Hey guys, um, I'm still grounded, so, um, sorry. My parents are experimenting. I didn't put the link to my other fanfic before (I worked on it at school, and it won't let me get here from there), so here it is: user/Portal2Minecraftgirl

I am planning on going back and lengthening my other chapters, BTW.

Yay, chapter 10! and it only took 1,393 words to get here.

I guided him to the elevator. I was worried for him. I had no idea what She was going to do, either. He feared Her, I could tell. Fear, my reference program told me, is usually not a good thing, and can be distressful, manipulative, and even may even make the human go insane.

And he certainly wasn't sane. He kept talking to that cube strapped to his back. She had told us that he had painted those strange, nightmarish pictures on the walls, and that he had schizophrenia, a mental disorder and form of psychosis.

I noticed he walked with a limp, probably a broken leg which was far too late to heal. He was clearly unkept, and he needed medical attention. Those blue, penetrating, alert eyes clashed with his greasy black tangled hair.

He finally made his way to the elevator, still quivering, still underpowered, still anticipating his fate. The elevator went up to her lair, shaking slightly. Eyes still open, still shivering, still strange. At last the glass doors opened, and we helped him approach her. Every now and then, he stopped, most likely having flashbacks.

Her optic glared bright orange, staring at him, hovering over him, overpowering, menacing, waiting.

"Good job, Orange. Well, here we are again. Doug Rattmann, artist, coward, escapee, schizophrenic, former scientist in the AI department, former test subject, and former murder, I presume? Nice to finally meet you."

"Please… Chell… help me…"

"Chell is gone, as you already know. You watched her go from behind that row of turrets. And that's why I woke you up instead of letting you rot with that cube of yours."

He trembled. Testing is not enjoyable for humans, though I don't see why, but what worried me more than why he hated it was that he did hate it and She was going to take this poor, unfortunate man and make him test for the rest of his life. He flinched.

"Douglas Adams Rattmann?" she had softened her voice. Doug looked up, suspicious and fearful.

"As much as I hate to admit it, I need your help."