A/N: Sorry for the delay with this chapter! To be fair, it's over twice as long as any of my other ones. I'm going to apologize in advance for a couple of things: one, anything related to cake. Bear with me. I promise it will be meaningful later on. And two, the ending of this chapter.
Anyways, this was a lot of work, and I would LOVE to hear everyone's reaction to it.
Chapter 14 - The Fall
Creak.
The metal door wheezed open and fresh air swirled into her lungs. A landscape of dusty tables and yellowed equipment stretched in front of her. This place was frozen in time; she found the undisturbed room calming.
No one was here, and no one had disturbed this place in a long time.
She was undoubtedly alone.
For three days, she'd been safe. No one knocked on the vault door—and from the look of this room, no one had checked this office either. It was as if she'd disappeared altogether, swallowed up by Old Aperture like Doug intended.
Still, it should be safe enough to explore this area.
Every few seconds, she still peered out to check on the elevator. As long as it wasn't moving, she'd be safe.
She couldn't help but notice the lack of messages as she swept through the room. Either the former employees had been lucky enough to get out of listening to their boss's constant voice, or they'd been disabled.
Chell passed by a cheery fake plant on her way through the exit.
Well, that was enough of this room.
A catwalk wrapped around the building's edge and extended out onto a flat wall. Two doors littered the white rock face. White numbers in the upper left corner dated the area '1971'. Across the walkway, a sunset-themed Aperture logo hung beneath the testing spheres.
A warning bell sounded.
Chell's heart jumped. An elevator was descending.
She flipped around to head back toward the Borealis, back toward the office and back through the hallway. But a flash of movement from beneath her caught her attention.
Though the glass, she saw the outline of a person in the control room.
From here, she couldn't tell who it was. It could be Doug—but she couldn't take the chance that it was Caroline, especially with the elevator bringing another person down.
She needed to get out of sight.
She'd picked the worst possible spot to be—pressed against a flat white cliff with nowhere to go. But she couldn't just run back. The person in the control room shifted, moving toward the catwalks.
If she ran back, they'd know exactly where she'd been hiding.
No. She couldn't reveal her safe haven.
In the elevator, Caroline descended.
Surviving down here for days would be impossible without food and water, and the scattered cans and jugs around Aperture were all but impossible to find to the untrained eye.
Aperture only had five areas with those accommodations. She began her search at the bottom of the mine, and Greg began his at the top. They worked their way through each decade level, and met in the middle—1970's.
It was almost laughable how easy she'd been to locate.
Unlike the other four, this door was locked.
She was inside. She had to be. But Chell couldn't hide there forever. Inevitably she would emerge. But while they waited, she left her assistant in the control room and gave him express instructions to notify her as soon as Chell began to move around the office above him.
Three days, though.
She would've been impressed if she wasn't so disappointed. The girl could have lasted so much longer—not that Caroline was complaining. The less time she had to waste waiting for her, the sooner she could turn her focus back to running Aperture.
A blur of movement caught her eye as she arrived. The girl hovered on a catwalk directly across from the elevator platform.
Their eyes met.
Chell froze, then leaped over the right railing, hands squeaking against the slick surface.
She flailed as she fell, crashing on the walkway beneath. The metal beneath her, screeching like a knife dragged against glass. The impact jolted through her body, and it took a wobbly moment before she recovered to her feet.
Caroline watched her rub her knees for a moment, then throw open one of the two doors against the wall. The CEO straightened, then made her way to the control room.
"You're not going after her?" said her assistant, standing in the flat and rocky space between building and salt mine.
"No need," she said. "The hallway she's running through leads to the first chamber of a vitrified testing track. You know why we had to close that track?"
"Why?"
"Too deadly," she said, regret tinting her voice. "Then again, those were the tests that first got us in trouble with the government," she said, and the two of them moved toward the doorway Chell had disappeared into.
Chell ran.
She didn't know where she was going, but she couldn't turn back now. She wouldn't let them grab her again and drag her into a testing chamber.
The hallway morphed into a dimly-lit tunnel. Cables ran against the walls, dipping down occasionally and connecting to breaker switches. A door screeched at the entrance. Someone shouted her name.
That wasn't Doug's voice.
She ran faster, and the path split. Chell turned right and tumbled through another doorway, passing beneath a green stencil of a man running.
SLAM.
Chell's eyes widened. A triumphant tune played over the speakers.
"Hello again, and welcome back to Aperture Science!" said Cave Johnson. His voice was far more cheerful and far more energetic in this message than the ones she'd heard before. "You gentlemen always were our best test subjects, and we are trilled to have you back for another round of testing."
Testing.
Chell's stomach dropped. She hadn't meant to go through any door that wouldn't open once closed.
A testing track—she'd ran right into a testing track.
"But since these next tests won't be involving that repulsion gel that you're so familiar with, Caroline threw in a test here to get you back into the swing of things before we move on to the real tests. It's been a while since you've had the Quantum Tunneling Device in your more-than-capable hands."
Her eyes watered. She'd never been in a real test chamber before—only a vault. But somehowshe'd been lucky enough to only be stuck in a vault. She flipped around and pried at the sliding doors, nails scratching and slipping as she struggled for a grip.
Nothing happened.
Once a test subject entered, the only escape was through the exit.
Well, at least this test didn't seem complex.
A dotted line connected a vent to a pedestal button, and Chell leaned forward to press it. She heard the distinct sound of the mechanism engaging, and a cube dropped down and onto a raised block.
It was about the height of a dinner table, and the hard edge dug into her stomach as she leaned for the cube. Her fingers only brushed it, pushing the cube away slightly. Chell hoisted herself onto the platform with a swing of her legs, then pressed her palms against the cube's edge and pushed it onto the floor.
There. Now all she had to do was carry it and drop it onto the square button.
A chime alerted her of the test's completion, and Chell moved quickly toward the exit. There had to be spaces between these chambers—hallways and elevators and catwalks that could give her a shot at escape.
"Aha! You've still got it," said Cave voice. "When you—astronaut, war hero, or Olympian—first walked these halls, we were just beginning trials on that device you're holding. But now that we've moved past those, it's time to see just what the limits of this device are. Just how long does it take for a man falling through portals to hit terminal velocity? And how far could that momentum fling you across the chamber?
"You're here because science needs to know. And what better way to give in to the trill of danger than by furthering the cause of science? So, honored test subject: welcome to Aperture Science's most challenging and most dangerous testing course."
Caroline walked.
She took one hallway, and her assistant covered the other one. And while her pace was quickened, she didn't run ahead and start shouting the way that her assistant had. But eventually the paths forked and they converged once again
"She's in there," he said, wheezing between words. One hand sat on his chest, and another on his knee. "In the testing track."
Caroline exhaled.
Perfect.
She moved on, turning the corner and passing by a familiar reminder.
If you see an orange jumpsuit,
HIT THE RED BUTTON!
She felt a bit calmer as she entered the control room. An array of switches lined a table, each corresponding to specific positions in each chamber. She could broadcast messages of introduction or messages of congratulations, or just messages in general.
"Out of all places, you chose a testing track," said Caroline, flipping on a microphone. "And one of our best ones. I've got to hand it to you—I was right. You really would have been an excellent test subject."
Her fingers danced across the keys, eventually finding that red button. She glanced up.
A sense of nostalgia struck her as she examined the flowchart. Water stains dotted the material, and the edges curled in.
IN CASE OF TEST SUBJECT SELF-EMANCIPATION ATTEMPT:
1. Activate pressure doors.
Activated?
YES NO —Check to be sure door console is plugged in.
2. Search the area for hiding subjects.
Is Area Clear?
YES NO— DO NOT ENGAGE. Call and Aperture Party Escort Associate. Call Aperture facilities management.
She absently traced her finger down the chart, arriving at the same conclusion she thought she'd be at. It had been awhile since she'd done anything testing related, and even longer since she'd had to activate a seal. Subjects these days just didn't escape the way they used to.
She pressed the button and pressure doors crashed down all around the testing shaft. The room gave a low and rumbling sound, like an airplane roaring by overhead.
No one was getting in, and no one was getting out.
That decade had been particularly troublesome for them all. Apparently the successful completion of one testing course—designed to make them feel invincible and make them want to return for more testing—meant more escape attempts the second time around after things got harder and deadlier.
They complained; they challenged Cave; they tried to escape.
Tried.
But watching their futile efforts had been her favorite part. To her the subjects were ants under a magnifying glass, and she was more than happy to sit back and observe. But with one shift of a hand, she could easily shift that glass and focus in a sunbeam—and that, she supposed, really had been her favorite part.
"You may as well lie down and get acclimated to the being dead position, because that's what you'll be soon enough," she said. "There's no way out of that room."
Chell said nothing. Call it an experiment, but she was curious.
Caroline twisted her volume knob, then pressed her ear close to the speaker. Faint static. She tapped on the side.
"Can you hear me?"
Silence.
Well, that confirmed her suspicions. Chell had yet to see a camera down here, and Caroline seemed keen on audio feedback. But if Chell said nothing, the lady would have no idea what was going on here.
"Well, the audio is working, so speak up anytime. Anyways," she said. "Mind the gap."
She moved forward, taking the time to get acquainted with the chamber's design. It seemed straightforward enough. A square button sat to the side of an exit. The large, flat floor of the chamber extended out a ways and then sharply dropped off, leaving a gap that extended so far down that Chell had to squint to see the single portable panel at the bottom, floating above a murky liquid. A poster on the wall depicted a man being dissolved by a pool of acid.
Oh. So that's what was gathered at the bottom of the pit.
A dark gray wall made up the other side of the pit, extending up and morphing into a ledge about fifteen feet up. A cube sat up there, near the back.
She wasn't sure if this test was contained by a testing sphere. Besides the sheer size of the drop, she couldn't see any bubble-like ridges like the ones she'd seen in the first chamber.
A few angled panels jutted out of the wall near the chamberlock.
So. She'd have to fall to get enough momentum to fling herself across that moat of death and up onto the ledge.
Even with a portal device, it would be difficult.
She'd have to keep her internal balance while falling from a considerable distance, and then she'd have to worry about landing on the ledge itself. And even if she had the guts and the gun to attempt it, she still could die. She could miss the panel and splash into acid; she could midjudge her fling and slam against the far wall like a bug onto a windshield.
She backpedaled from the edge, exhaling as she continued analyzing the chamber.
The exit required a cube on the button to open, but the only cube here sat on the high ledge.
She couldn't get the cube.
And even IF—by some miracle—she acquired the cube and managed to set in on the button, the chamberlock wouldn't open. She'd felt the ground tremble as the doors slammed and she'd heard the gloating in Caroline's voice.
A sick sense of realization jabbed at her, almost knocking her breath away.
There was no way out of here.
She was trapped, and she was going to die down here, slowly but surely starving to death if she didn't go crazy first—
No. She broke off her thought, rubbing at the back of her hands to calm herself.
She couldn't let herself think like that. There had to be something she'd overlooked, some obvious solution that didn't require a portal gun or long-fall boots even though the chamber was specifically built to require those things.
There had to be another way out of here.
There always was.
Chamber Sixteen fell silent.
Caroline hadn't spoken in a long while, and Doug moved through the chamber faster in her absence. He took out a turret on a ledge. As he turned, a camera caught his attention.
Partially blocked by a thick pane of glass, a turret locked on and sprayed bullets in his direction, one clipping his left forearm.
Doug inhaled sharply, stumbling to the side and into a bulletproof corner. It felt as if someone had dragged a knife across his arm, the pain sharp and stinging. He'd never gotten in range of a turret before, much less been shot at by one before. He clamped his right arm over it and blinked twice.
Red covered his fingers as he applied more pressure to it. The injury wasn't serious; it only clipped him. Plus, testing sentries weren't deadly. A one-hit kill wasn't good for testing.
But why did it have to hurt so much?
He wilted, leaning back against the panels. His arm still burned and blood trickled down his arm, constant and yet not threatening.
He needed to get out of here—but there wasn't anyone around. No one would just show up and help him like he'd helped Chell. Especially not that personality sphere.
Unless…
Doug grimaced, partially in pain and partially in thought. Perhaps if he wrote out a message, the video feed might catch the attention of the robot. He dragged himself forward and into direct line of sight of a camera.
He pulled away his hand from the wound, using the blood tipping his finger to scrawl a single shaky word.
HELP
He wished for silence—for a true and interrupted calmness, like strolling through falling snow, blurs of white muffling the world.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and instead got a blizzard of sounds. Jokes and insults and snide comments rushed in, only amplifying his pain rather than distracting from it.
He barely noticed the crack like a broken branch as something jerked out of position. A panel to his side groaned, scraping outwards. Doug jerked out of his exhausted haze, scrambling out the way.
He hadn't pushed any buttons.
This wasn't part of the test.
A red glow emanated from the open area. He stuck in his good arm, expecting his palm to press against cold grating but instead only feeling empty air.
Without hesitation, he ducked underneath panel, hair brushing the metal pole holding it open. He felt the flooring change from smooth panels to rough tiles as he crawled forward and into the dim area.
He stood, turning a half-circle as he examined the space. Completely enclosed. A chain-link fence stretched across the right wall of the room, guarding the keypad-enabled exit. A slice of light, bright and angular, filtered in from the ajar door.
Knock.
Knock knock.
He dismissed the faint sound, turning back to the entrance until it grew more insistent.
Knock knock knock.
"Hello? Anyone in there? Can't really tell, since you've gone and disappeared from the camera's view. Not sure if you caught my hint there, with the secret panel," he said. "Not sure how I did that. Usually I need the receptacle. Anyways, though. If you're out there, please come in. I am the one holding it open, and I can't do it forever," said Wheatley, faint but still audible. "Ah. No response. Must be too busy testing to notice. Okay, then. I'll give you another five minutes, then I'll stop holding this door and then come into the room."
He glanced at the fence again, sizing up the gap between ceiling and metal. If he couldn't make it and Wheatley closed the panel, he'd be trapped in here. From down here, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to squeeze through.
He ducked out of the room, placing a portal behind the camera and watching it sizzle onto the ground. On a screen somewhere, the live feed hissed and faded into a blizzard of black and white.
A few weighted storage cubes sat in the corner, ready to be used to be dropped on the turrets behind the glass. These cubes were strong and sturdy, and it would take a considerable amount of force for the panel to crush them. The panel itself would break before those cubes would.
The energy manipulator hissed to life. Doug tilted the device, angling in the cubes to sit between panel and wall.
Perfect. Now he had a safety net in case he failed at scaling the fence.
He ducked back in and headed for the rear wall, rapping his knuckles against the rear wall.
"Aha! Knocking. So there IS someone in there. Well. Time to drop the panel controls, then," he said. A screeching and groaning sound came from panel.
Pop.
A burst of sparks. The panel went slack.
Doug turned back to the partially-open door, listening to the robot groan as if physically pushing something. More sparks. The door creaked open. Oh. Well, maybe he had physically pushed his way in.
"Not much of a room you've got there now, is it?" said Wheatley. The robot didn't advance further; he was stuck at the end of his management rail. His optic rose into a smile. "All I could do on such short notice, really. With a word as urgent and vague as 'help' I had to hurry. Just what, exactly, did you need help with?"
Doug raised a finger to his lips, and then glanced fearfully at the open panel. The robot nodded—Doug had his attention, at least for now. Doug needed to explain his situation, but his voice—and Wheatley's voice—would draw too much attention. If they spoke, it'd only be a matter of time before Caroline reexamined the blind spots in the chamber.
He fished around his coat pocket and yanked out a thick black pen. The cap came off with a small pop, and he clicked it onto the opposite end.
He sketched a turret in the bottom left of a panel, pressing his slick thumb in the robot's optic to provide the splash of red.
Hello?
Can I help you?
Testing, he mouthed to the robot. I was testing. To make his point clear, he circled his pen on the panel in the vague shape of a portal, and drew a weighted storage cube falling.
"Ah," said Wheatley. "Forgive me. I just assumed that the situation you were in was far more, well, life threatening than a few nicks from those little guys. Not exactly deadly, are they?"
Doug glared at the robot, once again raising a finger to his lips. His mind searched for a way to explain this, to make it absolutely clear as to why the artificial intelligence needed to shut up and realize how important it was for him to escape.
He scrawled he image of a security camera, then glanced back to make sure he still had the robot's attention before adding the words beneath.
She's WATCHING you.
His optic pinpricked, and his voice dropped in volume. "W-why would she be watching me? I've done nothing wrong. Must be something you did. "
Doug sighed—he was missing the point entirely. He glanced around the deserted room, noticing a couple of fallen posters that had drifted into a corner, no doubt leftover from an earlier time.
He grabbed one of the posters and slapped it over the camera drawing. The edges curled in, and it depicted two stick figure friends standing in the center of a blue Aperture logo.
A Trusted Friend in Science.
Doug pointed at the black figure on the left, and then at his chest. The robot nodded, connecting the two of them. Doug was the man on the left.
The scientist then pointed to the other stick figure, the one wrapping its arm around the first one. He jabbed at it, then pressed his fingernail into the paper's caption to underscore the FRIEND. The second figure was his friend.
And surely the robot knew that by friend, he meant Chell.
The robot's handles moved in and his optic widened. He nodded.
Doug moved on.
He wasn't sure how to explain the next part of the story—how Chell was in Old Aperture; how Caroline had separated them—but he'd give his best shot.
In the past day he'd brushed with death more times than he could count. To him, every testing element—panels to acid to turrets—was practically synonymous with deadliness, if not death itself.
He scribbled a high-energy pellet in red, streaking lines to the right to make it look as if it was aimed directly at the poster's stick figures—the ones representing himself and Chell.
This testing element—which killed on contact—was the only way he could represent both Caroline and her frightening actions against the two of them.
Yes, it was a stretch, and one glance at the robot showed he was baffled. But Doug didn't know how to make it clearer. He glanced at the remaining poster in the corner and then gave a subtle smile.
That would work.
He slapped up the second one up and to the right of the pellet, positioning it so that the energy-ball-slash-Caroline seemed to originate from it.
A cake sat on a pink background, with one slice removed and poised on a robin's-egg-blue plate. White letters stretched across a red banner.
TASTY
One look at that poster, and the connection to Caroline couldn't be clearer.
Black ink leaked out of his cracked pen and smeared onto his hands. One of his many falls in testing must've broken it.
Despite being absolutely sure that the robot wouldn't get this, he might as well visually represent how Caroline had separated the two.
He pressed his stained hand onto the wall to the left of the cake poster, and began to etch out tally marks. In a few minutes, he hit ninety and then stopped.
In the bottom right, he repeated the process. Another ninety marks.
In total, one hundred and eighty tally marks.
Chell's current position was around four thousand meters beneath the surface, and three thousand beneath Doug. Three thousand meters equaled about one point eight miles. And if each mark represented a hundredth of a mile, then his one hundred and eighty tally marks—split in half visually by the streaking lines of Caroline's high energy pellet—represented that one point eight mile separation between himself and Chell.
Wheatley wouldn't get it; that was a given. But perhaps the sheer number of marks would be enough to clue him in on just how far apart they were and how important it was for him to go back for her.
With his finger, he drew four red arrows. Two pointed down from the top group of tally marks—from his group— and two pointed upwards from Chell's ninety tally marks.
Wheatley only gave him a sideways look as he struggled to decode the pictures, optic darting from side to side.
Ah, well. Doug could always explain it later. For now, he needed to get out of here.
He linked his fingers into the chain-link fence and leaned. The structure bent like paper in a breeze, as if it'd give way altogether. Not that breaking it would be a bad thing—in fact, it'd make it easier on him.
He stuck in his toes and reached up cautiously, wincing at the pressure on his left arm. Though the bleeding had stopped, the pain remained. But he couldn't afford to wait until the pain dulled entirely—the door was open, and he needed to go.
He favored one arm over the other as he inched his way up. His balance wavered. His arms quivered. The cool wire dug into his fingers and toes.
His clothes snagged on the twists of wire at the top. Doug twisted sideways and awkwardly straddled the fence for a moment as he reached for footholds on the other side. Metal bit into his stomach. The tips of his shoes slipped, whiffing at empty air.
Doug released his grip and winced as he crashed into the ground.
Well, hopefully that'd be the last time he had to jump from a distance like that. He rubbed at his knees for a moment, then turned to the core.
The artificial intelligence's optic darted as his fidgeted. He kept widening and narrowing his look, wanting to speak but catching himself. Doug gave him a tired yet grateful smile, then slipped out the door.
A burst of fresh air rushed in, as cold and refreshing as if he'd thrown off a stuffy blanket and let air whoosh back in. The air here smelled different than the sharp smell of the testing tracks, as if someone in the other room was squeezing citrus. He gave a shaky sigh of relief.
Doug allowed himself the smallest of victories as he followed the robot through a dim hallway.
He'd done it.
He was out of the testing track.
Not once, but twice now he'd gotten out of a room in her wing.
They walked in silence for a few moments, until Doug heard hushed voices and footsteps behind him. He waved his arm and they ducked into a side room, just as dim as the room behind the test chamber had been.
"Dark back here, innit?" said Wheatley, voice low yet unwelcome. "Y'know, I do have a flashlight feature. Lights are always on here, and I've never had a use for it. But now—" he said.
"Wait," Doug hissed. "Leave it."
"I don't see why not—any bit of light could help back here, honestly," he said, adjusting himself as if revving up to do something important.
"We're hiding," he said.
"I—I know. Just. Would be nice to not be in the dark," he said, and Doug heard a sound like someone clicking on a lighter.
"Wheatley. You can't turn on that light," he said, words tinged with panic. He scrambled to come up with a convincing enough reason to keep him quiet and inconspicuous. "Listen—you're afraid of dying, right? Well, if you turn on that flashlight, you will die."
His optic shrank to a spec, and he trembled in his casing. "Well why didn't you just tell me? I had no idea, really. T-thank you. I was just about to turn it on, too. Hah. That would've been disastrous," he said, and Doug gave a grim nod of agreement.
When the threat cleared, they moved on.
On their way to his office, they passed a few crowds of people. For once, Doug was glad to be wearing his work clothes. They were dirty and a bit smelly after a few days, but were still better than wearing one of those awful orange jumpsuits.
At least these were comfortable, and far less conspicuous.
But clothing wasn't his main objective. He needed to get to his office, and then get to Chell.
Water streamed from the faucet, bubbling and gurgling. Doug rolled up his sleeves and stuck his forearm underneath the tap. He rubbed at the caked-on blood, wringing his hands.
The water ran pink as it swirled down the drain.
Even in the safety of his office, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone had gone through and searched his office. His papers and files and pens seemed in a higher state of disarray than he remembered.
Doug hit the handle with his elbow. The faucet squeaked off. Drops splattered as he shook his hands, then wiped them on his pants. He paced around his office and sifted through piles of papers, flicking through them with an increasing intensity. He barely heard the click of his lock as it disengaged.
"Doug?"
He didn't glance up. Any voice other than his own was suspect; he didn't make the connection between that voice and Henry.
"Looking for something?"
"Oh! Henry." Doug briefly looked up, startled, and went back to skimming. "Trying to find a way to get down to Old Aperture, and I can't use that elevator."
"Well, none of us can either. It's out of service," said Henry.
"No, it's not," he said. "I was just down there, and I need to get back down there."
"Doug, it doesn't work."
The scientist gave him a serious look, and then discarded his search. "It works, and it looks like that's my only option." He moved toward the door, leaving behind a confused Henry. A stack of papers slid, rectangles of white drifting onto the floor.
"Wait!" he said, moving to catch up with him. "You're wasting your time. It's out of service."
The pathway to the elevator was unusually deserted. He'd expected a few wary looks, or a few questioning gazes like the ones he'd experienced on his way to his office. He still shot a look over his shoulder as he approached the elevator itself.
He pressed the circular button with two fingers.
It didn't light up.
"I told you. It's busted," said Henry.
Doug pressed it again, leaning in and expecting sounds of machinery whirring to life. Instead, he spotted a stained poster plastered to the doors. He frowned.
NOTICE
Please excuse the inconvenience.
This elevator is out of service until:
He knew for a fact that this elevator worked—this didn't make sense. Even if it was broken, that date should be filled in.
Unless, of course, there were no plans to repair it.
"Wait," said Doug. "I know there's plans to make Pneumatic Diversity Vents compatible with elevators. You think they'd connect one down there?"
"It's just a concept right now," he said, then frowned. "And why do you need to get down there so badly? You haven't said."
"It's her" he said, stretching out a hand to rest on the closed doors. "She's down there."
"Who?" Henry crossed his arms, leaning back on his feet.
"Chell. I know, I know—" he said, raising a hand in a 'stop' motion in hopes he'd get a moment to explain. "She's still here. In Aperture."
"Why?"
Doug's chest caved in. "I was right about her parents," he said. "But I had to get her out of there. Old Aperture was the only choice. And now she's waiting for me to come back and it's been days and this elevator's got to work—"
"Hold on," said Henry. "Slow down. What happened?"
"Caroline. She told me she'd found Chell. She's going to find her down there and I can't let that happen again. She's going to test her the way she tested me, I know it. I just don't know what to do," said Doug, voice wavering.
"Take a second and just breathe," said Henry. "You're sure about this?"
"She had her in a relaxation vault, Henry," he said. "She was going to test her, I knew it. I had to get her out of there."
"You're not making sense. We haven't had mandatory employee testing in years, much less testing on young girls. Caroline's relaxed on that ever since the old man kicked the bucket."
Doug's gaze shifted between Henry's left eye and right eye, unable to focus on just one. Henry shifted, unnerved by the constant eye contact.
"Then explain to me how I just escaped from a testing track after being trapped in there for days."
"Don't be ridiculous," said Henry. " You're not wearing a jumpsuit and you don't have any sort of fall device protecting your legs. You're still in your work clothes."
"That's the point!" he said. "She doesn't want you to believe me, but I've got bruises and cuts and a bullet wound that proves it. I just can't sit back and let the same things happen to Chell."
"Doug. Stop," he said. "Listen to yourself. No one's ever broken out of a testing track, and it looks to me like you haven't slept in a few days—"
"I haven't."
"—and have you refilled your prescription lately?"
A pause.
Doug broke his gaze, realization sinking in.
"You think I made it all up, don't you?"
"If you just listened to yourself, you would too." Henry sighed. "Conspiracies. Lashing out. Believing that someone is out to get you. You know what I'm describing. And what you're saying—well, it's an almost to-the-letter definition of paranoid schizophrenia," he said. "You can't deny it."
"But it happened," said Doug, voice low. "All of it happened. I know it did."
"What you're describing—it's not a new thing. At least once a week this past month you've come running into my office, completely convinced that something impossible happened," said Henry. "Come on. What else could it be?"
A sinking feeling pulled at Doug's stomach. What he said was true. He couldn't explain why, but it was almost as if—at random—his medicine simply stopped working. He'd be flung, full-force, back into ceaseless paranoia and delusions. And the next day he'd take another pill and feel perfectly fine. But he didn't know why.
"It's just another episode," said Henry, with his best attempt at reassurance. "You're always going to see things that aren't there, and you're always going to feel like someone's out to get you. You're a paranoid schizophrenic, Doug. Medicine can't fix everything."
Henry gave a heavy sigh, shoulders sagging. Eyes downcast, he didn't even see Doug slump against the wall and just stare at his hands, rubbing and twisting them as if nothing else in the world mattered.
The scientist couldn't help but wonder how much of what Henry had said was true. Those days without medicine—they'd been disorienting, sure. And he'd experienced several minor hallucinations. But as far as what had happened—he was absolutely certain it was real.
The other scientist exhaled. "Just—take another pill. Compose yourself," he said, avoiding Doug. "I'm heading back." He turned, moving down the hallway.
.Doug lifted his head, dropping his hands to his side and pushing himself to his feet.
"Wait. Hold on," he called down the hall. He pulled out a pen and a scrap of paper, pressing it up onto the wall and scrawling a message. He underlined his last word twice, then crumpled the paper into the man's hand.
Henry flipped it over, frowning.
username: cjohnson
password: tier 3
TRUST ME
"What's this for?" he said, folding it in half and absently creasing it.
"It's about the GLaDOS project," he said. "And proof that I'm not lying."
Henry forced a smile, tucking the paper into his pocket. He gave it a pat before walking away and leaving Doug hovering by the broken elevator.
Minutes passed.
Doug stared at the elevator, his good hand pressed against cool metal.
This couldn't be right.
Whatever was going on here, he knew that he'd taken this elevator before.
Hadn't he?
He reached over again, pressing the pad of his thumb onto the cracked button. It depressed, then gave a dim glow. The doors slid open and light trickled in.
The elevator shaft was empty.
Doug frowned. Well, at least he was getting closer. He pressed again.
Click.
WHOOOOOSH.
Doug yanked back his head. Cables snapped with a sharp hiss. Lines sparked. Metal screeched and the elevator streaked by, throwing air currents into his face before disappearing into the depths below.
Oh no.
Oh no oh no oh no oh no.
He swallowed, palms slick as his hands tightening around the edge of the doorframe.
His tie dangled into empty space as he leaned out. More sparks lit up the elevator shaft, and the elevator gave an earsplitting screech as it slowed to a stop.
The smell of electric burn and hot rubber floated up, and Doug's stomach sunk as low as the elevator shaft. His arms trembled.
The elevator was gone.
Broken. Smashed. Beyond repair, probably.
And all thanks to him.
He stood in a dazed fog, transfixed and frozen at the horrifying sight of the empty elevator shaft. He barely felt Caroline's hand clamp onto his upper arm, firmly guiding him back to the test chamber he'd just left.
"Nice job breaking it, hero."
"I wanted to thank you," said Caroline. "I've been meaning to sever those last connections to the lower levels."
His mind cleared, and regret settled in like rocky sand in the bottom of a shoe. "So there really is no other way down there," he said softly.
And here he was—back in Chamber 16. He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been—how he hadn't fought back or done anything but sit there in shock and just let her drag him back like some misbehaving puppy.
"No," she said, voice sharp. It had all been rigged, of course. She'd set the elevator to disengage after repeated button mashing, but it'd be no fun if she told him that. "This is my company now, and I can't run this place if the voice of a dead man is still calling all the shots. So you've done me a favor," she said.
Doug passed by deactivated turrets, flinching as their optics flashed red and high, innocent questions floated up like notes. He blinked. The optics went dark; the voices disappeared. Another delusion.
"But I can't forgive that little stunt you pulled in the testing track," she said. "It's not like you accomplished anything with it. Really, did you think anyone would believe such an outrageous story from a confirmed schizophrenic?"
Doug edged his way through the already-completed first half of the chamber, heart jumping when he noticed the panel still extended.
He crawled through, bumping his head on an edge.
Most of the den remained unchanged. His drawings still covered a panel; broken and abandoned building materials still cluttered the floor. But the door—behind the fence he'd climbed—was missing a handle, as if it had retracted into the door itself. Dark squares stained the metal where the keypad had once been.
She knew. She must've figured it out.
Not that it came as a surprise.
No one ever escaped from Aperture. At least, not without a little help.
A gleam of white caught his eye—the portal device was still there, right where he'd left it. In hindsight it had been stupid to leave it behind, and back here of all places.
"There really is no chance of seeing her again, now that you've put that elevator out of commission. Hiding back there is pointless and counterproductive," she said. "Come back, and complete this test."
Doug pulled the portal gun close, then crossed his legs and sat. He propped his head on his hands and just stared at the wall, mind tracing back the moments. Regret hung next to him, thick and dark and almost tangible. His mind flashed, loud to soft to incomprehensible, scrambling what he thought was true into an impossible word search.
Maybe he could fix the lift.
The break itself didn't seem complex. Severed wires. An electrical overload. The box itself seemed intact, screeching to a stop rather than smashing into pieces at the bottom.
Maybe he could find a pair of long-fall boots.
Jump down there, find Chell, and then fix it. It might take a while—and he knew nothing about elevator mechanics—but he could learn. Teach himself after he got out of here.
Oh, who was he kidding?
He sighed again, folding his arms and pressing his forehead against them.
"Look. My birthday's only getting closer," said Caroline, speakers raising in volume. "If you don't hurry up and get out of there you're going to miss out on some delicious cake."
A surge of fury shot through Doug, and his face quivered at the unexpected anger. Aggression—yet another sign of schizophrenia, he noted with disgust.
The reds and pinks of the cake poster filled his vision and Doug jammed the tip of his pen into the panel. A phrase shouted itself over and over, so loud and insistent that he could barely think.
the cake is a lie
the cake is a lie
the cake is a lie
the cake is a lie
the cake is a lie_
His fingers trembled on the last repetition of the phrase, losing all strength. The pen clattered to the ground. Doug pressed his palm into his forehead, teeth clenched.
It didn't make sense.
Just like the elevator not working, it didn't make sense.
He'd been to those birthday celebrations before. He'd eaten his fair share of dessert and enjoyed the break from work just as much as every other employee did. It wasn't often that they got paid to waste their time like that, after all.
There shouldn't be anything bad about it—and yet Doug couldn't shake the feeling that something horrible was going to happen, that something horrible was already happening.
He pressed his blackened hand once more on the wall, then grabbed the portal device. Caroline would have to rely on direct-line-of sight for the remainder of the chamber—she wouldn't see his exit from the room.
Well. She'd figured it out soon enough.
Doug attacked the remainder of the test with a cold, detached intensity. He'd made it through fifteen of these before—what was three more? Red beams streaked. Bullets grazed by him, and turrets cried out.
He jammed a stray wrench—stolen from the den's debris— into one vital testing apparatus. The vent hissed and retracted, letting a cascade of weighted storage cubes tumble into the alcove.
He grabbed two cubes and returned them, wedging them once again between panel and wall. Better to leave an opening into that room than assume he'd never need it again.
The panel would remain broken, though. Caroline would rather leave it that way than attempt to fix it from her computer. Sending a repair command to an individual panel, and searching for that panel's individual serial code in a sea of numbers and letters was far too time consuming.
Besides, she'd removed the other exit from the den. Sealing it off wasn't a priority.
Pop pop.
Pop.
Pop.
Three turrets fell in succession, clearing the next room.
"If this burst of energy is some sad and misguided attempt to try and get to her, don't even try. I've already hooked up communications between her and me. So. Take your time, and listen to us as you go through these next chambers."
The gravity feature hissed as he picked up a fallen cube, dropping it onto the button. The chamberlock twisted. A red laser darted from behind grating; Doug ducked to the right.
"I really did try to get her to come back up here. She wouldn't listen," she said. "Ran right into an old, vitrified testing track. It's sealed off for a reason—you have to understand that I can't let anything get out of there. She left me no choice but to activate the emergency seal."
The portals relinked; Doug continued through the two box-like rooms. He gritted his teeth, attempting to shut down his swirling mind. He had enough difficulty focusing already. He couldn't show any emotion, any reaction.
"No gun, no boots, no exit. She's not getting out of that room anytime soon—at this point, it's a matter of time until she dies. Still, I thought you'd appreciate hearing her final transmission."
So she was alive. She was down there and she was breathing and Doug had no doubt she'd fight just as hard as he did to find a way to escape. The slight sense of relief wasn't enough, though.
He deactivated two more turrets.
Test completed. The elevator slipped open.
Doug slid inside and stuck out a hand, sinking into the soft paneling. Overhead, the speakers crackled on. With audio quality low and static high, a sickening feeling told him that Caroline really had managed to hook up a microphone to whatever hellish testing chamber she'd trapped Chell in.
He could not hear Chell's voice, but he could still hear her. Her footsteps. Little scrapes of movement. Vague hints as to the situation three thousand meters beneath his feet.
The elevator kicked to life, and Doug swayed. Caroline's voice came on again, but this time it wasn't directed at him—just Chell.
"Since I'm not down there with you, I can only imagine your expression when you hear what I'm about to say. When you copied down those files, did you even know what you were doing?"
A pause.
"Yes," she said softly.
An overwhelming sense of disappointment cut through Doug.
So she'd been right.
Every time Caroline had accused Chell of it, he'd denied it. Every time Caroline pointed out obvious motivations and obvious evidence, he'd denied it.
His stomach lurched. She'd been right all along. Chell really had played him for a fool.
But how far had it gone? How much of their fragile friendship was real, and how much had he simply imagined? The more he thought about it, the more it collapsed upon itself.
Doug slid to a sitting position, pressing both palms against his forehead.
"That's just whatI needed to hear," said Caroline. "You knew fully well what you got yourself into—this shouldn't be a surprise to you."
"Please," he heard Chell's static-muffled voice come on. "It was just an Aperture—I—I didn't know how important it was, I swear. I'm sorry," she said, a rare hint of desperation clinging to her words. "Please. I'm sorry. Just let me go."
"You've brought this upon yourself," said Caroline without hesitation. "And now you're trapped there."
Doug only heard a faint sniffle.
He pushed himself to his feet, standing on his toes to get closer to the speakers. He struggled to hear Chell's voice, but heard nothing. Just a thinking, ringing sound as if something was bouncing off a metallic surface.
At first he dismissed it as himself. But moments dragged on, and Caroline noticed the sound as well.
"Are you doing what I think you're doing?"
More scratching sounds from beneath, frequency increasing.
"You stop that."
Bang.
"You can't break down that exit with your bare hands, you know. It's metal."
Clang.
"If you're trying to beat yourself, I won't interfere. But if death is what you want—and it's inevitable, really—there's a much more painless method in that chamber. In fact, all of the other people who failed that chamber died by it. I'm sure it won't take you long to figure out."
Step step.
"The acid really is the way to go."
Bang.
Silence.
Another flurry of footsteps sounded, heavy and constant like Chell was sprinting across the chamber.
"Hold on, what are you—"
Doug strained up a bit farther, legs aching and breath frozen.
Step step step STEP.
BANG.
A loud, echoing CRACK.
.
.
.
.
.
Splash.
