A/N: I should probably give a warning here that this chapter contains mild horror elements. Nothing major but...well, GLaDOS did kill pretty much everyone...
Thanks to T.C.C for the lovely review. I'm glad you're enjoying the story :) I'm afraid the cats had to be sacrificed for plot (and the fact that GLaDOS says she has a new cat graveyard), which sucks. I love cats!
2007.
The Trials of Rattmann.
When the lid of his pod opened, the first thing Doug noticed was the silence. The second was the darkness. The facility was still on emergency lighting, the majority of its corridors bathed in bright ruby or dim, buttery yellow.
He shifted out of the pod, taking wary sniffs of the air. The neurotoxin had dispersed. GLaDOS probably wouldn't have bothered to pump it out of the facility, but there was so much space for it to spread to, it had faded itself out.
He didn't feel like he'd been unconscious for two days. In fact, he barely felt rested at all, his lingering apprehension and fear pumping adrenaline through his veins. Mind buzzing, he crossed the room to the door, peering out into Test Subject Storage. The glass rooms were lit only by the clinical green glow emanating from the stasis pods. He walked quickly to box 1498, eyes skimming the panel. Chell was still alive. He let out a shaky breath, the relief causing him to momentarily sag against the wall.
Hauling himself upright again, he tapped the sequence of keys to release her, only to find a disgruntled red light flashing up bearing an 'access denied' message. Any relief he'd felt dissipated at once. Just to make sure he hadn't made a mistake, he tried again. Still locked. GLaDOS had changed the code sequence.
Doug ran a hand through his hair, thinking rapidly. Pro: Chell was safe, for the moment. Pro: She was of use to GLaDOS, so there was every reason she'd stay alive. Con: If he couldn't get her out of there, she might be stuck there forever. Con: If GLaDOS decided to move her to the Long-Term Relaxation Centre, he'd have no hope of getting her out at all.
In a fit of anger, he banged a fist into the glass. The dull noise echoed around the silent room. His hand ached and the glass was solid. It was Aperture glass, built to withstand almost anything short of a small explosion. Without a sledgehammer, at the very least, he was helpless. Chell would have to remain where she was.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
She lay motionless, like Snow White in her glass coffin.
"I'll find a way," he went on. "I'll take her down. Whatever it takes."
With one last glance at Chell's peaceful face, he walked away, convinced he was leaving part of himself behind with her; the part of him that had been a normal, problem-free person. That was how she made him feel. He couldn't help feeling that he was leaving Doug-the-friend behind him, continuing onwards simply as Rattmann-the-scientist. He shoved his observations aside and kept walking.
There were security cameras all over the facility that GLaDOS would now have access to. He needed to avoid those as much as possible. He needed to find somewhere safe to sit, rest and form a plan. The only place that sprang to mind was his old lab, where he'd built the portal device. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start.
Warily, he set off, occasionally hugging walls to slip under cameras unnoticed. The corridors were better lit, and were strangely empty until he ventured down to the other levels. Opting not to take the elevator, he forced the doors open and climbed down the shaft using the maintenance ladder instead. Fortunately, the doors were all labelled with floor numbers, so he knew when to leave. Balancing precariously on the ladder, he dug his car keys into the tiny gap between the doors, levering them open a crack. He peered through, reminding himself where there were cameras placed. When he was satisfied that it was safe, he squeezed through the widening space and emerged, achy and trembling, in the corridor.
The sight before him made him halt in his tracks. The floor was littered with bodies, a winding trail of white coats leading away from the elevator that they'd clearly been trying to reach. Limbs shaking, Doug backed up against the doors that had closed behind him, taking deep, clumsy breaths. The cynical side of him had been expecting something similar, but to actually see it...
His vision swam, and he crouched down, putting his head between his knees. The last thing he needed was to pass out from a panic attack. His sight cleared, and he studied the scuffs on his shoes, trying to calm down.
You're okay, he told himself firmly. You'll be all right. Focus.
"Think like a scientist, dammit," he murmured crossly.
Cautiously, he raised his head. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he crawled to the nearest corpse, that of a middle-aged man, and rolled him onto his back. It was someone he didn't know, which helped. Shoving his nausea to the back of his thoughts, Doug examined the body. The man's skin was pasty white, but for the blue shadows around his eyes and the faint lines of veiny green around his mouth. Aperture's brand of neurotoxin was nasty stuff. The effects were less obvious on those of darker skin tone, but their expressions were just as horrific.
Doug grimaced and stood up. He made slow progress down the corridor, treading carefully so as to not step on anyone. The further he went, the fewer bodies there were, and he breathed a little easier. Eventually, he reached ASHPD Development, where he halted, struck by a sudden dilemma. If he swiped his I.D. card to let himself in, there was a chance that GLaDOS would then know who and where he was. That thought was not a comforting one. On the other hand, he couldn't remain in the corridor indefinitely, and he very much doubted that he'd be able to break through the door manually.
An idea struck him, one he immediately wanted to dismiss, but he knew there was no other option. Biting down his feelings of horror and guilt, he jogged back down the corridor to the fallen scientists and started collecting I.D. cards of level ten or above, whispering apologies as he went. If he had to swipe the cards, at least he'd be someone else every time.
Safely hidden in the lab, Doug cleared the screensaver from the computer and began to try and get some idea of how much control GLaDOS had. The first thing he established was that the facility was in total lockdown. He'd expected that, but he still felt his heart sink into his shoes. She wouldn't make escaping easy, he was certain of that.
He pulled up the maps, only to frown in confusion when he saw that some of them had altered. Belatedly, he recalled that they were designed to update automatically when GLaDOS came online, to save time in the future when Aperture inevitably renovated. She was rearranging whole areas of the facility. From what he could gather from the maps, she was building more test chambers. The most recent product to be unveiled for testing was the ASHPD, and it seemed that GLaDOS had taken that on board wholeheartedly. Doug couldn't see a single testing track designed for any other product.
Well there wouldn't be, he reflected inwardly. She won't move onto anything else until she's exhausted everything the portal gun can do. That's what she's designed for.
He sat back in his chair, cupping his chin in one hand as he thought. At least she appeared to have stopped trying to kill everyone. Morbidly, he had to conclude that that was because the vast majority of people were already dead, but it looked as if their failsafe was working to an extent. He and Robert, another programmer working on GLaDOS, had come up with something to keep her focus on science, something that Robert had enthusiastically named a Euphoric Testing Response. It was designed to work in the way that the strongest motivation, the most promising inspiration, worked on humans: to make her need to test more than anything else. Doug had been wary about the effect this would have on the welfare of the test subjects, but he'd been hopeful that GLaDOS would choose science over killing. Unfortunately, she seemed to have turned killing into science.
Thinking of his dead co-workers outside made his heart flutter with the first stirrings of a panic attack. Tears pricked his eyes as he struggled to breathe at a steady pace, and he rapidly blinked them back. He didn't have time to give in to his anxiety.
Determinedly turning his attention back to the matter at hand, he considered what he was going to do. There was so much to figure out, it was starting to give him a headache. He got up and moved to sit at the workbench. For the next twenty minutes, he channelled his nervous energy and scribbled madly on sheets of paper. He made lists of goals, lists of plans, lists of equipment he'd need, lists of places he'd need to visit, anything that he thought might be useful. With everything written down, be began to feel more in control of the whirlwind of thoughts currently resident in his brain. Tucking his pen behind his ear, he pulled the list of equipment to the top of the pile, reading it through.
'Food,' he'd written at the top, underlined. 'Meds. Tools. Paper and pens. Flashlight. Spare clothes? Reference books?'
Underneath, he'd scribbled: 'Enough medication for 42 days.'
That was one of his major concerns. He hadn't lived without medication for years, he didn't know what sort of state he'd be in when it filtered out of his system. He didn't think he'd lose sight of his goals, but he was likely to be much more distracted. His head would be a much busier place. He'd just have to make the 42 days count.
Scrubbing his face with his hands, he gave himself a shake, prepping himself to begin the tasks he had ahead of him. Getting to his feet, he scoured the lab for useful items, collecting them all on the workbench. He piled up his toolbox, the few clean shirts and underwear he had left, cans of soda, a couple of snack cakes he liked to call Aperture Twinkie rip-offs, paper, pens, and his Art Therapy book. The latter wasn't really necessary, but Doug had a feeling he was going to need it, especially when his medication ran out.
Still figuring out how he was going to manage to carry everything, he emptied the trash can that sat under his desk and pulled out the bag that lined it. He threw everything in, tied a loose knot at the top and slung it over his shoulder, testing the weight. It would work as a temporary solution. Once he found a more secure place to make camp, he would work out a more permanent way of carrying what he scavenged. It wouldn't hurt to search the other offices and the cafeterias, if he could get to them. He'd need to do that within a week, before food started to go off, although the Aperture branded stuff seemed to last forever.
Taking a final look around, Doug decided to move on to the next office. He wanted more supplies before he ventured down to the breaker room beneath GLaDOS's chamber. He felt sure that it wouldn't be an easy journey. Without elevators, it was a long way.
He headed for the door. The handle moved, but nothing happened. A cold stab of fear shot through his heart, an icicle through his ribcage.
"I can't see you," came a melodic, robotic voice from the speakers in the corridor outside, "but I know you're in there, Rosemary. I've been wondering how long it would take you to realise that you're locked in. What are you doing in there anyway?"
Doug backed away from the door, looking down at his collection of I.D. cards. There it was, Rosemary Wilson, Marketing Department. He dropped it like it had burned him, eyes frantically searching the room for another way out.
"Why don't you just come out? Here, I'll unlock the door for you."
He didn't answer, and he certainly didn't test to see if she had unlocked the door. As far as he was concerned, the corridor was now a no-go area. He wasn't taking any chances.
Doug hopped up onto the workbench and ran his fingers around the edge of the ceiling tiles. As he'd suspected, they were loose-fitting, cheap ones, and they lifted easily at his touch, revealing a maze of pipework above. He didn't trust his weight to the tiles, so he hoped that the pipes were sturdier.
"Oh wait," GLaDOS said, managing to be surprisingly expressive through her monotonous tone, "you're not Rosemary. Rosemary's dead."
Doug didn't waste time wondering how she knew that, but hurriedly tugged off his tie, knotting the two ends together. Retying the knot at the top of the trash bag around the tie, he slung his makeshift bag strap over his head, shifting it across his body. It was probably heavier than the thin plastic of the trash bag could cope with, but it would do for a short time.
"So, if you're not Rosemary, who are you?" the A.I. went on.
After a couple of ungainly jumps, Doug managed to grab hold of the pipes. With red-faced effort, he hauled himself up into the ceiling.
I really need to get fitter, he mused distractedly. If GLaDOS insisted on chasing him all over the facility, he suspected that he'd be pretty fit soon enough.
He balanced precariously on top of the pipes and began to awkwardly crawl through the low, narrow space, wincing at the loud rustling the trash bag made. Time crawled with him. He kept going until his hands and knees had gone numb, until he could no longer hear her voice, and he had no idea where he was. Just as he was considering pausing to look down and figure out his location, the space opened out into an upward shaft.
Taking it as a sign, Doug wobbled to his feet, holding onto the vertical pipes for balance. His knees cracked in protest. He stood there for a moment, regaining the feeling in his hands and legs. Then, when he felt able, he began to climb up. There were plenty of horizontal pipes and valves for him to step on, so it was relatively easy going, as scaling maintenance tunnels went.
He emerged in a wider space with a more solid-looking floor. Like the rest of the area, it too was bathed in red light. He scrambled up, pulling the thankfully-intact trash bag with him. Keeping alert for GLaDOS's voice, he travelled the length of the new tunnel, which led, eventually, to an air conditioning vent. Doug eyed the small space warily, but saw no other option. Pushing the bag ahead of him, he wormed his way through until he came across a grate in the floor. He glanced through it and was relieved to see another office below. He wrenched the grate up, with help from a screwdriver from the toolbox, and shoved the bag through the gap. It fell with a loud, obtrusive crashing sound and he cringed. No voice rang out, however, so he followed it down, landing in a quiet crouch.
The office was deserted, its monitors displaying the amber-coloured Aperture screensaver. Half-drunk mugs of coffee sat on the desk, and the chairs lay on the ground, tipped over from someone's hasty exit. Doug bent down and righted one, sitting heavily with a sigh. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he rested his head in his hands.
As he had done many times over the past few hours, he wished that Chell had listened to him and hadn't come in for Bring Your Cat To Work Day. He'd tried to explain that GLaDOS had been planning something, but he hadn't had ample time to get his point across. At least Chell had some anonymity, for a while anyway. He doubted there were any other employees with her first name, so it probably wouldn't take GLaDOS long to figure out who she was, but at least she could stay hidden for a short time.
He cracked open a can of soda, in need of a sugar boost. His watch told him it was 8:17, but he had no way of knowing if that was morning or evening. He wanted to make at least some progress towards the breaker room before he slept, but for that, he needed to work out where he was. At the back of his mind, he was painfully aware that he was already feeling the ache of isolation, and he worried about how that would affect his already-fragile mentality. No doubt he'd find out soon enough.
Footsteps echoing, Doug sprinted for his life, thundering along the gantry below GLaDOS's chamber. The breaker room had been a trap, and he'd stupidly walked right into it. She had guessed his plans. Why hadn't he considered that she would safeguard the location of her kill-switch? She was far from stupid, of course she would have protected it. He felt beyond foolish.
"You can have points for effort, I suppose," GLaDOS intoned. "Although I'll be subtracting points for stupidity and obviousness, so that will just put you down to minus figures. It's probably not even worth keeping track, trust me."
Doug snorted at her choice of phrase. She was the least trustworthy entity he'd ever come across.
"And, of course, I now know who you are, Douglas. You've failed at everything you've tried to do. I really wouldn't bother running."
He ignored her, taking the stairs three at a time and turning a sharp left. The door ahead would be locked, he was sure.
"It's not nice, you know," she went on conversationally. "To go to all the trouble of waking me up, only to try and shut me down again. You should come and join the others."
"What others?" he panted, against his better judgement.
"The others who helped build me. I have them all right here. Except for you."
"They're alive?" he exclaimed, immediately thinking of Henry, Robert, and Chell's father, Simon.
Doug crashed against the door, trying despite his suspicions. It was locked. Not daring to pause too long, he vaulted over the side of the gantry, landing clumsily on the floor below. He tried to roll with the momentum, but found the breath knocked out of him regardless. Wincing, he stood up and carried on running, his goal now the hanging cables in the far corner of the room. He darted away, out of the shadow of GLaDOS's chamber. Dozens of criss-crossing walkways above cast shadows on the dull metal floor.
"How should I know?" she said calmly. "Until I open the box. But considering that the probability of neurotoxin filling all available air space in the box is one-hundred percent, well...you do the math. You can do math, can't you? Or is that beyond you too?"
Feeling slightly sick, Doug continued running. He'd always known that the outer chamber was a vast, cavernous space, but he'd never really appreciated that fact until he'd been forced to sprint across half of it.
"Where exactly do you think you're going? There's nothing but wall there, you know. But by all means inspect it close-up. Preferably at high velocity. With your head."
Twenty metres. Ten. Five. One.
Doug leapt forward, grabbing the cables with both hands. Ignoring the strain on his arms, he began to shimmy up, his progress slow, but fuelled by adrenaline and desperation.
"Oh," GLaDOS spoke up, and Doug wasn't sure how to interpret it.
He forced himself to keep going until he drew level with one of the walkways. Pushing off from the wall, he swung until he could grasp the railings. Muscles trembling, he let go of the cable and climbed up onto the walkway. Luck was on his side for once. There was no door for her to lock, as the narrow bridge continued through to the next room. He pelted down it without a backward glance, crossing yet another tall room topped with yet more walkways.
He had a choice of left or right once he reached the end of the bridge. Without putting too much thought into it, he darted left. He was in a maintenance area, noisy with the sound of pistons and machinery. Feeling exposed, Doug searched for a safer place to go. An opportunity presented itself in the form of a large, open vent. He shot inside. There was a tiny space beyond, barely big enough to be called a room, but it was enclosed and dimly-lit, and he felt a touch safer than he had outside. He crouched against the wall, trying to get his breath back. His body felt as if it was made of nothing but burning muscles and taut lungs.
"This isn't over," came GLaDOS's voice, tinny over the poor-quality speakers. It made her seem further away, which Doug was certainly not complaining about.
He let himself collapse, sprawling in a heap while he listened to his heavy breathing.
"You'll show yourself again sometime," she went on. "And I can wait. So feel free to scuttle off and hide, Rattmann. Or should I say Rat Man? Ha ha."
"Bite me," he murmured bitterly.
Her voice faded into silence and Doug shut his eyes. He'd messed up big time, and he needed a drastic strategy rethink. His determination still pushed him onwards, but he was beginning to fear that he was out of his depth. He had no idea how to shut her down if not from the breaker room. And he only had 36 days' worth of medication left. Pessimism set up residence, cold and heavy in the pit of his stomach. In the stillness of that tiny, hidden room, he finally admitted to himself that he didn't know what to do. The silence swirled around him, mockingly free of answers. Doug rolled over, hiding his face in his arms, and cried angry, hopeless tears until he fell into an uneasy sleep.
A/N: Next chapter we'll be in Lab Rat territory, which should be interesting. As always, go find me on Deviant Art as Sweet-Christabel to check out my illustrations for this story :)