Chapter Text
Gordon spills a few expletives. Loudly. The buckethead keeps sharp eye contact mumbling some shit to himself. He gives Gordon a once over, then walks away, fidgeting with the wall paneling. It takes most of Gordon's resolve to refocus and listen to the man droning over the PA. It's safety review that every employee gets drilled on monthly, and on every tram ride to and from shifts. He’s in no rush to listen too hard to the given, letting himself marvel at the room he’s in. The previous weeks training was meticulous on every ‘what if’ that could occur, but did not shed light on just how massive this room would be.
To be frank, it actually felt rather cramped. Central rotors suspended from the ceiling, supporting barrels which he knew would soon be carrying unusually high (and decidedly unregulated) amounts of charge, rose at least a story above his head. The walkable space in the room was sparse, ventilation and wire snaking from one supply to another made him feel rather like he was trying to walk through his own cluttered room. The whole place is simultaneously spotless and grimy. As if all the material came factory fresh, but shill had the dust from assembly.
“Freeeemann. Freeman.” His attention cuts to the window on the left, where the man who had been monologuing has finally caught onto his inattention. Gordon is preparing for the worst, hears the man inhaling with the intention of berating, when he is abruptly cut off.
“Ohh! Mr. Freeman! It’s- Oh! It’s you- we met earlier! I didn’t realize that it was YOU Mr. Freeman!” The mic has been snagged by a familiar voice- An excited hiccup over the room’s speakers confirms his guess as to who. Before he can respond, a voice from behind startles him.
“Tommy you know this guy?” Not quite exasperated, but the guard is surprised.
Gordon pretends to brush dust off his sturdy shoulder. “We met. You two know each other?” The two men hardly pay attention to his answer, calling excitedly back and forth like birds. He sighs. The guard seems happy to talk to his friend, smiling like a mad dog.
The other, more professional voice comes back over the speakers. “Gordon. If you will please make your way to the ladder and press that button up top to start the rotors. We will hold the capacitors at level, eighty percent, until the carrier arrives.” That’s his cue, step by step training starting now. For how much he was drilled, it was starting to feel rather like sand in his mind. Muscle memory will be the guide to calm his nerves.
He moves to carefully trudge around the central piece to the ladder, and is cut off by the guard, whizzing past him. The man speeds up the ladder and appears to be waiting for him. It’s beginning to dawn on him how big of a deal it is that there’s another untrained worker in here with him. He’s breaking a sweat by the time he reaches for the third rung.
“Hey bud. Man.” The buckethead glances at him. “You shouldn’t be in here. No, ah, no offence just. We don’t know if this is safe for someone without a suit. Maybe you can leave now? Before we start the rotor?” by the time he’s made it to the top his clothes are just as wet as they were before he put on the suit. The thing had to be at least a hundred pounds.
“Nah. Gotta keep an eye on you.”
What an infuriating answer. What do you even say to that. He splutters over it for a moment, still out of breath. Then decides it’s out of his control, and the control team is aware of this anomaly and clearly in no rush to remedy it, so suppose it’s just not his problem.
“If you get roasted alive or something, I can’t really help you.” He rests his hand on the man’s tactical vested shoulder.
“Hah. Like baconbits….. cool…” He doesn’t even look Gordon in the eyes, rather focusing on the hand. Gordon pulls the hand back, unable to help making a displeased face, and turns towards the screen and accompanying button. It’s simple enough. The voice reexplains that they’ll hold their level until his sample gets here.
The protective case eases up, and Gordon gently presses it with his gloved fingers.
The metal grating he’s standing on shivers under him as the rotors begin making their revolutions, just above his eye height. The calming sound of machinery fills his ears.
“Good work, Gordon. We’ll take it from here.”
As he descends the ladder (no easy feat) the barrels start rotating as well. He braces himself for the static the fills the room once this phase is in full motion, carefully keeping to the edges of the room for safe measure and moving briskly. His next step is across the room, no shame in getting there a little early. He tells himself he’s just making sure he’s prepared and ready. Trying not to feed into his growing anxiety for responsibility. It nags on his mind like the man in the corner of his vision. But he hasn’t done anything wrong yet. So, he will keep going.
Clacking and pistons hissing below tells him the delivery team has in fact delivered. He almost lets a tremor go through his arm in anticipation. The room lights up orange, static catching in the center in a display of sciences simpler wonders. A ray of raw electricity connecting deep basin in the middle of the room to the receptor between the rotor’s barrels. He swears he can hear the delivery team grumble, below the hum of it all.
The cart rises into the cage, jerking when the platform reaches full height. His eye twitches.
“Predictable gammas… Activating stage two emitters… Now.”
Gordon curls and uncurls his fingers, glad for the grip of the gloves to make up for the sweat on his palms. The cage clunks, and shakily descends, leaving the cart free for him to start rolling. The hum is so loud he can only really see that the guard is saying something to him. He smiles weakly, hoping it’s a suffice response. He supposes it is, the other man breaks into laughter loud enough for Gordon to hear. A right and proper cackle, doubled over and all, which ends with him looking up at Gordon. Red in the face and grinning just left of wrong. It makes Gordon shiver. There is something very deeply wrong with that man.
So he does his best to look apologetically between the guy and the cart, before noticing the guy isn’t even paying attention to him anymore. Fucking up his carefully timed schedule and then fucking off. How charming. Gordon stands behind the cart, observing the sample curiously attached to it, and grabs the handle.
“Hurry up, Gordon.” The speakers prove louder than anything else now, he startles, rattling the cart. The guard opens his mouth to say something likely snide about his reaction.
“No- hey. I’m doing fine! I’m fucking fine! You. This guy, he’s messing with me. YOU are shitting on my work right now-“
“Nothing will go wrong, Gordon. Please make haste.”
He growls and grits his teeth. “Nothing wrong my ass.” He grits to himself. Easier to have it go wrong now and appease than fight a losing battle here. Safety be damned. He begins the push.
It’s only six steps.
The cart rolls smoothly.
The sample fits nicely.
In fact the deposit shows immediate response, tinging the light green at the edges. Gordon grins in relief at his odd companion, sweat on his brow. He lets out the breath he was holding and the world goes bright. Then it goes dark.