Chapter 2

The elevator dinged.

Before they parted, Emily pulled Chell into a hug. Her status of 'mother' was still new and uncommon amongst her co-workers-she showed it off whenever she could. And the few employees that had kids kept them as far away from Aperture as they possibly could.

Chell said nothing, receiving the hug for a brief moment before pulling away.

Left. Right. A catwalk, and another left. The path felt familiar beneath her feet—as if a line had been drawn for her through the maze of Aperture. Her twice-daily walk to and from the Employee Daycare Center never varied. The idea of taking a wrong turn and getting hopelessly lost terrified her into memorizing the layout.
Chell visualized a map, checking off each turn until she hit the last hallway. The door creaked open, and she hit the lights and flooded the dark, musty room.

Empty. As usual.

The clock's tick echoed, a bitter reminder of just how early it was. She rubbed her eyes.
This morning, Emily's observation team received a new test subject. Her excitement—and the potential usefulness of the results for Black Mesa—made her unable to sleep, so she woke Chell up before she left for work. This behavior was normal—like all Aperture employees, she had a twenty-four hour dedication to her job. Normal hours meant nothing.

A computer monitor flared to life as Chell clicked a button. While waiting, she spun her desk chair in circles. An unlucky employee would show up. Eventually. Aperture was too cheap to hire someone to run the place, so they passed the duty, hot-potato style, amongst themselves. No one was exempt—even Ms. Caroline came down one day.

Chell kicked her feet against the desk, propelling herself in endless circles. Blur, screen, blur, computer, blur, cabinet. A smear of black and white caught her attention as Doug Rattmann poked through the door.

A few papers drifted to the floor from the desk, caught up in the twirling air currents. "Dizzy yet?" he said, eyes throwing off a wild-eyed look.

Chell stuck out a hand to grab the desk, abruptly stopping herself. Her vision spun, twisting and tilting before settling. She dug her fingers into the chair's back and shrugged. He hit a few keys on her computer, then surveyed the room.

Rows of desks. Projector. Filing cabinets. An abundance of fun for a recently-turned twelve year old girl. She could've stayed home in Appleton, the employee town for the mines that'd been transformed into the employee town for Aperture Laboratories.

Being here was Chell's job. She had to stay and gather as much information as possible—anything to help her mom get that job.

"Not much to do here," he said. The man introduced himself as Doug, though his nametag said Rattmann.

Chell shrugged. Rattmann ran a hand through his hair.

"What do you normally do?" he asked.

"Computer stuff," she said with a half-shrug. Doug stared at the sparse screen.

"I used to be a programmer," he said, typing for a moment and scrolling through a bit of his work. He lifted a finger off of the mouse, ready to launch into detail about Aperture computers. Chell watched intently.

"You know what," said Doug as he clicked off the computer's power. "Better idea. Follow me."

Chell hopped down and followed Doug through unfamiliar hallways until a crossroads blocked their way. Faded lettering blended with a concrete wall, with only a portion recently painted.

"They send the painting projects to me," said Doug. "And there's tons of them. Help me with this, and I'll give you an art lesson or two afterwards."

"I'm not very good," said Chell, drifting to the wall where a small gray and pink cube sat. Her fingers trailed over raised edges, hovering over a glowing heart.

"Go on," he said. "Press it."

Chell pushed and the middle sunk in. The cube's top split, retracting into each raised corner. Inside the modified weighted storage cube, a burst of color greeted her.

Brushes and paints and books spilled out of the half-sized container. Doug pulled out a few splattered brushes and paints, handing them to Chell.He hit another raised heart on the cube's side, and the top clicked closed. He pushed it back against the wall, providing a perfect step up for Chell.

"You're here everyday?" he asked, painting in the beginnings of a word.

Chell nodded grimly, dipping her brush into the yellow paint. An infallible focus guided her strokes. Chell dipped her brush into the yellow paint, focusing on fitting in the letters perfectly.

"That's okay," he said. "Me too."

She gave a little snort, wiping away a drop of paint from her arm.

"You must love your job." She asked this question to each employee she met—and most didn't hesitate to agree with her. Doug gave the hallway a sweeping glance before grimacing.

"Well, my current job's better than programming," he said. Chell's silence urged him on. "I fix the broken ashpods." Chell's face flickered in confusion, and he added, "ASHPD. Portal Gun."

"The ones you're testing?" she said, brush slowing. Though she'd never seen one, her mom worked in test observation. She helped design test chambers, yet rarely worked with the device itself.

"That's right," said Doug, gathering his palette and paints. The word 'offices' accompanied by an arrow stared back at him, wet paint shining. He wiped off his brushes with today's lab coat. "My job's to improve it."

Chell hopped down from the cube. "I've never seen one up close," she said.

Doug reached for a thick book —a dark hardback with a white wave splashed across the front. "How about this. Since taking you on the job worked out well, I'll come back in a few days and show you the ASHPD in my lab," said Doug.

"For now," he said, tossing her a fresh brush. "Time for an art lesson."


Three days later, Doug Rattmann returned as a designated daycare giver. A trend of dragging Chell along on the job quickly developed. She delivered office messages and stapled papers. She observed testing. In the announcement development room, she helped devise official instructions to air during various catastrophes.

Out of them all, she liked Doug —thoughtful and artistic—so unlike other loudmouthed men and women.

Chell sat in the daycare center with a stack of paintings. She rubbed her hands, cracked with dried paint, and leaned her latest painting against a monitor. Again, she was early—and today, she was determined to repaint this picture until she made one good enough to send to her mom in New Mexico.

Like Doug told her, she focused on shape and color. She tried to feel the art rather than strive for realism or accuracy, but the pictures of the lake turned out too bland and lifeless every time.

Footsteps.

Doug walked in, waving her over.

"I can't leave the lab today," he said. Chell set her paintbrush down, not caring that the drying paint would cement it to the paper. "Leave that. Let's go."


His lab was empty and clean, save for the equipment in various stages of disassembly. Black claws sat on his table, along with a gun-like weapon. A few small cubes, like Doug's, sat stacked on a counter.

Doug disappeared behind shelving and reappeared with a sleek white gun. He set it onto the table, dragging over the three claws and a handful of tools. Chell ran a hand across the gun's smooth outer shell.

"It works?" she said.

"Not yet," said Doug. He glanced around, quickly remembering that his lab contained no portal-conductive surfaces. "It's a prototype. Subjects have difficulties carrying the gun and carrying a cube— they keep dropping and breaking the ASHPD."

He sighed. "This other prototype—an energy manipulator—has been collecting dust. I thought I'd try combining the two."

Chell looked over at the experimental gun—similar to the portal device, but with three black claws and a more square body.

"Can I try?"

"Sure," said Doug. "Lift something with the gravity gun and I'll lift something else with this one." He tapped the portal device, then adjusted the top claw before flicking it on.

The prototype gun weighed heavily in Chell's hands. She pulled the trigger, lifting a deactivated turret. A smile sprouted across her face. The gun's glowing field of energy lifted it up as if with invisible strings.

"How does it work?" she said, lifting and lowering the turret. Doug raised another turret, which briefly hovered before crashing to the ground. He sighed and readjusted the claws.

"Yours is a zero-point energy field manipulator—the ASHPD version's designed for lifting cubes and turrets. The gun's core powers it—that thing's got as much power as a miniature black hole."

Chell gently set the turret down and pulled the gun to her chest. "I love it," she said. Doug nodded in agreement.

"Me too," he said, nodding in agreement. "My reassignment was like a promotion." Chell gave one last wistful sigh before returning the device to Doug.

While he tinkered, she scoured the shelving until she found pencils and blank sheets of paper. She pushed up a chair beside the energy manipulator and drew the piece of technology messily and expressively.

She tried again. With each attempt her realism improved.

Doug blinked and pushed his chair away, metal legs squeaking against tiled floor. His hour-long concentration broken, he looked at Chell's drawings before rummaging through cabinets until he found a small stack of oversized papers.

"Want some blueprints?" he said. "Sometimes it helps to draw the individual parts."

Chell's heart quickened as she thumbed through the crisp lines and fine-print notes. Her fingers trembled as she smoothed them out.

"Thanks," she said—quickly, softly, as to not reveal her excitement. She pulled out another paper, drawing a grid before copying the blueprints in detail. She didn't risk copying the fine print—she read it again and again while she drew, committing parts of it to memory.

By the end of the day, she copied them all.


Chell stared at the telephone. A crumpled piece of paper unfurled in her hand—her mother's current number. She inhaled and dialed the number, biting her lip as it rang and rang. Her feet bounced, barely able to contain her excitement.

A telltale click. The other end picked up.

"Hello?" an annoyed voice answered. Chell had probably interrupted something science-y.

"Mom!" she said, a rare show of energy busting out.

"Oh," said Mossman. "Hello Chell." A beat of silence. "Is something wrong?"

"No, but I've got really good news."

Chell's mother exhaled. "I'm busy right now—Black Mesa could call any minute now. "For days, she'd remained in the queue of potential hires without any other news. "Can it wait?"

"It's important," said Chell, cupping her hand around the mouthpiece. In the other room, her adoptive parents sat at their respective desks, each doing something work-related. They had to keep up with their co-workers' levels of dedication, after all.

"Then say it," she said. Chell shook her head, her action invisible through the telephone lines.

"Not over the phone," she said, voice low and serious. "But I bet you could get the job."

A shuffle on the other end. A pause. When Mossman spoke, she used an upbeat yet hurried voice. "Go tell your new mom and dad. They'll get the message to me," said Mossman. She cleared her throat. "Goodbye, Chell." she said.

"Mom?" A click on the other end. "Mom, I lo—"

The dial tone cut her off.


Chell stood at the end of Jerry's desk, unsure of how to start this conversation.

He scribbled in a notebook before glancing up and jumping. "You're so quiet," he said. "Didn't see you there. Something wrong?"

She shook her head. "Can you send something to my mom for me?"

"Sure," he said, wheeling around. "What is it?"

Chell pulled out the sketches tucked underneath her arm and set them on the desk. A look of confusion and amazement crossed his face. He flipped through them.

"Where did you get these?" he said.

"Drew them," she said.

"You drew blueprints?" he said. Emily looked up, pushing away her papers before joining them.

"They're copied," said Chell. She stared at the layer of dust that blanketed the furniture and the carpet, and couldn't help but notice that it was the same layer of dust from when she arrived.

"This isn't portal technology," said Emily. She held one up to the light. "I've never seen this before."

Chell reached for the blueprints, but her parents pulled them away.

"These are phenomenal," he said. "Where did you get these?"

"Doug," said Chell. Emily's lips turned up into a smile at the corners.

"Did you memorize the rest?" She meant the words, the details, the instructions littering the real blueprints.

Chell nodded after a moment. The two launched into questions, hammering her left and right for answers. She replied truthfully, spilling out the specific details. When they finished, they moved to flush the girl out of the room. Jerry grabbed a phone.

"So you're calling my mom?" she said, Emily's arm pushing against her back in a not-so-subtle push to the door.

"Hon," she said. "That'll take too long." She gave her a small pat.

"We've got to call Black Mesa. They'll be all over this," said Jerry. He dialed the phone.

"Wait," said Chell, stumbling forward. The door closed behind her and a lock clicked into place.

She leaned against the door, sliding down until she sat with her back against it. She listened. Excited murmurs drifted from the other side.

Somehow, she knew she wasn't going to get any credit for the blueprints.

And neither was Judith Mossman.


A/N

Thank you for reading! I really appreciate everyone that's followed and reviewed this so far c:

I'll try and get chapters up as often as I can—at least once every two weeks!