Chapter 30, everyone! In which we discover how Wilson ended up in this mess….And by the by, apparently some people feel bad about killing the turrets? I have no idea why—they are programed to kill the player, after all.

Don't Starve © 2013 Klei Entertainment

Portal © 2007 Valve

They set off again after a short "breakfast," finally leaving the turret template line behind.

"I'm guessing the neurotoxin isn't going to be as much fun," Willow posed.

"No," Wilson hummed, reflecting.

"What are you doing here?"

Wilson seized as he spun around. Oh boy—he was in trouble.

"You have absolutely no idea how fired you are right now," the guy said, advancing on him.

His forcible ejection from KVAS was mercifully interrupted by alarms blaring—not that a test failing was a good thing, but maybe it'd distract this guy enough for Wilson to evade him for a while. And reprogram the maintenance bots so they wouldn't track him down and remove him from the premises.

"What's going on?" the guy asked, sticking his head out as someone ran by.

"Gas!" the person yelled. "Poison gas!"

What? But the only sort of gas they stored was—

Neurotoxin.

It was only on hand in case non-human test subjects got out of hand—he had heard it had gotten implemented when some so-called mantis men got loose. Ridiculous, obviously.

The other guy was gone, and Wilson was similarly making tracks—he had his vest over his mouth and nose, although he doubted it would do much good. Neurotoxin was nothing to mess with—he had read the effects it would have.

Death would be a release after exposure.

He nearly made a turn—saw the body of the guy who busted him down the hall—and quickly adjusted course. How widespread had it gotten? Was it in the air ducts? How did it get in the air ducts? How did it even get here?

He made it to a wider hall, this one with some electronic capabilities—find a computer, activate the emergency ventilation, quickly—

Something grabbed at his ankle, sending him slamming into the floor and knocking the wind out of him.

Ah ah ah—no running in the halls.

What?

"Emergency evacuation," Wilson managed to gasp. "I think this calls for that."

Not so, whoever said, and then whatever had a hold of his ankle yanked him up—

And into a maintenance tunnel.

Not my first choice, but you'll do.

Wilson wasn't sure when his higher reasoning left him and he began scrabbling at the tunnels, trying to prevent his abduction, but he was aware of his throat tearing as he screamed

"Why meeeeee?"

"Ah," Wilson noised, hearing the high-pitched cry. "We're close."

"There it is—the results of our handiwork."

Willow paused on the railing with Wilson and watched another turret fly into a sea of gnashing gears, screaming as it went.

"I suppose we should feel a bit bad," Wilson admitted, leaning on the railing slightly—well, sagging, more like. "I mean, they do feel pain—not real pain," he added, looking at her. "Simulated pain. But real enough for them, I suppose."

Willow had a hard time bringing herself to feel sorry for the turrets. They may have sounded cute, but they were murderous—and they weren't real, either. Not like she and Wilson—they were simply robots, like the Companion Cube had been a glorified crate. At least she got to burn it afterwards.

"So where's the neurotoxin?" Willow asked, growing bored with shredded turrets.

"Right this way," Wilson said, ducking under a poorly-positioned laser and continuing down the line.

Willow followed, leaving the doomed turrets to their fates.