Chapter 51, everybody! Yes, it LIVES! And with the famous lemon rant, besides. :)

Again, sorry for dropping off the face of the earth with this, but real life was kicking my can. In other news, I HAVE MY DRIVER'S LICENSE. Good things. :)

I do have the next several chapters written out, since my writing juices swung back to Portal recently, so I should be able to update this every other Thursday for the rest of the summer. Here's hoping.

Don't Starve © 2013 Klei Entertainment

Portal © 2007 Valve

Okay, first couple of times had been sort of funny.

Now, every time a camera clanged on the floor, he bunched up in irritation—ooh, he wanted to throttle her. Wait—well, maybe not throttle. Put her in the room with the robots that screamed at you, with the admonition that she think about what she'd done. And then leave her for a few years.

On the positive side, the companion cube test didn't have any portable surfaces—perfect to give him a break. Indeed, she spotted the first camera, fired—okay, save that freeze-frame of her expression, top it off with a Ha!, then proceed to explain why the companion cube was so important and you should keep it with you and blah blah blah….Which, in most cases, left test subjects with an inexplicable attachment to the stupid thing when they reached the end of the test. Some cried, some hesitated, necessitating the need to inform them that it felt no pain and no it wasn't going to stab you it wasn't alive it couldn't speak etcetera et al….

Congratulations, he said blandly upon her completing the test. Woo. You've provided invaluable data on test subject/companion cube testing. Unfortunately, the companion cube cannot go any farther with you and must be euthanized. State legislature indicates that incineration is the most humane way to—

"You mean I get to burn it?" she interrupted, with no small amount of glee.

…Yes, he continued, a little disturbed by the sudden change in attitude. Your enthusiasm is concerning, by the by.

She didn't seem to care, instead hastening to open the incinerator and then dump the companion cube in, watching the end result with enthusiasm.

Wow, he noised. Congratulations—you euthanized your faithful companion faster than anyone on record. He was fairly certain that wasn't an exaggeration. I think it's safe to say you have a few issues.

"Can I burn another one?" she asked.

No, he said, closing the incinerator before she got it into her head to throw something else down—like the portal gun. Now get back to testing!

"We're getting close."

"We are?" she asked, getting really tired of dragging Maxwell along. At least he had been quiet for the past several halls, and she could listen to the recordings properly.

Except for the fact that several times, Maxwell had said something and it had been indistinguishable from the recordings.

"Yes," he said—she could feel him jerking his head at something. "Take that elevator, then it's through some offices and there's the emergency elevator."

"Marvelous," she said, picking up the pace and getting into the elevator. She dumped him against the wall as she jabbed the button to move the thing—no floor buttons, because apparently, nobody here used those.

Silence as they glided up.

And then she was startled by pained coughing.

"Greetings, test subjects," a mildly familiar voice rasped. "This is Cave Johnson here—" coughing fit. "And as you can probably hear, I am deathly ill. Good news—we've discovered important things about ground up moon rocks. Like the fact that they're pure poison. So we're trying a few different things to see about fixing that. Worst case scenario, we still have the GLaDOS project. When life gives you lemons, right?"

Willow was more than a little concerned at that.

She was even more concerned by the soft curse Maxwell uttered upon the door opening.

"Dead end," she observed.

"I noticed," he said.

"You said—"

"I know what I said," he said testily. "Just—over there. We take the elevator back down. We should be able to get through over there."

She glared at him as she jabbed the button, stalked out when it reached the bottom and opened.

"Hey," he managed. "Forgetting something?"

"No," she shot back. "You've leeched off me long enough—use your own feet."

No biting returns, just a heavy sigh. She reached the next elevator, turned, waited as he dragged himself along, leaning heavily on the walls but on his feet just the same.

"I hate you," he managed upon reaching her.

"I don't care," she retorted, jabbing the elevator button.

He didn't retort, which also concerned her, but she brushed it off, waited until he was in the elevator before jabbing the button.

She still needed him, but she wasn't talking to him anymore.

The elevator wasn't destined to remain silent, though.

"You know how they say 'when life gives you lemons, make lemonade'?" Cave Johnson asked wearily, sounding like talking was a struggle. "Well I've been thinking. When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade—make life take those lemons BACK!"

Willow blinked—oh wow.

"Get mad! I don't want your stinking lemons!" Cave Johnson continued, getting a lot of fire back, apparently. "Demand to see life's manager! Make life take the lemons back! Make life rue the day it thought it could give Cave Johnson lemons! Do you know who I am! I'm the guy who's going to burn your house down with the lemons!"

"Ooh, I like this guy," Willow said, noting the way Maxwell was watching her out of the corner of her eye.

"I'm going to get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon to BURN YOUR HOUSE DOWN!"

"Yes!" Willow cheered. "Burning people—he's saying what we're all thinking!"

"Get me out of here!" Maxwell squawked, pressing against the wall as far away from her as possible. Fortunately for him, the doors chose that time to open, and he wasted no time tripping over himself to put some distance between him and her.

"Don't scurry off too far," she chided, hanging back a little to see if Cave Johnson had anything more to say about setting people on fire. Nothing. She shrugged, looked around—offices. And no Maxwell. Great.

She rolled her eyes, told herself she was looking for the escape elevator and that finding Maxwell would be an incidental bonus. Again, offices that looked like they were populated by idiots.

"The point is, if we can store music on a compact disk, why not a man's intelligence and personality?" Cave Johnson continued, sounding like he had used up all his inner fire. "If we can make neural links, why can't we use them to upload a man to a computer? If we can make nanites, why can't we use them to make a man live forever? Inject him with the stuff, and then they repair his body. Hook him up to a computer, and he can run the whole facility."

Willow jarred to a halt.

"There's a lot of options, but I'm running out of time," Cave Johnson said weakly. "So here's the deal. Whatever facility perfects one of the life-extending techniques first, gets…I don't know, exclusive rights to any of Aperture's ideas for the next fifty years. I don't offer this lightly. The future of science is on the line, boys—save it."

Willow stared at the ceiling long after the voice had ceased echoing. That thing, that he had just said….

If we can make neural links, why can't we use them to upload a man to a computer?

Wow, neural interface—I wouldn't have thought—

If we can make nanites, why can't we use them to make a man live forever?

The way Wilson's sclera had turned black, the way Maxwell's had been….

Hook him up to a computer, and he can run the whole facility—

I mean, one person could conceivably control the entire facility—

And the way she had ceased to be able to tell Max from the recordings and Maxwell apart….

Oh no….

Oh no, it couldn't be….

"Maxwell!" she called, scanning the area and picking a direction at random. "Maxwell! Max! Hey! The bunnies will eat you! Come on! Max!"

She found another waiting room type deal, with pictures of important people to KVAS—one labeled Cave and Caroline Johnson had pride of place, wasn't as mildewed as the others had been—

She found Maxwell in front of one of the paintings, kneeling before it with his head resting against the wall.

She looked at the pair depicted in the painting, the man and the woman she had seen before in their younger years, obscured by mildew. But they weren't obscured now, and she knew even before tugging on Maxwell's shoulder and pulling him back to a sitting position what the plaque would say.

William Maxwell Carter and Charlize Cameron Carter.

William Maxwell Carter.

Maxwell.

They had done to Maxwell what they had done to Wilson.

Wilson was a walking, talking, living human being who had been hijacked by the facility.

Maxwell had been the same.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there, one hand to her mouth, the other on Maxwell's shoulder, her trying to process the horror she had come to realize as he sat there staring at the painting, like he could restart his memories….

I've forgotten more about this place than you'll ever know.

Including the fact that he had once been human and had people he cared about.

She finally found her words—pointless, useless words, but she felt she had to try anyway.

"I'm so sorry."

Like that could erase what had happened.

Like any of them could go back to the way they were.

And then he lowered his head.

"Me too."