Author's Note: Sorry for the wait. College is killing me here D:

Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardians, How to Train Your Dragon or Portal/Portal 2.

Hypothesis

Interlude – Running Fish (Part 2)

"I'm not feeling so good. Those pills you took… I think the medicine is starting to work," the Companion Cube on his back moans weakly, her voice becoming fainter and fainter with each word. "Soon you won't need me anymore."

"I'll always need you," the man assures her, racing across rooms and climbing up stairs towards his destination.

"I don't think you will."

"No," he breathes in horror, half because the cube's voice has been reduced to a weak whisper, half because he has arrived and he does not like what he is seeing.

Jack lies motionless on a bed under a set of blankets, sleeping inside an artificially constructed room. He is oblivious to the haggard face staring at him through the 'window', watching helplessly outside the prison caging him.

"They're already put him in long-term relaxation!" the man exclaims, racking his mind for a plan. "I need to get up to cyro-control, but turrets block the way."

He races towards the control unit mounted on the wall several corridors down and practically wrenches its cover open, attempting to fiddle with its settings.

His cyro-chamber… Something's wrong. Life support has been compromised. The explosion blew the main grid. His cyro-chamber is off-line. All the cyro-chambers are off-line!

The revelation does not bode well. If he fails to send power to Jack's cyro-chamber in time, not only will he be unable to free him, but the test subject will also die before long. After coming all this way to save him, he knows that there is no turning back now.

I'm only gonna get one chance. I have to cross the room… Get past the turrets, jump the rail… Then dive left or right to avoid being shot.

"Okay, do I dive left or right?" he asks once he has reached the critical point, hiding behind a wall with a mini army of live turrets on the other side.

The Companion Cube on his back is silent and still.

"Hello? You still back there?"

No response.

"Left or right? Don't make me guess! I'm running out of time."

He had to move. Now.

"Well, ready or not…" he murmurs, breaking into a run. He had to try to get into the safety of the next corridor just beyond the reach of the turrets in the room, and in a split-second decision, he lunges to the left.

The turrets open fire.

Something pierces through his right thigh and he collapses to the ground, skidding past the danger zone. The Companion Cube on his back is flung in front of him and he reaches desperately for it, but the excruciating pain in his leg overwhelms him and he starts to see black spots dancing in his vision.

Must…

Stay…

Conscious…

:: The Enrichment Center would like to announce a new employee initiative of forced voluntary participation. If any Aperture Science employee would like to opt out of this new voluntary testing program, please remember, science rhymes with compliance. Do you know what doesn't rhyme with compliance? Neurotoxin. ::

MIM chimed from her perch in the control room, overseeing the operations of the facility. Her security cameras, etched on every visible surface behind every wall, swiveled about as they searched for their target.

:: Due to high mortality rates, you may be reluctant to participate in the new initiative. The Enrichment Center assures you this is a strictly selfish impulse on your part, and why can't you love science like [insert co-worker's name here]? ::

Corpses littered the floor and the observation deck with thousands more bodies of men and women alike, those who had literally dropped dead with the fatal poison running through their systems, strewn outside the control room.

MIM had been very pleased to know that the main venting system had been working as it should, allowing the neurotoxin to flood every corner of the facility.

:: And now there's just you. All the others are dead. You've avoided capture for weeks. What makes you so different? Ahh… Delusions of persecution, pathological paranoia; it's all right here in your file. Have you refilled your prescription lately? ::

Gil Fisher, the slippery man who had managed to escape capture and evade death, dubbed 'the fish with legs' (or more commonly 'Fishlegs'), scurried towards the ladder at the end of the hallway.

"Bite me," he snapped at the AI, climbing down to the next level below.

:: Schizophrenia is a culturally bound phenomenon. Its pattern of expression is filtered through the cultural substrate in which its symptoms develop. In technological societies, this manifests as delusions of surveillance and a belief that advanced technology is deployed against you, usually with some vague unseen 'other' out to get you. ::

"You're not vague. You're pretty damn specific," came the retort as he jumped down the last few steps, sprinting down another corridor.

:: If you continue to selfishly evade me, it's not going to reflect well in your file. ::

"Of course! The files!" With a squeak of his shoes on the polished floor, he abruptly changed direction and ran towards his new destination.

:: I can't see you, but I know you're in there. Is it just a coincidence that you've been diagnosed with schizophrenia and now believe that a homicidal computer is out to get you? Come on, how likely is that? ::

He burst through the vent near the ceiling and landed nimbly on his feet, quickly scanning his surroundings for turrets before dusting himself off.

:: I mean really, you're a scientist. What is more likely, that you're being chased by a homicidal computer, or that this is all just the paranoid delusion of an unstable mind? Why not come out of there, and you'll see. None of this is real. ::

Rushing towards the cabinet at the other end of the room (taking care to sidestep the body of a deceased colleague on the way), he pulled the drawers open and began rifling through the stacks of papers and folders.

:: I'd ask you to think outside the box on this, but it's obvious your box is broken. And has schizophrenia. Speaking of boxes… Do you know that thought experiment with the cat in the box with the poison? Theory requires the cat be both alive and dead until observed. Well, I actually performed the experiment. Dozens of times. The bad news is that reality doesn't exist. The good news is that we have a new cat graveyard. ::

His hands trembled as his eyes scanned the data reports, frantically searching for the information he needed.

:: Why are you in the file room anyway? What could you possibly be doing? ::

"Yes! These are the ones!" he exclaimed in success, pulling out two folders of papers and running towards the nearest computer.

:: In the event you don't survive the testing process, DNA may be harvested from your body – with your consent – and used to create clones in the furtherance of science. Failure to survive the testing process shall be viewed as granting consent. Also, clones don't have souls. Just so you know. Like twins. ::

It has to be them, he thought with determination, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he typed furiously to change the Test Subject Order File.

The names 'Jackson Overland Frost' and 'Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III' were moved to the top of the list.

His eyes flutter open to the sight of his Companion Cube sitting in front of him. One hand feebly reaches towards it, but it falls limp as the darkness drags him under again.

:: Since the installation of my new morality core, I've lost all interest in killing. Now I only crave science. ::

"I'm pleased to hear that," Henry grinned, probing at the wiring in a circuit board.

:: I find myself drawn to the study of consciousness. There's an experiment I'd like to perform during 'Bring Your Cat to Work Day'. ::

"Wonderful!"

:: I'll have the box and the cats. Now I just need one more thing. ::

"What's that?"

:: …A little neurotoxin. ::

"Well, as long as it's for science," he said, smiling at the AI hanging above him.

So caught up was Henry in the success of the morality core that he missed the way Gil, working at the table nearby, shot MIM a horrified look of realization.

"How long have I been out?" he asks, opening his eyes to see his faithful companion next to him.

"Long enough," the cube replies.

"You're back."

"I never left you," she chides gently. "There's something I wanted to ask. How did you know about the boys?"

"Know what?"

"That they were the ones."

"Something in their files."

"They had the highest IQ?"

"No, some were higher."

"Then they were the fastest? The most athletic?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Then what?"

"A hunch."

"There's only one left, but you might still be able to save him."

"What?" he gasps in disbelief, pushing himself up. "How? I can't get to his cyro-chamber."

"You can't free him, but you might save him," the cube would be shaking her head if she had one. "You can patch his cyro-unit into the reserve grid."

Gil Fisher crawls towards the control unit and pulls himself up, reaching for the switches and buttons mounted on it.

"You can reset the fuses and restart his life support. If it's not too late already."

"But even if it works, there will be no wake-up date," he murmurs solemnly, pulling up the log of cyro-chambers on the monitor screen to locate the one Jack was trapped in. "He'll be in there indefinitely. So it's the long sleep… or the long sleep. And I don't know which is worse."

Looking through the list of most recently accessed cyro-chambers, he easily identifies the one that comes out on top as Jack's, no surprise there. But the date logged in the row immediately below Jack's entry causes him to pause, and a sad smile crosses his face as he writes the code to reroute power into the cyro-chambers.

"Forgive me," he whispers and presses the final button, watching the screen light up in confirmation that the life support system has come online. "It worked!"

Elsewhere, air begins to flow into the relaxation vault, ruffling Jack's white hair in a gentle caress. His chest starts to rise and fall periodically again as he exhales with a breathy sigh, not once stirring in his slumber.

"Sleep well… both of you."

Both alive and dead, until someone opens the box.

"Maybe it's time I slept too. I'm so tired now," he slurs, crawling towards a relaxation pod.

"You've earned a rest," the Companion Cube agrees, allowing him to step on her to climb inside.

"You see Astrid, I told you I would always need you," Fishlegs smiles, letting his eyes close as the glass cover slides shut, sending him into a deep sleep with his faithful cube sitting dutifully outside.

An abandoned folder of papers lies scattered on the floor nearby with some of its contents spilling out. Two notable sheets have graph charts on them, warning against using two particular specimens for future tests. The proctor's report is short and concise, and the data in the graph is telling.

Outlier Report
Tenacity Level: Abnormal
REJECTED. DO NOT TEST.

Author's Note: And that concludes the interlude. Sorry if it's really vague or confusing, but I hope to be able to tie up loose ends and explain more in the second arc. If anyone has any questions or anything, feel free to leave a review/PM me and I'll either respond directly, or collate the questions and post a sub-chapter to address them.

See you guys next time!