8 – Secrets for Secrets
Dr. Anabelle struggled against the binds on her hands and feet, with her back against a cold, unforgiving wall. Around her was a litter of metal and trash. Looking around through half open eyelids, she saw, sitting among a rubble heap, the orange glow of a single tear-drop bulb of glass. The bulb lit a small circular area, with her on the edge, but the world beyond was invisible and concealed in shadow. There were scrapes on her shins and elbows, painful reminders of the hard journey across the floor.
Anabelle wanted to speak, at first; to call out for help. The sound of soft footfalls pricked up her ears. A willowy form in a white coat emerged from the shadow, and her heart began to pound.
His hands were behind his back, and an old, tattered lab coat hung off his rigid shoulders. It was torn on the edges, discolored, and some of the pockets were ripped open. His mask was all but featureless, contoured to his face but wiped clean of human attributes. The eyes were arrayed in a straight row, three luminous circles set in a short extrusion from the mask.
"Black Mesa: you are a doctor there." He said. His voice was like a growl, and of the most deadpan tone.
"Yeah…you don't hate us too, do you?"
He stepped closer and crouched down. "You are poachers. Thieves. Not often welcome, you see."
"That was before…everything. We came to see if there was anyone left. We need all the help we can get in the fight against the—"
"Combine." He finished.
"That's right. We've been trying to contact everyone."
"No one here to contact."
"There's you." She replied, and coughed. "Thanks for the nice welcome."
"GLaDOS still in control. Not much I could do."
"You look like you're getting things under control. Could you get me back to the surface?"
He stared in silence for a few moments.
"We make a deal. Our secrets, for yours."
Anabelle furrowed her brow, very suspicious. "What do you mean?"
"She has everything you want. You take me to Black Mesa."
"I can take you guys back and give you refuge, but Black Mesa, the old one, is a different story…"
Dead Eyes sat down and interlocked his fingers, resting them on his lap. He sat calmly, with an air of leisure and infinite time to spare. The faint light of the orange bulb fell over him like flames of a campfire.
"We give you GLaDOS. Take you to the surface. You take me to Black Mesa. Will help against Combine."
"How can you help?"
Dead Eyes tugged at the collar of his lab coat without breaking stare. "I had authority here. Before her. I have knowledge, and mind still intact."
"Alright…can 'she' help us?"
"If you break her."
Anabelle shivered. His words were like water that she feared contained tasteless poison.
"If you want every secret GLaDOS hides."
Anabelle felt sick. She didn't trust him at all. However, they were indeed going to the surface. At worst, she would escape once free of Aperture.
"Fine, you can come back with us."
He stared, unconvinced.
"…you know how it all started, don't you?"
"Resonance Cascade. Interdimensional gateways. Black Mesa."
"I'll get someone to take you there, show you what's left. And maybe some schematics of old tech if we can get them."
"Your word."
She gulped. "…I give you my word."
The interrogator seemed satisfied, and instantly cut the bonds on her ankles, but left her hands tied. When his right forearm caught the light, she saw a grapnel mechanism on his gauntlet. It was unclear how much cord was coiled inside, but she must have covered at least a distance of fifteen feet while being dragged on the floor.
Suddenly Anabelle remembered the three-eyed mask hidden in her jacket; readjusting her coat, she kept it secure, but did nothing more.
Dead Eyes retrieved the orange bulb and snapped his fingers. "Thomas."
There was a stir somewhere in the dark, and a few stray articles of trash tumbled into the light. Two torn white shoes appeared from the edge of the darkness, and the floodlight eyes of Regret ignited with an electric buzz. The light of the bulb faded, flickered, and died. Regret and Dead Eyes looked to be merely ghosts standing in the dark, with their eyes prominent and blinding.
"H-how do we get out of here?" Anabelle stuttered.
"Deal with GLaDOS first." Said Dead Eyes.
[Meanwhile]
Cpt. Rodney Smithfield dropped himself exhaustedly onto the sand and rested his arms on his knees. He had tried everything, yet still the elevator door in the shed refused to reopen or budge in the slightest manner. Crowbar, elbow grease, and even a few small breach charges had no effect whatsoever. There was no telling what had happened to Anabelle since the elevator door shut. She was one of the best combat medics the resistance had, and Smithfield loathed himself for letting her go in first.
"Captain?" Asked Greg the pilot sympathetically. "Any luck?"
"Nope."
Greg leaned dejectedly against the grungy fuselage of the helicopter, and popped a stick of gum into his mouth. "Think we can get back to the checkpoint, get a few of our boys and come bust her out?"
Smithfield shook his head. "No."
"How long you wanna wait, then? There might be Combine patrols that'll pass by."
"We don't leave until someone comes out. End of story."