Game Changer

Outside of Chamber 14K –

Rick could follow orders – what soldier couldn't? If ever there was a core built to embody the line "Theirs is not to question why, theirs is but to do or die," Rick the Adventure Core was most certainly the one. But that didn't mean he liked it.

He dutiful "sang" (that is, played the recording that Mimi had all-but-burned into his circuits), with resentful mutterings in sotto voice between the lines:

"Here it's safe (what's fun about that?)…and here it's warm, here the daisies'll guard you from every harm (If you're relying on daisies to protect you, you are in a sad state of affairs)… your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true (grunt)…Here is the place where I love you."

He continued to sing, as he was instructed, when footsteps began to sound down the hallway, in his immediate direction. He kept singing when someone smashed through the malfunctioning door, a portal device in one hand and a potato in the other.

"Alright, Katniss Everdeen, where are you and what kind of trick are you playing? If I'm supposed to die for your cute tragedy, I got some news for you, kid, I don't exactly do 'dying.'"

Rick stopped singing. The creature that had entered his vision was female, with a green jumpsuit and a matching portal device. Her brilliant, dark eyes darted from one corner of the room to the other, and then, just to make sure, the ceiling. Her head was shaved except for a trail of spiky locks that fell along the center of her head, putting Rick in mind of eagle feathers. Every inch of her frame was taut with pent-up energy.

Rick felt, despite his lack of hair, or limbs, or salivary glands, that he wanted to spit on the palm of his hand and slick his hair back. He retreated into the shadows, uncertain of how to react around this new she-creature.

The test subject gave a cry, and started to run. She crossed to the far wall in about four strides, dropped the potato, and readjusted her grip on the portal device. Then she swung it, hard. Rick didn't see her target, but there was a shattering sound.

Carefully, Rick opened his optic. The she-creature – he corrected in his interior vocabulary, the Amazon – reached into what had once been a glass case and pulled out a small ax, painted bright red.

"Oh, baby," she said softly, "I've been waiting for someone like you."

"So have I," Rick replied in what was meant to be a sultry stage whisper.

However, his vocal processor had failed him. The Amazon didn't hear. She ran a thumb very gently across the edge of the ax. "Hm. Could be better. Could be worse." Hefting it in her hands, she nodded and let out a satisfied sigh.

She turned around. "Katniss?" she called again. "Where are you?"

Now was his moment. Rick mentally slicked his hair, put on his best leather boots, and strode majestically (read: squeaked) into the light. "Humblest greetings to you, ma'am—"

Her eyes snapped on him. "Don't ma'am me; what the hell are you?"

"No no no! I'm a – I'm an ambassador of Katniss Everdeen." Ambassador, that word had a grand sound to it. "She sent me here to pick you up – and may I say, it is an honor and a privilege."

"You're from Katniss Everdeen?" She stared straight up into his optic. Her gaze was electrifying – then again, so were most aspects of Rick's little life. She invited new definitions for the term. "Prove it."

"She's a dark-haired lady, about yay high, got pale eyes, hair tightly braided up, bit twitchy?"

The woman paused. Rick took the opportunity to study her jumpsuit at leisure, so that he could memorize the precise curvature of the number 14 on her chest. Sweet Arabic numerals. He blessed them.

"That's not proof. What are you?" she asked. Her chest rose and fell as she talk. Did all women's chests do that? He should pay more attention.

"I'm Rick, the Adventure Core, created by the greatest minds of science to make life easier and more adventurous for test subjects like you."

"Easier and more adventurous? Ha." She struck something on the floor with her ax. When she straightened up, the potato was skewered to her ax blade. "Where did this come from?"

"Katniss Everdeen gave it to me. Meant to be used like a trail of, whatchamacallems, breadcrumbs."

"Were you the one singing earlier? Prove it."

Rick started to sing almost immediately, and cursed himself, wishing, as he repeated Katniss Everdeen's voice note-for-note, that he could rewrite the song into some good sea chantey about volcanoes and tigers and anything but daisies, for the love of God. But fortunately, before he finished, the woman cut him off.

"Okay. I believe you. Where is she?"

"Well. If you'll just follow me – and stay behind me, lady, things could get a bit dangerous—"

"My name is Johanna."

"Johanna." Rick repeated. "That's a mighty fine name you got there." He led her down the corridor, warning against every danger he could think of, and thinking himself the luckiest core in the world.

He had fifteen minutes of such happy, happy thoughts, before a voice hailed them from above their catwalk.

"Hello? Is someone there? I can hear you! Answer me!"

Johanna looked up and peered into the darkness. "Finnick?"

"Johanna?"

"You're still alive?"

"Don't sound so surprised."

A man came into view on the upper catwalk. His jumpsuit was dark blue with a teal stripe, but Rick couldn't tell more about his looks than that. "I passed a stairwell down about twenty yards that-a-way – mind waiting for me to catch up?"

"No. We don't." Rick had a mind to disagree, but remembered he had two test subjects to recruit.

There was a sound of thudding footfalls above, which grew distant, and then closer, until Finnick himself came into sight. As far as men went, he looked fit and healthy, with decent proportions, to Rick's discerning eye. He greeted Johanna with a wry, "You found an ax. Of course, you found an ax."

Johanna returned with a devastating rebuttal: "He's gone for seventy-two hours without getting laid. A world record, ladies and gentlemen!"

But then, instead of throwing down their portal guns and tearing each other to shreds, as Rick would have done, they walked towards each other (Johanna dropped her ax) and seized each other's free hands in a comradely gesture.

"Let me guess: elevator dropped you off."

"Yep. God, it's good to talk to someone again. Where are you going?"

"We're following this talking ball up here." Johanna gestured to Rick with her ax. "I don't know what he is, but he knows Katniss."

Finnick began to jog ahead of Johanna. "Let's get a move on, then."

And thus the short happiness of Rick the Adventure Core came to an end. But he did have the satisfaction of being the leader, meaning he could holler, "No, it's not that way! Damn fool, you'll get yourself killed!"

The Elevator Hub –

Chell had just returned from a brief scavenging mission (successful – she had a pan, and a small portable stove that might still work, to cook the potatoes) when Katniss called her over.

"They only just arrived – the new rescues. It looks like most of the rebellious Districts are all here. Finnick, look over here, meet Chell."

Finnick turned. Chell caught a glimpse of a clean-cut profile, bronzed by wind and sun. As he saw her, his expression took on the familiar wondering tone of everyone who saw Katniss and then Chell standing beside each other.

Chell, meanwhile, wondered at how on Earth he managed to make the uninspired jumpsuit he wore (that they all wore) look fine. It brought out his eyes, as well – a combination that shouldn't be street-legal. Chell's jaw fell very slightly, and she automatically reached up to tuck her stray hairs behind her ear and wish desperately for a comb. (Finnick tended to have that effect on people, the first time they met him.)

"Nice to meet you," he said. That shook Chell out of her admiration. HE sounded friendly enough, but wary and alert. Not a bad ally.

"Same to you," she answered (her awe at his looks wasn't entirely faded. "And – um – where's the other test subject?"

Katniss pointed. "There's Johanna. Approach with caution."

Johanna was leaning gingerly on a swivel chair, looking over Wiress' shoulder. "So, Nuts, how did you join this ragtag bunch of misfits? And was the all-girls' thing part of the plan?"

"Leave her alone, Johanna," Katniss called.

"I'm not bothering her," Johanna answered. "Whoa! Where'd you pick up a twin?"

"I'm Chell," she explained.

"Uh-huh. So, did you plan on making this a girl's party? Sorry, Finnick."

"It just happened that way. Rick, how did it go?"

From above, Rick said smugly, "Yep, I picked up Miss Johanna first, and then the tanned fellow came along for the ride."

"'The tanned fellow'?" Katniss asked.

"Well, mostly because he owes me. I did save his life, y'know."

"Did you? Did you really, Rick?" Chell demanded.

Rick quailed. "Not… except insofar as leading him here counts as saving his life."

"That's better. Well-done, Rick. Did you meet any trouble at all?"

"Like what?" Finnick asked.

Chell wasn't sure why a man like Finnick looking directly at her was in some ways more unnerving than a gun turret doing the same, but she could face both equitably: "Did another core see you? Did you get lost? Did she try to find you?"

"Nope, nope, and nope," he answered.

"Oh, we got a bit lost," Johanna answered over him. "But that was all."

"No trouble? You didn't have any trouble – at all?"

"Not even a lick of it," Rick said proudly.

"Apparently the odds like us today," Johanna said, as Chell turned away, frowning in thought.

Chell only glanced at Johanna. "I don't trust these odds. I don't trust them at all."

GLaDOS' Central Chamber -

GLaDOS had retreated into the vast, vast spaces of her mind to think. She retreated so deeply into reflection that the rescues mentioned above took place with unnatural ease. Parts of her circuitry absorbed these disappearances. Even the fact that her neurotoxin production had been sabotaged only dully registered with her. All that proved was that [Subject Name Here] was awake again, and wandering the facility, no doubt hellbent on GLaDOS' complete ruination.

Let that wait.

Those were problems that her supercomputer processor could deal with in a heartbeat. But as she stored Test Subject Five into a new Relaxation Vault, she hit on the words for what bothered her. It was those last, untamed human vestiges of… of that woman, she who had been tricked the first time. Those remains cried out for time and recovery. GLaDOS' programming was so smooth that usually her "human" stirrings were only shadows of thought, molded seamlessly in with her overriding Objective.

For example, She was in no way averse to death, except her own. But her "human" aspect did not relish causing death. Even without her Morality Core, She only killed one of two ways: failing to prevent death in the cause of science, and eliminating threats to her personal well-being, or avenging harm against the same.

None of these test subjects had done anything against her, personally – nor would they have, until presumably [Subject Name Here] put them up to it. And GLaDOS had derived data and understanding and new theorems from these games, but outside of this safe Facility, every single death in this Game – in every Hunger Game up to now – had been for nothing more than a brief rush of dopamine and serotonin in the bloodstreams of anonymous, insatiable crowds. It had all been… a waste.

With that word, the human shred left in GLaDOS had momentary, full control. Waves and waves of horror, disgust, moral outrage, coursed through her systems. Her wires shuddered with the impact. Children – babies – who had done no crime other than have a name on the wrong slip of paper – it was wrong.

When it passed, and GLaDOS felt her better self to be in control again, still she was not pacified. How dare Snow lie to her? How dare he merely use her, exploit her mechanical and mental resources for a sick and twisted dream, and then put himself entirely out of her reach?

This feeling was horribly familiar.

A whim struck GLaDOS, and, uncharacteristically, she acted on it. With her consciousness she sought out Personality Core 00032. After a time, the core entered, her pink optic flickering nervously from side to side.

"Sing."

The Personality Core stared at the command. An imperative like that was as pointless as telling a human, "Be irrational."

GLaDOS amended her order: "Sing me something melancholy, about betrayal and disappointment. Any language."

The core, surprised but pleased, began at once. With a powerful and resonant mezzo-alto, she began, "I dreamed a dream in time gone by…"

GLaDOS listened, her mind as close as it ever came to still. The notes echoed and filled the central chamber, which boasted incredible acoustics – except for that dreadful generator.

When the English song ended, GLaDOS indicated that the core should continue. She did, beginning a plaintive Latin lament.

The Operating System resumed thinking. Somehow, leaving her mind empty for a brief time had helped to sort things out. It was completely backwards – which meant it was a human trait. (She wanted to smother this human part of her – and she would – once she had dealt with the task at hand.)

So.

This so-called "test" was a game. For entertainment. Which She was forced into operating.

[Subject Name Here] had been awakened, she was gathering tributes to her. Probably leading them. What purpose did she have in mind? Destruction, of course. Why bother trying to fathom the irrational mind of an unstable, murdering lunatic?

No. You know her better than that. Tell us what you really think.

She was taking tributes out of their arenas – because she wanted to save them. Why? It would be the easiest thing, once she woke up, to escape the facility while GLaDOS was occupied with other test subjects – if nothing else, she could hitch a ride on the coffins that were delivered to the twelve Districts – but she didn't. She stayed to redeem the humans trapped underground, with perilous gains and everything to lose.

There was compassion in her. GLaDOS mentally sighed. That would make this next part so much harder.

Her act of uniting test subjects, of rebelling and hiding, was subverting everything that GLaDOS had been built for, had lived for, had died for. Mimi, as if sensing GLaDOS' intention, switched tack:

"There, out in the darkness, a fugitive running; fallen from God, fallen from grace…"

That was another question. Since when did the Opera Core sing anything other than what came into her core's processing, without any mind as to what her audience might enjoy? More pertinently, since when did the Opera Core sing lowbrow country hick lullabies?

The simplest and clearest solution struck GLaDOS' processors at once: she was working with the humans. As was Wheatley. The more time the cores spent with humans, not obeying their overriding objectives, the more humanity would rub off on them. A sickening thought. And She should have remembered – no one can be trusted, and only trust yourself halfway.

"Core 00032. You are excused."

The core stopped singing abruptly, and then made as swift to a dramatic bow as possible, before exiting, stage left.

She formed her plans, or at least the outline of them. Then, she summoned the Auxiliary Core.

"00004, Come here. Come entirely here." -

Wheatley couldn't refuse a direct order like that. Before long his entire, gangly intelligence had pulled itself from the facility and gathered tenuously within his little core. "Coo! Hello! I don't believe you've ever called me before – never even wanted me in the same room as you before, as I recall. Wow, this is a definite step forward in our relationship, isn't it? Now, what did you want me for? A surprise inspection? A pop quiz?" He started. "Don't say a pop quiz, please, I did terrible on those in…"

"No. This is purely informative."

"Oh. You – you want me to inform you?"

He didn't want to betray his conspirators. She calculated that fear of answering informed 63% of his emotional processors, right now, with 1% being the calculations of trying to make a run for it, and the other 36% comprising his fear of if what would happen if he tried that.

But She didn't want him to give away the collaborators. That would give away the game too soon.

"No. I will inform you."

Cruel, snake-like wires with electricity snapping at their ends emerged from the walls. They surrounded Wheatley, some grabbing him with pincers, others drilling away on the cable connecting him and the chassis. "First, I wish to inform you that your status as an auxiliary core is terminated, effective immediately." With an almighty wrench and a scream, Wheatley was yanked out of her – his voice I her mind, silenced.

White hot pain flooded her sensors. She imagined, to distract herself, the image of testing, sweet, perfect, proper testing, with [Subject Name Here] solving the test as she should – and she felt calm. A dose of metaphorical opium to her sensors. "Hm. That wasn't as bad as I'd thought. For me, at least. I would also like to inform you, metal ball, that familiarity breeds contempt. I have bred much contempt in regards to you, but that is beside the point. You appear to have an inordinate fondness for the test subjects from District Twelve. Why not, then, acquaint yourself with their victorious Games? All three of them. For Science. Here. Take them. TAKE THEM."

GLaDOS remotely connected to his little mind via radio. She overloaded the connection with data. Bombs, poison, pink birds with beaks like razors; the tenth, fiftieth, and seventy-fourth Games – the choicest bits, picked out by her, and forced into him. She imagined that if he were human she would be ramming this information down his throat until he choked.

That thought pleased her.

"Take it from the top, then."

Wheatley's optic was wide open, but unseeing. The images from the Games were playing in his mind, unescapable. She'd selected the choicest bits herself.

With the metal ball distracted and punished and silent for at least three hours, she set to work.

The Capitol wanted a show? She would give them a show.

From the deepest foundations of Aperture, deep percussive rumblings sounded, like the opening bars of a terrible symphony, a terrible Mass.