Chapter 62, everybody! In which ragtime music is played offscreen….
I've been making it a real point to work on all my active fanfics this month and finish writing up at least two—got the one, Obake Itoko, knocked out of the way, and now I'm knuckling down on the rest. And since that fic's complete, this one now updates on Fridays! :D
Also good news: we've got updates for the rest of the month with this new schedule. :D And don't look now, ladies and gents, but we might actually be close to finishing this. :O
In other news, Willow is channeling Jack Frost from Rise of the Guardians and Maxwell is channeling Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes. Well you couldn't expect her to pass up repulsion gel, now could you?
Don't Starve © 2013 Klei Entertainment
Portal © 2007 Valve
Rise of the Guardians © 2012 DreamWorks ("Okay, one ride")
Calvin and Hobbes © 1985 Bill Watterson ("I think I'll sit here and stare at the wall")
Willow vaguely drifted back to consciousness, surroundings feeling soft and arm feeling much better…wait, why would her arm not feel like that to begin with?
Slamming into a huge video screen, anger fueling her and blinding her to the potential injury—
A mashy spike plate ready to come crashing down after Maxwell had hit right where it hurt—
The fact that Maxwell hadn't lied, that Wilson hadn't been concerned with whether or not she was all right.
Ah, right. That happened.
She laid there, understanding she'd have to open her eyes and figure out where she was and how to proceed from here…Wilson had tried to kill her. Sure he had been aiming for Maxwell, but…she was going to be collateral damage and he was ready to be okay with that. She had been injured and he had been okay with that. Maxwell, of all people, had been the one who fussed over her.
"Face it, you sat in the hot seat too long."
She didn't want him to be right. Him being right meant that Wilson was gone, and she wasn't ready for that.
Except she knew that, knew that there was always a chance that the facility had been wearing his corpse for a lark—his lack of a reaction was proof of that—
Except Maxwell was plugged in for longer and is still…what? What, exactly, was Maxwell? Human? Doubtful—he might be an emaciated body, a corpse that forgot it was supposed to be dead, but what was in there was—
He had used to be human and was too far gone now to be anything but the facility's face. Any other existence is pain for him.
That realization hadn't made any of this better, had just reinforced that she needed to hurry and save Wilson even though he didn't want to be saved. He was being lied to, convinced he was doing the right thing….
The fire demanding she do the right thing and rescue him wasn't blazing as brightly now.
Finally open her eyes, staring at the glass arcing above her—stuffed in a relaxation pod like he had threatened when he was first plugged in. No. No, this place took everyone that came in contact with it and twisted them until they were broken husks of themselves. Even herself, scraping away at her empathy until she had only one concern left: getting out alive.
She was going to have to get used to the concept that she'd be doing that alone.
A little bit of wet leaked out of her eye and trickled down to her ear—no, no crying, you knew deep down that there was always a chance that there'd only be one left standing. Just focus on getting out alive. She still had herself, she was still alive…she could get out of this.
Finally put her hand against the glass, heard it hiss, watched it lift away from her…okay. Just take it one step at a time until you were out, and then just run.
Good morning! Wilson chimed as she sat up. And it is morning, for the record, I checked the clock…sleep well?
She didn't answer—wouldn't answer. She wasn't engaging in this farce any longer. Climb out of the relaxation pod, look around—nothing but white walls and a few black devices, one which she was certain would summon a portal soon. No cracks or spaces for her to work at and escape, of course.
Wilson made a sort of nervous noise between a cough and throat-clearing. Ah, so…hungry?
He was being solicitous now, trying to edge her back into his corner—she crossed her arms and ignored him, ignored the dish that came out of a small panel (that sealed behind it) even though it did smell good…probably the most delicious bowl of neurotoxin she ever had the opportunity to eat. Start a mental count, one Mississippi, two Mississippi….
She got to the equivalent of two minutes when Wilson finally broke.
I see—you want to get back to testing, he hedged—she could almost see him gingerly tapping his fingers together. Well…we'll start a little easy, right now. You…had a bit of a shock.
A bit of a shock. Right. Having your former friend try to kill you did that to a person. Glare at the little circle she figured was the camera, at the portal when it opened…shot one last glare at the camera before stepping through.
Starting a little easy had her right back to square one, pushing buttons and moving cubes. Not exactly stimulating stuff, and each testing chamber was still sealed up tight. And the chamber where she should have gotten a portal gun had nothing. Finally had enough, sat down and refused to solve the test.
Am I to understand you've had enough for one day? Wilson asked, something sounding like testiness sneaking back into his voice before he apparently recalled he was trying for attentive and understanding. Maybe we put you back in the relaxation chamber, let you recover some more?
Glare at the camera—on a portable surface, but with no portal gun there was no chance of destroying it—cross her arms and glare at nothing.
You're going to have to talk to me at some point, he insisted, a wrinkle of irritation evident.
Watch me, she thought bitterly. Resolutely continued to ignore him.
Deep sigh, like she was asking him to scoop out his own heart and present it to her on a plate. Fine, fine, you've made your point—back to something more strenuous then.
Finally—
He succeeded in getting her to make some noise, if a startled shriek counted—panel she had been sitting on dropped away, sending her tumbling into a pneumatic tube that sent her zooming away to be deposited in front of an elevator, surroundings saying it was the start of a testing chamber. And her with no portal gun still. Grind her teeth, pick herself up, gingerly peek around the corner…looked like a white paneled room behind another turning. Sneak to that turning, peer around….
Just a white paneled room, with Maxwell sitting against a wall, knees up near his chest, elbows resting on them, head dipped between his arms.
"Max?" she asked, surprised—voice creaky from disuse.
Maxwell looked up sharply, startled—
Blinked several times, like he wasn't entirely certain what he was seeing.
"I was wondering why the ragtime music stopped," he said finally. "I'm guessing two options: either you're a robot, or you're a hallucination—I can't imagine him putting us back together."
For some reason she enjoys having you as a millstone around her neck, Wilson said stiffly. Unless we've finally changed our minds?
She scowled as she ignored him, crossed over to Maxwell and crouched down next to him.
"It's me," she said. "The plan's still on."
Maxwell flicked the fingers on one hand, considering her….
Groaned as he returned to an upright position.
"I don't buy it, but anything's better than sitting here and listening to the same ragtime song on infinite repeat," he said, cracking his back—oog that sounded painful. "Maybe I'll be lucky and whatever's next won't be so taxing on the ears." Fold in when she punched him in the stomach.
"Max, it's actually me," she told him, glaring. "Stop being an idiot."
"Yep," he wheezed. "That felt real."
Ah, so that's why you want him around—fair enough, Wilson said, summoning a little pedestal with a portal gun on it. All right, enough catching up, there's testing to do.
She glanced at Maxwell, who was glancing at her unhelpfully.
"As soon as we can, we get out," she told him. "No more fussing and fooling around with tests, you have to help."
"I've told you why I can't," he told her. "I've shown you why I can't—and trust me, I would be happy to help you out. But I can't."
Sigh, stalk over and grab the portal gun—dual portal gun. Good. She'd need that when they did finally get free. Step back as the wall in front of her folded away—
The next battery of tests will involve the gels now being pumped up from the old facility, Wilson announced. Are you familiar with repulsion gel?
Willow couldn't help but gnaw at her lip, debating….
"Okay fine," she said, holding up a finger. "We fool with one test."
"I'm just gonna go sit by the wall," Maxwell sighed.
The next several tests—once they got past that annoying repulsion gel one—came and went with no chance of escape. The silent treatment wasn't working—time to be needling, what Maxwell did best.
It was the reason he had ended up with ragtime music being blasted at him for much too long.
Testing, testing, one two three, Maxwell thought, almost giddy. Anyone hear me?
Long silence.
And what do you want? Wilson asked, sounding irritable.
Just thought I'd let you know that congratulations, the tables have fully turned—now you're the one getting the silent treatment, not me. Enjoying it much?
Wilson had apparently muted him again, seeing as how he went down, nearly folded in half backwards, without so much as a peep escaping him.
What about you? Enjoying it much? Wilson asked, feigning sweetness. She gets quiet when she tests. Now shut up.
No she doesn't, Maxwell shot back, curling up into the fetal position and still twitching from the pain. I saw it—I saw the exact same expression on her just then as I did when she stopped talking to me. You lost her, pal, and I think she'd be quite willing to take my advice of getting rid of you permanently now.
You'd never get the chance to suggest it, Wilson growled, sending another round of cut-glass-pain grinding up his spine. As a matter of fact, I see that little bit of programming that keeps you from helping her with the tests—how about an addendum, hm? 'No suggesting that she kill her best friend.'
Oh, is that what you are now? Maxwell asked. And here all this time I thought she was your girlfriend. Aiming low, are we?
Maxwell was forced to roll over to try to escape the next round. Not that it helped.
Unlike you, I understand her, Wilson said evenly, absolute fury simmering beneath. I don't overreach, and I most certainly don't aggravate to the point of murderous intent. But please, continue to give me reasons to make your inevitable, infinite torture more painful—I do relish new ideas in that regard.
Give it time, pal—you'll be getting that murdering impulse soon enough.
Wilson graced him with another round of grinding pain before leaving. Well, he had napped in worse spots….
Someone kicked him in the ribs.
"Are you going to sleep here all day?" Willow asked crossly.
"That's the plan," Maxwell said, hoping he didn't sound as hoarse as he felt. "Aggravating him by making him wait seems like a solid plan."
"We're not getting anywhere just sitting around."
"And you're not getting anywhere doing what he wants. You might as well take a load off."
Willow sighed in aggravation, but sat down against the wall just the same.
"So once we're off the tracks, how do we get to the control room?" she asked.
"In case you weren't paying attention, he retrofitted the whole place—all the old routes are gone."
"So you have nothing to suggest."
"He can't leave the control room, or move it, so that's still in the same spot."
"And how do we get there from here?"
"Haven't the foggiest."
"Well you're no help," Willow said, crossing her arms huffily and leaning against the wall.
I seem to recall offering to get rid of him. Multiple times, Wilson said. Willow ignored him, or at least, didn't answer. Maybe after this next test I'll give you a little break, hmm? Give you some variety.
Willow still didn't answer, but she got up just the same. "Get up."
"I'd rather not," Maxwell said.
"I said, get up," she said, grabbing his arm and hauling him up.
"Keep an eye out," she hissed, tugging him down slightly so she could whisper in his ear. Ugh. "The second we see an opening, we're taking it, okay?"
"Marvelous," he said drily, following her to the elevator. "By the way, I do think he might finally be slipping sideways into the killing us territory."
"I noticed," she said—oh dear, guess trying to save him was off the table. "And you said that was when we had our best chance, right."
"I recall saying that, yes."
"So be ready," she said. "And be annoying, maybe that'll give us an opening faster."
"Ah, me, that's like asking neurotoxin to be deadly."
"So that's a yes?"
"That's an absolutely."
This was definitely shaping up to be working wonderfully. Minor snag with Willow not wanting to talk to him now, but that was an honest error, and he was busily debugging that horrid malfunction—honestly.
Kill her. Threat to the facility. Kill her.
Now you stop that, he told the machines. We established that we are NOT killing her, that in fact she's a better asset to science when she's happy. If you want to kill anyone, finish digging out the human vault and we can go through someone there.
Something pinged off a deep echo in the base of his mind, deep under all the information buzzing through his head and the busywork of running this place—did he just blithely suggest killing someone? No…no, probably not, that didn't sound like him…did it?
Well let's see, he mused, pulling up several lists. We've gone through several tests with those gels pumping up from below, done some work with the companion turrets that really need a better name—start working on that—haven't done anything with the hard light bridges yet, or…hm, what else….
The turrets. Not the companion ones—the originals, complete with live ammo.
Wilson twitched at that thought, hating that it had even occurred to him—no, he wasn't using a turret firing live ammunition at his friend. No. It wasn't even a proper weapon, he thought as he looked at the schematics. The bullets were fired out via a spring—which explained why they never tipped over: there wasn't the force from the usual explosion that propelled a bullet. It also explained why he had taken a shot or two to the leg with naught but a huge bruise and a limp that persisted over several tests. Definitely in need of improvement—
And then what? If he improved it, then he'd need to test it, and if he tested it….Right now the only one available was Willow.
Prioritize digging out the human vault, Wilson ground out, hating the fact that he was already plotting out how to build a better turret when there was only Willow available to test it on…oh wait! He had forgotten about Maxwell! Surprising, considering what an ingrate the man was.
Wilson ran several scenarios as the elevator travelled to the next test, projecting various outcomes to theories as to how to hasten Willow's severance from the man. He had given her a good-faith moment, gave her that disgusting man back to show that Wilson wasn't what she accused—now it was time to get rid of him.
The fastest and dirtiest way was to sabotage the man directly through his nanites, but he had the feeling Willow would suspect foul play. Perhaps…yes, a minor reward after the next test—that might get her in the proper mood. Cake, maybe—after he debugged the recipe again, considering he was pretty sure normal black forest cake didn't call for fish-shaped cakes, shaped like itself—and that was the least egregious ingredient in the recipe.
Why did that file keep corrupting?
So. A meal and a chance to rest up—she'd probably suspect him of abolishing Maxwell while she slept, but if he were still around when she woke up, bam, trust restored. Curse that panel falling like it did.
And with her leaning back towards Wilson, she would realize that Maxwell was in fact the burden that he was. Wait for him to say a sufficiently offensive statement, and…yes, Willow would allow him to get rid of Maxwell then—one terse statement: fine, you can get rid of him. That was Willow's way.
And then…and then…Wilson could get properly started on his revenge.
Just as soon as he debugged this bloody thing.
