The Things We Do For Science Chapter 57: A Euphoric Response to Science, a Portal + Don't Starve Crossover fanfic

Chapter 57, everyone! The first update of the decade, and hopefully not the last! *bricked*

Thanks for the review, Anon! I am too~ And thank you! So happy it's finally done. ;v;/

Thanks for the review, anon! Glad you're enjoying it enough to get super-excited at updates (I too, get excited when I finally update *bricked*). Ah, thank you—I've never really written Wilson in a villainous role before, so glad it's coming along nicely. And thank you! :D

"Well, this isn't good."

"What part? You talking again?" Willow asked, glancing at Maxwell pressed against the far wall of the elevator; he hadn't spoken for the past several tests.

Maxwell rolled his eyes before responding. "No, the fact that he actually likes testing."

"I'm sure it's different in the driver's seat than it is on the cutting room floor."

"No, it's not that," Maxwell said, waving her off. "The people who programmed this place thought that whatever AI they put in needed extra incentive to test, so they installed a euphoric response into test completion. It wears off eventually, but if he's actually in it for the science…."

"Then that euphemism thing doesn't work?" Willow guessed.

"Euphoric. Euphemism is an entirely different word."

Oh, that pesky thing? Wilson cut in suddenly as they reached the new floor. I disabled that ages ago—it interfered too much with the true joy of science.

"Deliver me from nerds," Maxwell muttered, staying close on Willow's heels. "Especially eavesdropping ones."

"We need someplace where he can't hear us," Willow muttered. "Maybe one of the rat dens."

I got rid of those too, Wilson said. Streamlined the whole place, remember? Those things were just taking up space—space much better used as test tracks.

"I would like the record to show," Maxwell said, looking aggrieved. "That I said not to jump onto the testing tracks. You insisted that he'd listen to you. What do you call this?"

"To be fair, he is listening to us," Willow said, sighing. "Just not the way I want."

"Hmm….Oh, yes, this is the perfect way to show a girl a good time!" Maxwell said, suddenly straightening up and addressing the track as a whole. "Put her in a life or death situation and chat with her over the speakers. That's wonderful. Candles and dinner and music and face-to-face time is so overrated."

"What are you doing?" Willow asked, glaring at Maxwell over her shoulder. "Stop that."

"Someone has to be productive. I wonder what you've got planned next," he continued to project to the room at large. "Acid, maybe? What a trip! Or regular turrets—you can't beat the classics! She asked you for one thing, pal—one thing. No wonder she denies being your girlfriend!"

"Stop it!" Willow hissed, whacking Maxwell on the chest—which, even lightly, was enough to send him curling in on himself. "We want him to not rip you into tiny pieces, remember?"

"If we keep this up, he'll figure out a way to do that anyway," Maxwell hissed back. "I'd much rather him be off-guard and scrambling, agreed?"

Wow, Wilson noised finally. Willow glanced up to see him on one of the screens, arms tightly crossed, eyes focused on some point on the wall as a muscle above his furrowed eyebrows twitched and his jaw muscles tightened. And you had the gall to call me an idiot. Insulting the person whose goodwill you're depending on certainly doesn't strike me as a smart idea. Are you sure you want him around? This comment directed at Willow.

Willow eyed Maxwell, trying to convey stop acting up and keep playing along without Wilson noticing.

"Yes," she said finally.

Wilson blew out an irritated sigh, and she glanced back in time to see him roll his eyes.

All right, he sighed. But say the word and he's gone. Just so you know.

She gave Maxwell a meaningful look before going on to solve the next test.

It should have been different.

Being shuttled from boarding school to boarding school by a family that wanted you to go into the business had been demoralizing from the start, worse when they tried to stamp out his scientific bent. No business in the upper echelons of the textiles business, focus on accounting instead.

He didn't want that—didn't want to work at a dead-end nine-to-five job at a place that hadn't much progressed past the second world war—fifty years at a soul-draining job to be handed a gold watch and a pat on the head. He wanted to make things—glorious inventions like Edison and Tesla and Da Vinci that revolutionized the world—he wanted to jumpstart the next industrial revolution, make a world where no one was forced to work at some menial job, could pursue knowledge all they wanted.

He was laughed straight out of the family. Sixteen and disowned, for wanting to follow his dream.

But he was motivated—worked three jobs to get into college, earned scholarships and grants to stay there, consistently top of his class, constantly hiding in the library even after-hours to get ahead of his peers, to soak up all the knowledge his brain desperately wanted to devour….

Even at the university level, people wanted to hold him back—wanted to drag out the process—you'd be graduating too young, basically.

He wasted no time, got extra degrees at other colleges, constantly riding public transit back and forth, catching naps on the trains and trolleys and buses—earned two more degrees before he finally made it.

Being a doctor should have made things different.

Overqualification was a word he hadn't even heard of before attempting to ply his trade. His thirst for knowledge had made him a pariah—no one wanted to bother with him.

Edging closer to thirty, five degrees, a doctor! And homeless. Shanter had held nothing for him, and now the city didn't either.

That was when he heard of the KVAS Coalition—a group of scientifically-inclined companies that were gathering the best and the brightest—he nearly ran people over heading there, agonized over the train he hopped going so slow—but it wasn't like he could afford a plane ticket—

Knowing that he looked absolutely ragged, begging to even be put in at grunt level—anything to be near the science he loved. He hoped to attract the attention of the right people—Cave Johnson or his wife Caroline! Those two knew science when they saw it! A janitor was a start, right? So long as he was in the right place?

Except it was shaping up to be just him at a fifty-year soul-crushing job. No. No he wouldn't have it, he'd edge in somehow—

Slowly worm in as test-track supervisor—well, assistant test-track supervisor, and only when someone was unable to fill in, or when he could justify being in there—slowly start to impress some of the lower levels with his knowledge, aggravate the higher levels with that same knowledge—

When he had been caught, nosing around in places he shouldn't, with experiments he shouldn't, he had worried that it would all come to a screeching halt.

Instead, he found himself shoved onto the testing tracks in what he felt was a sick game, a perversion of science, an instance of those higher-levels punishing him for being better than them.

Instead, he slowly realized he was in a much worse situation.

But all that was in the past now—Maxwell had had his fun, but now it was Wilson's turn. Finally, after all these years, he was where he belonged, with what was rightfully his: all the knowledge in the world at his command, clipping through his brain at blistering speed; the ability to conduct any and all experiments he could have ever wanted; the chance to finally fix the mess this place had truly been.

Honestly, Willow's appearance was perfectly timely—he had almost completely gotten the place running the way he had always wanted, and now here was the absolute perfect test subject! Delete what Maxwell had on her, by the way, it was biased and unscientific and in some points just downright rude.

So, let's see…unlimited knowledge that had before been forbidden: check. Improving existing scientific facilities: check. Conducting tests: check.

The chance to do this forever, no failing body to hold him back? Oh yes please sign him up—oh, too late, best decision, that.

It honestly killed him to keep his mirth in, even with the mikes muted—toeing around in a swivel chair he had summoned from the redesigns sent out, practically hugging himself—this was brilliant! This was absolutely positively brilliant this was better than anything he had ever dreamed!

He wondered if he could send out robots to find all those naysayers and drag them here for testing decidedly nasty stuff—file that idea away for later, that was a good one, especially if the human vault looked anything like those apartments he had found Willow in—

Ah.

Willow's reticence put a damper on his mood, to be frank—that and the unhealthy link with Maxwell. But that'd be gone soon, and she'd see the benefits of him in charge. After all, she was the only one who…well, she appreciated his talents immensely when he didn't include the fact that he worked for KVAS.

But that was in the past as well—she'd soon see the grandeur of him in charge of everything, of finally being this era's Tesla or Edison or Da Vinci….No. No forget all them, he was going to be better than all the scientists before him combined.

And no outmode of a central processing unit was going to ruin it for him.