Chapter 22 - Goodbye, Caroline

This wasn't where she wanted to be.

No, this wasn't where she wanted to be at all.

Somehow she'd gotten turned around—taken a right instead of a left, and ended up in the most dangerous part of the facility.

Caroline twisted. A dead end sat to her left. A keypad-locked door blocked off her right. She refused to exit through the hallway she'd entered from—instead, she darted to the side. Her hand hovered over another doorknob. Distant and flat voices drifted in from the other side.

She hesitated, slipping her hand away. Back through the turret room it was, then. Perhaps she could find another place to hide out. Temporarily, of course. She inhaled as the volume of the voices grew, turning on her heels to speedwalk down the hallway.

Her stomach sunk as she gave the open office door a final, darting look. She'd never be able to hide in a place so close to them. That was far too easy.

Caroline stopped running.

A sickening tightness spread through her chest as the door creaked open. She straightened, smoothing her shirt. A burst of laughter echoed as Henry told a joke to his co-workers, a particularly obnoxious laugh coming from a lady she recognized as Karla. After spending so many long hours searching, even the lamest joke triggered uncontrollable laughter.

Henry's smile vanished as he turned the corner.

"Caroline!" he stuttered, expression shifting from confusion to relief.

The lady of science immediately cut him off, her voice low and wavering. "Well, you found me. Congratulations." She kept her chin high and hands behind her back, wringing and pulling them as she spoke.

"After that," he paused, "misunderstanding, we'd just about given up on you." He studied her for a moment, unconsciously positioning himself between her and the doorway.

Another employee edged the door closed, lightly tapping the keypad. Flat musical chimes rang with each press, and Caroline watched the light in the corner flicker to red. Deactivated, of course. She doubted she could push through all four of them and get to that doorway even if she had an override code.

Caroline gave a shaky inhale, fighting against the thoughts screaming at her to sprint back to the turret room. Caroline was a tired woman—tired of running and tired of fighting. "It's..." she said, clearing her throat and squeezing her hands. "It's fine. I just needed some time."

"Just come to the Main AI Chamber and we'll all put this behind us," said Henry, "for now."

Panic flared inside of her, a sharp reminder that this was her final moment of freedom—and yet the emotion twisted her brain, making it impossible to think, impossible to focus, and impossible to escape.

She gave a reluctant nod, taking a few wobbly steps forward. Pain spiked through her leg, and Caroline leaned a hand on her knee. She wasn't even sure if she could make it through this last hallway, much less muster enough strength to break away. Caroline heard shuffling beside her, and then felt a hand—with a light yet firm grip—close around her arm. A preliminary measure to make sure they wouldn't have to chase her down again, she was sure.

Caroline reached out an arm across the shoulders of the woman beside her, leaning and turning Karla into a makeshift set of crutches. And surprisingly enough, the usually-complaining scientist obliged. She shifted her hand to support Caroline, helping to alleviate at least some of the pain as she limped down the hallway and into the Main AI Chamber.


As a door with red markings slid into the ceiling, Caroline stared at the lifeless mess of machinery.

What an ugly, hideous creation.

Clumped and tangled wires spread throughout the chamber, and hunks of metal dangled from the high ceilings. This computer was so messy and so unfinished, not at all like the sleek robot she'd envisioned.

And oh, Caroline hated it.

Even looking at it made anger flare up within her. She disliked the design like she disliked an awful haircut —only with time and a few adjustments would she ever grow comfortable with it. Perhaps she could make them draw plans for an alternate, sleeker design. It might take a while, but anything would be better than existing within that mangy heap of machinery.

And if they didn't, she'd simply figure out a way to alter her new body's outward appearance without significantly damaging her internal components.

She craned her neck upwards, giving a breathy huff of pain and half-wishing she could just black out and be done with this all. Caroline staggered forward, feeling the woman beside her tighten her grip on the older lady. Panels tiled across the area, ready to be rearranged at a moment's as she glanced around the surprisingly spacious room, —though cluttered with desks and computers and machinery—she spotted a relaxation vault perched along a set of tracks installed in the floor.

She paused, glancing over the chamber.

With patterned glass walls, a single bed, a plush chair in one corner and a toilet in another, she would have absolutely no privacy. It'd be worse than being trapped in a cage. "That's it?" she said, gaze narrowed.

Henry paused before speaking. "Hey, we added in that chair. And besides, it's just a standard vault. Did you expect us to build some luxury one just for you?"

"Well, yes," said Caroline. "It's the least you could do."

"If you didn't like the design, you should've said something earlier," he said, moving to Caroline's other side to help support her. "Many subjects complain about a lack of privacy. I'm just giving you what any other Aperture test subject would get."

"That's different," said Caroline. "Test subjects must be monitored at all times. We can't risk having any blind spots."

"Then it shouldn't be a surprise that we need to keep an eye on you," he said. "Especially if you're going to pull another stunt like that."

The automated portals opened, and Caroline hesitated. As much as she had fought to be free, it'd been a losing battle. And yet, it had been that way since she began working at Aperture. She'd sold her soul to this place. Even in death, she wouldn't be free of it.

She felt a gentle nudge to her shoulders, and took the final step into the relaxation vault. The portals hissed closed, and Caroline gave a sharp, wavering breath as the finality of her situation hit her.

These chambers were incredibly secure. Unless the portals opened again, she couldn't get out. Even Chell—with the help she'd gotten from Doug—couldn't have broken the glass surrounding the vault.

She stumbled across the room and then slipped into the cushioned chair. Her hands absently rubbed against her knees as she took another glance across the room.

This was it.

This was what she'd worked towards for decades.

White walls, stupid experiments, and terrible morals. They put lives—real, human lives—in danger all for science that could be called morally gray on the best of days. They disregarded common sense and safety all for the sake of progress.

Honestly, she should've known her actions would one day come back to bite her.

She slumped forward in her chair, glancing absently at the walls for a clock. She couldn't guess how much time had passed between her birthday 'party' and now—it could've been anything from a few hours to an afternoon.

Judging by the heaviness of both her mind and body, though, she guessed it must be evening. She pulled her hands and pressed at her temples, squeezing her eyes open and shut in an attempt to wake herself back up.

Caroline was exhausted.

Every muscle strained in protest, willing her to just climb into that relaxation pod and sleep. Yet fear cut into her, sharp and unrelenting. She'd been in Aperture long enough to witness the creation of the pod, and with that witness all of the setbacks and failed tests as well.

She wasn't going in there.

Instead, the woman leaned farther back, propping her elbow on the armrest and leaning her face against her hand. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and Caroline allowed herself to relax long enough to let drowsiness slip through her body.

Her eyes bolted open, a voice disturbing her peace.

"If you want to sleep, there's a bed right there."

Caroline only inhaled, gently shaking her head. "I know how this place works," she said. Absentmindedly rubbing at her arms, she stared down at the crisscrossed pattern of scuff marks marring the toe of her shoes due to the day's events. "If I fall asleep in there, you won't wake me up until it's time."

"Look, you've been awake too long," said Henry. "And you won't be comfortable in that chair. Staying awake or napping there won't help anyone."

Caroline nudged one foot with the other, not even bothering to look up. "Unless you guarantee that I'll wake up after a normal night's sleep, I won't go in there."


Caroline gave a heavy sigh, reaching forward to twist the door. As they approached the end of this man's life, they couldn't help but at least try to do their best to help Cave cheat death. He only had months left at best, and yet Cave refused to accept that he was a dying man.

She pushed and turned her way in, giving an unsteady smile as Cave Johnson pushed his way upright from the experimental relaxation pod. He seemed to brighten up immediately as soon as she appeared, face shifting from a dark scowl to a bright almost-smile. The creases in his face shifted, moving from deep lines of concentration to less-obvious smile lines.

"How long was I out?" he said, rubbing his forehead.

Caroline hesitated. "A little over a month, sir."

"A month?" said Cave, pressing his palms to his eyes while speaking under his breath. "Goddamn."

"Really, it's the best we could do—I would have had them take you out sooner, but.."

"I know, I know. You want to make sure you have plenty of time to figure out how to beat this," he said, then paused. "How is the place? Miss anything earth-shattering while I was gone?"

"We're still doing science, sir," she said, both carefully and brightly. A little optimism never hurt her in situations like this before. It was the only way she'd managed to hold onto her job for so long.

Cave's face relaxed, and he reached out to stretch his arms. They gave a painful pop, and Caroline internally winced.

"I know I can count on you," he said. "I'm sure things have been running perfectly under you. That's why I still want you to run this place, Caroline," he continued. "No one could even come close to you."

"Sir," she replied cautiously. "While I have taken your place in your absence," she said, mentally adding how she'd whipped both the employees and the facility into shape, "I don't want to run this place, much less from a computer."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said.

"Sir," she said back, a bit firmer. "I don't want this."

"Just think of all the possibilities—just think of all the science you could do!"

"Sir," she said, dropping her voice a little bit. "Listen to me—I do not want this."

"I'm doing this my way. This is what's best for Aperture and it's going to happen," Cave barked, pushing himself further upright. "I don't care what you want,"

"Then I'll quit."

The threat hung in the air as the two stared each other down. Both stubborn, both intimidating—they made the best of teams at some times and the worst of teams at others.

"You wouldn't," he said, searching her face.

"Sir, I don't want this. I never have," said Caroline, relaxing her expression. "And if that means leaving to save my life, then I will."

Cave softened a little bit. "And leave behind everything we worked for?" he said, growing a bit more panicked. He was Cave Johnson, after all. What he said is what went, and he always got what he wanted. He always received what he asked for.

Caroline hesitated. Should she really do it? Leave behind decades worth of work as if it meant nothing to her? As if he meant nothing to her?

"You wouldn't, would you?" he said, even more fearful of her silence. He could see her mind working, sorting through the possibilities and weighing the advantages and costs of each action. On most days he loved to watch her work, to sort out a puzzle, but today it made his stomach churn even more than usual.

"Sir," she stated, this time just as firmly as before and just as unwavering. "I won't do this."

"Caroline, please," Cave pleaded, for once in his life kindly asking her to at least consider the possibility. He burst into another coughing fit, stumbling forward and toward a sink on the far side of the room.

Caroline was at his side in a moment, grabbing onto his arm to steady him as he coughed into a tissue. When he pulled it away, red splatters marked it—he'd coughed up a bit of blood.

Cave wadded up the tissue and tossed it in the trash, instead reaching for a cup and taking a drink of water. As he lifted it from his mouth, though, Cave caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He stared for a long moment, looking at the heavy lines on his face and solid gray his hair color had become.

"I look awful," he said, giving a choked laugh.

Caroline stiffened. "Oh no," she whispered. She reached out a hand, almost as if to touch his face, and then pulled away. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

"What do you mean?" Cave said, still examining his aged face in the mirror.

" I… " she paused. "It's nothing, sir. I'm sure you'll be fine."

Cave stared into the mirror, shifting his gaze to look at the reflected version of Caroline beside him. "Don't lie to me, Caroline. What happened?"

She pursed her lips before speaking. "Well," she replied, "the papers and reports said that there might be a risk, but I didn't think it would happen," she said.

"Caroline, tell me why I look so awful."

"There's always risks and setbacks, sir," she said. "One of those was that instead of halting the aging process, it might advance it by almost double. So if you were in there for a month…"

He gave a rumbling almost-cough, then cleared his throat. "I'd come out aged two months," he mumbled, finishing her sentence. He barely had enough time left to live, much less now that, instead of gaining a month, he was even closer to death. "How could you let me do that?" He sounded almost hurt.

"You wanted to, sir," she answered, knowing fully well that she'd never been in a position to tell him otherwise. "You can try to find a cure, a solution, and you can hide in this pod for as long as you'd like—but none of that's going to change what will happen. Even you can't cheat death, sir."

"Neither of us can," he murmured.


"Would you just sleep?" Henry pleaded. "That pod's just a normal bed. There's got to be someone here that can convince you of that." He glanced at his co-workers, attempting to decide who would be the most successful at convincing Caroline to do this. Unfortunately, they'd all been instrumental in his plan to get her into the relaxation vault. "There's got to be someone in this place who you trust."

"Dear, my entire facility—my entire work force—just turned on me. And the only one who dared to help me wants me dead just as much as you do." She gave a stark, bitter laugh.

Everyone else in the room avoided glancing in her direction, terrified that if they so much as looked at her, they'd catch on fire and burst into flames like a laser aimed at a turret. Her assistant grew increasingly more uncomfortable and began to mess with a computer to appear as if he was working on something important.

"Who was it?" said Karla, giving a subtle look of confusion.

Caroline gave a small, choked laugh before answering. "Doug Rattmann."


Caroline watched.

Employees flowed through this chamber like shoppers in a store, constantly ebbing in and out despite the team's low numbers.

But Caroline had nothing to do besides what she did best—observing. It took her a few hours to begin matching faces to names—after a certain point, mentally referring to one man as 'guy-who-could-stand-to-lose-a-few-pounds' and another lady as 'fashion-disaster' wasn't acceptable.

She leaned forward to listen as Henry picked up the phone.

"Go on, call him in," she said, raising her voice to get him to glance over. There was something she needed to know—a suspicion she could only confirm by confronting Doug Rattmann directly. "I know you're about to talk to Doug."

Henry gave her a sideways glance, then dialed Doug's office.

Riiiing.

He hadn't heard from the scientist in a few days. Not since he'd told him about Tier Three, at least. Still it didn't quite make sense as to why he'd vanish after setting in motion such an important chain of events.

Riiiing.

Riiiing.

An answering machine picked up. Henry sighed and absently flipped through a phone directory, eventually settling upon Doug's home phone number. He figured he might as well call him there. He had to thank him for instigating this chain of events, after all.

Riiiiiing.

The sound cycled.

"Hello?" Doug said, voice defensive. "If this is about work, I'm not coming bac—."

"Doug, it's me," said Henry. "And it's nothing. Just wanted to apologize about earlier. I didn't know. But you have to come back and see this," he said.

"Back to work?" Doug said, stomach sinking.

Henry made a noise of agreement.

"I'm not coming back," he said. As soon as he could, he'd move on and get another job at some place other than Aperture. Any place but there would be better.

"Why?" said Henry, his voice genuinely questioning.

Doug almost slammed the phone. What did Henry mean, why? He'd explained to him all of the awful things Caroline had done—and didn't he know what she'd put him through?

He was just like the rest of them—more concerned with progress than saving a single human life.

"I told you I'm not coming back," Doug restated. "Nothing you say will change that."

"Wait, Doug," said Henry. Doug heard a faint scrambling on the other end.

Henry's gaze darted between Caroline and the table in front of him, as if he was having difficulties paying attention to both Doug and her. He raised a single finger for a moment, as if pondering a thought, then glanced back at her.

"Tell him to come back," she said. "And tell him I'm sorry."


Caroline rubbed a palm across her forehead, then dug her fingers into greasy hair. The door hissed, sliding into the ceiling and revealing a figure she thought she'd never see again—Doug Rattmann.

He gave her a vaguely frightened glance as he edged toward Henry, as if she was an intimidating zoo animal poised to lunge and crash into the bars of her cage. And though Doug knew that the woman sitting in a cushioned chair—behind thick glass—couldn't hurt him, it didn't stop the nervousness from seeping through his limbs.

From her position, Caroline listened to the mixture of Doug's soft-spoken voice and Henry's harsher, more confident one.

"She asked for you in particular," said Henry.

She saw Doug's arms move, saw his lips move but couldn't pick out any words from his blurred voice.

"As if I'd know," said Henry. "Go ask her yourself."

He muttered something Henry once more before shooting a glance at Caroline, and then inched his way toward the relaxation vault.

"You showed up," said Caroline, pursing her lips. "I'm surprised."

Doug crossed his arms, keeping his stance rigid. One hand scratched at his opposite elbow. He didn't quite know what to make of the situation, or even what emotion he should be feeling. "So," he said. "What is it?" The sooner he answered her questions, the sooner he could permanently leave this place.

"Did you know about it?" Caroline asked, point blank. She'd only heard bits and pieces of his conversation with Henry, anxiety twisting through her veins.

"About what?"

"Tier Three."

Doug glanced away, his eyes shifting just as much as before, when he wasn't on his medication. His hand rested on the back of a rolling chair for a moment before he slipped down into it. His head dipped in a solemn nod.

Caroline's stomach heaved.

That solved it, then.

Doug Rattmann had never been on her side. He had no reason to, after all. Of course he'd take any opportunity to take her down. And even worse, she'd trusted in the lie that had been her birthday party and fell right into their trap.

"How did you find it?" she questioned, choking back surprise and shock.

"Inside an 80's testing track," said Doug. He glanced down, refusing to meet her eyes. "Accidentally triggered a pre-recorded message from Cave. Lead me right to his old computer—one you never touched."

Doug had known. Doug had always known, and the realization made her stomach twist. She should've seen it coming, though, with all of the wandering around the condemned and abandoned areas he'd done. It was only a matter of time before he stumbled through some dusty corner to uncover Cave's misguided plans of grandeur.

She gave a heavy exhale.

Part of her felt betrayed by Cave. Even when she'd tried to steer him away from ideas of artificial intelligence, even when she'd done everything in her power to keep those plans a secret, he still managed to hurt her years after his death.

Still, she had to give him credit for knowing where to hide it. As much as she loved test observation, going into the chambers themselves and risking encounters with grimy test subjects was out of the question.

"So naturally you told everyone," said Caroline, vaguely swooping out her hand. "Told the facility all about how he—" she almost spat the word "—made me promise to let them pick apart my brain. Thanks, by the way. I really do appreciate it."

Doug cringed at the bitterness of her words. "I didn't tell them, though," he pleaded.

"I've done my job, you know. This wasn't supposed to happen," she said. "Don't lie to me—this information couldn't have gotten to everyone without you."

"The only person I told was Henry," he said, "and you found me before I could tell anyone else."

"But did you do it?"

Doug glanced up. "Do what?"

"Set me up," she said, words biting.

His face twisted into confusion.

"Oh, come on. You didn't think I'd put two and two together? You're the one who told Henry about Tier Three. I know it's not just coincidence that, out of all paths leading out of my wing, you chose the one that lead my directly to the Main AI Chamber."

Henry gave a soft laugh as joined them. "Took you long enough to figure it out. Of course Doug's on our side. He's uncovered so much for us. We thought we were so behind and hadn't even begun beta testing—and yet he gave us the information necessary to make this project a reality, and then lead you right to us. We might even be able to release on time."

Caroline reeled back, shooting the scientist a biting, betrayed look.

"Caroline," Doug stammered. "I found that by accident. I wasn't planning on using it. But you have to understand that I was helping a girl fight for her life. I was trying to save her from you," he said, pausing to breathe and rub his thumb between his eyebrows. "I had to use whatever leverage I had against you. And maybe it didn't save Chell. But this was never about taking you down. This was about helping Chell. That's what it's always been about."

The murmurs of conversation by the computers died out; a thick silence coated the room.

"You have to realize that it was only a matter of time before this caught up with you," said Henry. "You can only lie to so many people and kill off so many test subjects. You can only pull so many strings until you find yourself so tangled within them that you can't move anymore."

Caroline only turned to Doug, giving him a steely glare. "You told me there was no guarantee that I'd get out of here safely, and I should have known," she said, then repeated herself softly. "I should have known. "

"Listen," said Doug. "I wasn't lying. I don't know this place as well as you do—I didn't know where I was going. I was just trying to help."

Caroline stared at Doug.

She could understand his leading her directly to this place.

He had every reason to, after all. She certainly deserved it after what she'd done to him; his actions were perfectly justifiable.

And yet his helping her still didn't process, just as it hadn't sunk in when he had first offered his help. What she couldn't understand was him refusing to kick her while she was still down.

"Look, please," said Caroline. "You believed me before; you have to believe me now. I've been responsible for countless deaths, Mr. Rattmann, but there's never been one I regret more. There's got to be something I can do to make up for it."

"There's nothing," said Doug, shaking his head. "Nothing."

Caroline rested a hand against the armrest, leaning slightly to support herself.

"You have no idea how much she meant to me," he said, voice hitching ever so slightly. "You can't know. And you never will, either. She's dead and gone because of you."

"I know," she said. "But please—"

Doug turned, moving back toward the door. "We're done here," he muttered, voice low.

And as he moved to disappear into the facility, Caroline realized this was the last she'd see of Doug Rattmann—a man just as sad and bitter as herself. Part of her still desperately wished she could use her words—her normally spellbinding, convincing words that never failed her before—to show him that for once in her life she wasn't lying. She truly meant this apology. He just couldn't see it.

"Wait," Caroline called, voice straining. Despite him being near the entrance, Caroline knew how to raise her voice and make her words heard. "I have one last offer for you."

Doug paused at the doorway, simply resting a hand on it and keeping his back turned.

"In Aperture's earliest days, he," she swallowed, not even stating his name, "offered each of our test subjects an honorarium—a donation to their choice charity—to thank them for their contributions to science," she said. "Considering I'm about to become the first to test out a highly dangerous procedure, I'd say that makes me a test subject. And I want to make that donation as well," she said.

Doug removed his hand from the doorframe.

"You're not a good person, Caroline," he said. "A final act of nobility isn't going to change that."

Henry shifted on his feet, keeping his arms crossed. "Plus, it's not like there's any place out there that Aperture would endorse, except perhaps one of its own twisted ones."

"Then I'll do it," Caroline said, jumping at the words "I'll make my own and give my own money if I have to."

"What's your point?" replied Henry, struggling to picture why Caroline of all people would suggest a proposition like this.

"It's not about me," the woman answered, emphasizing her words. "It's about her."

Doug jolted, gathering his remaining composure to turn around and face her.

Caroline cleared her throat. "The Aperture Science Self-Esteem Fund for girls," she said. "A fund to make sure that no girl ever feels so torn down that they feel death is her only option. I can't change what has already happened, but I can at least make sure that no one ever feels that way again within Aperture," she said, giving Doug a long, searching look.

He ducked his head, breaking eye contact.

He'd been convinced that no action from Caroline could ever change his mind about her. And yet this action felt like a genuine apology. She'd told him before that she was sorry, but actually moving to ensure something like that never happened again—it rung with truth.

And Doug couldn't ignore that.

"Just let her do it," he said, cutting off Henry before he could squash her suggestion. She wasn't in any position to create something like this, after all.

"You're not even on this project."

"I might as well be," Doug snorted. Programming wasn't far out of his reach, and he'd gotten himself tangled up enough in this project.

Caroline cleared her throat. "Add him to the project," she said.

Doug gave a small, panicked start. What he'd just said-he hadn't meant it.

"Don't make me repeat myself," Caroline said, giving an internal smile at Doug's unsettled look. "Add Mr. Rattmann to this project."

She exchanged a tense glance with Henry. "Fine," he said. "He's on."

"Good," murmured Caroline, voice low. "At least he won't stab me in the back."

Doug stared down, wringing his hands once before moving back into the room. Caroline stared, her tracking gaze just as unnerving as the occasional swivel of a security camera.

She gave a minuscule nod as Doug sat down. "Thank you," she breathed.

From a desk across the room, Caroline's former assistant spoke up. "So are you finally going to sleep?" He glanced at her untouched relaxation pod.

"Only if he stays around," she replied. So long as Doug Rattmann remained in this building, she clung to the hope that nothing bad would happen in her sleep. Everyone had betrayed her in one way or another. Everyone but him, that was.

Doug scooted his chair closer to her glass-walled room, propping his head up with a hand. "Sleep," he mumbled. "They'll fill me in while you rest."

Caroline gave a reluctant nod before slipping across the room and into the relaxation pod. The glass hissed close, immediately reducing outside conversations to a distant murmur, as if she'd stuck her head underwater. Gas hissed in, and Caroline closed her eyes and sunk into a nervous sleep.


"—need to do it now."

"Why not wait until you've got it more under control? You know, make the process safe?"

"Look, it's going to take years to untangle that mess of data. We have to get started on it now," replied Henry. "And besides, when will we ever get another chance like this?"

The glass hissed back as Caroline stirred in her relaxation pod. Her entire body ached beneath her, and she rolled on her side. Conversations seeped in. Caroline made no move to push herself upright.

"You're right," someone murmured. "Still, it doesn't feel right." She recognized the voice as Doug Rattmann's.

"You're in no position to decide what's right for this place," said someone else—Greg, she assumed. "We're going through with this no matter what. It's what Mr. Johnson wanted."

Caroline curled a hand and pulled it to her heart.

She had always been at his side.

She had always done her best. She'd done whatever he asked of her, no matter the cost.

She had been the only one to help him while he wasted away, while everyone else snickered behind his back. Served him right for messing with moon rocks, they said.

And yet Caroline couldn't have picked a better way for him to go out.

Without his encounter with those ground-up moon rocks, Aperture never would have discovered their deadliness. Plus, the slow decline of his health was enough to let him—for once in his life—fully realize the consequences of his actions. Even Caroline couldn't get him out of that one.

As for her own death, she didn't know what to think. If anything, she'd rather do what would most contribute to the world. She'd only ever feel at peace if she died to help further Aperture research.

" Do it for the science, " she murmured to herself. "Always for the science."

She closed her eyes briefly, then rolled back to stare at the ceiling. She raised up her hand, shielding her eyes from an unexpectedly bright light.

A part of her wanted to roll back over and sink into the soft cushions. That way, she could close her eyes and pretend as though everything was going to be okay, that this had all been a mistake and tonight she'd be sleeping in her own bed.

But really, her death was as unavoidable as Cave's had been. She shouldn't have expected anything else.

And as much as she hated to admit it, she couldn't hide away. She'd been strong enough to handle everything Aperture had thrown at her so far, and she could handle one more day. Perhaps after that, she'd be able to get some peace.

Caroline pressed a palm into the bed, pushing herself upright and staring out into the Main AI Chamber. Fewer people populated the grey room—but then again, there hadn't been many here to begin with.

A lady with a clipboard craned her neck upward at the AI, reaching up to mess with a cable. With one look at GLaDOS, Caroline could have sworn a huge amount of cords had simply grown from the machine. They spilled across the floor like hair floating underwater, fanned out then eventually gathering at the far end of the room.

Caroline's breathing broke. She glanced away, running a hand through her grayed hair.

So long and she was still doing science, she thought she could make peace with dying.

But Caroline couldn't handle this.

She didn't want to die. Not in a stupid way like this. Perhaps it wasn't too late to make them stop and reconsider their decisions.

"Oh," said Greg. "You're finally awake. Took you long enough."

Caroline shot a look to Doug, who merely shook his head. "Don't worry. It was only eight hours."

"You didn't miss much," said Henry. "We're just putting the final touches on the setup for the transfer."

Caroline swallowed. "And what will this procedure entail?" she said, mustering as much courage as possible.

"We've never tried this before, so we don't know for sure what to expect," Henry said. "A simple brain scan isn't going to work. I'm sorry, I really am. But we're going to have to transfer it over cell by cell, and it'll most likely destroy your brain."

"Will I still know who I am?" she said. "Afterwards, I mean."

It took Henry a moment to answer. "Yes," he said. "But not as the same Caroline we know. Every part of you—thoughts, memories, emotions— will be transferred. You'll be able to do everything you did before, but with more power. You'll even retain your consciousness."

"You can always ignore your conscience," Caroline muttered. Everyone in this room was doing it, and she'd ignored her morals countless times. Then again, there was a difference between consciousness and conscience.

"If all goes well, the transition will be seamless. Sure, you'll lose your body. But your spirit will live on, and that's the important part. It's just like what Mr. Johnson wanted."

"I didn't ask for this," said Caroline, straightening. "When I started here, you have to know I was just an assistant. A secretary. No one important, really. But by the time I realized what I'd gotten myself into, I couldn't have gotten out if I tried. "

"Cave died years ago," Henry snorted. "You could have left."

"Never," she said. "And throw away everything I've worked for? I spent decades running this place behind the scenes. I deserved a chance to run it myself."

"In that case, you've got your wish," said Henry. "You're going to live forever. Here. In Aperture."

Caroline twisted, rising from her pod. "Please, you don't understand. I don't have to be a robot to do that. There's got to be another way." She never thought she'd be reduced to begging—but honestly, she didn't want this. They weren't listening to her. She did not want this.

"Caroline, just do the right thing. The upload will go so much smoother if you cooperate."

She dropped her voice into an almost desperate plea. "This isn't brave. It's murder," she said. "What did I ever do to you?" She gave a darting glance across the room, skipping over Doug.

"I'm only asking for a second chance," said Caroline. "Some way to prove that I'll be a better leader than that thing will ever be."

Henry gave her a curious, studying look before exhaling. "This project is your second chance."

The lady paused. "What do you mean?"

"Just think about turrets. We've got an entire part of the manufacturing wing dedicated to creating them. Every day they're used in testing, and once a chamber is completed—successfully or not—we replace those turrets. The old ones are thrown onto a conveyer belt, then dumped into an incinerator so that we can melt 'em down and make new models. So think of it this way: you're on a one-way ticket through the Turret Redemption Line," he said. "But instead of that, you'll be re-made into GLaDOS. It's the best second chance we can give you."

"Listen to me, please," she said, shaking her head and emphasizing every word. "I do not want this." They had to realize this was a mistake. They had to figure out there were other outcomes that didn't result in her death.

"This is for the good of all of us," said Henry. "And besides, you don't have a choice. Enough of this."

The words bit into her, and she curled her fingers around the edge of the bed.

"Take a minute to compose yourself, and let's get this over with. I'm done reasoning with you," said Henry .

A wave of anger surged through her. She was done reasoning with them, too. She didn't want to keep pleading for her life or keep justifying why she should live. It wasn't as though they'd listen to her anyways. Every muscle in her tensed with a hot, twisting anger. She'd been reduced once more to being pushed around by people within Aperture.

They were going to kill her. And there wasn't anything she could do about that.

At least, not yet. Not here. Not now.

If the project and upload went smoothly, she'd have all the time in the world to figure out how to exact revenge upon these employees. She would throw them away just like they'd thrown away her.

She should've expected it, really, but the worst pain came from those she knew and trusted. One look at Greg—and watching him give her that smug and overly-confident look she'd seen him give a thousand test subjects—made her blood boil.

Oh, he'd be the first to go. She just hadn't figured out how yet. An accident, perhaps. An experiment gone wrong. Perhaps a floor panel or catwalk would accidentally disconnect, or a turret be mistakenly placed directly outside his office door. Whatever she decided upon, she'd make sure to record it.

In her quietness, though, Caroline picked up on another conversation farther off in the room.

"You can't seriously still be letting her found her own charity, are you?"

"It's fine." Doug Rattmann made a motion with his palms, pressing them downwards. "Just let her do it. Give her some peace of mind."

She hated everyone in this room. She couldn't stand anyone in this facility, and couldn't care less if they all happened to fall into acid. But Doug—she paused and stared at him for a long moment.

Doug Rattmann was undoubtedly the one responsible for all of this. Without him, the true nature of the GLaDOS project would've remained a secret. And yet, out of all the people in this room, he was only one to stand up for Caroline. He was the only one defending her, even if it was in small ways like that.

Everyone else in this place could die for all she cared. But Doug—perhaps she would let him live.

The moment passed and the portal thunked open, creating a gateway from her relaxation vault into the Main AI Chamber.

"Go on, go through," she heard someone say.

Caroline clutched at the edges of her pod. "No," she said, moving into a nervous tone and shaking her head. "Nononono no." She pulled her hands close, eyes widening as lab coats blurred with movement. If she didn't leave herself, they'd come and get her.

"Look, it's not going to be that bad," said one. "There's still a few painkillers we can give you that won't mess with your brain. We can't risk damaging it. It's going to hurt a lot, but try not to think about that. We're going to make history today, and all thanks to you."

Caroline's knuckles turned white.

She could care less about science. She could care less about the leaps and bounds in science a successful upload would create .

Caroline didn't want to die. She wanted to get out of here and keep living.

But she couldn't run and hide anymore. Whatever was coming, she couldn't get out of no matter how badly she wished otherwise.

She pulled herself together, sucking in a breath and slipping her hands behind her back in a façade of confidence. She took a few pointed steps in the glass-encased room, closing the distance between her and the scientists outside. But before they could reach out to grab her arm, she raised a hand to deflect it.

"Please," she said. "If I'm going to die, at least let me die with some dignity."


End of Part I


A/N: Once again, my sincere apologies for the delay with this chapter. Real life of course takes priority over fanfiction, though rest assured I love this story with all my heart and still have about another 50-60k left to write! I'd like to thank my tumblr friends for listening to me whine about this monster of a chapter for a few months. I'd also like to thank FuchsiaMae for the line 'Do it for the science, always for the science.'

Oh, and I'm not planning on covering the upload itself. This chapter was painful enough for me.