By the way, special thanks to Sweet Christabel (check her out on my 'Favourite Authors' page, her Portal 2 stories are some of the biggest reasons I got back into writing) for being my beta-reader. It's helpful, and for some reason having a beta-reader makes me feel mighty epic.

Blankly staring across the empty, decrepit hallway of the civil protection base, Chell sat quietly on a wooden bench by the door, painfully reflecting on what she had just witnessed. What she had done, just hours before.

In front of her, the lights still flashed red. And numbly, in the midst of a silence too deafening for her to ignore, she could still hear the echoes of a cold body hitting the floor. The loud pang of her gun, and the quiet sound of a life ending. The fragile flame of a life she had just extinguished.

Under her thick armor, Chell trembled quietly.

…To think it could all end that easily.

On the same bench beside her, Steve sat, equally silent as he looked away from the young woman, allowing her – and himself – some space to think.

The three had just returned from their raid on the resistance base, ratting out and killing all resistance members who still remained – or were too slow to run – after the Klaxons had turned, and the red alarm lights flooded the area. Taken by surprise and not spared the mercy to properly prepare for the battle, most went down fighting and screaming, some even begging for their lives. By the end of it all, within the civil protection group of eleven men, (excluding the initial three), only two had been killed, and 58 resistance members – an estimated two-thirds of the radical resistance members in City 26 – had been taken down.

Underground, surrounded by the yells of pain and mercy from the injured, the dying, and the crazed laughter of men he once thought he knew, Steve shuddered, almost unable to stand his ground. Around him, the floor was littered with bodies, and the walls were splattered with blood. Even for Steve – a man used to the standards of cruelty the Civil Protection displayed, time and time again – it was a complete and heartless massacre.

And the young, new woman beside him had been witness to it.

Quietly, he turned to the woman in concern.

When he'd first found the girl underground, she had been sitting by a still, silent body, a smoking gun beside her empty hands. From behind her, the form of another civil protection member, Nick, had loomed over her in the darkness, a single, reassuring hand placed firmly on her shoulder.

Silently, he'd said that the girl may have possibly saved his life.

"…Are you okay?" Steve asked, laying a cautious hand on the girl's back.

Violently flinching, Chell spun around in panic. Shaken and surprised, an almost feral growl instinctively escaped her throat as she laid eyes on the owner of the hand.

"Woah – hey!"
Steve exclaimed as he promptly raised his arms and backed away.

"-Look, lady, I don't want to hurt you."

Her momentary shock subsiding, Chell stared at him warily from underneath the mask, a sudden, heavy tiredness overcoming her being.

I know.

"…I was just going to ask if you were alright. You don't seem so, from the looks of it."

Silently, Chell raised an eyebrow.
Since when the hell did this guy worry about my wellbeing?

"I heard what you did there you know. Your first 'catch'. "

Oh. Chell turned away with disgust. So he's 'congratulating' me.

"-And I'm sorry." Steve said quietly, as he too looked away. "It must've been terrible."

For a moment, Chell couldn't quite comprehend what he had just said.
Slowly, she turned back to the man in surprise.

For the longest time since she and the others had arrived back to the base, they had been greeted with booming cheers and applause from the other men in masks, regarded as heroes for the people that they killed. Nick was particularly celebrated; back-patting, joking, and loud calls for the medic following in his wake. In the midst of the raucous group, Nick held his injured right hand as he marched proudly amongst them, Steve and Chell trailing quietly behind.

What happened after passed as a fuzzy blur.

For what seemed like a long period of time, there was nothing. Nick went straight to the medical wing of the base, and without anything else to do, Chell followed. As she idly watched Nick's bleeding hand being patched up and fixed, (images of blood and the bodies of those that can never be fixed flashing through her mind), the sound of the mechanical radio woman's voice rang overhead, announcing a quick meeting amongst the present soldiers on the training ground. As Nick led her out of the room and onto the inner grounds of the base, Chell observed the other soldiers spilling out, each a set with their masks on and full uniforms, anonymous faces and voices she was slightly glad she couldn't recognize. Quietly the soldiers grouped together in rigid, trained lines and rows. On a makeshift stage, Chell saw two people – a man and a woman in crisp brown suits (by far the cleanest clothes she'd seen anybody wear) – rise up, briefly introducing themselves as the 'Human administrators' of City 26. Standing on the stage with an educated elegance and dignity, the man she'd never seen before, (the word 'Politician' briefly came to mind), reported on the happenings and the effects of their raid on the resistance base.

An estimated two-thirds of the resistance dead; their largest and most valuable base in the city – completely annihilated. It was a quick, efficient, and successful blow against the resistance.

Before him, the people cheered loudly as Chell looked on in silence, her stomach churning uncomfortably. The man hadn't mentioned their casualties.

For some time this encouraging speech continued, the soldiers in action rewarded – not with medals, or with money – but with recognition from the Combine, and the honour of being known for what they did.

Slowly, the man on stage recited the names given to him on a list by his 'Secretary'.

"Nikolai Rozhkov."

Nick visibly straightened as the man turned to him.

"Stephen Cooper."

Steve stood silently as usual.

"And…" For a second the man's eyes flashed to Chell, hesitating. From the top of the mask, the man's eyes traveled instantly down to her odd shoes, and then to the list, as he visibly read and re-read the paper, searching for her name. Around her, the group of civil protection members listened intently, still unaware that anything was wrong.
Her name missing, and left with no choice but to move on, the man picked up from where he left off, moving quickly across the paper. "-Julio Castillo, James Mark…"

Ever since their return, people had been congratulating them. They had been congratulated for their kills, rewarded for the damage they – and along with them, she – had done on other people's lives.

They had killed humans, just like them.
Defenseless, screaming, humans, that could have very well been them.

Yet the men in masks laughed, and they cheered. As if nothing ever happened. As if the blood on the walls and the numerous bodies on the floor didn't matter to them.

They weren't humans. They were monsters.
And she wasn't any different.

Now, as she sat on a worn-out bench outside of the administrator's temporary office, as Nick fought for her right to be properly registered as a member of the Combine, Chell froze, her mind caught on Steve's words.

"I'm sorry."

Finally, somebody had said something different.

"I wish I could say that it gets better, but to be honest – it doesn't," Steve continued, his head hung in what seemed like shame. "Cruelty – the loss of lives is never something you'll find pleasant – it's only something you get used to. No one had to die," the man whispered. "You begin to doubt. You question your superior's motives, then you question yourself. And the worst part is that around you, the world doesn't change. It never does. Even when for you, it will never be the same again." Steve sighed.
"…I'm sorry you had to see that," the man said, looking to the woman beside him. "I'm sorry you had to kill the man."

I'm sorry.

The words repeated in her head as she stared blankly at the other man, her face crumbling quietly underneath the cover of the mask.
If she could apologize, she would.

For several long moments, there was nothing. A final quietude sunk between the two as they waited for the arrival of Nick – the only reason they stayed there.

Finally, after what seemed like hours upon hours of waiting, Nick stepped out the door of the administrator's office, quietly shutting the door behind him as he turned toward the tired two.

"…It was a little bit of a trouble to convince Mr. Elite of your worth over there," Nick said teasingly, "…But you're now a fully fledged member of the Combine army." Nick chuckled to himself as Chell's breath caught silently underneath her mask, recalling the words he had said the day they first met.

"Once you're registered, there's no going back."

She was stuck with this forever.

"Thank god they don't need any names." Nick laughed, still talking joyfully to himself. "If they did, they would've had a real hard time asking it out from you, girl."
Walking up to her, he roughly laid a hand on her head. "…And if you didn't answer, you could've ended up dead." Nick said quietly. "Thank god you didn't."

"…Where are you going?" Steve asked, as Nick began to walk away from the two, his injured and tightly-wrapped right hand waving in the air.

"Unlike some lazy dweebs 'round here, I've still got some actual shit to do!" Nick said over the concealed microphone, his voice sounding loudly inside their masks.
"Nah man, I'm kidding." Nick laughed as he caught the disapproving silence of Steve. "You bring Daisy to her room and make her rest, okay? If anything, she needs one."

"We all have some big game to catch in the next few days."
And with that, Nick quickly left, leaving the two alone in the hallway in silence.

"…Well, I suppose we do as we're told, then," Steve murmured as he rose, waiting patiently for Chell to follow.

Wordlessly the two headed for their respective quarters, Steve leading on as he guided her way through the decrepit building.

"I suppose this may be an odd question to ask now but…" Steve said quietly, breaking the silence. "What is your name?"

Chell paused, stopping in her tracks as Steve continued. "The thought hadn't occurred to me until Nick mentioned it, but you'd never identified yourself before. Not like I'd ever heard you speak but – you must at least have a name you can communicate, right?"

For a second, Chell opened her mouth to reply, the retort; "Of course I have a damn name." running instinctively through her head. But the moment she tried to recall the said name, nothing – absolutely nothing came up.
For the longest time she could remember, from the time she had first been awoken in the godforsaken depths of Aperture Science – she had always been called by different titles, ranging from the 'lady', the 'test subject', to even 'fat, parent-less adopted monster'. But never, not even once, had GLaDOS or Wheatley – or anybody else for that matter – called her by her 'name'.

If she had a name, she couldn't remember it.

Quietly, Chell shut her mouth, and shook her head.

Under the mask, Steve looked at the girl in surprise.
"…I'm sorry to hear that." He murmured apologetically.

No. Chell shook her head again in reply. Don't be.

Again, the two continued their walked in silence, the static voice of the radio and their footsteps the only sounds to break the monotonous quietude.

"-Hey lady," Steve spoke again, unable to stand the awkward quiet for too long. "I hope you don't mind us – mostly Nick, but still – us for giving you a name."

From her spot in front of him, Chell turned around, tilting her head lightly to the side.

What do you mean?

"Nick – he often calls you 'Daisy', right?"

Chell nodded, recognizing that nickname as her own.

"Ach, I figured he would." Steve threw his hands up, rolling his eyes to the ceiling from underneath his mask. "I told him not to, but I knew he'd never listen."

What about it? Chell thought as she folded her arms over her chest at his exasperated reaction. She didn't see what was so wrong about the name that he had to act like that. She didn't mind it, on the contrary actually; she rather liked the name.
'Daisy'. The word reminded her of something she once knew, long before.

"Well," Steve hesitantly continued as he saw her reaction. "It's not like it's a bad thing, just –"

From under the mask, Chell pointedly stared at him as she impatiently tapped her foot.

Get to the point.

"Um, well," Steve faltered, "the reason isn't something… I can exactly tell you with this mask on. It's – personal." He said quietly into the mic, tapping lightly on the hard mask that concealed it.

Undeterred by his reply and now curious, Chell promptly unlatched her white gas mask, expectantly looking at Steve to do the same.

Anything to keep a conversation going, right?

Tiredly, Steve sighed, hesitating slightly before following her example. Though he knew he couldn't keep Nick's secrets hidden forever, the thought of telling her right now, (and the possible consequences that could come of it), still made him slightly uncomfortable.
If Nick ever found out about this, he would definitely be in for a beating.

"…Okay," Steve cleared his voice as he warily returned Chell's expectant gaze. "Let me make this very blunt. Daisy," Steve said, forcing himself to look the girl in her eyes. "You were saved – as a replacement for Nick's daughter."

For a second, the words didn't click.
Blankly, Chell stared at the man before her, unable to comprehend his message. The moment it did hit, a numb, silent surprise coursed through her brain.

"Adopted."

For a second, that one, odd word she had always been hearing in Aperture popped up in her mind. Slowly, almost clumsily, she nodded in reply.

Now that she thought of herself in that context, several things – little, tiny actions of fondness Nick showed toward her – began to make some sense.

"Danielle Rozhkov," Steve murmured, his head bowed low in solemnity. "That was her full name. She was a good kid, intelligent, stubborn, though a little– frail. She was always sick – delicate,you could say – like her mother. …She didn't last long in this new world." Slowly, Steve looked up, avoiding Chell's curious gaze.
"Of course, when the invasion began, Nick had expected the worst – we all did." Steve sighed. "Tess…Nick's wife was already lost before we could get to her – wiped out by a bomb originally meant to kill the enemy. By some miracle, Danielle was spared from death…but by the time we'd got to her, she'd already lost everything else. Third and second degree burns covered large areas on both of her legs, disabling her from escaping the building we found her in – the burnt remains of what was once her elementary school. Underneath the rubble and the black bodies of her once-classmates, she'd been crying for hours, hidden from both the rescue team sent by the government, and the aliens they were fighting against. It was by pure, dumb chance that we even spotted her." His hazy eyes gazing blankly ahead, Nick paused. "…I lost everything that day. My friends, my family…even my future. But then again, most of us did. And yet, somehow, Nick hadn't. Even on the day of our downfall, he still had her. And he lived for her. In a way, he always had. To protect her, he did the only thing he was good at – he fought. To ensure her safety, he enlisted in the Combine. The man gave everything he had – his name for the sake of a code of numbers, his humanity for the sake of a secure home and medical treatment. If he could, he would've sold his soul to save her. He would've given up his mind, his own memories. She was everything he still had left in this world. And in a way, she was for me, too." Steve sighed quietly.

"…I could've left them – I should have, the moment I knew what he planned on doing. I had more resolve than he did – I knew what was going to happen. And yet…I still can't forget the day she died. I'd tried to forget that, many, many times. I'd tried to forget her, for years on end. But in my memories, that one image remains clear." Steve said, his quiet, detached tone almost unsettling in Chell's ears.
"I watched quietly, that day in her resting quarter. Leaning on the wall by the far end of the room – it took a lot for me to stay there, without faltering or leaving. On the bed, the girl just lay there, silently. Unmoving, like a doll. She had been 'sleeping' like that for almost two days now. By the side of her bed, her father – Nick had been coaxing her to wake up for hours on end. Tiredly, the doctor beside him shook his head. By that time, she had already long past gone, quietly slipped away by a pandemic that only affected children of her age. She was always rather, fragile, in comparison to the other kids."

For a moment, Steve lapsed into silence, the two walking slowly along the long, dim hallway that led to their base.
Unable to find the words to reply, unable to find the will to say she was sorry, Chell looked down, gradually regretting her decision to hear Steve's story.

"…She looked a lot like you, Daisy." Steve began again, his eyes still trained on the ground before him. "She acted a lot like you, too. If she'd grown up, she could've been exactly like you now." Steve sighed. "Working with her beloved father on the same field. The same goddamned job she despised, yet her father seemed to love to be a part of. For as long as I'd known him, that man was never fully sane. He was a violent sociopath, a natural, homicidal, sadist from the time I'd first met him. He was all that – and now, he's delusional. By putting her name on you, by treating you as if he would her, he's trying to act – he's trying to pretend as if Danielle's still alive," Steve muttered, disgusted. "He sees the truth – he knows what we both do, but he refuses to acknowledge it. He doesn't care about who you really are, he doesn't care about where you really come from – to him, you were Danielle, from the very start. The moment he realizes any different – he will most likely obliterate you. Make it out as if you never even existed. As if you were never even there. And if the dog ever dares bite its master's hand – if the dog ever fails to follow to its master's order, well… I suppose that's when the end arrives."

Outside, the sun doused the once-blue sky in a cherry red, staining the walls and floors, the sunlight's last rays graced down upon in a curious mixture of light and shadow. Where the small, barren windows of the base decorated the empty hall, a fading, red light danced around the area, the only shadows cast by the two quietly making their way across the building. Finally they were nearing their destination.

Worriedly, Chell looked up to Steve. The story – his whole account of the name 'Daisy', had taken a gradual dark turn on the atmosphere that surrounded the two, and Steve's own, often submissive attitude. Silently, she nudged him for reassurance.

"…Of course, Nick isn't all bad," Steve said, mistaking Chell's nervous gaze as worry for herself. "The man is…kind, when he wants to be. In a way, everything he's done so far – he's done it to assure your safety." Weakly, Steve smiled. "All he wants is for you to be safe. Don't…be afraid, of him. However crazy the man is, he knows well enough of what he's doing. You can trust him. And though I do doubt him, time and time again, the man hasn't failed in his mission. He never has. I was saved too, twenty years ago, from the pits of Black Mesa, and I'm still here. Trust me," Steve said quietly as he stopped by a door – the entrance to Chell's own quarters. "Trust him. He only wants what you want the most."

"He only wants you to live."

~oOo~

Quietly, as Chell lazily gazed on at the barren ceiling from the comfort of her (hard) bed, she reflected on what she had just heard.

The life and death of a little girl – just like her. A girl who – in some other, happier world – may have been loved, cherished by both her father and mother, treasured 'till the end of time.

Quietly, hazily, a song began to form in her head.

Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do
I'm half crazy
All for the love of you

'Daisy'. She finally remembered where she heard that word.

Sitting up from where she lay, Chell stared blankly at the wall.

If anything, Chell thought, today was a weird day.

A lot of things happened that she didn't yet want to reflect back on, and she'd heard a lot of things – stories and memories of people she didn't know what to do with just yet. She could write about it, she supposed, (that was, if she still remembered how to write), but first, there were other things she needed to do.

Quietly, Chell left her quarters and stepped back out in the bland, concrete hallway. Leaving her mask on the bed, (she never really did like that odd thing, anyway), she flitted quickly past the doors of the other rooms, going once down the stairs in search of Steve's room number.

First things first – the man had actually helped her.
The dark skinned, bald, weird, quiet person she hadn't really liked before had actually helped her. He'd taught her how to cope, and he'd given her a reason to trust people. To trust them.
And it seemed, he trusted her, too.

For the first time she could remember since Wheatley had changed, she wanted to show gratitude. She wanted to say "Thank you."

For a time, moments passed on with her walking quietly through the silent hall, each closed room seemingly empty and abandoned if not for the occasional sound of footsteps, or the small, cackling hum of music from a personal radio. Soon, she'd arrived at her destination. Before her, the door to Steve's room lay tightly closed.
As Chell walked slowly, quietly towards it, she could faintly hear the voices.

"This is…base City 26…we have received your message."

"Affirmative…White Forest base…we are…Go ahead."

Steve's own, quiet voice, and a static-filled, different voice Chell couldn't quite recognize.

"…massacre of 58 men…all others…evacuated to…station. Hunters…other protection members have gathered…for assault on station. Alone…they won't make it. Send troops from White Forest…this…an emergency."

"…Understood."

Cautiously, Chell opened the door.

His back faced toward her, Steve sat on a desk by the far end of the room, his right hand gripped on a microphone, the electrical cords underneath connected to a small, dual screened device that displayed the faces of two people – a black-haired man in a worn out civil protection uniform, and a timid looking, aged Caucasian man in spectacles and a white lab coat. By his left hand a small radio sat, a round, orange engraving by the side of the device. A clear, small logo Chell had come to despise over the course of the past day.

"Oh my." The elderly scientist instinctively cupped his mouth as he noticed the girl at the door.

The logo of the resistance.