Hammerchuckery: Again, thank you for the kind words. Don't worry, I usually let all the words flow out from my head first, then you check grammar and spelling afterwards. I also tend to make up words but you get the idea. :)
Chapter 10.
It was a jump into the deep end. A wild, suicidal rambunctious mission that would set any normal person straight about their misbehaving. It was mental, stupid, not to mention, a little out of character. The Dragonborn's life was at stake. That's all that mattered. No matter what his fears were.
He owed her. He owed her despite her violent personality because she was kind on the inside, in her own unique way. Her Diary was a dip into into her solitary spirit. She hid a true spirit within, even from herself. There was trouble about those non-admissions that Doug proposed it was to avoid exploiting her weaknesses. In a strange way, it was cute. Now that was hard for Doug himself to accumulate from his subconscious opinion. An attachment not unlike an overprotective mother with her son, he'd couldn't thank her enough.
There had been an iffiness that occurred due to her own admissions, saying that she had been secretly training him harder than he'd noticed. He should have seen it coming, after what he saw what she was capable of with gigantic fire-breathing (and some ice-breathers that floated around apparently) flying reptiles and the way she slew the Draugr.
He went over the plans in his head, over and over again as he paced back and forth in the lounge, muttering about variables, percentages of survival and so forth. He forced his hand to his drawing book, writing fleshed out equations. His zany mind was running overtime mapping out ways to infiltrate Mistwatch. Random, inaudible thoughts popped by, dragging his pencil over needed and unintended scribbles. Scrunches of paper were left on the floor around him as he'd ripped them out of the book when none of the equations made any sense, or made sense in a way even he couldn't work out. He rubbed his legs, feeling the roughness of his brown leather pants that were being help up with suspenders, dirty white long sleeve top filthy from his work and thick boots that warmed his toes.
Comparing the rescue to Chell, this was much more difficult. He knew the works of the facility like the back of his hand. But this was a reality that was grounded on it's own mystic mytholicism. No Science, no back up plans. You fail the tests and you're granted a one way ticket to Android Hell. He was so used to firing off plans and details for technical aspects but there was nothing technical about this. Mistwatch was a well fortified place. You would have to be a very skilled warrior just to get through the front guards. Doug was just a misplaced scientist in an uninventive world. He could have gone back to the College of Winterhold to find a way back home, but he was compelled to stay where he was in Whiterun. He felt safer in the walls than he did out there with nothing but his instincts to survive. And now that no longer helped.
He grunted and slammed the wall, cursing his speeding brain for failing him. If the Cube was here, she'd tell him what to do. She always knew what to do. He rested his aching forehead on his arm that leaned against the wall and concentrated on breathing his troubles away. Variables. Far too many variables. He threw the book away and dropped to the floor.
He heard footsteps walking towards him, clicking on the floorboards. High heels, he gathered, as he sat on the floor, his eyes fixated on the wall. A chill in the air made Doug shiver, goosebumps rising on his skin.
"Your doubts aren't going to save her any faster." Said a soft, womanly voice.
Doug smirked. "I'm not a hero."
He heard a laugh. "Heroes die." She said.
Doug refused to move where he was, instead he let the world move around him. The wall became sprawled and covered with his drawings of Dragons, Dragonborns, Cores, Turrets, Equations, Draugr and many other things he had seen, in his own harshly scribbled artwork. Soon the entire lounge room was covered with them, isolating Doug into his own ushered reality.
"What are you going to do about it?"
A single sentence. Perfect description.
Doug lay limp on the ground, watching his paintings float by.
"This isn't like the Master AI. Or reprogramming the main grid. I stayed in the shadows, playing with instruments behind the scenes, within the walls."
They walked closer, more clicking. The walls dripped with white paint, transforming into the dreaded panels. Even though absolutely none of them complied with logic, nor what actually happened at Aperture. He was too tired to argue about it though, settling into a stable madness.
"Staying in the shadows, playing with instruments." They repeated.
Doug's eyes flung upwards in a strained movement. "Within the walls?"
Another chuckle. Nope. He still had no clue. One too many variables.
"You can't hack your way into these types of walls...certainly not the regular way..."
The panels suddenly dropped away, revealing dark stone walls underneath them. It got colder, as the wind whistled around him, sounding like high pitched screams. Chiseled.
"But I can still...stay...within the darkness." Doug muttered, eyes widening with the great idea that was growing.
"Yes." They applied with the tone of approval, monotoned for the right answer.
"Playing with instruments. Tools of the trade. I..."
He spun around to look behind him. All he saw was a two couches behind him beside a fireplace and the stillness within his own home, with the temperature returning to normal. He sat up, hunched over and crossed his legs. He looked over to his book and stared at it for a while. Yes. The Instruments.
He grabbed his book and started messily scribbling down what he had on him. First off was spells. The Spells he had been taught at the College. If there was anything he was good at, it was using his own special magic, tinkering and using his hands. He was writing down at such a quick pace as his tongue was hanging out of his mouth, devoting his attention to a formula he could apply and that he only understood.
Of course, there were the negative predictions that he could die. He'd been shot at by a turret before, but whom ever he was versing would most likely bear a melee weapon. He worked out the likelihood of someone having a bow and arrow, which seemed to the prime way of the projected weaponry. Thank goodness that no one had invented guns or bullets. Or else nobody would be left alive, having lived with Nords long enough to predict their actions in battle.
Further thinking down the track made Doug believe that he was more an observer than with one who would normally take action. By allowing himself to see and hear the way people moved, he'd normally apply to his artwork, as well their train of thought. The Nords were normally hard hitters, jumping at the chance to fight given their level of hostility. The Silver-Hand were hostile to the Companions for a reason he couldn't fathom, but nonetheless he feared that people knew his connection to the Dragonborn and that rumors spread far in Skyrim and into tender ears that bother to compile it and have ignored all doubt that they were together. Doug gasped.
"Of course..." He muttered to himself in such a garbled manner that sentences were so rapidly spurting out of his mouth. "She disconnected herself from me...because she wanted to protect me...she had a feeling this would happen...what if I'm still in danger?"
He heard Wheatley's nonrhythmic footsteps coming down the stairs. He had his back turned to the walking core, who had a bag slapped on his back. He came into the room, not batting a shutter that Doug was sitting on the floor. Doug himself didn't realize he'd been doing that the past few days.
"Um...I'm just...heading to the Blacksmiths...you know, repairing the old arm..." Said Wheatley, who was lying through his speakers.
Doug stood up from where he was and turned to the sphere with a cocked eyebrow. "Your misleading is showing."
Wheatley widened his optic as he checked himself all over, propping his legs up to look at his feet, before falling over, breaking what it was it was he was carrying, sending white bits everywhere.
"Oh bollocks!" He grunted, getting up and picking the pieces up.
"Now I have to start all OVER again..."
Doug gave a comforting smile and walked over to kneel down and pick the broken parts up. Wheatley was bad at keeping secrets. Doug tested this out when telling him something wasn't true, and in the end the entire department found out about how Apples were from outer space. It reminded Doug of when Wheatley himself was first activated, when each person was given their individual cores. He'd pulled him out of the box and turned the switch. The English instructions were missing for some reason, so Doug tried to read the side with the Spanish ones. He couldn't understand any of it, not really a language fanatic. It was mostly frowned upon, yet Aperture insisted on it, since there were quite a few works with English as a second langauge. He had a friend in college that told him a Spanish word though. Manzana, which meant Apple, because it sounded quite perculiar, odd at least. Though Doug refused to admit or divulge his apparent hazy interests back in those days. Like a childs first word, hearing Wheatley talk for the first time was amazing. His own, artificial intelligence, a friend, a son...well, maybe not going that far.
After cleaning up, Doug dusted his hands. Wheatley's body language indicated that he was quite upset over breaking what ever it was. Most likely the statue. He sat down, depressed as he fiddled with a broken part with his robotic fingers.
"I was...I was making a sculpture of Chell." Wheatley admitted, his optic as low as his voice.
Doug rested his hand on Wheatley's shoulder-pad and stared at him.
"Why would you make one when you have the real one hanging around?" Doug asked.
Wheatley lifted his optic to glimpse into Doug's eyes for the moment, before dropping it again.
"The real one...the real Chell...doesn't want this. She doesn't. No. I think what she really needs is-is that someone she can depend on. And I-I believe she has. Where ever she is, she's doing it. And she does it well."
Doug pursed his lips. "Sounds like her. She would have said...no, well, at least shown you that she forgives you. You told me your story. If you had told her a proper explanation, she would most definitely understand."
Wheatley upped his optic. "You think?"
Doug smiled. When he smiled, the room lit up. "I'm positive. I must admit and I have to tell you, I had no awareness that the Chassis did that. I had no part in the making of her so logically..."
Wheatley got up. "No-no don't tell me. I get it. I was there too you know. You're an honest guy Douggy. Never ever forget that."
Doug gave a playful punch to the core before prying the broken piece from his android appendages. He thought what Wheatley would do if Doug couldn't return from his mentally prepared plan to rescue the Dragonborn, having taking many self-made propositions, then Wheatley would have no where to go. But Doug's plan involved not dying, at least if everything went smoothly. An unwarranted addition could break the entire point of calibrating it. He thought about it more, however as he rubbed his chin. Even if the plan included not dying, they would need back up if the plan failed and somehow they ended up actually dead or worse, imprisoned.
Doug had installed a tiny Soul Gem into Wheatley's frame, allowing some small portion to access the magicka in the air. Wheatley could be able to use spells, but lacked the coordination and control. Not to mention no one had actually taught him to use any spells. Doug could admit that it was his fault. In truth, he never had the foresight to even see Wheatley in battle. With an actual weapon of course, not a colossal underground city of death traps.
He couldn't trust Wheatley with a sword in that matter. So no swords or spells for that matter. He'd hate to tell the core that he was going to be useless, because he was so predictable at being unpredictable. He could only instruct the bot to do what he could. Even then...
"Thought up of somethin' yet?" Wheatley inquired.
"Getting there." Doug replied. "No idea if it's going to work though. Don't have the technology to simulate outcomes."
Wheatley nodded. "Ah yes forgot about that. No computers or their trusty monitors to bother with, sorry to say."
"No graphics either." Doug continued, sitting down on the stairs.
"Ahh 'cause that was your specialty! Yeah! I-I remember that! I had a really good time making pictures with you. That was until, they-they gave me that horrible, worst kind of job."
Doug couldn't help but tug a smile. "Like I said, that wasn't my fault."
Wheatley shook his head. "No-no...I wasn't-I wasn't blaming you. I got a lot of ideas for your pretty pictures while I was down there. Shame I couldn't send them to you. They were really good."
His smile grew. If anything, if it was really good with Wheatley, they were most likely really bad. But he gave him something for his positive attitude.
Doug took a deep breath. They couldn't ignore this any longer, as much as Doug wanted to stay in the hems of Whiteruns safety, they had a real job to do. He declared himself to get ready for real this time.
He'd already gone up, got changed, got his gears and was about to head off into the unknown. He'd gotten a map, but it was his first time going out alone without the Dragonborn's protection. But if he had enough determination like Chell did, he would get through. His heart raced a little, jumping into the deep end without any floaties, which was a horrible comparison brought on by Wheatley, who trailed behind, barely able to silence the pressing sounds of his frames hydraulics. Doug would have to deal with that another time. Otherwise they would have press on dozens of potential outcomes if Wheatley never listened to him. He'd put the fear into him despite the fact Wheatley was made of sterner stuff, the Aperture-grade still made him almost invulnerable. The Sphere was, anyway. Unfortunately Doug had no such access to the stuff. All he had was anything local he could purchase from the local blacksmith. And Doug himself was fragile, but dependent on his resourcefulness to get the job done anyway he could. The problem was that while he could start it, he had problem finishing it. Mainly because the tasks were something out of his comprehension. He'd panic in such a quick rush there would be a slamming body on the floor and his eyes up to whimsical heaven in obstructing stress. They rushed to the front gates in quick haste, only to be confronted by the shade of Lydia. Doug felt bad as she stood there with her arms crossed, a small brown satchel hanging out of her fist.
"Where do you think you're going?" She asked.
Doug tugged at his sleeve as Wheatley hid behind him, rested his hands on Doug's left arm and poking his head out. It was the inevitable obvious question that he should have prepared for.
"We have a lead on the Dragonborns location." Doug confirmed, not bothering to lie.
"Yup...so please step aside, whilst we uh...go get that lead." Wheatley continued.
Lydia withdrew her sword and looked at it. "It has to do with my Thane. You're not going without me."
Doug lifted his eyebrows in surprise and looked at Wheatley. Lydia was her Housecarl after all, dedicated to protecting her Thane. Socially, there wasn't any weaseling out of this one.
"Besides, she declared you her property a long time ago. So, as per my oath, I have to guard you both my life." She said with a genuine grin.
It wasn't a bad thing, Doug decided. They'd left Whiterun before they knew it. At least they solved the problem if something went awry in his encrypted schemes. Doug could hardly wield a blade let alone a gun in his hand in the past. It was like wielding death that could strike unintended, deciding the fate of another with percentages and factors, a termination where the only code was ones emotions and rational thoughts. He'd pondered and contemplated about it. Wheatley was the same. He swallowed hard as they headed to the Stables and borrowed a horse.
In the darkness of the night, as Lydia rode hard, with Doug and Wheatley bracing themselves as the rock hard determinative nature of a Nordic woman ran laps in general thoughts. He'd come to accept them as naturally stubborn, if witnessing a widowed woman outright rejecting one of the bards by punching him in the face counts as stubbornly brutal. Still...
He could barely keep his arms around Lydia as gave the horse a hard time, trekking down the stone paths on the eastern board, seeing trees, hills and more mountains. Doug found it interesting that no matter where you were in Skyrim, somehow High Hrothgar kept watch on the entire province like a hawk...or a bloody big Dragon. The wind brushed against his cheek, goosebumps rising on his skin. He'd taken on his blue robes with the Elven-Grade gauntlets and boots, still remembering the time the Dragonborn had retrieved them for him. Wheatley's grip was firm, no doubt that the frame didn't have the properly technology for nerves, only clinging on to the core with nuts and bolts. It would take Doug a bit longer to develop a few more upgrades for it, knowing that Skyrim itself didn't exactly help the situation, given it's own medieval state of progress.
The night became clear as Doug looked up at the stars. There was one night back at the College of Winterhold where he and the Dragonborn looked at them. Doug was no astrologist but had fond memories of the Space Program when he was a child, always sending letters to NASA for some kiddish reasons other then being a fanatic. It was a phase of course, but he never lost his passion for science. The stars themselves, however, were nothing like the ones at home. The constellations were all out, making Doug wonder where abouts on Earth he was. But DB had pointed out several of them, making note that they were integral to Skyrim's culture, as well as Tamriels. It was then she mentioned that the stars determined the future from your birth. From which you were born under, you were destined to become. When asked about when she was born, the Dragonborn confirmed she couldn't remember her date of birth.
She would often refrain from talking about her past. Other than her parents were murdered of course. It made sense, considering all records would have been destroyed if they existed. And with no witnesses, well. She had told him she was busy making her own destiny if she couldn't understand her own. A breath of fresh air from the common britches of society.
Doug watched the trees blur past as the came closer to Mistwatch. Unsure what was about to occur, he was adamant that he'd made himself and Wheatley take the safest option they could. But with Lydia in tow, they were more than happy to let her take front. Doug could heal and Wheatley..Wheatley could at least try to be quiet if Doug doesn't shout down his internal speakers first. But he could prove useful in ways that Doug couldn't fathom. Lydia would most likely being to place it in anyway.
They'd reached Mistwatch which hung on the side of a mountain, with a least four seeable watch towers, and the tallest at the back. Lydia parked the horse a bit far back and nestled herself with the others behind a pine tree, looking up at the lit up windows. Scanning the Fort, two men, carrying unusual weapons patrolled the entrance. Wheatley persistently cowered behind Doug, much to the mans dismay.
"What are those things they're carrying? They're very odd. Nothing I've seen the others having." Wheatley commented, zooming in and narrowing in his optic.
Lydia squinted. "I don't know. Most bandits use swords or warhammers...and if they're parked high enough, bows and arrows."
Doug shuffled closer. The objects were long and white with black rings. They looked remarkably like guns. It was too dark to see. His eyes then wandered to their eyes, which had a red glow to them. It instilled a sense of dread to his stomach. They reminded him of...
"Turrets..." He muttered.
Lydia looked at Doug strangely. "Turrets?"
Wheatley and Doug exchanged glances. But turrets didn't look human. They were half the height, white, shot bullets and had cutesy voices. Not these, tall, intimidating creatures. It was the eyes that gave them away.
"Maybe they're...maybe they're androids." Wheatley whispered, demonstrating his point with various hand gestures. Doug was surprised he was getting a hang of that.
"There were hundreds of androids...thousands even...lethal, very lethal."
Lydia browed. "What's an android? What are you two even talking about?"
Doug sighed. He knew Lydia wouldn't understand it. He would explain the concepts entirely, but they simply didn't have the time. He pointed towards the patrolmen.
"We believe they are. They are our enemy." He mentioned, not realizing he too, was using many hand gestures in a subtle frantic state. "They can't be reasoned with. Their loyalty is unbreakable. So, we just destroy them basically."
Lydia nodded. Doug hoped that would be the only they would ever talk about it. But she then looked annoyed.
"So they're a threat. Okay. But what about those weapons? We have no idea what they do. I'm thinking they're a type of staff? So they might use magic." Lydia theorized.
Doug shook his head. "No, they're highly hazardous. Like your bow, but they're fired a lot faster, a lot harder..."
Wheatley bumped his big core in. "Not to mention, they make you a lot deader."
Lydia nodded and bit her lip. "Well I'll be..." She pursed her lips, then looked sternly at them both. From the look on her face she was hard and deep in thinking.
"Right, Wheatley, I want you to distract them while me and Doug strike them from behind."
Nords seemed to be quick thinkers...most of the time if they weren't raging or under the influence. He was grateful Lydia was tactical rather than striking head on. Wheatley started shaking with confusion, not getting the gist of what she meant.
"What? Are you mad? I'll get shot at! So you'll...you'll just use me as your target saying, 'Hello! Wheatley here! Look at me and not at those guys sneaking behind you just about now."
Doug rolled his eyes at the core. "You won't die from it. You're more armored than any of us... the worst you'll get is a ding on your plates."
Wheatley could see them both looking down at him. "Oh are we playing state the obvious? Cause I knew that...I knew that. Quite smart of me to um...distract them, quite nicely...it might hurt though."
Lydia moved out of the way, keeping to a crouch underneath the other side of the tree, dragging Doug with her. She motioned Wheatley to quietly run across to the other side, forcing her index to her lips. The core got that, surprisingly and tip toed his way to opposite tree. His optic wandered from the supposed androids then back to seeing any facial cues from Lydia.
Before he met Chell, he'd always have trouble reading faces, even when he was working with Doug. She'd always kept that staunch, dull expression. But never, not once had he seen her full-blown happy, sad or angry. He hadn't noticed it before. Lydia and Doug always had those detailed face alterations. And the Dragonborns who had gone from extreme to extreme. Sleeping humans always had that dopey look that Wheatley thought was stupid. Some of the more awake ones had odd wrinkles that appeared that fitted in well with each emotional state. All he knew was to read them and react appropriately. Or so his programming says.
Lydia's current face was deathly still, save for her eyes. Wheatley knelt down, mumbling to himself how this was probably a bad idea. He'd only, very slowly, gotten used to the concept of arms and legs. They were useful yes, but he couldn't see very high. In fact, the entire frame was dramatically differently looking than the average human, only seeing the ATLAS Sketches when he'd found them in the data files back at Aperture. He stopped streaming through his memories when they hit the wall of the Chassis, and pulled himself back to reality.
Lydia held out three fingers. In a strange rhythm and her mouth, she pulled down one finger at a time. When the third disappeared she pointed to the androids. With a slight delay, Wheatley came out of his hiding position and flung himself at the pair.
"ARGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!"
He screamed at them, confusing them both as they positioned themselves and nestled their guns closer to their heads and aimed at the flailing optic widened as he felt the straight, red light markers run past it, his entire frame quivering as he started running in the opposite direction. He pulled his arm in front of him as he heard gun fire bouncing off the trees as he fled into the thick pine forest. His vision showed him a nearby boulder, forcing him to dive behind and pull his hands over his sphere, shaking unknowingly with fear.
"Wheatley?"
He pulled his head out and looked around. The gunfire had stopped. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, even looking through his files he believed he had put himself in a type of power save mode. That was Doug's voice he recognized as Wheatley rolled his sphere around. He pressed his hands on the side of the boulder and peaked out from the side. He could see Doug and Lydia at the front entrance to fort, waving for him to come over. He zoomed in on the two bodies that laid on the ground, motionless. The red glow from their eyes had faded, as their guns lay broken on the ground. Wheatley skittered forward and started poking them.
"Are they...are they really dead?" Wheatley asked with a slight croak.
Lydia stared down at him. "Come on we don't have time for that."
Wheatley shook his sphere and rushed towards the pair. "Right! I'm-I'm coming! Don't leave without me!"
Lydia was the first to open the larger wooden doors as she pressed through, dust falling from the top. Doug was next, as Wheatley held on to his friend. Lydia kept vigilant and very aware as they stared down a long, dark and cold corridor. There were lit torches on the walls that were distanced as few and far in between, belittling Doug slightly as he examined the stone walls. Lydia readied her blade carefully and gripped it with both hands. Doug's hunch was setting the stage for expectations that wrenched his stomach like it normally would. Those androids were easy, but he detected a sort of mark on them that bellowed him with familiarity, a kind of connection to the bots. He shook his head as he ran his fingers and hands over the walls, looking for any clues to what they were going to find within.
He'd read up on certain forts having dozens of rooms and hallways that were designed to slow down raids on enemies who dare to invade. They'd been around for many years, occupied by many a group, whether it were Imperials, Stormcloaks, bandits or even ancients and creatures. They were sturdier enough to survive the ones who built them in the first place. It held a chill in the air, due Doug guessing insulation was most likely never a priority or even thought of, as the place was made of nothing but wood and stone. It was held up by many pillars and planks.
Lydia stopped them as they heard whispers echoing off the walls. She ordered them to be quiet as she crept closer to a light that was shining from the left. The pulsating fades meant there would be people huddling around a fire. Wheatley was holding his hands together, trying so hard not to make a sound. Doug's heart rate increased as the whispers got louder upon getting closer. Lydia wasn't phased one bit, intent on dealing with this few brutes at a time. She went into a crouch and looked back and raised one hand to tell the others to stop walking. The housecarl looked towards the floor when had reached the corner. Doug knew she was listening in to the conversation in the next room. It was full of drunken bandits rambling on about a secret door.
"How many we got this time?" Asked one with a thick Nordic accent, following by the sound of slurping.
"About seven." Answered one, his voice slurred. "There were a few more, but they weren't strong enough to get passed the third room."
The first one laughed. "Ahhh such disgusting and stupid creatures. All of them. Can they really think straight when they're in that bag of stinking fur?"
Another man went into the discussion, her voice just as drunk as the second, only a little more older.
"Of course not...their damn instincts get in the way. But we take them out of towns, out of Skyrim, and not only does it appease our God, but it makes everyone feel a bit safer. Don't you all agree?"
A series of approved grumbles filled the room. Lydia browed and faced Doug who had crept closer in the meanwhile.
"What are they talking about?" He whispered to her.
Lydia frowned. "I don't think you want to know..."
They both listened in further as Doug had a look around. There were five men in the room of variable ages, and as they suspected, sitting around a campfire drinking Mead. There was a shelf full of items behind a bench, but a small gap leading to fire itself could risk them getting seen. Lydia had her eyes darted on the intoxicated group. She waved Doug to go first. He stayed low as he skittered over behind the shelf. Lydia looked back at Wheatley and nudged her head to get him to join Doug. Wheatley nodded, mimicking Dougs movements and trickling his tricky feet to slide against the man, almost bumping some pots off the shelf. Doug glared at Wheatley and froze for a moment, his paranoia checking out if the bandits had heard anything. Doug breathed normally once the laughing resumed. Lydia easily nestled her way on the other side of Doug, as all three peered through the tiny spaces on the shelf.
"Heh...one of the dogs had to be muzzled." Said the first bandit, pale skin indicated Nordic descent and long blonde hair. He was playing with his shiny, silver sword, poking the of it with his finger.
"Her bark is worse than her bite."
The second bandit laughed. Lydia examined he was of Imperial descent and held a greatsword down into the ground.
"Oohh that one...yeah I checked her out earlier. Fine lookin' piece. Shame she had to be a mutt."
Lydia glared at them from afar. It caught Doug's eye, bringing forth the identity question once again. Lydia grabbed hold of Doug's shoulders and forced him down.
"There are five of them. Do you have any spells in particular that would help us at this point in time?" She whispered closely, making Doug nervous.
"Um..." He started, trying to think. He recalled the time the Dragonborn had taken him out with her to the tomb underneath Azura's Shrine. She'd used a trick on them to make them turn against each other. From a brief recollection, she had used an gem and made them fight over it. Doug had no such items on hand, but then perked up once he'd found another for it. The Fury Spell. "I may have an idea."
Lydia responded and laid back against the wall of the bench and keeping an eye on the questioning Wheatley. Doug was obviously doubting himself for even proposing it but it was the only possible way. There were others, but this would leave them likely unhurt, with understanding circumstances looming. The scientist took a deep breath, his once lowered glance looking at the ghostly wolf reappearing in the corner. It took him a while before he had moved again, only for the wolf to bring the attention back to to bandits as he ran to them and dissipated into thin air. He exhaled again and knelt over on his hands and knees. The spell wasn't hard to remember as he crawled over the side. They were in sitting in a way that, Doug could keep low in, sticking to the shadows.
"Using my tools..." He murmured to himself.
With the flick of his wrist, a unique glow emitted, with darting long specks of a light pink-orange colour circling around his hand, the rest shooting off in the same way. Lowering himself a bit more, he poked his tongue out as he stretched his arm forward, aiming for the Nord sitting in front of him, his back tuned. He cast the spell quickly before rushing back behind the shelf.
He nestled himself in between Wheatley and Lydia and watched as chaos ensured.
Within five minutes, everyone in that room was dead.
Wheatley couldn't stand the screaming as Lydia had taken them back a little bit, seeing a doorway to a cupboard and hid themselves in there once it went out of hand, regardless of how Doug was feeling slightly claustrophobic about it. Chairs had flown and snapped into millions of pieces whilst the three were in hiding. Doug was anxious as the bandits spouted racial taunts between the Imperial and the Nords. A lot of clashing of silver and metal shafted sharp noises and yelps of agony filled the air. Doug was the first to open the door, albeit at his own pace. He was anticipating a rogue survivor as the door creaked, the man almost freaking out. Eventually he crawled out of the cupboard and clamped his hands on the side of the bench, one by one, before lifting his head in a precise manner, just so his eyes could see over it. No such movement thus far, from his observational point of view. He looked over to Wheatley and Lydia and nodded that it was clear, before crawling around the side of the shelf, eyes widened at the disaster he'd caused.
The fire was just a small smolder, with the entire room a complete mess. Bodies lay everywhere, the sight of blood making Doug almost faint. He looked at his fingers and realized he was shaking. Licking his lips, he pushed himself off the floor. At a greater clarity, he could now confirm all five were dead. He was speechless. He jumped when Lydia placed a hand on his shoulder, then calmed when he realized it was just her. The entire room was lifeless, dust settling in from the lethal brawl. It had astounded Wheatley who shook his head.
"That's some nasty stuff...even I, well, no...that was going to be a bad comparison. But back on topic, at least we can proceed with ourselves yeah?" Wheatley inquired.
Doug walked forward to each body and checked their pulses. Nothing. It was...bizarre. He looked at his hands. He did this. A simple spell had resulted in the deaths of five people. Indirect deaths. He felt guilt at the pit of his stomach and wondered if this was still a good idea.
"Yeah Wheatley's right." Lydia replied. "Let's keep moving. There's a lot of ground to cover."
Lydia lead the way down into the next darkened path way. It was odd, since there were no torches leading down it at all. Wheatley pushed in front, offering his torch. Doug was still in deep thought about his actions, his head low. He noticed he was trailing behind Lydia and Wheatley, but he preferred it that way. He could help rid of the androids...because they resembled everything else but humans in metaphorical spirit. But with actual humans with blood and a container for a soul, he came to regret it.
You know she won't be happy if she perishes under your cowardice. You have impressed her, by logic and not by battle. She will be more impressed if you managed to take the chance in rescuing her, therefore earning her respect in both fields.
The Cube distant words reached his hallucinating ears as Wheatley continued to lead them down the dark corridors. His ears flicked as Wheatley screamed, seeing the light disappear suddenly. Doug gathered the courage and pushed past Lydia to see Wheatley hanging on to the side. His optic was all over the place, directing the flashlight in different directions, allowing Doug to see that he had fallen through a trap door in the ground, looking about two meters long from where they were. Doug leaned down and grabbed hold of Wheatley's hand, dragging him out of the hole and holding onto the core who needed time to recuperate. Mentally, recuperate of course.
"Oh-oh God I thought I was a goner!" Wheatley exasperated. "But lucky my fast instinct and moves saved me from falling into that deadly pit..."
Doug stifled a laugh there, before noticing Wheatley's trailing off and looking distant. Lydia examined how they could get around it. She sheathed her sword, then slid herself against the wall and shuffled herself across to the other side. Doug gave Wheatley concerned looks as the Core got on to his feet and dusted his hands.
"Uh...um...where was I? Oh...love, how did you-how did you get over there?" He asked, astounded.
Lydia smiled. "I walked. Just lean your...back against the wall and slide your feet. I hope your balance is well adjusted this time."
Wheatley laughed nervously as he peered into the pit. "Uh...yeah..." He said, not really keen.
"It's cinch. Not a problem at all. I pass through things like this all the time..."
Doug felt a smile perk up as Wheatley's expression displayed a certain type of sheepishness that Doug could recognize. He always did that, even back at Aperture. He watched as the core hesitantly touch the back wall. There had to be at a thirty centimeter length between the wall and the edge of the pit itself, Wheatley's feet fell far over, but given the metal nature of them, he could keep his balance and not have to worry about accidentally grasping his toes over, unlike normal humans. Wheatley shivered in his frame, muttering incoherently, his hand pressing against the stone wall. His right foot moved, then his left foot moved sideways. The ATLAS Frame made it awkward, giving it's shape and bulk, with Doug growing concerned his back ports getting scraped up by the back-wall stone work, since it was unshapely and uneven.
Wheatley jumped off on the other side, leaning over and resting his hands on his knee joints.
"Oh...oh god. Please don't make do that again. I know I was good but-but it was terrifying. Did you know at any given moment I could have actually fell back in there. And I don't want to know what is at the bottom. The Abyss maybe...or what your people call, Oblivion or something. Sounds mad...sounds absolutely mad, insane and probably not recommended for people like me."
Lydia rolled her eyes and focused on Doug, who was standing there before the pit and staring down at it blankly.
"Douggy come in! Yes...it's a pit. It's...it's dark...and will most likely kill you if you're not careful. So slide across the side like I just did. It's gonna be fine!" The Core said, dancing around in his success.
Doug shouldn't even be listening to Wheatley's advice, but for once, he was right. Another deep breath pushed to the wall as he began to shuffle along. He didn't want to stare down into the darkness below, but he cursed himself as he did so, hearing screams down there. They weren't real, as Doug enough experience to note the difference of certain hallucinations, but occasionally, his mind would have difficulty in doing so.
He instead focused on his breathing, rather than the noises from bellow. However, the screams warped and changed into a voice that almost made him fall in the pit.
Oh it's you...
His heart pumped harder as he slipped. He shut his eyes, awaiting his accepted death. Or so he would have if it weren't the well-timed grip of Wheatley literal iron grip.
"Woops...almost fell down there mate...oh man...you should have seen the look on your face. You were-you were so scared! I'm not laughing, but...wow...that has got to be the most quick evening of the odds I've ever had to do. You save me, I save you moment's later...I don't know if that's ever been done...in the-in the movies."
Doug grumbled as Lydia came in to help, by snatching his other arm and pulling him out. They helped Doug back up on his feet as he needed to take another breath.
"Thanks, I don't have the best equilibrium...most of the time." He said, expressing his smile as a good sign.
They kept walking down the same corridor, lingering in the dark. Lydia ordered Wheatley to keep an exclusive look out for traps. Wheatley obliged and scanned absolutely everywhere they went, halting the search slightly, much to Doug's dismay. But he soon got an inkling that something wasn't quite right in this place. The androids. Their presence jump started his suspicions about the Silver-Hand who was supposedly here according to the Dragonborns diary.
They'd come across a massive steel door. Lydia banged on it with the back of her fist. It sounded pretty thick and alien to the housecarl as she stared at it with confusion. A red light caught her eye on the right side of it, with a series of buttons and shiny things.
"Is this entire thing made of metal? I give them credit for the unusual craftsmanship but there looks like there's magic involved." Lydia commented.
Doug stood next to her and gave the thing a closer look.
"That's a keypad." He revealed. "You type in a sequence of numbers which is called a password or a pass-code. To open this door, you must type in that sequence which, by the looks of this, needs four numbers."
Lydia stood back, her hands on her hips. "So magic?"
Doug sighed. He kept forgetting that the some concepts just hadn't been brought over just yet.
"Yes...magic."
Wheatley looked at him with lowered shutters. "Umm..I could...hack my in...you know. Hacking is my specialty, after all I learned from the master...can-can I give it a try?"
Doug looked around. A single torch lit the area, shifting against the time values that while the door was modern, the technology around it, was not. Ignoring that he thumbed his beard, remembering the last time Wheatley was...hacking. And if his experience with security was anything, they had to be extra cautious with this type of technology in front of them.
He ran his fingers through his hair. Nothing seemed to shout dangerous or explosive, No cables or cords tucked away, leading to some weapon in the middle of nowhere going to outright shoot them to death. Inhale, exhale. Going back to the keypad, Doug squinted at the numbers carefully.
"There's a trick with these though. If you can find which numbers are pressed often, you shrink down the list of possible combinations."
Lydia lifted her chin as she kept an eye on the door. "Can't we blow this thing up somehow? Without caving the roof in of course." She suggested.
Doug shook his head. "No...it's too thick. And it might trigger off something we can't see."
He turned to Wheatley. "Do you still have that ultra-violet light mode installed?"
Wheatley blinked. "Uh...ultra-violet light...lemme check...it may or may not have been broken during my...uh...previous adventures...can't be a hundred percent sure on that." He said, tinkering with his core.
"Ah hah!" He exclaimed happily.
Doug smiled. "You find it?"
"Um...no..." Wheatley said, still upbeat. He pulled out something from behind him, a long white cord with a near semi circle end. "But-but I found that...USB Cable. Which I feel, will be extraordinarily important down the track."
Doug face palmed. "Okay, that's good and all, but we really need to find that ultra-...hang on..."
He said. Wheatley narrowed his optic.
"What is it?" He asked, curious.
Doug grinned. "Give me your cable. If this has a USB port installed, then I might be able...ahaha Doug you devil you."
Wheatley was weirded out by Doug's strange encouragement to himself, but was...confused and happy nonetheless. He watched as Doug started tinkering with a removable steel plate. He pulled a screwdriver out of his pouch and began unscrewing them. Not long after, he removed the plate, revealing another series of differently coloured cables and motherboards within. He grabbed the usb cord from Wheatley's hand and worked his fingers through the cables to find the port. He rimmed his finger over it, confirming it's location and jammed the cable in.
"Oh is that all...oh that's nothin', that's...OHGODOHGOD...what...what is that? Douggy...I'm...seeing things...AHHH IT'S FLASHING EVERYWHERE! I-I CAN'T SEE...TOO MANY NUMBERS! Ones and zeros Douggy! Ones and zeros! Oh god...this better not be reboot mode you're messin' with!"
Doug shook his head and kept it cool under Wheatley's rambling.
"You might be communicating with the keypads mainframe. It's simple programming." Doug assured. "I guess that they would need to resort to the primitive software since not many people around here would know how to use it."
"Oh that's very-that's very comforting...still doesn't bloody explain these pop ups...you know what, not a single one is for those Viagra ads. Just ones and zeros."
Doug grumbled, then looked at Lydia who had her arms crossed and was staring at them with justified confusion. Doug gave her a sheepish grin.
"Uh...don't bother asking what that is either. You can ask all questions once we get the Dragonborn out." He said, desperate for her to forget what Wheatley just said.
"I wasn't going to. My Thane was right after all. You people have your own language or dialect or something." She said sarcastically. "I'm willing to wait for a few more minutes. I'm hoping by that time you've both hacked your way through this. Depending on what Hack means in your...area of origin."
Doug bit his lip. "It's a complicated process I assure you."
Lydia shrugged. "Yeah...I can imagine. I'm going to stand post until you two have finished."
Doug nodded. "Noted."
He turned back to Wheatley. Whom had to keep sorting through code in his network. Doug rubbed his chin as he managed to guide Wheatley to shuffle the window of code to once side of his visage and roll up the search option for the Ultra Violet light. Suddenly a dark blue light took over the normal flashlight. Some partial finger prints ended up turning up on several of the numbers. Namely, 1, 4, 8 and 9. He continued to guide Wheatley through the programs, essentially telling him to sort out the password with those numbers as Doug typed them in. Eventually, the number popped up on Wheatley's screen.
"Hey, you weren't far off. Eight and Nine just had to be reversed...hah! Best hacking done, by yours sincerely."
Doug smiled. "Yeah you did..you did good."
He pulled the cord back as the red light above the keypad turned green, allowing Wheatley to slot it back into himself. He switched the ultra violet off and stood back with Lydia and Doug as the door opened before them.
Inside was another long corridor. This time, the walls were large pure black tiles that Doug and Wheatley gaped at and to be expected, puzzled Lydia. This was getting far too familiar, driving a sweat of anxiety down Doug's brow. Lydia reacted by pulling out her sword. She had felt like she had gone into another realm.
"What...what is this?" She muttered, keeping her eyes peeled.
Wheatley and Doug glanced at one another. "If this is...is this is what I think it is..." Wheatley said, voice dripping with pure dread.
Doug bit his lip. "I'm not certain, but hunch is leaning towards the possibility."
Wheatley gulped. "She's been taken here. Oh god...you don't...you don't think that."
A shiver went down Doug's spine at where Wheatley was getting towards. He did not like the looks of this. Lydia barged on through between them, demanding answers.
"Okay, I let the language or dialect slide but this? You two aren't telling me something and on the life of my Thane I demand you both explain this to me." She ordered, her eyes not as threatening as the Dragonborns, but it was etching very close to it.
Doug rubbed his head. He received flash backs to numerous explosions, rewinding back to where he had been once he was rudely awoken somewhere in the facility. A simple trailing blur as he saw a yellow light wandering around his peripheral vision, then staring straight down at him. It wasn't clear what he saw as his memory was currently failing him. But that yellow light. It ran laps through his anxious mind.
He snapped out of the flashback when Lydia and Wheatley were looking at him.
"What is it Douggy?" Wheatley asked, concerned.
Doug rubbed his forehead as it ached. "It's nothing...come on..."
They walked down the hall way as fluorescent lights lined the roof, lighting their way down a flight of stairs. Wheatley gulped as he looked at the the floor, looking at the robotic arms that held the stairs up. He didn't feel good about this. Not at all. They turned a corner with Doug freezing at the rotund shaped sliding door in front of them. Wheatley ran forward to read the text on the wall. He called Doug over to help him read it.
"Hey what's this?" Wheatley asked.
Doug squinted at the factory text. "Observation Room." Doug read out aloud.
Lydia came at them from behind, hearing their chatter and reading the text.
"Observation Room? What would they be observing from within there?" She asked.
Doug rubbed his neck. He had hoped and prayed that he would never ever walk within their walls again. But this was too coincidental to be similar. He recalled his own words back at Gildekin. He had planned this, but had forgotten about it when they encountered Lydia at the front gates. All his plans were jumbled. His past words began to haunt him. He didn't hack his way in with the term he'd hoped, but with the locked door, new options opened up. It was likely his skills would in fact, come in handy after all. All those random, pointless equations and variables could suddenly come useful to them. Why he had assumed so was anyones guess. This one unintended hunch he was not looking forward to following.
Doug frowned. "Test Subjects." He said, his breath weary with the term.
It looked like half his earlier fears were proven forward, and the other half unfounded. Once more, he had stepped into the lions den.