Chapter 29, everybody! In which Wilson and Willow join the proud ranks of all the Portal players who just sat there and listened to the turrets on the turret line while Wheatley tried to hack an open door….

And can anyone tell me the significance of the time the clocks are frozen at? :)

Don't Starve © 2013 Klei Entertainment

Portal © 2007 Valve

Willow stood by the opening for the incinerator, waiting for another defective turret. She waved at Wilson, who was standing in front of the plate-glass observation windows; he waved back and then pointed down the line.

Here it comes.

She used the portal gun to catch the defective turret as it sailed overhead, much to the device's glee.

"All right! We're escaping!" it chimed. "Where are we going?"

"This way," Willow said, jumping through the portal and reentering the observation deck. She made a beeline for the template deck and deposited the defective turret on the pressure plate.

"New turret detected," the announcer declared. "Use new turret for template?"

"Yes," Wilson ordered.

"Admin order confirmed. Switching to new template."

"'Admin order'?" Willow repeated.

"I guess he never cleared out the admin list," Wilson mused, looking just as startled as she did that it worked. "Funny, the first thing I would have done when we escaped would have been to do that—I guess maybe there's some things he's not allowed to do?"

"Wouldn't you know?" she asked, unable to keep the caustic edge out of her voice—she couldn't help but be irked by the fact that he knew about this place, even though she knew she ought to have been over it by now.

"No," Wilson said, noting her tone but ignoring it. "I was working in an entirely different section at the time—what I do know about him is only things we've learned after the fact."

She supposed she could let that slide, considering they had both thought he was human at first. A really psychotic jerk human, but human nonetheless.

Finding out he was some sort of machine-thing had not improved matters.

She noted Wilson wilting a bit. "Maybe we should take a break," she suggested. "How long do you think it'd take for the defective turrets to cycle through?"

"The better question would be 'how long until he notices?' And I know what you're trying to do."

"Fine then, puncture a lung."

He sighed, turned to face her—

Glanced over her shoulder, and then suddenly smiled.

"You know, that's not a bad idea, Miss Willow," he said, startling her with the sudden change of heart. What? He pointed behind her. "As a matter of fact, why don't we have a little date right here?"

Date? She turned to look.

Vending machines.

"Dinner and a show?" he suggested, gesturing out to where a fully working turret went flying with a long, drawn-out whyyyyyy?

She was grinning when she looked back at him.

"You're on."

Ooh, it hurt to laugh.

It hurt to eat, too, but he needed the nutrition—what little of it junk food afforded. It was better than starving, though.

He wasn't sure how long they had sat there—an hour, he wanted to guess—but for once in this crazy labyrinth they were having a good time, thoroughly enjoying the demise of each and every one of their egg-shaped persecutors and laughing darkly along with the defective template as they did so.

To be honest, Wilson really wanted to hurry and get out of here—he'd have plenty of time to heal once they escaped. Trust Willow to be focused on the here and now, instead of thinking ahead—they were up against an artificial intelligence: time was of the essence.

But then again, he could appreciate taking a break. His feet had really began aching a while back, so it was nice to get off of them. Even if it did still hurt to breathe.

He glanced over when he realized he hadn't heard her in a while; Willow's chin was resting on her chest, her eyes were closed, and she was breathing evenly. Fast asleep.

"Well at least one of us is getting a good night's sleep," he mused, unsure how much of that was true—he wasn't even sure what time of day it was, what with all the clocks frozen at 8:13. Time had quite literally lost all meaning.

And he was certain that a deep sleep would elude him—forget keeping watch: he couldn't get comfortable enough to drift off. He was quite aware of bones grinding together with every breath he took, even without the accompanying lances of pain. It would be quite a while before he was well enough to be able to do more than catnap.

But soon…soon they'd be free.

He hoped they'd see Maxwell's expression upon finally losing them.

Better yet, he hoped Maxwell would soon be no more. Maybe they'd be lucky and personally have a hand in his decommissioning.

The defective template chuckled darkly again at the sight of another operational turret heading for its doom.

"You and me both, pal," Wilson muttered, spitting out the last word like it was poison.

Unfortunately, he realized, even if they escaped, they would never be free of this place.

Just one of the many so-called benefits of working at KVAS.