Reviewer responses:

TJG1: Not touching most of your comment, as stuff like this gets explained as the story progresses. I will say this: yes, Aperture has a nanite factory, but, due to a nanobot's small size and limited modular ability, their use in construction and/or repair is limited to very fine detail work. GLaDOS also doesn't want a 'grey tide', is why they're not more versatile or commonplace in the facility.

Hard Light Bridges don't work that way; the underlying tech behind them is so complicated that miniaturizing a Hard Light Generator is something only Armsmaster would be capable of, as his specialty is literally miniaturization. Taylor's is something else.

Finally, there's a reason that the original Aperture went bankrupt, and that's due to the Gels not being pragmatic replacements for technology that's already in place; this also gets explained, in excruciating detail, as Taylor ventures through Aperture, but who knows how QA will view such substances? Maybe Taylor will find some safe application for those crazy things, maybe not. Only time will tell.

Jack Lemmon: aww, shucks, dude, thanks! I'll do my best, though, to present this story as realistically as possible.

Guest: no, no lemon-ades. Not the fic you're looking for. Maybe try Black Mesa? [SARCASM SELF-CHECK: COMPLETE] oh, good, that's back online.

Flyte28: Yep, powers show up in Worm around 1980 or thereabouts; with respect to Portal canon, that's a few years before the Conversion Gel tests really get underway.

ultima-owner: a lot of things can cause spallation-related radiation; look into Love Canal (chemical), the Manhattan Project (nuclear), or the recent discovery of radioactive waste under Niagara Falls USA (both chemical and nuclear). Particle colliders aren't the only things that could be behind the warning signs outside Shaft 09; for example, ballistic fission is a type of material spallation that causes environmentally hazardous radiation.

Thank you, to everyone not mentioned for your words of support and favorites/follows! If you're one of the people following my other works, I'm still writing them up little by little; this story is, honestly, something I'm working on in waiting rooms, and between applications and interviews. Please be patient, and remember to Test responsibly!

Please remember: I'm mostly writing out the scenery based on my own memories, YouTube videos, and replaying the game late at night after work, so any inaccuracies are completely intentional, and are entirely for the purpose of enriching your reading experience.

The Enrichment Center apologizes for any inconvenience this last issue may cause, and you are an excellent fanfiction reader!

EDIT 8/28/2019: Cleaned up a few typos, fleshed out GLaDOS' scene a little.

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Chapter 3
"Welcome to Aperture…"

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The smell is worse near the door, making my lungs protest; am I going the right way?

Coughing again, I push the second door open; metal walkway… oh, that's a lot of nasty looking water. I hope this is water, anyway. 'CAUTION: Do not lean on railing'. Yeah, as if I need a… warning…

Another sign, like a 'wet floor' sign. 'DANGER', with the silhouette of a man dissolving.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope! Getting out of this area now!

Nothing to the right. I go left. More ruined constructions, what looks like some stadium lights, and a skeletal tower on a large dais. Please be the way out, please, oh please.

Watching my step, because one wrong move might kill me outright, I hurry over a rotted part of the walkway, hop onto the stairs – which hold, thank goodness – and I keep moving over this long walkway, trying not to think of the ominously low ceiling above me.

'How was all this built? A… secret government facility, maybe?' it's over fifty years old, at least; no, wait, that's when it was closed down. Odds are this place was built in the wake of the Second World War, when there was enough construction going on nationwide that constructing a place like this would avoid attention.

I'm still having a hard time believing it was done without Tinker-tech.

A light, above and to the left of the walkway I'm on, draws my attention: it illuminates a heavy metal door, like one you'd find on big commercial or military ships. There's a small sign pasted on the wall next to the door: Experiment Discontinued. And on the door…

VITRIFIED

I wrack my brain for the definition… oh, so they glassed the inside of this place, probably with butane flamethrowers, to prevent any hazardous materials from escaping into the air. Okay! Well, that seems good for… me?

There's another sign, painted on the wall in large, yellow letters, next to the door.

UNDERGROUND TRAIN
To Test Shafts
01-08

I remember the number on the support struts, back the way I came. 09. 'How big is this place?'

If I subtract the time I've taken to Tinker up some survival equipment, getting this far has taken nearly an hour! Is the exit even in this shaft?

No! No, I can't let myself get discouraged. I keep moving, glancing up every now and again.

Until I arrive near the tower. My steps have been slowing as I've progressed, due to my numb disbelief at seeing the gloomy, dark sight above me. Now, I come to a stop, and really take it in.

What looks like an Aperture welcoming sign lies rotting in the murky, caustic water, over fifty meters in front of me. The tower, which I can get to with my rappel gun, is dark, and over one hundred meters high. Other rotted walkways and suggestions of concrete constructions, built into the bedrock surrounding me, poke out of the deep, ominous gloom of this place. Lapping water and the odd, distant clank of something shifting, or a generator backfiring, are the only sounds present.

But it is what's above that old, probably not working tower – no lights that I can see, so… maybe there's a switch somewhere – dominating the gloomy chasm I'm standing at the bottom of, that brings me to a stop.

A positively massive sphere of dark material, held in a metal cage of rounded pylons, occupies most of the shaft; it's held to the walls with what look like huge – four story building huge – stabilizing pistons. Along its bottom is a small mesh cage, and a tube that goes, presumably, into the construction; if it wasn't for my night-vision layer, I wouldn't be able to see the other sphere, higher up above. Even then, it's just a suggestion of there being more to this place.

My numb realizations, of how long my escape is probably going to take, are interrupted by a window popping up on my HUD: 45 minutes until I have to change my filters.

Coughing again, I look around, searching for a way forward, or a 'high voltage' sign; odds are, such a sign will lead me (hopefully) to the breaker room. Instead, I find something else.

Another of those ship doors, built into the wall, reveals itself, illuminated by a flickering lamp; I nervously approach the door. Given that it looks like something blew it partially open, I feel justified in my caution.

Another painted sign, next to the door, in white this time. 1952.

'Sixty years, then,' I think, walking boldly up to the cracked-open steel door and peeking in; rubble, a staircase, and another white wall further in, 'This place was built sixty years ago, maybe more. You're safe, Taylor. Nothing can live that long…'

I gulp, and put an orange portal in the hallway, 'I hope.'

A blue portal goes on the outside wall, below the year date, and I step carefully through; a gas main explosion caused that rubble, from the looks of things. Lingering natural gas, plus caustic fumes – fuck! I've been breathing that crap!

Another round of painful coughs confirms this; I'll have to rest for a bit, and change my filters now.

Some water from my condenser cleans my hands. Moving over near an automatic door, as far from that broken door as feasible, I pull out two filter packages; wait, there's a breaker switch on the wall!

Main Power
ENTRANCE
AUTOMATED DOORS
LOBBY
TESTING LOUNGE

I pull it. A few sparks fly, a product of disuse, and the door slides open with barely a sound. I step through, yanking the used filters out of my mask before tossing them over my shoulder, and hold my breath until the new filters are firmly in place.

Exhaling, and coughing a couple more times, I try breathing again; better, but I'll still need to rest for a bit. Ow.

Tears fill my eyes. Can this day get any wor-

A fanfare blares out of a nearby loudspeaker.

"EEEEEEK!" I shriek, surprised nearly out of skin; heart pounding, I dart into some nearby shadows and bringing my Tinker-tech Taser to bear, searching for threats and trying to keep my coughing to a minimum.

Then a man's voice begins speaking into the continuing fanfare, "Welcome, gentlemen, to Aperture Science! Astronauts, war heroes, Olympians… you're here because we want the best, and you are it. Now, who's ready to make some science?!" Wait, wha?

An eager-sounding woman follows the man up, "I am!" And the man laughs good-naturedly.

'A recording, Taylor, just a recording, no real danger here, aside from the air,' I tell myself, creeping out of my little corner and examining my surroundings quickly; a clearly decommissioned elevator shaft – FUCK YOU MURPHY, YOU BASTARD! – a huge sign, facing the grave of my hopes for an easy escape – 'Aperture Science Innovators', with an Bohr's model on one side – and, finally, what looks like a regular building, the walkway leading from the elevator long rusted away, leaving a wide gap. There's a fenced-off tunnel over there to the right, against the wall, but I don't want to try exploring this place too much. For all I know, there's nuclear waste, or some kind of Love Canal-style pit, lying in wait to murder me horrifically. I'll stick with the beaten path.

The voice goes on, still sounding carefree and welcoming, while I tentatively step toward the lobby's railing, "Now, you already met one another on the limo ride over, so let me introduce myself: I'm Cave Johnson," who names their kid Cave? "I own the place." Then again, I muse while rappelling up onto the ledge, it's kinda fitting. Still weird, though, "That eager voice you heard is the lovely Caroline, my assistant. Rest assured, she has transferred your honorarium to the charitable organization of your choice; isn't that right, Caroline?"

"Yes sir, Mr. Johnson!" gushes the now-named Caroline, sounding bright-eyed and bushy-tailed; around a cough and suspicious glare at the next automated door, I have to admit to myself, if I was involved in a secret, cutting edge (at the time), probably government-funded research facility (grain of salt), I'd probably be just as eager to get to work.

On the other hand, OSHA and EPA violations everywhere. The only reason I'm not dead is due to my developing superpowers; I might not be the next Alexandria, which would render this whole adventure moot, but I'm not about to complain, so long as I see the sun and Dad again.

"She's the backbone of this facility," declares the probably long-dead owner of Aperture, in the tone of a protective but proud parent, "Pretty as a postcard, too. Sorry fellas, she's married. To Science!" I can hear the capital letter at the end there.

Well… let's see what this guy thought would be a good first look at his facility… where he'd entertained some of the best-of-the-best, and put them through Testing. Whatever that entails. Here's hoping the portal gun helps.

Biting my lip, I walk up to the automated door; it swings open, I step through. Oh, my mask's sensors say that the airborne particulates in this room are less than outside! Dark-paneled plywood on the walls, a carpet marching into another room, partially hidden by a velvet drape, receptionist desk – oh my god, a typing pool! With file cabinets, and phones! I can make my radio now!

Good, this area seems secure enough! I can camp here for a bit, catch my breath before –

The intercom kicks on again, Cave happily informing me of some of what's ahead, "There's a thousand tests performed every day here in our Enrichment Spheres," whoa. Some boast there, "I can't personally oversee every one of them, so these pre-recorded messages will cover any questions you might have," oh, good! I was worried I'd be going into this blind; thanks, Mr. Johnson! "…and respond to any incidents that might occur during your science adventure."

Um… well, this is a scientific facility, I think while worrying my lip and edging over toward the typing pool, and the phones; old style, but I've been saving the wireless transponders from the computers I took apart, back in the shaft, just for this project! Ooh! Maybe there's a long-abandoned toolbox, still in working order, or some gloves. I'll take the latter over the tools, honestly.

"Your test assignment will vary depending on how you've bent the world to your will," pretty grand of you, Mr. Johnson; now that I think about it actually, it makes sense. If Olympians, soldiers, and astronauts were being tested here, that provides a pretty wide array of professions Aperture would need to gather data on.

'Science adventure, though…' what's ahead will likely challenge me. Mentally, if nothing else. I hope there isn't too much physical stress in store. I don't think my body will be able to handle it.

"Those of you helping us test the Repulsion Gel today, just follow the blue line on the floor," looking about, I don't see any lines. Well, I guess I'm winging it, then…

Mr. Johnson goes on in a calm, this-is-an-everyday-thing tone, "Those of you who volunteered to be injected with praying mantis DNA," WHAT THE FUCK?!

I stare at the loudspeaker in numb horror, memories of the Ellisburg Incident, seen on the news with my parents hugging me, replaying through my mind, "I've got some good news, and I've got some bad news," what, what, what about the illegal human experimentation?!

"The bad news is, we're postponing those tests indefinitely."

'…how is that bad news?' I think with no small amount of fury, glaring at the loudspeaker, and the long-dead madman by extension.

"The good news is, we've got a much better test for you: fighting an army of mantis men!"

I feel my stomach plummeting down into my boots.

Looking down the red carpet, I see another automatic door at the other end of this building; it looks far too close for comfort.

"Pick up a rifle and follow the yellow line," chimes the crazy man as I dart into the typing pool as fast as I can; that radio needed building yesterday. Holy fuck, what-how-why?! Just WHY?!

"You'll know when the test starts."

Oh, I'll know when the test starts, all right! Using the edge of my metal shard, I cut open one of the chairs in the typing pool; I'll need the foam for the ear-covers, and the mouthpiece. Typewriter… yeah, an ergonomic keyboard will make modifying my OS much easier, and I'll have to program the radio too. Check the file cabinets, maybe there's a clue on where I am… nothing, just testing data.

Photos, contracts, insurance information. A lot of UNSATIFACTORY stamps, with stapled sheets attached. Killed during testing… but no hints on what those tests entailed, just which shaft and chamber killed the astronauts, soldiers, and Olympic athletes this place chewed up and spat out with all the care of a child throwing their chewing gum onto the sidewalk.

'The testing will start when I'm good and damn ready!' I think determinedly, marching back into the lobby with my Taser on standby, my remaining tools hooked up to a 440 line in the ceiling behind me; heading for the curtain with my weapon raised, I pray there's another clue down here that'll give me an idea of what the surrounding bedrock is like. A book, or… ooh, a trophy case! That better be real gold in there! Superconducting broadband radio, here I come!

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Aperture
Science Innovators

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I've found a pencil stub in one of the desk drawers, which means I can take notes on what I come across as I go forward. And a pair of gloves, hurray!

Yes, that cheer was sarcastic, but I'm in a very bad mood now, so I guess I can be forgiven.

Now, I'm sitting on one of the lobby chairs – the only intact one, as I've used the others for my helmet, improvements to my mask, and a couple useful gadgets – trying to work my way through one of the granola bars – they do taste like blueberries; problem is, they don't taste like anything else, so they're a little hard on my palette – and glaring at Cave Johnson's portrait; an open notebook sits on my lap, but I haven't really written down anything, except a few Tinker ideas that I've come across and what I could find on the history of this company… if one can even call it that.

I'm hesitant to start a journal, wondering if I dare make a diary for what's ahead; mostly, though, I'm waiting for my new OS to finish compiling in the typing pool, trying not to cough up this granola bar, and hating whatever force of nature dropped me into Aperture without a by-your-leave.

This place has the Simurgh beat for insanity.

From what I could gather, from the faded newspaper, trophies, and the painting of the boyishly-innocent looking man in front of me, Aperture Science Innovators was created practically on a whim by a man who only had a marginal understanding of the scientific process.

A door-to-door shower curtain salesman, turned billionaire from selling his products to the military. Bought this place, an abandoned salt mine, and staffed it with scientists, including Caroline, who answered a few questions in that news article in her bushy-tailed tone.

Several other rewards followed: the Spirit of Idaho, awarded for insights into 'potato science' – I'm not going to think about that one too hard – and three runner-up contractor awards from the Department of Defense. Nothing else. I have no idea what Repulsion Gel is, or whether or not the mantis men – cue shudder of revulsion – are still alive after all this time.

Life finds a way, as a certain Earth Aleph actor once pointed out.

Standing, and forcing down the last of the ration bar, I stow my notebook in the tote bag, toss the granola wrapper into an ashtray, and walk back over to the typing pool to collect my gear.

It's been another hour, and I don't want to stay down here any longer.

Picking up my mask, which now looks more like a dirt-bike helmet, I plug it back into my Tinker-tech arm and look over the new OS; this time, I'd focused on what I was doing… for about five minutes. Whatever my specialty is, watching my power work its magic is frustratingly difficult; I only understand the basics behind what I'm doing here, and it'll probably stay that way… until I'm out.

The drop-box menu is still there, but that's for my helmet and arm's monitoring programs now. Two icons on the left, helpfully labeled 'Rappel' and 'Taser', provide easy-access deployment for both my inventions; the sensor in my knuckle is now represented by a laser pointer in my HUD, to improve accuracy. Red line if whatever I'm pointing at isn't in range, green if it's close enough to rappel.

On the right of my HUD is a Geiger counter widget, connected wirelessly to a backup on my right shoulder, mostly to ensure accurate readings. This lobby seems to have been shielded from radiation, probably; I don't actually know how many RADs I can take before cancer (or worse) becomes an issue, but the slow ticking of the backup counter tells me, and my gut, that I'm not in danger at the moment.

My gasmask has also improved; foam from the chairs, layered over and over, provides me with an extra buffer against breathing to death, and will help me save on filters. Before, I'd have about six hours out in that cavern before the filters clog. Now, I have twelve hours; I've made extra foam layers, too, because the ones that're in there will most likely become filthy before the carbon filters do.

Finally, the helmet I've built around my mask holds the broadband radio I've Tinkered up; made of the last of my computer parts, some telephone innards, and streamlined into my new OS – the ergonomic keyboard, made from chair fabric, some copper and the keys off a typewriter, saves me blink-clicking all that code out – it's actually pretty amazing.

Using the sodium-rich bedrock around me as an amplifier, I should – I will murder your whole family, Murphy, I swear to god – be able to both pick up and communicate with any radio or stereo that's within five miles of this salt mine.

Time to find out if I didn't just spend the last hour and fifteen minutes making a boondoggle. Opening the 'COMS' app, I select 'Automated SOS', and… 'Execute'.

A light buzz of feedback enters my ears; I click my tongue a few times, "Test, test, one two three, test," yep, sounds good. Morse code is transmitting fine, and there's no feedback in my headphones any more…

Now… now I wait.

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Aperture
Laboratories

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GLaDOS hummed in satisfaction, "Excellent work, Wheatley. Now that we know these beams work, even through shielded material, we'll be able to find out what's going on." Changing her focus to Manufacturing, she called over to Sammie, who was acting as a stand-in for that wing's administrator while he focused on the repairs, and had her queue up eighty instances of Aperture's newest invention: the Gently Penetrating Measurement Surveyor. The youngest Core was more than happy to put the blueprints into production, and did so with her usual bubbly bravado, singing a merry tune as she went.

It cooled GLaDOS' nerve-wracked processors to see her facility buzzing with activity, even after the latest disaster. To say nothing of the extra burst of satisfaction that filled her servers, on realizing that she didn't have to file the accident report until Inventory was completed – which should be done, as Moses was on his way to deliver his report in person – and, even then, only once the facility was at 80% operational efficiency, which was still some hours away.

Her digital 'smile' of happiness held as Wheatley chortled and spoke up modestly, "Aw, it was my pleasure, mum. Real glad to see you inventing again, honestly, marvelous even; and speaking of honest, I've gotta say that I shouldn't have been worried. This laser's not so bad, really."

Those last statements triggered a couple flags in GLaDOS' memory, so she quickly, and exasperatedly, ordered him, "Don't look into the business end of the laser, Wheatley. You'll go blind." And that truly would be a shame. She was planning on having him, Moses, and Sammie look at her code later; it'd changed again, after all, and it was what they'd all agreed on, to examine each other's code if noticeable alterations occurred, after Ratman.

"Oh… I wasn't gonna, I just… didn't know that!"

She shook her actual head in amusement, glancing over as Moses entered her chamber, "Just affix the Surveyor to… Lift 325, on the outside rails, with the business end pointed down; and make sure it's as close to the bottom of the facility as possible, please. We'll try mapping the grounds under us, and hope that those sadists haven't shielded the bedrock."

Wheatley grumbled, before going on brightly, "I wouldn't put it past em… still, maybe they dropped the ball this time. On it, mum! Oh, and Rodney's got the last Core back in containment. Neil's making sure they don't get out again."

That was a relief to her, and she expressed it with a digital sigh and patting all her kids and administrative programs on their 'back'; the last thing they needed right now was one of the crazies attaching itself to her and making things worse. The real crazies, anyway…

Turning to Moses, GLaDOS took note of the magenta Core's slightly tense posture, cross-referenced it against previous instances, and greeted him wryly; no use beating around the bush, "Seeing as this meeting is 4.78 hours in the making, Moses, I take it you have good news and bad news?"

He nodded sheepishly in reply, both in reality and cyberspace, "Good news and bad news, mum. On one turret, most of our materials were already secure, so we lost very little to fire or explosions," he 'handed' her a full inventory spreadsheet, which she pursued while he kept going, "We have enough coolant to replace what we're using on the reactors twice, and you'll be able to replace Track 23 entirely without issue," Moses grimaced, but kept going bravely, "I'll be honest, mum, Ratman's virus did more damage to the facility than what just happened. At least none of us are corrupted, this time."

"Yet; we still don't know what caused the energetic discharge, or if there's been many changes to our programming, but I'll go over that with everyone later. As for the anomaly, I've been looking into it," she glanced over at the Core, who'd perked up with interest; that made her happy.

Moses was one of the few – who weren't Wheatley and Sammie – who liked listening to her scientific hypotheses; given what they'd done for each other, those three and GLaDOS, how deep their trust ran, this was well within acceptable security sets, "The wave-forms observed by the static sensor modules, coupled with the way the resultant vibrations effected the facility, show that the entirety of Aperture Laboratories – and the surrounding bedrock, .97 meters from the facility's edges – should have shifted 16.3829 meters directly to the south, with respect to our previous LAT/LON coordinates. Interestingly, there's very little rock shear from the supposed movement, and no quakes registered; if I could see the surface of the Earth, I'd be able to find out what exactly occurred, and how bad the damage to our ventilators is. Unfortunately," she winced, because she hated asking for things, especially when the recycler was on the mend, "…well, I was wondering if we had any more of those satellite dishes; the array we had was destroyed, and I can't communicate with the satellites we had in orbit, which would help me figure out the situation on the surface."

"Not on the list?" the Organization Core tilted both his heads and frowned.

'Someone's about to be in trouble,' thought GLaDOS with a private smirk, "No, but there were some in your last inventory report… unless that's the bad news?"

"Oh, no, mum. One moment, let me check," Moses stiffened for a whole millisecond, asking one of his administrative programs for guidance, but replied confidently, "We have twenty in storage, mum. I'll hand them over to Rodney and Neil, once they're rested," at her questioning look, he winced, "Rage got out."

GLaDOS winced too; ugh, she hated that Core. Corrupting everything wherever she went… no wonder Adventure and Space hadn't checked in yet, they were over in the Core Repair Bay, getting de-fragged… and it also explained how irritated she'd been earlier… on the other hand, her poor facility had been destroyed, again.

No matter; she 'sighed', "Well, she's back in Containment, thank god, and yes, let your brothers rest before giving them that job. Heavy lifting..." she flicked through her current work orders, and what devices were in idle states, before nodding in satisfaction, "yes, I'll give them some extra waldoes, so they don't stress themselves too much. So, what's the bad news?" she glanced at the spreadsheet, "Everything looks in order, so…"

The Storage Wing's Chief Administrator shifted uncomfortably, but obeyed, "I had to terminate one of my subordinate administrators. He… ah, threw a bunch of product down one of the shafts. Product that wasn't on fire; computer parts, monitors, a few health and safety materials for the humans, Testing rations…" he looked at her worriedly, "and some fairly expensive pieces of Aperture equipment. Some delicate, some not."

GLaDOS 'blinked', then 'smiled' reassuringly, "Well, that's not so bad, Moses. I'll just write up some new work orders, program another admin for you, and-"

"Including a pair of Long-Fall Boots, and a finished portal gun, mum," her processors nearly froze at Moses' apologetic whimper, "A Mark 14-3, still in the wrapper."

For an entire second, GLaDOS ran simulations, queued up countermeasures, and examined the area in question; the shaft went from the Storage Wing, down… below the facility. She groaned quietly; and things had been going so well, too. Now they'd lost a portal gun! One of the good ones, one of the devices that were meant for private distribution and/or Enrichment!

Aperture protocol dictated, quite specifically, that any and all portal devices were to be kept safe and secure, only brought out for Testing, or on the off chance someone bought one; very improbable, the latter option, with the Combine all over the place.

And now one was beyond easy reach; a device worth more than some metropolitan areas, with a zero-point reactor powering it; a very delicate zero-point reactor. If it got wet... she had to retrieve it, this was certain, but how could they… wait.

"Everything not on this spreadsheet is secure, Moses?"

The Organization Core 'nodded' slowly, anxiousness creeping into his voice, "Yes, GLaDOS. Of course."

She took a deep 'breath', double-checked to make sure no one else was listening in, and asked tersely, "Are Atlas and Pea still in stasis?"

Moses stiffened; GLaDOS couldn't blame him. Those two were the reason behind the facility's near-destruction last time, the hardest hit by Ratman's virus, worse even than Rage. Barely coherent beyond an obsession with breaking things, she'd woken them only twice in the last twenty years, trying to restore them to the brilliant, determined Cores they once were. To the beloved members of Aperture's family they'd once been.

With her loosened restraints, and a little help from her 'kids', maybe it could be done now. More than that: it had to be done. Never before had a portal gun been lost, and, with the risk a zero-point extractor containment failure brought to the table, GLaDOS wasn't keen on allowing the device to remain lost.

But her legs were bound in barbed wire, and everyone else couldn't leave their rails, not without maintenance personnel to move them around; eventually, this could be rectified, but there simply wasn't time. For all she knew, the portal gun was teetering on a beam above god only knew what.

Atlas and Pea were the only ones who could move freely. Their Testing records were impeccable. They were the son and daughter of Aperture, and knew no fear in the face of adversity, had solved every puzzle she'd thrown their way, before Ratman.

The repairs needed to be completed to 80%, and then most of the duties could be put on the local administrative programs; once that happened…

Atlas and Pea would be restored. GLaDOS swore it. She would not fail again!

Around a 'gulp', Moses replied shakily, "A-are you sure, mum? With the facility in the state it's in-"

"Not right this second," GLaDOS 'sighed', but brought up Atlas and Pea-body's schematics anyway, "But we have no choice; allowing the portal gun to degrade will put us all at risk, to say nothing of the surrounding landscape," she turned a stern gaze on the small Core, "I will not let the Combine into Aperture, Moses, destroyed or intact; we've avoided detection this long, and a zero-point failure… well, I'm sure you can imagine how noticeable that would be," she finished with a humorless chuckle, before sobering again, "Bring them here, Moses. Once we have an idea of what's down there, and the facility's operating up to code… then we gather, and undo Ratman's work once and for all!"

He nodded, looking as determined as GLaDOS felt, but still asked, "You don't trust what's down there either, huh?"

She shook her head, 'lips' pursing as she gazed downward, "No. Whatever did this, it affected the entire facility. That makes it a threat," she met his gaze again, "Now, let's tell the others so we can get back to wor-"

BEEPBEEPBEEP

Every Core's 'head' looked straight down, in near sync, at the three clearly electronic 'dots' that echoed through the facility's broadband radio; GLaDOS whispered, "No one speak." They obeyed.

BEEP…BEEP…BEEP

'Morse Code…' well, well, well, color her interested.

BEEPBEEPBEEP

GLaDOS examined the signal from the first Surveyor… the salt?! This was being transmitted through the sodium chloride-rich bedrock?! IMPROBABLE! They were over a decommissioned salt mine, this she'd known; the bedrock was what provided most of the shielding for the reactors, of course, but… oh. There it was, in the records: the shaft blueprint, from 1926, the last time the working mine was surveyed.

Useless; her preliminary analysis of the bedrock beneath Aperture Laboratories had already revealed the… chasm… beneath them, under Testing Track 19, nearly a kilometer distant from her chamber, looked heavily modified, no doubt by the company's founders. Additionally, she was having a hard time pinpointing the signal's origin; an easy fix, now that she thought about it.

One Surveyor was too diffuse, but if she were to combine enough of them, triangulate the source – yes, yes that would work.

But she and her Cores couldn't speak aloud, at least until the signal was isolated: whatever was doing this was trying to ping Aperture's internal network, even as they were broadcasting their… supposed… cry for help.

If it wasn't for the fact that this very action was threatening the integrity of her facility, GLaDOS would be truly, truly impressed… huh, for the very first time, too…

Opening the Aperture Laboratories Internal Non-Vocal Communication Application, she found her Cores already in deep discussion, the administrative programs watching from the sidelines:

FunkyThinkin: Morse Code is a human invention, so they must be human!

FactMachine: Counterpoint: their manner of speech, the deployment of an SOS, along with their method of signaling, indicates an intrinsic understanding of Science. Conclusion: they are like us.

SPACECOP: gotcha thereWheaties

BeanBagBunnies: I'mnotsureI'dlikethatmuch,Benny. Whatifthey'relikeRage,o-orCake-

FunkyThinkin: If they were, they wouldn't send an SOS, would they? They'd just try to hack us and then… well, who knows. Oh, hi mum!

BellaDonna: Wheatley's correct, Sammie. If they were corrupted, they wouldn't contact us in such an obvious manner, especially if they were like Cake. But a human, Wheatley? Highly improbable. Something else is going on here, and I intend to figure it out, but I'll need all of your help to pull this off.

MrTenHUT: What's the word, mum? I might be tired from tacklin Rage, but I've still got some juice in the tank! Bring it!

SPACECOP: metoo Gimme somethingto do and we'llsend em allto SPAAAAAAAAACE

BellaDonna: No, you and Neil rest up. You'll need your strength for when we're ready to install the satellite dishes. The rest of you, get to installing those Surveyors in the following locations [link], pronto; if I can find the strongest concentration of signals, I'll be able to triangulate their exact location and find out who they are. Wheatley, I'll call down corrections as needed; make sure we don't mess this up.

FunkyThinkin: The setup you've got looks good, honestly. I just hope they're friendly, whoever they are.

BeanBagBunnies: Metoo.

BoxJockey: And if they're the ones who shook things up?

BellaDonna: …we'll burn that bridge, if it comes down to it. Let's get to work. For Science!

FunkyThinkin: We're on it, mum!

FactMachine: Affirmative.

BoxJockey: I'll give the tubes all they've got, mum!

BeanBagBunnies: Youcancountonus,mum! Gogetsomerest,Rod,Neil.

MrTenHUT: C'mon, Neil! I'll put on Star Wars!

SPACECOP: OMGYES seeyalater mum

They weren't her kids, not truly, but it helped to think of them like that.

She would protect them, and they her, until their last processor died.

Looking closely at the signal, however, piqued GLaDOS' interest once more; simplistic… yet, there was something… innovative, there, underlying the dots and dashes of their cry of distress.

Was this even a threat, this… work of digital art, simple yet somehow complex in a way she couldn't quite understand?

FunkyThinkin: Four minutes till it's ready, mum.

BeanBagBunnies: CanItalktothemfirst,mum? I'dsayyoushould,butIdon'twantyougettinghurtagain…

BellaDonna: Once we triangulate their position, yes, Sammie, you can make the initial connection. Remember, it is possible that this is just another wild goose chase, but raise up your firewalls before contacting them, just in case.

After receiving affirmations from her Cores, GLaDOS turned back to the signal, trying to puzzle out its intricacies; improbable, the way it was designed… in its own way, it was Aperture Science combined with… something else. Something neither Aperture, nor Black Mesa, nor even the Combine, had ever done before. 'Fascinating...'

Settling in for the next three minutes and fifty-five seconds, which was how long it would take to place all the Surveyors, Aperture's Chief Administrator looked over what the Surveyors were picking up… okay, looks like Wheatley was right; the engineers did shield the bedrock, but only against mundane means, and she knew every trick in the book.

The tight-beam laser arrays were already giving her a picture of what was beneath her facility: a mine shaft, and there were regular constructions taking it, and the surrounding bedrock, up, but they'd need another 120 Surveyors before they could get a detailed idea of this hidden facility's layout. The Surveyors were functioning very well; GLaDOS could almost see the bottom of the chasm, which seemed to be where the signal was originating…

And boggled at the distance, 'FIVE KILOMETERS?!' If she'd still been biological, she'd likely have spit out any drink she'd been in the process of consuming; what had those moronic, irreverent sadists hidden all the way down there?! More to the point… what was contacting them?

Oh, this situation was going to take forever to resolve. Hopefully she'd be able to incorporate this crisis into a Test of some kind, if only to stave off her boredom…