leg moves on its own, little bit. When I do not tell it to. For a moment they are numb again."
He shook his head, slowly, "Is not like being shot, is not like being run over by train, is not even like the surgery of the Doktor.
Is so much worse..."
The Russian's eyes turned steely, "This Science is not for the minds or bodies of men, Engineer, not even yours. I will work, da, I will be good assistant, but I warn that this will not come to good end, for any involved. This is not the matter of strength or weaklings, but of sanity.
Please consider that."
Engineer looked at his partner calmly, inwardly reeling at what was probably the most words he'd ever heard the man speak.
"I'm sorry," the Texan said quietly, mechanical hand flexing contemplatively, "Really am. But...things'll turn out alright, just watch." he raised his hands appealingly as the man turned grim, "I'm serious. Just...just watch. How about...uh, let's go continue bringing those crates in, yeah?"
The Russian's eyes narrowed, "Da, comrade." he snarled, heaving up and lumbering off, leaving the Engineer in the workroom.
He wiped off his forehead, readjusting his goggles, turning those bits of information over in his head, "Teleporters, huh?"
He turned back to the lightprints, to the project he was creating, wondering about the class of technology he worked with. "Portals. Huh."
"Vier, fünf, acht..." the Medic counted, humming thoughtfully, "Zhat is...twelf times you have been claimed by zhe Respawn, in zhe space of an hour. How does zhat feel?" he looked curiously at his partner, "Don't hold anyzhing back. Zhis vill be interesting for zhe records."
"Put in yer stupid records: 'Unfortunately, he has not forgotten this'!" was the weak, growling reply.
Too many Respawns played hell with the body.
"I. Want. Me. Bloody. Drink."
The Doctor chuckled at the Bomber, pushing up his glasses. True, he's had his own fair share of the Respawn, but this environment was too good to not study!
"Vell, ve can try zhis again. Here, how about I go up zhis time, and you can report zhe results?"
"Yer an insane jobbie." the Scotsman cursed, slowly sitting up.
"You know," her voice echoed dully over head, and both men flinched, "Flinging either of you against the walls or floor at terminal velocity isn't really Science. Maybe if I measured how far the bits of you fly, I could let it slide? Just a thought."
The German growled, "Zhis is not your precious Science, Fräulein!"
He gestured in disgust to the chamber, "What does zhis test?! Time? Endurance?
I vill not be part of zhe control group if I don't know zhe parameters!"
"Oh? You want to know what I test?" she sounded strangely, suddenly happy, "No one's ever asked Me that yet. I test many things, doctor."
The walls of the chamber stuttered a bit.
"How about I give you a short list? And to make it interesting, let's do it using a practical demonstration."
"Aw, cripe!" the Demoman cursed, as something descended from the ceiling in ropy metallic coils.
"Ugh, I feel like every bone in me body's broke..."
"Because every von of zhem is, Dummkopf."
"Oh, righ'..."
". . . Vant to go die so you can kill me so I can get down from zhe ceiling?"
"Sure, sure, gimme a mo'..."
"Verdammt, zhe Fräulein's good."
"Oh, shut yer gob. Yer the one bonehead what provoked her wrath!"
"Ja, ja, I have learned my lesson. Are you not dead yet?"
"Don't ye dare rush me on this, ya loonie, a man'll die when he's wont to!"
"Actually..."
"If ye weren't in that ceilin' and bloody prepared to die why I'd—!"
She listened on happily, feeling a little rush of pleasantness in her circuits that someone had finally asked.
That had been such a good test.
