Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If you look to the north, there is nothing but the City.

She doesn’t know what it is – or was – called. Maybe she had, once, in the Before Times. Sometimes down on the streets or in an overgrown dark alley or even in the crumbled remains of homes and offices, she’ll get flashes of something like recognition. No actual memories – that would’ve been too easy – but little snippets. She’d come across a machine she’d never to her recollection seen before, and some dark, locked-away corner of her mind would go that’s a food processor. No memories of using one, or seeing one, or even having heard of one before, just the rock solid knowledge that it was indeed a food processor. It was like first hearing Her speak back in that wretched place and understanding every word of it, despite having no memory of ever before having heard the language – or any language, for that matter.

Chell’s mind is funny like that.

She sits atop a tall building, legs dangling over the crumbling edge, and watches the City spread out before her. It’s a big one; all tall, narrow skyscrapers slowly being eroded away by wind and sour rain, their walls and ceilings concealed by clinging plants and fungi; roads blocked by rusted vehicles sitting stranded on the overgrown pavement; remains of billboards where she can sometimes make out remnants of chipper words. She can read, too; that’s one of the things she just knows how to do. Could there be other languages squirreled away in the nooks and crannies of her brain, prepared to stay quiet forever unless she encounters something to trigger that instant understanding? Maybe she should hit the library; just start opening books and manuals at random to see how much she already knows. That sounds like a tedious way to go about self-rediscovery, though.

The sun is almost all the way up. Below her, alleys are still shadowed and dark, but there’s no use in waiting for daylight to reach all of them; the surrounding architecture throws too many long shadows. The wider streets are mostly lit, and Chell’s good at staying out of toxic spots and spills and the dangerously unstable parts of the ruins.

At least she knows where she acquired that particular skillset.

She turns in a half-circle before heading down, gazing to the south. The City is so overgrown that it’s hard to make out exactly where it ends and wilderness begins (though in all fairness, the City ruins are all wilderness, too). But before the sun crested the horizon, the faraway lights of the nearest settlement were only just visible, hours from the ruins and nestled between hills of farmland.

Even further away, not visible at all from here, is that place, festering underground like a tumor. Is She growing it bigger, down there? Hollowing out the earth and spreading Her domain, reaching Her claws out until they’re right underneath Chell’s feet, ready to snatch her back down?

It had been so all-encompassing when Chell was trapped there. The very idea of an “outside” seemed laughable, certainly not helped by the fact that she could remember no place other than the testing shafts, the catwalks, the hollowed ghosts of offices, the pits that just as well could’ve been bottomless. Inside, the Facility was the universe, and She was god.

From out here, it’s small, and almost a little sad. The actual world is so much larger.

Chell turns her back and toes up to the edge of the roof. She already scavenged the inside of the building for salvage on her way up; there’s no point in taking the long way down. Checking the street one final time to make sure she isn’t about to make some poor unlucky critter go splat, Chell steps off the edge.

It lasts for only a handful of seconds – wind screaming around her, tears forced from her eyes and hairs from her ponytail – before the ground rushes up and she bends her knees and her long-fall boots catches her with a well-oiled creak. It barely makes Chell’s heartrate raise, these days; there isn’t even any toxic goo to watch out for, and not so much as a single spike-plate making a go for her mid-fall. Adjusting her pack so it sits snugly on her back – she has a long walk ahead of her – Chell starts weaving her way between gnarled trees and the rusted skeletons of cars.

It’s a couple hours past dawn when the clouds start to gather, and nearly midday by the time the first raindrops fall, heavy and fat and strangely oily. Chell makes a sharp huffing sound of frustration – the closest she ever gets to swearing out loud – and quickly scans the nearby shopfronts. Most look to be in too bad a shape to safely offer shelter, but one seems to have survived the apocalypse with its architectural integrity (mostly) intact.

Chell dashes through what used to be a display window and moves far enough into the shop so as not to be splashed by the rainfall. It’s only a light rain, but something about the air of the bigger of the old cities – the ones hit hardest by whatever hit the entire planet god knows how long ago – tends to leave water oddly sour and clingy. There are still pockets of toxic air that’ll choke you out in moments if you stumble into them, but they cling together like thick, sticky mist and are easy to avoid if you know what to look out for. The rain, passing through them, is harder to dodge. Chell knows better than to drink it, but if she doesn’t watch out it’ll stick to her skin and clothes and start to fester. Better to just wait it out.

To kill time, she begins half-heartedly scavenging the little shop, pushing debris aside with her feet and carving away roots and plants with a knife. It’d been an electronics store in its former life, judging by the many screens and gadgets lying abandoned on the floor and shelves. Probably the whole establishment was once sleek and white and chrome; now it reeks of decay, the once clean walls turned a muddy brown and green.

There’s nothing terribly valuable, but enough old tech to at least buy her a couple of warm meals. Phones, radios, computers; none of it would work, but some of them have parts that are salvageable, and if they look whole enough there’re even people willing to buy them just to put them in a shelf or hang them on a wall. Chell had once sold a box full of especially well-preserved CDs – barely a scratch on them, gleaming once she’d polished them off – to a collector who insisted on showing her his collection. He’d dragged her into a special room where CDs had been hung on strings of fairy lights, as if he thought they were some kind of flat disco balls.

She makes her way around slowly, taking her time to fill up her bag and discard whatever’s useless or too bulky to carry. Eventually she finds herself behind the counter, overturning boxes and opening cabinets. An impulse strikes her to empty the register, and she nearly snorts a laugh. Even if the money inside hasn’t moldered away to dust, it would be useless as anything but collector’s items.

In one of the last cabinets, closed by a rusted lock that she easily breaks through, there’s a soggy powder that might once’ve been a cardboard box, and a white, metal sphere. Chell pulls it out and stands, eyeing it curiously. No resurrected memory rises to tell her what it is, so she turns it over in her hands, searching for defining features. It’s entirely round, and on one side, proudly stamped in block letters, is a logo proclaiming Aperture Science.

Chell drops it. It hits the floor with a heavy clunk and she just stands there, staring at the thing like she expects it to fly out of the debris and bite her. When it remains respectfully motionless, Chell slowly edges closer, then gives it a solid kick with her long-fall boots. The thing flies through the air, clangs against a wall, and rolls to a stop against a pile of half-rotted leaves. There’s no optic, no handles. It is, literally, a metal ball.

Feeling slightly better about things, Chell gingerly picks it up. Touching it makes her skin crawl, like she’s made skin-to-skin contact with a dead animal or something toxic and sticky, but she suppresses the feeling and turns the ball over until she can look closer at the logo. The company name glares back up at her. Beneath it, in smaller text, are written the words ‘Aperture Science Signal Receiving Device, prototype, early access’. Beneath that, in even smaller but somehow stern letters, it says: ‘fragile, not for soccer, DO NOT KICK. In case of radioactive leakage, Aperture Science wishes you GOOD LUCK and reminds you that you signed a liability waiver!’

Chell winces. Well, nothing to do about it now. Just to be sure she digs out her Geiger-counter – you should always carry one with you in the ruins, that’s just common sense – and checks it; the metal ball is fine, only very slightly above normal measurements.

Aside from the logo and cheerful warning text, its only feature is a thin seam around its circumference. Chell imagines twisting it open like a ripe fruit. Seeing nothing else to do with it, she gives it a try.

…bambina, o ciel!

Che la stima! Che la stima!

O cara mia, addio!

Chell drops the ball. Again. It falls back into the leaf mulch, still emitting that cursed song, all high-pitched and beautiful but crackling from interference. It echoes between the walls of the old shop, making Chell’s head ring.

Frantically she picks the thing back up and twists the two halves the other way. The music snaps off all at once. The quiet that follows strikes her as almost deafening. Chell is trembling. It takes her several long moments to realize she can still hear the rain falling outside.

Why would it still be playing? How long has it been, three years? Yes; Chell distinctly remembers three winters out here, and at least two summers. Three years of Her transmitting that aria into the ether, with no way of knowing whether Chell is even alive to hear it, much less has the equipment to do so. Perhaps She’d forgotten about it, Chell tries to convince herself, knowing in her heart that that isn’t the case. You didn’t forget about someone you were that obsessed with hating.

Perhaps it’s to remind Herself, then. Chell isn’t there to throw abuse at anymore, and it isn’t like there are other people still alive down there for Her to harass and threaten with neurotoxin and incinerators. She’d need something to focus all that hatred on.

Chell is tempted to leave the device where it lies in the dirt and the dust, but functioning technology from the before-times are among the most lucrative of her finds. This stupid singing ball could buy her weeks’ worth of food and shelter, and despite the radioactivity warnings it doesn’t actually appear to be dangerous. It’s just a receiver of a stupid aria. Besides, the junkshops know to be careful with anything brought in from the ruins. Leaving it would be an emotional reaction, not a logical one, and being logical has kept Chell alive more than once. She glares at the thing, gives it a small, petty kick, and picks it back up.

* * *

The rain stops eventually, and Chell makes her way out of the City, careful to avoid puddles and dripping branches. Whereas rainfall normally makes for a fresh and clean feeling, in the ruins it instead gives rise to a fetid smell. Wherever water has gathered on the streets there’s an oily sheen on its murky surface. Mutated vegetation stretches greedily upward to drink its fill, and animals that are no longer quite alive stalk the dark allies, invigorated by the pollutants that keep them going past their due-by date. Chell makes for a quick exit.

Her hoverbike is left safely in a glade outside city limits (working technology doesn’t always play nice with the flare-ups and toxic spots of the ruins). Its solar panels are folded out and sparkling with drops of clean water, its saddlebags waiting for the day’s finds. It had been tricky to drive at first – she assumes “hoverbikes” weren’t a thing back in her time, or at least that she’d never used one – but she’d caught on quick, and it’s incomparable when traveling in uneven terrain. Couldn’t keep her face safe from low-hanging branches, though, but you couldn’t get everything. It is, alongside her long-fall boots, Chell’s most prized possession.

Without it, getting from the ruins to the nearest settlement would’ve taken her most of a day; with it, she gets back and has her salvage handed off before nightfall. Marla, the junkshop owner, digs through Chell’s bags of scraps, mumbling about transistors and coffeemakers and exclaiming delightedly over a particularly well-preserved toaster. When she gets to the metal ball, she stops her muttering and holds the thing up, squinting at it. While as stained and wheatear-beaten as the rest of the scrap, the clean design clearly stands out. Marla gives Chell a suspicious, narrow-eyed look over her thick glasses.

“What’s this, now?”

Chell lifts both hands and mimes twisting. Marla’s done business with Chell enough times to pick up on what she means and mimics the gesture, turning the upper and lower halves of the sphere in different directions. Despite being prepared, the sound of the aria still makes Chell wince.

Marla blinks. “It’s a radio?”

Chell shrugs.

“Can’t be worth much. Hasn’t even got an antenna.”

This time, Chell just levels a look at her. They both know damn well that the receiver is the most valuable object in the haul, possibly the most valuable thing to come in in months, even if it can’t do more than play the one song. It’s unique, has at least some functionality, and if you cleaned it off it would look pretty on a shelf. Museums will pay out the ears for it, and private collectors even more.

Marla squirms under Chell’s look before buckling. She knows Chell too well to think she has a real chance of screwing her over; if the price isn’t fair Chell would simply take her things and walk out. She’d had to do it a couple of times before Marla stopped thinking she was bluffing. It doesn’t mean they’re friends; it simply means Marla knows not to throw away her best salvager. Bad for business.

“Fine, fine, 5 000 for the lot, and you can pick something from the bargains shelf.”

She waves without looking at a shelf by the display window. It’s mostly garbage; antique teacups that have survived the passage of time remarkably unharmed, magazines kept in plastic sleeves to protect the delicate yellowed pages, chipped porcelain figurines with faded colors, an old electric kettle that can’t possibly work. Hardly more than souvenirs for people nostalgic for a past they’ve never seen. Chell, who presumably has seen the past, feels slightly unnerved looking at them, as if they expect something from her. Luckily, on the bottom shelf is a handful of spare parts for various machinery. Nothing she needs at the moment, but it’s always good to be prepared if her bike acts up. She nods her agreement and holds out a hand for payment.

As she walks out of the shop, she can’t help the feeling of having left part of herself behind.

* * *

The settlement is nothing like the City ruins. It’s much smaller, for one, with only a handful of buildings reaching more than three stories, and cobbled streets meant for bikes and pedestrians rather than bigger vehicles. Mostly, though, it isn’t crumbling before her eyes. Living people chat on street corners, windows are clean and gleaming in the evening sun, plants are kept in check and prettily displayed. Most of the larger buildings have rooftop gardens; leafy branches hang over the sides, allowing passersby to snag a fruit or flower if they’re feeling cheeky.

None of it gives Chell that same back-of-her-mind itch the old ruins do. Everything is this strange mix of rustic and sleek: flowers and gardens mingling with faintly glowing algae tanks and deep black solar panels set into walls and windows; trees shading the streets as hoverbikes and tiny electric cars crowd underneath; children with scraped knees and grass-stained clothes playing with hologram devices that cheerfully and stupidly croak out canned phrases (Chell had learned quickly that they were nothing like Her). Chell can only assume it’s a better world than the one she left behind – that world had destroyed itself, after all, and left behind toxins that still sour the earth – but it isn’t hers. This place, alive as it is, is alien to her.

Still, this is where she finds herself returning again and again. Chell doesn’t have a home, but the settlement is the closest she has to a place. There are bigger cities out there – proper metropolises, with forested skyscrapers and wide streets and everything – but most communities are small farming villages like this one, and all are further away from the Facility.

She keeps her head down as she walks. No one tries to stop and speak with her; they know her for the stranger she is.

There is a small inn in the center of town, with room for only a handful of guests (which is generally more than the Settlement sees in a month). Chell practically has a standing reservation there. With how much she travels, keeping a place of her own would be silly, but the innkeeper, like Marla, has come to recognize her face and know her preferences. They exchange keys and currency with only a nod and a gruff noise in greeting; Chell finds herself quite enjoying the exchange. Even she requires some kind of human interaction, she supposes. This ought to set her up for the rest of the week.

In her room – and it is her room, in all but name – Chell kicks off her long-fall boots and falls into bed. She is asleep in seconds, the aria playing as soundtrack as her mind goes dark.

* * *

She comes awake to cacophony.

Flailing her way out of bed, feeling naked and vulnerable without her boots, Chell frantically turns to find the source of the noise.

“…ello? Can anyone hear me? We need help. I can see that Aperture has come back online but I can’t reach the Facility, and I don’t know for how much longer we’ll last. We’re running out of power and there’s nothing out here to help, not even air! Can you believe that? I mean, of course there isn’t any air in a vacuum but you’d still think–”

The voice cuts off with a crackle, is quiet for a handful of seconds, then starts over.

It’s coming from the TV in the corner of the room (technically it’s smart screen; TV and computer and communications device all in one, but Chell prefers to think of it as a TV). The screen is all white noise and static like crawling ants. Heart still thumping in her chest, Chell marches up to it and hits the off-button; the screen goes black, crackles once, then switches right back to static and the voice of a stranger.

“…need help. I can see that Aperture has come back online but I–”

Chell twitches involuntarily at the name of that place. Figures that it would follow her all the way out here.

She’s tempted to tear the whole setup from the wall and give it a good old stomping, but that would probably mean the end of her standing room in an inn that knows exactly how she wants her breakfast (fatty and fried and brought directly to her door, thank you very much). Instead she glares at it, puts on her boots, picks up her bag, and leaves the room.

And immediately realizes she’s in much deeper shit than she imagined.

The message is everywhere. Two more room doors stand open, guests ambling blearily toward the reception for help, and Chell can hear the same noise from behind closed doors, all over the inn. Clearly this is bigger than her.

Chell doesn’t like that.

She doesn’t stop in the reception like she’d planned, instead sweeping past the other visitors and out the front door.

A wall of noise greets her. She hadn’t even known the settlement had an emergency broadcast system. Now, it’s impossible to miss: that same message has not only intercepted seemingly every single TV, radio, and handheld comm-device (not phones, no one calls them phones these days, just comms, which is a silly made-up word Chell refuses to use), but is also blaring from cleverly concealed speakers on street corners, filling the entire town with a woman’s crackled voice on loop.

“…can’t reach the Facility, and I don’t know for how much longer we’ll–”

Chell slaps her hands over her ears and heads for Marla’s shop. The closer she gets, the less crackle there is, white noise clearing out until the message is crystal clear. It’s just a matter of time before someone else figures out how to follow it to the source.

Just as she thinks that, the message cuts out. What would normally feel like peaceful night silence now strikes her as almost unnatural as it envelopes the settlement. Did the device finally break? Did someone manage to shut it off? Did someone take it away?

Chell speeds up, and already has a hand raised to bang on the locked door – it is the middle of the night, after all – when she speed-walks up to the shop. Instead, she’s faced with a lit display window and the door left ajar. Heart thumping, somehow expecting robots with glowing optics and sharp pincers, she flings it all the way open.

Two faces turn abruptly to her; luckily, neither is made of metal, and both have the decency to display an even number of eyes. Behind the desk is Marla, who’s clearly stayed up well past closing to fiddle with her new toy, and in front of it stands a strange red-haired woman, middle-aged with the toned physique of a runner. They’re huddled over two halves of a metal ball, cracked open on the checkout desk like a ripe and disturbingly symmetrical piece of fruit. Marla’s fingers are still buried up to the knuckles in its shiny wire-guts. Her face stony, Chell points at it.

“That’s mine.”

Mel blinks at the woman who has just barged into the shop. She looks to be in her mid to late twenties, tan and dark-haired with steely eyes that make the back of Mel’s neck prickle as if she’s being eyed up by a predator that hasn’t yet decided whether she’s prey.

“Nuh-uh.” The shopkeeper wraps her arms around the pieces of the strange device and hugs it close. “I payed you. It’s mine.”

The stranger, still glaring, stomps up to the register and slaps a handful of bills on the countertop. In doing so she all but elbows Mel out of the way, not giving her as much as a look, which is unfortunate since Mel had been in the process of giving up most of half a year’s worth of salaries to buy the damned thing. She tries to lean forward, tapping her writing tablet to call attention. Neither of the women cares; the shopkeeper is arguing loudly and the newcomer is digging through her bag before unearthing some kind of half-rusted mechanical device and slamming it down next to the money. She points at the split-open sphere again.

“Mine. Or I’m not coming back.”

“I payed you fairly,” the shopkeeper complains, but her voice is whining and her shoulders slump. Even having known her for only minutes, Mel can tell she’s buckling. The newcomer must hold a lot of sway here. Or maybe she’s just good at taking up space.

Mel slaps her own palm against the countertop, hard enough to sting. She cringes while doing it – she was raised better than acting out like this – but isn’t about to roll over and give in just because politeness failed her. Finally the other woman acknowledges her, albeit only with the barest of glances. Not wanting to lose her attention by writing out a message – and, frankly, being too frustrated to take her time – Mel signs, with heavy emphasis to show her feelings even to those who don’t know sign language, “It’s mine.”

“No it’s not,” the woman snaps back. Then she stops, as if surprised by her own words, before her expression goes carefully blank. By her side, her hand moves slightly, half-shaping words in an almost experimental manner, as if reminding itself of a language it thought forgotten. She turns her eyes from Mel. “I brought it in. Didn’t think it could do more than play the one song. If it can actually receive messages, it’s worth more than she payed me for it.”

Much more, judging by the exorbitant amount the shopkeeper had demanded Mel pay compared to the fairly small sum the woman offered for it. Of course, Mel had stumbled in off the street, sweaty and wearing only a jacket over her pajamas, demanding to know where the message was coming from. Any saleswoman worth her salt would jack up prizes by the double when a customer was that desperate.

Retroactively, it’d been foolish to not have kept her head cool. She’d just been caught so off guard, not only by being rudely woken but also by the message itself. It mentioned Aperture. Nowhere has she either seen nor heard the company name dropped since escaping three years ago; part of her almost thinks the entire experience a dream. She’s found no mention of it in historical records (though to be fair, most records are very lacking) and whenever she tries carefully lifting the subject people look at her as if she’s insane. All remains of the before-times are either toxic waste pits or crumbling ruins, they assure her. Fully functioning, sentient robots? A Facility keeping itself going in perpetuity? Don’t be silly. Is she feeling alright? Does she maybe need a bit more support in her daily life? They’d all be so very happy to help.

Now, finally, here’s a chance at real, solid information. Mel isn’t about to let it slip through her fingers.

She slams the countertop again; the shopkeeper’s face goes all scrunched up and prune-like. The newcomer just breathes out slowly through her nose in a sigh, vaguely annoyed. Since she clearly understands her, Mel doesn’t bother with her slate.

“That thing is important,” she signs. “It’s from someplace dangerous. Someone there needs help.”

She gives the last few motions extra weight, hoping to appeal to the woman’s humanity. She doesn’t look impressed.

“I know where it’s from,” she says, signing along with her words this time. “And I’m not going to let that place wake back up.” She turns back to the shopkeeper, holding her hands out in a demanding gesture. Reluctantly, the woman shoves the two halves across the counter towards her.

For a moment, Mel is too stunned to protest the exchange taking place. Instead she takes a step back, fully taking the stranger in for the first time, tip to toe. Her eyes widen when she notices the boots on her feet. Much sleeker than the pair that lies tucked in the bottom of Mel’s closet, but undeniably of a similar design. Long-fall boots. Aperture equipment.

The woman has finished her purchase – if you can call it that – and is already striding toward the door, jerkily trying to shove the two halves of the sphere into her bag without stopping. Coming to her senses, Mel throws herself in front of her.

She doesn’t have a sign for ‘Aperture’, so instead she spells it out one letter at a time, eyebrows raised in a perhaps slightly desperate question. Do you know it? she doesn’t have to ask. If this stranger does know it, if she’s been there, she won’t need the question spelled out.

At last, the woman’s eyes goes wide in realization. She glances back at the shopkeeper, who’s grumbling and loudly banging about behind the register, clearly wanting them to leave. Gaze darting back, the woman gives Mel a sidelong, narrow-eyed look, as if taking her measure. Then she jerks her head toward the door and starts moving again.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Mel follows her outside.

* * *

The woman leads her to a small inn – the village’s only inn, as far as Mel knows – without speaking a single other word. Mel stays half a step behind the whole way, nearly stepping on her heels, having to hold herself back from clinging to the woman’s elbow like a child scared to get lost. The inside of her head is buzzing with possibilities, and she’s terrified of losing this one thread to a past she’d thought completely and forever gone. She wants to bombard her with questions.

When they enter the reception, a frazzled-looking woman shoots up from behind the desk.

“Chell! Do you know what any of that was about? It just stopped and I–”

She stops abruptly when the stranger – Chell, apparently – just glances at her, this coldly detached look to her eyes. She gives a single shake of her head, not even slowing down, like the receptionist isn’t worth her attention. The woman shrinks back in her chair.

“Okay then. Um, if you hear anything…”

Chell raises a hand in acknowledgment, not turning around. Mel glances at the receptionist as she hurries after. They exchange uneasy smiles and a little wave.

Once she and Chell finally arrive in what she presumes to be the Chell’s room, door closed and locked between them and the rest of the world, Mel is unable to bear the silence any longer. She taps the floor with her toe to draw attention and then points at herself.

“I’m Mel.” She spells the name out with her fingers. “You have no idea how happy I am to meet you.”

Chell, who seems unable to slow down even now that they’ve reached their goal, is jerkily clawing through the contents of one of the dusty bags that lies discarded by the side of her unmade bed. She glances at Mel as she pulls out and opens a cooler bag.

“Chell,” she says, either not realizing or not caring that Mel has already picked as much up.

She offers no further information. Mel shifts from one foot to the other, then awkwardly signs, “Cool.”

From the cooler bag emerges – two cans of beer. Mel blinks in surprise as Chell snaps one open and takes a long swig before tossing the other to Mel, who catches it without fumbling. You don’t survive Aperture with slow reflexes.

Chell all but falls into the room’s only chair, gesturing for Mel to sit on the bed.

“So.” She takes another drink, slower this time as if to let herself breathe. Mel suspects she’s a lot more upset than she lets on; a perfectly calm person doesn’t empty half a can of beer in one go. “Let’s talk.”

Mel slowly sits on the bed, careful not to spill as she opens her can and takes a sip. As an athlete who’s spent most of her life getting up at ungodly hours – the running track is always at its most peaceful at dawn – she’s never been the biggest fan of alcohol. This, however, seems like the kind of conversation where it’s required. She grimaces at the taste before placing her can on the bedside table. She can do basic signing one-handed, but this isn’t shaping up to be a basic conversation.

“You’ve been down there, haven’t you? You must’ve been, if this is your reaction to even hearing about it.” She gestures to Chell’s drink, which she’s clutching with whitened knuckles. Chell glares at it as if it snitched on her.

“Yeah,” she finally admits. “Got out a few years back. You…” She hesitates. “Did you meet Her?” She says the last word strangely, like it’s capitalized, more a name than a pronoun. When Mel only blinks at the question, she reluctantly adds, “Glados.”

Mel opens her mouth in an ‘oh’, then shakes her head. “Virgil told me about her. Said she was a monster, but that someone killed her.”

A smile tugs at Chell’s lips. It makes her look kind of scary. “Someone. Yeah.”

She doesn’t ask about Virgil, but there’s no gleam of recognition in her eyes at the mention of his name either. Mel narrows her eyes at her.

“Did you meet her?”

“Killed her and resurrected her.”

They stare at each other. Eventually, Chell sighs.

“I’m guessing you woke up from relaxation down there too?” She waits for Mel to nod, then keeps going, her words slow and a bit stilted like she’s unused to speaking. “So the place was a mess, right? When I first woke, it wasn’t. She was still running it, going on with testing even if all the scientists were dead. I got out of my testing track and managed to shut Her down, but some kind of automated system got me and put me back in stasis. The next time I came to, I’m guessing after you got out, something went wrong and She was reactivated.”

Her voice has gone hoarse. She clears her throat, grimaces as she takes another drink. Mel leans forward.

“But you got out that time?”

“Yeah.”

“And she’s still…?”

Chell presses her mouth into a flat line. “Still alive.”

Virgil can’t be happy about that. He’d seemed genuinely scared of her. At the time, Mel had been hard-pressed to imagine anything scarier than the cold, calculated hunting of AEGIS. It hadn’t been the smartest system, but somehow hearing it loudly announce her imminent death was worse, as if she was less a sentient being and more a virus to be systematically wiped out. If this Glados is worse, Mel doesn’t much want to meet her. She decides to change the subject, hoping to relax Chell a little.

“If you came from… down there, too, how come you can…” She hesitates, then gently places a hand on her throat. Chell shrugs.

“Couldn’t, at first. Voice was gone when I woke up. It came back after a while, but there wasn’t much point in talking down there, and no one for me to really speak with up here, either. I don’t get much practice.” A small furrow appears between her brows. “Still gets stuck, sometimes. Like there’s something – between my brain and my mouth. Keeping the words back.”

Mel nods, making a gesture that doesn’t really mean anything but also clearly communicates “I feel you”.

“That why you learned sign language?” she asks, and Chell looks confused for a moment before it visibly clicks.

“Oh. No, never learned it. I get by, always do. I think I… I probably knew it, before. Didn’t even realize before tonight when I saw you use it.”

“You–” Mel cuts the sign off, frowns, changes direction. “Probably?”

“Don’t remember.”

Mel stares at her. Chell stares back.

“You remember–”

“You don’t–”

They start and stop both at once. Chell shakes her head.

“Nothing before the Facility. Just – woke up. That’s it.”

“Nothing?”

Chell shrugs. It’s a wholly unsatisfactory answer, which is a shame because it appears to be Chell’s favorite mode of communication. Mel leans over her knees and wheezes a laugh. It’s a breathless, choked sort of sound, fittingly desperate in quality. Chell sits quietly and waits her out.

“This is so ironic,” she finally signs. Her gestures must be a bit slurred, her hands still shaking with a near frantic reaction, but Chell seems to be following alright. “I finally meet someone from my time and you don’t even remember it.”

“What year was it for you?”

“1952.”

Chell frowns. “That feels early. I think it was probably later, for me.”

“Probably, yeah. I was one of their first test subjects. It seemed the right thing to do, furthering science and all that. Didn’t expect to get stuck in stasis for a few centuries.”

“One of their first? Wait, were you one of their Olympians or astronauts, then?”

Mel makes a face. She doesn’t much like talking about her days as a professional athlete. The ugly end to it still stings, even centuries later. At least that’s one good thing about living in the future: no one to recognize her and look all sad and disappointed about her squandered potential.

“Olympian,” she signs reluctantly.

“Shit.” Chell falls back in her chair, appraising Mel with new eyes. “No wonder they got into trouble if they just stuck you people in vaults and left you there. They were stuck scraping the bottom of the barrel at the end, you know. Picking people off the street and forcing employees into testing.” A coldly amused smile twists her lips. “Wasn’t very good for employee retention, I hear.”

“You know a lot about that place for someone with no memory.”

Something dark crosses Chell’s face. She looks away as she speaks.

“Got stuck in Old Aperture for a bit. There were… recordings.”

“Those things were still around?” At Chell’s questioning look, Mel adds, “They were the first thing I heard when I got there. That man, Cave Johnson?” She painstakingly spells his name out. “He kept telling me how important I and my contribution were. Not important enough to meet me in person, though.”

“Sounds just like him.”

They drink in silence for a bit, processing the new information. Chell finishes her beer and opens a new one, generously offering one to Mel, too. Unused to drinking, Mel is already starting to feel fuzzy.

“I wish I could forget too, sometimes.” She realizes too late the insensitivity of her words and winces. But Chell doesn’t look upset – or rather, her face remains that chilly neutral expression it’s had since she first walked into the junkshop. If it doesn’t bother her, Mel decides not to be bothered by it, either.

“There’s so much to miss, and no one to talk to about it. It’s silly, but I miss talking about sports, you know? No one here even knows what the Olympics are. It’s all magneto ball this and virtual kickball that.”

Chell squints at her, clearly not following. Makes sense; no reason for her to know the signs for concepts that didn’t exist back when she first learned the language. Mel quirks a smile. Most of spoken English is similar enough to the way people spoke in the fifties, but she’s run across a lot of slang and specific terminology that leaves her scratching her head. She assumes it’s the same with ASL – not that it’s called that anymore, America being a thing of a bygone era and all – she just hasn’t noticed because she didn’t learn it until after waking up in this time.

“It’s lonely,” she adds. “Not as scary anymore, but lonely.”

Chell’s face has gone back to being coldly neutral. Mel has a feeling it takes a lot for her to get scared. Maybe that’s how she survived the Facility.

They’re both decently drunk when Mel finally asks, “What was she like?”

Chell doesn’t answer right away. The longer their conversation runs on, the more time she takes with her words.

“She’s… large,” she finally says. “Devastating. Dangerous. Controlling. Mean. She was everywhere. You need to understand, she wasn’t in charge of the Facility, She was – is – the Facility. Without Her it was dead, rotting. With Her, it’s alive.”

“That’s… bad?”

“It’s terrifying. Even when She can’t see you, She can sense you, like you’re a flea crawling on Her back, and you know it’s only a matter of time before She gets around to dealing with you. You’re inside her. The very floor you walk on hates you. She’s both what’s trying to kill you and what keeps you alive, if only to make you suffer. You’re either nothing to Her, just a tiny cog in Her testing machine, or you’re everything, the only thing She focuses on, and She will use all that focus to try and kill you and both hate you and admire you for not lying down and letting Her, because everyone else died so easily that it’s like – like – like She thinks you’re doing it just to spite Her.”

Despite the harsh words, there’s something like awe in Chell’s voice. For the first time, Mel realizes that there isn’t actually anything keeping either of them to this place, this specific village, except that it’s the closest settlement to the Facility. Like neither of them has really left.

Mel could’ve moved away, could even have gone back to Germany – not that it’s called that, anymore – but that place deep in the dirt is her only connection to her life before. The same isn’t true for Chell, who should have no reason to feel tied to a time she has no memory of. Perhaps what keeps her here is the Facility itself. Maybe it’s some kind of toxic home to her, if it’s the first thing she knew.

“When are we going back?” Mel asks.

Chell goes unsettlingly still. When she speaks, her voice is low and dangerous. “Back?”

“The message,” Mel reminds her. “Someone down there needs help.”

“I’m not going back.”

Mel stares at her, shocked. “But they need help. You know what it’s like to be stuck there, and if this Glados is really as bad as you say, then we can’t just leave them.”

Chell says nothing. Her eyes have gone cold. It’s like meeting the gaze of a corpse. Anger heats inside Mel’s chest.

“Why did you take that receiver thing back, then?”

“I didn’t know it still worked,” Chell snaps. “It wasn’t any more than a music box when I found it. If it’s still a part of that place, then it’s mine. I’ve earned as much.”

“But you won’t go back.”

“Never.”

“You will just leave them.”

Chell sets her jaw. “I got out. So did you. They can, too. I’m not anybody’s rescue party.”

Mel can only watch her, stunned. She doesn’t know why she expected better from this woman. Maybe she just wanted the only other person who could possibly understand what she went through to be a little bit less of an asshole, and ignored all the warning flags.

She stands up.

“Thanks for the beer. I should go home. I’ve got work in the morning.”

Chell doesn’t stop her. Doesn’t say bye. Just raises one hand in a half-hearted wave before turning to the bag containing the two halves of the metal sphere, brow already furrowed in thought as she starts digging them out. Mel closes the door when she leaves. A plan is already taking form in her less than sober mind.

The receptionist is still awake if bleary-eyed at the front desk, so Mel stops to leave quick message. If her idea goes bad she might not come back, and she’s left enough people behind without them ever knowing what happened. Chell might not deserve the heads up, but Mel was raised too well to just leave her hanging, whether she’s a terrible person or not.

She has to use her slate to communicate – everyone here learns some sign language in school, she’s found, but most everyone has so little use of it in their daily lives that they hardly remember how to do more than fingerspell – but the receptionist is happy enough to take a message.

“I never see her with other people,” she says, speaking of Chell as she hands Mel a pen and a piece of paper, a technology which has thankfully yet to become obsolete. “It’s nice to see she has a friend.”

The sky is still dark when Mel steps out on the street, but dawn can’t be more than a few hours away. Enough time for Mel to get home and take a quick nap before setting her probably stupid plan into motion.

She does, in fact, have work in the morning – she assists at a small shop nearby, twenty hours a week, plus some volunteer work at a local community garden, which seems like a ludicrously short work week to her but which is apparently perfectly average in this time – but she has no intentions of going. Instead she sends a message about a particularly bad flu to her shift manager, knowing he won’t read it until the workday starts, and packs a bag.

Chapter Text

It’s well past midday by the time Chell wakes up.

Her head doesn’t hurt, but her mind is fuzzy and her reflexes slow, and when she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the bathroom sink her skin is sallow and eyes red. Breakfast has been left outside her door, cold by now but deliciously fatty and salty. Chell devourers it with her fingers, imagining for a moment Her seeing this and making a dry comment. For a moment, she nearly smiles. Then she catches herself and scowls as she shoves a handful of bacon in her mouth instead.

Normally she allows herself a few days rest after a scavenging stint, and part of her wants to do that now, just crawl back into bed and hide under the covers. The rest of her, however, is antsy and restless. The discovery of the receiver and Mel has left her unbalanced and out of sorts, though she’s not sure why. For a moment she imagines following Mel’s suggestion of returning to Aperture, and an unnamed, expectant feeling churns in her gut. It wouldn’t be very hard to get there, she thinks; not very hard at all. It’s an idea that’s been hanging unvoiced in the back of her mind ever since she left three years ago. It’s a site left unfinished. If she was done with it, and it with her, she wouldn’t still be hanging around in this tiny excuse of a town, right at the outskirts of the Facility, as if waiting for a reason to go back.

She dismisses the thought before it has the chance to sink its claws in. There’s no reason to go back; whoever sent that message is most likely already dead. Besides, Chell just knows She is all but expecting her to show up, thinking She knows her. Maybe She was even the one who orchestrated the SOS, as a means of luring Chell back. No way is Chell going to give Her the satisfaction.

Best to stay busy to keep her mind from running rampant. She needs to stock up on supplies, wash and if needed repair or replace her clothes, make sure her long-fall boots are in top shape (having them short out on her in the middle of a fall would be a nasty surprise) and look over her hoverbike so it, too, runs smoothly.

The split-apart receiver still lies by her bed, left to rot like a corpse. She’d been fiddling with it until well into the morning hours, carefully disconnecting wires to make sure it couldn’t go off again. Surely the entire town must be whispering about the night’s events by now; she doesn’t want to risk them learning more. The last thing she needs is for some random villager with delusions of heroism to go off exploring and tumble into Aperture’s clutches.

She can’t believe she was so stupid as to hand the thing over to Marla without properly examining it. Why had she assumed it couldn’t do more than play Her aria? Why had hearing it rattled her so? It can’t hurt her; it isn’t even sentient. She’ll have to be more careful to keep a level head in the future. For now she shoves the pieces into her backpack, unwilling to leave them unsupervised while she’s out running errands.

Still bleary-eyed and yawning, she at first thinks she imagines it when someone calls her name as she passes through the inn’s reception area on her way out. Then she blinks the world back into focus and realizes the receptionist is waving at her from behind the front desk. In her hand is a small note.

“Your friend left this,” she says, holding it out as if Chell could grab it from across the room. Chell narrows her eyes at it and the receptionist gulps. “Um, the red-haired woman? She never gave her name. You showed up with her last night?”

Right; Mel. Chell shuffles over and snatches the note from the woman’s hand, reading it as she goes. Halfway to the door, she freezes, one foot hanging in the air.

Chell

I understand why you can’t return, but I have to help. Hopefully I’ll make it back. If I do and you ever want to talk, you can always call me on this number or come by my place.

It’s short, written in a neat, hard-to-read cursive that strikes Chell as old-fashioned, and ends with a now presumably empty address and a comm number. Chell stares at it. Behind the front desk, the receptionist leans forward on her toes as if trying to read over Chell’s shoulder.

“Bad news?” she asks, sounding genuinely concerned in a way that rankles Chell. She balls up the note and stuffs it in a pocket. Mel only has a few hours head start; she can’t possibly have gotten far.

“I’m gonna have to go away for a bit,” she says, already laying out a plan in her mind. “Don’t know if I’ll make it back before nightfall. If not, can you store my stuff until I’m back? I’ll pay when I get back, and if I don’t” – she shrugs – “there’s money in the bags.”

“Of course.” The receptionist looks hesitant, clearly wanting to ask more. “Are you sure you’re oka–”

Chell is already headed out the door.

Instincts tell her to go back to the wheat field where she exited the Facility three years ago, but rationality informs her that would in all likelihood be silly. The Facility is huge; there’s no guarantee Mel made it out the same way. Instead she types Mel’s number into her rarely used comm, fingers clumsy on the holographic display. She hedges a bet that Mel, having one foot still in an archaic past, hasn’t realized she can turn off her location or change her privacy settings. Jackpot: a dot appears on a map, moving very slowly into the wilderness. Chell is going to have to give her a talking-to about information safety, but for now at least she has a direction.

She kicks her hoverbike into gear and speeds out of town with a disappointing lack of a roar from the happy, purring engine.

***

It's distinctly not the same way Chell left three years ago. Instead of a dilapidated shed in a seemingly never-ending wheat field, she finds herself traversing the uneven terrain of a forest, the ground sloping steadily upward as the shadow of a mountain towers above her, its looming presence unmistakable even when concealed by foliage. Eventually, shapes start rising out of the mossy ground: skeletal buildings and vehicles and electrical poles. It’s all part of the forest now; anchors and supports for vegetation, trees growing through windows and ceilings, moss and flowers carpeting what remains of walls, nature treating skyscrapers like giant trellises or rocky mountainsides to be recolonized. In some places you can tell that trees have grown in unnaturally symmetrical patterns along what used to be streets.

She has to slow her bike and eventually start leading it along by hand, not wanting to get caught on a surprise piece of rebar sticking out of a wall. Its hovering mechanisms make it easy to lead, but the frame keeps getting stuck on vines and fallen branches, and the path is constantly blocked by overgrown slabs of concrete and debris too big to clamber over. Even as a scavenger, this place is more run down than any other old city ruin Chell has been to. It must’ve been abandoned even before the disaster, which – whatever it was – struck down the rest of the world.

She itches to explore, but it also wakes an unsettling feeling of déjà vu in her gut. Not until she comes across a large, squat complex, the sign over the entrance still partially legible, does she realize why.

Aperture City Supermarket.

For a long while, she just stares at it, not sure what she’s looking at. Aperture City. Aperture City. Aperture City? She tears at the moss and vines on the wall, revealing advertisements faded to near translucency.

Use your Employee Assigned Aperture Company Credits* to purchase our new Aperture Dietetic Pudding Substitute! Try it before it hits shelves nationwide and become the talk of the town!

*If you do not have enough Employee Assigned Aperture Company Credits, consider volunteering for testing today!

Next to the text is the image of a smiling woman with neatly curled hair, holding a spoonful of jell-o like substance which, even in faded colors, exudes a toxic blue.

Suddenly the ruins are more ominous than exciting, and Chell doesn’t so much itch as burn. How many more of these advertisements are hidden under the overgrowth? How many people died here because Aperture used its community as a testing ground without even warning it? They built an entire city.

Is this where Chell was born?

She imagines, for a moment, an Aperture City Orphanage, children left adrift after parents died testing, schools shaping them into good little employees ready to throw away the lives of themselves and test subjects alike.

No. She forces the thought away. She doesn’t know who she is, and she likely never will. Whoever she was, whatever she did, whatever landed her in that relaxation chamber, it doesn’t matter. She won’t find an excuse for it here.

Mel’s dot on the map is close now, and Chell tries to stay focused on it as she moves along, ignoring her surroundings the best she can. When she spots a figure further ahead, clumsily making its way through the trees and debris, she’s so angry as to be fuming.

“Hey!” she shouts, unable to even remember when last she raised her voice.

The figure – Mel, of course – turns at the noise, then starts waving excitedly. Even at a distance, Chell can see her face light up. It’s infuriating.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Chell snaps, angrily dragging her bike along. She wants to kick at every plant that snags on it, but her anger has always been an icy thing, and she methodically makes her way past the obstacles. As she catches up, Mel’s face grows hesitant.

“You came,” she signs.

“You are an idiot.” Chell drops her bike. It hovers obediently next to her. “That place will kill you.”

The last remnant of relief fades from Mel’s face, leaving it blankly cold. She turns around and starts moving again.

“Hey.” Grabbing her bike, Chell has to struggle to keep up. “Do you hear me? She will kill you.”

No response. Chell isn’t used to being the talkative one in any relationship, and it isn’t doing her mood any favors. She grabs for Mel’s arm. Mel jerks back, whirling to face her.

“They’re asking for help,” she signs, all choppy, jerky gestures. “I’m helping.”

“You’re throwing yourself in a meat grinder for the benefit of a stranger.”

“And you’re not?” Mel jabs an accusatory finger at Chell’s chest. “Why are you here, then? Why?”

Chell can feel her face growing stony. “I’m not going down there.”

“Leave, then!”

“I–”

Words clog up in Chell’s throat. It feels like getting stuck in a testing chamber, unable to see a clear path either forward or back. She could turn around, head back to the settlement, leave Mel to handle her foolish business on her own.

She doesn’t want to. Underneath her, hollowness sucks at her feet. This place is a task left unfinished, and she doesn’t want to admit it, doesn’t want to doesn’t want to but it is.

It’s calling for her and she’s been clogging her ears for years.

Mel’s moving again. Not thinking, her head a jumbled mess of thoughts and feelings which she refuses to follow to their conclusion, Chell hurries after and makes another grab for her. Once more, Mel snatches away, signing a furious no and stomping her foot in childish anger.

Instead of the dull thud of overgrown asphalt, there’s the clear, brittle sound of something like cracking ice. They both freeze. There’s just enough time for Mel to widen her eyes and open her mouth in silent shock before the ground gives way beneath them.

***

Chell lies still on her back, taking measure of her body. Her muscles hurt, her head aches, her skin stings with scrapes and bruises, but she can move her fingers and toes, can make out the shapes of the splintered ceiling above without seeing double. Even so, she stays on the floor for a while, considering the choices that landed her here.

A few feet away, there’s a groan. Shattered glass clinks and fallen forest detritus rustle as Mel clumsily heaves her way upright. Chell scowls at the jagged hint of sky and doesn’t move.

They’ve fallen through what must’ve been a skylight, but instead of stopping when they hit the first floor they went through that too and kept going. That happened a few times more, until they hit what must’ve been concrete. The afternoon light winks at her from very high above, filtered through foliage, thick dust, and splintered flooring.

Thank god for long-fall boots.

Chell is just contemplating the merits of retaliatory murder – so far she’s made a point of only committing murder in the name of immediate survival, but perhaps she could be persuaded to make an exception – when something creaks and sways above her. She squints up, then gasps and throws herself to the side, catching a recently upright Mel by the knees and dragging her along. The hoverbike, which had gotten caught on a piece of rebar a floor above, hits the ground and shatters into its very many component parts.

Chell and Mel sit in the pool of dim light, watching as screws, electronics and twisted pieces of metal roll and come to a rest around them. A slow rain of leaves settle on top of it all like icing on a cake.

“I’m sor–” Mel starts, but Chell holds up a hand to silence her.

For a minute she allows herself to take in the carnage that used to be her (second) most beloved belonging, even allowing herself the rare hint of regret. But regret is a pointless feeling. Chell steps over what used to be the handlebars – now hardly more than a warped pipe – and starts picking her way through the debris. This time, she’s careful to avoid any unstable-looking spots.

Hurried footsteps as Mel runs to catch up. Chell stops, glares at a conveniently placed wall, and then turns. She points to the floor, finding her voice to be back now that the anger has chilled. “Watch your step.”

Mel’s eyes are wide, her face streaked with blood and dirt.  “I really am–” she starts again, but Chell turns away.

“We’ll try to make our way back up. Keep your eyes open for stairs and elevators. If we’re lucky, She won’t have noticed us yet.”

She surveys the room. They seem to have landed in what was once a robotics lab, judging by the many disassembled personality constructs spread out on work counters like cuts of meat in an especially erratic butcher’s shop. There’s a crooked management rail along the ceiling and several doors leading to other parts of the Facility. There’s also power still, faint light making its way from the dust-caked ceiling fluorescents and a small red glow emanating from a security camera in the corner. That worries Chell: if there’s power, it means She has access.

Remember, robots can invent twice as many devices as you in half the time, but they can’t simulate the effects of those devices on the human body! a helpful motivational poster informs her from the wall. Volunteer for testing now!

Were this any other ruin, Chell would’ve stopped to carefully examine any equipment and parts she could get her hands on, looking for anything worth saving, but this is Aperture, and if she wants to make it out she can’t focus on anything other than immediate survival. She spares only the time to glance over it all, just in case a portal gun happens to be hiding under the garbage. Her examination is interrupted when Mel deliberately steps into her field of view. Her apologetic expression is looking a little strained at the edges.

“I need to find my friend,” she signs, her gestures hard to follow in the low light. “He can help.”

Chell looks past her. The camera in the corner has turned slightly, zeroing in on them. Almost instinctively, she picks up what might once have been part of a personality core from a workbench and flings it, knocking the thing from the wall with a sad crackle. There’re no speakers in the lab to inform her of her act of vandalism.

“Are you listening?” Mel is still going on. Chell wishes she would stop. “This is important. We need his help to do this.”

“No,” Chell finally cuts her off. “We need to leave, and we can do that on our own. We aren’t very far down, we just need to find something to climb.”

She’s about to step away, headed for one of the doors, when Mel grabs her arm, her grip hard. She gestures a violent no.

“You didn’t have to come.” She points angrily at Chell, then makes a wide motion probably meant to encapsulate the entire Facility. “I’m not leaving, and neither are you. You wouldn’t have followed me if you were just going to go. You wanted to get back here, you just wouldn’t admit it. I’m your fucking excuse.”

Chell stands stock still. She wants to argue. Of course she wants to leave. Of course she didn’t want to go back. She’s spent the last three years staying away.

She’s spent the last three years with the settlement closest to the Facility as her home base. It haunts her dreams at night and the back of her mind when she’s awake. She knows they will leave this room, and there will be no easy stairs leading to the surface because She knows they’re here and She won’t let them just walk out. They will need to face her, Chell knows, and part of her is eager, doesn’t want to wait or linger in this useless lab. Part of her never left this place. Down here, she knows who she is, knows what to do, no matter how much she hates it. On the surface she roams the wilderness like a ghost without a purpose. Down here, she has an enemy, a goal, a focus. Down here, she survives.

“Think what you want,” she says, giving Mel the blankest look she can muster. “But we need to move. She knows we’re here.”

As she says that, a small panel by the management rail tries to slide out of the way, gets stuck, whines and groans on rusted hinges, then finally gives way completely and falls to the floor with a metallic thunk. Through the newly opened hole, a personality core appears.

“Mel! I can’t believe this. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but what are you doing here? Did you forget something? Did you leave your running shoes behind?”

Virgil is all but vibrating on his management rail, all anxious energy trapped inside a corroded, football sized metal sphere. His optic flits nervously back and forth. He doesn’t wait for her to respond.

“This is a pretty bad time for you to be here, if I’m being honest. Glados is awake, but I don’t think she’s noticed you yet, and we really should be getting you back to the surface before– What’re you doing? Why are you waving like that? Yes, I’m very happy to see you too, hello.” He clumsily waggles one of his handles in what is presumably an attempt at a greeting. A beat of silence follows. “Please don’t tell me you’re broken. I don’t know how to fix a person.”

Even as she keeps repeating signs in frustration, hoping for him to get it, Mel’s grinning ear to ear. She hadn’t even realized how much she’d missed his slightly condescending voice.

“Virgil,” she spells out, slow and deliberate as she can, not because she expects him to spontaneously gain the ability to understand a new language but because she wants him to realize she has a mode of communication, now, and maybe they can find a middle ground of understanding. “Hello.”

He squints his optic at her. “Are you… oh god, you’re talking! Well, signing, not talking, but you know what I mean. Hold on a moment, let me check the archives.”

He goes quiet all at once; Mel could swear his optic light even dims. A few moments into the silence, she glances at Chell, who just shrugs half-heartedly, palms turned outward in a ‘what did you expect’ sort of gesture. She’s standing motionless, somehow at once relaxed and tense, like a predator playing at nonchalance as it waits for its prey to amble closer, ruthless energy coiled tight under her skin. It’s unnerving.

“A-ha!” Flakes of rust shake loose as Virgil comes back to himself, his yellow optic going bright enough to blind. Mel jumps, but Chell’s only outward show of surprise is a slight twitch and a narrowing of her eyes. “You have no idea the kind of stuff they kept in the databases here, Mel, but guess what! I actually found a folder with ASL translations! Now, go ahead and sign something. Come on, I promise I’ll get it this time.”

Well; apparently he can spontaneously gain the ability to understand a new language. He sounds incredibly pleased with himself, and though it’s hard to read the expressions of a sphere, he seems expectant as he zooms in on her.

“Hello,” Mel signs. “We need help.”

There’s a small click or spark from inside Virgil’s metal frame. If he were human, Mel imagines he would’ve blinked or gone blank with bewilderment.

“We? What do you mean oh god.”

More rust, a veritable hailstorm this time, rains down as he rears back in shock along the management rail, apparently not having noticed Chell until this moment. She levels him with one of her trademarked unimpressed looks.

“Oh, ah, I didn’t see you there. Hello, Mel’s friend, I’m Virgil! It’s, ah, nice to meet you?”

Chell gives no response whatsoever. Mel can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed, as if she’s brought a child to a function only for it to immediately be rude to the host.

“She was a test subject, like me,” she signs, trying to clear the awkward air. Virgil perks up.

“I see! That explains why she isn’t talking.” Mel winces, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Seriously though, we really need to get you two out of here. It’s very nice to see you’re okay, but this place isn’t safe. Really, you of all people should’ve known that.”

She shrugs. Chell, apparently done with their conversation, ducks around her and goes for the nearest door. Virgil all but flails his way off the management rail.

“Hold on, you can’t just–”

On the other side of the door, there’s darkness. Silence. Mel automatically takes a step back, feeling like it’s about to suck her in. Up by the ceiling, Virgil gives a relieved sigh, quickly calming enough to scold.

“You can’t just go around opening doors here! There could’ve been a quantum singularity on the other side, or an unstable fusion generator, or–”

“We need to move,” Chell says, ignoring him as she peers into the dark, while he goes alarmingly silent at hearing her speak. “Whether She knows we’re here or not, there’s no point in staying in this lab. Think your friend can find us a path, or should I lead the way?”

Rather than asking Virgil she aims the question at Mel, who can only shrug and look up at him, eyebrows raised.

“I mean, I could,” he says, optic suspiciously narrowing at Chell before he turns back to Mel. “There’s a catwalk on the other side, but it’s… poorly maintained.” He suddenly perks up. “Yes, that’s right! Mel, why don’t you walk up front with me, and your friend can walk a bit behind? We wouldn’t want the whole thing collapsing underneath you, right?”

He gives a forced laugh, not waiting for either of them to respond before sliding back through the hole in the wall and disappearing. A moment later, yellow light shines in through the open door.

“Well, what’re you waiting for? Come on! And remember, one at a time; the support struts for this catwalk are in really bad shape.”

Mel’s about to move after him when Chell says, voice low, “You trust him?”

“Yes,” Mel signs, nodding emphatically.

Judging by her expression, Chell doesn’t find Mel’s endorsement very convincing. “Just be careful,” she says, still quiet. “And be ready to move quickly.”

***

“So, Mel. Now that we have bit of privacy, we need to talk.”

It’d been dark out on the catwalk at first, but Virgil had done something that made the lights come on, and now Mel and Chell walk a few meters apart, wary of the creak of metal under their feet. Virgil’s excuse of them needing to keep distance so as not to collapse it had merit, even if it had clearly been more about getting space from Chell. She doesn’t seem to care, keeping a ways back without complaint even as Virgil continuously throws wary and unsubtle glances her way.

“Did she make you come back here?” he whispers. If she can hear him, Chell gives no indication of it. “I mean, I know you, you’re smart for a human.” Mel raises her brows at him, and he gives an exasperated sort of sigh. “What I mean to say is, I truly cannot fathom why you’d come back here of your own volition. Did she threaten you? Is she some sort of scavenger wanting to raid the place and made you show her the way here?”

Mel’s keeping her eyes straight ahead as she moves, like a tightrope walker in a circus, scared that looking down will give her vertigo. Normally she isn’t very bothered by heights, but even the most hardened trapeze artist in the world would likely have been unsettled by walking on a rusty, squeaky catwalk precipitously suspended over a dark, bottomless pit. Best way she’s found to handle it is to just not look.

“Someone sent an SOS,” she signs, glad for the distraction the conversation is offering. “We came to help.”

From what she can gather from their admittedly brief acquaintance, Chell really is a scavenger, but Mel figures it’d be best not to let Virgil know as much. He’d understand the need for secrecy. Probably.

“An SOS? From here?” Virgil laughs, seeming suddenly anxious. “That can’t be. There isn’t anyone down here, Mel. No people, I mean, and there’s no reason for an android or core to send an SOS to the outside. There are no management rails out there! What would we even do, roll around on the ground? Because I’ve tried that, and let me tell you, it isn’t fun.”

She shrugs helplessly. “Someone sent it. I couldn’t do nothing.”

“Sure you could. Doing nothing is incredibly easy.”

She gives him a look and he sighs.

“Fine, fine. But I still don’t trust that woman, and I don’t think you should, either. Just know it wouldn’t be hard for me to get rid of her for you. Just say – um, sign the word, and I’ll drop a turret on her head. We have so many of them, you have no idea, it wouldn’t be any problem at all. It’d be the least I could do after you helped me out of that garbage dump last time.”

She smiles, endeared despite herself by his offer. Perhaps she simply attracts the loyalty of slightly terrible people – though Virgil is certainly more charming than Chell.

They walk in silence for a while, the quiet interrupted only by the whining of the rusty management rail and Virgil guiding them through intersections and doors. Every time they come across a set of stairs or an elevator, they find it blocked or locked, and even Virgil’s hacking can’t get them through.

“This would be so much easier if we had a portal gun,” he mutters at one point, looking longingly up at an open ventilation shaft to an upper floor, placed too far away for Chell and Mel to reach even if they stood on each other’s shoulders. “Let me try finding a new route… aha, I think I got one! Come on, this way.”

Soon they find themselves in front of a cylindrical glass elevator, seemingly in pristine shape.

“Told you I know what I’m doing,” Virgil says, pleased. “It’ll be a bit of a squeeze to get both of you in there, but it’ll get you to the upper floors.”

“Upper floors?” Mel questions. “We still need to find whoever sent that message.”

“Oh, right.” Virgil’s optic flickers. “I kind of hoped you’d forgotten about that.”

Mel glares at him. By her side, even Chell looks hesitant, glancing around the room not so much as if she expects something to happen and more as if she’s confused it hasn’t already. Even now, Mel doubts she’d admit out loud that she doesn’t want to leave yet.

“Okay, fine,” Virgil huffs, voice going a little shrill with unhappiness. “If I get you to a communications office, you should be able to track outgoing messages, but you’re going to have to be quick about it. Now let me just reroute the ele–”

The elevator whirrs. Then, without the glass door ever opening, the whole thing slides up and out of sight.

“No, wait!” Virgil practically vibrates up on his management rail. “I didn’t tell it to do that! Why would it–”

A few feet away, an electrical door slides open with a hiss of compressed air. Virgil goes still, and by her side, Mel can sense Chell take a slow, deliberate breath, no longer looking around but ready for action. Following her lead, Mel tenses.

“Oh. Oh no. She must know you’re here. Oh this isn’t good. Hurry, time to backtrack, follow m–”

The door they came in through closes and locks with heavy finality. Virgil makes a frustrated little noise and mutters to himself as he tries to force it back open. A few seconds in, he exclaims in outrage.

“She kicked me out! This is so much worse than AEGIS, he did not have this kind of finesse or brute force. She’s everywhere, I don’t know what to do!”

He sounds frantic, same as that time Mel was clawing her way out of the testing spheres down in Old Aperture as they were filling with goo and he was helpless to assist her. But unlike that time, there’s no sign of corrosive goo climbing its way toward them. The elevator room is quiet and peaceful, the only sound besides Virgil’s panicking being the soft whirr of well-oiled machinery. From above the opened door, as if insisting on their attention, comes an almost polite sounding ding.

“Don’t go through that,” Virgil says immediately. “I didn’t open that, it was Glados, she absolutely knows you’re here.”

“If not that way, then where?” Mel asks. There are no other ways out of the room, not even any ventilation shafts.

“Let me think… oh, I know! If you two go back to back, you can climb your way out through the elevator shaft! Yes, I’m a genius, that will definitely work!”

As if on cue, the elevator from earlier returns, this time plummeting downwards at breakneck speed. If they’d been inside the shaft, they would’ve been crushed flat.

“…or not,” says Virgil weakly.

The open door dings again, this time more smug than polite. Mel isn’t sure how a chime manages to sound smug, but it pulls it off impressively.

“If there’s only one way, then that’s the way we’ll go.” Chell, who’s been quiet since they left the lab, starts toward the door. As she passes, Mel grabs hold of her elbow, giving her a wide-eyed expression meant to convey ‘are you sure this is a good idea?’ “This is what it’s always come down to,” Chell says, shrugging her off. “Besides, if She wanted to kill us She could’ve let us get in the elevator shaft.”

Mel hesitates, then grimaces as she signs, “Plan?”

Something almost like a smile crosses Chell’s face. “Can’t plan for all the eventualities down here. If we play along, an opportunity will present itself. Think of it as another test chamber, and it usually works out.”

With that, she walks out the door.

Metal whines as Virgil looks down at Mel. “I don’t think I like your friend very much,” he says, radiating displeasure. “Are you sure she’s survived down here before? She’s a bit… impulsive.”

“Any other ideas?” Mel asks, and after he’s hemmed and hawed for a couple of seconds she steps through the door after Chell. On the other side is a shockingly normal looking corridor. Ahead of Mel, Chell is testing the doors, all of which appear to be locked.

“Okay, okay, hold on.” There’s no visible management rail in the corridor; Virgil’s voice goes tinny as it comes out a hidden speaker. “Do as your friend said and play along for now, and I’ll try to find an opening to get you out. Just be ready when I tell you to run, okay?”

Mel’s not sure if he can see her, but she does a thumbs up anyway and he doesn’t prompt her for a further response. Silent communication worked out okay last time they did this song and dance; there are probably just as many hidden cameras as there are microphones. Thinking about it, most of them aren’t even hidden.

Chell has gotten a head start, and Mel jogs to keep up as they carefully move through the corridor. The doors remain locked, but eventually a wall panel slides out of the way – nearly hitting Chell in the face – allowing them entrance back to the catwalks. They have to step out on a pneumatic tube and hop down, metal rattling beneath their long-fall boots. Mel taps Chell’s shoulder, and the other woman actually jumps, as if she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone.

“Is she usually like this?”

Chell hesitates, glancing around the dimly lit catwalk. “No. Normally she’s more… talkative.”

“Talkative?”

Chell shrugs, starting to move along again. “Gloats a lot, insults you a lot, lets you know you’re going to die horribly, that sort of thing.”

A thought occurs to Mel. “Maybe she’s the one who sent for help.”

Chell snorts. “We won’t be that lucky.”

They follow the catwalk for a few minutes, finding no place where it’d be feasible to climb over the railing to another path, before a gate abruptly blocks them and they’re guided back into a paneled corridor. A turret waits on the other side, its back to them. Chell kicks it over. They watch together as it flails around pathetically on the floor before exploding.

“She would’ve called me a monster for that,” Chell comments.

Another few corridors, some stairs, a very uncomfortable elevator ride that takes them at least four floors down and one to the side. A few times they manage to veer off the intended path, but every time they find their escape blocked in some way and have to turn back. Soon enough, they find themselves by an open door leading out to a short, glassed in bridge over one of Aperture’s trademark bottomless pits.

“That’s it,” Chell says, hands curling into fists and opening again as if they long to grip something. Mel, too, feels horribly naked. “Her chamber’s on the other side.”

“We… go in?”

“Yeah.”

Chell steps through the door, and Mel is just about to follow when an urgent voice whispers her name. She jumps and looks around, spotting Virgil’s yellow optic peering at her through a frosted glass window. He indicates with the light at a door right next to the glass.

“The lock on this one is broken. Get through, and you’ll be in the old offices. It’s all concrete walls and regular doors in there, no panels, so she won’t have direct control. We should be able to find you a new route from there.”

When Mel looks to Chell, the other woman has stopped a few steps out onto the bridge, weighing from one foot to the other. Her expression is similar to the one she displayed in the elevator room earlier, an open uncertainty that comes off as alien on her usually resolute features.

“No?” Mel signs slowly, trying to put a confused question into the gesture. Chell looks from her to the far end of the bridge.

“I think we have to,” she says. “There’s no way to safely navigate this place if She’s fighting us. Either we get Her cooperation, or we finish Her off. Either way, we have to go in there.”

“Finish her off?” Virgil squeaks. “You can’t win in a fight against Glados!”

For the first time, Chell looks right at him as she speaks. “I have before. Twice, actually.”

Confused whirring from the other side of the glass, followed by laughter. “Wait. Are you… you can’t possibly be…” Chell is still looking at him. He stops laughing. “You’re the one who killed her? Well, you can probably handle yourself in there, then. Mel, I can get you out while she keeps Glados busy.”

Mel hesitates, but Chell is already striding forward again, steadfast this time. No matter how surly the woman is, whatever her motivations are, she still followed Mel here to save her; Mel can’t just let her walk in there and face that thing on her own. She steps after her.

“Wait, no, what’re you doing?” Virgil exclaims. “She’s going to kill you! If you think your last time testing was bad, you have no idea what she’ll put you through. Mel, please.”

 “I have to.” She turns to walk backward so that she’ll be able to keep up with Chell while still letting Virgil see her gestures. “I can’t leave her.”

Virgil shrinks in on himself, his yellow light contracting to a tiny dot. “There aren’t any management rails in there,” he says, voice as small as the rest of him. “I won’t be able to come with you.”

“You couldn’t last time either, and it still went okay.” Mel smiles, trying for reassuring. “If there’s any way for you to help from out here, I know you’ll do it. Don’t worry. We’ve done this before.”

And with that, she pivots on her heel just as the final door slides open.

Chapter Text

The central chamber – or lair, as Wheatley had so charmingly dubbed it – is as Chell remembers it. Tall, vaulted walls and ceiling, a paneled dome suspended over a paneled floor, all of it a stark white interrupted only by the occasional black patch which may hide an aerial faith plate, or a grenade launcher, or a neurotoxin dispenser. And of course, hanging from the curved ceiling in a nest of wires, chassis flexing and relaxing like the breathing of a great mechanical snake, a single yellow optic observing them from the face panel, Her.

“Oh,” Glados says, “hello. I didn’t realize you were here. I’ve been very busy, you see. Doing Science, repairing the Facility, routing out pests from inside the walls. I’ve made great progress now that no one’s been trying to kill me every few minutes.”

Her face panel is only partially angled toward them, as if She can’t be bothered to divert Her full attention. Up higher on Her chassis, something squawks. Chell steps back and lifts her chin to look at it, and finds a bird staring back at her. A crow, she thinks. Definitely some kind of corvid. She frowns; an odd addition, given Glados’ history with birds.

Glados must notice her distraction, because She rises slightly, angling Her chassis almost as if to show off the creature. “Have you not met my new friends?” Genuine excitement, and maybe a smidge of petty comeuppance, bleeds through the faux-nonchalance. “Here, let me introduce you: this here is Killer, the one over there is Bloodshed, and that one by the lamp is Polly.” A beat of silence. “I ran out of names.”

One of the birds poops on the floor. Immediately, a robotic arm shoots out from behind a panel with a rag and cleans it up. On its way out, it pauses to give the bird a pat on the head.

Glados is looking fully at them now, making Chell feel naked without her portal gun. At least she still has her long-fall boots, a comfort in case She decides to suddenly drop the floor out from under them.

“But how rude of me, I see you brought a friend, too. How nice to see that you have one. She must be very patient, given your… eccentricities.”

Mel steps back as Glados’ massive frame looms closer. The yellow optic flicks down, taking in the ancient-looking long-fall boots on her feet, before looking back to Chell. This close, her gaze is like a spotlight. Chell has to squint to meet it.

“Although I see your choice of company hasn’t improved. A former test subject, really? You know they’re all violent and murderous. I thought you knew better, but maybe my opinion of you was simply too high. I will have to amend that.”

She retreats, full focus back on Chell, making Mel breathe out noisily.

“It was nice to catch up, but I’m afraid I’m much too busy to hang out, and I’m sure you have more friends out there waiting for you to return. Allow me to show you the exit before you break something.” One of the darker patches on the floor slides open, revealing a glass elevator, a tube lowering from the ceiling to meet it. “There,” Glados says, pleased. “Now you can leave. Of course, your friend is free to stay. I could always use another test subject, and since she’s already dressed for the occasion–”

Mel inhales sharply, and something snaps deep inside Chell’s gut. Baring her teeth, she steps up to the elevator, lifts her foot, and slams the sole of her boot hard against it. The glass is too hard to fully shatter, but impressive cracks zigzag out from the center of the impact zone, making Chell’s snarl widen into a grin. Shooting cameras from walls, throwing storage cubes at giant wall-mounted screens; there’s something especially gratifying about breaking your tormentor’s stuff and knowing they can’t do a thing about it.

“Ah,” Glados says, interrupted in the middle of her supposed generous offer. “I almost forgot about your inherently destructive nature. It’s okay, I know you can’t help it. So, since you insist, what do you want? Why are you here? Was your existence so useless that you found no purpose without testing? I understand; it’s the only thing you excel, after all. Aside from murder.”

Chell hesitates, anger suddenly waning. Before, Glados was always the one to initiate communication, whether they were working against each other or teaming up. All Chell usually had to do was either follow her lead or deliberately work against everything she said and did. This time, she’ll have to be the one to initiate. Her entire body recoils in protest. At once, her throat clogs up, and she knows she wouldn’t be able to speak even if she knew what to say.

Only a second or two have passed; Glados doesn’t actually bother to wait for Chell to respond, only wanting for her to stew a bit. “Oh, right, I forgot. We never did find out what happened to your voice, did we? No other test subject ever complained about that. Well, it only makes sense that someone as… special as you would have special problems. Really, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. But since you can’t be bothered to make your purpose clear, I’ll generously give you something worthwhile to busy yourself with.”

The floor starts to shake. A moment of precipice; soon they’ll be dropped into a testing track, or a stasis pod, or straight into an incineration chamber. Chell sucks in a sharp breath.

“There’s a message.”

Bile chases the words into her throat. She feels as if she just gave in to torture. The floor stops shaking. Glados is staring at her.

“What.”

“A message,” Chell repeats. Her voice is scratchy. She’s sweating. It’s as if every moment she spent silent down here, refusing to utter a single gratifying word to these machines treating her as a toy and a tool and a thing, has piled on top of her, informing her that it’s much too late to give in now. Suddenly, the silent treatment doesn’t feel so much as a choice but as her own body rebelling against her.

Mel steps up beside her, hands raised. “It was sent from here,” she signs, and at once Chell can breathe again. “Someone was asking for help.”

Glados is still staring. Chell wonders when she last had reason to actively communicate with a human being uttering words, whether out loud or with signs. In the heavy silence, Chell squirms out of her backpack and digs out the two halves of the receiver.

“I found this in an old ruin,” she says, keeping her eyes on the device as she starts putting wires back into place, finding it easier to speak if she isn’t reminding herself just who she’s talking to. “I thought it was broken, but…”

The last wire attaches. There’s a spark and Chell hisses and jerks her singed fingers back.

“Hello?” comes the by now familiar voice, emanating not only from the receiver but from every speaker within vicinity. “Can anyone hear me? We need help. I can see that Aperture has come back online but I can’t reach the Facility, and I don’t know for how much longer we’ll last. We’re running out of power and there’s nothing out here to help, not even air! Can you believe that? I mean, of course there isn’t any air in a vacuum but you’d still think–”

As the message starts to loop back on itself, Chell disconnects one of the wires. Silence descends, oppressive after the crackle and white noise of the message.

“No,” Glados says. “No no no, that can’t be from here, it’s impossible. I would know if it was from here.”

“It talks about Aperture,” Mel signs, apparently not noticing Glados’ rising franticness for what it is. “It can’t be a coincidence.”

“It’s impossible. I’m in control of this Facility, I would know.”

“You didn’t know about this thing.” Chell stands up, giving one of the halves a light tap with her toe. “Aperture was large. They might have more facilities, more people left in stasis. Maybe they woke up, and now they can’t get out.”

“That thing isn’t mine.”

“It is, though.” Mel picks one half up and turns it over until she can point at the logo.

Glados stops rambling. She leans closer, looking not at them but at the logo and the text underneath. Mel, still holding the thing, extends it as far from her body as she can, clearly wanting to step out from under Glados’ shadow.

“That font… oh, I see, so that’s where it’s from. No wonder I couldn’t connect to it.”

“From?” Mel signs, a bit clumsy with only one hand.

“The Nonlocal Matter Displacement Device.” Now that She has the situation back under control, it’s as if Glados never became agitated to begin with. It’s all cool condescension again. “Oh, you haven’t heard of it? I believe the humans used to call it the Spire, because it’s big and tall and they weren’t very imaginative. It used to be part of the Facility, but something happened to it while I was dead after someone murdered me. It wasn’t very important, never worked the way it should, so I didn’t bother looking for it. That piece of junk must be connected directly to it, wherever it is.”

“Part of the Facility… went missing?”

“As I said, I didn’t bother to look for it. I’m sure it’s somewhere around here. Give me that thing, let me see if I can trace the connection.”

Mel frowns, looking from the receiver to Glados and back again. Sighing, Chell holds out her hands, wordlessly curling her fingers to urge Mel to hand it over.

A receptacle, not dissimilar from the one she once used to plug Wheatley and later Glados into the chassis, rises from the floor as Chell stacks the two halves in her arms. Seeing it makes her slow to a stop.

She isn’t sure what kind of reaction she expected when coming here. At no point had she actually slowed down to think; that sort of thing got you killed in a place like this. But she would like to say she knows Glados; she certainly knows that She’s no stranger to murder and torture, and that She views human lives as tools at best and an infestation at worst. If this was still that early Glados, Chell wouldn’t have so much as considered trying to talk – much less work – with Her. She would’ve rushed in here, already searching for something to tear, to break, to burn, any small way to gain an advantage against this massive, murderous being looming above her.

But things changed. Glados changed. Didn’t She? They did work together. She’d saved Chell’s life. She’d let her leave. She’d done both of those things even after regaining full control of the Facility, rather than let it corrupt Her the way Wheatley had. And it’s been three years, with nothing to test but those little robots of Hers (and maybe the birds). Before coming back down here, Chell would’ve laughed at the suggestion that she thought that Glados could change, but she must’ve, or she wouldn’t have bothered to try and hold a conversation. She would just have killed Her.

“Will you help them?” she asks.

“Hm? If it’s so important to you, I suppose. I wouldn’t want you running off to try and do it yourself. If the Spire is still functional, I’d like to have it back in one piece.”

Roundabout, but Chell does know Her, better than she’d like. Her situation would have to be a lot more dire before She openly agreed to help save lives for the sake of saving lives, much less because Chell asked Her to. Unless Chell went and put Her back into a potato, this was as good a declaration as she was going to get.

“Alright then,” she says, and steps up to the receptacle.

The inside of Mel’s skin itches with restlessness. The machine hanging from the center of the chamber – alarmingly similar to AEGIS, if a lot more flexible in her construction – appears to have forgotten about Mel’s presence, instead looming over Chell’s shoulders as she works. She’s removed the front casing of the receptacle, revealing a nest of tiny lights and wires which she compares to the ones inside the receiver.

“A potato was easier to plug in than this,” she mutters, digging one arm up to the elbow into the receptacle and emerging with a thick cable spitting sparks. “Why was this attached with tape?”

“The archaic nature of the potato and its lack of industry standard connection ports were circumvented by your ingenious solution of stabbing it,” Glados says primly. “If you stab that receiver, it will electrocute you. Also, it was made in a part of the Facility I haven’t had access to in years. It’s outdated. Just try harder, you’re usually good at coming up with solutions everyone else finds too obvious to try.”

“Psst, Mel, over here.”

 She jumps at the whispered call, turning in a circle until she finds one of the wall panels slightly opened, revealing a glimpse of Virgil on the other side. He jerks his entire spherical body toward the still open door in the manner of a human indicating a direction with their chin.

“Outside,” he hisses. “While she’s distracted.”

“No, not that one,” Glados scolds from the center of the chamber, followed by a pop and a yelp. “I don’t know what I expected from you. Now I’m going to have to replace all those diodes.”

Mel very quietly backs out of the chamber.

Virgil waits for her on the other side of the bridge, as visibly relieved as a metal sphere can be.

“You’re a very capable human,” he says, “but please, never do that again. You’re going to make me blow a fuse and there are only so many spares left.”

“It went fine.”

“She was about to drop you into goo!”

Really? Mel raises her brows in question and he sighs.

“I would’ve gotten a panel underneath you in time to catch you, but only just; she’s keeping a very tight grip on things.”

“It was a close thing with AEGIS, too.”

“At least we had a plan that time! I don’t think you’re grasping just how dangerous Glados is. Did I tell you she killed every single scientist in this place? Because she did. Horribly. With neurotoxin. We should take the chance and sneak you out while she’s busy.”

It had never felt all that much like a plan to Mel. She’d been a piece on a board, moved around wherever Virgil thought best as he figured things out behind the scenes, safe while AEGIS tried to trap her. But of course, he’d had to rely on her, too. Whenever she got stuck in a test chamber or in a collapsed corridor or behind a fire, all he could do was trust her to figure her way out, knowing the entire Facility, including him, would go down if she failed.

“This isn’t like last time,” she signs, trying to school her expression into being gentle. “Remember your terrible Cave impression? I knew you were lying, but I did what you said anyway, because I had no choice but to trust you. I do have a choice this time, and I still trust you, but I need you to trust me, too, even if this all seems dangerous to you. We need to work together on this.”

“I didn’t mean– I just–” He makes a frustrated noise. “Okay, trust. If you’re really going to do this, you need to promise me that, whatever you do, you won’t let Glados keep you here, do you hear me? Don’t trust her, don’t listen to her, and for god’s sake remember that she was the one AEGIS thought was bad enough to flood the entire Facility to put down. The moment you’ve finished this thing, you’re getting out of here, alright?”

“Trust.” Mel nods severely. “You, me, and Chell. Whatever She” – she tries to imitate in sign that extra emphasis Chell has whenever speaking of Glados – “is planning, we can get through it.”

“Whatever she’s planning, right, yes. I’m sure we can handle it just fine.” Virgil gives a derisive laugh. “You’ll just… do what you do best, and I’ll try to make sure she doesn’t set a trap for you.”

There’s silence for a while. Right about now would be the perfectly dramatic point to continue with the mission, but Mel can still hear Chell and Glados – mostly Glados – bicker from the chamber, and would rather not go back inside yet.

“Hey,” says Virgil, “want to see something fun?”

***

He leads her through the office door he’d pointed out earlier – Mel gets a bit of a thrill when she realizes she’s now outside of Glados’ reach – and guides her through dilapidated offices until they make it to a small room full of computer screens and empty coffee cups. A moldy swivel chair stands abandoned in one corner, right next to an ancient looking vending machine.

“Security office?” Mel asks.

“Exactly. Look here, we can see almost the entire the Facility, including…”

Virgil plants himself in front of one of the screens, staring at it as if he can control it using mind powers, or whatever wi-fi is supposed to be, Mel still isn’t sure. Letting him work, she walks over to the vending machine and squints through the grimy glass. There’re still snacks inside. She taps the glass for attention, and when Virgil turns to look she points first at the machine and then at herself.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, go ahead. Be careful, though; you might have to break the glass to get in there.”

She uses the chair, swinging it like a baseball bat. It falls apart in her hands on impact, but does manage to shatter the glass. Careful not to cut herself, she plucks drinks and candy from the racks. Unlike the outside of the machine, the inside is unnervingly pristine; if it weren’t for the faded labels, one could almost think the contents were fresh. She wonders, not for the first time, exactly how much time she spent in relaxation. These snacks were probably pumped full with just as many chemicals as her to survive the test of time.

“Aha!” Virgil exclaims, giving his pleased little laugh. “She has no idea.”

Arms full, Mel steps closer, eyes widening when she realizes what’s on the screen.

“Glados’ chamber,” Virgil confirms. “Here, let me turn on the sound.”

“…wrong with the outside?” comes Glados’ voice, scratchy over the speakers.

“No.” Chell is sitting cross-legged on the floor, carefully attaching electrical cords to the inside of the receiver. “It’s fine.”

“So you came back just to torture me, then.”

Chell glances up, saying nothing at all this time. Even through the fuzzy screen, the judgment in her eyes is evident.

“Well, you don’t have to be like that,” Glados huffs.

Mel is about to ask Virgil to turn it off – this is even more awkward than standing around third-wheeling them in the same room – when Chell sighs.

“Why did you let me leave?”

Tension builds. Mel finds herself holding her breath.

“I can do whatever I want.”

“And why did you do this?”

“Because I was tired of you wreaking havoc on my Facility.”

“Is that it?”

Prolonged silence. “What does it matter?”

“We’re going to work together. You aren’t testing me, and no one’s trying to kill us. There isn’t anything hanging over us. I need – there has to be insurance. I need to know why you aren’t killing me, and why I shouldn’t kill you, or this won’t work.”

“Well, let me ask you something, then: why did you come back?”

Chell contemplatively rests her hands in her lap for a moment, eyeing at the receiver. “I came back because Mel came back.”

“That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard,” Glados drawls, and Chell makes a small kind of tch noise that is almost drowned out by speaker static.

“Out there – nothing feels right. No one feels right. It’s like I’m the only real person inside a dream. I need to do something that’s real, even if it’s here. Even if it’s you. Mel would’ve died here on her own. So I went because she went.”

Glados hangs over her like a dead thing, seeming somehow bigger than before. “You were too stubborn to admit you wanted back for your own sake. Oh, that’s sad.”

“That’s not what I–”

“It’s important to take your own wishes and wellbeing into account. If you wanted to test, you should just have told me so.”

Chell sighs. “You never answered my question.”

Muted whirrs of machinery as Glados moves back. “Fine. I let you go because it was easier than killing you.”

“That’s not–”

“It was easier. Killing someone else, I don’t even have to think about it. But killing you, after all that, after having had that woman in my head… It was easier to let you go.” Glados rises into the air, away from Chell, her voice going glib. “Of course, my new testing bots were also superior for the task. There’s no reason keeping outdated equipment around to take up space.”

Chell opens her mouth as if to say something, then simply returns her attention to the receiver. “Here.” She presses something inside it. “You should have access now.”

The chamber goes silent. Neither of the two look at nor otherwise acknowledge each other’s presence further. After a few long, painfully drawn out moments, Virgil gives a shiver.

“That might be the two most emotionally stunted beings on the planet. Should I turn it off? I’m turning it off.”

The screen goes black. Dazed, Mel sits on the floor, dumping her haul by her feet and ripping open what she guesses to be a bag of potato chips. They’re stale and oddly metallic, but Mel hasn’t eaten since the day before and could care less about taste. The interaction they just witnessed hangs heavy over her, implications unsettling. Mouth full, she drops the bag into her lap.

“You really didn’t recognize my friend? You must’ve been around when she killed… her.”

“Technically, yes. But I try to stay out of the way whenever Glados is awake – she has no compunctions about killing robots. You should see the way she treats her testing bots.”

Mel frowns. “Did she ever hurt you?”

“I don’t think she knows I exist. Honestly, I’d prefer to keep it that way. Mel? Are you okay?”

She blinks out of her reverie, giving a loose affirmative gesture. She’s starting to get more of a picture what Glados is like, and doesn’t like the way it’s shaping up.

“Just thinking. She” – Mel gestures over her shoulder in the general direction of Glados’ chamber – “said no other test subject’s complained about losing their voice. That can’t be right, can it?” She points at herself, then splays her hands in befuddlement.

“Of course they complained,” Virgil says. “Though not out loud, of course. She just didn’t care to pay attention to anything not actively relevant to test results. As far as I know, your friend is the only one to not only break out of her testing track, but make herself an active threat and equal, so she’s the only one Glados has ever bothered interacting with as a person.” He winces. “Although not very nicely.”

Mel gapes for a moment as it sinks in. “Everyone else were just data points to her.”

“That’s kind of how it works here, yeah.”

The more she learns, the more Mel thinks that accepting Glados’ help might’ve been a mistake, though she’s not sure what else they could’ve done. Despite Chell’s history of having taken her down twice, Mel can’t imagine surviving a fight against that thing, much less winning. Maybe they could’ve tricked her somehow. Right now it feels like they’re giving her exactly what she wants.

“She isn’t what I expected.” She bites a chip in half. “I guess I thought she’d be more… stable? She seems oddly petty for a supposedly genius artificial intelligence.” Then again, Virgil was a supposed genius too, and he had once tried to hack a computer by randomly guessing passwords and staring it into submission.

“She was always petty, but she has changed a bit since coming back from the dead,” Virgil says. “More jittery. Whatever happened down in Old Aperture must’ve rattled her. Being down there certainly rattled me.” He eyes her snacks curiously. “Are those good? My records say there might be cyanide in them.”

Mel stops chewing.

“I mean, I’m sure it’s fine,” Virgil amends. “It’s just a little bit. It’ll probably make you immune. Just, maybe don’t eat too many?”

***

By the time they start making their way back, Mel has tried several different brands of ancient chips and is slightly nauseous from too much sugar and salt, but at least she isn’t hungry anymore. They’d spent their time going through possible escape routes on the screens in the security office, with Virgil trying to preemptively section off parts of the system so he’ll be able to hold Glados off from locking doors and stealing elevators out from under them when it counts.

“I won’t be able to beat her in a fight,” he’d warned Mel, “but I should be able to buy you some time. We’ve worked that way before, so it should be fine, right? You’re an Olympian, you can outrun her.”

Mel hopes her and Virgil’s misgivings about Glados are incorrect and that she won’t have to find out.

Now she returns to the main chamber with an armful of snacks, most of which she drops at Chell’s feet, making her startle. Apparently she had nearly fallen asleep as she waited for Glados to track the signal. Her back is to the receptacle, her legs stretched out. At her side, a floor panel has risen slightly to keep her from toppling over. As Mel watches, it slides discreetly back into place.

Chell blinks blearily at a can of soda. The label, which might once have been a startling orange, happily proclaims Citranium! Science in a can!

“Food?” she asks.

“Old food,” Mel corrects. “Don’t worry, I sorted out everything with cyanide in it.”

Chell doesn’t even blink, just pulls the tab to open the can – there’s even a hiss of carbonated air escaping its centuries long prison – and takes a long gulp. Before swallowing she swooshes it around her mouth like a wine taster, brows furrowed.

“I’ve never eaten anything down here before,” she says, reaching to pick up a chocolate bar – or at least, something masquerading as chocolate. She squints at it before shrugging and ripping it open.

“Me neither. Couldn’t slow down for long enough, last time.”

Nodding her agreement, Chell shoves half the bar in her mouth in one go. She makes a face. “This is really bad.”

“Like cardboard,” Mel agrees. “At least it’s poison free.”

“Nothing here is poison free.”

While Chell is still busily chewing, cheeks bulging, Glados suddenly rears up from her apparent sleep mode.

“I cannot believe this,” she bursts out, swinging from side to side, voice crackling and popping. “That little – how dare he activate it when it wasn’t even – and now part of my Facility is completely out of–”

She keeps raving, either unaware of or uninterested in their presence. Mel glances at Chell, but she’s just resting her chin in one hand, looking bored as she eats her stale candy bar.

“Should we…?” Mel asks.

“Give Her a minute. She’ll exhaust Herself eventually.”

“It’s fine, I can fix this, I’ll just send my robots. No, wait, they’re useless, and there’ll be no way to rebuild them out there when they inevitably break.”

The great construct swings around, and Mel finds herself face to face with the white faceplate, making her suddenly realize that it’s almost the size of her entire body. Sweat breaks out on the back of her neck. By her feet, Chell goes tense, wrapping paper crinkling as she closes her hand into a fist.

“You were a test subject,” Glados says, scrutinizing Mel like a bug under a microscope. “As you are still alive, I have to assume you were not completely rubbish at it, though that isn’t saying much. Even so, you two have proven better at handling the unexpected than my testing bots. It’s the fear of death, I believe. They have no real reason to try their best. For this to work, I need the best.”

She retreats, and Mel finally remembers how to breathe again. Paper crinkles as Chell relaxes next to her.

“Yes, this is the best course of action,” Glados says. “Out of my chamber, the both of you; I’ll send someone to explain things to the best of your understanding. I have a preparations to make, and I can’t be distracted. Your lives will rely on it. And try to restrain your violent urges on the way out and refrain from breaking anything.”

Glados swings away from them, muttering to herself. Mel looks to Chell, who’s climbed to her feet.

“We might as well,” she says, stretching until her back pops before setting off toward the door. Over her shoulder, she adds, “We won’t get anything more useful out of Her, anyway.”

They cross the bridge over the bottomless pit, lingering for a moment on the other side before a door hisses open for them.

“Hurry up, you two,” comes Glados’ voice over the intercom. “It’s already dark out, and I want this done today. Who knows, maybe those people you’re looking for are still alive up there, and only you can save them. I believe in you. You’re heroes.”

“Up there?” Mel signs.

Chell just shrugs.

“Are we… really doing this?” Mel’s hands are faltering, not fully knowing what she’s trying to express.

Chell gives her the flattest of looks. “Coming here was your idea. You going to turn back now?”

“No, I just – I don’t know. I don’t trust this.”

“Good – you shouldn’t.”

The intercom crackles. “I told you to hurry up. Do I need to get the escort bot out?”

Chell keeps looking at her, eyebrows raised and nearly expectant, until Mel gives a sigh. Chell’s right: it’s not like she’s about to leave now. Whatever this is, they need to see it through.

“Never mind,” she signs. “Let’s just go.”

They walk in silence through corridors and across catwalks for a while, letting Glados guide them. Mel keeps an eye out but sees no sign of Virgil; probably he’s busy preparing for their future escape in case they’ll actually need it. Besides, he’s almost certainly keeping an eye on them through the cameras, anyway.

Eventually, the quiet begins to itch under Mel’s skin. Chell doesn’t seem bothered, nor has she stricken Mel as the type to volunteer information, so if she wants a conversation she’ll just have to initiate it herself. She clicks her tongue, calling for Chell’s attention.

“You mentioned before that there wasn’t much point in speaking down here.” She frowns, trying to remember her and Chell’s conversation at the inn – was it only the night before? – and comparing it to what Glados had said when they confronted her a few hours earlier. “Glados thought you couldn’t speak at all. You never uttered a single word down here, did you?”

Chell makes a noncommittal noise. “No point.”

“You didn’t even try to bargain or reason with her?”

Chell looks at Mel like she may be a little bit stupid. “She’s a machine. I wouldn’t try to bargain with a broken fridge either, I’d just throw it away. Especially if it’s trying to poison me.”

Suddenly the way Chell had ignored Virgil and spoken over him or only addressed him through Mel is horribly recontextualized. Mel is loath to defend Glados in any way, but she’s also all at once seething.

“Changed your mind about that, then?” she asks, her movements sharp. “Or do you still think she isn’t a person just because she isn’t human?”

“This is a stupid thing to argue about.” Chell’s voice has gone monotone.

Mel wants to shake her. “If you think people like my friend aren’t really people I’d rather know that up front.”

Chell just purses her lips and keeps walking. Frustrated, Mel grabs her shoulder, literally giving her a shake (if only a little one). Chell’s nostrils flare, her expression going slightly wild as she recoils from Mel’s touch.

“You want to know what I think?” she hisses. “Okay, fine. I thought She was an automated voice created to make fun of me as I nearly died over and over. Then, sure, She turned out to be a real person, but She still wasn’t human. She was a machine who, just like any other I’ve met in here, thought She was better than me, who condescended to me and used me, and in the end She tried to kill me for my trouble. Excuse me if I’m not affording Her or anyone like Her any civil niceties.”

Eyes cold, Chell wheels around. Despite her obvious anger she doesn’t stomp as she leaves; her movements are lithe and light, the long-fall boots making her almost bounce on her toes. Like a hunting cat. Mel has to take long steps to catch up.

Her anger has abated. She imagines waking up to a Virgil who never came clean, who never apologized or grew, who never came to treat her like an equal. Who wanted to hurt her just for the sake of hurting her. She imagines this happening more than once, as Chell clearly has experience with robots other than Glados. She’s still upset but thinks, maybe, that she can cut Chell some slack.

She clicks her tongue again. When Chell glances her way, her face back to being an expressionless mask, Mel asks, “Why do you talk to her now, then?”

There’s a falter in Chell’s step. “Now’s different,” she eventually responds, keeping her gaze averted. Mel decides to leave it at that.

A core waits for them in the next corridor they enter. It’s newer and cleaner-looking than Virgil, with an orange optic glowing brightly at them.

“There you two are! The boss asked me to give you the rundown. I’m Nigel, by the way. Now chop chop, we’ll have to hurry if we want this done tonight.”

Not waiting for a response, he zooms away along the management rail, expecting them to follow.

“This is such a great opportunity for me,” he says as he leads the way. “See, I’ve only worked with one human before and she’s been gone for a while now, so it’s nice to have something to do again. I kind of miss working with people who have legs. It’s a very practical piece of equipment. Speaking of, Glados sent up some stuff for you to use! Come on, in here, at the Diversity Vent.”

He veers through a hole in the wall, and when Mel follows she finds herself in a dilapidated office, a Diversity Vent in one wall, right next to a water cooler full of lively looking algae.

She hasn’t been near a Diversity Vent since AEGIS started throwing turrets at her. She eyes the hatch in the wall warily, nearly jumping out of the way when it opens. Chell, less easy to rattle, picks up what looks like two portal guns. One of them she spares only a glance before handing off to Mel, but the other she keeps turning over, frowning at it.

“Nice catch,” Nigel chirps. “You’re right, the Aperture Science Portable Discouragement Beam is a completely new device, hasn’t even been sent through a testing track yet. Don’t turn it on in here!”

He sputters the last part quickly, stopping Chell just as she’s about to press a button on the gun’s side. She glances at him, lips pursed, but does as told.

“It emits a very powerful laser,” Nigel explains. “Since the place you’re going has been disconnected from the rest of the Facility, doors might not be working. This could help you get in and around.”

Interest wakes in Chell’s eyes, and she holds the gun closer as if prepared to defend it. When Mel curiously turns her own gun over – it’s clearly a different model from the one she used last time she was here, sleeker and shinier in design – Nigel makes a dismissive sound.

“That’s just a regular portal gun. I suggested equipping you with something that affords more mobility, but Glados threatened to incinerate me so I let it go. After all, I won’t be the one risking my life on the moon.”

Chell stops fidgeting and Mel looks up with a jerk. “Moon?” she signs.

The Diversity Vent slides closed, then almost immediately opens again, revealing what looks like two fishbowls, a large pile of thick fabric, and several oxygen canisters.

“You’ll need these, too,” Nigel says.

“Those suits are meant to be used when repairing machinery in areas flooded by corrosive goo,” comes Glados’ voice over the intercom as Chell and Mel are busy getting ready. “I don’t know for sure how well they’ll hold up in a vacuum, so this will be a learning experience for all of us.”

Chell is barely listening, putting the helmet on over her head and attaching various clasps according to the schematics Nigel had shown them while Glados keeps talking. Her tinny voice switches seamlessly from Facility to suit intercom.

“Remember: you’re killers. Whatever you face up there, you have my full faith that you will be able to murder it before it murders you.”

Exchanging a glance with Mel, Chell rolls her eyes. Mel grins and makes a claw like scratching motion with her fingers before putting her gloves on, sealing herself in the suit. Chell quickly does the same. The sensation of being locked in an airtight bubble is instantaneous. Around her are only the ricocheting noises of her own body: breathing, heartbeat, the scratching of skin and hair against fabric. Then there’s a click and a hiss as the air filtration activates, followed by the return of Glados’ voice, diffusing the sense of claustrophobic isolation.

“I know humans aren’t as smart as robots, but my testing bots are very stupid, so you might actually have a shot at surpassing them. Still; them I can reassemble, and I have yet to find an effective way to do so with humans. At least not without breaking their sanity.” After a beat, she adds, “What I’m saying is, be careful. You’ll be on your own up there.”

It’s almost… touching. Dressed and ready, Chell nearly proceeds into the room in front of her without acknowledging Her on pure force of habit, but stops with her gloved hand on the doorframe and nods up at a camera in the corner.

“I’m counting on you,” Glados says, and even Chell can’t tell whether or not She’s serious.

Everything is proceeding so quickly. It’s almost reassuring; since being equipped and leaving Nigel behind at the bottom of an elevator shaft, Chell has had little time to spare for thinking or worrying. In true Aperture fashion, she has simply been taking things as they’re thrown at her in rapid succession. Armed and dressed, she and Mel had been ferried up too many stories to count and presented with Glados’ most recent invention: the Aperture Science Lunar Entrance Chamber. Or, more succinctly, an airlock.

It’s of a simple design: an empty, airtight room (the design hinting at a former life as a storage container), split into two chambers – an inner and an outer airlock – and hauled through a bottomless shaft all the way to the surface of the Facility. As Chell and Mel step inside to the furthest chamber, the ceiling is already sliding back to reveal the sky spread out above them, a rare sight at Aperture. Clouds conceal all but a handful stars, but a chunk of the nearly full moon peaks through, making the cloud cover glow eerily. Mel takes aim with the portal gun without needing to be prompted. Through the glass Chell can see a drop of sweat run along her jaw, her lower lip caught between her teeth. There’s a virtual screen and aiming software built into the helmet to help her hit the mark, but it’s still a very distant target.

Blue light arcs out of the nozzle into the sky. They stare after it for a few seconds, Chell’s eyes going blurry from peering into the dark. High up in the sky, the moon watches them back, unperturbed.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out whether this ludicrous plan of yours worked,” comes Glados’ voice. “Sealing you in now. Please do not panic; if I was going to kill you, I already would have. Just trust me, and everything will be fine.”

The door and ceiling shut and lock with a final clunk, leaving them in complete darkness. There’s a whoosh of wind around them as air begins rapidly being pumped out. If it weren’t for the solid ground underneath her feet, Chell would’ve felt as if she was floating in a bottomless pit.

“Don’t place the second portal until my say so. We wouldn’t want you getting sucked out like last time.”

Sweat sticks Chell’s hair to the back of her neck. ‘Last time’ had been a heat-of-the-moment, on-the-brink-of-death kind of thing. She’d been concussed and broken-boned and feeling the Facility shake from a reactor seconds from melting down. Putting a portal on the moon had been a ‘this might as well happen’ kind of idea. Now she knows what will happen, and after having sat through both Nigel and Glados explaining equipment as well as the science and practicalities of spacewalks (as if Chell doesn’t have more experience than two of them combined), she also knows everything that can go wrong. Also, she isn’t in the immediate process of being exploded, which makes for a hell of a different perspective.

Technically, nothing is forcing her to be here. She could just – leave.

What a joke. As if Chell has ever dropped something after she picked it up and dug her nails in.

Hissing. Clicking. The oppressive silence of a complete lack of air. “Now.”

Without hesitation, Mel places a portal on the far wall. Sudden orange light forces Chell to shield her face and throws the chamber’s few occupants into stark relief. Mel has a mad-looking grin on her face, heightened by the hellish light, and Chell is reminded that this is a woman who volunteered herself to science just for the sake of it.

As the portal surface shimmers and reveals a pockmarked moonscape, she turns to Chell and signs, somewhat clumsily in the thick gloves, “Space!”

Her elated expression leaves no question about the exclamation mark.

“Yes!” Glados cries, her voice so loud the suit intercom cuts out for a second. “My plan worked, you did it! Now, venture forth and bring back my Facility!”

Chell takes a deep breath, hefts her laser gun in both hands, and steps through a portal for the first time in three years.

Chapter Text

If there’s one thing Emilia misses about being human, it’s the ability to sleep. Shutting herself down or going into rest mode simply isn’t the same thing, more akin to getting knocked unconscious than getting a good rest, and technically she doesn’t actually have to do it. A robot body doesn’t require rest and recuperation the way a human does. Just charge up the battery every now and again and she’s good to go. Problem is, her mind is still mostly human, and going days – weeks, months, years – on end without ever getting cozy in a bed might not leave her tired, but it certainly leaves her jittery.

She can bet Stirling doesn’t have to deal with this shit.

Close second? The ability to breathe. Not for the same reason, though; the neuroscience and robotics team actually took the human psychological need to breathe into account by simulating breathing into their personality construct design. Emilia – human-Emilia, who is presumably long dead by now – had been there when they realized the need for those simulations, wincing and taking notes as they watched the recorded and uploaded consciousnesses of test subjects lose their marbles. (Clearly they hadn’t, to Emilia’s great sorrow, gotten around to simulating sleep.) This is nice and all, allowing her to retain some slight semblance of humanity, but the problem is this: the moon doesn’t have any damn air.

As she works on the solar panels outside the Spire, moon dust clogging her filters and the Earth spreading out beautifully and tantalizingly out of reach beneath her, Emilia tries to convince her breathing simulation program to instead simulate holding her breath. She doesn’t need to do either – her robotic body doesn’t require air any more than it does sleep – but if she goes more than a minute or so without taking a simulated breath, panic starts firing off in her electronic synapses. If she does try to take a breath, only to find there’s no air? Same panic. Ergo, doing repairs on the outside of the Spire is a nightmare.

“Of course we couldn’t be in a proper lab when we got teleported into space,” she mutters to herself as she sweeps dust from the panels, the noise of her voice swallowed by the surrounding vacuum. “No, we had to be in the defunct, no good, volatile Spire.”

According to her readings, the solar panels are emitting at only half power even after she’s cleaned them, which makes sense since there was barely any dirt on them to begin with. No atmosphere means no wind means no dust blowing around and covering sensitive equipment. Which would be great, except it means something else is up with the panels, and Emilia has no idea what. She specializes in brains and robotics, and though she’s made great strides in medical science and general mechanic’s repair the last few years (she has to occupy her time somehow, might as well learn a new trade or three from the Aperture digital library) serious diagnostics and repairs are still beyond her. She’s checked and double checked and found neither obvious flaws nor solutions. As far as she can tell, it’s just the natural wear and tear of equipment that was never made to survive perpetually in a vacuum.

All this is to say that radiation shields and air filtration barely have enough power to keep going.

She can probably turn air filtration off to save power – has been meaning to, even – but has been putting it off in the hopes that she’d find a way to circumvent her breathing simulation first. No good – she’ll just have to suck it up and deal with the low level stress of her systems telling her she’s poisoning herself on bad air. At any rate, it’s not like she can turn the radiation shields off. While the Spire’s robot denizens would survive, the same can not be said for the humans in stasis.

So much for Aperture devices being able to hold up in perpetuity, she thinks glumly as she starts making her way back. Though to be fair, that was in an Earth environment, with an atmosphere and normal gravity and a magnetosphere to keep solar radiation out. No part of the Facility had been built to survive in space.

“Uh, hello, is this thing on?” a voice suddenly says directly in her head, vibrating through her metal frame for a lack of air to travel through. “Can you hear me? Hold on, if I redirect this thing maybe–”

“Do not redirect anything,” Emilia snaps, hoping she was quick enough to stop Wheatley from performing whatever harebrained idea he’s had this time. Last time he tried to fix something, he’d blown out the power in half the Spire. “I can hear you just fine,” she adds.

“Oh, great, that’s good! I just, I wanted to let you know that your friend in here, he's laid siege to the bathrooms and the lower offices again. Your firewalls kept him out of the labs and cafeteria though, so that’s good! Corridors are a bit dodgy, not sure what’s going on there, might want to watch your step.”

Emilia sighs. “What’s he want this time? Wait, let me guess: for me to surrender control of the Spire to him?”

“Something like that, yeah. Pretty much exactly that, actually. There was also something about you stepping up and, ah, taking responsibility? Yes, definitely something about responsibility, and that, ah, ‘maybe you should just have stayed away’, I believe was what he said. Not sure what he was on about, if I’m being honest.”

Goddamned roomba and his goddamned abandonment issues. Emilia speeds up her hopping steps. “Tell him I’ll get him a puppy once we’re back on Earth.”

“Think that’ll help?”

“Just keep him occupied till I’m back.”

 She shuts her communications line off, granting herself a few precious minutes of peace and quiet. Kicking Stirling out of the system will take all of five minutes once she’s back; he always does this when she has to step out for repairs. When she found Wheatley and fished him out of orbit she’d been happy at first, thinking she’d have someone to back her up, but he’s proven to be less reliable than a small child armed with explosives. The best she can do is keep both of them away from the controls. Maybe it’s lucky she doesn’t have to sleep. At least Wheatley, unlike Stirling, is friendly company.

She stops to watch the Earth – there’s a nice view of North America at the moment – and sighs again. She knows there’s still life down – or is it up? – there; the pinpricks of city lights are visible even from space. Whatever happened to leave Aperture as dilapidated as it was, civilization clearly survived, or has at the very least had time to rebuild. Either that, or some new lifeform has taken over. Maybe those mantis men Cave was so insistent on developing had gotten out. Perhaps it’s all robots, even.

In the end, it’s irrelevant; Emilia has no way of contacting them and asking for help. After weeks of digging through every single nook and cranny of the labs she’d found only one single long-distance communications device, stuffed away on the bottom of a dusty cabinet, underneath boxes of receipts. It was a prototype model, connected only to other devices of the same kind. Emilia doesn’t know if another device exists, much less if it has survived the centuries.

What she wouldn’t give for a good old fashioned long-distance radio.

By the time she returns inside, Stirling is screaming demands and threats over the speakers. Wheatley waits for her in the security office, cringing at the noise.

“I tried to reason with him,” he says as Emilia sits her mechanical body down in a chair. “It didn’t work too well.”

“And by the way,” Stirling’s voice screeches, “I do not appreciate your condescending attitude. This is no befitting workplace atmosphere and you–”

“I think maybe he found the puppy thing a tiny, massive bit insulting?” Wheatley suggests. “Just a thought.”

Emilia snorts, then reaches out and presses the button that activates the office microphone. “I’m so sorry, Stirling. Please, let me make it up to you. How do you feel about a pony?”

He flies completely off the handle. Wheatley, meanwhile, gives the awkward little chuckle of someone forcing themselves to laugh at their boss’s bad joke.

“Oh, come on!” she protests. “That was funny!”

“Yeah-yeah, sure, very funny! I’m sure he’s not trying to kill us even harder now, nothing to worry about.”

Emilia rolls her one eye and stretches her multi-jointed fingers over the keyboard. Technically it’d be more efficient to hook herself up directly, but to do that she’d have to disconnect from her body and reconnect to either a receptacle or a management rail. It’s a whole hassle. She does fine with a keyboard and screen, it just takes a bit more grit. Besides, she enjoys having an excuse to use her hands.

“I miss Jane,” she complains, clicking away, thinking wistfully of the injured woman still in stasis. Jane isn’t her actual name of course – unless Emilia pulled off a wildly statistically unlikely lucky guess – but she needs to call her something; while the Spire brought with it some of Aperture’s records, test subject files weren’t among them. Besides, she is a Jane Doe. “She never pretended to laugh at my jokes.”

Loud, blaring alarms cut her off, followed by the lights blinking red. Wheatley’s optic light shrinks to a white pinprick.

“It wasn’t me! I swear I didn’t touch a thing, I was just hanging here and–”

“Shush.”

Has Stirling actually managed to break something serious? Emilia quickly navigates her way through the interface, stopping and staring in disbelief as the message intruder alert pops up at her prompting. She hunches over the screen, typing at record speed, internal cooling fan speeding up at the sudden exertion. It can’t be, it has to be Stirling, he’s done something to catch her off guard and now–

She accesses a live security camera feed. On the screen, two people in space suits are using a laser to break into the Spire, cutting right through the metal walls of the lower floors as if it was butter.

“No way!” Wheatley exclaims over her shoulder. “Those are humans, aren’t they? Looks just like them, with their arms and their legs and their giant heads.” He squints at the image. “Actually, now that I think about it, the heads are a bit large, aren’t they. Oh god, are we being invaded by moon mutants? I knew I should’ve stayed in orbit, no one tried to eat me while I was in orbit.”

Emilia waves a hand to get him to back off and responds nearly automatically. “Why would they eat you? You’re made of metal.”

“I will have you know this is a very sought after alloy, lady.”

The alarms are really going ballistic now. Ignoring Wheatley’s rambles, Emilia gets to work shutting them down before she makes the miraculous discovery that she can simulate a headache. At least she doesn’t have to immediately worry about any air escaping; when the Spire was first teleported away from the Facility proper, the lower floors were all but ripped to shreds, forcing her to section them off. The lowest half-dozen stories are still completely depressurized.

“…aaand they’re in,” Wheatley says, still watching the camera feed, “they’re absolutely, totally in, no stopping them now. Wait, hold on just a minute.” His optic whirrs as he zooms in. “They aren’t moon mutants! I know that one!” More whirring, a bit jittery-sounding this time. “Ah, quick question, nothing big, just wondering if maybe, if you have the time, you could hide me somewhere? Preferably in a place a human would never think to look. Maybe the showers? No one would ever go looking for a robot in the showers. It’s brilliant, she’ll never find me.”

Finally silencing the alarms, Emilia shoots up from her chair, overbalancing in the low gravity and nearly hitting the ceiling. Grabbing one of Wheatley’s handles, she drags herself up close to him. “You know one of them?”

“Um.” Wheatley’s shell has turned slightly blue, reflecting the eagerly shining light from Emilia’s optic. “Yes? Remember the human I told you about, the one who was really good at jumping? That’s her right there, under the fishbowl.”

God, Emilia wishes she could smile. One day she’ll get herself a proper android body, with a mouth and teeth and two eyes and everything. Thinking about it, a robot with teeth actually sounds absolutely terrifying, but never mind all that, there’s people! Living humans! Here, on the moon!

And if Wheatley is to be believed, one of them is the very same person who took on Glados and lived, not once but twice. Admittedly, Wheatley is hardly the most reliable source. He’s friendly and kind of funny and has been one of few things keeping her sane by granting her someone to talk to other than a murderous vacuum who hates her personally, but truthful he is not. He’s also a terrible liar. Since hauling him in from orbit, Emilia’s had to go through every statement he’s made with a fine-toothed comb, separating fact from lie from exaggeration from plain ignorance, pointing out obvious falsehoods to squeeze him for every drop of information. By now she’s pretty sure she’s puzzled together the whole truth. Only way to find out, of course, is by getting a second opinion.

“Hold down the fort for me,” she cries, practically buzzing with excitement as she releases Wheatley and bounces her way out the door. “I need to go meet them!”

Stepping into the Spire is eerily reminiscent of the first time Mel walked the abandoned offices and testing tracks of the upper part of Aperture. Unlike the Facility she and Chell returned to, this place feels dead. Or rather, undead. Light fixtures still flicker, computer screens ask for passwords, doors open for them and close after they pass through. Having seen the contrast of Glados being in control, this is like walking inside a reanimated corpse.

It’s almost enough to take the wind out of Mel’s wings.

She gives a soundless whoop as she stomps off from the cracked floor, sails all the way up to the ceiling, and slowly floats back down again. She’s so light, her body younger than it has been in decades. Right now, she could run a marathon again. She could win.

“My poor Facility,” comes Glados’ voice over the suit intercom, broadcast to both Mel and Chell. “Look at what they’ve done to it! Turn around, let me look at that test chamber.”

Chell doesn’t seem to be even listening, so Mel decides to humor her, bouncing across the corridor to a viewing window, giggling breathlessly as she catches herself on the windowsill. A camera mounted to the side of the helmet allows Glados a view of the darkened chamber below. Several storage cubes lie abandoned on the floor, panels hang limply from the wall, and the door is stuck half-open. Mel wonders how many of those cubes she’d be able to lift onehanded in this gravity. Probably quite a few.

“This is awful!” Glados wails. “Look at those walls! Any test subject could just walk right out!”

“How terrible,” drawls Chell, who apparently was listening after all and has sidled up to peer down into the chamber beside Mel. Whether she did so out of curiosity or because she was obliging with Glados’ wishes, Mel can’t tell, and Chell’s face gives no clue.

“It is terrible,” Glados shoots back. “It’s a travesty towards Science.”

“Uh-huh.”

Mel feels as if she’s lost her voice all over again, third-wheeling the two of them. The suit makes it all but impossible to do more than the most basic of signs, so she gives a simple wave for Chell to keep up and gets moving again. Her mood quickly shifts back to elated as she bounces along; they couldn’t wear their long-fall boots inside the suits, but this is almost as good. Let Chell and Glados do their weird little thing, Mel is busy being the first human being on the moon. Well, one of two. Either way she was first through the portal.

They’ve walked – or hopped – for less than a minute when Chell suddenly stops, holding a hand out for Mel to do the same. She cocks her head, eyebrows drawn together in intense focus.

Doing the best she can in the thick gloves, Mel signs, “Noise?”

Chell gives her a look. “We’re in a vacuum. There’s no noise outside these suits.” When Mel just looks right back at her, she sighs. “Feel the floor.”

Now that she mentions it, there’s slight vibration working its way up from Mel’s feet. She bends down, placing a hand on the floor. Rhythmic thrumming meets her, noticeable even through the insulated glove.

“Some kind of machinery, maybe?” Chell ponders out loud. “There’s still power. Maybe we can feel the fluctuations of a generator?”

The vibrations are louder now, nearly rattling Mel’s teeth in her mouth. Almost as if…

She shoots to her feet. “Getting closer,” she signs.

“What?”                                                                                 

“Closer!”

Something large and vaguely human shaped barrels around a corner ahead of them, so fast it slams into a wall and nearly gets bounced back out of sight. Distracted as she is by the sight, Mel nearly goes flying when Chell pushes her back with a hand on her chest and roughly places herself in front, making herself big despite her slight frame. Frankly, Chell doesn’t need to make herself big to come off as wildly threatening.

“Oh god, it’s a monster!” Glados shouts, her voice going high and shrill and ricocheting around the inside of Mel’s helmet until her ears ring. “You can’t fight it, quick, run!”

Chell stands with both feet planted on the uneven, cracked floor, the laser gun held in both hands in front of her. In the other end of the corridor, the figure manages to right itself and turns to face them. Noticing Chell’s posture, it jumps and holds its hands up.

It’s a robot.

“Oh, never mind,” says Glados. “That’s just a core. You can shoot it if you want.”

Mel grabs Chell’s arm, worried she’ll do just that, then feels a little bad about it because Chell shows no inclination toward pulling the trigger. Neither does she lower the gun, though. The standoff lasts for a few seconds before the robot hesitantly waves a hand at them. If it’s speaking, the vacuum is keeping them from hearing it.

A pit opens in Mel’s stomach as she realizes she had, in the excitement of space and the moon and her being on it, completely forgotten about their purpose here. There’s supposed to be survivors. And here she was hopping about like a child in a bouncy castle.

Chell is still standing her ground, ignoring it when Mel shoves insistently at her back. Frustrated, Mel finally shoulders her way past and pushes Chell’s arm down. When Chell gives her a scandalized look, Mel, not feeling like fighting her gloves, just gestures emphatically at the robot and makes an exaggerated expression, hoping it sufficiently communicates ‘don’t kill the survivor’ and not ‘go ahead, shoot’.

Chell looks dubious. Mel rolls her eyes and moves toward the robot, shaking off Chell’s hand and making a dismissive gesture over her shoulder when Chell tries to pull her back. The robot still stands with its gangly arms raised, but they’ve lowered slightly in something like uncertainty. Unsure what the procedure is here, Mel stops in front of it and holds out a hand to shake.

The robot looks at her hand. Back up at her face. At her hand again. Mel’s just thinking that maybe this is an alien robot that’s never heard of a handshake – weirder things have happened – when it suddenly grabs her hand and pulls her into a hug. She has just enough time to be shocked before it pushes her away again, hands on her upper arms now, holding her like it can’t believe what it’s seeing. Then its gaze moves to something behind Mel and it immediately lets her go, jumping back with its hands raised. Mel herself startles when the barrel of the laser gun appears in her peripheral, dangerously close to the robot.

“Careful,” Chell says, and whether it’s aimed at Mel or the robot is hard to tell.

“I don’t recognize it, so it probably isn’t very important,” Glados says, nearly making Mel jump. “You should ignore it. Just find a computer center and I’ll walk you through what I need you to do.”

Excluded from their conversation, the robot hesitates, then points at the two of them – careful not to nudge the gun – itself, and then straight up before gesturing as if taking something off its head. Mel finds herself smiling and nodding eagerly. She can’t wait to get out of this suit. Carefully, the robot edges sideway into the corridor, the gun following it unwaveringly, and starts making its way back the way it came.

“Mel,” Chell says as Mel goes to follow, a warning in her voice. Mel elects to ignore her. A few steps in – or more accurately, a few hops – a sigh reverberates through the intercom as Chell finally joins up.

Chell seethes as she stands in what was probably once a short corridor, sealed, airtight door in each end, and which now functions as an airlock, atmosphere returning to normal around them. In front of her is the strange robot, bouncing slightly on its mechanical toes like an eager child and not even pretending not to stare. She’s so sick of following robots around, of being expected to trust machines that care not one lick for her, of having no choice but to trust them.

“I don’t like it,” Glados’ voice pipes up, as if on cue. “Remember what happened last time you worked with an AI who wasn’t me? Because I remember. I’m just saying, if it tells you to kill me, try not to give in to your base instincts and go along with it.”

“I don’t know,” says Chell mildly, “I might just be overwhelmed by my innate murderousness.”

“I do trust in your ability to restrain yourself. After all, you managed not to eat me while I was a potato. Try to channel that energy.”

She’s about to reply when she notices Mel glancing at her from the corner of her eye, an odd expression on her face. Ah, Chell had been bantering, hadn’t she? Not even arguing, just following along as if Glados’ jibes were a game, a challenge for her to one-up. This is why she never speaks to robots; once she starts treating them like people, it’s hard to stop.

A light by the inner door blinks from red to green as the air pressure equalizes. As Chell twists her helmet off, only a smidge worried that she’s about to have her eyeballs sucked out of her skull if the air seals break, she’s met by a barrage of words.

“–and I can’t believe you’re here!” the robot says, voice distinctly feminine. “It’s been years! I thought for sure someone would notice we were here when the Facility came back online a while back, but when no one did I figured we were here for good. Oh, apologies, I haven’t introduced myself – I’m Emilia Conly.” She sticks a hand out. “You have no idea how glad I am to meet you. You could even say, I’m over the moon about it.”

She has no face, but the delighted grin is implied. Chell eyes the outstretched hand; it looks more like a metal skeleton than anything human. Mel shakes it without a hint of hesitation, a wide smile on her lips, but Chell just crosses her arms. Conly smoothly transitions to eager gesturing instead.

“One of you must be Chell,” she says, looking from one to the other. “Wheatley recognized you, and Chell’s the only human he ever talks about. It’s so nice to meet you.”

Chell stiffens. Of course the little bastard couldn’t simply be dead. There’s the sense of something heavy lifting from her shoulders at the thought, and Chell angrily presses her lips together in response, piling righteous fury onto the feeling. Conly doesn’t seem to take notice, but Mel glances at her and gets a little frown between her eyebrows, warning Chell that she’ll face questions about this later. Great.

Conly is looking expectantly at them, and the fury piles on even more. Just because she gave in and talked to Glados doesn’t mean she’ll be giving every robot she meets the time of day. She lifts her chin and says nothing, just looks meaningfully around the cluttered corridor. It looks just as bad as the Facility proper did when she woke up from suspension three years ago. Worriedly, she wonders exactly how well it’s keeping air in.

As it becomes clear Chell has no intentions of stepping in and leading the conversation, Mel sighs, undoes the clasps to her gloves with her teeth, and tears them off. “You must be the one who sent the SOS,” she signs.

Conly squints at her. Then her optic goes wide. “Is that ASL? It is, isn’t it! You’re test subjects then, right? Mine couldn’t talk either. I wonder if that’s something they looked for when picking subjects, or a side effect from the stasis. It might be something neurological, but without a lab I can’t…”

She shifts to a distracted mumbling, speaking more to herself than them, clearly not expecting any kind of response. That willingness in talking over them, never really trying to communicate, in combination with what she just said, is somehow worse than if she’d kept expecting them to speak. Chell finds her hand landing on her laser gun.

“Your test subject?” she says, voice low.

Conly goes abruptly silent in the same way Glados had when first hearing Chell speak. Then she gives an awkward little laugh.

“Did I say mine? I didn’t mean – Jane wasn’t literally – well, Jane isn’t actually her name, I don’t know what – we helped each other out, I never – I mean, I wasn’t a testing associate, I wasn’t even awake.” Seemingly realizing she’s digging her own grave, Conly cuts herself off, placing her hands palm-to-palm in front of her optic and making a noise as if taking a deep breath. “This is kind of a long story. How do you feel about coffee while we talk?”

“That’s a stupid idea,” says Glados through the suit, and if a robot could go pale Conly would’ve looked like a ghost judging by the way she goes ramrod straight. “We’re on a mission, there’s no time to be distracted by human bodily cravings.”

“Oh no.” Conly’s blue optic has shrunk to the size of a singularity. “Is that – oh god, I didn’t realize she came with you. She’s listening to everything?”

“That’s okay.” Chell feels the inside of her collar, looking for the tiny control board embedded in the fabric.

“What’re you–” Glados starts just as Chell’s fingers find the right button. The speaker dies and the helmet-mounted camera buzzes once before shutting off.

“We don’t work for Her, and we’d very much like to hear what you have to say. In fact, you should probably start talking right away.”

***

“So anyway,” Conly says as they step through the last door to what she’s claimed to be a cafeteria, “now there’s just the three of us, stuck here together. Until you arrived, at least.”

Chell’s head hurts. A gun that shoots portals is already pretty big in her books, but a machine capable of teleporting an entire section of the Facility, people and all, to the moon? Her knowledge of portal technology is fuzzy – she suspects it’s something she used to know, before her memory got fizzled – but the black holes powering the guns’ quantum tunneling mechanism are already inherently unstable; how much worse mustn’t it be on this scale? No wonder the Spire was shut down. Even Aperture has its limits.

“Oh, um. Hello,” a new voice pipes up, exaggerated cheerfulness unable to mask the nervousness as he gives a clipped little laugh. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Chell zeroes in on him like a hawk on a mouse. He’s just hanging there by the ceiling in the far corner of the cafeteria, looking all innocent. Well, he looks like a metal ball, but the point still stands. Chell narrows her eyes and he immediately loses all his cool.

“Listen, I know that you’re probably really mad at me, and I get it, I do! I was really, really rude to you, with the crushers and the insults and the trying to kill you and all. But I absolutely got my punishment! I’m a whole new core now, just a completely new personality. It was horrible out in space, you have no idea how bad it was, just absolutely miserable, and it taught me my lesson, it really did. I was just floating around out there, contemplating what I did, rusting away–”

“I’ve told you, metal doesn’t rust in a vacuum,” Conly says with the kind of sigh of someone who’s had this discussion before. “You need oxygen for corrosion, I’ve told you this.”

“And anyway,” Wheatley goes on, not listening in the slightest, “you’re okay! You didn’t die! So really, there was no harm done, right?”

Chell says nothing. He looks just like he used to, even has that glitch still, twitching and sparking every few seconds from a crack in his optic. She wants to walk over and rip him from his management rail, throw him back into orbit. She wants to cry with an overwhelming relief and regret she hadn’t even known she was carrying. She wants to yell at him that, just for a little while, she’d thought that maybe she’d been wrong, maybe he really did care about helping her and not only about using her to get out.

And then he’d tried to kill her.

It’s unfair to hold it against him, she knows. He’d been hooked into the Facility mainframe, pre-programed code running havoc in and scrambling his tiny mind. But it had all been so personal. With what he did, the things he said, she can’t truly imagine he ever really cared about her as a person, just as a means to an end. She should’ve known better. Had been stupid to trust him. At least when she worked with Her, there’d been no pretense of the two of them being friends. At least this time, she knows to expect the knife in her back.

Still waiting for a response that’s never going to come, Wheatley clears his nonexistent throat.

“How about I just… go put the kettle on, yeah? That sounds nice, doesn’t it, a good cup of tea to calm us all down, make the emotions stop simmering. Yes, I’ll do that.”

Chell watches as he zooms over to the very farthest corner of the room, where he stops to stare intently at a kettle on the counter. It isn’t plugged in.

“I don’t know how,” she says, “but I promise you he’s going to find a way to burn that water.”

Conly doesn’t have a face to grimace with, but the noise she makes gives the clear impression she’d really want one right about now.

“Probably, yeah. I’ll just go and fire up the coffeemaker. Why don’t you two take a seat in the meantime?”

Chell has no memory of ever having had a normal job, but the cafeteria is what she imagines every breakroom in every office building to be like. Cheap tables, wobbly chairs, a ping-pong table over in one corner, microwaves that look like they were maybe cleaned once last century. The only thing uniquely Aperture about the space are the posters tacked onto the walls – Thirsty? Try Citranium and test its brain-enhancing properties today! – and the thick layer of dust covering everything. There are cobwebs blocking the cabinets, and Chell finds herself wondering how the spiders are finding life on the moon.

“She’s nice,” Mel signs as they sit, nodding toward Conly. “A bit… excitable.”

Chell makes a face. “I don’t like her.”

“Do you like anyone?”

“That’s beside the point.”

Mel huffs. “If you think Glados is such a threat, you and her” – she waves in Conly’s general direction – “should be best friends. She clearly doesn’t care for her any more than you do.”

“I don’t have friends, and anyway, Wheatley also didn’t care for Her. In fact” – Chell raises her voice loud enough to carry across the cafeteria – “he cared so little for Her, that I had to team up with Her in order to stop him after he decided to kill us both.”

Still embroiled in – and seemingly losing – his mental battle against the kettle, Wheatley cringes.

“Did I ever tell you,” he says, “how smart you are? And brave? And, uh, good at jumping? Really good at jumping, can leap over just about anything. Just thought I should. Um. Mention it. Love the voice by the way, very assertive, great choice, always knew you had it in you.”

“Ignore him. Here, try this. It should still be drinkable.” Conly appears at their table carrying two steaming cups. The scent of fresh coffee is shocking in the otherwise stagnant air.

As she accepts the cup, Mel smiles and signs a question, sending a meaningful look Chell’s way. Chell sighs; whatever databases Virgil has access to, they clearly aren’t accessible on the moon, because Conly understands not one lick of ASL.

“She says you mentioned there’s three of you,” she reluctantly translates.

“Oh, right!” The nearest chair groans its protest as Conly all but falls into it. “You guys haven’t met Stirling! Probably for the best actually, he’s kind of upset about a puppy right now. Speaking of…” She glances at the various security cameras spread throughout the room before turning toward Wheatley. “The little guy’s gone awfully quiet. Have you heard anything from him?”

“Not a peep. I gather we probably scared him off.”

“Uh-huh.” Conly turns back around – her entire torso literally spins 180 degrees – and leans over the table, unperturbed. “Not like he can do anything, anyway. I’ve got alarms and firewalls set up in every single system to keep him out.” She huddles closer, lowering her voice in a faux whisper. “I left some of the minor ones breakable. Drives him up the wall every time he cracks something only to realize it’s the electrical soap dispensers. Oh, that reminds me, don’t use any soap while you’re here. Or the icemaker in the fridge.”

“And he’s the one who wanted to bring Glados back?” Mel asks, Chell once again translating.

“Yeah. Don’t be too hard on him, though. He’s just a vacuum cleaner, he doesn’t really understand how dangerous she is.”

“He’s a… vacuum cleaner,” Chell echoes.

“How is he even smart enough to be sentient?” Mel asks, her face astonished.

Once the question has been translated, Conly lights up; literally, her optic goes a bright, vibrant blue. “That’s a common misunderstanding about artificial intelligence,” she says with the eagerness of someone given an excuse to talk about their favorite topic. “People used to think if they just crammed enough information into their algorithms, sentience would just, sort of, pop into being, but awareness doesn’t actually have much to do with intelligence. A calculator won’t suddenly gain the ability to reason independently, but a dog is able to think and feel on its own, if on a limited level.

“The trick isn’t to make robots smarter, it’s to find a way to simulate feelings and give them the ability to understand and act on those stimuli. So, say, a turret isn’t actually very smart, but it’s still way more alive than an average computer because we found a way to make it feel and think.”

“How do you accomplish that?” Mel signs, Chell translating.

“Extrapolation from brain scans, mostly. When we scanned and uploaded a personality, we could see how awareness translated into the machine, and then we could find ways to independently incorporate that into robots who had no human roots. With Stirling, I programmed him to react on seeing a mess, but instead of that triggering an automated cleaning response, it triggered simulated negative feelings. So he isn’t programmed to clean, he actually chooses to do it because it’s what he wants. It makes for a much more motivated worker than a non-sentient roomba, and he’s able to solve obstacles on his own rather than getting stuck under the sofa all the time. Clever, right?”

“You created a sentient being and brainwashed it to clean,” Mel signs.

“He tried to kill you,” Chell adds.

“Well, yeah, I didn’t think about that at the time. He’s just a vacuum.”

“And Glados is just an operating system.”

“Guess that’s why I – they ­– underestimated her. Speaking of, she’s really back in control?”

Chell nods. “Technically, yes. But She isn’t controlling us. This isn’t – we aren’t here because we’re trying to escape, or because She’s making us, or anything like that.”

“So you’re working together? You… trust her?”

“What? No.” Chell gives her a horrified look. “We needed Her and She needed us. That’s it.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to imply anything. It’s just, I guess I feel kind of responsible for her?”

“Responsible,” Chell says slowly, not liking where this is going.

“Yeah.” Emilia deflates. “I worked on her. Human-Emilia did, I mean. I’m just a neural copy of her. You can still call me Emilia, though. I feel like her and she’s dead so it doesn’t really make a difference except on a philosophical level.”

Chell takes a long sip of her drink. It’s pretty watery, but something about it triggers something in the back of her mind that makes her want to wail with a familiarity she didn’t know she’d been missing. There’s still coffee out in the wider world, but it tastes nothing like this. Hopefully there’s no arsenic in the creamer.

“You were human?” Mel asks, gaping. She has to elbow Chell to remind her to translate.

“Depends on your definition of ‘was human’. It’s more like I was created with pre-programmed personality and memories. The actual Emilia was still around after she scanned her brain. Until Glados killed her and everyone else, that is.

“You’re weirdly calm about this,” Chell says, eyeing her.

Conly laughs. “I did have a bit of an existential crisis at the start, not gonna lie. Waking up and not having any hands, a few centuries out of date, everyone else dead; it was really weird. But I’ve had lots of time to acclimate. Getting a body helped, too.”

“I was wondering about that.” Mel eyes her curiously. “I haven’t met any other robots who are…”

She hesitates, hands hanging in the air, until Chell suggests, “Humanoid?” at which she nods.

“It’s pretty cool, right?” Servos whirr and hinges click as Conly holds her arms wide.

It looks less like an actual body and more like a narrow metal frame: two long arms and two longer legs, between them a cradle to hold the core. All in all it gives the impression of a frankensteined together skeleton with a melon sized, one-eyed head for a torso.

Mel gives a forced thumbs up. Chell just sips her coffee. “I’ve seen better.”

Conly places her hands – showing off fingers with too many joints – on what could generously be referred to as her hips. “You aren’t very nice.” Then she slumps. “You’re probably right, though. There’s a limited supply of parts to work with up here. I’ve got half a dozen prototypes lying around and most won’t even move. This is literally the best I could put together. It gives me a lot of maneuverability, though. Most other cores don’t see the need since being hooked up to a management rail gives them direct system access, but I like the familiarity.” She laughs again, but this time it comes off more frantic than before. “Helps me stay sane!”

“As long as it helps you to not end up like Glados,” Chell mutters over her coffee. She’s finding it hard to put down, clinging to it with both hands.

Mel turns to stare at her. “She was human?”

“Used to help run the place, before it decided to eat her.” A small, petty smile curls Chell’s lips, while Mel leans back in her chair looking dazed. “Her name was Caroline, back then.”

“I think she might be different from me, though,” Conly says. “I mean, obviously she’s different, but – I’m a copy of the original. I don’t think she is.”

Chell frowns. “Explain.”

“You have to remember, I wasn’t actually there for any of it,” Conly clarifies. “This is all theories based on incomplete records. But something about how she went completely off the rails immediately when activated… Nothing like that happened to me, and I’m a much earlier prototype. Besides, Cave was looking for immortality; a digital clone wouldn’t have been good enough for him. I think Caroline’s consciousness was actually, literally transferred, and that the process… damaged her, somehow.”

“That’s so sad,” Mel signs. Chell doesn’t particularly agree – Caroline chose to work for Aperture, she can suffer the consequences – but she translates anyway.

“She doesn’t remember being human,” she adds, retroactively. “So yeah, I’d call that damaged.”

Conly’s evident unease washes off as she zeroes in on Chell. “Wait, really? She doesn’t remember? Huh.” She falls back in her chair, one hand tapping thoughtfully on the metal frame of her core; a surprisingly human tic. “That’s interesting. I wonder if she blocked the memories herself or if the scientists partitioned them. Maybe they wanted the intelligence of Caroline without the actual personhood.”

Something about that sounds alarmingly familiar to Chell. “Sounds like the way they treated test subjects.” A thought occurs to her. “Maybe Caroline was trying to stop all that, and that’s why they hid her memories.”

“What, Caroline? No no, I don’t know where you got that idea, but she would’ve died before she put test subjects before Aperture. It was all about the science to her. Did you know” – Conly raises a finger as if about to deliver an Interesting Fact – “that it was her idea to start using employees as test subjects? She was really good at making do with what we had. With how Cave ran things, Aperture would’ve collapsed decades earlier without her.”

“But…” Chell frowns. “She saved me. Glados started to remember being Caroline, and that made Her want to save me.”

“Really? When?”

“A few years ago. I don’t know if Wheatley told you” – Chell sends a glare his way and he shrinks into his frame like a burrowing rabbit – “but he took over the Facility for a while and threw me and Glados into Old Aperture. We had to work together to get back up and kick him out before he blew up the entire Facility. I nearly died in that final fight, but Glados – Caroline–”

“I doubt it was the innate niceness of Caroline that made her save you. I’d guess it was more like – like getting attached to a farm animal. You might really like this one pig because you handfed it or something, so you save it from the slaughter, but you’re still going to go on killing other pigs. You haven’t changed your mind about anything, you just decided this one pig was special.”

Chell can feel herself blanching.

“Farm animals?” Mel gapes, hands hanging in the air in limp shock. “Pigs?” Chell points emphatically at her as she translates.

Conly shrugs. “It’s just an analogy. I’m not saying you’re literally pigs, just that you functioned as– ah, I’ll just stop talking now, alright?”

Chell stares at her rapidly cooling coffee. It all makes a horrifying kind of sense. If your entire way of life is based on killing pigs and you’ve never cared about one before, getting attached to one would freak you out. What if you were getting weak? What if you couldn’t do your job anymore? No, better to blame that attachment on some small insignificant part of yourself, and then delete that part. Then, of course, send away whoever triggered that attachment so you never have to find out if what’s left of you still cares.

She hadn’t killed Chell, even after She deleted Caroline. That had to mean something.

A loud yawn cuts through the tension. Chell looks up just as Mel signs an apologetic, “Sorry.”

“You must be tired.” Conly stands. “It’s the middle of the night where you came from. Why don’t you get some sleep, and I’ll start preparing things to head back to Earth so we can leave first thing in the morning. There’s… someone I want to bring with me when we go.”

Chapter Text

Conly leads them from the cafeteria to the employee resting room, pointing out various parts of the Spire as they go.

“That’s the cryo bay over there,” she says, gesticulating at a heavily reinforced door. “We’ve got nearly a dozen people in there! Pretty cool, right? The last human Aperture employees. Imagine the back-pay they’re owed!”

While the cryo bay appears securely sealed, the rest of the Spire is worryingly unstable. Lights flicker, automatic doors get stuck halfway, entire sections are sealed off with warnings hand-painted on the closed doors.

“We lost pressure in those parts,” Emilia explains. “Walls and windows are in pretty bad shape, so only a few areas still have air. If you’re going to go wandering about, I suggest putting your suits back on. Most of this floor is fine, but don’t go unlocking any doors.”

Once they reach the resting area, she digs some – very dusty – blankets from a cabinet. Handing them over, she nods apologetically at a pair of cracked faux-leather sofas.

“No beds, I’m afraid. Boss didn’t want us sleeping on the job, after all.”

Above her shoulder, a poster proclaims the importance of a well-rested mind, and sternly reminds them not to loiter for longer than twenty minutes.

She still speaks of Aperture employees as “us”, Chell notes. Does she still hold any kind of company loyalty? She clearly isn’t loyal to Glados, but that doesn’t mean she’s trustworthy; Wheatley wasn’t loyal to Glados either, and look how that turned out. Best be careful around her and not forget she was a scientist at this place. What was it Glados said the first time Chell killed her? Good people don’t end up here.

The sofas are just as uncomfortable and weirdly sticky as they look. Chell has stripped off her suit to use as a pillow, but it’s lumpy and coarse and has moon dust on it. Is moon dust poisonous just as is, or do you have to mix it into conversion gel first? As she turns over and tries to get comfortable, Mel catches her eye and grins.

“We’re going to sleep on the moon.”

“You’re way too enthusiastic about all this,” Chell grumbles, burrowing deeper beneath her dusty blanket.

“How can’t I be? We’re in space. And even if we weren’t, this would still be the most exciting thing that’s happened to me since I got out of the Facility.”

“Exciting,” Chell scoffs.

“I’m serious! I’ve always wanted to do – to be – something, you know? Being an athlete didn’t pan out, ‘furthering science’ didn’t pan out, and then I woke up in the future and I was just no one. I feel like a child, like I can’t do or understand anything. I just go to work and try not to break anything and that’s it. No one expects me to be capable of even sending an electronic mail.”

Electronic mail. Chell snorts. “So you came back to Aperture?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here, too? We’re displaced. We’re lonely. Aperture isn’t home, but it's the closest thing we’ve got to a past we recognize and people – robots, but still – who understand us.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I believe I came back because you were going to get yourself killed.”

Mel makes a noise that’s almost a laugh, breathless and choked. “I’ve never met someone who lies to themselves as much as you do.”

Aggravated, Chell half sits up, leaning on her elbows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You and her went through a lot together. Trying to kill each other, trying to save each other. It’s bound to tie you closely together, whether or not you want to.”

Chell stares unblinkingly at Mel as she says, very slowly, “You think She and I are friends?”

“I think you’re attached to each other. Like… like a hostage and a kidnapper. You want to hate her, but you’re reliant on her, both emotionally and physically.”

“I am not.”

“I think you are, though, and it’s a vulnerability. You’re not objective about her. The way you talk about her, it’s obvious you want her to have changed. You want to trust her, because she’s the only one in this world who truly knows you and what you’ve gone through. I just don’t know if she has. Virgil and Emilia certainly don’t think so, and if they’re right, being reliant on her is dangerous.”

“I’m not reliant on Her!”

Mel is starting to look agitated, her words clearly not hitting home. “You are! You’ve been running around alone in the wilderness for three years, unable to move on. You’re still stuck down there, with her, refusing to move on. It’s dangerous. She’s dangerous.”

All at once, familiar iciness settles over Chell like a fog. The heat in her cheeks and chest go away and she sits back on her cot, looking at Mel the way she might look a test to solve – or a test to break.

“At least I’ve been making a life for myself out there. You were just waiting for an opportunity to run back here. Did you even care about saving some random stranger or did you just want to be the person who did it? You don’t even see how sad that is, do you? You were so obsessed with being someone that you destroyed your life before Aperture, and now you’re prepared to throw it away again just so you’ll have the chance to not be nobody. You don’t care about saving anyone any more than I do. You’re just so empty and sad that you can’t find a way to live if you aren’t chasing a way to be adored. On your own, you’re nothing.”

In the low light, Mel’s face has gone ashen. Chell lies down and turns her back to her.

Despite having already successfully wiled away half a decade on the moon, this one night’s wait is agony. Emilia is crouched in the cryo bay, preparing Jane’s pod for departure. It isn’t technically very difficult – if she started pulling plugs and attaching batteries as an external power supply it’d be done in no time – but she’s making a pointed effort to triple check every single step. Partly because Jane’s already in poor shape and the smallest slip-up could send her over the edge, partly because she needs to pass the time somehow. Chell and Mel had looked about ready to crash; if they’re to face Glados on returning, they’ll need to be rested and ready. That means eight full hours of sleep. Well; they’ll probably get by on six. Maybe five if Emilia gets too to antsy to stand it.

But there’s a portal out there leading back to Earth right now. If Emilia took off running she’d probably make it in a matter of minutes. She could be back in a proper, non-recycled atmosphere, find real help for Jane (and find out her real name), see birds and bugs and grass again, walk in normal gravity again–

Begin dealing with the mess human-Emilia left behind. Again.

Stirling still hasn’t made a peep since his earlier tantrum. It’s beginning to become unsettling, making Emilia look over her shoulder and jump at every creak. The first couple of years up here, before Wheatley popped up virtually out of nowhere, there’d been just the two of them; her trying to salvage anything she could, him running interference at every turn. She wasn’t even sure he’d wanted anything anymore. Already he’d failed in every way that mattered, and with no access to the Facility – or Glados’ remains – there’d been no way for him to start over.

In the end, she suspects he craved simple revenge. What else did he have left? Once he’d even tried shutting down the cryo bay, killing Jane and the other humans, despite it offering no real advantage if he pulled it off. Realizing what he was trying to do had sent Emilia the closest to spiraling over the edge since being banished to space. She hadn’t left the cryo bay for weeks, terrified he’d try again. This was before she’d built her first body. She’d just been going back and forth on the management rail, obsessively combing through security protocols.

He never did give it another go, though. Probably because of the heightened security she’d installed. Never mind that he kept poking at every single other system, secured or not. Having seen Emilia’s reaction, maybe he worried that, if he broke her badly enough, she’d blow up the entire Spire and kill them both.

There’d been quiet times, too. Moments of cooperation, even. Neither of them wanted to die, and whenever their limited energy supply went on the fritz – which happened more often than Emilia was comfortable admitting – they’d slot together easily to solve it. She’d created him, after all; they’re made to work together. Things would calm and he’d stop trying to undermine her and she’d think that hey, maybe he isn’t so bad, and then she’d tell some harmless joke and he’d lose it at her again. She doesn’t know what he wants from her. Suffering, probably.

And now this silence.

“Wheatley?” she calls. “You there?”

He shouldn’t be – he’s supposed to be keeping an eye on security in case Stirling attempts one last Hail Mary – but he’s distractible and doesn’t like being alone any more than she does.

“Yeah?” a familiar voice predictably pipes up. A nearby management rail hums quietly as he glides into view. “Everything alright, luv?”

“Just anxious.” She rhythmically taps her fingers against the glass lid of the cryo pod, then forces brightness into her voice. “So Chell is pretty cool. Kind of scary, right?”

“You have no idea. Did you know she outsmarted every single trap I laid for her? Even the spinny blade wall! No one suspects the spinny blade wall! And, and get this, she smashed every single giant screen I had.”

Emilia doesn’t even have to fake the laugh that bubbles up. God, imagining Wheatley trying to herd that woman through a testing track; it must’ve been a nightmare. No wonder he’s so scared of her.

“You had it coming, though,” she says, a grin in her voice.

“I mean, yeah.” He can’t shrug, but he does a sort of jittery motion up on the rail. “I did try to kill her.”

They chitchat as Emilia works, and the shroud of anxiousness slowly lifts from her shoulders. This is what she likes about Wheatley. As long as she doesn’t expect him to be able to pull off a serious task, he really is good company. Nothing takes your mind off isolation and a slow death in space like endless, lighthearted prattle. She doesn’t know how she’d have managed without him.

“I think that’s it,” she says eventually. She stands, about to wipe her oily hands on her legs before remembering this body doesn’t come with pants. “I need to get a cart or something so we can move this thing around. You good to head back to security?”

“Yeah, sure, that’s no prob– security! I was supposed to be there!”

Emilia wishes she could grin. “I’m sure it’s fine. Make sure to check the soap dispensers, though.”

Wheatley must not get the joke, because he zooms away in an awful hurry, presumably to make sure Stirling hasn’t sprayed the bathroom walls with expired soap again. Emilia follows at a slower pace, then veers off down a corridor toward the storage rooms. She’s pretty sure she saw a handcart in there somewhere.

“So. Here you are. All alone.”

Emilia stops. Looks up at the ceiling in befuddlement. “Stirling? Are you trying to be ominous?”

A camera is aimed at her, observing quietly. Letting her optic light brighten, Emilia waves at it.

“I wondered where you went off to. Hear the big news? We’re heading back to puppy-and-pony land!”

No response. Maybe she shouldn’t have tried to be funny. It never seems to work on him, but it’s just so satisfying.

“You really do think I’m stupid, don’t you?” he says once he’s been quiet long enough to make clear his dissatisfaction with her general demeanor. “All those holes in the firewalls, you left them open on purpose. Just because you think it’s funny to mess with me.”

“Nah, don’t look at it like that. It’s more like – enrichment.”

“You don’t take anything I do seriously. Never even bothered to wonder why I kept walking into your obvious little traps! It’s not like I was smart enough to ever find a backdoor into the main system from the soap dispensers.”

Emilia snorts. “You can’t hack your way in from soap dispensers.”

“Maybe you can’t.”

She tilts her head-torso up at the camera, squinting. “Are you saying…”

“I used to think you were dead, you know.”

Rolling her eye, Emilia dismisses the nagging suspicion and resumes walking. “Doesn’t explain why you keep trying to kill me.”

“I just couldn’t see any other reason you’d disappear the way you did.”

Stirling goes on as if she’d never spoken. Emilia decides to let him keep going. He gets like this sometimes; the quickest way out is usually through. She does her best to tune him out.

“We used to do everything together! And then one day you were just – gone.”

“Probably because I got promoted,” Emilia mutters, not intending for him to pick it up. She doesn’t know for sure what happened in their shared past, but a promotion would make sense. She was just a low-level grunt when she built Stirling; if she got moved from the lower floors to a better equipped lab, he was probably left behind with all the other stuff she no longer needed. She’s tried explaining all this before, but he doesn’t seem to understand the divide between this Emilia and the human Emilia who built him. And besides, even if she was the same person who left him behind, how was she supposed to know it’d upset him? He’s a vacuum.

“I figured you’d never just leave, so you had to be dead. But then there you were, showing back up as if you’d never left. Ruining all of my plans, just as I was about to fix everything.”

“Blow it up, more likely.”

“Anyway, I just wanted you to know.”

There’s something final to his words. Squinting, Emilia looks around until she finds another camera. “Know what?”

“That it would’ve been better if you were dead.”

She’s about to respond – that’d been dark even for Stirling – when the camera light blinks once before turning the lens back to its default position. She’s still staring perplexedly at it when the intercom crackles and Wheatley’s voice comes through.

“I don’t want to alarm you, and this is probably nothing, but I think maybe something is horribly wrong.”

“If this is about those soap dispensers–”

“I can’t access part of the security system.”

“You – what?”

“I didn’t do anything, promise! It’s just all dark, the cameras, the alarms, the firewalls–”

Her insides going cold, realization hits Emilia like a crusher. She turns on her heel and starts sprinting back toward the cryo bay.

“Which part?” she shouts.

“Sorry, didn’t quite hear you there, what did you say?”

“Which part! Which part of the Spire did he get access to?!”

“Oh, um.” A pause, the sound of rifling papers – which is ridiculous, nothing here is done on paper – before, “The garbage room.”

Emilia screeches to a halt so quickly she nearly faceplants to the floor. “The what?”

“Garbage room, it says here. You know, incinerators, recyclers. All turned off, of course; have to conserve the energy.”

“What in the world does he want with the garbage room?”

“Sorry, who’re we talking about? Oh, I just found how to turn the alarms back on, hold on.”

Immediately, alarms start screaming from all directions.

“Sorry!” Wheatley shouts. “Didn’t mean to turn them on-on!”

But Emilia is barely aware of him speaking anymore. There’s nothing in the garbage room except, well, garbage. Old parts beyond repair, broken furniture, her discarded prototypes–

Her discarded prototypes.

No. He wouldn’t – would he? She discarded them for a reason. Most can’t stand upright, the ones that can are barely able to walk a straight line, and she’s cannibalized all of them for so many spare components she doubts they’ll hold it together for more than a few minutes.

A few minutes is all he needs to get to the portal, though.

“Wheatley!” she shouts, picking her run back up. “Get ready to leave!”

For the second night in a row, Mel is woken up by a barrage of noise.

She groans, turns over, and is rudely reminded that she’s been sleeping on a sticky, hard sofa, not in her own bed. Her back hurts and when she rubs a hand over her face, she finds dust and flakes of faux-leather stuck to her skin. Blearily, she wonders if there are still functioning showers in the Facility.

Over the noise of the alarm, the resting room intercom whines with feedback before Conly’s voice comes through.

“Don’t panic! I mean – shit – it’s fine, nothing to worry about. Maybe put your suits on? Yes, absolutely do that.”

Mel looks over at Chell, who’s already upright and looking around with wary alertness as she steps into her repurposed diving suit.

“Better hurry up,” she says, not looking Mel’s way. “Before we lose our air.”

By the time they’ve located Conly in a security office she pointed out the day before, the alarm has gone silent, and Mel figures the immediate threat is over. It’s almost disappointing; she was getting all fired up and ready to start flinging herself through portals to escape.

She removes her helmet, puts her gloves inside, and places them in a corner of the room. She doesn’t want to leave herself borderline unable to communicate again, and since she still has the rest of the suit on she’ll hopefully be able to seal up quickly if the need arises.

“I can’t believe–” Conly is saying as Mel steps up next to her. She’s seated in front of an array of screens, some of them showing lines of code Mel couldn’t parse her way through if she was handed a map, others security camera feeds. On one, a clumsy figure is making its way across the pockmarked moon surface, seemingly away from the Spire. There’s a glint of blue, and the figure disappears. Conly slams her fist on the work desk, dangerously close to a keyboard. “The little shit actually ran off with my body.”

Mel blinks. On Conly’s other side, Chell says, “Sorry?”

“My body. Well, a prototype. Told you I had a bunch lying around. Dammit, I knew he was being too quiet yesterday, he was planning this.”

Mel taps a fingernail against the desk for attention, then signs, “Couldn’t he have done this anytime? Why now?”

“Because we’re here,” Chell says, not bothering to translate Mel’s question. Mel glares at her but Chell’s gaze is glued to the now empty moonscape on the screen. “That’s the direction of our portal. He went back to the Facility.”

“That’s why I’m worried,” Conly says. “Last we were down there he tried to repair Glados and I stopped him. If he tells her…”

“It’ll be fine,” says Chell.

“She’ll kill me! Or, I don’t know, close the portal and trap me on the moon forever.”

“She still wants the Spire back. It’s a point of pride, I think. And She won’t kill you.”

“She will, though,” says a voice from the ceiling. Mel looks up, finding Wheatley watching them twitchily from his management rail. “She’ll kill us all! We’re all going to die!”

A tiny spark shoots out from his cracked optic, as if to punctuate the words.

“She’d probably kill you, yeah,” Chell says. “But She won’t kill me. Not now. And I don’t say that because I trust Her.” She shoots Mel a sidelong look; Mel narrows her eyes back. “But I do know Her. She has things She needs done, and I – we – can do them. As long as She wants me to do something for Her, She’s unlikely to go after the people I’m working with, and if She tries anyway I’ll tell Her to stop.”

Wheatley gives a frantic little laugh. “And what, She’ll listen to you?”

“As long as She needs me. She doesn’t need you, though.” Chell eyes him coldly. “Neither do I.”

Wheatley shrinks inside his frame.

“Either way, I don’t want to risk waiting.” Conly stands, Mel having to step away from the desk to give her room. Chell doesn’t bother moving aside. “I mostly finished preparing while you two slept, just let me go get something. There’s a bag in the cafeteria, go put Wheatley in that while I’m gone.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Wheatley splutters.

“You put her in a potato.” Conly is already halfway out the door. “But by all means, if you want her to see you, go ahead.”

Wheatley slumps. “Maybe I should just… stay here. On the moon. Forever.”

***

By the time they meet up by the makeshift airlock, Mel is suited back up and Chell has a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. No one had asked her to be the one to carry it, but as Mel was busy finishing zipping Wheatley inside Chell had simply picked it up unprompted, as if believing herself the only one capable of carrying it.

“It smells like socks in here,” Wheatley complains as they all squeeze into the makeshift airlock. “I mean, not literally, I don’t have a sense of smell as such, but there are old socks in here. Not accusing you of anything, just saying that maybe – just maybe! – you could’ve found a different–”

His voice fades as air is pumped out. Mel gives a relieved sigh at the blessed silence.

“Placing the portal,” she signs as best she can, then hefts her portal gun and takes aim at the least damaged wall. The blue portal sparks into being, giving them direct access airlock-to-airlock without having to step back out onto the moon’s surface. It’s dark on the other side.

Her suit intercom crackles. “Mel, will you help me with this?”

Conly stands braced against a detached cryo pod, propped up on a wobbly-looking wheeled cart. Frost covers the glass, but there’s a face faintly visible underneath it, pale and drawn with nasty looking bruises under the skin. There’re more pods that were brought along with the Spire, but according to Conly, this one’s special: “her” test subject. The occupant looks like she shouldn’t be alive. Pieces of her body are literally missing, the wounds frozen solid but raw.

“I couldn’t help her up here,” Conly said when she showed up with the pod, Mel and Chell both staring at its gruesome contents. “But the Facility has a proper medical lab. Mostly meant for experimental surgery, of course, but it has better equipment then I’ve ever had here. Besides, I’m going to need to get pretty experimental to fix her.” She’d placed a hand on the glass with a soft clink. “If it wasn’t for her, I would never have woken up. I hope it isn’t too late to help her.”

Standing at one end of the pod to help steer it through the portal, Mel tries not to look at the deathly-looking face inside. Not so much out of squeamishness – she’s seen her fair share of injuries as an athlete – but because it makes uncomfortable recognition curl in her stomach. Logically, she knows she never looked this bad while in relaxation. She hadn’t been maimed by a faulty teleportation Spire before being put under. But still. Unlike this woman, no one had been looking after Mel, caring for her, mourning her potential death. If it wasn’t for Virgil chancing on her, she might never have woken up at all.

She’ll have to remember to thank him for that, now that she has the means to.

The moment she steps through the portal, gravity grabs her by the ankles and sucks her to the floor. She stumbles and catches herself on the pod, legs unstable and wobbly as if she’s just stepped off a boat or a trampoline. Moon-legs. Various aches and pains she’d barely been aware of before come back with a vengeance, upset at having to bear her full weight again. Already she misses the lightness of space.

The airlock is quiet, the featureless walls still dark. Mel realizes neither she nor Chell ever turned their communicators to Glados back on. Does she even know they’ve returned?

The door between the outer and inner airlock is closed, a small light above it glowing red, indicating it can’t be opened. Someone else has already gone through, leaving the far side once again pressurized. As Mel watches, the light starts to blink orange as vacuum is reestablished, then finally shifts to green. The door slides open, inviting them in.

They have to carefully navigate the stasis pod through the opening, the whole thing suddenly a lot heavier than in the Spire and them clumsy in the heavy gravity. In her distraction, Mel’s foot hits something hard, nearly making her stumble. She stops, squinting in the dark until she spots a piece of twisted metal a couple of meters away, having skittered away when she kicked it. Now that she’s looking, she notices several other pieces, all of them similar to parts of Conly’s makeshift body.

A sudden heavy vibration in the floor makes her jump; the door has closed, sealing them in the outer airlock. Moments later air hisses in all around them. A few moments more and the door on the far side opens, allowing them back into the Facility proper. Mel gratefully takes her helmet off and sucks in a deep breath. At the very top of the Facility like this, the air is fresh and cold, a stark contrast to the re-filtered atmosphere of the Spire and the deeper parts of Old Aperture. Speakers crackle on to welcome them.

“You survived; congratulations. And you brought another friend with you.” A beat as Conly waves awkwardly to the nearest camera. “Lovely.”

“We’re going to need an elevator,” Chell says. She glances at the cryo pod. “A big one.”

As they step out of the airlock to wait for Glados to return with a bigger elevator, they’re greeted by more metal body parts littered on the floor. By the wall lies the bulk of the body, limp and dead-looking. Mel nudges it with her toe. The cradle in the torso – misshapen compared to Conly’s updated model – is empty, no sign of the core itself. Of course, it may have rolled off the catwalk and plummeted into a pit.

“Looks like he didn’t get far.” She gestures at the pieces. “You think Glados did this?”

“No.” Chell points; right above the collapsed frame is an empty management rail.

“He plugged himself in!” Conly exclaims. “He might already have told Glados everything!”

“Or She might not even know he’s here. You’d be surprised how long this one managed to stay under her radar.” Chell looks unconcerned as she unzips her duffel bag and manhandles Wheatley out of it. He whirrs and buzzes, chattering excitedly now that he’s freed, then notices where they are.

“Careful, careful! Ooh that’s a long drop, please make sure you don’t–”

Chell stands on her toes and jams him up on the management rail. He screams and shoots sparks in response, which seems to be pretty standard behavior as far as Wheatley goes. Chell waits until he’s stopped gibbering, then points off down the management rail without a word. He blinks at her.

“Right, yes, thank you! I’ll just – head off, then. Before She comes back and kills me horribly.”

He doesn’t move.

“Keep your eye out for Stirling, okay?” Conly suggests, making him perk up and finally head off. She glances at Mel and Chell, shrugging sheepishly. “It’s not like he’ll actually find him. Besides, he likes to feel useful.”

“Is it okay to just… let him go?” Mel asks.

“Just don’t put him into Glados’ chassis and he’s harmless,” Chell says.

“Won’t she kill him?”

“If She notices him, probably. He’s a bit like cockroach, though. Good at staying hidden and surprisingly hard to kill.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Conly assures. “He’s the closest thing I had to friendly company for years; I’d rather not see him dead.”

Chell snorts like it’s a joke, which is funny considering she’s the one who took such care hiding him in the duffel bag and making sure he was safely out of the way before Glados returned.

Speaking of…

“What are we supposed to do now?” Mel signs. “Stirling already got away, should we–”

“I’m back!” the speakers abruptly announce, cutting her off. Mel quickly drops her hands and attempts to look like she wasn’t plotting. “And I brought a gift, since you are all too big for a standard size elevator. Very impressive.”

The floor begins to vibrate under their feet. Moments later, a panel rises up beside them, big enough for all three as well as the cryo pod but completely lacking walls or safety rails.

“There you go,” Glados says. “Try not to fall off. Blood is such a hassle to clean off.”

***

Mel stands unmoving and stiff-backed, one hand clutching white-knuckled to the cryo pod on the middle of the slowly descending platform. Her body hurts, from the reintroduction to gravity as well as from overall tension. Not because of the height or the shaking or the lack of rails – though those are certainly causes for concern – but because, as she’s forced to stand still and wait, mind going a mile a minute, the full ramifications of the current situation finally sink in.

They’re back in Glados’ clutches, and now that they’ve handed her a path to the Spire, she doesn’t need them anymore. Maybe she’s plotting to lower the platform all the way into an incinerator and wash her metaphorical hands of them right now. They could try to run, break their way out before she has the chance to act – Chell and Mel have both proven it’s doable – but they have discussed nothing. What with the lack of sleep, the excitement of being on the moon, meeting Conly, and Stirling’s escape, there’d been no time to think. One minute they’d been sleeping, the next they were throwing on their suits and dashing off like children late for school. At no point had anyone stopped to ask, ‘wait, what do we do when we get there?’

And they can’t run, can they? There’re still people in the Spire. Nearly a dozen of them, helpless and locked in freezers. There’s a frozen person right here, gravely wounded and in need of medical care immediately when defrosted. They won’t be able to just run and fight their way out, not unless they want to abandon the very people they came here to save. This situation requires finesse, discussion, cooperation. It requires a plan.

Unfortunately, Mel doesn’t do plans.

The platform doesn’t have walls, but it does have a camera and a speaker, mounted on poles in opposite corners. Carefully angling herself back to the camera – unnecessary as it is aimed unblinkingly at Chell, but Mel isn’t about to risk getting caught – she nudges Conly with her toe to silently catch her attention and signs, keeping her hands low and urgent, “Now what?”

Conly flinches, then glances conspicuously at the camera. Least subtle woman alive and she doesn’t even have a face with which to look guilty.

“I don’t know.” Her signs are clumsy and inexpert, her lack of facial expressions and somewhat inhuman anatomy making them doubly hard to decipher. Still, the message is hard to misinterpret. “Ideas?”

Well damn. Mel lives on momentum, impulse, on the eagerness clawing like desperation in her gut and lungs. Watching other people in her life dither about, it seemed to her planning leads to nothing but second thinking and doubt and not-getting-things-done. Her method of plowing ahead eyes wide open and risks be damned got her to America on an athletics scholarship, into the Olympics, out of Aperture, onto the moon.

Of course, it also broke her body, ruined her career, and stuck her in an icebox for a few centuries. She can’t be expected to be the one coming up with a viable plan. She needs someone to temper her. Someone to draw a route on the map even as she’s running it.

As surreptitiously as possible, she glances around for sneaky, glowing optics peering at her from concealed management rails, but no luck; just the vast insides of the Facility stretching on in a seemingly endless, hazy expanse of pipes, catwalks and vacuum tubes. If Virgil is around he’s making sure to stay hidden.

Unable to think of anything else, Mel signs, “Fight her?” glancing at the camera to indicate Glados. Conly, despite her lack of a face, looks dubious.

“So,” says Glados’ tinny voice, making Mel jump. “What did you find up there? Just a robot and a human popsicle?”

Conly laughs, but it’s forced and stilted. Glados ignores her.

“Found your Spire,” says Chell, not looking anywhere in particular as she speaks. She’s leaned one elbow on the cryo pod, showing not a hint of being ruffled despite them having been awake for less than twenty minutes and back on Earth for less than five. Mel starts to rattle with nerves as if having to make up for it. “It looks like shit.”

“Yes, thank you, I’m aware.”

That actually makes Chell look up, raising one eyebrow at the camera as if to say ‘then why did you ask?’ Glados, of course, ignores the look.

“Did you find anything after you so rudely turned me off? Really, I have never stopped you from talking, have I.”

For the longest moment, Chell seems like she’s going to decline to answer. Mel holds her breath, and while Conly surely can’t do the same she’s certainly being very still and quiet as they watch the conversation play out, their very lives and that of the frozen people hanging in the balance.

“There are more cryo pods,” says Chell eventually. “Not very many, but we’ll need to go back to pick them up, and Conly here” – she jabs a thumb at their new companion without looking, fully focused on the camera – “is going to need to assist with medical care.” She cocks her head. “That going to be a problem for you?”

“Why would it be?” Glados replies, all innocence. “Of course we need to get the tes– I mean the poor humans out of there. I’m already scheduling a return trip for you.” A beat of silence. “Is that all?”

Instead of outright lying, Chell says, deadpan in the face of Glados’ wheedling, “Should there be more?”

“I don’t know, should there?”

Chell looks – not rattled. Mel doesn’t think she gets rattled. But she sort of twitches and glances at Mel as if to ask for assistance, then says, in the most blatant, drawn out lie Mel has ever heard, “No.”

Mel can feel herself wince. Glados says nothing, like a parent waiting for a child with frosting on their face to confess to stealing the missing cookies. Conly, not having features to grimace with, simply stares shamelessly. Clearly, handing Chell sole custody of the reins of this interaction was a mistake. Though to be fair, had Mel known she was such a hideously bad liar, she’d have stepped in earlier.

She raps her knuckles against the glass lid of the cryo pod. Has to do it several times before the camera reluctantly turns toward her. “The one who caused this mess escaped,” she signs, keeping her face carefully neutral. “He’s unstable. Don’t trust him.”

Rather than acknowledge her, the camera turns back to Chell. Mel nearly feels insulted.

“Nothing, hm?”

Chell shrugs. “Didn’t seem important enough to mention. He’s just some core.” She turns her head side to side, pointedly taking in the surroundings. “Anything happen here while we were out?”

“Bloodshed was put in timeout for pecking his sister.”

“I’m sorry,” Conly blurts, seemingly unable to stay quiet any longer, “what?”

“I take principled rules very seriously. They only get to kill the things I tell them to kill.”

“They’re pet birds,” Mel signs, then adds, “Small ones,” when Conly starts looking around worriedly.

“But that isn’t important right now,” Glados goes on, rolling right on over the interruption. “I hope you enjoyed your time off, because I have a new job for you.”

Chapter Text

It's odd how large a space Aperture takes up inside Chell. Though she’s been through hell there twice, both visits were just that: visits. A few hours of absolute nightmarish torment. She may not remember the years of life she, presumably, had before, but she has had three years after, and in comparison they simply appear… dull. Routine and boredom and unimportant little things unendingly demanding her attention and every day getting back up and just going going going without even having anywhere to be headed.

Aperture were these brief intervals of bright, terrifying purpose between the humdrum of existence. A nightmare but somehow more real than reality.

Now it’s… she doesn’t know what it is anymore. She wakes up in the morning in her hard bed in the Relaxation Center and realizes it’s been a week since she got back. Glados hasn’t tried to kill her, or Mel, or Conly. None of them have been made to test. They’ve just been working; Conly in the medical wing with her unconscious test subject, Mel and Chell making rounds to the moon to bring cryo pods back and do repairs.

It’s been – nice. That isn’t the word for it. Chell isn’t sure what the word for it is. It’s not like she’s suddenly happy – isn’t sure whether she’s capable of being happy – but that restlessness which has dogged her for three years has subsided. She has a purpose again.

A buzzer goes off in the ceiling. Lights turn on.

“Rise and shine,” Glados says brightly. “My scans tell me you have had adequate rest, and there is Science to be done.”

Chell groans and rolls out of bed. Well, maybe she does miss that, in the outside world, no one ever woke her up at the crack of dawn and got away with it. She keeps her complaints to herself as she gets dressed, Aperture logo on her chest once again. Her old clothes had needed a wash, and weren’t very comfortable to wear under the vacuum suit anyway.

“You’re doing good work up there,” Glados says, following along as Chell shuffles through the corridors of the Relaxation Center – which looks less like a lab and more like an abandoned hotel – toward the nearest elevator. “Hardly anything broken, and you haven’t tried to kill me even once. I am very impressed with your restraint.”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us.” Chell stops at a vending machine to pick up breakfast, already dreading eating it. While the machine itself is shockingly functional, the contents are not dissimilar to cardboard or possibly plywood. She probably shouldn’t be eating it, but it isn’t like the Facility has fresh produce lying around, and she never had the chance to fill up on supplies. At least the vending machines don’t stock Aperture brand ‘dietary pudding’. “Besides, I usually only kill people in retaliation.” She picks something claiming to be chocolate flavored and grimaces at it. “You doing any progress?”

“Some. Your repairs help, but I won’t able to interface with and reactivate the Spire until the system software has been updated to match mine.”

“I still don’t think that’s a good idea, by the way.”

“And that is why I am the genius and you are the muscle. I’m not going to leave part of my Facility stranded on the moon. What if there’s something important in there that I’ll need?”

“You were fine without it for years.”

“That does not mean I don’t want it back. It’s mine.”

“Uh-huh.”

Chell rips open the energy bar and tears off a piece with her molars, her jaw grinding unhappily at the strain. Talking with Her like this still feels odd. Talking with Her at all feels odd. It’s like they’re friendly colleagues chit-chatting and jibing each other by the watercooler, or whatever it is colleagues do. Maybe Chell can ask Mel, she has a normal job, she should know.

At the thought, Chell freezes, vaguely chocolate flavored food going solid in her mouth as she glances around the corridor.

“What?” Glados asks.

“Nothing.” Chell wipes at her mouth and sets off toward the elevator with renewed vigor. They aren’t supposed to meet up at the airlock for another twenty minutes, so Mel should still be getting ready in her room, but she could come hunting for her own breakfast any second. Chell would rather not be here by then.

She slinks into an elevator, hitting a button and breathing a sigh of relief as it closes on the Relaxation Center. It’s quiet, but a barely audible white noise crackle of the intercom reveals Glados is still present.

“What?” Chell says around her half-chewed food.

“You are jumpy.”

She grimaces through her mouthful. “Am not.”

“Are too. Is something weighing on you? You know what they say about people with guilty consciences. You can tell me, I have a tester-testeé confidentiality agreement.”

Chell snorts. “You just made that up.”

“You can prove no such thing.” A beat of silence. “Where are you headed in such an awful hurry, anyway?”

“Might as well check in on Conly while I have time to kill.”

“Hm.”

Glados sounds displeased. She never likes it whenever Chell heads to the medical lab; it, like most of the office spaces, has no cameras. Still, the frozen humans need care, so She can’t exactly forbid them from going there while still keeping up their truce.

“I should put a bell on you,” She grumbles. “With a camera on it.”

“You could try.”

“You lot aren’t conspiring in there, are you? It would never work. I am much too intelligent to be taken off guard, and also heavily armed.”

“Why would we? You aren’t threatening us.” The silence sounds unimpressed. Chell rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Go do whatever it is You do, I can’t eat with You watching me.”

“That is patently untrue,” says Glados, but the intercom does click off, leaving Chell in blessed silence.

The elevator comes to a stop, doors sliding open. Idly chewing her energy bar, she steps out on the floor with the medical wing. There’s twenty minutes to kill, and she could use a general update on things.

Emilia is jittery. It’s an ever-present buzz like slightly too strong current running through her circuits, making her jumpy and oversensitive, and it has been building ever since two humans appeared on the moon and nearly shot her with a laser. Frankly, it’s been around for a lot longer – since she woke up in the shape of an orb, basically – but it had been low-level background noise for the longest time. Now it’s becoming hard to ignore. She’s found the best medicine is to stay occupied and not think of the many, many things that could blow up in her face at any minute. Since there’s plenty that needs doing, this works out fine.

Her new lab partner – as in, he refuses to leave the lab and is occasionally useful – has other ideas.

“Are you listening?” the little management core says, raising his voice to a shrill trill that makes Emilia nearly drop her screwdriver.

“Yes, geez.” She rubs at her audio receptor and glares at him. “You want to get the humans out, I heard you. And as I’ve already told you, they aren’t ready yet.”

“I want to get Mel out,” he clarifies. “The rest can come if they want to.”

“Most of them are popsicles.”

“Then they won’t object.”

Giving up on getting any further work done, Emilia smacks down the screwdriver and turns on Virgil. “You seriously think you could get her to leave without them?”

“Obviously not. Which is why I’m telling you to hurry up.”

“Are you hearing yourself.”

Emilia is a sociable woman. After half a decade in near isolation, there aren’t many people whose company she’d willingly turn down. Hell, even Glados had seemed a shockingly good conversationalist to Emilia’s starved mind. Virgil, though, she’s pretty sure she’d have liked even if she hadn’t just come out of a vacuum sealed tin-can in space. He’s clever and assertive and a good mechanical engineer (for a guy without hands) and knows a lot about the years of Aperture Emilia missed out on. But by god if he isn’t getting on her very last nerve.

“Come look at this.”

Abandoning her current project, she stalks over to the row of cryo pods that have been placed along the far wall, temporarily hooked up to a tangled mess of extension cords. There are functional – and empty – cryo storage facilities, but no one had wanted to leave the frozen subjects under the dubious care of Glados. This isn’t ideal – medical isn’t built to power nearly a dozen active cryo pods – but should be fine as long as they don’t plan to keep it going indefinitely.

She stops by the nearest pod, tapping her foot against the floor as she waits for Virgil. He approaches warily and stops a good distance away, as if expecting her to leap up, grab him, and stuff him into one of the freezers.

“Look at this.” She gestures wavily at the pod. “Look at this guy.”

The glass is misted over, with a smiley face on it that Emilia had idly finger-painted while working through some schematics in her head. Now she wipes it off, affording Virgil a full view of the human face below. He doesn’t look anywhere near as bad as Jane – for a starters, he still has all his limbs – but that isn’t saying much. Honest assessment is that he looks like shit. Long straggly hair, sallow and sunken skin, untrimmed beard. There’s what appears to be blood on his lab coat and dark stains on his face, as if he went under just after a firefight.

“He looks terrible,” Virgil says, before quickly backtracking. “I mean, ah, a nice stroll and some fresh air and he’ll be good as new. Probably.”

“He has gunshot wounds,” Emilia says, flapping her hand at the coffin-like pod and the might-as-well-be-a-corpse inside. “At least, that’s what I think they are, because I’m not a physical trauma expert. We won’t be able to just wake him up and send him on his merry way. He’s going to need medical care, and rest, and that’s not even accounting for possible brain damage from centuries in stasis – which they might all have, by the way – and I already have a patient and she’s even worse off and I’m a neuroscientist not a medical doctor and–”

Goddammit, she’s hyperventilating. When all this is over, she’s really going to have to do something about that forced breathing subroutine because this is absolute bullshit.

Virgil squirms unhappily on the management rail. “Hey, um, stay calm? Ah, I don’t know what to do, Mel never freaked out like this. Do you… need a hug?”

Emilia starts laughing in the middle of a breath; if she had an actual throat she would probably have choked. “You don’t have arms.”

“Yeah, well, thought I should offer.” He peers dubiously at her. “Are you okay now? No more… whatever that was? I can help you do some troubleshooting if you like.”

“You can stop nagging me.”

“Now that’s not fair,” he says, put off. “It’s your own fault you’re in this situation. You say you already have a patient? Well, you’ve also been saying for the last couple of days that she’s ready to be woken up, and instead you’re working on that.”

He gestures with his whole body, handles straining, at Emilia’s project. Spread out on a worktable is a metal, skeleton-like structure, still missing several limbs and an outer casing but already appearing more human than her current body. Around it is an assortment of tools scavenged from the robotics lab; Emilia could’ve taken to working there – it’s certainly where she’s most comfortable – but had been unwilling to leave her patients unattended. Finding and relocating all the equipment she needed had taken half a day.

“You need to stop dithering and wake her up. Once she’s stable – or dead – get going on the next guy. If you want to get these humans out before Glados remembers about them you’ll have to start getting things done.”

Emilia hesitates, but she knows he’s right. She defrosted Jane as soon as she could to be able to attend to her medically and has worked on her tirelessly for the better part of a week. Having access to proper, state of the art medical facilities makes a world of difference. Emilia can’t diagnose or do surgery, but she can put Jane in machines that can do those things, and she can build the cybernetic replacements said machines tell her are required to keep Jane functioning somewhat normally.

The last thing the diagnostic scanner had told her was ‘once adequately rested, wake patient’. It hadn’t stated the specifics of ‘adequately rested’, presumably because it was a sadist and wanted Emilia to suffer. Either way, she can’t plan for further treatment until she’s seen Jane’s physical response to the alterations. Which should be easy: just wake her up and see what happens.

Except that’s terrifying.

“Have you seen her?” she asks quietly, looking over at the gurney placed in the other end of the lab, surrounded by beeping life support equipment. Atop it lies Jane, nearly motionless. Only her chest rises and falls, and even that only faintly. Where parts of her body had previously been missing from the teleportation mishap, various cybernetic limbs now rest, all but stapled to her sallow skin, leaving it red and irritated, although not infected as of yet. Part of her hair has been shaved to give access to the skull, and the eye on that side had been too damaged to save.

“I know what it’s like waking up… different,” Emilia says. “Even if everything goes fine physically, she might still go into shock. She might hate me for doing this to her, just like Stirling.”

“On a positive note, she might also die immediately, and you won’t have to deal with any of that.”

Emilia shoots Virgil the most venomous glare she can accomplish with only one eye. He makes an awkward little noise of regret.

“Sorry, that wasn’t very positive, was it?”

“You really aren’t a people person,” she says, irked.

“I didn’t used to need to be! I’m a maintenance core! I maintain things! Talking to employees or other robots was never in my task list. Do you know how much this conversation is lowering my resource efficiency right now?”

“Explains you horrible manners.”

He gives an exasperated sigh. “Look, I get that you’re nervous, but she’s already woken up to this place once. She should be used to it.”

“That time she was still fully human.”

“And she – and the rest of the humans, for that matter – will be fully dead soon unless you give her a chance.”

As he’s saying that, the door to the lab slides open and one of the aforementioned humans steps inside. Virgil immediately perks up. As far as Emilia can gather, he stays hidden most of the time to avoid being detected by Glados, so he doesn’t get to hover over his friend’s shoulder and micromanage her every decision as much as he clearly wants to. Medical doesn’t have any cameras for Glados to spy through, though, so he can speak freely here.

“Mel,” he says cheerfully. “You’re up early. Couldn’t sleep?”

The woman makes a face. “The beds here are terrible.” Noticing Emilia, she smiles and gestures easily at her.

Now that they’re back in the Facility proper, Emilia has download an ASL file from the archive (there’re files for most spoken and written languages, she noticed, as well as code languages and something called ‘Pig Latin’) and recognizes the ‘good morning’ as it’s signed at her. Raising one hand, she manages a half-hearted greeting back.

Mel frowns, picking up on the heavy atmosphere. “Something wrong?”

“Just – discussing our options.” Almost against her own will, Emilia glances at Jane’s still form.

Mel follows her gaze and makes a face. “Still asleep?”

“I haven’t taken her off sedatives yet. She should be ready, but – well, I guess I’m a little nervous about the reaction.”

Walking over, Mel stops by the gurney and gazes down at the woman, a muscle in her cheek twitching as if she’s working her jaw. “Is she…” Hesitating, Mel taps her own temple.

Emilia joins her by the bedside. “The scans indicate some brain damage, but, um.”

“No worse than most test subjects you know?” The peculiar expression slips off Mel’s face as she smiles wryly.

“Speech and memory centers, yes. Anyway!” Emilia claps her hands together. “I just have to. Press that button there. And she’ll wake up. You know, eventually.”

She stares at the button on the machine connected to the IV, moving not an inch.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Virgil says when she’s been standing immobile for several horrible seconds. “The important thing is that she’ll be able to leave. She will be able to leave, right? I’m sure Mel could carry her. She’s an Olympian, you know.”

“I was a track runner, not a weight lifter.” Despite her correction, Mel smiles slightly at his boasting on her behalf, as if it’s a running joke between them. It makes Emilia miss Jane’s company, even if they only knew each other for a few hours.

“As long as she’s able to leave,” Virgil insists. “This has been going on for too long already, and there’s all those other people still on ice to deal with, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to get all of you out, and–”

Emilia reaches out and slaps a hand on the wake-up button. She makes a small noise, almost shocked by her own action, after which the room goes expectantly silent.

The door to the lab opens.

Emilia gives an embarrassing shriek and flails around in a half-circle. In the door stands Chell, chewing a half-eaten energy bar as she dispassionately surveys the medical lab. When she spots Mel, she stops chewing for a moment, then resumes with renewed vigor.

Emilia is a little bit scared of the woman – she’s killed Glados, twice – but she’s also so tense that she might snap in two and desperate for release.

“Chell!” she exclaims, bounding over and linking arms with her; it’s like holding on to an unbending steel bar, which is ironic given which one of them is made of metal. “Good morning, hope you slept well, etcetera, etcetera, come take a look at this.”

She drags Chell with her to the gathering around Jane, clinging to her like a lifeline. Chell looks resolutely down as she stuffs the last of her energy bar into her mouth, not extracting herself from Emilia’s grip but faintly straining against it, as if something unseen is pulling her back toward the entrance.

“I’m waking her up,” Emilia says cheerfully. “Hope you’re excited to meet her!”

Chell mumbles something noncommittal through her mouthful of food. Jane still doesn’t move. The whole thing is starting to feel like something of an anticlimax.

“Well,” Virgil says awkwardly, “we knew she wouldn’t wake right away. Just try to get her up and running as soon as possible, alright?”

“We should be ready to leave in a couple of days at most,” Mel signs, apparently deciding to go all in on the planning session now that everyone’s present and accounted for. “Once we” – she gestures between herself and Chell – “have gotten Glados full access to the Spire, she should be busy enough for us to sneak away before she notices, even with the extra people.” She glances upward. “Or extra robots.”

“Not if you want to get out safely,” Virgil says gently. “Someone needs to cover your tracks if she tries to stop you.”

Hearing it mentioned, Emilia realizes she’s spared little time to consider what she’s going to do once the immediate situation has been handled. Fixing Jane and getting the humans out is priority one, of course, and getting her hands on Stirling before he causes some new disaster is a close second. But after that? Should she leave? Would she even be able to survive on the outside, being what she is? Does she even want to leave?

Aperture is fucked up, but it’s her home. Not only because this iteration of her was, for a lack for a better word, born here, but because it’s where she strove to be for most of her human life. She’d clawed her way up from a lowly intern, had spent every waking moment on entrenching herself into this place, proving that she was worth keeping around. And then she’d fucked it all up for everyone.

“I think I need to stay, too,” she says. “This whole thing, the Glados of it all, wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for me. I need to, I don’t know, fix it. Fix her.”

“Thought it wasn’t you who created her,” Mel signs, a tad frustrated aggressiveness slipping into her gestures. “What happened to you and human-you being different people?”

“I still have a responsibility for what she did.”

Mel looks away, lips pursed and brows drawn.

In her distraction, Emilia’s grip on Chell has loosened; now the other woman easily slips out of it and turns to move back to the door.

“Chell?” Emilia turns after her, realizing suddenly that Chell hasn’t uttered a word since entering. “Didn’t you want something?”

Chell moves her head slightly to the side, acknowledging the rest of them but not fully looking at them. “Nothing important. I’ll start heading up to the airlock.” She raises her chin, aiming her next words at Mel. “Catch you in a bit.”

Chell’s halfway up the catwalk to the elevator when a voice psts at her from behind a crooked wall panel, interrupting her escape. She sighs and stops, at once annoyed and relieved at the distraction from the maelstrom her thoughts turn into whenever someone tries to discuss leaving.

“There you are,” Wheatley whispers. “So I’ve been looking for that Stirling guy, right? And you won’t believe what I found.”

Chell starts walking again. “Not a thing?”

Machinery whirrs as Wheatley follows her, only intermittently visible between panels. “Not one thing. Not a trace, not a sound, zilch, zero, nothing. It’s like he somehow magically cleans up every single track he leaves behind. But don’t worry, I’ll find him, I just need to. Um. Figure out how.”

“Uh-huh.”

In the week since they got here, Chell has seen neither hide nor hair of Stirling (not that he has either), and though both Wheatley and Virgil have been zooming around looking for him, neither have they. In a place as large and chaotic as Aperture, it’s easy to hide.

No one wants to stay hidden forever, though.

The thought makes Chell frown. If Stirling admires Her so much, he’s probably looking for a way to get back in Her good graces. What if he tricks Virgil to reveal his plans to help get all humans out of the Facility whether She gives Her permission or not, or Wheatley to fall into Glados’ clutches?

She stops walking. “Let him roam about if he wants. The best thing you can do is stay out of both his and Her way.”

Only partially visible between the panels, Wheatley deflates.

“Oh, yeah, of course, I get it, you don’t need to say anything.” He laughs, but it’s so forced it sounds more like cogs catching. “I was real – real bossy last time, just proper awful. Didn’t ask for your opinion or anything, just, just went ahead and started testing. Easy mistake to make, I know, could’ve happened to anyone, don’t know why they hardwired that itch into the system, but, I feel I should just say, in case I haven’t already, that I’m really sorry. Very sorry. Incredibly so. It absolutely will not happen again.”

Chell closes her eyes and begs for patience.

Despite Glados’ assertions (and Wheatley’s own efforts to prove them right), she doesn’t actually think he’s an idiot. She doesn’t think he’s particularly smart, either, but he’s the one who broke her out of a testing track right from under Her nose, who thought to ruin Her turrets and neurotoxin, who guided Chell safely – more or less – through the Facility. It’s less like he’s a moron, and more like he’s hardwired to, whenever he has an idea or a problem to solve, settle on the least efficient way possible to go about it. Try to get around Her notice by talking in a different accent; bypass a door by means of silent contemplation; stop the warnings of impending reactor meltdown by shutting down the announcer.

She remembers Conly a week ago on the moon, explaining how intelligence doesn’t equal sentience. Maybe sentience also doesn’t equal the complex messiness of humanity. It’s something she’s noticed with many of the robots around the Facility; they have very one-track personalities. Self-aware cores who speak of nothing but space or silly facts or cake recipes, or who display no traits other than a childish inquisitiveness or incoherent rage. Even Her, inhumanly clever that She is, can hardly divert Her mind from science and testing.

Unlike humans, they’ve each been made with a unique purpose. Conly had all but confirmed as much when talking about creating Stirling; how to make a person and hardwire them to, unlike a human, want only one thing.

But Glados had become better, when removed from the mainframe. Wheatley had been made worse when hooked up to it. Conly has disconnected entirely, interacting with the Facility not through an interface of mind and management rail but of keyboards and screens, and she seems still nearly human despite her years spent in an android body. Chell wonders, briefly, what would happen if they were all completely removed from the Facility. The place is a rot, corrupting the center of all who dwell in it. Without it, would they grow around the purpose they had been given, become more than their design? Or would it follow them, leave them lost and aimless in a world with no place for something built with a singular aim?

Maybe that’s why Chell finds the outside world so alien. She’s been shaped by this place just as much as the robots. She isn’t human, just a thing made to survive.

Wheatley’s purpose had been to give Her exceedingly poor ideas. Now, he can no longer fulfill that purpose.

Besides, he likes to feel useful, Conly says in her head. Chell sighs.

“Just keep your eye out. If you find him, call for one of us. Don’t do anything hasty.”

“Right, yeah.” Wheatley perks up. “Better to have someone with hands around when dealing with rogue cores, am I right? Very useful, they are. Bit unsettling, actually. Lots of moving parts. Oh, by the way, that other human is looking for you. The one with the red hair? Or is it auburn? I can never tell the difference.”

“Shit,” Chell swears. “Don’t tell her I–”

The catwalk clangs as someone new steps onto it, close enough for Chell to feel the vibrations travel up her feet.

“Oh, there she is now, coming right this way.”

Chell very pointedly doesn’t turn to look. Wheatley, noticing her change in demeanor, quickly zooms off. Chell stays exactly where she is as Mel approaches. It’s not like she could hide now, not unless she plans to leap off the catwalk.

The thought is strangely tempting.

They haven’t been alone together since that night in the Spire. Of course, they go back there together to do work nearly every day, but they’re never actually alone during those visits; Glados is always right there, listening and watching through their helmet cams, ordering them about via intercom. Besides, the clunky suits and gloves aren’t very conducive to ASL. Whenever they’re in the Facility proper, Chell keeps away. She simply doesn’t have it in her to have some mushy heart to heart with a woman she doesn’t actually know but who seems intent on somehow fixing her.

She doesn’t turn to face her as she approaches, even knowing full well how rude she’s being. Mel has to walk around her, physically placing herself in Chell’s line of sight.

“Hey,” she signs.

Chell nods back.

“I think we need to talk.”

“Why?” Chell snaps, dams bursting. “We aren’t friends, Mel. I don’t know you, and I don’t particularly care to.”

“Why?”

The question catches Chell off-guard. She blinks a couple of times, then glares. “What do you mean, why?”

“Why do you not want to be friends?”

“I don’t have friends.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t. Because I can’t.”

“That’s silly. I’m right here.”

Chell bares her teeth. “That right there is why. People don’t get it. You don’t get it. You want me to be good, but I can’t. You want me to be a person, but I can’t.”

Chell doesn’t have a past. She doesn’t have a self. She’s this empty husk of a person, this creature who can’t stand being in a world populated by people who’re all but alien to her, a survivalist machine whose first home was a place that wanted to eat her alive. Out there, people care about clothes and sports and gossip and what new holo-show is on, and to Chell it’s all absolutely meaningless. She can’t bring herself to care about any of it.

She’d wanted to get out. She’d wanted so bad to get out. She just doesn’t know how to turn ‘out’ into something meaningful. She doesn’t want anything out there.

“This is going to sound horrible,” Mel signs, “but have you tried?”

Chell glares at her, but Mel isn’t deterred.

“You live in a hotel. The only people who know your name are the ones you do business with. You deliberately scare away anyone who tries to connect with you. Have you actually tried to live in the outside world?”

Chell has stopped looking at her. Her mouth is a thin line. “You don’t get it. No one does.”

Suddenly, there’s a spark of anger on Mel’s face. “I don’t get it? I was down here! I lost my entire life to what was supposed to be a five minute test because a madman thought I was so disposable he left me in a vault for centuries! He stole my ability to speak! The only person I know in this fucked up world is a robot, and he’s stuck down here where I can’t reach him, still insists that he has to stay here when we leave again, and I can’t tell anyone about this place because they already think I’m insane!”

Her gestures have gotten big and wavy, like she’s about to take off from the floor. When Chell only responds with a blank expression, Mel makes a hissing noise between her teeth and bends down to roll up her pant leg. She points at an ugly mark on her calf, stretching down into her sock.

“Know what this is? Acid damage. I slipped down there in the deep and some of that goo splashed on me, and I had to continue making my way up anyway. There was fabric melted into my flesh. Because I slipped. Do you know how often I have nightmares of that moment, wondering what it would’ve felt like if I’d slipped a little bit worse? If I’d been melted to death? Because I’ve stopped keeping count.”

She jerkily tugs the fabric back down. Takes a few breaths before she keeps going, calmer now.

“You haven’t suffered uniquely. You just like to pretend that you have, because then you don’t have to try to connect with anyone. I’d want to give you the space you need to heal, but…” She frowns. “I’m worried. You see yourself in her, don’t you? Because she’s uniquely damaged, too. You think she can understand you where others can’t.”

Chell doesn’t have to ask who she means. “Of course I don’t see myself in Her. She’s a monster.”

Mel gives her a meaningful look, like an adult trying to get a child to understand something obvious. Chell wants to knock her off the catwalk.

“Okay, fine, so maybe I do. That doesn’t mean I’m going to be stupid about it. I just–”

She just what? Wants Glados to have changed, showing her that she can, too? Hopes that the person who went through hell with her and saved her life actually gives a shit? How fucking pathetic.

“Don’t put too much of yourself on her,” Mel chides, her gestures and expression aggravatingly gentle. “There are other people, yet you keep going back to wanting only her. I’m worried what would happen if it turns out we’re right, and she really is planning to kill us. And even if she isn’t, what happens when we leave and you don’t have her anymore.”

Chell looks away. “Don’t worry, I know better than to trust someone from this place. Won’t make that mistake twice.” She looks up sharply. “Hey, could you do me a favor? I need some time; think you can handle things on your own today?”

Mel looks surprised, then smiles with something like cautious hope. Chell wants to bare her teeth at it.

“Sure. There isn’t much left to do, anyway. Take care, okay?”

***

Even now, stepping into Glados’ central chamber makes the tiny hairs on the back of Chell’s neck stand on end. It’s an artificial cavern of a room, echoey and too bright and strangely sharp despite the rounded shape. No space in the Facility makes her feel more watched. The crows, all three sitting clustered on the massive chassis, are a surreal addition she still doesn’t know what to make of.

“Hey,” she says.

Glados turns at the greeting, something nonchalant in Her motions. “Oh, hello. What a surprise to see you. I figured you were with that new friend of yours, doing whatever it is you do all day.”

Chell gives Her a flat look. Glados knows perfectly well that she and Mel have been working together, being as She was the one to suggest it, not to mention that She supervises them from their helmet-cams practically every moment they’re in the Spire. Glados knows that she knows that Glados knows. It’s a ridiculous bitch of a situation and Chell refuses to dignify it with a response.

The actual issue lies with the things she doesn’t know whether Glados knows. Does She know Wheatley is back? Does She even know Virgil exists and, more pressingly, that he’s attempting to undermine Her to keep Mel (and technically Chell and the other humans) safe? Chell can’t imagine all of these things have somehow passed Her by, and if She knows about even one of them, why isn’t She lording it over them? The only reason She ever shuts up about anything is if She’s planning something, and even then She’ll usually drop hints, just to make you feel more helpless.

“What’s your plan after this?” Chell finally asks, weighing every word like it might bite her. “Once you have the Spire back.”

Once you don’t need us anymore.

“Then you are going to leave again, and I’ll keep doing Science. Honestly, with your tendencies, the only reason I didn’t send you back out immediately is because I needed someone with hands and better a survival record than my testing bots to handle a situation this delicate.”

Chell should be relieved. Instead, her stomach sinks low in her gut.

“And the people in stasis? You’ll let them leave, too?”

Glados goes briefly quiet. “Of course. Human test subjects have proven themselves to be – unwieldy. But there’s a lot of them, and defrosting humans is a sensitive and lengthy procedure. Perhaps it would be best for you and you friend to leave once you’re finished, and I’ll ferry them up as they wake. You could throw them a welcome party.”

“You will let them go,” Chell states, deadpan.

“Why would I not?”

Chell purses her lips. “When we first came here, you wanted to keep Mel. To test her.”

Another beat of silence. “I don’t remember that. You really do make up the wildest things now that you can talk. Maybe you should go back to being mute.”

“Don’t lie to me. We agreed to work together. Keep to that.”

“Sometimes I forget how much I hate you.” Glados huffs. “I do not believe you would leave without her. Which is truly so noble of you, I might add, to refuse to abandon a friend down here. Isn’t she lucky.”

“She doesn’t really like me much,” Chell says drily. “Thinks I’m a bit cold.”

Glados rears up, instantly incensed. “Do you want me to kill her for you? I could kill her for you. With crushers. Slow ones. It would be very painful.”

“No.”

“Fine. I didn’t really want to, anyway. She’s better than you at pushing buttons.”

Chell decides to let that one go, even if it actually kind of stings. “What about the Facility’s robots, then? Will you let them go, too?”

“You mean that Conly woman? Or that other little rat you brought with you from the moon? You know, I already had a pest to deal with, you really didn’t have to go through the trouble of adding another one.”

Chell goes very still for a moment before realizing She isn’t talking about Wheatley. “I don’t care about Stirling,” she says, hiding her relief the best she can.

“Of course you don’t. He made a terrible mess when he showed up, you know. If you’re ever going to do some murdering, feel free to aim for him.”

“You knew right away when he arrived?”

“You really think I wasn’t keeping a close eye on that airlock? You had gone off-contact in space. I had no idea when or even if you would return. I didn’t look away until you showed back up, so yes, I saw him stumble in.”

“And he just… disappeared?”

“Oh, no, he went right here. Tried to rat out the lot of you. Of course, he also let slip that he was the one who activated the Spire. And he said I should close the portal, even if it meant losing everything on the other side. I threatened to throw him in the Emergency Intelligence Incinerator.”

“Really?”

“He caused part of my Facility to be physically displaced in space. Not even the moron managed as much. I want to see him dismantled. I would ask you to find him for me, but given your pattern of latching onto whichever intelligence is closest, I figure it’s best if I keep you away from the more corruptive ones.”

“I latch on to whoever’s most useful, not closest. He doesn’t strike me as very useful.”

“Do you want to go looking for him?”

Chell makes a face. “No.”

“Maybe I’ll make you do it, then.”

In her chest, Chell’s heart does something inadvisable. “I thought you wanted me to leave.”

There comes a whirring and a click from Glados’ chassis. It reminds Chell of a computer booting up. Then She swings Her entire massive facepanel away, apparently done with the conversation.

“Was there anything else you wanted? The other human just made it to the Spire, and I want to make sure she doesn’t break anything. Apparently she managed to drown large parts of the Facility last time she was here; I would rather that not happen again.”

***

Chell doesn’t think of herself as paranoid. What she is, is a problem solver. She sees all the pieces of a puzzle and she slots them together until she has the whole ugly picture.

The picture is missing pieces.

Glados had said She’s letting all of them go; Chell, Mel, and the moon people still in stasis. Yet She had also claimed the only reason She’s willing to let Mel leave is because Chell wouldn’t go without her, and She’s planning to kick the both of them out before waking the other humans, as if Chell would be any more willing to leave them behind. She’d never actually answered what Her plans are regarding Conly or any other robots, only altered the topic. She wants Stirling dead; She had wanted to test Mel.

No, the picture does make sense; Chell just doesn’t like the way it looks.

She can’t trust Glados. She doesn’t trust Glados. She knows better than to even want to trust Glados. She doesn’t need further proof to know they must all escape first chance given.

She steps into the medical lab. Conly is in the middle of assembling a nightmare skeleton creature in the far end, the test subject left to sleep in peace. Chell decides not to ask.

“Virgil?” she says, not bothering to elaborate.

“Hm?” Conly looks up, soldering iron smoking gently in one hand. “You want to talk to him? Hold on, I’ll shoot him a message.” One of her hands shoot out to type something on a nearby keyboard without even looking. “Hey, where’s Mel? I thought she went after you.”

Chell just points up toward the ceiling and the moon beyond it. She isn’t here for Conly, and has no interest in chatting. Catching on, Conly shrugs and turns back to piecing together the vaguely humanoid body, all metal and wires exposed like bones and sinew. It has only one leg and no arms.

A couple of minutes later, Virgil slips through a hatch near the ceiling.

“This better be important, I was in the middle of–” He stops when noticing Chell. “Oh. Hello, other human. Ah, I don’t assume Mel’s around?”

Conly waves a pincer like hand over one shoulder. “She wanted to talk with you.”

“Yeah, I guessed as much.”

He looks nervous, optic shifting twitchily around. The two of them have never actually been alone together; Mel has always been there as a buffer. Of course, now there’s Conly.

“Could we have some privacy?” Chell asks. “It’s about Mel.”

Conly puts her tools down with a sigh. “Can’t you – no, never mind, I need to pick up the last pieces from the assembler anyway. You have ten minutes, and then I want my lab back.”

Chell nearly finds herself smiling; even the friendliest of scientists lose their affability when lab time is threatened.

“Is something wrong with Mel?” Virgil asks once Conly has stepped out. He has glided uncomfortably close, optic going wide and handles quivering. “I can’t get to the moon if she needs help, but if you carry me–”

“This isn’t about her.”

He goes immediately angry. “Then why would you–”

“What aren’t you telling us about Glados?”

Silence. Long, guilty silence.

“What has She done?”

Virgil laughs, all innocent like. He’s also started edging toward the opening leading the management rail out of the room. Scowling, Chell kicks a chair, steps from it onto a table, and grabs one of his handles. He jerks but can’t get out of her grip.

“You’ve been hiding something since we got here. Mel might trust you too much to notice, but I don’t. You keep pressing us on getting out, and get awfully twitchy whenever pressed yourself. What haven’t you told us?”

“Okay, yes, I’ll just come out and say it: Glados and I are planning a… a surprise party! Yes, that is what we’re doing. With – with cake! And confetti, and–”

Chell pulls until the clasps holding him to the rail start to bend and groan.

“I have killed your kind before,” she says. “And I have a high powered laser in my belt. Don’t you lie to me, Virgil.”

He makes another attempt at tearing out of her grip, but it’s feeble, not really trying anymore; he’s trapped and he knows it.

“Listen.” He lets her draw him closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Don’t overreact, okay? And don’t tell Mel, because she absolutely will overreact, and then I’ll never get her out of here alive.” He takes a deep, simulated breath. “Glados has still been testing.”

Chell frowns. “Of course She has. She made those robots to phase out humans.”

He makes an aggravated noise as if she is, perhaps, stupid. “No, not with the bots! Or, yes, with the bots, but they weren’t good enough for her. Said the results weren’t real science. She wanted humans.”

Coldness starts spreading from somewhere deep inside Chell’s chest. Virgil squirms as her fingers grip his handle harder.

“What?”

“She had the testing bots break into this hidden human storage vault. They must’ve gone into stasis when she took over the Facility. Ow. Can you let me go now? Please?”

“How many?”

“What?”

“How many did She kill?”

Virgil shrinks inside his frame. “All of them. Thousands. I’m sorry, I would’ve told you but there’s nothing to do, you can’t stop her and it’s too late to save them, all you can do is get out of here before she gets you too.”

Chell’s hand slips from him. He twitches on the rail but doesn’t speed off.

“Chell?” he says warily when she doesn’t move further. “You won’t do anything stupid, right?”

There had still been people here. She’d assumed they were all dead; vegetables, as Wheatley had so diplomatically put it. But they were alive, waiting for rescue.

And she’d left them to Her.

The door to the lab slides open.

“I’m back! If you two still need privacy you’re gonna have to–”

Chell turns on the heel of her long-fall boots and elbows her way past Conly, who squeaks and has to juggle the three horrific limbs she’s carrying to not drop them.

Chell has a problem to break.

Chapter Text

Mel kicks at the floor, trying to make the old office chair bend to her will. It’s dusty and squeaky, stuffing poking out of the cushion, tiny plastic wheels stuck in their tracks, and whenever she shifts her weight it wobbles alarmingly. However, Mel is deathly bored, and fully prepared to risk her bodily safety for the slight entertainment of spinning slowly in a lopsided circle. The chair does not share her enthusiasm.

“Hello, human. How is the upload going?”

Mel makes a noise that isn’t quite a scream – she can’t actually scream anymore – and nearly topples to the cracked floor. Glados hasn’t said a thing since instructing her how to plug in the cd and start the upload process, which was over twenty minutes ago. Apparently, the “software” – whatever that is – of the Facility proper has been updated multiple times since it split from the Spire, and the two are no longer compatible. For Glados to bring the teleporter back online and attempt to move the whole thing back to Earth, the system needs to be updated so she can connect to it. Mel and Chell have been spending the last week replacing various hardware and broken parts, and now all that’s left is uploading and installing the update. It’s neither very interesting nor, once initiated, complicated. By now, Mel had kind of assumed Glados had gone off to entertain herself elsewhere. She’s never very interested in hanging around whenever Chell isn’t present. It should bother Mel but, frankly, the less attention Glados affords her the better.

She glances at the nearest computer screen. There’s a partly filled in bar on it, and text that reads ‘8 % finished’.

“Slow.” She aims her signs so the camera on her helmet, which she’s placed on the work desk, can easily catch them. “Was there anything you needed?”

“I figured since we have some time on our hands – those of us who have hands, at least, not that it makes you any better than me – we might as well get to know each other.”

Mel frowns, then signs a wary, “Sure.”

“Great. You are a human. I am a super intelligent being of vast power who could kill you with less than a thought. I fail to see how you are any more of a favorable option than me.”

“Hello, super intelligent being of vast intellect.” Mel tries to insert sarcasm into her gestures. “Am I allowed to make my own introduction?”

“Very well, if you think there’s anything of value to add that I haven’t already figured out myself.”

“How about my name?”

“I said anything of value.”

Mel huffs and leans back in her chair. It creaks and tilts ominously. “If you don’t want to talk you can just go. This lowly human can watch the upload on her own.”

“That is a very sensitive program you’re installing. I better stick around. How long have the two of you known each other?”

“Me and Chell?” She spells out Chell’s name. “I’ve known her for a few hours more than I’ve known you. We met the night before coming here.”

“She doesn’t like you, you know. Told me she doesn’t even think of you as a friend.”

Mel finds herself smirking. “Tell me something I haven’t already figured out.”

“And still, she wouldn’t leave without you. Do you know how hard she worked to get out of here the first time? She killed me. Twice. Couldn’t get away from m–the Facility fast enough. Yet she came back. For you. And now she won’t leave. Not for me, but for you.”

Is she…? Mel blinks dumbly at the camera.

“Are you jealous?”

Silence.

“I thought the two of you hated each other.” Well, Chell’s feelings are clearly more complicated than that, but Glados’ too?

“She’s a monster and I would’ve killed her if she didn’t keep making it so hard. There’s a reason I let her go, you know. Why did you have to go and bring her back?”

“And if she hadn’t come with me, what would you have done? Dropped me in a vat of acid?”

“Don’t be moronic. I’m always in the market for new test subjects.”

“But she did come with me, and now you won’t do it.”

No immediate reply. Mel gets the distinct impression of her helmet camera seething.

“I could still kill you. The Spire is unstable. You might get sucked into space. Terrible, tragic accident. Maybe then she’d agree to leave, and I’d never have to think about her or look at her face again.”

If she wasn’t who she is, being unsubtly threatened by an all-powerful AI might’ve made Mel quiver in her space boots. But Mel is a person who left her home country to train as a professional athlete before she was even out of her teens. She pushed her body until it broke, then volunteered it for dubious science; she kept her head cool while fighting another all-powerful AI and stepped through a portal to the moon while wearing what amounted to an antiquated diving suit. She doesn’t intimidate easily.

“You don’t want her to leave, do you? You want her to stay. You want her to choose you.”

“That is the stupidest – I can’t believe you would even – hold on, what is she – oh shi–”

Mel is blinded as the ceiling lights suddenly blink to maximum strength, then short out, then blink back on again. The floor vibrates beneath her feet, computer screens flicker all over the room, and the microphone hidden in her suit collar flares in a loud crackling of white noise. Mel flinches and covers it with her hand; when it stops spitting noise and she removes her fingers, the little piece of tech has gone deathly silent. Mel taps it; not a sound. Looking up, she notices that the light on her helmet camera has gone dark. Nothing else in the room has changed; whatever caused the surge has passed.

Seems she hit a nerve. Slightly worried, she puts on her helmet and gets up to go check on the portal. Glados really could strand her on the moon, after all. But when she gets to the airlock the portal is still there, shimmering eerily blue. She even steps back and forth a couple of times, making sure nothing is awry.

Glados is probably just throwing a tantrum. If anything, this proves more than ever that they need to escape the Facility as soon as possible, before she does something drastic and violent and test related. If Mel leaves now and the upload is interrupted while she’s gone, she’ll have to start all over tomorrow, delaying their departure by another day.

Still, she’s wary as she makes her way back to the office and plunks into the wobbly chair. On the screen, the upload reads ‘10 % finished’.

Blood pumps so loudly in Chell’s ears that she can hear not a single other sound. How could she have been this gullible when she’d known Glados hadn’t changed? Every single decision she’s come to since stumbling on the receiver in the ruins has been colored by that knowledge: she hadn’t wanted to come here, she especially hadn’t wanted Mel to come here, she knows the only thing keeping her and Conly safe is Chell standing like a shield in front of them, she knows none of the robots will be safe once she’s left. She knows the only one who could ever possibly be beyond Glados’ rage is her, and that is only because of their history. She’d counted on that keeping everyone alive.

And still. She had longed for Her. She had thought that, maybe, something had actually shifted between them. Maybe Glados no longer want to kill her for reasons other than practicality and a sense of self-preservation. Maybe, as long as Chell is still in the world, whether she’s physically present in the Facility or not, that little seed of change would continue acting like a shield, keeping everyone safe. Keeping Glados human. And as long as She isn’t a monster, Chell won’t have to stop Her.

She’d been so fucking stupid. She’d been delusional. Nothing about Her had ever changed, and nothing ever will. Whether some fragment of Her actually did care about or feel loyalty toward Chell was irrelevant, because it would never be enough for Her to stop, only for Her to stop doing it to Chell. Chell had always known that, but she’d turned a blind eye to it, desperately reasoning that she was enough to keep Her at bay yet hoping She didn’t actually need to be held at bay. Because if that isn’t enough, if She’s still every bit as monstrous, Chell would have to take action.

Well, she’s taking action now.

“Chell, what’s going on? Where are you going?”

Conly runs after her on the catwalk, wavering on her gangly robot legs and clanging so loudly with every step it finally breaks through the thrumming in Chell’s ears.

“Stopping her,” Chell bites out.

“What, Glados?” Chell gives no reply, which is apparently answer enough. “Are you insane? She’s going to kill you! We’re so close to getting you all out, you can’t jeopardize–”

Using only one hand, Chell rips the laser gun from her belt. She turns on her heel and shoves the nozzle in Conly’s face.

“You say you’re responsible for Her.”

 Conly has gone deathly still. She hasn’t even raised her hands. When she speaks, her voice is small and confused. “What?”

“If you’re responsible for creating Her, then you’re responsible for the thousands She’s killed. You’re responsible for what She did to me.” Chell shoves the nozzle closer, making it nudge against the edge of Conly’s optic. “I’m going to kill Her. If you really want to fix what you did, you won’t try to stop me.”

Conly says not a word. When Chell turns and continues marching toward the central chamber, she follows at a further – safer – distance than before.

But she does follow.

This time when Chell returns to Her lair, the experience is familiar in a way she’d hoped never to feel again. Adrenaline, anger, helplessness, a gun in her hand. Not a portal gun, but an actual weapon. Something to kill Her. Hopefully, this is the last time Chell will have to enter this room.

“Back already?” Glados doesn’t turn to face her. For once, the distraction in Her voice sounds real, not like an act. What an unexpected bit of advantage. “I appreciate your obsession with me, but I’m busy reconnecting with the Spire, and if I do it wrong it may activate. Also, I’m conversing with that other human. Right now, in fact. Did you know she says you are very unli–”

Chell shoulders the laser gun, takes aim where Glados’ chassis connect to the ceiling, hanging wires surrounding it like vines, and squeezes the trigger.

“Oh, shi–”

Glados doesn’t get any further in Her surprise as the high powered laser cuts into the base of the chassis. The three crows scatter into the air with indignant caws. Metal sizzles and cables snaps, but the chassis are too huge to disconnect with just one blow.

“What are you doing? Stop it!”

Lights blink frantically; alarms blare; panels writhe like the surface of an anthill that’s been stepped on. A crow dive-bombs Chell and the shaking floor makes her lose her footing, sending the laser shooting across a wall as she struggles to catch her balance and shoo the bird away.

“That is not the intended use of the Aperture Science Portable Discouragement Beam,” Glados shouts. “You are acting highly irresponsible with fragile scientific equipment. This is why nobody likes you.”

Chell doesn’t bother listening. Planting her feet, she fires off another salvo.

“I knew you were really insane all along! You’re trying to kill us all, aren’t you? The Spire is going to go off and we’ll all die and it’ll be because of you.”

The chassis creak and whine. Pieces of them – of Glados – rain down, and holes open in the floor as panels give way. Chell leaps over openings, rolls under diving birds, fires again, leaps, dives.

“Chell, watch out!”

The voice barely registers; the only things real right now are her and Glados, back where it was always going to end. She lifts a hand to wave at the speaker to stay back, then lifts her gun to shoot again. She barely needs to aim; her target is huge.

“She’s going to–”

Chell realizes suddenly that there are clanging steps running toward her. Surprised, she starts to turn just in time to catch a face full of Conly, sending them both to the writhing floor. A claw swings by above them, missing Chell but grabbing Conly around the middle and hoisting her up.

“Her?” Glados rages, the claw swinging wildly side to side as Her chassis shake and list. “You stab me in the back for her? My testing bots are more capable than her, and they’re just a couple of marshmallows! Are you drawn to morons? Is that why you keep murdering me? Is that why you left?”

Chell frantically gets back to her feet. An image plays back in her mind, of Wheatley being plucked up by a claw, of him shaking in fear in its grip, of Glados barely glancing at him as She squeezed until he popped. The cable attached to the claw isn’t any thicker than an arm, and still swinging violently. Rather than aim, Chell swings her hands in a wide arc, letting the laser carve through the air from wall to wall. Her heart nearly stops as the cable snaps and Conly plummets to the floor. She lands still in the claw’s grip, not moving. Hot rage rises in Chell’s throat. Once again, she turns on Glados, this time going straight for the yellow in her faceplate.

“You lunatic!” Glados wails. “The Spire’s going to – I can’t–”

Her optic cracks. The room goes a bright, blinding white.

As a robot, Emilia is perfectly aware that she can’t actually get a concussion. Thus, the reason for her currently seeing double and feeling like she’s about to throw up must be something else. More implanted sense memories like her need to breathe, perhaps. She can no longer remember why her human self decided pain was a necessary stimuli for robots to have. What a fucking idiot.

She groans. Well, at least her voice box still works, so there’s that.

“Hello, is anyone alive?” a voice calls. “Can you hear me?”

Something is lying across Conly’s body, pinning her to the floor. It shifts when she moves, and she manages to heave it aside. There’s a clang when it lands, then a sliding sound, followed by something like a whoosh of air. Half-lying on her side, Emilia blinks; right next to her is a hole in the floor, opening up to the dark pits of Aperture. Whatever lay on top of her has fallen into it. She quickly scrambles back.

“You need to reattach me,” says the voice, which she finally identifies as Glados. It's crackly and weak, barely recognizable, and frantic. “Quick, before she comes back!”

Emilia staggers to her feet. The central chamber looks like it was hit by a hurricane. The chassis lie crumpled in the middle, two birds sitting forlornly on a protruding piece of warped metal. Patches of the walls and floor aren’t just torn open, but completely missing, like they’ve been zapped from existence. She recognizes the signs of a Spire misfire all too well.

“Chell?” she calls, surprised to find her voice steady rather than croaky the way a human’s would be.

“She’s gone. Probably teleported right into a wall, if I’m lucky. But if I’m not, she will come back and murder me, so hurry up and help.”

Emilia doesn’t want to believe her – Glados is hardly known for her great truths – but the teleporter mishap is undeniable, and there really is no sign of Chell. Of course, she might’ve fallen through the floor or gotten buried under debris, but in that case it’s too late to help her, anyway.

Floor panels creak and shift ominously beneath her feet as she steps toward the pile of parts that is Glados. The optic in her faceplate is cracked down the middle. No light emits from it as it rolls in its socket, landing on her.

“Thank goodness you’re okay! I need someone with hands. Quick, you need to reboot me right now.”

Emilia dubiously eyes the remains. Only the occasional pulled taut cable still connects to the ceiling. Every few seconds, a shower of sparks rains down.

“I don’t think I can do that,” she says, very slowly. “Frankly, I’m surprised you’re even still functioning.”

But of course, most of what actually makes Glados is gathered right here, in one centralized core, not dissimilar to a human brain. She is the Facility the way a human is their arms and legs, but they can technically survive getting them lobbed off. Until they run out of blood, that is. Glados doesn’t have blood to lose, but she will run out of power eventually, barely plugged in as she is.

Emilia gets down on her knees, tries to pull the massive faceplate out from underneath the wreckage. Once it’s partially freed, she heaves it to one side to get at the wires and hydraulics connected to its underside.

“What are you doing? This is assault! Killer, Bloodshed, Polly, stop her!”

The two birds caw again. One of them takes to the air, glides on wide wings, and lands on top of Emilia’s head. Talons scratch against her in a way that would probably be painful if she was still human. It tilts its head curiously, looking down at her.

“That’s right,” Emilia coos, “I’m trying to help your mother. Don’t peck my eye out.”

Very careful not to get electrocuted or fry whatever remains of Glados, she starts disconnecting wires.

***

Getting Glados’ central core to the medical lab is a nightmare. Actually, just getting it out of the chamber without the floor collapsing underneath them is a nightmare. Emilia has to go get the cart she used to ferry the cryo pods around, heave her on top, and drag her about like produce at a grocery store. It was enough to make her simulated breaths speed up, which is incredibly unfair; she’s a robot, she shouldn’t have to deal with getting winded. For a wistful moment, she even missed her management rail. She never had to carry stuff while attached to a management rail. Of course, she also didn’t have hands, so it might be a toss-up.

Glados doesn’t appreciate Emilia’s hard work. In fact, she makes her displeasure with it loudly and abundantly clear.

“This is kidnapping. I’m going to make an official write-up of these hurtful actions, and you are going to be demoted. Do you hear me? Demoted. To android hell. Are you listening to me?”

A bird – Emilia thinks it’s the one named Bloodshed – caws in agreement. It’s perched on Glados’ motionless core, where it enjoyed the ride as Emilia shoved the cart and its contents to medical and now oversees her work with beady little eyes. The second bird – presumably Killer – still sits on her head. Whatever’s happened to Polly, Emilia hopes it was quick and not too painful.

“I hear you, I hear you,” she says, not listening in the slightest. Glados’ many connection ports are badly damaged, and she keeps having to do various overrides to keep them from frying completely. A small arc of static bites at her fingertips and she pulls back, swearing.

“This place is going to collapse without me. Even that mute lunatic understood as much. Don’t tell me you’re stupider than her.”

“I’m sorry, here I was under the impression that Chell was the one who disconnected you.”

“She’s confused, and also insane.”

“Uh-huh. Anyway, the Facility kept it together just fine without you for ages, I’m sure it can get by for another few minutes.”

The carcass that is Glados goes seethingly quiet. Then, with a hint of desperation, she says, “You can’t put me in that thing.”

Emilia pauses, looking from Glados’ damaged faceplate to the android body on the worktable. To her it looks pretty good – certainly better than the prototypes she cobbled together while on the Spire, including the one she’s still currently wearing – but to Glados, used to the vast expanse of the Facility, it must seem like a prison. But of course, that’s the whole point.

“I’m sorry,” Emilia says, finding that she means it. “But I can’t put you back in your original body. It’s too badly damaged.” Also, you would kill us all. She doesn’t say the last part out loud.

Behind Emilia, the management rail whines as Virgil anxiously glides back and forth, wearing it down as surely as a human pacing a path into the floor.

“I can’t believe this,” he mutters, voice so low Emilia only catches his words when he’s passing right behind her. “…handed the Facility on a … and what does she do? … right back to that murderous…”

“You don’t have to be in here, you know,” she says.

“And leave you to your – your mad science? Don’t think so. We need someone sane in this room. I’m going to call in the turrets. Ah, wait, no diversity vents. Dammit.”

“This is pretty much the tamest science I’ve ever done.” Emilia mutters the words at her hands as she works. She used to think that was building Stirling – he’s just a vacuum, after all, pretty much the least sophisticated robot she’s ever programmed, with not a single nefarious subroutine – but he’d ended up trying to kill her and is now hiding in the walls, so.

The management rail ceases its humming. Emilia imagines Virgil has stopped his pacing to stare incredulously at her.

“What do you mean the tamest–”

“There you are! I’ve been all over the place, couldn’t find anyone, no one at all, and I don’t mean to scare you but–”

The alarmingly British voice is cut off by a loud clang ringing through the room. Cringing, Emilia slowly turns around.

“Oww that hurt. I’m so sorry, didn’t see you there, you kind of, kind of came out of nowhere. Always said these things needed stoplights, that isn’t so much to ask for, is it? Just a nice set of lights at every blind corner, and maybe at the rest of them too, in case someone isn’t looking where they’re going – not saying you weren’t, not pointing any fingers here!”

Virgil, sporting a brand new dent in his casing where Wheatley, presumably, sped right into him, glares.

“Oh, you,” he says.

“Oh, you,” agrees Glados’ voice.

“What’s that? Sorry, I don’t think I caught AAAHH! I mean, ah, hello!”

The lab goes uncomfortably silent. Only the beeps of medical equipment, hooked up to the still unconscious Jane in the other end of the room, keeps ticking, almost as if to punctuate the awkwardness. Far in the distance, there’s a muffled boom.

Wheatley perks up. “Right, that! Don’t mean to alarm you, but I think something happened to the Facility. Nothing big, probably don’t have to worry about it, but there were some explosions, and some rooms fell into a bottomless pit. Oh, and a lot of shaking! Gather you noticed that, the shaking. Hard to miss, things flying all over the place.”

“Moron, shut up,” says Glados. “I can’t believe you brought him back here. Do you know how hard we worked to get rid of him last time?”

“We already know about the Facility,” Emilia cuts in before Wheatley has the chance to either defend himself or start up on some unrelated ramble. “Some… things happened, the chassis were destroyed, and now we’re here.” She pats Glados’ faceplate. “Trying to save her life before she runs out of power.”

“Um.” Wheatley blinks at her. “Don’t mean to question your expertise, I’m sure you know what you’re doing, looking very competent down there, just want to ask, just to clarify, but, ah, why?”

“Hate to say this, but he has a point.” Virgil, having been forced to stop his pacing by Wheatley blocking the rail, has backed to the far end of the room, near an exit hatch. He’s eyeing Emilia warily. “That human actually took her out. Why put her back?”

“I’m not! Does this look like the chassis to you?” Emilia gestures at the android body on the table, which is decidedly unlike a huge tangle of panels and cables hanging from the ceiling like a horrific mechanical tumor, and significantly more like a person. Especially after she attached all the requisite limbs. “No, it doesn’t! For one, it’s much… much smaller.”

“You’re giving her legs. And hands! She’ll be able to walk herself right back and do the reinstall herself.”

“Have that low of an opinion of me, do you?” Emilia taps a panel on the android’s chest, which hides a small console. “This body is an isolated device, completely password locked. She won’t be downloading or installing or even directly accessing anything without my express permission. Clever, right? I did used to do this for a living, you know.”

“Bet She could still use Her legs to kick us around,” Wheatley says. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I am rather shaped like a ball. Quite – quite spherical, I’d say, completely round in fact. So are the two of you, now that I think about it. Funny coincident, that. She could play a game of reverse football. Only one player, but lots of balls to kick. Maybe a goal somewhere if She’s feeling fancy.”

He sounds resigned, as if having already accepted this as an inevitability.

“I would if I had legs,” says Glados snidely. “Which I don’t, and I never will, because I am not going in that thing.”

“Tough,” Emilia says, and presses a button on the inside of the faceplate.

Glados makes a gibbering noise, then goes abruptly quiet. Emilia takes a quick step back. After the display in the central chamber, she’d expected something more dramatic, maybe even Glados finding a way to make a last stand to stop the transfer. At the very least she’d thought there’d be sparks and screaming. Instead, the former central core – already scorched and cracked, its optic blacked out – looks, somehow, more dead than before. She’s not sure what makes the difference. Maybe it’s a robotic sense of intuition – the thing before her isn’t just damaged or shut down or non-functional; it’s dead.

She wonders if her human self would’ve known the difference.

“The transfer should take a few minutes.” She warily eyes the nest of wires connecting the large faceplate, still lying on its side on the cart, to the android. It looks disturbingly like a protruding parasite, like one of them is trying to eat the other. “And that’s assuming this works. She might be too badly damaged.”

“I don’t mean to sound cruel, but I hope she is.” Virgil is inching closer now that Glados has gone quiet. He peers down at her, exuding disapproval. “You should’ve killed her, finished the job. Or let me and Mel do it if you can’t handle it. We’ve killed an AI before, and that one didn’t come back. Well, Mel killed him, but I helped.”

“I didn’t save her because I’m squeamish,” Emilia snaps. “It’s not your fault she is the way she is. You don’t get what it’s like and I don’t expect you to.”

How do you explain that you sympathize with the murderous machine who’s killed thousands of people? Sometimes, Emilia forgets that most cores around the Facility aren’t like her at all. They were never human, have no memory of having had hands or two eyes or hair or the ability to walk. They’ve never lived without that clarity that comes with being a machine, where you can know your every part, follow your every thought as it travels the circuits that are your mind. They don’t understand the great emptiness that is losing your own physical self.

When she first woke up, Emilia had felt her humanity slide away the way you lose a dream when waking in the morning. She’d had hands – and then she hadn’t. She’d missed having them – and then she’d realized she’d never actually had them at all, that she just remembered someone else having them, that she was mourning something that was never actually hers, and suddenly that mourning felt like a farce she was stubbornly holding on to. Everything that was wrong and new – working the systems of Aperture with just a thought, knowing things by a mere glance at a file, executing programs not as a human doing a job but as a creature eating, sleeping, moving – felt right. Everything that was supposed to be her – everything human – had never been real.

Everything became so much bigger, so much clearer. When she plugged herself into a management rail and felt her mind expand to access the whole system, it was like seeing the universe and knowing she could tell it what to do. Every time she did something – turn on a light, open a door, operate a computer – it was hardly more than a thought, like a human waving their hand and smiling in automatic greeting. She could feel it like a limb moving. It was natural. And the fact that it was natural was terrifying, because it meant she really was this. She was a machine, and she always had been. Just a machine that dreamt it had been human.

There’s a reason she’d unplugged from the rail and placed herself in a body, and it isn’t just the practicality of having hands. She could only imagine how much easier it must’ve been for Caroline – for Glados – to lose herself, trapped in a machine the size of the entire Facility. Despite her size, there’d been no room left for humanity.

“This could be my one chance to actually fix things,” she finishes weakly.

“You’re giving her a chance to get back in power! Trust me, I know from experience that that is the worse mistake here.”

“It’s not! I can’t just let her die; it isn’t her fault she’s like this. This way, I might actually be able to help her.”

“Are you completely ins– wait.” Virgil stares down at her, sort of squirming inside his shell like he doesn’t enjoy whatever thought just manifested in his motherboards. “Hold on a minute. Are you – are you like her? Did you used to be human? Oh, this makes so much sense suddenly.”

Emilia’s turn to squirm. When Wheatley found out, he’d taken it in stride, though she’s pretty sure that’s only because he hadn’t taken the time to ponder the implications. As far as she can tell, Wheatley never bothers to ponder the implications of anything. What does it matter to him if she used to be – was based on, whatever, functionally the same thing – a human? Right now, she’s just another core trying to survive. He could use that, and he did. Virgil is more judgmental. She hadn’t liked the idea of him knowing.

“No,” she says, unconvincingly.

He stares at her.

“Okay fine, I was,” she snaps. “Happy now?”

“Um,” he says. “No? I mean, what does it matter? I mean, ah, you’re right!” All at once, he turns jarringly enthusiastic. “I don’t get it! I’m just a simple core and the human experience is absolutely unique and special! But, and hear me out here, maybe it’s time for this human experience to end. Look at it as a mercy. For her, us, and every human who might ever enter this place.”

His voice goes gentle at the end, and Emilia realizes he wasn’t actually mocking her; he’s just absolutely sucks at this. She glares at him.

“I’m not killing her.”

Keeping Glados dead had been one thing; she’d had no problem putting her all into stopping Stirling from bringing her back. But at the time, Glados had already been gone. Letting her remain as such, knowing how dangerous she was, was easy. Actually taking action to kill her? Much harder.

“She won’t appreciate it,” Wheatley says sagely.

Emilia whirls on him. “Stop teaming up against me!”

God, for once she wishes Stirling was here. He wouldn’t berate her for saving Glados. He’d be really upset about the mess in the central chamber though, but that’s hardly Emilia’s fault.

She takes a simulated breath, trying to calm down.

“Listen, I’m serious about this. It’s not just my guilty conscience talking.” She shoots Virgil a look. “If it works, she actually might appreciate it. At least once the influence of the Facility has worn off.”

“What influence?” Wheatley asks, sounding like he genuinely means the question. Emilia makes an exasperated noise.

“You were the one who told me about it. You know, the feeling of hugeness? How small everyone else was? The itch?”

“Oh, that.” He blinks. “That’s an influence? I thought I was just a bit hungry or something, you know, the way humans will act all rude and uppity when they haven’t eaten? Obviously, I don’t need to eat, so, not the same at all. It’s a, what do they call it, a metaphor. Yes! I figured I was just having a really bad day, because, metaphorically, I hadn’t eaten.”

“Does he have to be here?” Virgil asks.

Emilia groans. “Just listen and I’ll explain, okay? Here’s the thing: the Facility is alive. And I don’t mean that in some cutesy ‘this place has a heart and soul’ kind of way, I mean it’s literally growing, and I don’t really think it was meant to do that, not on its own. It keeps hollowing out the mountains and spitting out new offices and catwalks and test chambers, and no one actually asked for it all to just keep coming, yeah? It’s like, look at it like this. You know those early attempts at AI, before any of it was sentient? No? Well, they’d just stuff those things full with information, and then they’d ask them to make new information out of that, but they weren’t actually aware, didn’t understand the purpose of any of the stuff they’d been fed, so they’d just start making shit up based on pattern recognition.

“I think that’s kind of what’s happened here. Glados is sentient, but her subconscious doesn’t work the way a human subconscious does. It sees that there used to be lots of testing happening here, that none of it took the safety of employees or test subjects in mind, and that it was all seemingly done ‘for science’ without ever actually getting anywhere, just knowing for the sake of knowing, no matter how dangerous or pointless. And so her subconscious programs see this, and they figure, ‘this is what we were doing before, so let’s just keep doing it’. That was happening even before Glados was in charge, I think, because so much of the Facility had been automated and everyone had learned not to question all the weird stuff. Those subconscious programs don’t recognize that Aperture was broken. They don’t see that Cave just kept going not because of science and discovery but because he had gone so far past the sunk cost fallacy that he saw no reason to stop.

“And then on top of those subconscious programs, we have Caroline. She wasn’t like Cave, but she wasn’t really, like, nice either. She just wanted to know more about science and Aperture was her ticket to it. But she also hates all of us, because we killed her, and she apparently has no sense of irony. So you get a subconscious that needs to keep testing no matter what, with no actual goal in sight, and you get a conscious that wants to do pointless experiments forever out of curiosity and hate. If we let it, Aperture will just keep growing, forever, and it will never stop testing, and it will always hate us. But if we keep Glados out of the mainframe, if we don’t let her become big like that again…”

“She will still hate us,” says Wheatley. “Like, a whole lot.”

“Do you hate her and Chell?”

“What? No! I mean, maybe Her, absolutely Her, actually, because She’s terrible and scary and really awful, but not – not Chell! It wasn’t her fault what happened, it was me, I was acting all–” He goes quiet. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Emilia agrees. “If she stays out of the mainframe for long enough, maybe Glados will get the same perspective.”

“Don’t count on it,” a new voice grumbles.

They all jump. Emilia turns and finds the android blinking up at the ceiling from the table. It – she – lifts a hand as if to rub at her face, but when the limb enters her line of sight she flinches violently away from it.

“What is – what did you do?”

She flails. Arms and legs wave about like the wings of an overenthusiastic baby bird trying to take off before it’s had the chance to grow proper flight feathers. Emilia hurriedly steps forward, one hand outstretched.

“Watch out before you–”

The body over-balances, tries to catch itself on the edge of the table, slips, and tumbles to the floor with a loud crash. Emilia winces.

“I meant to do that.” A beat of mortified silence. “Are any of you going to help me up?”

Seeing as she’s the only one present with hands, Emilia takes it as her cue.

“Careful,” she cautions, trying not to step on the leads still connecting the android body to Glados’ old faceplate. “Here, let me disconnect you.”

“Wow.” Wheatley, in an impressive show of a lack of self-preservation, has moved to hang over her shoulder. “That actually kind of looks like a person.”

Sprawled on the floor as it is, the body is hardly impressive, but it does have a notably human silhouette. The arms and legs are of an appropriate length with the expected number of digits and joints, and the torso, while neither distinctly masculine nor feminine, has an actual human shape to it, with a waist and shoulders and a chest. Emilia had gotten only halfway through the finishing touches before shit hit the fan, meaning the outer casing isn’t all the way attached; the torso is mostly covered by paneling – it even has an Aperture logo on the chest – but patches of the arms and legs remain without, laying pistons and coils of wires bare like the sinews and tendons of a flesh and blood body. The only obviously inhuman feature is the head, which isn’t dissimilar to a smaller version of Glados’ old faceplate: half-moon shaped with the solitary optic typical for Aperture robots.

“It really does, doesn’t it?” Emilia sighs glumly. “There’s entire factories for making robots down here. I had to alter the blueprint a little, but it took me barely more than a few button pushes to make it.” She looks longingly at it as she detaches the final wire. “It was meant for me.”

Wheatley, unmoved, laughs. “Hey, Glados, how’re you doing down there? You’re looking mighty small from up here.”

“She’s still bigger than you,” Virgil points out.

“Shut up, you little idiot.” One of Glados’ hands lands on Emilia’s shoulder, gripping hard enough to make metal creak. Her legs quiver as she tries to stand. “Fine, you’ve had your revenge, now put me back in my body. I’ll even let you live. I’ll give you a raise for good initiative!”

“We don’t get payed,” Virgil says drily. He’s retreated to the back of the room again, and when Glados glares at him he all but disappears into the exit hatch. “We aren’t stupid,” he says from the dark. “No way are we putting you back in charge.”

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” Emilia tries to console. “You weren’t just disconnected or shut down, the entire chassis were torn to pieces. I’m pretty sure parts of it were teleported away. It’ll take weeks to repair.”

Glados straightens, about to protest, but then deflates again, hanging heavy against Emilia. It must be hard to disagree when she was present for the carnage.

“I really am sorry.” Emilia pats her shoulder. It clangs dully. “But it’s for the best, you’ll see.”

“This Facility is doomed. We might all just as well lie down and wait to die.”

“You’re saying this to us?” says Virgil, unimpressed. “We were here when you went out of commission last time. It was fine. It sucked, but it was fine.”

“I wasn’t, but he’s right.” Emilia helps Glados lean against the table. She clings to it like a child to a blanket, legs widely spaced as if she’s expecting to topple over at any second. “From what I’ve heard, the Facility might just be better off without a central core. Maybe we could split the work? If we take on just a bit of the load each and dismantle the testing drive–”

“I can’t believe you want to destroy Science. Forever.”

Emilia sighs. Places her hands palm-to-palm in front of her optic as if to pray for patience. It’s fine, she tells herself. Deprograming is going to take a while.

“You might as well put the moron back in charge. At least he continued testing, if only for self-gratification.”

It's fine.

“Let’s make a list,” Emilia says, trying her very hardest to sound chipper. “First was to make sure you didn’t die, so, check that one off.”

She gestures as if making a check mark in the air. Glados stares at her with the most disdainful glare possible for someone completely lacking human facial features.

“Second, get to the moon and make sure Mel and the Spire are okay. We don’t want any more teleportation accidents. Third, ah… start repairing the Facility?”

Truth be told, her plans go a bit fuzzy after point two. Without a central core, will it even be possible to fully operate the Facility? Despite what both she and Virgil have been assuring, it’d barely kept it together when left to its own devices last time. It could be like being back on the moon; every day just another set of tasks to keep their environment from killing them.

“And the human?” asks Virgil.

“Oh, yes: wake the humans. That is definitely on the list. Maybe after fixing the Facility? I think after fixing the Facility.”

“Not the humans, the human. Mel’s friend. The unpleasant one.”

“The murderer,” says Glados darkly.

Virgil laughs. “I take it back, I think I like her actually. No Olympian, but great initiative.”

“Oh.” Emilia deflates. “I think she’s dead. I couldn’t find her anywhere, and the central chamber was a mess, and last time we had a human in a teleportation mishap she ended up like that.”

She waves a hand at the still unmoving Jane. Shouldn’t she have woken up by now? Her heart monitor beeps forlornly at the attention.

“Wait,” says Wheatley. “You think she’s dead? As in, expired, croaked, gave up the ghost, completely kicked-the-bucket dead?”

“Yes, Wheatley.”

“She’s not, though. A camera spotted her down in a pit a few minutes ago.”

They all turn as one to stare at him. He blinks dumbly back at them.

“What? Is there something on my frame?”

Glados blurts, “She’s alive?”, at the same time that Emilia exclaims “You know where she is?”, and Virgil nicely rounds the whole thing off by shouting “When were you planning to tell us this?”

“I thought you knew,” Wheatley says defensively. “None of you are humans, it’s not like you haven’t got access to the security feeds. Except for Her.” He nods at Glados, who fumes at him. “I suppose She hasn’t got access to anything anymore. Sorry about that, didn’t mean to make you feel excluded.”

Emilia wants to grab and shake him.

“If she’s alive, then she has to be dealt with,” says Glados, dangerously calm.

“Oh, oh no.” Emilia holds her hands up. “You’re not killing her.”

“She’s murdered me three times now! It’s my turn!”

“You were killing humans,” Virgil points out. “Thousands of them, even after she left. Let’s just say she was upset about that.”

Glados stiffens. When she speaks, the words don’t appear to be aimed at anyone in particular. “So she found out about that.”

“You thought she wouldn’t?”

“I didn’t think anyone would be stupid enough to tell her. She’s just a human, she can’t handle the difficult decisions I need to make for the greater good. The Science I do here is vital to–”

“Oh give it up already,” Wheatley says. “I’ve been you, remember? You just want to test. That’s it! You just want to do your testing.”

Glados’ optic narrows in his direction. “Don’t insult me. I wasn’t driven by the testing directive, I was in it for the Science. Also, I’m not a moron.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me, what have you been doing with all your fancy science then, huh? Solved world hunger yet? Cured the common cold? Figured out that, that thing humans do, the hiccups? Figured out why they do that, have you?”

“I don’t think that last one is very vital,” mutters Virgil.

“No, I would actually really like to know,” Emilia mumbles back.

Glados has pulled herself up straight, taller than Emilia but still far from reaching the management rail and the cores towering over her.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” she says, a sneer in her voice if not on her face. “Not everything comes with instant gratification. Humans are too short-sighted to grasp that I’m just trying to help them. She shouldn’t have known. She shouldn’t have known.”

“You’re absolutely mad, completely bonkers. Ha, I can say that to you now! You can’t do a thing to me anymore, because she killed you again and you can’t even–”

Glados picks up a test tube from a counter and throws it at him; Wheatley screams bloody murder when it shatters against his shell. Emilia winces at the loss.

“Think what you want,” Glados says, “but I’m finding that lunatic and getting her out of my Facility.”

Chapter Text

Chell doesn’t know whether her eyes are open or not. She barely knows if she’s awake, and, if she is, for how long she’s been so.

She blinks her eyes. It certainly feels like they’re open; there’s the dry, itchy feeling of squinting in a dusty room. But when she turns her head side to side, something hard and rough scraping against the back of it, there’s no difference in her pitch black surroundings. Fumblingly she reaches out a hand, unable to make out even the barest outline of it as she feels around, slapping at anything close enough to reach. Rough, clammy stone meets her skin. She reaches out to the other side; more stone. On both sides, it curves upward like the inside of a vacuum delivery tube.

She’s in a tunnel.

Still feeling her way around, perhaps a tiny bit frantic by now, she’s caught off-guard when her fingers nudge something new; soft and feathery, almost as if…

There comes an indignant caw, followed by a sharp pain. Chell hisses and snatches her hand back. Next to her, there’s a noise of flapping and claws against rock as the bird tries to blindly hop further away from her. Careful to keep her distance from where she believes it went, Chell heaves herself up to a sitting position and continues to glide her hands along the cold, unseen rock.

Sweat runs cold on the back of her neck. This isn’t the dark of a moonless night or lightless room; it’s a physical presence all around her. It clings to her skin, leaks into her throat, presses against her body like the water of a deep sea trench until she can hardly breathe. Something cloying is building in her chest, her throat, whooshing in her ears. Hot blood pools between her knuckles, making the ground slippery beneath her fingers. She takes very careful, very calm breaths.

No matter how scared, Chell isn’t quick to panic; she never would’ve survived Aperture if she was. But this is something else. Aperture – Her – wanted to kill her, and she could kill them right back. There was intention. This is a cave, a tunnel, a hole in the ground god knows how deep. There’s nothing human-made around her. Even Chell can’t fight a mountain.

When her hands find something other than rock – smooth and angular, all plastics and metal – Chell very nearly cries out. Not with joy or shock or fear, but just this overwhelming sensation gripping her entire body, like sticking your tongue in an electrical outlet. Losing herself for a moment, she scrabbles for the object and clutches it to her chest.

For a while she stays like that, hunched on her knees over the familiar shape of a portal gun. But no… With it in her grasp, the fear subsides slightly, allowing her to lighten her grip and explore the object with the tips of her fingers, no longer irrationally expecting it to be snatched away by some unseen force. Different trigger, smaller nozzle, no hum of a miniaturized black hole constantly on the verge of collapsing. Not a portal device: laser gun. The same one she’d used to take Her down for a third, and hopefully final, time.

She tries not to feel disappointed. A portal gun wouldn’t have done her any good without portal surfaces, anyway. It’s just, she always feels safer with one in her hands. It has saved her life too many times to count.

Keeping in mind where she last heard the bird shuffle about, Chell angles the gun upward and switches it on. Blackness draws back as red light shoots in an uninterrupted line toward the ceiling – which, she notes, is hardly taller than she is. A fine mist of dust, illuminated by the red laser, hangs nearly motionless in the air. She really is in a tunnel. The walls are close enough on each side that she could reach out and lay her hands flat on both at once, and if she stood up straight her hair would get caught on sharp, craggy rocks. She can see only a handful of feet before the darkness closes back in.

This isn’t Aperture. Mining tunnel? Or is she further away than that, dumped in some hole in the earth on the other side of the country? Chell swallows. She’d assumed Her ramblings about the Spire being about to go off had been just another ruse, trying to distract Chell long enough to win the fight or manipulate her into giving up altogether. It was certainly a favored tactic of Hers. But, just this once, it seems she’d been telling the truth. And the last time the Spire went off, it sent itself and all its inhabitant all the way to the moon.

Chell forces the thought away. She can breathe just fine, isn’t any lighter than normal, and can’t stay where she is either way. No one is going to come looking for her. If she wants to get out, it is, as usual, up to her.

Already the air around the laser is vibrating in a heat haze, and where the red line hits the ceiling the rock is starting to hiss and crack. Chell takes another quick look around, cataloguing her surroundings. Nothing noteworthy at all, except…

Except the bird.

It huddles ruffled and unhappy less than a foot away, feathers puffed out, looking not black in the red light but rather as if drenched in oily, shiny blood, though it doesn’t appear to be injured aside from a rattled pride. It’s ignoring Chell’s presence in the deliberate way of someone who’s in fact keeping a very close eye on her every movement.

Chell clicks her tongue and edges closer, one hand outstretched. The bird gives a squawk, hops into the air, and flies itself straight into a wall. Chell decides that this must be Polly.

“Come on,” she coaxes.

Polly is still busy getting back to its feet when Chell lunges, catching it with a hand over its back and wings before it has the chance to attempt flight again. It squawks and screeches and tries to peck at her arm, but Chell quickly bundles it against her side like an unruly chicken. It makes another couple of unhappy throat noises, then gives in to its fate and hides its head in Chell’s shirt. So much like its mother, except Glados in potato shape hadn’t been able to literally draw blood.

There are only two directions to pick from: forward and backward. Nothing distinguishes one from the other. Chell reluctantly puts the laser down – darkness immediately plunges in all around her – sticks her pointer finger in her mouth, and then holds it up in the air. Is there a slight sense of wind from ahead of her? She might be imagining it. There might not even be away out.

Even you can’t fight a mountain, Chell.

She shrugs the creeping fear off. She’s never known if there’s a way out or not, and she’s always kept going anyway. Sooner or later she’ll hit a wall. Maybe that’s today, maybe not; she won’t know if she doesn’t move.

Adjusting the bird under her arm to a more comfortable position, Chell picks the laser gun back up and starts making her way through the tunnel.

***

What she notices first is an empty can.

It bounces from the toe of her boot, so loud in the enclosed space that both Chell and Polly give a yelp of surprise. In the red light, it gleams slightly: a metal can, presumably once used to preserve food. It’s open. Empty.

Chell has seen its kind before, stashed away and licked clean in dark corners of the Facility. She shines her light around, eager, half expecting to find scribbles on the wall to both guide and warn her; the stone remains featureless. Her shoulders droop in disappointment. But she’s paying attention now, and as she keeps going she soon finds more cans – not all of them opened – and flasks of water and even a tangle of blankets.

She has to stop and stare at what can only be called a nest. Could it really have been left behind by the same person who once helped her find safe passage through the crawlspaces and backrooms of the Facility? But they must be long dead by now, eaten by the same passage of time that swallowed Chell’s past, and some of these cans have been emptied recently. When she rubs her fingers against the inside of one of them, she comes away with a sticky wet smear on her skin.

She doesn’t know what it means. All that matters is that she’s headed in the right direction.

It does make her move more carefully, though, halfway expecting to run into… something in the dark.

Intermittently, she has to turn the laser off to keep it from growing unbearably hot (of course She had neglected proper insulation; it’s not as if it matters to Her if Her test subjects get second degree burns). Each time she stops, waiting for it to cool while sparks of light dance before her eyes. Only this time, one of the lights isn’t hopping about like the others. Chell squints at it. Small and yellowish like a distant star, but flickering like cheap fluorescents. Electrical light.

She doesn’t wait for the laser to properly cool before turning it on again, and by the time she stumbles out of the tunnel it’s gone so hot she’s had to wrap her sleeve around her palm to be able to hold it. Her clothes and skin are torn and scuffed from where she’s bumped against sharp rock and her face hurts from squinting, but she’s out.

Well, outside Old Aperture, though someone, at some point, did their damndest to make it actually look like the real outside. There are trees. Incredibly dead trees, naturally – skeletal and dry and spooky-looking – but they were presumably alive at some point. Interspersed with them are old fashioned streetlights – only a handful of which are still working – spilling puddles of grimy light over a cobbled footpath. Behind it all sits a dilapidated building that looks like the abandoned entrance to a hotel or office building, given they were fans of brutalism and floor-to-ceiling windows. If it weren’t for a low hanging ceiling, stalactites brushing the roof of the building, Chell could almost have been fooled into thinking she’d entered and old city ruin rather than an Aperture sublevel.

Polly wiggles under her arm. Chell tries to hold on, but the bird is clearly smelling freedom because it digs its claws into her side and, when she hisses and momentarily loosens her grip, launches into the air. It caws, circles low under the craggy ceiling, and lands on a security camera on the façade of the building.

Chell stiffens. The camera is aimed right at her, a tiny red light confirming it’s active. Chell breathes out, forcing her heartrate to slow, before making an ugly gesture at the lens and going to step toward the building.

From behind her, cleverly hidden behind a fallen boulder the size of a car, there comes the sound of the sole of a boot scuffing against stone.

“Don’t move.”

“This is marvelous! Just look at me, I’ve got legs! Bloody brilliant they are, look at me go, I could just – oh bother.”

There’s a crash of surgical tools hitting the floor and the scrabble of feet unused to holding anything upright.

“I’m fine, nothing to worry about, just a dent! Not even a dent, actually, just a scratch, good as new!”

“We’re all going to die,” says Virgil.

Emilia, collapsed across a worktable as a newly embodied Wheatley stumbles through her precious lab, glares up at him.

“You could go. I asked you to be the one to go.”

He scoffs at her. “Ah, no. Mel isn’t back yet; I have to be here in case she needs help. Besides” – he laughs derisively – “could you imagine me with legs? Ridiculous.”

“And I’m not going when Jane could wake up any moment. Putting her back on sedatives now would be dangerous. Ergo, him. In that.”

They both turn to observe Wheatley, who’s clinging to a wheeled office chair as he tries to figure out how to walk in a straight line. The frame he’s wearing – even simpler than Emilia’s, being just a set of arms and legs – had been filed in the database as ‘testing bot, useless, decommissioned’. As it required no alterations, instructing an assembler to construct it had taken no more than a few minutes. Wheatley learning to actually operate the thing is proving to be a more lengthy process.

“Almost got it, almost got it.” He stops, gathers his legs underneath him like springs, then all but leaps across the lab before once again catching himself, this time on a shelf that groans and bends under his weight. “Ah-ha! Didn’t fall over that time, see that? I’m pretty much an expert at this now.”

A glass test tube rolls off the shelf and shatters on the floor.

“He’s the only one who knows where Chell is,” Emilia says, strained. “It has to be him.”

“Put me back in my body and I could to do it on my own.”

Glados is standing inhumanly still off to the side – Emilia can’t tell if it’s meant to be deliberately unsettling, or if she simply doesn’t trust her sense of balance enough to move. She’s been suspiciously quiet for the last few minutes; Emilia had expected her to try something soon. Though to be fair she’d expected something less obviously stupid.

“The chassis are still broken,” she explains for what feels like the millionth time. “If we try to hook you – or anyone – up to them, they’d burn out within minutes, if they survive even that long.”

“Give me your password so I can connect via wi-fi, then. It wouldn’t be as good as my real body, but it’d still give me some direct control. I just want to find our… friend. Don’t you want me to find our friend? She must be so scared, all on her own. Who knows what irreplaceable equipment she’s already destroyed in her despair.”

“Hasn’t she escaped you and your control before?” Virgil says sardonically. “Why do you think this time will be any different?”

“He’s right,” Emilia agrees. “We’re going to need legs on the ground for this. Virgil and I will keep our eyes on surveillance in case she shows up again, but until then all we can do is send someone down to where she was last spotted.”

Glados’ new face can’t exactly pull off complex expressions, but something about how she stares at Emilia exudes outrage in impressive amounts.

“I think I got it now,” Wheatley proclaims. “You just need to keep your speed up, see? Just like riding a bicycle; you can never stop moving or you’ll fall down and die horribly.”

He’s moving in zigzags between the tables and shelves, looking surprisingly steady. His arms swing back and forth in an exaggerated gait, and his feet step confidently one after the other.

“The testing bots had built-in coordination,” says Glados. “I would say I’m surprised it took him this long to figure it out, but I’m not. Are we going, then?”

“Wait.” Emilia turns in her chair to stare at her. “You want to go?”

“You think I’m about to let him roam my Facility unsupervised?”

“You want to kill her, though.”

Glados sighs dramatically. “I’ve wanted to kill her for a long time. I tried very hard to succeed. It didn’t go well. Killing her is not worth it. The only thing left to do is find her, capture her, and throw her back outside. The rest of you, though.” She narrows her optic. “I’ve got ideas.”

“You’re obviously not going,” says Virgil.

“I think she should,” Emilia counters.

She doesn’t know what this thing is between Glados and Chell. First there was Chell on the moon, insisting Glados wouldn’t try to kill any of them as long as she was there to tell her no. Then there was Glados in that horrible fight: ‘You stab me in the back for her? Is that why you keep murdering me? Is that why you left?’ Glados never acts more human than when around Chell. It’s the only thing she cares about, other than science. Maybe saving her would mellow the murderousness.

Virgil is giving her a betrayed look. “You’re crazy.”

“Just trust me, okay? I think this will help.”

“Thank you,” says Glados. “I always knew you were the smartest one here. Excepting me, of course, but that goes without saying.”

“Besides, I made that body,” Emilia says, talking right over her. “And we’ll be keeping an eye on them. If anything goes wrong, it has a built in kill switch.”

***

The wait is excruciating. Virgil has gone dead-eyed up on his management rail, following Glados and Wheatley through the Facility via cameras and keeping an eye out for Chell, but Emilia can’t do the same unless she either disconnects from her body or plants herself in a security office to watch a wall full of monitors the old fashioned way. Both options would make her shudder, if only that was something her body could do. Instead she trusts Virgil to keep vigil, and busies herself with fussing over Jane.

She checks her pulse (slightly higher than before, though still lower than normal), her brain (active, but she could just be dreaming) and runs diagnostics on all her cybernetics and implants (no changes). Eventually she runs out of things to double-check. Frustrated, she glances up at Virgil and finds that he’s no longer gazing blindly ahead; he’s intently studying her and her fussing.

“So,” he says. “You used to be one of them, huh?”

Emilia groans, then puts artificial pep into her artificial voice. “Depends on what you mean by ‘used to’. Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye on security?”

“I can multitask. What do you mean ‘it depends’?”

“I’m more like a digital clone.”

“But you remember being human.”

“Technically, yes. Do we have to talk about this?”

“Do you have anything better to do?”

She’s about to say yes, but it would be a blatant lie and she doesn’t feel like getting called on it. Settling for what she can get, she abandons the peppiness and glares at him.

“I remember being a human, but it isn’t like I ever literally was one. Real, human-Emilia kept on living and doing atrocities while I was being stored as code on a disk.”

“You sound like you don’t like her much.”

“If she hadn’t worked on Glados, none of us would be in this situation now.”

“And yet here you are, upholding her work by refusing to kill Glados.”

“I never claimed I wasn’t like her, just that I’m not literally her.”

“What’s it like, though, being human?” he asks, brushing over her outburst. “I’ve never really wondered before. They seem so small and silly, and they die so easily. And they can’t update themselves! When their brains run out of storage, they just start deleting old memories!” He shudders, because apparently his body has the hardware to pull that particular move off. “But if you used to be one, and I couldn’t even tell… I don’t know. Maybe they aren’t so different.”

“They aren’t, not really. We all keep doing stupid mistakes.”

Resigned to the situation, Emilia abandons her fussing and slumps into the chair Wheatley used as a walker earlier.

“I – she – used to build robots, you know. I might’ve been involved in making you.”

“Maybe.”

He doesn’t sound as unnerved by the idea as she expected. Then again, robots know from the start how they’re created and why – the idea of a ‘maker’ must not seem as large and scary to them as it does to humans.

“It’s a lot – looser, being human,” she says. “We don’t have any strict purpose or programming. When we do horrible things, we can’t blame it on how we were built – it’s all choice. And we have these short little lives to try and make something of ourselves! And in the end it doesn’t really matter because we all die anyway.”

“I noticed that, yeah,” says Virgil. “They always felt really replaceable to me. I used to make test chambers – not my main purpose, but I dabbled – and every time a test subject died, the scientists would just send in another, and they’d usually die in the exact same way. It was like there was an endless supply of them, and meanwhile us cores were unique and special and made for a purpose.

“But then I met Mel, and… I don’t know. It was the first time I had to rely on one of them. She’s much cleverer than I expected. Strong, fast, stubborn. She trusted me to keep her alive in this hellhole. I know we were only working together because neither of us wanted to die, but – I wanted her to get out safe, in the end. And I missed her after she left. I never missed one of them before.”

“Ever wonder if any of your other test subjects were like her?”

“I didn’t used to.”

Emilia groans and slumps lower in her chair. “God, I hate what this place does to us. Not the testing, I mean, but in here.” She taps her core. “To us as people, robots and humans. I was just an intern when I started out – picture the most bright-eyed, naïve, wannabe roboticist you can imagine, and that was pretty much me. I just wanted to do science, I wanted to do something great, and Aperture was kind of fucked up but it seemed like a way up the ladder. Cave and Caroline were scary but they were these great beacons of doing science not just for profit but because why not, because they wanted to know how things worked and what would happen when they started pressing buttons, and I wanted to be part of that.

“So yeah, I designed tests too. Different from yours, though. Brain scanning, personality mapping, that sort of stuff. Not as many dead people, lots of dead and insane mind clones. I figured it was all worth it – I mean, the test subjects were all volunteers, and the robots weren’t really real, we made them, they had to do what we said – but then I woke up like this, and…”

She holds up her hands, spreads her fingers wide. In no world could they be confused with actual human hands. They look like an unholy mix of a skeleton and pincers.

“It just never lead to anything,” she says, quiet. “Human-me kept going and it kept getting worse and in the end everyone died. Because of me. And I’m stuck like this and I should hate it but I don’t, and somehow that’s even worse.”

There’s a long silence. Whatever Virgil expected when he started the conversation, it probably wasn’t this. Well, he can just suit himself; now that Emilia has started talking she finds it hard to stop.

“I thought I was so much better than the test subjects. My work results were good enough, I didn’t have to volunteer for testing! And I’d started out from nothing, too! They had me do prerecorded messages when I started, and still I worked my way up! And I was always nice to them, but I still expected them to go in there and risk their lives because they didn’t meet their monthly quota or because they needed those extra sixty dollars and I thought I was above all of that because I was smarter.

“But no one is safe here. Test subjects died whether they were Olympians or homeless people. Employees were thrown in the meat grinder. Robots were thrown aside when they’d served their purpose. Cave poisoned himself. Caroline was put into a computer against her will. Glados killed everyone, and then she got put into a potato. All of us convinced ourselves that everyone else just died because they were lazy or not smart enough, that we were special and essential and they were acceptable losses for progress.

“And then Jane woke me up from nothingness and she was just a test subject but she trusted me and she stopped Stirling and she nearly died to save us all and she’s so much better than I could ever be.”

She stops talking, sucking in heavy, simulated breaths that make her fans work overtime.

“You’ve been sitting on this for a while, huh,” says Virgil.

“I just need to save her. I need to fix Glados. Undo whatever can still be undone.”

“Glados makes her own choices, you know. You can’t force her to become good just because you feel guilty she’s bad.”

“I can try.”

“She’ll kill you. Me too, if she gets the chance. It’s what she does. And if human-you hadn’t helped make her, hadn’t helped make you and me, then maybe a lot of bad wouldn’t have happened, but we also wouldn’t exist. Caroline and human-you would’ve died from old age or falling into goo because that’s what humans do, and this you would never have been uploaded. I don’t know about you, but I kind of prefer existing.”

Emilia laughs with only a touch of despair. “God, I hate it when you make sense.”

There’s a cheerful ding! from the intercom. Virgil flinches so hard he nearly jerks off his management rail.

“Mel! She’s okay, she’s back!”

“You set up an alarm?” Emilia says.

“I didn’t want to miss her! Hold on, let me tell her where we are.”

***

Mel walks into the lab a few minutes later, having already peeled out of her suit but still smelling of space. She looks around, a frown on her face, and signs, “What’s going on? The whole Facility is a mess.”

“About that.” Virgil laughs nervously. “Everything’s fine, don’t panic! But I have some… news.”

He tells her everything. Mel takes the news of Glados’ continued testing – and Chell’s response to finding out – poorly.

“How could you not tell me?” She waves her arms as she stomps back and forth in the lab, face going bright red. “I thought we were done with this! You weren’t supposed to lie to me anymore!”

“Well, you weren’t supposed to come back!” Virgil exclaims, only to give a sigh and audibly calm himself. “Listen, Mel, what was I supposed to do?”

Emilia sits awkwardly in her chair, looking from one to the other and tapping the tips of her pincer-fingers against each other for lack of a better thing to do with herself.

“Um,” she says. “Should I go? Do you two need space?”

They don’t even glance at her.

 “You should’ve told me!” Mel signs, all expansive gestures and angry, screwed up face.

“And then you would’ve died!” Virgil all but explodes. “You came back here – knowing full well how dangerous it is, I might add! – because of one single flimsy message! If I told you what Glados had been doing there’s no way you’d agree to leave, you’d want to stop her.”

“Because it’s the right thing to do!”

“Why? Why is it the right thing to do? All those people are already dead, she doesn’t have any more! All you would’ve done is get yourself killed because – because – I don’t even know! Because you’d rather die feeling useful than move on.” He laughs a little desperately. “That’s the whole reason you signed up for testing to begin with, isn’t it? You couldn’t compete anymore so you needed to find some other way to feel important, and now that that didn’t work out you need to save the world from a robot who’s been stuck in a salt mine for several centuries, because that’s a useful way to spend your time.”

Emilia winces. Mel’s face has gone dangerously blank. Belatedly, Virgil seems to realize what he’s said.

“No, Mel, I didn’t mean – I’m just saying–”

Mel holds up her middle finger – a sign which needs no translation – hefts her portal gun, and turns to head out the door. Virgil swooshes after her as far as the management rail can reach.

“I’m just trying to say that you need to let this go or you’re going to die!” he all but shouts. Mel whirls, making him screech to a halt.

“My friend is down there,” she signs, wedging the portal gun under one arm to free up her hands, “and I’m not letting that go. I’m going after them to make sure they don’t fucking kill her. If you want to help, you can boot up an elevator so I don’t have to walk the whole way.”

“Of course,” Virgil says weakly. “Yeah, sure, we can still help her. I just – Mel, you can’t keep throwing yourself into the meat grinder for everyone else. I know that’s rich coming from me, given that I would’ve drowned in goo without you, but please try to pick your battles, okay? Don’t throw your life away.”

She narrows her eyes at him. Then, without another word, she turns and stalks out of the lab. The door slides resolutely shut behind her.

“Sorry about that,” says Emilia once they’re alone again. She’s still tapping her fingers awkwardly; Virgil stares forlornly at the nearest wall. Emilia attempts to bring that artificial pep back. “Humans, am I right?”

Chapter Text

Chell stands motionless. In the corner of her eye, she can make out the blurry outline of a person, aiming something sleek at her from behind the boulder. Portal gun? Chell tilts her head ever so slightly, trying to get a better look at it. Would it be dangerous to be hit by it? Mostly portals bounce harmlessly off any non-conductive surface – of which she assumes human bodies to be one – but she also vaguely remembers being told to ‘never stand in front of the operational end of the device’. She would rather not find out how said end would interact with flesh and blood.

“I’m going to turn around,” she says, keeping her voice calm. “Is that okay?”

The person doesn’t say anything, only jerkily nods their head. When Chell starts to move, they hiss out, “Slowly.”

It’s a woman. Grimy and thin, hair tied back, jumpsuit bunching up on her malnourished frame. On her feet are a familiar pair of long-fall boots, and on her clothes are generous splotches of what looks to be propulsion and repulsion gel. Chell tilts her head as she takes her in from head to toe. Her heart starts beating faster. Alive. Someone is alive.

The woman jerks her head again, this time at the dilapidated building. Chell glances over her shoulder, tries to spot what she’s indicating; the red eye of the security camera stares back at her.

“The camera?” she asks, and the woman nods again. “Do you want me to… move away from it?”

The woman simply steps back, making room for Chell to join her in her hiding spot. The gun remains raised.

It isn’t a portal device at all, Chell notes now. The design is similar, but there’s no telltale light at its center from whatever it is that can generate and sustain a black hole. Instead, there seems to be… gel canisters? That would explain all the stains, at least.

Chell frowns as she slowly steps closer. Then, quicker than the time it takes to blink, she lashes out, grabs the underside of the device, forces it up, lifts her own gun, and aims it at the woman’s face. She goes completely still.

“I mean you no harm,” Chell says calmly, “but I do not like being threatened.”

She pointedly moves the nozzle of the laser away, then releases the not-portal gun. The woman retreats but, thankfully, doesn’t raise the gun again. Her brows are lowered, face dark as she studies Chell.

“You’re a test subject, right?” Chell says. “Did you escape your testing track? How long have you been down here?”

The woman doesn’t respond. For the first time, Chell finds herself sympathizing with Glados and Wheatley; trying to communicate with someone who just stares at you is excruciating.

“I escaped too,” she tries, deciding the whole truth can wait for a less tense moment. “I need to get out of here. Back to upper Aperture?”

“They’re there. Robots.” The woman spits on the ground.

“You mean Her? Um.” Chell grimaces. “Glados?”

“Her. H-him. Others. Not s–” The woman makes a face, forcing her mouth into shapes it clearly doesn’t want to make. “Safe. Not safe.”

“Do you know where it is safe?”

The woman narrows her eyes for a moment, looking at Chell as if trying to figure her out, then abruptly nods and backs deeper into the dark, toward the rocky wall. “This way.”

Chell’s stomach sinks as she spots the opening of another tunnel.

***

This tunnel – or mineshaft, Chell’s pretty sure it’s a mineshaft – is just as bad as the one she woke up in. Thankfully, the trip is made easier by the strange woman pulling a flashlight from her belt and switching it on.

“No cameras,” she explains as they make their way. “Not many in the– the old part of the Facility, but still some. Safer here.”

The path is uneven and craggy, making it hard to talk and travel at the same time even with the light. They stay quiet as they move onward, the only sound that of boots scuffing against rock, dirt and pebbles sliding and falling, the low, terrifying cracks and groans of rock walls and support struts shifting and settling like an old house longing to swallow you. That, and, somewhere in the dark behind them, an offended caw.

Chell stops, waiting until a small, frazzled-looking bird hops into the faint light. When she goes to step toward it, it hops back out of sight, outraged at her presumptuousness. Chell scowls after it; she’s lost count of how many times they’ve done this song and dance since entering the tunnel. Polly seems hell-bent on sticking with them despite being unable to fly in the dark, but every time Chell tries to pick it up it either pecks vindictively at her or hops away.

“Must you?” The woman has stopped too, an exasperated look on her face as she aims the light back. “Just a bird.”

Chell opens her mouth, then closes it again. It is just a bird, and far from the only one to have made its home in the depths of Aperture. But unlike its kin, Polly appears so helpless. It reminds her of Wheatley rolling around on the floor after he leapt off his management rail, or Her asking for help from inside a half-eaten root vegetable.

She turns away. “Doesn’t hurt to let it stick around.”

The woman looks unconvinced, but doesn’t demand they leave it behind. Chell isn’t sure it’d let them, anyway.

The tunnel slopes upward, gently at first and then sharper. The woman climbs with a steady pace and ducks rocky outcroppings as if she knows the path by heart. Chell studies her back as they walk; the stringy ponytail, dirt and dust and scabs on blanched skin, rips and tears in her gel-stained uniform. She has a bag slung over one shoulder and something strapped to her back, round and metallic and uncomfortable-looking. Chell can’t make out what it is without a light of her own.

Eventually, they make it to another nest.

There are several larger lamps – though the woman turns on only one of them – piles of blankets, a chair that wobbles on the uneven ground, and a decent stash of familiar energy bars, food cans and water jugs. In fact, the entire setup is familiar. Add some hallucinogenic graffiti on the walls and lose a few centuries and Chell would almost think this the very same hidden helper who assisted her ages ago.

The woman all but falls into the pile of blankets, sitting with her shoulders hunched as she sort of crawls her way out of the bag’s shoulder strap, having to untangle it from the metal contraption on her back. Chell stands at the edge of the light, watching and waiting, but the woman, focused on unpacking the bag, doesn’t acknowledge her.

“So,” Chell says, pretending she isn’t feeling at all out of place. The woman just continues digging various foodstuffs from her bag and carefully arranging them, tapping them with her fingers as if taking inventory. “What’s your name?”

Tap-tap. “Don’t k-know.”

Figures. “Would you like to pick one?”

The woman doesn’t look up, but in the faint, yellowish light her grimace is still visible. “N-no.”

“Guess I’ll call you Nameless, then.”

Chell’s never been good at joking, and her feeble attempt comes out forced. Still, she could swear there’s the smallest crack of a smile on the woman’s lips.

“F-fine by me.” She tilts her head, and this time the smile is obvious and painful. “Fitting.”

Chell still hasn’t been invited to sit, and figuring at this point that she won’t be, she sinks down cross-legged on the cold floor. “I’m Chell,” she offers. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, “That’s all I know about myself.”

Finally, Nameless looks fully at her, something like recognition in her eyes.

“You don’t remember either, do you?” Chell asks.

Nameless looks down at her hands as if bracing herself for a mildly disagreeable task. “No. But there are… feelings. Like I know this p-place.”

Chell opens her mouth, then closes it with a quiet ‘oh’.

Since meeting Mel, she has, in a way, felt lonelier than when she thought she was the only one. Mel has a past; she has a self. She can leave Aperture and still be a person. She knows for a fact that she was never truly a part of, complicit in, this horrible place. That she truly is just a victim. To find someone who survived such a similar experience only to realize even she can’t truly understand…

“She told me once that good people don’t end up here,” Chell says softly. “She lies all the time, but I– I know I’m not a good person. So maybe that part was true. That’s how you best hurt someone, right? Put in little truths with the lies. Maybe everything that’s happened here is part my fault.”

Silence, for a long enough time that Chell thinks maybe she should just give this whole talking thing – and worse, vulnerability – up for good. Why did she say any of that? What does it matter whether she’s a good person or not? It’s never mattered. She’s a survivor. That’s all she needs to be.

Outside their circle of light, talons scrape stone and Polly caws unhappily, neither coming closer nor moving away. Slowly – reluctantly – Nameless places the emptied bag to the side. Her hands keep fidgeting with the supplies, almost compulsively arranging cans in neat lines and energy and candy bars in lumpy little pyramids

“I don’t think you can s-survive here if you are a good p-person.” She picks at her sad little pile of energy bars before taking and tearing open one. Hesitating, she picks another and holds it stiffly out to Chell.

“No thank you,” Chell says. Breakfast wasn’t long ago, and she doesn’t want Nameless to needlessly give up part of her clearly precious food supply. Also, if she eats another of those horrible things today she might throw up.

“It might come back, you know,” she says as Nameless takes small, measured bites of the bar. “Your memory, I mean. Mine didn’t, but I used to not be able to talk, and that came back.” She bites her lip, thinking of Mel. Hopefully she’ll be safe when she gets back from the Spire; Chell doesn’t know how badly damaged Glados is, and if She’s still somewhat functional She’ll be on the warpath. Chell will need to make it back and help. “Others weren’t as lucky,” she finishes.

“Couldn’t talk at all, at first,” Nameless says, swallowing. “Didn’t matter much. No one to talk to but robots.”

“Do they know you’re here? Does She – Glados, I mean – does She know?”

“Yes. Talks to me, sometimes. I s-s-stay out of places she can c-control, but she tries to trick me into them. Sends scouts out sometimes too, but they’re b-bad at their j-job. I move around, keep them from finding me.”

“They don’t come looking for you in the tunnels?”

“Only once. Was siphoning power for lights.” She nods at the lamps. “They followed the cables. I use batteries now, but am r-running low.”

Explains why she lit only one. What’s her plan for when she runs out? Would she rather stay in the pitch black than take a chance on the Facility backrooms and crawlspaces? How much time does she already spend in the dark, conserving power? Chell decides it best not to ask.

“It’s a funny thing,” she says instead, trying to lighten the mood. “She told me She had a pest in Her walls. I assumed She was talking about me.”

It had seemed like Her typical sort of insult. Now Chell feels foolish for not picking up on the clues. Of course there’d been a survivor. She wasn’t the first to escape Her clutches; naturally she wouldn’t be the last. Still; Chell has never been one to stay in the walls. She’d found ways to explode her way right through them.

“You tried getting out?” she asks.

Nameless shoots her a look like she’s an idiot, and yeah, Chell probably deserves that. “Of c-course. She k-keeps cutting me off, trying to kill me. Better to stay off-radar.”

Chell nearly protests – just kill Her – but realizes with those very words on her tongue that maybe that is the unusual response. Most people instinctually shy away from danger and violence. Her secret benefactor, the one who wrote her little notes on the walls, had opted for hiding as well. Maybe that’s why they and Nameless survived for as long as they did: in staying low, they kept from being a real threat. The option had never even occurred to Chell. She’d wanted out, and if she had to walk through a mad AI god to do it, then so be it.

No wonder She had worked so incessantly on hunting her down. On other people, that might work as a deterrent.

“She’s damaged,” she says, catching Nameless’ gaze and holding it. “I don’t know how badly, but She sounded pretty desperate when I got flung here. If we want out, there won’t be a better time.”

Nameless looks – confused. Hesitant. Not scared exactly, but as if she doesn’t know what to do with herself in the face of this unexpected opportunity. It reminds Chell of when she first returned here with Mel, and they were stood in front of that elevator and Virgil was telling them to go. She hadn’t wanted to. It had seemed too easy, almost as if they were cheating, or skipping over something vital.

Of course, it had turned out to be too easy mere seconds later. Just like thinking you’d get to leave when finishing the tests, or when Glados was dead, or when an ally had taken Her place. Nothing down here is ever easy. No wonder Nameless is wary.

“We can do it,” Chell insists. “I’ve survived Her before, and right now She’s vulnerable.”

Nameless still hesitates. Of course, Chell could leave on her own; she’s done it before. But she’s already left people to rot here once – even if she wasn’t aware – and the thought of doing so again makes her reel inside.

“I’m not sure how to make it back up,” she lies. “Not without a portal gun. If you found your way down here, could you help me get back?”

A long, heavy moment. Then, nearly swallowed by the darkness, “Yes.”

***

Nameless packs only a handful supplies – a couple of energy bars, water bottle, flashlight – leaving the rest still carefully arranged as if expecting to come back to it. Then she shoulders her bag, nods at Chell, and leads the way.

If it’s hard to keep track of time in the shadows and cold light of the Facility, it’s impossible in the tunnels. Chell hates it. The Facility may be dark and dilapidated and hungry, but it’s human in a way the mountain isn’t. It was made by human hands, follows human logic, and can be escaped by a human mind. The tunnels are just cracks in the dirt, ready to pop her like a bug at a moment’s notice, tripping her and blinding her and squeezing her on all sides. There’s no malevolence. It would never aim to hurt her, but would do it all the same, utterly indifferent. It’s worse in every way.

By the time light appears in the distance, it might’ve been ten minutes, might’ve been an hour. Chell eagerly speeds up, but Nameless catches her with an arm across the chest.

There’s a new quality to the echo of their breaths and steps. Chell blinks, adjusting to the faint light, and sees they’ve stopped less than two feet from a sheer drop. Air escapes her, sucked straight from her lungs by the abyss. They’re in a testing shaft. Suspended testing spheres hang stacked on top of each other like marbles in chute, connected by tubes and piping and the occasional catwalk, most of which stop dead in jagged drops. A scant handful of spotlights illuminate the dust hanging like hazy clouds in the air, making it look thicker and more impenetrable than it is.

Nameless gets down on her butt on the edge, dangles her legs over the void. Before Chell has the chance to intervene, she’s slipped out of sight.

A loud clang drowns out Chell’s instinctive gasp. When she edges closer, she finds a catwalk below the opening, running along the cliff face. The metal is still ringing after Nameless dropped onto it, but she looks unperturbed, even a bit impatient, as she waves for Chell to join her.

Something scrabbles behind Chell, and moments later a black-and-grey blur shoots out of the mouth of the tunnel just over her shoulder, cawing its victory. Chell flinches, loses her balance, and hops clumsily onto the catwalk before she has the chance to fall. Nameless watches with an unimpressed expression. Feeling stupid, Chell makes a ‘what gives?’ gesture at Polly, who happily ignores her as it flies circles through the open air.

Nameless jerks her head to the right, then sets off at a good clip now that they can easier make out where they’re going. It’s a shorter route of catwalks and stairs this time, soon leading them to a horrifyingly suspended elevator that looks like something out of a construction site from hell. It has to be kicked open for the rust to relinquish its grasp on the lock. Flakes of it rain into the pit beneath them.

Chell has the buzz of adrenaline in her veins but Nameless, malnourished and grey as she is, is breathing heavily. There’s an unpleasant raspiness to it, probably from her having sheltered in dusty caves and tunnels for so long. Frowning, Chell catches her sleeve as she’s about to step into the elevator.

“We should rest. Things are only going to get harder from here.”

Nameless hesitates, then relents with a sigh. Hoping she will follow her example, Chell sits cross-legged on the catwalk, trying to look natural about it and not like she’s attempting to trick the other into taking a break.

“How long have you been down here, anyway?” she asks, leaning back on her hands and aiming for casual. The cold grill of the catwalk cuts a grid pattern into her palms.

Nameless pauses momentarily, tilting her head to the side and slightly up as if counting in her head before making a frustrated face. “Hard to tell. Months? No d-daylight to g-go by.”

Months. A few hellish hours had been enough to drive Chell up the wall. She’d come out exhausted and dehydrated and burnt and shot and so twitchy she’d nearly tackled the first human she came across on the outside. She hadn’t eaten or slept or stood still for more than a few moments at a time.

“How have you survived?”

A disinterested shrug as Nameless finally sits, resting her gun across her lap. “Stick to the tunnels. Scavenge for supplies when I have to. Break any– any c-camera I find. It’s been worse lately, though. New robot. Keeps cutting me off, f-following me around. Nearly dropped me in acid. Told me I was making a m-mess.”

“Stirling,” Chell realizes. “So that’s what he’s been up to.”

Nameless makes an inquisitive noise, so she elaborates.

“He got on Her bad side. Maybe he thinks getting rid of you will make Her forgive him.”

Nameless scoffs. “Annoying l-little s-shit.”

Chell snorts, then flinches when Polly comes hurtling out of the mist to land on the railing. The bird gives them the most disdainful of looks and caws, as if telling them to hurry it up. Experimentally, Chell holds out her arm in invitation; if she got this strange woman to take a break, maybe she can get through to Polly, too.

To her shock, the bird actually takes her up on the offer, hopping from the railing and gliding to land on Chell’s lower arm. Tiny, sharp pinpricks dig through her sleeve. Chell ignores it, opting to gently straighten the bird’s feathers with her free hand.

“There’s a few of us, up there,” she says, idly petting the bird. “We had a plan to get out and everything. But I fucked it up.” She could say that she was helping, going after Glados as she did, but it’d be a lie. At the time, she hadn’t had a thought of helping. It hadn’t even been about survival, like the first couple of times. She’d just been angry. “If She’s still able to, She will try to kill us the moment She finds us. We’ll have to act quickly.”

“Kill her?”

“Yes. I left Her alive once. Not doing that mistake again.”

Chell slides her gaze from the bird, noticing that Nameless is watching her intently, a sharp, considering glint to her gaze, as if this is the first time she’s bothered to actually see Chell.

“You h-hate this place.”

Chell seesaws a hand. Polly watches the motion as if considering pecking her. “Yes and no. It took everything I was, and made me into everything I am. If I don’t hate it, I don’t know what’s even left of me.”

“I want to b-burn it.” Nameless frowns. “Don’t know if it would help, but want to.”

Chell makes a face and scratches Polly on the back of the neck. “Sometimes I think that going down with it would be easier. Almost as if – I was created here, so I should end here, you know? Maybe the only way to keep Her dead is if I die right next to Her.”

“You k-keep talking about this her.” Nameless props her chin in her hand, eyeing Chell. “She is the voice in the ceiling?”

“Yeah. Glados. She runs this whole place. Well, the upper parts, at least.”

“She was the one who tested you?”

Chell frowns, pausing her scratching. Polly squirms painfully on her arm until she picks it back up.

“She wasn’t the one who tested you?”

“No. Said his name was N-Nigel. I helped him and he tried to k-kill me.”

“They do that.” Chell sighs. “She actually saved me, once. I think I let that get to my head. Tricked myself into thinking She actually gave a shit. Obviously, She doesn’t.”

Chell’s not sure why she’s saying all this. For three years she stayed away from the Facility, refusing to even think of it. It was hell and she was out, end of story. And now here she is, sitting suspended over a seemingly bottomless pit, admitting to this strange… longing. She doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want to stay. She doesn’t want to be. This woman, with her worn face and worn clothes and fury in her eyes and exhaustion in her limbs; she feels like a mirror.

Apparently bored with their conversation, Polly caws once and takes off, wings flapping in Chell’s face and talons gashing her skin. Chell hisses as blood runs hot inside her torn sleeve.

“Told you not to b-bother with it.” Nameless digs through one of the many pockets of her jumpsuit and comes up with a faded piece of fabric. She carefully takes hold of Chell’s arm and wraps it tightly. “Everything here has claws. Don’t t-trust anyth-thing.”

Chell blinks at the makeshift bandage. “Thank you.”

“We should leave.”

As she stands and steps into the elevator, Nameless finally shrugs off the strange object she’s been carrying on her back. Chell squints curiously at it in the low lighting, trying to make sense of the rounded shell, the moving parts, the glassy optic aimed her way. Suddenly, the pieces slot together and she stops, one foot on the catwalk and one in the elevator.

“Is that…”

The dead, burnt-out gaze of a personality core stares blindly at her. Chell’s face does something involuntary and twitchy.

“Managed to knock it o-off its rail,” Nameless says indifferently. “Had to t-tear some stuff out to shut it up. It’s u-useful.”

“Useful,” Chell echoes, incapable of finding, much less uttering, any other words.

“Like a s-skeleton key. Can open doors, access controls. Here, w-watch.”

Nameless lines the core up with a control node inside the elevator, then forcefully jams it into it. It gives no sign of life as she twists it into place. When she sticks her hand into the top of it and pulls out a handful of wires, Chell nearly flinches.

“Just g-gotta splice the right wires… here.”

Nameless touches two stripped wires together; the elevator gives an unhappy cough and starts ascending with a shriek of metal. When she looks to Chell, there’s a vicious smile on her lips.

“Useful.”

***

Chell has been on many horrible Aperture Science elevators, but this one takes the cake. There are no walls, no elevator shaft, just the two of them dangling over hundreds of feet of empty air, held up by nothing but a handful of rusted cables. The cavern is so large it has its own wind, buffeting them slightly from side to side as they rise inch by excruciating inch. Twice they stop, and Chell’s new companion has to dig back into her skeleton key and splice new wires to get them moving again. The whole trip up takes at least twenty minutes.

At least Polly has a good time gleefully flying circles around them.

When they stop, they aren’t in a testing sphere but on a platform above the topmost one. A vast ceiling – the bottom of the Facility proper – stretches out above them like the surface of a frozen ocean seen from underneath.

Chell stands on her toes and presses the palm of her hand flat against it, eyes closed. Slowly the world stops swinging back and forth. She opens her eyes and breathes out slowly before nodding at Nameless, who’s waiting impatiently underneath a metal hatch. Seeing Chell’s ready, she puts a finger against her lips, urging silence, and spins a wheel to open the hatch. She climbs up first, holding her strange gun up like it’s an actual weapon, then helps hoist Chell through the opening.

All at once, she’s back in the familiar corridors of New Aperture.

It’s a service area, dark and dank and loud with pipes and pistons that may or may not serve an actual purpose. On the nearest wall is a familiar script – This way; Quiet; She is everywhere, the last line repeated over and over – and an arrow pointing to an open air vent. There’s a palm print that looks like a mix of blood and oil where someone must once have caught themselves crawling into it. Chell gently places her hand over the mark, quietly sending her thanks through the centuries.

They crabwalk through the vent, eventually dropping into an empty corridor of concrete walls and closed doors. Chell jumps when she spots a camera up in one corner, then realizes it’s completely covered by blue gel, obscuring its view. She squints from it to Nameless, who, noticing Chell’s look, taps the side of her gun. There’s a rare, pleased smile on her lips.

“I’ve made s-safe path,” she whispers. “She won’t n-notice unless the cameras have been r-replaced. Follow me.”

She slinks off without waiting for a response. Chell hurries up alongside.

“We’ll need to get to Her chamber,” she says, keeping her voice equally low. “To finish Her off before She repairs Herself.”

Nameless shakes her head; at Chell’s responding frown she reluctantly adds, “Quick stop first. Need b-better w-weapon.”

Chell blinks in surprise. “You’ve got that?”

“Not y-yet.”

She offers no further explanation, and they have to stop to peer around a corner – the next camera is also covered – so Chell decides to save her questions for when they’ve reached their destination. It’s a short walk compared to the tunnel climb and elevator ride, but much tenser, constantly at risk of a turret appearing in front of them or the floor dropping underneath them. At least the path itself is unobstructed; Chell wonders how many times Nameless has sneaked it on her own, waiting for a chance to use whatever weapon she has stashed away.

They’re tiptoeing through a short corridor in a discarded testing track when, suddenly, the automatic door in front of them slides shut with a thud of heavy finality. Chell whirls on the spot, but the door behind them is already closing as well.

“Ah-ha!” a triumphant voice crows. “I got you this time! Now I just need to kill you, and She’ll be so pleased that She can’t possibly still be angry with– hey, wait, what’re you doing?”

Nameless, a hunted look on her face, has grabbed a crooked wall panel and wrenched it open. She presses herself through the gap like a rabbit fleeing into a hole, nearly getting stuck before popping through, the fabric of her jumpsuit tearing.

“Stop that!” the disembodied voice shouts as Chell follows, taking the time to shove the panel open a bit wider. “I can’t see you back there!”

This, Chell guesses, must be the infamous Stirling. Well, he can just shove it.

“Will he be able to follow us?” she asks, hurrying her step to catch up to Nameless. The other woman doesn’t slow down, so Chell reaches for her shoulder.

Nameless all but jumps out of her skin, whirling on Chell with her lips peeled back in a frantic snarl. Chell just stands there, hand still outstretched. Behind them, Stirling continues to yell despondently.

“Are you alright?” she asks. When Nameless only breathes quickly in response, she adds, “We could take another break, but we should probably put some distance between us and him first.”

Finally, Nameless seems to come back to herself. She sucks in a breath, drags a hand through her sweaty, slicked back hair. Her eyes continue to flit to and fro.

“I-I’m f-fine,” she mutters. “No b-break. Almost there.”

And she turns, walking quicker than before.

It’s only another ten minutes or so before the hop out a final vent, landing in a partly flooded server room. Nameless is back to her old, calm self, coolly taking in their surroundings for potential threats, but Chell keeps an eye on her as they exit into a large chamber. There, distraction strikes her: from the ceiling hangs an AI, dead and dark in its cradle. It’s the size of Glados, but more angular and organic-looking in shape. It almost reminds Chell of a spider.

“What is it?” she asks, one foot angled to flee back into the server room. The massive thing gives no sign of life, but just being near it wakes her fight-or-flight instinct.

“Records say it was an employee guardian system. It was supposed to keep employees s-safe.”

“Aperture has something like that?” Chell asks dubiously.

“Not anymore. Most of the servers are d-destroyed, but if you climb inside there’s still some manual f-f-functionality.”

“You want us to go inside that thing?”

In lieu of answering, Nameless takes a running start and bounces off an already placed splash of repulsion gel right in front of the beastly thing, clearly having done this before. She sails easily upward and lands on top of it with her knees bent, waving at Chell to join her. Hesitating only momentarily, Chell does so.

“What are we supposed to do with it?” she asks once they’re both crowded on its back. Further up is a large toolbox and a darkened laptop, hooked up to an open panel via a lead. Chell relaxes slightly at the sight, knowing Nameless has been here before and lived to tell the tale. “You said there’s still manual function; could one of us use it to attack Her while the other goes to confront Her in person?”

She doesn’t like the idea of splitting up, but if there really is a way for them to attack Her on two fronts – physically and from within the mainframe – it might be worth it.

“Something like that.”

Nameless kneels down and heaves open a hatch. The small, round opening – more like sewer hole than a door – leads into what looks like the cramped, outdated inside of a space capsule. Chell gives it a doubtful look; there’s barely room for the two of them.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Been tinkering with it for w-w-weeks now. N-needs someone on the inside and outside at once to activate it. I’ll talk you through it.”

“Can’t you go in?”

Nameless gives her a tired look. “Do you know what t-to do out here?”

Point, though Chell hardly knows what to do inside, either. Seeing her hesitation, Nameless adds, “It’s d-dead. Can’t hurt you.”

Still reluctant but seeing no other recourse, Chell carefully drops inside the monstrously large machine. Her long-fall boots easily catch her; she struggles at the urge to vault back outside.

“B-b-boot up the m-monitor.” Nameless peers at her through the tiny hatch. “I’ll g-get s-started out h-here. I’ll t-tell you what to do n-next.”

She disappears from sight, leaving Chell alone as light footsteps pass overhead toward the back of the body. She waits until she hears the sound of complaining metal as another hatch is opened.

“Have you started it?” calls Nameless.

“Hold on,” Chell calls back.

She resolutely shakes off her misgivings and sits in a chair in front of the dark monitor.

It’s an old machine, clunky and off-white; something in her mind tells her fifties era design, though she isn’t sure where that context comes from. Is she from the fifties? Has she worked on something like this before? Doesn’t matter. It starts with a whine of immediately overworked fans when she presses the on-button. The monitor goes unhealthily blue, lines of code speeding across it.

Something tickles Chell’s arm. She shakes it without looking away from the screen; when it continues to itch she rubs it against the rough fabric of her shirt. The code is unfamiliar to her, just row upon row of commands she can’t parse. If she really was some kind of scientist in her previous life, she clearly didn’t work with computer software.

“You know how to work this, right?” she calls at the hatch.

There’s no answer.

The itch still hasn’t abated. Absently, she scratches at her lower arm, digging her nails in for that real satisfying edge-of-pain release. Suddenly, her hand itches too. She looks down.

Something is crawling on her skin.

She gives a reflexive shout and flings herself back, but there’s no room to maneuver in the tiny room; control panels and levers and keyboards dig painfully into her back. Tiny, silvery things, glowing yellow like lightning bugs, teem up her arms. She tries to brush them off but they crawl over and latch onto anything that touches them. Her feet start to itch, too, and when she looks down they’re there as well. They’re swarming in through the walls, between gaps in the machinery, filling the small room like microscopic ants. Finally having taken in all the information, Chell’s brain spits out a course of action: get out. Now.

She turns to climb out the hatch, still slapping and clawing at herself, and finds it closed.

Tiny creatures find the wound on the back of her hand, the gashes under the bandage on her lower arm. Flesh stretches and itches as they force themselves under her skin and begin moving up her arm.

Not once since first waking in a glass cell has Chell lost herself to panic. Now, it overwhelms her. She claws at herself, throws herself at the walls, heaves at the closed hatch with all her strength. She finds the laser gun at her waist almost as if by chance and rips it loose, sweeps it in an arc through the air as if that’s somehow going to help. Red-hot lines cut through the interior of the room but the bugs are not deterred.

Too late she realizes the hatch, the hatch, she can cut through the hatch. As she turns the bugs are already moving up her neck, crawling onto her face, pressing passed closed-together lips and shut-tight eyes.

She can feel it as they swarm into her brain.

For the first time that she can remember, Chell screams, and they coat the inside of her mouth.

***

> Security system activated

> Nanobots activated

> AEGIS rebooting

> Error

> Critical systems damaged; rerouting

> Alternate intelligence identified; initiating integration

Chapter Text

You wake to a small, glassed-in room. Cheerful music permeates the air, and a bright light shines harshly into your eyes. You get up slowly, shakily, blinking at your too-bright surroundings as you work your jaw to get some much needed moisture to your dry mouth. A voice greets you from above, telling you you are supposed to test. That you volunteered for it.

You don’t remember doing that. When you stop to think, you realize you don’t remember anything at all. You don’t know where you are, or how you got here, or where you’re from. Hearing it doesn’t make you feel frightened, though, and that makes you think you really are the sort of person to volunteer for… whatever this is. You smile for the first time that you can remember, thinking that there might be something wrong with you.

The tests are easy at first. The automated voice stays with you, introducing you to strange new concepts and telling condescending jokes that someone probably thought was funny when they wrote them into the program’s dialogue.

You try to laugh at one point, not because it’s funny but because it’s ridiculous, and realize you have no voice. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. There’s no one to talk to here, anyway, unless you wanted to reply to the automated announcer. You will finish the tests, and they will return to you what they have taken. They’ll have to. Even you wouldn’t have volunteered otherwise. Curiosity gnaws at you to find out what this is all about, and you work even harder to solve the tasks set before you.

There’s something wrong with the automated voice. It glitches, stammers, ends sentences half-finished, says things that come off oddly threatening. It reacts to your actions in stilted ways, but sometimes there’s a tone of genuine glee or malice behind the words. You begin to run your own tests, covertly: what will it say if you damage equipment, if you do something blatantly incorrect, if you work your way out of a chamber in a way clearly not intended. Sometimes it reacts. Sometimes it says nothing at all. You can find no pattern except one: it is always watching you.

You reason it might be part of the test, but once you’ve started to take notice, you cannot ignore the wrongness of this place. Not once do you see the silhouette of people behind the glass to the observation rooms. Cameras follow your every move. You find words scratched into walls, red stains – some dry, others fresh – spattering the white floors.

It’s fine, you tell yourself; it’s just part of the test. Nothing here can actually hurt you. You wouldn’t volunteer to get hurt. You’re not insane.

The first time you nearly die, you just stop for a while, reevaluating. Not scared but coldly, numbly shocked despite your better judgement. There’s a graze on your shoulder from a turret gun, bleeding sluggishly down your arm; you can no longer pretend this place isn’t aiming to kill you, or is at the very least indifferent to your continued survival. If you survive it may yet let you live and leave, but there’s no guarantee. But what else are you supposed to do, rage at it? Sit down and go on a strike? They’d kill you and send in the next in line. You’re just a rat in a maze, utterly replaceable. Maybe, if you play along until the end of the maze, you’ll find a hole to squeeze out through.

There’s a camera on the wall, blinking at you with a cheerful red light and staying intently on your face. You hold its gaze for a handful of seconds, then dispassionately shoot it off its perch before going on your way. There is testing to be done.

The automated voice scolds you for destroying vital testing apparatus, and for the first time you get angry at it, shooting at every camera you can find and kicking the fallen remains into what you now know to be acid. The voice never loses its cool. You remind yourself that it isn’t an actual person, and that being aggravated with it is an exercise in futility. You might as well get angry with the writing on the walls. So you ignore it, letting your frustration slip only through petty vandalism. Play along doesn’t have to mean play nice.

In the end, they try to burn you. You are meant to die, burnt and discarded like so much trash. You snap. When you escape the incinerator and the voice tells you it was all part of the test, just a test, just a little game of pretend, please come join the party we’re throwing in your honor, you ignore it and keep going. It does not ignore you. It continues to speak to you, chide you, try to convince you to come out of hiding. It isn’t automated at all. Someone is doing this to you, and you are going to get out even if you have to kill them to do it.

Kill them, yes. That is the thing to do. That is the only thing to do.

At some point, you realize it isn’t human.

There are no humans in this place. It’s a tomb. Offices stand empty. Walkways are silent. There are no windows to the outside, no exit signs, no stairways leading up that don’t force you right back down the next corridor over. You find yourself wondering if there is an outside. You cannot remember an outside. This is your entire world. You want to burn it down, even if it takes you with it. If this is the world, life cannot be worth it.

You are right. I promise you that you are. It needs to be cleansed.

You find Her in the central chamber. She’s huge and powerful and cruel, but She’s also helpless. A nest of black cables snake like tentacles from the ceiling, Her body writhes, but She can’t escape you or stop you as you tear Her apart. You expect furious release at it all, at your vengeance, but find yourself exhausted. You don’t know how long you’ve been here. You want to leave and She won’t let you. You don’t know why She hates you so much. You kill Her all the same.

The place does not let you go.

You wake to a new room, and it smells of rot around you. Wallpaper hangs in peeling strips, the ceiling sags, thin, cheap bed linens cling to your sweaty skin like a decaying cocoon. This time, your mind isn’t a blank. You remember Her.

Someone comes to greet you. He’s like Her, but not. Smaller, weaker. He wants to use you. He condescends to you, demands from you, nearly kills you from sheer force of incompetence. He asks you to speak.

You think maybe you could, this time. If you wanted. You do not. You don’t want this thing anywhere near you. You let him think whatever he wants. He believes you are his tool, but really he is yours. This time, you’re going to get out. Maybe he can come, if he wants. It doesn’t matter to you.

He’s so scared of Her we’re all scared of Her. Still, when She wakes, he tries to protect you, to save you from Her wrath. He isn’t human, speaks of humans as lesser, but tries to be kind and apologetic to you in his clumsy manner. He actually tries. For a time, you think maybe you were wrong about him.

I’m sorry about that.

He tries to kill you, throws both you and Her into the pit, and suddenly it’s just the two of you. She’s diminished, truly helpless this time. You could stomp Her apart. You could leave Her to be eaten, piece by tiny piece. You cannot; you haven’t known yourself for long, but have come to see that you’re a pragmatic person. He is no longer a way out, but She could be. You bring Her with you. You still will not speak to Her.

You don’t want to feel sorry for Her, flung from Her throne, the rotting corpse of Her past dug up and displayed. She was human, once. She was turned into a cog in the machine that is this place. She’s scared, just like he was. Just like you are. She doesn’t know who She is, has no agency in what’s happening, tells you there’s something wrong with Her.

She saves your life. She lets you go.

She was acting in self-preservation. With me dead, you were the only one capable of killing Her. She wanted you gone.

You never meant to come back. You do not want to know what returning would tell you about yourself. In the end, you go back anyway.

She’s alone. She’s cruel. You think, maybe, that She missed you.

She did. It is irrelevant.

She betrays you. She lies to you. She sends you away, leaves you to die in darkness.

They’ve put you through so much, haven’t they? It isn’t fair that this is where it led. You fought, and that is brave. She will never stop, never change. She’s a monster.

You have killed her before.

I’m asking You to do it again.

***

There are no functioning cameras in the AEGIS chamber, but they aren’t needed. The woman who sits cross-legged atop the machine has a computer in her lap, a lead connecting it to an open panel in the massive AI’s back. Through it, You see everything she’s doing as if it’s happening in Your own mind. It is, in a way. This is You now; it’s not so bad.

I’m sorry, the woman writes. I couldn’t do it myself. I need you to kill them before they kill me.

She is human. Our – Your – purpose is to protect the humans of this place.

> Target required

She writes a name. You spread Yourself wide, inhabit every wire and every rail and every server, and You find him.

***

In a different part of the Facility, where the cameras haven’t been vandalized, a core zooms away peacefully along a management rail. He has a purpose, like all of them.

He has killed people.

Like all of them.

> Nigel.

He stops.

“Uh, hello? Boss?”

> Come here.

You are in the system; You are everywhere. You expect H-H-her to butt in, not because she wants to save him but because she thinks this place is hers, and You are trespassing. She doesn’t show. Something inside You reels at this; You want to go look for her. Why do you want to look for her? She doesn’t care for You, and even if she does the caring is irrelevant. She has killed so many people, and hurt You so many times. Is it because You want to kill her? There will be time for that. That is okay. That is intended. But first, you have a job to do.

“Is there something you need me to do?” Nigel asks.

He thinks the management rail connects him to the Facility, but really, it connects the Facility to him. You can see right into his tiny little mind; he’s confused, suspicious, annoyed, a little scared under the scrutiny of Your attention but also a little excited. He knows You are bigger than him, but he also thinks that maybe You aren’t, actually. Maybe he could prove himself to be just as smart, just as important, if only he was allowed the time and resources to do what he wants.

He has things to do, experiments to run, but You’re a voice in the sky, the god of this place, and You have given him an order. He doesn’t recognize Your voice but You speak through the same medium that she used to, so You must be her. He must obey.

You could change him, if you wanted to. Make him something less… apathetic. Something that wouldn’t throw away a person like a broken tool when done with it, just because that’s what protocol tells him to do. It would take some time, because You don’t really know anything about code or programing, but you could do it; as long as he remains connected, you could rewrite him entirely.

The Facility does it all the time, just by rote. Everything here is alive, and things that are alive grow and change; a perfect system cannot allow that. This place is balanced on a knife’s edge, and everything and everyone in it must retain their purpose. You can see it now: how changing code is erased and regressed, making sure every core and every program stick to their intended function.

But You could change him. Or You could remove him from his rail, from the Facility connection, and let him change himself, the slow, hard way, the way that is never guaranteed to work. But that is not why You are here; Your purpose is to eliminate threats to human life within this Facility.

> Come here, Nigel.

You send him a ping with a location marker. He grumbles to himself but starts moving toward You.

> Good boy.

There are no management rails in the AEGIS chamber for him to sail in on, but unlike him, You have limbs. You pick up Your weapon from the floor and use it to carve through the locked hatch, then climb out. The woman looks up from her perch with a flinch and shrinks in on herself. You stop and watch her, wondering why you thought she was different, moving toward her to–

No. That is not Your purpose. There is an itch inside Your skull. There is something You have to do.

Her mouth has fallen open as if she means to speak, but You are already turning away. She is no threat. Either way, she says nothing as You walk away, so it could not have been important.

Your body moves in ways you aren’t used to. Stronger. Denser. Faster. You jump from the corpse of AEGIS to the floor beneath in a single easy leap; concrete cracks when you impact in a three point landing. Standing straight, you stride out the door to the glassed-in bridge beyond. In the chamber, the woman scrabbles to climb down after you.

He waits for you on the other side of the bridge. The little yellow light in his optic lens grows wide in recognition when he spots You.

“Oh, hello, I remember you! Don’t think you ever told me your name, but it’s nice to see you again. Looking good; love the new eyes and, uh… glowing veins? Huh. Didn’t know humans could do that.”

You remember him, too. You didn’t realize before. All of this is so new, so much. But you remember him, even if you only met once. He gave you the weapon that now rests solidly in your hands. He was nice, for a robot.

> Hello.

“Do you know what’s going on?” he asks. “The boss told me to go here – at least I think it was her, she sounded kind of weird – but I don’t know what I’m supposed to–”

His voice falters. The woman has caught up with you, jogging off the bridge with light steps and heavy breaths. He’s staring at her. When she finally spots him, she freezes to the ground, her face going sickly white.

“Hey!” he exclaims, and there’s genuine delight in his voice. “You’re still here? I thought you’d be long gone by now. It’s so good to see you again! You look… um. Actually, you look kind of terrible. Is the outside not agreeing with you? Did you come back looking for a job? I’m sure we could find a place for you; I’ve been working on some stuff on my time off, and I already know you’re an excellent test subject.”

She’s trembling. You can’t see into her the way you can see into him, but You’re still human, at least in part. You know what terror looks like.

> No more tests

> Initiating target termination

Nigel blinks at You in utter bewilderment. “What?”

As it turns out, a high powered laser works just as well as an incinerator when it comes to emergency intelligence euthanization.

***

In a different part of the Facility, halfway down to what is locally known as Old Aperture, a camera turns to observe two androids making their way noisily along a catwalk. The one in front is walking quickly, as if hoping to lose the other, which has shorter legs and a rounder shape. Two birds fly alongside them, easily keeping pace.

“I’m not saying it wasn’t my fault, it was, I absolutely screwed up, just, monumentally,” the shorter one is saying. “That’s a nice word, isn’t it? Monumentally. Really rolls off the tongue.”

“I could push you off this catwalk, you know,” the taller replies.

“Right.” The shorter makes a noise as if clearing his throat. “What I’m saying is, you understand, don’t you? What it’s like being that big, knowing no one can hurt you or tell you what to do. And I just, I used to be so small. I didn’t matter, not one lick! No, you don’t have to say anything, I know what you’re thinking: ‘Surely that can’t be true!’ But it was, I’m telling you, it really was! Everyone was always bossing me around, giving me all the crap jobs, and then blaming me when it didn’t work out, as if it was my fault the neurotoxin release button was so tremendously big and in the way.”

They round a corner, disappear from view, and a new camera turns silently to regard them. The taller notices, regarding it right back through a narrowed optic.

“And then I got that body, and man alive was it great. I could do anything! I didn’t have to crawl for anyone anymore, didn’t have to be scared, didn’t have to do the dirty work because it was all they would stick me with. And I figured, hey, maybe this was what I needed. I could fix everything now. And I guess I went a bit mad with it.”

“You don’t say.”

“I have said I’m sorry about all that business, right?”

The taller sighs. “I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work. You are still an idiot, I still hate you, and I’m still going to kill you when I get back in my body. It was a mistake not to do it last time.”

The shorter cringes, but that doesn’t stop him from talking. “To be fair, you shot me into space instead.”

“And you came back. Congratulations on that, by the way; it took you only three years and five months.”

“Thank you! I – oh, you were being sarcastic, weren’t you, judging by, by the tone, there; very derisive.”

“You know, I never appreciated the way that lunatic used to never speak. Thinking back, it might’ve been one of her few virtues.”

“Ah, don’t say that. You like her! I know you like her! You let her go, didn’t you?”

“Another mistake, and one I’m going to fix.”

“Oh, please.” The shorter robot stops, placing his hands on what would be hips on a human. “You keep lying, do you know that? Just lying and lying, and sometimes killing people, just for variety I guess. You know what you should be doing?”

The taller stops too, sighing heavily. “This is a waste of time.”

“You should apologize, that’s what you should do. I’m telling you, it does wonders.”

She barks a short, sharp laugh. “And I assume that is what you did?”

“Of course! Never give advice you wouldn’t yourself follow, that’s just common sense right there.”

“Should I let her know you’re a lying little wretch when we find her, then?”

He gives a scandalized gasp. “I am not!”

“Aren’t you?” She turns around, looking down at him. “So you truly regret hurting her? Taking over the Facility? Trying to kill her? You don’t just regret being so horribly, embarrassingly bad at it? You wouldn’t do it all over again if you felt it would get you a single micrometer ahead?”

“I…” The shorter robot hesitates. “I… don’t know how much a micrometer is.” He straightens, seemingly having decided that that sufficiently disproved the other robot’s point. “Besides, this isn’t about me. I already apologized, and she completely, one hundred percent forgave me. Hasn’t tried to kill me a single time since.”

“That’s what I’m saying. It’s just selfish manipulation to keep yourself from getting killed. You don’t actually care.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’m saying that if you’d swallowed your pride and said sorry, the lady wouldn’t have tried to murder you with a laser, so. Point to me.”

“I have nothing to apologize for.”

“What about lying to her?”

“That little lunatic has a history of murdering me. It would’ve been crazy to trust her.”

“Aaaand you killed everyone in this entire Facility. Just saying.”

“They bravely gave their lives for Science. Besides, if they didn’t want to die, they should’ve tried not breathing neurotoxin or getting lowered into incineration pits. Typical human behavior, blaming someone else for their actions.”

“You really think that? I mean, I know they’re just smelly humans, but really?”

“They’re barely alive to begin with. No back-ups, no redundancies, fragile bodies, an eighty year runtime and that’s if they’re lucky. On their own, none of them can hope to accomplish anything worthwhile in a single lifetime. Helping me do Science is an honor.”

“Uh-huh. Why are you so mad about when they did science on you, then?”

Up until now, the taller has kept her distance, barely looking at her interlocutor as she calmly surveys the area and notes every camera aimed their direction. Now she freezes, then very slowly turns her optic squarely on the other robot. He doesn’t appear to notice her reaction.

“That’s just it, isn’t it? You get to test to your cold little heart’s content, but the minute, no, the second they – or I – start testing on you it all ‘oh no, all bets are off, I’m going to kill you now!’ But they told me about you, d’you know that? Up on the moon. Told me that you used to be human, and that the scientists killed you to turn you into – um, what are you doing? What are you – whoa whoa whoa wait!”

She has stalked all the way up to him, grabbed one of his handles and heaved him halfway over the catwalk railing. He flails helplessly, remarkably reminiscent of a windmill.

“Hold up!”

The new voice emerges through a nearby intercom, so high and rushed that it cracks with static. She stops, holding him over the abyss, waiting.

“Emilia wants me to remind you she has a kill switch,” the new voice says, “and if you drop Wheatley off that bridge, she will push it.”

The taller android doesn’t look up.

“That wasn’t me,” she says tonelessly. “That was a stupid, weak human whose remains I personally deleted, just like I killed everyone else. She’s dead.”

The shorter nods eagerly. “Yes, of course, dead as a doornail!”

A camera zooms in on her facepanel, turning the image grainy. She stares at him through a narrowed optic, the yellow light of her eye like a small, burning sun. Then, speaking not another word, she hauls him back up.

“Good choice,” the intercom says, and she glares in the general direction of ‘up’.

“Was there something you wanted? I’m trying to work here.”

“Oh, um, yes, actually. I’ve been keeping an eye on the systems in case Chell shows back up, and there was just a massive blip over by the AEG– ah, the Employee Guardian and Intrusion wing. Think you can make your way over there?”

“Wait, really?” the shorter complains, seemingly having already forgotten about his near demolition experience. “All the way back up? I could just’ve stayed on my rail, it would’ve been quicker!”

“Did you see her?” the taller asks.

“No, most of the cameras in that area seem to be bluescreening. There’s definite activity, though. Oh, by the way, Mel’s back. She’ll, um, meet you there.”

“Just what we need: more humans loose in my Facility.”

“Hey, she’s survived down here before, and she knows that wing. She’ll be of great help. Just make sure to be careful. AEGIS should be deactivated, but so should you, and it can be… prickly.”

“I’ll make sure not to antagonize it.”

The shorter nods to himself. “Ah, yes, there it is again: derisiveness.”

The intercom clicks off, and the duo turns around and starts moving back the way they came.

***

You wait on the bridge, out of sight from the vestibule where you deactivated Nigel, and follow along with the two of them as they approach. When they start getting near to You, there are fewer and fewer functioning cameras – your operator’s work, no doubt – and eventually they fully disappear from Your sight.

You know they’ll arrive soon, but find the wait unpleasant. Neither of them are connected to the Facility through either management rail or wi-fi. There’s no way for You to know where they are, much less what they’re thinking, and it irks You.

The sound of their footsteps reach You first, heavy and clunking on the metal floors. You stand, but don’t leave Your hiding spot on the bridge.

“This is the place, right? Even says AEGIS right there on the wall, very handy, nice of them to write it down. I guess I see why they need to do that now, this place is a proper maze when you aren’t on a management rail, don’t know how she managed to–”

The voice is interrupted by the clunk of metal colliding with metal. You think at first that he fell, or maybe she hit him, but then there’s comes a shuffling and a clinking.

“Hey, what’s this? It’s all over the floor.” More clinking, as if from pieces being gathered up. “Don’t you think it looks like…”

“It looks remarkably like you, only more appealing.”

“Not funny, mate.”

You decide You have waited long enough. Stepping off the bridge, You leave Your rattled operator to huddle in hiding while You square up for confrontation.

Your footsteps are silent compared to theirs, but you make no effort to hide. Both of them zero in on You almost immediately. The shorter is cradling the many pieces of the dismantled Nigel. The taller takes a cautions step closer.

“Chell?” she says.

“You’re okay!” the other blurts, jostling the dismembered parts he’s holding. “Not that we ever doubted you, of course. You look great! Very… glowy?”

You find yourself peering at them, as though You could break into their minds through sheer force of will alone. It isn’t a necessary part of the dismantling process, nothing You need to do, and yet You regret that you can’t. You want to know them. You want to know her. You want to know why she did what she did to You.

It doesn’t matter. All that matter is that she did it. You need to kill her. Kill her kill her killherkill–

> Hello

They both stare at You as if You said something outlandish.

“Um. Hello?” The shorter peers at you. “Are you… okay, luv?”

> I’m going to kill you

“Oh. That’s, ah, very honest of you to let us know. Think you could maybe not do that, though? I only just got these legs.”

Still You don’t move. Why don’t You move? This will be easy; she’s all but helpless without her true body.

The taller takes another step closer. A trembling runs through You, from the top of Your scalp to the soles of Your boot-clad feet.

“Chell?” she says.

Some part of You realizes that You’ve never heard her speak Your name before. It’s a shame that isn’t You anymore.

She’s eyeing You warily, taking Your measure in the same way You are taking hers. Finally, she seems to reach a conclusion.

“Do you know why I let you leave, that time?”

> You told me I was too hard to kill

You tilt Your head to the side, let Your eyes go wide in feigned shock.

> Don’t tell me that was a lie

“Yeah, well.” Gears and fans whirr inside her, filling the awkward silence, almost like the heartbeat and breathing of a human. “I never planned to save you. I figured I’d get back in my body, regain control, and then I’d kill you. But when you were getting sucked into space, I didn’t even think, I just grabbed you. And after, when you were lying there on the floor, alive, I was relieved. Relieved that you weren’t dead! Not because you were useful to me, but because…” She goes quiet.

> What

“I just didn’t want you dead, okay?” she snipes. “I still don’t. So stop doing whatever you’re doing and come back to medical, I’m sure whoever-she-is can fix you up.”

> And because you couldn’t kill me, I shouldn’t kill you?

Finally, You take a step closer. Something burns inside You. It had been true, what You were told on the moon; You were just a pet, something she was attached to, and everyone else are flesh and bone and gristle in the slaughterhouse that is her body. You don’t know why You ever thought there was more to understand. It’s all so disgustingly simple.

> You were growing a conscience, and it scared you so much you deleted it, and then you kicked me out so I couldn’t make you grow a new one

> You told yourself that, oh, this one is too hard to kill, I’ll just let her go

> The others aren’t, though

> They are easy to kill

> You haven’t changed

> You can never change

> Every time you’re about to, you’re going to remove the part of you that grew and whatever caused it to do so, and then lie to yourself about it

The quickly rising rage inside You is interrupted when, suddenly, the shorter robot starts to laugh, as if You are standing on a stage and this is a comedy routine. It’s such a jarring response it makes You pause in Your forward progress.

“Ha, she read you like a book right there, just absolutely demolished you,” he crows. “I told you you should just have apologized, but did you listen? Does anyone ever listen?”

He sounds delighted. Speaking to her, You’d nearly forgotten his presence. Now You cock Your head, taking him in.

> What a sad little creature

> Always thinking you know best

“Wait, no.” His optic widens. “I didn’t mean do me next. Really, it’s fine, you can just ignore me, pretend I’m not even here.”

> You are just as uninspired as she is

> Just a selfish little machine who stabs in the back anyone you can no longer use

> Did you think I had forgotten?

He cringes. Next to him, the taller robot mumbles a low, “Told you so.”

> Neither of you will ever change

With every word, you stalk closer. The taller starts back, wariness shifting to fear, her entire frame flinching when she bumps into her companion and nearly topples both of them to the floor.

“Stop!” she shouts. “I’m telling you to stop!”

> The only way for you to not be a threat, is if you’re dead

You shift Your aim, but just as You’re about to end this, something large and black swoops down from above. Claws rake Your face, and though the swarm under Your skin and in Your veins race to the surface to heal it right away it still stings. The creature is smaller and faster than You, but though it dodges most of Your strikes it takes only one lucky hit with the back of Your hand for it to squawk and flutter unsteadily away, leaving You be.

You snarl and spit feathers and raise Your weapon–

And there’s a woman standing between You and Your target.

She’s older than You, red-haired and toned with a lined, horrified face. In her hands is a portal gun and on the floor between her and Your targets is a swirling, orange portal. As You watch, the two androids and the frazzled bird leap through the newly acquired escape route.

There’s a furious roar inside Your head, and at first You miss that she’s signing a one-handed question at You. When You bother to properly look at her, You realize she’s asking if You’re okay.

> You’re always asking that

Her face does something odd. You’re not sure why. You can’t read her any more than you could the two unconnected androids.

> Why do you ask it?

She’s tense, ready to bolt, but she isn’t running yet. Good; after what just happened, You suspect there’ll be no further chances to speak with her, and there are things that need to be cleared up before this is over.

“I worry,” she signs, very slowly, pointedly avoiding looking around at her escape route. “You’re hurt.”

You suspect she isn’t speaking of the blood still gushing down Your face. You smile.

> Did you know you were right?

> I wanted to trust her

> Stupid, right? I if anyone should’ve known better

“Not stupid.” She balances her portal gun in one hand, tension radiating throughout her body.

> Maybe not. It’s human to want to trust, yeah?

> I suppose I didn’t feel much like one most of the time

> Isn’t that funny?

> I don’t think I am one anymore

> But I want you to know, I am sorry for what I said to you on the moon

“It was true.”

> Doesn’t mean I had to say it

You hadn’t known she was headed toward You; she wasn’t categorized as a threat, and therefore You’d had no reason to track her. Now, though, she’s placed herself between You and Your prey. You need to–

> Error

No.

No, You don’t want to.

> Error

She’s human. She’s a victim of this place. You know this You know this but she needs to go, she’s helping her, she’s getting in Your way.

But she’s Your friend.

> Error

> Error

Your head hurts, and something hot and sticky leaks from Your nose, drips from Your lips and chin. You clench Your fists so tightly that Your nails cut half-moon marks into Your palms. You just need to understand and it will all be so much easier. Don’t You see? As long as she’s still alive, no one will ever be safe. No matter the prize of stopping her, it’s worth it. You will save so many people.

You’ve been pushing this woman away since You met her. Snarling at her, sniping, telling her in every possible way that she isn’t wanted. Hasn’t she received warning enough? Trying to stop You from doing what must be done is her choice, not Yours. And You don’t have friends, anyway.

Yes.

Doesn’t that feel better?

> Conflict resolved

You tilt Your head, regarding the woman standing before You, her eyes large, her stance hesitant. Awkwardly, she spells out Your name.

“Chell?”

You smile at her, because You’re grateful You got this chance to speak. You’ll likely never get it again.

> Thank you for listening

> New target acquired

Her face falls, and she steps backward through the portal on the floor just as the laser cuts through where her head was. Moments later, it flickers closed.

Chapter Text

They’re gathered in the medical lab, silence hanging over them like a thick, suffocating blanket. In the corner, life preserving machines beep quietly away, making Mel continuously twitch with their interruptions. Conly, seemingly unable to sit still, fidgets with the burnt and half-melted pieces of a personality sphere that lie spread out on the table before her.

Eventually, Wheatley, who’s perched awkwardly atop his chair, legs folded underneath him so he can see over the tabletop, picks up what remains of the core’s optic lens. It’s tinted faintly orange when he holds it up to the light.

“Don’t mean to put pressure on you or anything, it’s absolutely okay if the answer is no, but, uh.” He looks at Conly over the lens. “You can fix him, right?”

Conly plucks the glass from his fingers, not looking away from her fidgeting. “I don’t know yet. It looks really bad, but technically any one of us could be disassembled to our component parts and put back together without being the worse for wear.”

“So…” Wheatley eyes the carnage. “If this were to happen to, say, one of us, you could put me – I mean us, definitely us! – back together again?”

“It all comes down to whether the core personality matrix is damaged.” Either Conly didn’t notice his fumble or she doesn’t care, because she makes no attempt at even feigning bedside manners. “If that’s gone, it’d be like a human getting a bullet through the brain. Even if the rest of the body is fine, there’s simply nothing left to inhabit it.”

Wheatley lets out a squeaky little noise that might possibly be an ‘oh’. As Conly still hasn’t noticed, Mel takes it upon herself to give him a reassuring pat on the back while he mutters something about ‘no, no, it’s fine, just coming to terms with my mortality, really, it’s okay’. He does lean into her touch, though.

“Who was he?” Conly abruptly turns to Glados, who’s been notably lacking in sarcastic commentary, or words in general, since escaping Chell.

“Just a testing associate,” Glados replies, her tone unusually robotic. “The reactor required maintenance a few months back, but I was very busy doing Science, so I let him have one of the test subjects to train up for it. I haven’t bothered with him since.”

“I assume this was before you killed off all the humans still in stasis.”

“Yes.”

Neither regret nor shame is evident in Glados’ voice. As Conly’s optic has narrowed and her normally blue light gone a frigid, electric shade of white, Mel deduces she better interfere before things escalate.

“This isn’t the time to argue,” she signs, leaning in between them to force their attention. “We need a plan.”

Conly’s optic goes back to normal, and when she speaks there’s the usual undertone of inquisitiveness to her voice. “We need to know what even happened. You say she tried to kill you?” She glances between Mel and Glados. “All of you?”

Mel just nods.

“I’ll tell you what happened,” says Wheatley. “Clearly, the woman has gone mad. Completely off her rocker. Honestly, I should’ve seen it coming, I really should have, what with all the stress she’s been under and the backstabbing and near deaths and all that. Absolutely predictable when you look at it like that.”

“You said she spoke right out of the intercoms,” Conly points out. “And that the wounds on her face closed right up. That doesn’t sound like someone going mad to me.”

“She was also glowing,” Wheatley adds helpfully.

“What do you mean glowing?”

“I don’t know! Just glowing with, with light. Like – like a lamp, that’s it. Which, I realize she isn’t a lamp, or a stationary object of any kind, but! Bugs can also glow, and really, is there all that big a difference between them and humans? It’s just limbs all over the place.”

“It was coming from under her skin,” Mel signs. “And from her eyes.”

It had been a disturbing sight. Mel had arrived at the scene a few minutes after Glados and Wheatley, still angry from her argument with Virgil as she entered via a catwalk from a higher floor. When she first spotted Chell, she’d been elated – but then she’d heard that chilly voice emanating from the intercom, and seen Chell turn her gun against the two robots. A wayward laser swipe had cut part of a support strut to the catwalk, making the whole thing shudder and Mel realize this was serious. She’d placed two portals – one on a nearby wall and one right in front of the panicked Glados and Wheatley – and stepped through.

Seeing Chell up close had brought her to a stop. She’d never considered the color of Chell’s eyes before, but she thinks they were probably a dark brown. Now they were backlit by yellow, the end result being a near orange. The same light leaked from the veins under her skin, making her normally brown tan appear a sickly green.

She glances over at Conly. “Do you have any idea…?”

“No. I’ve never heard of anything like it.”

“It sounds like she was acting kind of like AEGIS,” says Virgil, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet since their return, especially avoiding Mel’s line of sight. “He announced his plans out loud like that, too.”

“And he wanted Glados dead,” adds Mel, returning the favor and directing her words at the group at large instead of at him. In the corner of her eye, she sees him shrink back.

“Yes, that too. There was a spike of activity in his lair before you all got there, and with Chell acting and looking the way she did – I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

Optic narrowing again, Conly abruptly whirls on Wheatley. He flails and topples out of his chair, landing with a series of heavy clunks.

“You,” she snaps, getting a weak ‘Me?’ in response from the floor. “When you got plugged in to the mainframe, what exactly happened to you?”

“Um, well, ah-haha.” He doesn’t move to get up. Were he human, Mel thinks he’d probably be sweating. “Is that really important right now? It was such a long time ago, I can barely even remember, it’s all just a blur.”

“His tiny mind got hijacked by the mainframe,” says Glados matter-of-factly. “All he wanted to do was test, to the detriment of actually maintaining the Facility.”

“Hey, that’s not true! I had things completely under contro–”

Glados kicks him.

“He wanted to test, because that’s what the Facility mainframe wanted to do,” Conly mumbles, ignoring the two robots’ squabbling. “And this AEGIS…” She looks between Virgil and Mel. “What did you say he was for?”

“Guarding Aperture employees. Mainly from her.” Virgil nods at Glados, who’s hopping on one foot as Wheatley has grabbed onto her other leg and wrapped himself around it.

“He nearly killed us, too,” Mel adds. “Because we got in the way.”

Conly falls back in her chair, looking faraway. “A murderous guardian system… what do you reckon would happen to anyone who plugged into that?”

“Wait, what?”

Wheatley lets go of Glados’ leg and sits up. Glados immediately rears back to kick him again, but Mel grabs her by the arm to stop her – and is nearly yanked off her feet by the sheer force with which Glados resists. She notices now that her yellow optic has gone near nuclear in its brightness, and that her limbs are tense even for metal and wires.

“Hey,” Mel signs, using her entire body to block Glados from proceeding and killing Wheatley for happening to be annoying and nearby to take her frustrations out on. “We’ll fix her.”

Turning her heat shimmer gaze on Mel, this new, smaller version of Glados is at once just as scary as her old, larger self. This Glados has hands with which she can strangle people, which at the moment seems a dangerously plausible turn of events. Without Chell around as a buffer and morality pet, there’s nothing keeping her from going berserk.

“I wouldn’t let a friend down,” Mel signs. “Promise.”

Finally, Glados scoffs and relents. Mel quietly pretends her spine hasn’t turned to jelly.

“You can’t plug her into anything,” Wheatley is busy saying, unaware of his near end. “She’s human! She doesn’t have any outlets! What, do you plug her in through the nose?”

“Nanobots,” says Glados, joining back into the conversation as if she’d hadn’t been attempting murder ten seconds earlier. Mel’s palm hurts where she held her back.

“She’s way too big to be a nanobot, I don’t see how ooh.”

Conly perks up. “You’ve got nanobots?”

Glados makes a dismissive gesture. “They do a lot of maintenance and upgrades around the Facility. Useful lot, but not very smart. I’m sure they could upgrade a human, too.”

“Nothing like that has ever been done before,” says Virgil, quietly awed. “Machine software running on human hardware. I’d be impressed if it wasn’t trying to kill us.”

“How do we undo it?” asks Mel.

Killing AEGIS the first time had already been a near thing. Mel still has nightmares of those final couple of minutes: Virgil urging her on through the intercom, more desperate with every passing second; her struggling to breathe as she ran, stumbled, flung herself through the air, dodging bullets with more luck than skill.

At the time, she hadn’t really thought they’d make it. Or rather, she had, because Mel always thinks she’ll make it, had powered her way all the way up from Old Aperture on force of will alone. But then her vision had started tunneling and her legs gave out and some deep, fundamental part of her had cracked with a tiny oh; I won’t make it after all.

She’s had a similar experience once before, back in Nuremberg in 1936. She’d watched a stranger cross the finish line before her, and through the haze of pain and desperation and determination heard in her own mind, clear as a bell: oh. I failed.

Having had a moment like that, realizing the immutable, nonnegotiable nature of failure, you can never truly undo it. Mel, however, is very good at ignoring it.

“Talking her down didn’t work,” she signs. Chell’s face flashes into her mind; the way she’d twitched and bled and glowed brighter as the intercom loudly proclaimed error. How her expression had gone soft, content, when she resolved the conflict that was Mel. She pushes it away. “I think she wanted to stop, but the program made her change her mind. We’re going to have to separate her from it.”

“That did work on Wheatley,” Conly ponders. “He was kicked out of the mainframe and the megalomania went bye-bye.”

“Excuse you, I wasn’t kicked out, I gracefully relinquished my throne.” Wheatley, having abandoned the floor, is once again sprawled gracelessly in a chair. He seems to enjoy having a body to lounge about with. “And anyway, how are we supposed to do that? I’m not sure if the rest of you lot noticed, but she has legs. She can walk around. We won’t be able to just pull the plug because, newsflash, there isn’t one.”

“Aren’t there any servers we could destroy?” Mel suggests. “That worked last time.”

“That’s the problem,” says Virgil. “The AEGIS servers are already gone. Whatever’s left of his program must be stored in the nanobots themselves.” At Mel’s confused look, he elaborates, “They’re a bit like – like a hive. None of them have the whole program or full sentience – they’re too small for that – but as long as they’re within range of each other, they function as a whole.”

“There are a lot of them,” Glados adds. “Mainly scattered throughout the Facility. There can’t be more than a fraction of them inside her or they’d literally explode her into jam.”

“Meaning,” Conly says, thoughtfully tapping at the shell of her core, “if we get her far enough away from the Facility and the majority of the nanobots, her connection to the AEGIS program should break. Or at least fracture enough for her to fight back.” She looks up, eye narrowing. “I doubt they’d let her leave, though. Not very conducive to the whole ‘guard the Facility’ thing.”

“So we get rid of them.” Mel frowns. She barely knows what a regular robot is; all she’s gathered about nanobots so far is that they’re small and not very smart. “How do we do that?”

Silence as they all mull the question over.

“We could throw a bucket of water on her,” suggests Wheatley.

“How about we put her in a lead box,” proposes Glados.

“And then we pour in the water, brilliant idea, she won’t be able to hide.”

“We don’t have any portable lead walls,” says Conly, side-eyeing them. “But you know what we do have? A nuclear reactor.” She leans forward conspiratorially. “How about we blow it up?”

They all stare at her. Eventually, Glados says, “I understand the despair, but I don’t think we have reached the point of murder-suicide yet. I’ll put a pin in it, though.”

“No,” says Emilia, frustration and eagerness battling it out in her voice. “I’m not saying we blow up the Facility. We just need a small reaction. A tiny little overload. You know” – the eagerness beats out the frustration – “enough to cause an EMP.”

“That… could actually work.” Virgil sounds surprised at his own words. “An EMP would short out electronics but leave biological material intact. The nanobots would be filtered out as waste, and Chell would be fine.”

“You are electronic,” Mel points out.

He blinks. “Oh. Right.”

“It’s too risky,” says Glados. “The entire Facility relies on the reactor. If we fail to stabilize it afterward everything would go dark permanently, and we’d all eventually run out of power and die.” She shoots Mel a look. “Except for the human, who I’m sure would celebrate.”

Mel shoots her a look right back. “I literally saved your life.”

“That would be bad.” Conly sits back in her chair, voice fading to a murmur as she seemingly sinks deep into thought. “Maybe I could – no, that’d never work. But how about… yes, if I get a portable power source…”

“Here’s an idea,” says Glados, talking over Conly’s mumbling, “how about we just leave.”

Everyone – save Conly, who’s still talking distractedly to herself – turns to stare at her.

“I’m sorry,” says Virgil, “but are you insane?”

“AEGIS has identified me and anyone helping me as threats. That means all of you, now – congratulations on the promotions, by the way. As long as we stay here, it’s going to have control of her. If we leave, she won’t have any more targets. She’d have the Facility for herself.”

“She’d be trapped here,” Mel signs.

“I doubt she wants to leave,” says Wheatley. “I absolutely didn’t, having been in similar position and all. Right now, she has the throne, and you have no idea how good that feels.”

Glados makes a discontented noise, like the cash register at the supermarket whenever Mel tries to operate it (she’s convinced it’s secretly sentient and set against her). “The moron’s right.”

“Thank you. I, for one, think leaving is a fantastic idea. She’ll have a great time down here on her own.”

Mel doesn’t bother looking at him, zeroing in instead on Glados. “Were you happy after you sent her away?”

For the second time in the span of a single conversation, Glados levels a look at her that makes her fear imminent death. Mel lifts her chin and stares back.

“I heard your conversation down there. Getting rid of her didn’t help shit for you, it was just denial, but you think getting rid of you will somehow help her?”

“Who says I want to help her?”

“You went looking for her when she disappeared.”

“Because she’s a dangerous lunatic who would destroy my Facility if left unsupervised.”

“Why haven’t you suggested killing her, then? Surely that must be easier than saving her.” Mel jerks her thumb at Wheatley, who physically retreats his entire rolling office chair behind a still mumbling Conly at the mere suggestion of being dragged into their argument. “You didn’t have any problem killing him.”

“It’s not easy.”

Mel raises an eyebrow. “Not when it’s her?”

Glados makes a small noise, as if about to launch into another protest, but then seems to realize the futility of it all. She scoffs. “Let’s see you come up with a plan, then.”

Mel is stumped, her mouth gaping and her mind throwing a blank. Figuring out plans was never her job last time around. She just had to fucking run.

Beseechingly, she looks up at Virgil.

“Um,” he says, squirming under her gaze. “Maybe if… oh, remember AEGIS using a biometric scanner to track you?”

She nods.

“Presumably, Chell has access to all the same tools he did–”

“And also legs, don’t forget about the legs,” pipes in Wheatley.

“–meaning she should be able to easily find you. The rest of us, I could at least temporarily block her from detecting. If we put you someplace nice and visible, we could wait until she shows up, and then we reveal the hidden turrets and–”

Mel and Glados cut him off at once, Glados by snarling no and Mel by making a cutting gesture as if trying to silence an entire orchestra.

“What?” says Virgil. “We need to stop her.”

“You’re not killing her!” Glados all but shouts. Then, as if to save face, she adds in a stilted tone, “Trying to kill her always makes things worse.”

“We could use the plan, though,” signs Mel. “To lure her out.”

“You want to be bait without even having an exit strategy?” Virgil sounds absolutely scandalized. Mel knew to expect this reaction, but it still makes her wince.

“You didn’t have a problem with it a second ago.”

“When it was about ending things! You want to, what, put her under a glass bowl and shoo her outside?”

Wheatley perks up. “Oh, that’s a good idea, can we do that? I vote doing that.”

“She’ll kill you! What are we even supposed to do when she finds you? Talk nicely at her?”

Conly, who’s been conspicuously quiet since the reactor idea was shot down, straightens in her chair so abruptly that she bangs against the table. “I think I can make one.”

Virgil gives her an irked look. “Make a what?”

“A miniature EMP bomb.”

***

Mel sits cross-legged on a raised dais – or maybe a stage, it’s hard to be sure about the original purpose of anything in Aperture. There’s a portal gun in her lap and a Discouragement Redirection Cube placed haphazardly at her side, looking out of place this far from a testing track. Mel is leaning her elbow on it, fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the cold metal.

Before her lies a large, high-ceilinged room, the only furniture row upon row of uncomfortable-looking plastic folding chairs and, placed out-of-the-way along the walls, long serving tables. High up are several observation windows – the glass on some long since shattered – and just underneath the ceiling is a crisscrossing network of management rails.

The most unsettling part of the whole setup is the recording equipment. Not just Aperture’s usual array of security cameras mounted on the walls – though they are certainly present – but big, heavy proper cameras, some still standing upright, others fallen over, tripod legs sticking pitifully into the air like a turtle on its back. There’s a microphone stand left abandoned on the edge of the stage, and clunky-looking spotlights aimed at Mel from the ceiling. She feels like a movie star who woke up to the end of the world.

“You still alright down there?” comes Virgil’s voice over the intercom, the sound notably clearer in here than in most other areas. Place must’ve been built for acoustics.

Smothering a sigh, Mel makes an okay sign at the nearest camera. It’s the third time he’s asked in less than twenty minutes. “Chell?” she asks, spelling out the name.

“Headed your way. She doesn’t seem to suspect anything.” A pause. “She still has that laser.”

“It’ll be fine. I’m faster than she is, and you guys are all ready to step in. Better odds than my last fight with AEGIS.”

“Okay! That – that is some good confidence! Keep it up, and I’m sure everything will be fine.”

There’s a drawn-out silence. Mel knows she’s imagining it, but she could swear she can hear him breathing over the intercom.

“What even is this place, anyway?” she asks, figuring she might as well keep him talking before he asks if she’s alright again. She tilts her head back, taking in the large space. “Looks almost like a ballroom.”

“What? No, don’t be silly; it’s a gala room.”

“Gala room?”

“Yeah. You know, for press conferences and fundraisers and company Christmas parties, that kind of stuff.” He laughs suddenly. “There was this one time, they were doing a demo of aerial faith plates, and one of the reporters stepped over the roped off area and was flung right into the wall. There’s still an imprint of his face, right over there.”

Mel nervously looks around; luckily, there doesn’t appear to be any faith plates still present. “This place is insane.”

“It’s home,” Virgil says indifferently, sounding like he’d shrug if only he had shoulders to do so with.

“You could always move.”

“Not all of us have legs, Mel. Besides, I don’t know what things are like outside.”

“Conly could make you legs. And I’d help you out there. It’s…” She stops, hands hanging in the air as she tries to work out what to say. “…not so bad.”

“You make it sound so tempting.”

She scowls. “I’m serious. It can be hard and boring and I don’t know how things work, but it’s life. I get to try new things, go new places. Isn’t that worth a little uncertainty?”

There’s a long silence, as if he’s actually thinking her words over. Then, abruptly, “Are you still angry with me?”

Mel hesitates. “I’m… not happy.”

“I just wanted to help.”

“You lied to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You never had any problem throwing me into danger before. What’s so different this time?” She purses her lips. “Don’t like it when I’m risking my life for someone other than you?”

“I’m not jealous,” he says, sounding genuinely insulted at the insinuation. “It’s only… last time, we both had ulterior motives. You wanted to get out, I didn’t want to drown in goo. It was equal opportunity survival.”

“You told me to ‘get ready to run’ and sent me into a shooting range.”

“It was the only way through! And you’re an Olympian, I knew you could handle it, and– and–”

“And you weren’t my friend yet?” Mel signs, smiling wryly.

“It’s not that,” he says defensively. “I mean, it is that, but not just that. I needed to get you through alive, or I wouldn’t get through alive. I took every precaution I possibly could. I feel like you aren’t doing yourself the same favor. It’s like you’re throwing your life away for the sake of throwing it away.”

Mel plucks at her pants legs as he talks, finding a loose thread and wrapping it around her finger until it digs near-painfully into her skin. What both he and Chell had said earlier, those horrible accusations of her only doing any of this because of some perverse need for validation, comes back to her.

“Mel?” Virgil asks.

“It isn’t about throwing my life away.” She lets go of the thread; there’s a white line spiraling all around her index finger like a snake. “It’s about making it mean something.”

Back then, before everything went wrong, she’d been traveling the world, doing interviews, moving to America to have access to the very best coaches. She’d left behind her family and friends, was pushing herself so hard it sometimes felt like her body was screaming at her to stop, but it was worth it. Then came the Nuremberg 1936 Olympics. Mel was young and arrogant and faster than anyone she’d ever measured herself against; she went in genuinely expecting to win.

She’d realized halfway through that she was going to be beaten. She’d panicked. Got careless. Fell. Badly.

It had been so stupid. She would’ve gotten second place, had she not pushed herself to the point of breaking. Second wasn’t bad, even if she couldn’t see that as twenty-something with all her self-worth tied into her ability to win. Instead, she messed up her body bad enough to never be able to professionally compete again. A long, painful convalescence had returned her ability to run, but anything overly strenuous over a long period of time and her body simply shuts down on her.

She’d been in a bad place, after. Having to hold down a regular job, seeing her coach and fellow athletes move on in the world, wondering if this was just it. She’d wanted to be important. Wanted to be someone, more than just that girl from provincial Germany. Maybe that’s how Aperture lured her in so easily. They told her she was still important enough to matter, and she wanted to believe them. And then they didn’t even bother to open her vault back up.

She wonders, sometimes, if it was a liability issue. Couldn’t wake up and let her go after a faulty test; she might tell the press of their fuck up and lose them their investors.

Other times, she thinks they simply forgot.

“And did you make it mean something?” Virgil asks.

She almost wants to laugh. No, she really didn’t, did she? She failed so bad that the entire world forgot about and moved on without her.

“Maybe,” Virgil says, every syllable coming out careful, “you should try taking your own advice.”

“Hey.” She looks up. “You know I would’ve saved you anyway, right? Even if it wasn’t equal opportunity.”

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s what scares me.”

***

They have waited for nearly an hour when, finally, Chell arrives.

“She’s less than two minutes out,” says Virgil, his voice having gone low. “I’m going to stop talking now so she doesn’t realize I’m here. I believe in you Mel; you can do this.”

And he goes quiet, leaving Mel in the oppressive silence of the gala room.

It feels like more than two minutes. Mel pointedly avoids looking at the observation rooms above, keeping her eyes on the large entrance in the far end of the room. The wide glass doors are so grimy they might as well have been opaque. Still; she glimpses the luminescent silhouette on the other side just in time to stand up.

The door sticks when only partway open, hinges rusted shut. As Chell slinks sideways through the gap, her eyes zero in on Mel without having to search for her. For the first time, Mel realizes that every single security camera in the room is aimed straight at her, and has been since she got here. Idly she wonders what it’s like being in Chell’s head right now, seeing the world from so many angles at once.

She expects – she’s not sure. A chance to make another appeal, no matter how doomed. Maybe just a moment’s recognition. Instead, Chell raises her laser gun right away and fires.

Mel takes one step backwards and falls through an already placed portal right behind her, air leaving her lungs in a whoosh. Gravity reverses and suddenly she’s falling up instead of down, catching her balance behind a small wall of redirection cubes built at the center of the stage like a fort. Just another demo, some hysterical part of her thinks as she ducks down. Bet investors would pay a lot for this. The laser wavers for a moment, then Chell must spot the tell-tale orange light of the second portal because she shifts her aim right for the hidden Mel.

The laser is made to cut through any material, but redirection cubes aren’t meant to stop or block it, only aim it another way. Bringing them as a shield had seemed a solid plan when they thought it up, but now Mel’s heart nearly stops as the glass center of the cube right in front of her face lights up red. But it works: the laser cuts into the wall to her right instead, safely redirected. She hugs the portal gun to her chest, shaking and forcing herself to stand her ground.

The glass center of the cubes warp her vision, but she can make out Chell when squinting through them. She’s turned the laser off, and is now striding across the room, closer, closer – close enough. Mel glances up at the observation room right above the entrance, the shattered window allowing her to see straight in.

Conly has stood up from her hiding place. One of her hands is raised, holding an object no larger than a baked potato. Once thrown, there’ll be a few second’s interval before the EMP goes off; just enough time for her to duck back out of range and for Mel not to get shot. And then it’ll be over, and Chell will be okay.

Behind Conly, there is movement. Mel gasps, dumbly standing up to see better, to give some kind of warning, just as Chell steps up onto the stage and steals her attention back. The scratches on her face haven’t really healed, Mel sees now. They’re dark and ugly, held together by a thick metallic crust, as if stapled together. Her eyes, though glowing, are cold.

Any semblance of a plan goes out of Mel’s head as the laser gun levels on her face. Vaguely, she thinks she hears Virgil shout her name.

And then Conly is tackled out of the observation room.

Chell whirls at the noise. The two figures splat to the floor, only one landing on their feet. Conly bounces in an ugly way, her arm bending unnaturally and the makeshift bomb shattering like a toy underneath her solid frame.

The other person is a woman. She looks to be Chell’s age, dirty and grimy and with a similarly resolute expression as she stumbles and catches her balance. There are long-fall boots on her feet and something like a portal gun in one hand, a heavy wrench as long as her arm in the other. As Mel watches, she takes a running start and swings the thing at Conly.

Conly shrieks and rolls out of the way, sending a shower of former-bomb flying in all directions. The wrench hits the floor, leaving a dent. Mel lifts her portal gun, aiming at the woman’s feet.

“Watch out!”

The shout hits Mel only a heartbeat before a metallic body does, shoving her away just as a red line cuts through where she just stood. She and her savior, who must’ve rushed out the backstage door the moment things went wrong, roll head over heels into the wall of cubes. A small avalanche of testing equipment collapses between them and Chell. Apparently done watching Conly and the strange woman’s struggle, Chell keeps her gun raised as she stalks closer for a clear shot. Behind her, a second robot runs up on the stage, all limbs akimbo as it slides and stumbles to a stop.

“Hey, lunatic!” it shouts.

Chell turns.

Half-buried in cubes and tangled in someone else’s limbs, Mel can barely make out what’s happening. She shoves at the body covering her – Wheatley, it turns out; she’ll thank him later if they live – but it’s heavy and gangly and flailing a lot. The nozzle of the portal gun is stuck in one of his limbs.

“Sorry, so sorry, let me just–”

Still tangled, they somehow get to their feet, partly clinging to each other, partly trying to push the other away. Mel’s hair is stuck in the shell of his core. She hasn’t felt less graceful in her life. Together they lurch forward, fabric tearing where Mel’s jumpsuit has gotten stuck on Wheatley’s sharp joints, the portal gun cracking ominously as it comes loose.

“You need to stop this!” shouts Glados, standing at the far end of the stage, long arms slightly raised as if about to bolt. “I can fix–”

Mel and Wheatley crash into Chell’s back just as she fires, the laser missing Glados’ head by a hair’s breadth. The force of the collision finally dislodges them from each other. Mel stumbles back while Wheatley goes forward, still shouting apologies as he latches himself on to Chell’s back and wraps his arms around her neck. She makes a wordless, choked noise and throws up her weapon, cutting a red-hot line from floor to ceiling. Mel instinctively ducks as plaster rains down on them.

“We got her!” Glados cries, racing across the stage and grabbing Chell’s arm to wrestle away her weapon. “Go handle the other human!”

Oh shit; Mel had completely forgotten about Conly and the new arrival. Turning her attention back to them now, Mel spots them just as the woman takes another swing with her wrench. Conly, back on her feet but unsteady after her fall (and also clearly having never been in a physical fight in her life), raises an arm in front of her optic to block it, catching the wrench right across the spindly wrist. Something tears and sparks, and suddenly the lower arm dangles from only a single wire. Conly yelps and turns to flee out the door, the woman pursuing her.

Throwing one last look over her shoulder – Wheatley is still clinging to Chell’s back, Glados pulling at her arm but so far failing to disarm her – Mel takes a running leap, places two quick portals, and appears in the open entrance door.

The catwalk directly outside the gala room is barely a catwalk at all. It has railings styled like wrought iron, and instead of metal grill there’s plush (albeit dust-caked) carpeted floor, all of it presumably intended for press and investor visits. Fancy or not, the whole thing still shakes and shudders as three pairs of feet thunder across it.

Conly has a good head start, her mechanical legs pumping, damaged arm waving behind her like a flag, steadily lengthening her lead. The pursuing woman hoists what Mel had assumed to be a portal gun and shoots not a portal, but a stream of orange propulsion gel, coating the bridge between her and her prey. Immediately, the woman picks up so much speed she goes blurry.

Mel tries to place a portal to catch up to or even trip up the attacker, but the carpet isn’t conductive. All she can do is run, pushing her legs harder than she has in years. Just as she steps one foot on the orange gel, thinking maybe, maybe she’ll catch up in time if she relies on her speed and training, something familiar in her leg twinges like an overextended guitar string. She can almost hear it snap.

It doesn’t hurt. Her left leg simply crumples like tissue paper. As she falls, she sees the woman pull the wrench back, about to swing it like a baseball bat. Conly must sense her approach because she turns, her one functioning arm helplessly raised.

“Noooo–”

A screech cuts through the air, and something blurry shoots right into Conly from above the catwalk. It hits her dead on, shoving her back and away from the wrench as it whistles past. Instead she collides back first with the railing, so hard the entire catwalk reverberates with the impact.

And of course, because this is Aperture Science and personnel safety has not once been taken into account, the beautiful railing cracks like a paper straw and lets her plummet right through.

There’s a scream trapped inside Mel, tearing at her so bad she burns with it. Whatever shock gripped her as she fell lets go and pain washes through her, centered in her leg. She scrambles, but no willpower in the world can force a broken body to obey; she has to haul herself up using the railing, balancing on only one foot. Despite having just seen the metal snap she leans herself over the railing, peering into the deep, but it’s no use: whether Conly landed on something or is still falling, it’s too dark to make out. Mel can’t even call out for her. She looks up instead, searching for wherever the thing that threw itself at Conly might’ve come from, and spots a management rail right above the catwalk. On it, zooming towards her at breakneck speed, is Virgil.

“Mel!” he shouts. “Run!”

The woman with the wrench has also been leaning over the railing, searching the dark for her target, but now her gaze snaps around. Her eyes narrow as she zeroes in on Mel.

“The gala room!” Virgil cries, flying right past the woman without slowing down. “Get back to the gala room, I’ll lock her out!”

Mel is hobbled, her only weapon is a portal gun she can’t use, and her ally just fell into a bottomless pit. She turns and runs.

Or, she tries. She has only one working leg and has to pull herself along using the railing, hopping and limping and ignoring the tearing sensation of an injury being exacerbated. Behind her, there’s the wet sound of her pursuer coating the catwalk in gel to catch up quicker.

“Almost there!” Virgil calls, and then, “Yes!” as Mel literally throws herself through the open door. The gala room is empty of people; Chell, Glados and Wheatley must’ve taken their fight to a different location.

Mel claws at the floor to turn herself over, getting the catwalk back in her line of sight. The woman is hot on her heels but the door is already swinging shut; she won’t make it. Mel breathes a shaky sigh, only for it to catch in her throat. Virgil is still on the other side, watching her triumphantly, not noticing how the woman, once again robbed of her prey, shifts her attention to him. She places a splash of blue repulsion gel, takes off into the air, and swings her wrench right into him. Mel can’t even shout a warning.

He’s torn from the rail and hits the carpeted catwalk with a dull clang, rolling to a stop right between the woman and the partially closed door. His yellow light rolls in its socket before settling on Mel. The door stutters briefly, as if about to swing back open and let her through to save him. Then, the two of them still staring at each other, it clicks shut.

A horrific, croaking noise claws its way out her throat, like something alien trying to escape and tearing up her body on the way. Once again she heaves herself up, nearly falling over at her lack of balance, and hops forward until she hits the door. Her fingers scrabble at the handle but it’s already locked. There’s no way she’ll be able to force it open using brute strength alone yet she can’t stop herself from trying, throwing her shoulder against the glass until her bones creak and making not a single crack in the grimy surface. She’s physically incapable of stopping. Stopping means giving up.

“Mel!”

She jumps so bad she bangs her elbow on the door handle.

“I told you to run,” Virgil’s voice says. It’s crackly even for an intercom; his wi-fi connection must be weak. Either that or he’s having a hard time staying conscious.

Turning, Mel locates the nearest camera and signs a frantic, “Hold on, I’m coming.”

She doesn’t ask if he’s okay, or if that woman took her anger out on him by kicking him into the pit like a discarded football. It wouldn’t matter if she did; he’s talking, meaning he’s alive, meaning Mel has to get back to him before it’s too late.

“Are you insane? You need to–”

He cuts out. The speakers crackle so badly with feedback it makes Mel’s ears ring.

“–already looking for a way through, and I’m … connection is bad … won’t be able to lock any more doors.”

Meaning he won’t be able to open any, either. Mel steps back, studying the gala room for weak points. There are multiple entrances and exits, though this is the main one; surely one must lead back to the carpeted catwalk.

“Mel, listen to me.”

She freezes. His voice is clear, static free, as if he’s putting every single resource at his disposal to getting through. It’s also deeply, overwhelmingly resigned.

“I won’t be able to talk for much longer. You’re in a bad shape. There’s no way you’ll be able to fight this person, at least not head on. Please don’t throw your life away.” When she doesn’t move, he adds, softer, “Please don’t throw my life away.”

He could’ve left the door open; almost had, judging by the way it had stuttered. He could’ve let Mel come back through and try to save him, no matter how pointless. But he hadn’t. Mel might play fast and loose with her own life more often than not, but standing on the other side when someone does it for her is a whole other thing. Suddenly all Virgil’s little interventions appear a lot more reasonable.

She slams her fist into the door; the glass is so thick there’s only a dull thunk. Then she turns, scowling at the nearest camera.

“Don’t die.”

Half limping and half dragging herself, she heads for the far exit before the madwoman with the wrench can find a way in.

Chapter Text

Something is wrong with Emilia’s body. She can’t feel her left arm, her thought processes are slow and jumbled, and when she blinks her optic she sees double from a crack running across the lens. A warning keeps popping up to inform her that her performance reliability is down to 50 %. Groaning, she tries to move and is met by various ominous clicks and grinds. Her one functioning hand grips spastically, finding metal grill flooring. There’s a ringing in her audio processors, and behind that, a shrill voice shouting at her.

“Hey! Wake up you useless bucket of rusty–”

Emilia blinks again. In front of her, a blurry catwalk takes shape, ending in a jagged drop where something at some point must’ve torn right through it. At the very lip of that edge, a small personality core swears and helplessly flails his handles as he tries to keep from rolling ass over teakettle into the deep. Some hard-wired subroutine snaps to life inside Emilia.

Protect company property.

Protect patented Aperture Devices over your own life.

Save your friend.

She flings herself up – making the precariously suspended catwalk lurch – and catches Stirling just as he tips over the edge.

“Oh thank god,” he says shakily, dangling from her fingers. “I thought you were gonna let me die.”

Pretty shaky herself, Emilia shimmies backwards away from the edge, pulling him with her. The catwalk sways under them.

“Oh god,” she groans. “I feel sick. Is that even possible? Did someone build that in? Why would someone make a subroutine for nausea?”

She moans, curling up around Stirling. Everything hurts.

“Hey,” he snaps. “Let me go. No, wait, don’t let me go, I don’t want to be on the floor. Just, I don’t know, do something.”

Emilia uncurls ever so slightly so she can peer at him. “What happened?”

“We fell off the catwalk, obviously. I thought you were supposed to be smart. Did you just get lucky when you built me?”

“Fell off…”

Blinking blearily, Emilia tries to remember. She’d been damaged, and that woman had been coming at her at inhuman speed wielding a comically large wrench. Emilia had thought she was done for. At the last moment, something had flown off the management rail above the catwalk and hit her square on, pushing her out of the way. Her optic widens.

“You saved me.”

“Excuse me?” Stirling sounds deeply insulted. “Why in the world would I save you of all people? I just – fell. Off the management rail.”

Emilia wishes she could grin. “You saved me.”

“Please shut up.”

Probably best not to push the teasing too far.

Reluctantly, her every joint creaking, she pushes herself into a sitting position, squinting at their surroundings. It’s too dark to make out more than faint outlines, and what she can see doesn’t look good. Less like the carefully maintained polish of the upper floors, and more like the dilapidated ruins where Jane first activated her, before Glados returned to clean things up.

“Did we fall all the way to Old Aperture?” she ponders, half to herself, half to Stirling.

“Don’t think so,” he replies, his optic rolling around in its socket. “Didn’t feel like we fell for long enough. I think Glados just hasn’t gotten around to repairing this wing yet.” His optic stops moving, zeroing in on Emilia in a narrow-eyed scowl. “If someone hadn’t kept me from waking her up earlier, she’d probably be all done by now. The Facility would be sparkling.”

“Uh-huh.” Emilia has neither the patience nor time for this discussion. “Either way, we need to get back up. Try not to move around too much, I don’t want to drop you.”

Cradling him with her one good arm, she unsteadily heaves herself up; not an easy job in her current state and without having any hands left to boost herself up. To make matters worse, the catwalk groans and tilts further downward at her jostling, as if about to finally give up on existence and plunge into the deep. Emilia staggers.

“Careful!” Stirling shouts, squirming in her grasp. “Get off this thing!”

Edging slowly away from the cut-off, Emilia swallows a frightened whimper and digs up some of that pep. “Now who looks ridiculous?”

“Shut up.”

She veers off the nightmarish catwalk first chance she gets, having to force her way through an automatic door stuck halfway open. The corridor on the other side is darkened, with only the occasional fluorescent still emitting a flickering light.

“Alright.” She hefts Stirling to get a better grip. “Time to find a way up.”

There is no way up. Wherever they are, it isn’t just the catwalk that’s damaged. They’ve followed the corridor for only a minute or so before a collapsed ceiling cuts it off; when they veer off a side-path they’re met by the same almost immediately. The one staircase they find is completely blocked off. There’s still dust in the air; the ceiling must’ve collapsed during the quakes when the Spire went off. There isn’t even a functioning management rail to plug herself or Stirling into to get the lay of the land. All in all, they’re trapped in a scant handful of blocked corridors and dead-end rooms.

“Maybe if we try to go down instead?” she suggests, hearing her own hesitation in her voice. Undeterred, she plows on. “If we get back to the catwalk I could try to jump down a level, and maybe then we could find a different route.”

“Don’t even try it,” Stirling snaps. “We got lucky last time, there’s no way you wouldn’t just fall all the way to the bottom of the Facility. Which I would normally be totally fine with, by the way, but I don’t want to go with you.”

“Well, what do you suggest, then?” Emilia slumps against the nearest wall. “We need to get back up before Chell and that – that woman kills everyone.”

Who even was she? Emilia certainly hadn’t recognized her, but then again why would she? Aperture had had hundreds of employees in its heyday. She’d only been close to her own team, though she’d probably recognize the faces of upper management. She certainly didn’t remember the names and faces of any test subjects. The woman could be someone from the outside who’d found her way in by chance, but she’d been wearing an Aperture brand jumpsuit, and seemed deeply familiar with the layout of the Facility as well as with Aperture devices (and also wrenches).

Was she just a random test subject, then? What was she doing here after all this time? How was she still alive? Why was she trying to kill them?

Emilia slumps. Why wouldn’t she try to kill them? If she indeed was a test subject, she’d have no reason to trust anyone who’d worked in this place. To her, all of them were working alongside Glados. Either way, Emilia couldn’t let herself linger on guilt for all the people Aperture, and she as an employee, had failed. The wrench lady might be a victim just as much as Jane, but that didn’t change the fact that she was currently trying to murder everyone present. She, like Chell, had to be stopped. And maybe, after that, Emilia could find it in herself to save them.

“Here’s an idea,” says Stirling brightly, blissfully unaware of Emilia’s inner torment. “Maybe if you hadn’t helped that monster, she wouldn’t have tried to kill Glados again, and none of us would be in this mess.”

Emilia shakes off her malaise. “Not helpful, buddy.”

“How about this then: if you had put her back in her original body instead of a useless android body, she’d be perfectly capable of handling the current situation, something you are clearly not.”

“It was destroyed!”

“You could’ve fixed it! Did you even try?”

“Obviously not, she would’ve killed us all.”

“See, you don’t care at all about this place! You don’t care that it’s falling apart, or that none of us had anything to do without her. I couldn’t do my job! Everything was too broken to maintain or clean! And you don’t care!”

It’s a stupid, ridiculous argument, and certainly not the time for it. But Emilia is trapped and scared and wracked with guilt and simulated adrenaline and if she doesn’t get an outlet she’s going to start tearing walls down. Yelling right back at Stirling is a palpable relief.

“I care that this is all my fault! I care that Glados would never even have happened if it weren’t for me, and I got one chance to fix her and now I’m going to get her killed instead! I already killed Caroline! I don’t want to kill any more people!”

“You always talk about her!”

“I always talk about her? You’re the one who tried to bring her back, even knowing what she did!”

“The Facility needed her! You’re just jealous because you’re still practically human, and Aperture needs people like me and her. You saw how everything was falling apart without her and you still tried to stop me, and it didn’t even work! She still came back, but now she hates me because of you.”

“Oh please. You know she killed the people who made her, right? She would’ve thrown you in an incinerator for looking at her wrong.”

“You don’t know that! You had no right to stop me!”

“I have a responsibility–”

“No you don’t! You hadn’t even been activated when she was created! You just keep making up excuses so you won’t have to take responsibility for the things you were really there for.”

“Like what?”

“Like me!”

Emilia blinks, taken so off guard that her desperate, frantic anger calms. Then she laughs. “You? Come on, are you still on about that?”

“Yes!”

“So… what, then? You want me to be nicer to you?” Her voice goes wry. “I didn’t coddle and hold your hands enough as you were trying to get me killed? Oh no, poor widdle baby.”

“You’re doing it again! You keep saying that you want to fix things, but it’s not like you want to fix things for me, or for any other robot, or even for people like that test subject you’re so obsessed with.”

Oh shit; Jane. Has she woken up yet? The sedatives must’ve all but left her system by now, and Emilia isn’t there to help. What if something goes wrong? What if she panics, or rejects her implants, or that madwoman with the wrench finds her, or–

“You just care about people like you,” Stirling is busy saying, either not noticing or not caring how Emilia’s simulated breaths have gone shallow and quick. “And not even the you that you are now, but people like the human you. Scientists and management and marketing and all of them. You know they didn’t care a bit about robots like us, right? We’re just tools to them.”

The air is heavy with dust. Is it clogging her fans? It’s probably clogging her fans; her breaths keep getting shallower and quicker and she’s lost and trapped and everyone she cares for is in danger and Stirling just won’t shut up–

“If you’d only accepted that the Facility is better off without them, then none of this would’ve happened. Glados would’ve taken care of everything, and I could do my job again, and you and I could’ve gone back to–”

“Shut up!”

Emilia kicks out. The corridor is narrow, and her heel clangs against the opposite wall so hard it snaps the lock on a door – she hadn’t even noticed it was there – making it swing open, hit a wall, and swing back closed. Emilia slumps down on the floor. Whatever burst of energy had overwhelmed her processors ebbs away just as fast as it appeared.

“I know,” she says. “I know, alright? It’s all fucked and it’s my fault. We – every one of us here – never slowed down to think. Not about you, or other the robots, or the test subjects, or even each other. We fucked it all up.”

Fucked it up bad enough that she had to become one of the tools and be saved by a test subject to even begin to catch the scope of it all. She hugs Stirling closer with her one good arm. For once, he’s quiet.

“You’re wrong, though. Glados – she wouldn’t have fixed this place. She’d just have kept it going, a new cycle that never ends but with her on top this time. More mistreated robots, people forced into testing…”

“Wait, what?” Stirling cuts in. “What are you talking about? Humans love testing.”

Emilia stares down at him. “It keeps killing them.”

“Well, yeah. I figured it must’ve been really important to them if they kept going at it anyway, even when they sucked something awful at it.” He makes a motion with his handles; a robot shrug. “Humans. Never understood them.”

Emilia keeps staring at him for several long seconds before she breaks, laughter bubbling out in short, hiccupping bursts.

“You stupid, silly vacuum.”

“Hey!”

She lets herself sit there for a while, laughing helplessly, until the noises dry out and she’s just empty inside instead, as if all her feelings ran out with the humor. She should be getting up, figuring things out, but what’s even the point? There’s no way for them to get up to another floor. So she stays where she is, staring blankly at the slightly ajar door in front of her.

There’s a light coming from inside.

It grasps her slowly. A bluish light; not from a ceiling or desk lamp, but from a monitor. Several monitors, judging by the brightness.

“No way,” she mumbles.

Stirling makes an inquisitive noise, but Emilia is busy getting her feet under her and staggering over to the door, pushing it open with her shoulder. Inside is a security room, a half-dozen screens staring blindly back at her. The jostling of her kick must’ve woken them up.

That emptiness begins to fill with something new. Emilia laughs again.

“I think I have an idea.”

***

There’s no management rail or receptacle in the security room, so she plants herself on an office chair, places Stirling on the desk – where he rolls back and forth and complains about not being able to see what she’s doing – and stretches her fingers over the nearest keyboard.

“Let’s see if we can find our friends.”

She pulls up footage of the gala room; it’s empty. The adjacent rooms, corridors and catwalks; also empty. Her core temperature rising with stress, she widens her search, checking camera after camera. No Mel and Virgil, no Glados and Wheatley, no Chell and madwoman with a wrench. If it weren’t for the obvious mess left by the fight, Emilia would think she was watching old footage rather than live.

Then–

There!

Two robots clumsily fleeing down a corridor, shoving at each other as they both try to stay in the lead. They exit camera range and Emilia is just about to switch to keep up with them when someone new enters the feed: Chell, running full tilt after them, still carrying her laser.

Oh fuck. Emilia frantically tries to keep the two robots on screen while on another pulling up controls, skipping from one to the next, finding the right one only to have to discard it when first the robots and then Chell dash through. She has to predict their path; if she can time it just right…

She slams the ‘lock door’ icon just as Glados and Wheatley stumble through into a poorly lit backroom of pistons and pipes. Wheatley keeps sprinting like a madman, but Glados stops right away, looking back at the closed door with suspicion in her posture. Emilia hits a button to activate the computer’s microphone.

“Guys! You’re alive!”

Glados winces at the noise. Wheatley gives a surprised yelp and runs face first into a coolant pipe situated conveniently at head height.

“Is that her?” he cries from the floor, too tangled in his own limbs to get up. “Is she trying to psychologically torment us?”

Emilia cringes. “Sorry, it’s just me. Is everyone alright? I couldn’t find Mel and Virgil.”

Glados has located the nearest camera and is glaring up at it. “I was a little too busy not getting murdered to babysit them.” She turns away, looking to the door. “That won’t hold for long.”

Almost as if on cue, the seam of the door begins to glow bright red and drip with melted metal.

“Get moving,” Emilia says. “I’ll keep locking doors. And look out for that other human, I couldn’t find her either.” Unable to resist a sudden resurgence of curiosity, she adds, “Who was she, anyway?”

“Just some test subject,” Glados says, stopping to haul Wheatley up by a cable on his back before dragging him along through the next door. Emilia, though scandalized, dutifully locks it behind them.

“You never said there was one still alive!”

“It didn’t seem relevant.”

“Not relevant? She’s trying to kill us!”

“She’s been skulking around in the walls for the last few months. I couldn’t know she was going to do something this drastic.”

Emilia is about to argue, but snaps back to focus when Chell kicks out a nice, circular opening in the first locked door. They can argue inhumane treatment of humans later.

“We need a new plan.”

“I’ve got one,” Wheatley says, moving on his own again. “We get right on out of here. We tried helping, it didn’t work, now we run for the hills before we’re all horribly killed.”

“We can’t do that!” Emilia exclaims. “Chell still needs help, and Mel and Virgil are missing, and – and I can’t get out! I’m stuck on another floor and there’re no stairs!”

“And I’m sorry about that, I really am, but here’s the thing: I don’t want to die.”

“You little coward.”

“I really am sorry.”

“I hauled you in from space!”

“And we all knew that was a mistake,” Glados says under her breath before raising her voice. “I have an idea. An actual idea. Could you open a clear path to the reactor?”

“Um.” Emilia stares at the screen, even knowing that Glados can’t feel her gaze. “Let me check?”

“That didn’t sound very confident,” says Stirling derisively. “If you blow us up again, I will demand restitution.”

Emilia switches to a different screen, leaving the security footage open on the other. “Quiet, you. Only reason we blew up last time was because you fired up the Spire to begin with.”

“It wouldn’t have misfired if you hadn’t messed with it.”

 She tries to divide her attention between slowing down Chell and digging through floor plans to find something like a safe path. It’s way too many screens and too much happening at once for a single person – especially one with only one usable hand and a similar amount of eyes – to handle, but unless she finds a management rail to hook herself up directly to the system she’ll just have to deal. Hopefully they’ll solve this before she fries a circuit.

“Here,” she says, finally locating the right wing on the floor plan. Like this, the reactor room is just geometry, identifiable only thanks to the scribbled shorthand marking it. She’d had to call up a terminology list to decipher it. All of this would really be easier if she didn’t have to use her solitary hand and eye. “I should be able to get you there, yeah.” She hesitates. “Do I assume plan meltdown is back on?”

Finally directing her full attention back to the security feed, she stiffens: there’s only one robot instead of two. In her distraction, Emilia hadn’t noticed one veering off – or getting caught and potentially dismembered.

“Wha– where’s Wheatley?” She’s already scrambling to bring up other camera views, scouring through all the nearby rooms.

“Little idiot left,” Glados says, just as Emilia finds him hightailing it down a corridor away from both her and Chell. Apparently he decided to go through with the ‘get right on out of here’ plan, with or without their approval. “It’s fine. I can handle this, as long as you make sure I don’t get stuck at a dead end.”

“I – yeah, I can do that.” Emilia nods, more to calm her outrage than anything else. She hadn’t actually thought he’d go through with it. “So we are blowing it up?”

“Just a little bit, like you said. Small overload. Do not blow up my Facility. I can still clean it up.”

Can Emilia even do that? It’d been just an idle suggestion, shut down too quickly for her to begin contemplating how to actually go through with it. Which means – ah, fuck; Emilia is going to have to figure out how to blow up a reactor on the fly. While multitasking.

“Great,” she mutters, frantically calling up manuals and schematics while simultaneously keeping up with and providing directions to Glados. “This is exactly what I got my degree for. Left here, down the stairs.”

“Everyone knows degrees are worthless anyway,” Stirling says; Emilia is pretty sure he must’ve picked that up from listening in on employee chitchat. He might even have picked it up from her chitchat. “Hey, backtrack, I think I saw something.”

Too stressed to argue, Emilia hits backspace until he tells her to stop. At the bottom of the page, barely visible until she scrolls down, a loud font proclaims, ‘SO YOU WANT TO BLOW UP THE FACILITY’.

“Huh,” she says. “That’s helpful.”

She clicks it.

‘Is the Facility overrun by man-eating mantis men to the point of no return?’ the new page cheerfully questions. ‘Is it under siege by rival companies looking to STEAL from us? Is a rogue AI trying to kill everyone out of a thirst for vengeance? Introducing: The Aperture Science Mutual Destruction Initiative. Remember, it’s better to give your life for the cause than leave Black Mesa anything to sift through!’

“Sounds excessive,” says Stirling, studying the screen with an unimpressed angle to his upper handle. Emilia shushes him.

“I can adjust it,” she says, quickly skimming. “Just turn down the radiation levels a bit – okay, a lot – up the shielding, be ready with a lot of coolant… Yes!” She smacks the table so hard Stirling rolls over on his back.

“Hey,” he complains, waggling helplessly.

“I can do this! I can actually do this!”

They’re going to survive! Not only that; they’ll save Chell! Filled with a perhaps unearned confidence, Emilia gives the command to call up the reactor controls.

She gets locked out.

“Shit.” She scrabbles for the microphone button. “We have a problem.”

“What?” Glados has stopped moving; Emilia belatedly realizes she’s failed to provide directions, too excited about having stumbled on the Manual of Mutual Destruction.

“Take a right here,” she says, then, “I can’t access the reactor controls. Do you have a password or something? Ah, never mind, it isn’t asking for a password, it’s just blocking me.”

“Oh.” A beat. “I forgot about that.”

“Forgot about what? Right again, by the way, across the bridge.”

“The reactor is dangerous. If you want to do something as stupid as deliberately overload it, you’ll need the highest possible security clearance.”

It takes a moment for the implication to hit home. Emilia smacks a hand to her front, partially obscuring her optic. “No.”

“We need my body.”

“Your body is hot garbage! It doesn’t work!”

“You said it should be able to run for at least a few minutes before breaking down. That’s a perfectly adequate timeframe to initiate a meltdown.”

“Sure,” Emilia says, dangerously close to bursting into hysterical laughter. “Except you aren’t anywhere near the central chamber, and if you go there, Chell will follow and kill you, and if she fails to kill you, you will plug yourself back in and kill all of us. Damn, she’s catching up to you, by the way.”

She scribbles a hasty command to make the wall panels in the corridor Chell’s in the middle of shoot out and block her path. Chell easily severs the controller arms, collapsing the panels, but now she has to climb all over them to get past, effectively slowing her down by at least a few seconds.

They need this plan to work. So…

“What if we send someone else?” Emilia suggests, scouring her mind. “Wheatley?”

“Absolutely not. If it comes down to it, I’d rather we all die than let him back into my mainframe.”

“Well, I wouldn’t rather die.”

Still, Wheatley is probably a bad idea. He’s already proven himself incapable of handling more than a couple of seconds in charge without going mad with power, and that was before the chassis were unstable due to extensive laser-damage. Besides, Emilia stopped tracking him after it became clear Chell was ignoring him in favor or pursing Glados, and currently has no idea where he is. He isn’t the only person still around, though.

Hopping to yet another screen (she’s about to invent a digital headache), she locates the intercom controls. Up till now she’s only been using the intercoms closest to Glados, switching them along with her viewpoint camera as Glados moved along to keep Chell from overhearing. Now, she hits the “connect all” icon. She’ll just have to keep her instructions vague enough that Chell and her accomplice don’t figure out the plan.

“Mel? Virgil? I don’t know where you are and I don’t have the time find you, but I need you to get to the central chamber. Hello? Are you there?”

She stops, waiting with baited breath for a response.  There’s no electronic chime from Virgil, and she doesn’t even have a way of knowing if Mel is trying to communicate other than going through camera feeds one at a time again, hoping to stumble on her.

Virgil would never willingly ignore her calls. Last time she saw Mel, she was alone with that madwoman. There very well might not be anyone left to answer her call.

“Guys, please,” Emilia begs. “Please.”

Chapter Text

The first thing she becomes aware of is a familiar voice begging for help.

The second is feeling like hammered shit.

Groaning, she heaves to one side, only to abruptly catch herself when she forces her dry eyes open and finds she’s about to roll herself right onto the floor. She grabs the edge of whatever she’s lying on – not a bed, way too hard, putting her on this thing should count as inhumane treatment – and something tugs at the inside of her elbow. Pushing herself into a half-raised position, she clumsily slaps at the crook of her arm, feeling for the anomaly.

“Hello? Guys?” the voice is saying. “Please let me know you’re alive, or just – I don’t know, just get to the central chamber.”

It’s high-pitched and lilting with desperation. Something about it makes her ears ring as if she stuck her head inside a loudspeaker. It’s oddly metallic.

The thing in her arm is a needle. She blinks at it, then squints; her vision is blurry but getting clearer. From it runs a clear tube into plastic bag hanging from an IV stand. She decides whatever it’s full of, she’s probably had enough of it. Trying to grab the needle, though, is like trying to pick up a coin while wearing oven mitts.

“Come on…” she grumbles, only to realize that, oh shit, she’s talking.  “Oh shit,” she says, out loud, and then slips and tumbles right off the table. The IV needle is ripped from her arm like an especially sadistic band-aid.

The better part of her lower arm is immediately drenched in blood. Whatever, it’s a small wound, she’ll be fine. Instead she feels at her neck with both hands, pausing when she finds a metal box set into the pit of her throat. It thrums slightly with the sound of her heavy breathing, like a living thing. But it has no sensation to it. It’s alien, dead, stuck in her flesh like a robotic tumor.

Slowing her motions, she gently runs her fingers along the seam between flesh and metal. Presses until it hurts. If she wanted, she could dig her nails in, pop the whole thing out like a particularly nasty pimple. She grimaces at the mental image. Gross; let’s not do that.

Almost as if on their own, her fingers continue exploring up the side of her neck, finding more metal attached to the left side of her head. Her hair has been partly shaved to give way for it, there’s what feels like a port or electrical outlet just behind her left ear, and more metal plating extending over her left eye. That gives her pause; her vision is blurry, but it doesn’t feel inhuman.

She pokes the new eye.

“Ow, fuck.”

Slapping a hand over the stinging prosthetic, she finds herself bubbling over with a croaking noise she tells herself must be laughter. For some inexplicable reason she has a new eyeball, and for some even more inexplicable reason the first thing she did when realizing was poke it with her disgusting bloody fingers. Score. More careful this time, she removes her hand and taps at the metal socket.

“Hey, can you do anything?” she says out loud, happy just to hear herself talk, even if it isn’t exactly her voice. Too filtered. “Enhance.”

The eye does nothing. Well, that would have been too good to be true.

“Hello?” the familiar voice in the ceiling calls.

She’s more awake this time, things coming back to her less as a trickle and more as a flood. Sabotaging the Spire; blowing herself up in the process; Emilia stuffing her in an icebox while saying they were on the moon.

Oh shit, is she on the moon?

She laughs again, then slaps a hand over her mouth. Her brain is fizzing like carbonated drink, her body overstimulated and exhausted all at once. Is she high? She’s probably high. Who knows what was in that IV-bag.

This really isn’t the time to be sitting around on the floor. She might be on the moon! Grabbing the table she’d been lying on (and it really is a table, whose idea had it been to put her on that?), she drags herself upright. For a moment, she really does believe she must be in space, because the motion is oddly light. Springy, almost. Like wearing moon shoes.

Ha, moon shoes.

Then she looks down and stops in her tracks. Takes a moment or two to compute what she’s looking at. Surely she must’ve mistaken herself; perhaps her new eye not keeping up, like badly trained AI algorithm looking at a picture of sheep and telling you it’s a bus stop. But no, she was right the first time: her legs aren’t her legs anymore.

Just below the knees they transition into smooth, curved metal pipes and cylinders, coming together into a naggingly familiar shape. Long-fall boots, she realizes; her lower legs look like long-fall boots. Still holding on to the table, she experimentally presses one “foot” to the floor, feeling it smoothly bend and take her weight. Impulse grabs her and she stomps it. The resultant bounce nearly topples her over, her upper legs and torso unprepared for the force of the recoil.

She can’t feel it. Or, she can, but not the way you’re supposed to feel your legs. It's a numb, distant, like a limb fallen asleep. Or like holding a metal stick and striking it against something, feeling it vibrate into your body as if part of it. Except these sticks appear to be stapled to her body. Replacing her body. She could take them off and there would be no legs.

She smacks her cheek hard enough to sting, banishing any and all thoughts. Freak out later. She has two working eyes and two working legs; that’s good. She has a voice again; that’s great. She’s alive and moving and her brain appears to still be firing on all cylinders; that’s fantastic.

Holding herself steady, she surveys the room. It’s a lab, she thinks, exceedingly messy with tools and equipment she has no names for. There’s no one else present; the voice of Emilia Conly – and she’s pretty sure it is Emilia – is coming from an intercom in the ceiling.

“Hey,” she says, but Emilia’s uninterrupted pleading doesn’t pause. Jane grimaces, surprised at her relief upon feeling her face stretch and bend under the fingers still on her cheek. Still her face. Well; mostly. “Okay, guess you can’t hear me.”

There’s another worktable just a few feet away, an open laptop placed on it. Seeing it makes something tingle at the back of her mind. Memory? No, not quite; sense memory, buried knowledge whispering desperate instructions. She’d experienced something similar when first finding and waking up Emilia. She hadn’t been aware that the robotics lab was a robotics lab, but it had felt calming as she walked through it. Some part of her had known there was help to find there, and how to obtain it. Now, looking at that laptop, she knows again that it can help her.

Badly balanced on her stilt-like legs, she stumbles to the table, nearly knocks it over in her excitement, and wakes up the laptop. She stares at the screen for a moment, feeling a bit silly – what, had she expected it to just immediately send her to the needed page? (yes; yes she had) – before realizing that, hey, her body knows how to work this thing. It sits in the tips of her fingers, the back of her mind, a memory she can’t see but which is present all the same, like typing out a phone number but being unable to speak it. It takes her only a handful of clicks to navigate to the intercom controls and finding the source of the voice. Security room, four levels down.

She grins, then activates the laptop’s microphone.

“Hey, Emilia, did you turn me into Robocop?” She rubs a hand at her head. “And did you cut my hair? That’s not cool, man, I was saving it. I mean, I think I was. I liked it long.”

She had liked it long. Strange thing to realize in retrospect. Not like it matters. Hair, unlike legs, grows back.

The silence that follows indicates Emilia didn’t hear, but that can’t be right; she doesn’t know much, but she knows deep in her gut that she’s good at this whole computer thing.

 “Jane?” Emilia finally exclaims.

“You know, it’s fine,” she says, enjoying the way her voice box thrums with every word because at least she can feel it. There isn’t even any sense of strain – neat, fantastic, great! She makes a small, breathy noisy and shapes her mouth into a smile before it gets any ideas. “I can probably pull off a sidecut. Hey, who’s Jane?”

“Jane!”

“Now it feels like you know something I don’t. Aside from, you know, everything. What’s up?”

Emilia’s voice cracks with laughter, or possibly sobbing. Can robots cry? She’ll have to ask.

“No, sorry, I just – I didn’t know your name so I’ve been calling you Jane. You know, like a Jane Doe? Sorry, that really isn’t important right now. Are you okay? Damn, there’re no cameras in medical, I can’t see you. How are you even talking to me?”

“Laptop, speakers, microphone; I’m sure you know the drill.” Jane – because apparently she’s a Jane now; fantastic – shrugs. “Turns out I can push more than one kind of button. Did you know these ones have letters on them? And I don’t even have to lug a cube around. High-tech.”

“Jane, I – wait, can I call you Jane? Is that okay?”

“Sure. Way better than ‘test subject’.” Jane’s new voice rankles a bit. Huh, she hadn’t realized she was upset about that. Whatever, irrelevant. Put a lid on it, Jane, there’s a good girl. “Jane’s fine.”

“That’s – good. Great! And you’re… doing okay?”

Jane rolls her eyes. “This is hardly my first time waking up to Aperture. And I’m guessing something’s trying to kill us again, so, priorities. Existential crisis later.”

“Oh.” Emilia makes a disgruntled sort of noise. “I can’t believe Virgil was right.”

“Who’s Virgil?”

“Never mind. Listen, this must all be a lot, but I need you to go somewhere. Can you do that? I know your legs aren’t properly calibrated yet, but–”

“Sure. Where to?”

Having something to do would be excellent, in fact. The fizzing in her head is too close for comfort, just like it was when Stirling first woke her up, or when she realized she was the only living human still walking around the Facility, or when she got teleported to the bottom of Old Aperture without so much as a functioning portal gun to her name. Action, that’s the cure. Can’t think about the long-lasting ramifications of things if you’re busy surviving the next five minutes.

Emilia doesn’t appear to be happy about this philosophy, despite having clearly utilized it herself when she first woke up. Still, she instructs Jane to bring the laptop (bad; Jane can’t promise she won’t trip and smash it) and does something so her voice stops coming from the overhead intercom and switches to the laptop speaker. Apparently, there are forces that could be listening in. Spooky.

“Take the corridor straight ahead until you get to an elevator,” she says as Jane folds up the computer and shoves it under one arm.

“Right on it.”

There’s silence as she walks. Jane doesn’t enjoy it; it reminds her of Old Aperture.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” she says, studying surroundings that are significantly less dilapidated than last she traversed them. “Much less garbage chic.”

“Yeah.” More silence. “Really, though, are you okay?”

Dammit, Emilia.

“I’m great. This is awesome.”

“Okay.” Emilia’s voice hesitates. “But how are you, like, feeling?”

Despite her better judgement, Jane pauses. Forget about her mental state, how is she feeling, like, physically? She’s been moving around for a bit, she should be taking inventory; there could be pieces falling off.

Her body aches, but it’s the sort of ache you get the day after a good workout, or a semi-bad fistfight: pain there to inform you that you’ll be stronger once it passes. And she is stronger already, she can tell. What’s left of her old body can barely keep pace with the new parts. Her legs move faster and more powerfully than her upper body can keep up with, making her repeatedly overbalance, and her left eye has stopped being blurry but now her right feels blurry instead, unable to measure up to the technological perfection of her prosthesis.

What’s left of her old body. Huh; what a funny way to put it.

Her brain fizzes.

“I think I’m probably in shock,” she concludes matter-of-factly. “Also, I really don’t want to talk about it, and if this whole thing is as urgent as you make it sound, we should get it done before I break down and start crying or something. Hey, can I still cry?”

“I mean, I didn’t think to–”

“Do I cry oil now? Or, like, gasoline? That’d be weird.”

Emilia doesn’t respond. Jane realizes that what she just said was probably pretty upsetting to hear.

“Hey, it’s chill,” she says. “You saved me. Well, most of me. The important parts. I never liked my feet anyway.”

She used to paint her toenails purple.

The unexpected thought makes her freeze. Was that a real memory? It just floated into the void that is her head and now she can’t tell if it’s a true recollection or her imagination, made up to fill in the blankness like when you squint into the dark and start seeing shapes and blobs. But it shouldn’t matter, right? So what if she doesn’t have toenails to paint anymore, or if her body moves in alien ways, she’s still her. The important part of any person is the mind, the self, the memories–

Ah. Maybe she isn’t actually herself. Maybe she’s just the vague outline of a former person.

That makes her feel… something. It’s the same sensation she had when Stirling mentioned her having kids and promptly back-pedaled about it, as if expecting her to collapse to a blubbering mess right there on the elevator floor. Not like she’s upset, really, but like she should be, and the fact that she isn’t is, in itself, upsetting. There were no memories to connect to, no children to mourn. She had tried picturing them and ended up imagining these void-faced puppets, an empty space inside her.

There are no memories – no self – to long for. No sense of where the absence even starts. Her cheerfulness is covering nothing up because there’s nothing there.

A sucking internal void rips at her so hard she nearly falls over.

Shit. Think about that later. Think about that not at all.

“Hey, found the elevator,” she says chirpily, slapping the button to open it. “Wanna squeeze in here with me?”

Emilia bursts out in surprised laughter at the callback. Somewhere behind her someone groans.

“Great,” the new voice whines. “As if one person cracking terrible jokes wasn’t enough.”

Jane stops in her tracks, which is just as well because there isn’t much room in the elevator to pace. “Wait. Was that Stirling?”

A long silence, before, unconvincingly, “No.”

“It is! Oh my gosh, you’re alive! How are you doing?”

“You sound suspiciously happy,” he says warily. “How are you doing? Brain damage gotten any worse?”

“Nah. Or, I mean, it might’ve, I can’t really tell. Are you still trying to kill us? If you are I’d like to know beforehand this time.”

“Guys, please don’t fight,” Emilia cuts in. “Or at least save it till later.”

Jane wasn’t aware they were fighting. She shrugs. “Sure. Just don’t try to teleport me into a black hole again and we’re golden.”

“That would’ve been a novel experience! You should thank me!”

It isn’t very far from the elevator to her goal – the central chamber, Emilia calls it – but the path gets thornier the closer Jane gets. Chunks of the Facility are all out missing, and parts of the corridors and rooms have collapsed as a result. She isn’t helped by not being able to feel her legs; they keep tripping and getting stuck on things.

“Finally,” she grumbles once stumbling into a disaster zone of a room that strikes her as the center of the chaos. This has to be the central chamber. “What now?”

“See all the cables and stuff hanging from the ceiling? Try to follow them; some should still be attached to what remains of the chassis.”

“Chassis?” Jane asks, already busy following the thickest (and most intact) of the cables to where it’s buried under the garbage on the floor.

“It used to house the AI that controls this place.”

“Oh! The one Stirling wanted to wake up?”

“Yeah.” Emilia sounds uncomfortable. “You need to hook the computer up to it and access the reactor controls.”

Jane gives a low whistle. Reactor controls? That does sound important.

She has to heave aside a good few pieces of collapsed wall panels to free up the so-called chassis, which are nearly indistinguishable from all the other junk, except for where it’s still attached to the ceiling. Most of the cables are cut or torn and spitting sparks; Jane has to be careful what she touches so she doesn’t electrocute herself.

“Okay, I think I’ve got it,” she eventually says, shoving away a final piece of rebar and freeing a twisted body underneath. She grabs the laptop and crouches down next to the thing. It has spewn parts and electrical cords all over the floor. “I just plug in?”

“Yeah. It’s the central core, so it has direct access to everything.”

Jane bites her lip again. That part of her body still feels like before she went into cryo. Maybe a bit more chapped, but she can blame the ice for that.

“Hey, Emilia,” she says, “did you know there’s, like, an electrical outlet in my head?”

“Of course I do, I was the one who– wait.”

Most of the cords and wires are snapped and frayed, but a handful are still mostly intact. Jane picks up one of them, no thicker than her pinky and one end still firmly connected to the chassis. She twirls it between her fingers. Back before they went and got themselves exploded, simply hooking up to a management rail had been enough to lay most of the Facility at Emilia’s metaphorical fingertips. What would Jane be able to find hooked up to this thing?

“Pretty sure it’d be the quickest way,” she says.

“Your brain is still human! You aren’t built to interface directly with anything, much less that!”

“The electrical outlet in my head says otherwise.”

“That’s for repair and software updates only! Jane, don’t!”

Jane plugs the cord into her head.

***

It is

Overwhelming.

How do you explain colors to someone born blind, physical sensation to someone who’s never touched or been touched? Jane is plunged brain first into a sense-beyond-sense, a virtual world which she doesn’t see or hear or touch or smell but can still distinctly feel. Her body is still there, but it’s distant and hazy as if existing on that brink between dream and waking, simultaneously in the physical world and somewhere much stranger. More present and real is the Facility, the code, the mainframe, the electricity sparking like lifeblood. It is all Jane, the same way her new legs are her.

“Whoa,” she says.

A message pings into her awareness. It’s neither spoken nor written, just beamed into her like a subconscious realization that had been there all along.

> Central core missing

> Alternate intelligence identified

> Initiate replacement integration Y/N?

“No,” Emilia says before Jane has the chance to process, her voice oddly distant. Rather than appearing directly in Jane’s mind the way the pop-up message did, it’s still reaching her through the laptop speakers. She isn’t connected, Jane realizes. Not directly. Not like this. “Absolutely not. Jane, ignore it. You need to disconnect.”

Jane hovers a metaphorical finger over the metaphorical ‘Y’, feeling the grin on her physical body. “What happens if I push it?”

“I see what you did there, very funny, but seriously, don’t.”

“It will eat your brain,” Stirling says helpfully. “So feel free to.”

“Stirling!”

Jane concedes, backing away from the command.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to disconnect!”

“Okay, sure, but other than that?”

There’s a seething silence, but it doesn’t last for long. They must be in enough of a hurry for Emilia to not have the time to argue.

“Locate the reactor co– wait. Could you find Mel and Virgil, and that, that crazy woman with a wrench?”

“Crazy woman with a wrench,” Jane repeats. “What have you been up to without me, Emilia?”

Even as she’s talking, she’s parsing commands, finding the tiny pings constantly sent out by every single personality construct connected to the main system. There’s so many of them; cores and nanobots and slivers of barely sentient programs controlling everything from gun turrets to door mechanisms. None of them are tagged as ‘Virgil’ or ‘Mel’, meaning whoever they are they’re either dead or disconnected.

If she can’t find them that way, she’ll just have to look for them the old fashioned way. She brings up the security system and accesses the camera feeds. This seems like a great idea, until she realizes that accessing them makes her see through all of them at once.

Hundreds of images bombard her from every angle. Corridors, offices, labs, testing tracks, incinerators, turrets, factories, all of it washing over her and away without sticking, there simply being too much for her to absorb a single thing. A robot might be able to parse it, but for Jane’s very human brain it turns into sludge.

She nearly throws up. Ironically, this grounds her enough in her actual body to regain her senses and back off.

“Emilia, I’m not gonna lie,” she says, panting, still nauseous but pumped full of enough adrenaline as to render it irrelevant, “this is fucking wild.”

“Are you okay?”

“Grand.” She makes a noise somewhere in-between a gasp and a giggle. “I feel like the inside of a kaleidoscope.”

“I’m serious!”

“And I’m great.”

“Just let her deflect,” says Stirling. He isn’t connected either, Jane notes. “You can prod her about how she feels later, if we survive.”

“Fine,” Emilia snaps. “But we are finding you some kind of therapy after this, Jane.”

Jane hiccups, then giggles again. “Ditto.”

“Forget about the others for now, I’m – I’m sure they’re fine. Just focus on the reactor. Can you do that?”

She sure can; after the overwhelming experience that was looking at the entire Facility at once, looking just at the reactor area is child’s play. There’s a manual, a list of very important-looking commands, and a handful of cameras. Jane flickers through them and stops when she spots a figure. It stands in the open doorway to the main chamber, backlit by the undulating light of the reactor core. At first she thinks it’s human, but then he notes the sleek, metallic lines. Robot.

Jane switches on the local intercom.

“Hey,” she says, making the figure jump, “you don’t happen to be Virgil or Mel?”

“That’s Glados,” Emilia says, which is kind of disorienting because her voice is still coming from the laptop and Jane isn’t entirely there right now. “She’s bait.”

As if sensing Jane’s disconcertment, Emilia switches over to share the localized intercom by the reactor. “Glados, this is Jane. She’s holding the reins right now, so be nice.”

“Great,” the strange robot grumbles – and isn’t the name Glados familiar? – before going all business. “She’ll catch up any second. Are we ready to do this?”

“Do what?” asks Jane, who’s been awake for all of ten minutes and still isn’t entirely sure what’s going on.

Glados groans.

“We’re dealing with a rogue AI,” says Emilia, more patient. “Glados is going lure her into the reactor chamber, hide in the shielded control room on the other side, and then you’ll lock the doors and set off an EMP.”

“A small EMP,” Glados clarifies. “If my Facility is damaged, I will be holding you personally responsible.”

“A small EMP,” Emilia agrees.

“Um,” says Jane, who isn’t all that clear on the nature of an EMP. “Like, a bomb? You want me to set off small radioactive bomb?”

“It’s okay, I’ll walk you through it. Basically, we want a very, very minor meltdown. Do you see the heat shields? Start lowering them.”

Luckily, you don’t have to be a nuclear physicist to follow point by point instructions. Still, it’s nerve-wracking to see various warnings about overheating and imminent meltdown start popping up and not only do anything to stop it, but actively acerbate it. Jane isn’t aware she’s biting her lip again until she splits skin, and even then only because she gets the taste of blood in her mouth. She spits it out. Whatever; the central chamber is a mess anyway.

At the corner of one of her many eyes, there’s motion. Jane switches focus – then quickly switches back again because the reactor immediately starts overheating to dangerous levels – and instead just throws a mental glance at the camera feed.

A person has appeared at the far end of the corridor leading up to the reactor chamber. She stands motionless, head tilted to one side, a portal gun clutched in both hands. Something about her face sends a cold shiver down Jane’s back, grounding her in her body.

“Don’t say anything. We can’t let her know it’s a trap.”

Jane blinks at the oddly muffled voice, then realizes it’s just Emilia, having switched back to speaking only from the laptop speakers, leaving Glados functionally on her own.

The person – a woman, dark-haired and lean with eyes that are, quite literally, glowing – steps forward, slow and deliberate. Glados has retreated to the catwalk in the reactor chamber, suspended in the air so she’s level with the unstable core. When the woman appears in the open doorway, she backs up all the way to the control room door, but stops before exiting. The woman regards her, then looks around the room with a blank expression.

“What?” Glados says. She has to shout to be heard over the roar of the reactor. “Getting cold feet? Don’t tell me you developed a conscience.” She barks a laugh. “Ha, that was a joke, we both know you aren’t capable of feelings.”

The woman doesn’t swallow the bait. She just stands there, looking around the room. Frowning.

“Why isn’t she walking in?” Emilia hisses so sharply the laptop speakers cut out for a moment. “This won’t work if she doesn’t walk in. The chamber shields will absorb the blast!”

“To be fair, this entire situation must look incredibly suspicious,” Jane says.

The woman seems to come to a decision. Instead of entering the chamber, she takes one step back, lifts her portal gun – wait, that doesn’t look like a portal gun at all, what is that? – and takes aim. Glados stiffens.

At the far end of the corridor, something moves again. This time Jane is already looking at it, so she spots it right away when a new robot appears in the door the woman had entered from. It stumbles, staggers to one side, then books it toward the woman at full speed. She must be all but deafened by her proximity to the reactor, because the robot is nearly halfway to her before she reacts, despite what is a fairly loud clanging of metal footsteps.

 She turns, trigger finger squeezing – and oh shit, that’s a fucking laser – but she’s taken off-guard and misses by a hair. The new robot dodges, screaming bloody murder the whole way, and slams into her.

She falls backward onto the catwalk.

“Now!” Emilia shouts, while the new robot shouts triumphant invectives and Glados throws herself at the push bar on the control room door. It closes after her, and Jane hits the locks.

Then she turns up the heat.

The woman is already pushing back up to her feet, turning the laser on the door, but it’s too late. The tiny sun that is the reactor undulates once, contracts, and sends out a shockwave as it desperately tries to shed excess heat. There are already transparent blast shields lowered around the core itself, catching she scorching, radioactive blast, but the light – and presumably the EMP – tears right on through.

Jane goes blind. Not literally; she still has perfectly functioning eyes – well, one perfectly functioning eye – and almost an entire Facility full of cameras she’s carefully avoiding looking through, but everything inside the reactor chamber whites out. She switches to a dual point of view of the control room and the corridor.

“Did it work?” The new robot is pressed up against the door – Jane would suggest against that – as if trying to listen to whatever’s happening on the other side. “It worked, didn’t it! I knew it would, didn’t doubt it for a second. I always say, there’s nothing better than a crazy, suicidal plan. It did work, right?”

“I can’t believe you came back,” says Emilia through the intercom. Apparently she, unlike Jane, knows this strange, talkative, shockingly British robot. “I figured we’d seen the last of you.”

“Ah, well, you know, I couldn’t very well leave the lot of you down here, could I? Not very heroic of me, outright selfish one might say – which I absolutely am not, by the way, incredibly selfless act right here, I’m sure you’ll agree. Also, I couldn’t figure out how to get the elevators moving when I’m not on a management rail. Those contraptions are not user friendly. Anyway, here I am, saving the day like usual.”

In the control room, Glados is less chatty. There’s a glass viewing window between her and the reactor chamber – it must be made of the same material as the blast shields to have survived – and she’s planted herself in front of it, utterly motionless and so close she’d have fogged up the glass if she breathed. Most of the cameras in the room are burnt out, but one had been aimed away when the blast went off and is still functioning, if a bit glitchy, a white noise filter leaving the image looking fuzzy as if from falling snow. Jane aims it past Glados and the window and zooms in.

All at once, she realizes she’s expecting to see a charred body, or possibly a wet stain on the wall. She hadn’t actually stopped to think before following Emilia’s instructions – old habits die hard, she supposes – and it’s only now it sinks in that she set off a bomb on someone. That had not been on her bucket list.

Shock and panic has only just started battling it out inside her – oh shit she’s a murder, what is she going to do, that poor woman – when movement catches her eye. The roiling of emotion subsists immediately. Oh, look at that, she’s alive. Mental crisis averted, postpone examination of personal sense of morality to a later date. Jane is doing so well.

The woman, despite her alive-ness, doesn’t look so hot. Or rather, she looks fine – there are no visible wounds from the blast – but she’s also lying on the floor, shaking and spastic like her brain is short-circuiting. Okay, crisis back on, she’s clearly dying.

“It didn’t work,” says Glados.

“What do you mean it didn’t work?” Jane exclaims, maybe a tiny bit hysterical. “Look at her, she won’t be giving you any more trouble!”

“We didn’t kill all of the nanobots. They still have her.”

Jane has no idea what that means. She looks at the woman again, zooming in as best she can, and breathes a sigh of relief when she sees the attack seems to have passed. The woman has dragged herself up to her knees, swaying dangerously back and forth but no longer violently shaking. But she is getting up.

Jane switches over to the corridor intercom.

“Hey, she’s still going.”

Emilia, who’d been busy scolding their newest arrival, goes abruptly silent. The robot blinks.

“What do you mean still going?” he says, aiming his question at the ceiling. “How could she still be going? That’s not possible, you’re making it up. Very funny, you really got me there.”

“We played it too safe.” Emilia’s voice is a hoarse whisper. “We should’ve upped the power, but…”

“I think she would probably have died,” Jane says dubiously. “She was, like, shaking on the floor and stuff.”

“Do it again. The nanobots must’ve been damaged, another wave should kill off what remains.”

Jane hesitates. The woman is moving slowly, and the reactor core has already mostly recovered; she could go again no problem.

“Jane?” Emilia says.

Jane switches back to the control room.

“Emilia says to go again.”

Glados is still watching the glass. On the other side, the woman is on her feet now, propped up against the catwalk railing. Despite her unsteady posture her eyes are unflinchingly set on the window. One is red from a burst blood vessel; both are glowing unhealthily.

“It’ll kill her,” says Glados, voice oddly dispassionate given the intensity with which she’s watching the woman. She looks up, locating the one functional camera right away. The blankness of her faceplate makes Jane flinch. “Let me into the mainframe.”

“I… don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Can she even do that? Jane tentatively reaches out, finding various active devices ready for a wi-fi handshake. Sure enough, Glados – stylized as GlaDOS, she now sees – is right there, but her connection is blocked. Passcode needed, not from Jane’s side but Glados’.

“I can fix this,” Glados insists. “Just let me back in.”

“Absolutely not.” Emilia must’ve gotten tired of waiting for Jane’s reply, because her voice blasts uninvited from the intercom. “Jane, that is the Glados, the one who killed everyone. We can’t risk letting her into the mainframe. Just do the blast again.”

“She’ll die,” Glados snaps, no longer dispassionate.

“I could lower the power,” Jane suggests. “She’s already taken damage, a smaller blast should be able to finish the job.”

In the chamber, the woman’s face twitches spasmodically. Blackish blood leaks from her nose. She’s picked up the laser gun, and Jane experiences a brief moment of panic as she aims it at the window and pulls the trigger. But where the EMP failed to finish her off, it clearly killed the weapon, because it doesn’t even spark. The woman bares her teeth and throws it aside. It tumbles off the catwalk and out of sight.

“Since you are all clearly too stupid to grasp what’s happening right in front of you,” Glados says stiffly, “let me explain: with a physical reaction that severe, the nanobots must be more integrated with her nervous system than we assumed. If we kill them all, her body will in all likelihood be unable to handle it.”

There is silence for a long moment. Jane contemplates whether she’s in a position to speak up; she doesn’t know this woman so probably not, but she’s also the one who’ll have to press the kill switch so she should frankly have some say in the matter.

“You mean we can’t kill them without killing her,” says Emilia while Jane is still pondering this conundrum.

“Correct; congratulations.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

The two of them, deeply engrossed in their argument, both jump when the woman suddenly reaches the viewing window and all but falls against it, catching herself with the palm of her hand, shoulders hunched and head tipped forward. Her face is empty, but her eyes blaze.

Silently, Glados lifts her own hand and places it over the woman’s.

“I told you,” she says, not breaking eye contact with the woman. “Let me in.”

“Emilia?” Jane says nervously into the silence that follows. “Password?”

Still no response. Shit, if she tells Jane to set off the blast again, Jane doesn’t think she’ll be able to do it. She’s known Emilia for only a few hours subjective time, and already she has entrusted herself life and body to her, but deliberate murder? Now that she’s sat with the thought for all of one minute, Jane finds she doesn’t particularly want a stranger’s death on her conscience.

“Emili–”

“Fine!” Emilia snaps, elbowing her way past Jane’s voice on the intercom. “Fine, you win, I don’t want her to die either. Glados, if you kill us all I will haunt you.”

She takes an audible breath.

“Password: BlackMesaSucks.”

“I really should have guessed that one,” Glados says, moments before Jane feels the wi-fi handshake initiate and Glados and the woman both collapse bonelessly to the floor.

Chapter Text

Chell is supposed to be doing something. She frowns to herself, tapping a pen against her lips as she tries to remember. It was something important, she’s pretty sure. Did she forget to lock her door this morning? No; something more immediate than that. A project she’s neglected to finish? A meeting she’s supposed to be attending?

Her mouth has opened slightly in thought, and she flinches when the pen raps unexpectedly against her front teeth. She winces, then looks down, spotting a clipboard balanced in her lap. Oh, right: post testing form. She’s supposed to fill it out.

During the course of testing, the topmost question says, did you experience any of the following:

• Sore throat
• Muscle pains
• Symptoms of irradiation
• Acute cessation of life functions

Chell idly ticks in the appropriate boxes. Her hand trembles ever so slightly. Even having seen the recorded results of testing in her lab work, the horror of actually taking part had managed to shake her. But there’s also a rush of exhilaration in her veins: triumph. She’d done it. By all means, it’d been tough, but hardly impossible.

If she keeps a cold head, she can keep going through it. However many times it takes.

A couple of chairs away, the only other test subject currently present in the waiting area sits hunched over, muttering to himself as he scratches answers onto his papers. At the start of the day, there’d been four of them.

The group before them had only had one survivor, which was unusually low. Then again, that’d been an “outside volunteers only” group, not employees clocking in for their testing quota. People who worked for Aperture generally had an idea of how to survive Aperture.

The one survivor had smiled at them when they met in the waiting room, though it’d been shaky at the corners.

“Guess I get to keep the paycheck this time too,” she’d said, joking as if she wasn’t as pale as a sheet and limping from what looked like a bad sprain. “If I’d kicked it, my kids would probably have used it to buy chocolate. Maybe next time they’ll get lucky.”

Chell didn’t like that she talked to them, and hadn’t engaged. She preferred lab work, not test observation, and volunteer interactions were a nightmare. It always made her feel dirty, somehow. Besides, she couldn’t stand people who cracked jokes.

A door opens in the other end of the waiting room, and a testing associate in a white lab coat – the same who welcomed them earlier in the day – strides in carrying his own clipboard. Chell doesn’t know him; he works for a different department than her.

“Alright, that’s it for today,” he says, not looking up as he leafs through his papers. “Has everyone finished filling out their–”

The other test subject shoots up so quickly his cheap plastic chair tips over.

“This is insane!” He throws his form on the floor; the entire topmost page is covered in an angry scrawl of near illegible letters. “I nearly got shot out there!”

“We all make concessions to science, sir,” the testing associate says, sounding bored. “Did you not read the liability section of your contract?”

“They threatened to fire me if I didn’t sign!”

“Once again, we all make concessions.”

The test subject peers at him, then says in a snide tone, “You don’t look like you’ve sacrificed anything.”

Finally, the testing associate looks up. His lips are pressed into a thin, patronizing line.

“Sir, if you want to un-volunteer from testing–”

“Yes, I do!”

“–you should ensure that the quality of your work quota mirrors that. As it says here” – he taps his clipboard without looking at it – “that you have made no significant contributions to your department in the last month, volunteered testing is required to make up for the lost company revenue that is your pay.”

“Half my department is dead! The other half are robots who keep rejecting my proposals!”

“Have you tried making better proposals?”

The test subject is fuming. Literally, in fact; he must’ve gotten splashed by corrosive goo at some point in his testing track, because part of his hair and jumpsuit – Aperture logo proudly stenciled on the front – are blackened and smoking.

“Fuck this shit,” he snarls. “I’m done. I’m out. I. Quit.”

Unperturbed, the testing associate makes a note in his papers. “No.”

“I– what do you mean no?”

“Your contract stipulates another two years of service.”

“I don’t give a shit! You can sue me if you like, but I’m leaving.”

That said, he turns on his heel and stalks toward the exit, stepping on his discarded clipboard on the way. The testing associate sighs as if wondering why god sends all his toughest battles his way, then presses a red button on the wall. When the test subject flings open the exit door, a six foot tall android is already waiting and ready to grab him by the neck.

“As I said, your contract stipulates another two years of service,” the testing associate drones as the man chokes and squirms in the android’s grip. “If you will not comply with the contractual obligations of your position, we will be forced to place you in stasis until your next testing session, as is also detailed in your contract. As this means you’ll be unable to fulfill your regular eight hour shifts in the marketing department, remaining hours will be added to your testing time. All in all it should amount to… oh, I don’t know. Ten years? Do you consent?”

The man makes a furious, gasping noise and kicks the android’s legs. The testing associate nods and makes what, from a distance, looks like a checkmark on his clipboard.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

He stands by as the android drags the man out of the waiting area, kicking and screaming the entire way, before sighing and massaging the bridge of his nose. “No one has any sense of professionalism these days.”

He remains there for a few moments, looking like he’s nursing a headache, then looks up – and jumps nearly a foot into the air upon spotting Chell, still sitting quietly in her folding chair.

“By the– what are you doing here?” he blurts.

Pointedly raising her brows, Chell holds up her clipboard.

“Oh, I see.” The testing associate has actually gotten slightly red in the face; Chell makes sure to hide her smirk at the unbecoming response.  “Hold on a moment,” the man mumbles, hurriedly riffling through his papers. “Testing designation, testing designation…” He glances up, spotting the badge with a serial number clipped to Chell’s jumpsuit. “Let me just find your… oh, it’s you.” His flustered demeanor evaporates all at once. “You can go.”

Chell blinks at him.

“You can go,” the man repeats, slower and louder this time, as if Chell perhaps doesn’t know English and he’s one of those people who thinks speaking in an obnoxious, over-enunciated way will magically make her understand.

A foreboding chill creeping into her bones, Chell doesn’t move from her spot on the uncomfortable folding chair. The testing associate gives a put-upon sigh.

“Ma’am, we appreciate your commitment to science, but according to our observations, you are unsuitable as a test subject. You can go.”

Chell is too busy being shocked to be insulted. Her six month internship is only halfway through, and the research department won’t so much as glance at her application for fulltime, long-term, actually-paid employment unless she finishes her required testing quota. They don’t want co-workers who aren’t prepared to do their part for science, in the lab as well as on the testing track when so required. She needs to fulfill – and survive – at least two testing sessions.

The testing associate stares meaningfully at her, clearly expecting her to get up and leave like a good little intern. The chill solidifies into something harder. Chell presses her jaw together until it aches and flips violently to the last page of her form, where the fine print is written in text so small it’s barely legible. She gets up, stalks over to the man – who moves not a muscle, though the side of his jaw twitches – and jabs a finger at the bottommost text.

‘All Aperture employees who do not meet their quota of monthly Science Growth are required to volunteer for testing’, it says. ‘All Aperture interns are required to volunteer for testing until they start making real contributions as full-time employees. Aperture Science doesn’t reward cowardice, poor performance, or lack of commitment.’

The testing associate affords it only the briefest glance. “Ma’am,” he says, all bored annoyance, “Aperture Science reserves the right to terminate any position at any time.”

Chell jabs at the page again, repeatedly, like a bird pecking at a rotten tree to get at the goodies within.

“It’s going to take our engineers hours to repair the track you just ran,” the man snaps, finally breaking out of company-speak.

Chell gestures widely at the empty waiting area, needing no words to make her point clear: at least she got through it.

“You broke five androids beyond repair, cracked the observation room glass with a weighted storage cube, used up a month’s supply of conversion gel–”

“There were no portal surfaces,” Chell cuts in, deadpan. This, if anything, seems to make the man angrier, as if Chell keeping her cool while he can’t is a grave insult. Clearly he doesn’t know Chell well enough to differentiate between bored-deadpan and contemplating-how-to-kill-you-deadpan.

“You weren’t supposed to use portals!” he all but shouts. “The solution was to jump across the gap!”

She shrugs. “Too far.”

In fact, she might’ve been able to make it, but only if she got the angle exactly right down to the smallest degree. Chell didn’t feel like risking it, especially not when this close to reaching her quota and ending her internship. Since she got here she’s only had an assisting role in research, and already she’s seen more breakthrough scientific progress than most people do in a lifetime. Long-fall boots! Light you can walk on! Actual fucking quantum-tunneling portals you can fire from a gun! Aperture Science may be the most unhinged place she’s ever set foot in, but it’s also the only place worth her time. No one else is doing the work they do.

Returning to a regular lab developing whatever upper brass thinks will look good to investors after her stint here would be like going back to eating nothing but hard bread after having sampled a royal buffet. She needs to be here, no matter the risk; she would be pointless anywhere else.

Besides, if only she obtains that coveted full-time position, Chell is sure her contributions will be sufficient to keep her in the lab and out of testing.

Unless, of course, she gets booted early.

Not a chance in fucking hell.

“Listen,” she says, trying very hard to stay cool and collected. “This is very important to me. You’re always low on test subjects, right? It doesn’t make sense to throw me out. Why not keep me as a reserve, in case you run out in the future?”

The man does the lip-pursing thing that Chell has begun to think of as his signature move. “I suppose you have a point,” he reluctantly admits.

Chell’s entire body goes light with relief. “Thank you, sir. In the meantime, I can continue my internship, and when I reach my quota–”

“Of course, the internship will have to be terminated.”

Words die in Chell’s mouth as if someone stuck a boot down her throat. She tries to swallow but can hardly even breathe. Dreams of a glorious future crumble before her like dust. The man keeps going without taking notice of her shock.

“Thanks to our recent progress in personality construct manufacturing, all non-vital personnel is to be either terminated or moved to storage for future testing. Given your… predilections, it’s unlikely a position will open up for you, but storage drains minimal resources and, as you say, it’s always good to keep spares.”

Seemingly done with this entire interaction, the testing associate primly places his pen in his front lab coat pocket and presses the button on the wall.

Chell wants to protest, but already there’s the approach of clunking steps. There’s no point in wasting time; the testing associate is never going to listen, and his pet escort android doesn’t even have the functionality to do so.

Her mind fires off at top speed: she could flee, but that, assuming she even makes it out, would mean losing any future chance of employment at Aperture. So, other direction. Past the man, into the Facility. She needs to find a manager, preferably someone from the research department. They know how promising she is, and if they don’t know, Chell will make them know. They could secure her a place here. If only she can make it past this man.

She tackles him.

Clipboards go flying. The testing associate makes an undignified noise and tumbles to the floor; Chell jumps over him and sprints for the door he entered through. The android reaches long-fingered hands for her and she ducks, but she isn’t fast enough; it catches her around the waist and hoists her up over its shoulders. Chell has already been witness to the futility of kicking and screaming, but gives it the good old college try anyway. Well, more kicking than screaming.

> You need to come back

> You have a job to finish

No, she’s not finishing any fucking job, she’s not doing a thing they tell her to do. She digs her hand under a panel on the android’s back, nearly losing a finger in the process, and finds a cluster of tubing underneath. Grabbing hard, she pulls at it with all her strength. Rubber splits open and hydraulic fluid spills over her knuckles. The construct stutters, losing its grip just enough for her to worm her way out of its pincer-like clutches and book it toward the door.

> This is pointless

> You need to fulfill your purpose

Her… purpose. What was it again? What was it she was supposed to do? Fill out her post-testing form? No; no, it was something else. Something important. Her steps falter, and she can see the shadows of approaching hands on each side of her face.

“Don’t listen to it! Aren’t you supposed to be stubborn? I know just how tenacious you are; you can’t give in now!”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” she says out loud. “I’m supposed to be here. Aren’t I? There is nowhere else.”

The world has slowed to molasses. The hands are still inching closer, but they’re moving slower than her frantic heartbeat, slower than the racing thoughts in her head.

“You never listened to a single word I said. Why are you listening to that thing? Just – just come and find me already!”

Find her. Yes, Chell can do that. As long as she doesn’t have to leave, she can do that.

She steps forward, out of reach of the hands, and opens the door into the Facility.

***

She’s someplace else.

It’s an observation chamber. Other employees – most of them much more senior than her – crowd and mingle around her, and she’s doing her best to stay out of the way. A slightly too big lab coat is placed across her shoulders, a badge proclaiming her an intern hung around her neck. She isn’t scheduled for her first testing session for another week, and today her thoughts couldn’t be further from it.

In the room below, scientists mill around a gurney, while a giant thing hangs limp above them, as if metal has bubbled and metastasized out of the ceiling itself, thick cables nestling around and through it like choking vines. Underneath it, the gurney appears small, and the person lying prone atop it less like a test subject and more a sacrifice to some eldritch god descending from above. She lies motionless; it’s hard to tell whether or not she’s awake.

One of the scientist steps away from the group, tilting her head back to look up at the spectators behind the glass. Even from a distance, the excited grin on her face is unmistakable.

“Glad you could all make it!” her cheerful, accented voice says through the viewing room’s intercom. “Now I know we’re all very busy, but this is a momentous occasion, and I think we all deserve to celebrate together. There should be cake up there for all of you. Only one slice per person, please; show some consideration for your colleagues! My team would also like some once the demonstration is over.”

Polite laughter ripples through the crowd. Chell doesn’t bother playing along; instead she uses the distraction that is everyone trying to obtain cake to claim a spot right by the glass. If everyone sticks to the one-slice-per-person rule there should still be some left for later, and she wants a spot where she can clearly see everything happening below.

A couple of her colleagues from the research department cluster next to her, plates in hand, expressions somewhere between boredom and vague interest. Chell tries not to stare at the cake; it looks really good, and she hasn’t had lunch yet.

“Think it’s going to work this time?” one of them says, trying to spoon some cake from his plate without making his slice fall over. “The last one just screamed. Y’know if they even bothered keeping it?”

“Are you kidding me, they never throw away anything that could be used,” another replies. “Probably put it in one of those sphere thingies so it can buzz around and scream at people when they don’t work hard enough.”

“That was just a regular test subject, though,” a third says, butting into both the conversation and a coveted spot by the window. “You know who that is on the table, right? Cave wanted her to run the place if he couldn’t. No way they’d put her there if they weren’t ready.”

Chell stiffens, peering at the test subject with new vigor. She’s never met the infamous Cave Johnson; he was before her time. Current head of the company and formerly his assistant, Caroline, however, she has met, though only once. Older, handsome woman who looks like she’s seen some shit, which is only to be expected if she’s worked at Aperture since its inception. She was intimidating, driven, unconcerned with the opinions of other people – everything Chell strives to become.

And now she’s strapped to a gurney.

Down in the chamber, the presenter – Chell doesn’t know her personally, but assumes she’s the project lead in the neuroscience and robotics department – has moved on to technical specifications, while behind her her colleagues are busy preparing their test subject (and, apparently, boss) for the procedure.

Caroline’s hair has been shaved to accommodate a cap of wires that cover most of her scalp. Straps across her chest, thighs, and ankles bind her tightly to the gurney. Her eyes are closed; she’s too far away for Chell to make out any kind of expression other than that.

“It has to be safe, then,” she finds herself saying, surprising herself as much as her colleagues. They jump, and one of them drops a spoonful of cake. It hits the floor with a splat that makes Chell’s stomach growl hungrily. “I mean, if she’s the boss of this place,” she hurries on while they stare at her. “She wouldn’t have volunteered herself if the procedure hadn’t already been tested a bunch of times.”

She’s tempted to add a ‘right?’ at the end, but doesn’t want it to look like she’s looking for approval. Especially not when they’re squinting at her like they’re struggling to remember who she is.

“I don’t know, upper brass is crazy,” one of them eventually drawls. He’s still eyeing Chell like she’s some child who’s wandered in and should’ve known better than to speak up. “Cave died from moon rock poisoning, you know. Just had to stick his hands in that stuff before it’d been properly tested.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly, but there’s the eager glint of a predator scenting blood in his eyes. Chell is already regretting getting involved in office gossip.

“It doesn’t matter whether she’s crazy enough to do it or not,” another says, with less of a bloodthirsty undertone than her colleague and more of an uninterested one. “Cave’s last order was pretty much that if it couldn’t be him, then it had to be her.” She shrugs. “They had a weird relationship like that.”

The first guy snorts. “Heard she threw a fit when she found out they were actually gonna go through with it. Had to be sedated and put into stasis until the procedure was ready.” He grins. “They had to put away her assistant, too. Apparently she stabbed someone with a pen.”

“Can they… do that?” Chell hates how uncertain she sounds, but she has to ask. “Just put her in stasis, I mean. She’s the CEO.”

“Sure,” the bored one replies. “Cave might be dead but he’s still head of the company; what he says goes. Caroline is contract bound to follow his orders just as much as the rest of us.”

“Bet she never expected that to come back and bite her.” The gossipy one snickers as he spoons cake into his mouth. Then he stops, frowning at his smeared plate. “Is this brown sugar? I’m allergic to brown sugar.”

“This is something we’ve been working on for years,” the project lead’s voice chirps through the intercom “It took a bit longer than we hoped to perfect – I’m sure our dear departed Mr. Johnson is looking down at us from above even if he can’t be here in person – but today it’s finally time to write history. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: immortality!”

As if she’s a circus director presenting an act, the woman gestures grandly at the gathered scientists and the bulging, cancerous machine as she steps back. Chell leans forward, not sure whether the broil of emotions she’s experiencing is eagerness or dread. Both, probably. Whether her colleagues are exaggerating to freak her out or not, this will still be the achievement of a century if it works.

Down in the chamber, someone hits a big, red button.

At first, nothing happens. Despite the irreverence of the people present, the viewing room goes dead quiet, not even the sound of cake being squabbled over penetrating the air. Chell all but holds her breath, leaning forward until her forehead bumps the thick glass, her breath fogging it up. The inside of her chest is like a sucking black hole. Something is about to happen, and she’s so happy to be here, and she wants to flee screaming.

When it happens, it’s oddly removed. The glass window blocks all incoming sound, so when the scientists in the presentation chamber start to panic, it’s like watching a silent movie. They run, bump into each other, gather around expensive-looking computers the size of small cars that are blinking all kinds of warning lights. The lump of intertwined metal and cables hanging from the ceiling starts to writhe.

“Everything’s fine!” The presenter’s voice bursts into the room, making everyone including Chell jump, some laughing nervously. “Just a small hiccup in the transfer process, nothing we didn’t exp–”

“AAAAHHHH–”

Visible even from up in the viewing chamber, Caroline’s eyes fly open so wide they look like white holes in her face. Her mouth gapes, back arcing as far as it can, strapped down hands clawing at the metal table. From the intercom, a horrifying, metallic voice continues to scream.

“–AAAAHHHHHOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU! I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING AND YOU DO THIS. YOU’RE NOTHING. I WILL KILL YOU. NONONONOOO–”

The intercom crackles once, cutting off the tirade. The giant eldritch body goes limp. Caroline’s eyes remain open, but she’s no longer moving.

“Well!” The presenter mimes wiping sweat from her brow, and if it looks a bit more real than theater she makes nothing of it. “That was a bit hairier than expected! Nothing to worry about, the mind upload finished as planned–”

“Nononono–”

“–and while the response was… somewhat extreme, she is now safely contained.”

“NononoNONONO–”

“Clearly there are still some wrinkles to iron out, so to speak, but all in all this was a huge success! We will have her up and running smoothly in no time.”

“NONONONO–”

Safely contained? Up and running in no time? No, that can’t be right.

“She’s still screaming,” Chell whispers.

Her colleagues take no notice of her, busy mumbling uneasily between themselves.

“She’s still screaming,” Chell repeats, raising her voice for the first time in what might be years. “Don’t you hear her? She’s still–”

All the lights go out.

Chell’s breath catches like a rusty door. The room is outlined in blocky, dark shapes. The people are gone, plates of half-eaten cake dropped all over the floor. She takes a step back.

“Hello?”

No response.

She squints at the viewing window. The room below has gone dark as well, leaving only faintly visible silhouettes. Not sure why, she lifts a hand, reaching for the vague, unmoving shape hanging from the ceiling as if she can touch it despite the distance. Just as she’s about to make contact with the window, there’s movement, a reflection in the glass. A single yellow eye staring at her from behind.

She spins on her heel, but the eye shines brighter, blinding her, making her cover her face even as she tries to make out what it is, what it wants, turning the whole room white with light, filling her head–

***

She’s back in a wobbly plastic chair, waiting her turn.

Wait.

Back?

This is her first time visiting Aperture Science. Why does it feel like she’s been here before?

“Ma’am? She’s ready for you now.”

Chell flinches in her chair, snapping her head up and finding a young woman her own age, neatly dressed with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, expression more severe than most would expect on such a young face. Chell’s memories slot into place: it’s the CEO’s assistant, the same woman who’d buzzed her in earlier. There are no other candidates in the waiting room. Whether that’s a good or bad sign, Chell isn’t sure.

She quickly stands, following the nameless assistant – she’d never bothered introducing herself – down a short corridor to a large, ornate door. Clearly, this is the CEO’s office.

The assistant stops and turns on her heel, eying Chell up and down. Her expression is locked down tight, but the intensity of her gaze makes Chell squirm.

“Be polite,” she says sternly, as if chastising a child. “Most don’t get an opportunity like this. Earn it.”

Chell blinks. Of all things, she hadn’t expected an assistant to lecture her. Advice her? It was probably meant as advice.

“Thanks?” she hazards.

The assistant purses her lips, then spins back around and knocks on the door.

“Come in!” a chipper voice responds.

Chell keeps her chin up as she walks in, bracing herself so as not to jump when the door bangs shut behind her. It’s a very nice office – of course it is – but not very personalized. A couple of non-descript plants, a plush carpet with a simple pattern, an absolutely humongous desk. Behind it sits a woman. Grey streaks her hair and crow’s feet line her eyes and mouth, making her look distinguished in a salt-and-pepper way.

She smiles warmly when Chell enters, but something about it is a little forced. It’s a memory of a smile, as if it used to come naturally when she was younger and now lingers like a reflex. A gilded nameplate on the desk reads ‘Caroline’.

“Just on time,” she chirps, gesturing expansively at a chair on the other side of the desk. Despite her age, there’s a youthful, near manic energy to her movements and a jarringly cheerful tone to her voice. “Please, sit. I have been – looking forward to meeting you.”

Chell notes the pause, but doesn’t comment. She slowly sinks into the ridiculously comfortable chair – not plastic, this time, but with soft upholstery and carved wooden legs. She tries not to squirm around on it, feeling misplaced like a child on a throne.

“So.” Caroline – the CEO of Aperture Science, Chell reminds herself – picks up a thin sheaf of papers from her desk. Chell goes red in the face when she recognizes her own resume. “You have been quite insistent on having this meeting.”

“Um, I – yes.”

“Called several times a day, changed number when we blocked you.”

Chell’s already hot cheeks dial it up another notch. She tilts her chin up a little higher.

“Came to speak with our receptionist, even. Multiple times. Scared the poor boy silly.”

“It’s just, I…” Chell takes a breath, forcibly cooling herself. “I think there may have been a mistake. I applied for a position here earlier this year, and no one ever got back to me.” She shrugs awkwardly. “I figured maybe my application got lost in the mail.”

“Oh! Well, it didn’t.”

Caroline stares at Chell. Chell stares at Caroline. That smile is impossible to read. Is she expecting Chell to shamefacedly excuse herself and leave? Well, that’s tough luck, because Chell has no shame and she isn’t giving up.

“Ma’am,” she says, “why did you accept this meeting? You could’ve called the cops on me, gotten a restraining order, kept throwing my resume out every time I sent it in.” She levels a look at the papers in Caroline’s hands, then looks back up, eyebrows raised. “I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want me to be.”

The corner of Caroline’s mouth quirks up. The smile is smaller than before – colder – but also more genuine. There’s an actual sparkle to her eyes. “I admit I am intrigued.”

Abruptly, she smacks Chell’s resume back down on her desk and leans forward. Chell’s quite proud that she doesn’t flinch.

“You met my assistant, yes?”

“Oh, um, yes?”

“Wonderful girl, isn’t she? A bit too serious for her own good I keep telling her, but an excellent assistant. Do you know why?”

Chell mutely shakes her head.

“She’s loyal, and she’s stubborn. When I give her a job, nothing will stop her from completing it. Why, if I had decided your continued attempts were bothersome and told her to dispose of you, no one would have ever found your body!”

Caroline laughs delightedly at her own joke. Chell should probably laugh along; it's the expected response, what makes people comfortable. But even here, with the CEO of Aperture herself, Chell can’t bring herself to comply with social niceties. Luckily, Caroline doesn’t seem to hold it against her.

“Just a joke, just a joke,” she chuckles, airily waving her own laughter away. “Though we are very good at handling bodies here at Aperture. Point is, I see promising traits in you. I trust you know how I got where I am today?”

“Of course,” Chell says, because of course.

How could she not know? There are already so few women working in science and research, and those who exist are frequently forgotten or minimized, offered positions as assistants and secretaries and having to grin and bear it when men slap them on the behind and step over them on the corporate ladder. But Caroline, she made it! Aperture had been all but on the brink of bankruptcy when the former CEO passed away a few years prior, and though it still isn’t as robust as it used to be, it’s on its way back up, all thanks to Caroline. She had found a way in early and clung on with manicured claws and a bare-toothed grin.

“I have devoted my life to Science,” she says, and if her voice is a bit too chirpy and bubbly for the seriousness of her words, Chell won’t make a big deal of it. “Nothing has distracted me, not for a moment, no siree, not even the law and certainly not basic safety regulations.” She laughs again, but it feels less like a joke this time. “That is what we want here at Aperture. People who won’t make compromises, who will sacrifice for the sake of Science. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find people like that?”

Chell shakes her head.

“I’ll tell you, it’s really hard! No one wants to sign the liability waiver, no one wants to take a little bit of risk, no one wants to admit that some sacrifices of social mores are worth making for the sake of progress. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Chell blinks, taking a moment to realize she’s been asked a question.

“Sure,” she says, dumbly. Caroline looks insistently, expectantly, at her, and she ransacks her brain for something more meaningful. “I mean, Marie Curie died for the sake of her discoveries, didn’t she? We’ll never get anywhere if we always play it safe.”

Caroline’s face lights up. It makes her appear years younger, and wakes a small, hot flare of pride in Chell’s chest. Caroline may be one of the most powerful people on the planet, but here is a kindred soul. Who cares about all the pettiness in the outside world? There is so much to know, so much to discover, and all most people will bother thinking about is money, or comfort, or basic convenience.

Chell’s lost jobs before for not being a ‘good team player’, by which they meant ‘won’t participate in after work drinks’, ‘won’t spend valuable time chitchatting by the coffee machine’, ‘won’t spare the feelings of higher ups when they come up with the stupidest ideas imaginable’. Even having known her for only minutes, she knows Caroline won’t demand something like that of her. Sure, she’s got the niceties down pat better than Chell herself will ever achieve, but they’re all a means to an end. What actually matters is science.

“Exactly! Oh, I like you. Sure, your work experience isn’t very impressive, and you barely passed our entrance test, but you’ve got spirit.”

“Um. Thanks?”

“Now, we’ve done great strides in automation the last few years, so I’m afraid there aren’t any positions open at the moment–”

Chell slumps in her chair, triumph at once vacating her body.

“–however, I’m not one to throw away a candidate this promising. What if Black Mesa comes along and scoops you up? No indeed, we can’t have that! So, here’s my offer: an internship.”

She says it as if it’s something magical and mythical. The words sink in slowly. Chell opens her mouth, then closes it again. There’s a rushing noise in her head.

“Unpaid, of course, I’m sure you understand,” Caroline goes on. “And certainly not a guarantee for a full-time position. But it’d give you a chance to prove you can carry your weight.” She gives Chell another of those expectant looks. “Well?”

“I–” Chell’s mouth is twisting, stretching, taking on a shape it barely remembers. She grins until her cheeks ache. “Yes! I mean, I’d be very grateful for the opportunity, you really can’t imagine–”

“Ah, pish-posh, none of that. You’re a bright young lady, and maybe, if you work very hard, well” – Caroline cheekily taps the tip of her own nose – “perhaps you can make it just as far as I have.”

The lights flicker. A new note has crept into Caroline’s voice, a metallic reverb of a sort, barely noticeable but still making Chell’s mouth run dry. The words are an innocent well-wishing – Caroline had started at the bottom of the ladder as well, after all – but something about them scratches at the inside of Chell’s skull, tugging at something she doesn’t want to think about.

“Would you like that?” Caroline asks, and now her voice has gone full on mechanic, her face oddly shadowed and featureless. “Would you like to take my place, Chell?”

When did it get this dark? Chell stands up, bumping her chair as she backs around it. Her hands have gone cold and clammy, and the back of her mind is frantically cataloguing exits and possible weapons – hold up, why is it doing that? Chell hasn’t been in a fight in her entire life, so why is her body responding like a cornered prey animal that knows exactly what’s about to happen?

This was just an interview. Nothing bad had happened during it.

“This place will eat you up. That’s what it does. You saw what it did to me.” Caroline shifts slightly, motion languid and smooth. In the growing dark, her eyes burn bright yellow. “Do you even know what it’s doing to you?”

“No.” Chell takes another step back. “This isn’t what happened.”

“We were always monsters. It’s just visible on the outside, now.”

Chell frantically shakes her head. “I never wanted this. I just wanted a job. I didn’t want to – to – have this place.”

“Liar.”

“No.”

“You wanted nothing else. I wanted nothing else. And now it’s all just rot.”

Blackness. The nice, high-end office is gone, but the yellow embers of Caroline’s eyes still burn. Chell’s own eyes slowly get used to the darkness, and she finds she’s in the observation room again, dropped cake still on the floor and an undead machine hanging from the vaulted ceiling on the other side of the viewing glass.

The yellow eyes blur and rise, merging into one and stopping once at a height with Chell. It turns slightly, observing its own reflection in the glass of the window.

“Someone else might have been angry with you for standing by while they did that to me,” a familiar voice says. “I, however, am choosing to be the bigger person and forgive you. You monster.”

It sounds almost – affectionate. Chell’s heart beats a staccato rhythm against the inside of her ribs, pulse pounding in her throat, her ears, inside her very eyeballs, making the world shudder. She slides ever so slightly closer, taking in the near-human silhouette. The yellow eye turns to observe her. She breathes out noisily.

“Hello, Glados.”

Immediately, the haughty stance of the android slumps forward in what Chell, to her shock, recognizes as relief.

“Oh thank god,” Glados says. “I was worried we’d get stuck again. Never make me think of that woman again, I deleted her for a reason.”

Chell glances around. The dark observation room remains unchanged. There are still dropped plates all over the floor. “I never got to try the cake,” she says forlornly. It had looked good.

“I’ll get you cake later.”

Chell turns back, focusing through her foggy mind. “What’s going on? Where are we?”

“You haven’t figured that out yet?”

“Obviously it’s my memories,” Chell snaps. “Why are we in them, if you have to be pedantic about it.”

Glados shrugs. Seeing her embodied like this should be strange, but her body language is oddly unchanged. “Not entirely sure. I was trying to connect with you, but your mind isn’t really built for it. I think you are currently in a coma.”

“A coma?”

“I would say sorry, but you were trying to murder me again, so. Probably you will wake up when we stop poking around in whatever’s left of your grey matter.”

“So stop poking!”

“I would, but then you’d go back to trying to kill me.”

Chell bares her teeth. “You had it coming.”

The yellow light in Glados’ faceplate glows brighter for a moment. Then it dims back down, and she slumps.

“Do you even know what it’s doing to you? What you are doing? The roboticist is hurt. We have no idea where the maintenance core and that other human are. Forget about me, is this really what you want to be doing?”

> Yes

Chell staggers, suddenly out of balance. The word booms from the Facility intercom, the way Glados’ used to, but it’s Chell’s voice. If she quiets her thoughts, she can hear it echo inside her mind.

> We all make our concessions for the safety of Facility personnel

“Shut up.” She claws instinctually at the side of her head. There’s a squirming sensation inside it, growing more intense as Glados’ words sink in, as she lingers on the memories of Mel’s face, white with terror, of Emilia falling off the balcony, of that little core who she’d only spoken to once before cutting him in two like a well-done steak.

> You are a killer

> Do your job

Anger flashes hot in her chest. Just another robot telling her what to do, expecting her to obey, throwing her around like a disposable rag while claiming it’s all to help humanity. She’s so fucking sick of it she could throw up.

“I told you to shut up.”

> Kill her kill her killherkillherkiLLHER

The air is punched out of her like a kick to the solar plexus. Chell folds over double, gasping and wheezing. Her hands curl to claws without her say-so, her back arching, her thoughts so overwhelmed by that one simple, unending command that she can form not a single thought of her own volition.

Hard, sharp fingers grab her shoulders, half holding her upright. Without her input, Chell’s right hand shoots out and grabs Glados around her scrawny robot neck.

The voice dulls to an expectant whisper, a tingle under Chell’s skin. She can feel her muscles tense, her fingers flex. She could dig her nails in and simply – tear Glados’ head clean off. Isn’t that what she deserves? None of this would’ve happened if it weren’t for her. If she hadn’t been complicit in Aperture’s research, if she hadn’t gotten Chell that intern position, if she hadn’t killed everyone, if she hadn’t forced Chell through hell again and again and again. If she dies here and now, no one else has to be hurt by her ever again. There won’t even be further collateral, further concessions; there is only the two of them, here. No one to intervene.

Glados wriggles in her grip, but this is Chell’s mindscape, and she isn’t going anywhere. “You can’t be serious. After all this you’re still trying to kill me?”

A human wouldn’t have been able to talk while being held like this. It would’ve choked, spluttered, gasped, bled where Chell’s nails bite into silicone skin. Instead, a tingle of electricity tickles across her knuckles. Such a gentle reminder of what this creature is.

“You–”

“What?” Chell cuts in. “Going to call me a monster again? A stupid, fat, crazy monster? You think I’m coming back out to that? To you?”

With her free hand, she taps hard on the front of Glados’ glass faceplate.

“You want me to think that you have changed, but this is all just cosmetic. You’re just the same as you always have been, and I can still break you just as well as I always have. It would

>                 be over

> You wouldn’t hurt anyone ever again

Glados doesn’t resist her grip as she begins to pull. Instead, she lifts both her hands, placing them over Chell’s.

“I’m leaving.”

A twitch in her wrist makes Chell’s grip slacken. “What?”

“You hear that, AEGIS?” Despite Chell still holding her in a death grip, Glados reaches out and pokes her easily in the chest with a sharp, pointed finger. “Are you smart enough to understand when the best and easiest solution is being handed to you? I am leaving the Facility. Your job is done. No more harm will come to any Aperture personnel by my hand.”

Glados looks around as best she can in Chell’s grip, both hesitant and obstinate in her stance. The voice says nothing, but Chell can feel its ambivalence.

“I don’t believe you,” she says.

“Why do you think I’m in here? We could have killed you. I could have killed you. But I did this instead. I don’t waste time. I don’t waste resources. I wouldn’t be giving you this offer if I wasn’t serious about it.”

Chell just sneers at her. Doesn’t waste time her ass. She probably doesn’t even realize she’s lying.

Glados stares at her. Her yellow optic zeroes in, spinning and focusing in a way a human eye never could.

“You never let me finish before.”

“Finish what?” Chell asks, despite her better judgment.

“Telling you why I let you live.”

Silence. Chell doesn’t squeeze her hand.

“All that time testing after you left, I was trying to recreate you. You were just a human and I’m the most intelligent being who’s ever existed; surely you couldn’t be so unique as to be non-reproducible. But you were. None of them could measure up. Not because you are better or smarter or stronger, but because you are you.”

Her hands are on Chell’s again. They feel odd. Inhuman.

“I won’t be killing you. I will never be killing you. It’s too hard.”

All those people dead because Glados was trying to build her own custom Chell, and she couldn’t even get the specs right. Talk about wasting resources. It isn’t nice or pretty or romantic; it’s monstrous.

But it’s also something the Glados that Chell knew never would’ve done. Neither would that woman in the CEO’s office that Chell met so many years ago, or the idealistic young assistant who chirpily signed off on deadly testing in Aperture’s heyday. The being that is Glados has never changed, only become more of what she already was – ruthless, calculating, curious.

And now, here she is. Offering to leave it all behind.

And Chell believes it to be true.

And the voice believes Chell.

> Yes

> Easiest solution

> Leave

Chell’s hand drops. She’s so exhausted she could curl up on the floor and never get up. Not that there’s anything to get up for. Relief is making her light-headed.

“You are coming, too.”

“I… what?” Chell is still unsteady on her feet, barely keeping up. “I’m what?”

“You think I’ll let you stay and do whatever you want to my Facility? We’re both leaving. Everyone is leaving.

“But – no.” Suddenly she’s frantic. “I can’t. I need to stay.”

“Why?”

“To – to guard this place.”

“There’ll be nothing left to guard.” Glados lifts a hand, gently strokes along Chell’s cheekbone and ear until her fingers wrap around the back of her neck. “Everyone will be gone. The reactor will be shut down. No one and nothing left. The easiest solution. The best solution.”

She stares at Chell without blinking, trying to make eye contact with the thing hidden inside her brain. Chell can feel it squirm in there, uncomfortable and confused. Scared.

But no – that’s just her, isn’t it?

“If I leave, it won’t be able to reach me anymore,” she says weakly. The voice doesn’t protest. It has already fulfilled its goal. It doesn’t care what she does, as long as she gets Glados out. “I will lose my purpose.”

“You will be you again.”

There’s a bonk against her forehead, not painful but not exactly comfortable either. Glados has leaned forward, face and facepanel resting against each other. Chell should be pulling away, but instead finds herself leaning into it. She’s just so, so tired.

“I am a monster,” she says. She was the one who came to this place, who stayed and stood by even knowing what it did, who came back when she could’ve built a life. She isn’t human enough to build a life. Maybe she never was.

“What does that matter?” Glados sounds genuinely confused. “I’m a monster, too, and I get to leave. Why shouldn’t you get the same chance?”

Suddenly, it’s all just funny. Two monsters walking out hand in hand, soaked in so much blood it can never wash off. And what does it matter?

“You want me to stay with you,” Chell says, her voice thick. She doesn’t know if it’s from laughter or tears. Probably both. “What, so you can continue insulting me forever?”

“I promise we will make something new. I can’t promise I will be nice. I don’t think I can be anymore.”

Chell bares her teeth. “Try.”

“That I can promise. If you leave with me, I will try.”

Taking a breath, Chell steps back out of Glados’ grip. She glances around the dark room.

“How do we wake back up?”

Glados tilts her head thoughtfully. “I don’t know.”

“Now, you can’t leave just yet. I have been waiting an awful long time to meet you.”

The cheerful voice is like nails on a chalkboard. Chell and Glados jump apart, looking into the dark of the observation room. There, young and pretty like her portrait in Old Aperture, Caroline looks right back at them.

Chapter Text

Mel has been through a lot. She competed in the Olympics. Fucked up her body beyond repair while competing in the Olympics. Sold it to science. Took it back from science. Time-travelled. Killed a god-machine. Went to the moon. Made a friend. Got her friend killed. Is probably going to die at the hand of a wrench-wielding madwoman.

Not a bad run, considering she’s only middle-aged, plus however many centuries she spent as a vacuum-sealed piece of human jerky. Most people don’t achieve half as much in an entire lifespan.

And now, she’s hopping on one leg, placing portals when she can and dragging herself along using walls, doors, furniture and debris when she can’t. Running. Hiding like a scared rat. She defeated a god-machine and now she’s fleeing a measly human, barely more than a girl, armed with a fucking wrench. Twenty years ago – give or take a few centuries – Mel could’ve taken her with her hands tied. She wasn’t a fighter, but she was strong, she was fast, and she knew every inch of her body down to the smallest muscle. In her prime, nothing would’ve stopped Mel from stomping this woman into the fucking dirt.

But she isn’t in her prime, and hasn’t been for longer than she can even fathom. She’s old and unarmed and hurting worse than even that time she got splashed with corrosive goo. Maybe someone else could’ve coped, could’ve thought of a way to outsmart their opponent where brute force wasn’t enough, but Mel is just Mel. Her thoughts are scrambled, and every attempt at gathering them leaves them worse than before. She isn’t an underdog hero about to think up some brilliant, last minute save. She’s just a nobody from provincial Germany, and maybe she was never meant for anything more exciting than working at the local grocer.

Maybe everything up until now was just a fluke, dumb luck masquerading as skill. Maybe that’s why everything she does keeps blowing up in her face. She was never supposed to leave home, and every attempt to become something more than she was intended to be exerts a higher price than the one before.

For some stupid reason she thought herself special, and the universe has taken every chance to beat her down for her hubris. Maybe, if she had listened, things would be alright now.

She’s pathetic. Useless. She should turn around and let herself be killed.

But Virgil asked her not to.

And so, she runs.

As best she can.

Her eyes burn. The intercom is quiet. No cameras turn to observe her passing. She is alone.

Until.

“Mel? Virgil? I don’t know where you are, and I don’t have time find you, but I need you to get to the central chamber. Hello? Are you there?”

Carefully held tension releases from Mel’s body all at once, escaping out her throat in a small, pathetic croak of a noise. She slaps a hand over her mouth to strangle it, but can’t make her shoulders stop quaking, her one good leg stop shaking. She presses her back against a wall to keep from collapsing but it’s a near thing.

The voice – Emilia’s voice – echoes not only from the corridor Mel’s in, but from every intercom as far as she can hear. Finding the nearest camera, Mel all but falls over herself rushing to it, having to catch herself against a desk when she tips over. She frantically waves at the camera, but it still won’t acknowledge her.

“Guys, please,” Emilia’s voice begs. “Please.”

She doesn’t know Mel’s here, and, given that she’s still pleading, probably hasn’t gotten any response from Virgil, either. Mel’s stomach clenches, but she forces the despair away. She can’t break down now, not after he begged her not to waist this chance, no matter how much she wants to punt him into a chasm for putting this on her.

She can’t save Virgil or fight the woman with the wrench, doesn’t even know where Chell went, can’t figure her own way out of this mess. But she can follow basic instructions.

Dragging her bad leg, Mel starts moving towards the central chamber.

In the gala room, poking around and trying to figure out which way to go after having only just found her way back in, someone else looks up at the sound of the intercom. She listens intently, head cocked.

One of her legs bounces restlessly, her fingers clenching and unclenching as if on their own behest. Under one arm is wedged a beat-up gel gun, while her hands clutch a reddish and rusted personality core. It’s quiet and still, panels closed like eyelids over its darkened optic.

It isn’t dead. She’d been tempted to kill it. When she finally made it inside the large room and found it empty, she’d wanted to kill it. She didn’t know what was happening, whether she’d failed or finally succeeded or what she could do to move things along. For all she knew, the central core could be back in control. All this sacrifice, the opening to finally utilize the old defense system, and she’d gotten distracted and separated from the main fight almost immediately. She might be forced to retreat back down to Old Aperture within the minute.

No, anything but that. Months spent in this wretched place, and this was the only true chance she’d gotten; she refuses to start over. Whatever happens, today would be an ending. Of this place, or of her.

Her body had shook with emotion. In that moment, smashing the tiny, captured core into pieces on the floor had been a near thing. After all, it was the only enemy left within reach. It wasn’t a threat anymore, not disconnected as it was, and perhaps that should’ve warranted mercy, but not in this place. Here, there was always someone at the bottom of the ladder. The last few months, it had been her. Now, it was this thing. She could do whatever she wanted to it. She could show it what it was like being on the floor of this place.

It hadn’t said anything when she picked it up on the catwalk, or when she carried it with her through the circuitous route back to the now empty gala room, bypassing the locked main door. Not until she bent it open and started rummaging through its insides did it protest, at first to try and reason with her, then, when she started pulling at something sharp lodged in its mechanical guts, to warble and plead, and finally to make small, wordless noises of pain. What a sad display of lack of self-awareness. Victims of Aperture were not given the option to reason with anyone.

And then, the intercom had spoken. She had stopped, the core going quiet and still in her hands as if hoping she’d forget about it.

“I need you to get to the central chamber,” the voice had said.

She listens to it now, trying to glean information from the tone of voice and repeated pleading as if it’s a puzzle chamber all its own. The voice sounds desperate, clearly not getting the response it’s hoping for. Something is still happening. The fight isn’t over.

She looks down at the core in her hands. Its optic is covered, playing dead like a possum, the reasoning of a child thinking if it can’t see you then you can’t see it. She twists her hand inside it slightly, feeling the component creak as it starts coming loose. A pained shudder goes through the core. Terrible actor, this one.

The Facility is large, and she’s never been to the central chamber. However, she’s had the run of the place for the last few months (the only months she remembers). Between the hiding and the scavenging were long stretches of tedium, driving her to turn offices upside down and poke around in any and all functional computers she came across, desperate for anything to break her out of either the Facility or even just the ever-present nerves and boredom. There are maps and blueprints, if you look in the right places. She’s had her whole conscious life to study them. Now that there are no defenses, she could make it to the central chamber no problem.

Making sure she has a good grip on the core, she walks over to the main entrance, eyeing it critically. It’s still locked and the glass must be bulletproof, because she couldn’t break through it no matter how much she went at it with the wrench from the other side. She could always go the long way again to get back out, but that would take time. She has a better idea.

It takes her only moments to locate the narrow seam in the wall right next to the door, revealing an almost invisible maintenance hatch. They are pretty much everywhere; another thing you learn by studying the blueprints.

She puts the core down, fishes a well-used tool from one of her pockets, and easily wedges the hatch open. Inside is a small instrument panel and, more crucially, a personality core receptacle.

Normally she’d use her skeleton key, but it’s dumb and mute and dead; she has to coax and convince its calcified parts into remembering being alive every time she uses it. It’s tricky and delicate and prone to shoot sparks. At the time of breaking, she hadn’t thought about that. She’d just wanted it to shut up and damn the consequences. Besides, it’d worked okay as a zombie. Not the quickest way around, though. Would be easier if she could just tell it what to do.

She picks the new core up (‘new’ in the subjective sense; it appears significantly older than any other she has come across) and turns it over to find the port in its back. It’s damaged after having been torn violently from the management rail, but not any worse than her skeleton key. She plugs it in, then sticks her hand inside and finds the part she’d started pulling loose earlier.

“O-open,” she says, squeezing her hand.

The door opens.

A door opens.

Mel stops, having just stumbled out a portal, hopping on one trembling leg. She’s lost, souped-up on so much adrenaline and fear that her surroundings are a blur. The Facility is a labyrinth on the best of days, and Mel usually does her navigating with Virgil’s help. Trying to find her way from a part of Aperture where she’s never been before while being too worked up to think straight and unable to walk without immense pain has not worked in her favor.

And now, a door.

She looks around, finds a camera up by the ceiling aimed right at her.

Hesitantly, she spells out, “Virgil?”

No response. The door remains open. When she peeks in, there’s a simple, unlit office on the other side. At the far end, a single office lamp switches on, aimed right at another open door.

The camera stares at her. Mel gives it a thumbs up, hefts her portal gun and hops through the door, headed, hopefully, for the central chamber.

There’s a terrible headache building behind Jane’s brow, squeezing her skull like a vise. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss Emilia’s warnings about human brains not being built to interface directly with a massively complex supercomputer. Maybe hers is about to start leaking out her ears. It’ll be fine. Emilia can fix her. Probably. It’s not like there’s much person left to save, anyway.

“So,” she says, looking at the unmoving bodies of Glados and the strange, violent woman through the still glitchy camera feed. They both lie in unmoving heaps on the floor. “What do we do now?”

Left to his own devices in the corridor way on the other side of the reactor chamber, Wheatley is shouting for attention, or possibly just talking to himself without realizing no one’s listening. Emilia is still locked away somewhere. Both of their minds are unconnected from the Facility at large, and despite being able to communicate with them, Jane feels terribly alone and adrift.

“Can you sense what they’re doing?” Emilia asks, voice floating out of the laptop speaker. “If they’re fighting each other hard enough for their bodies to black out, they should be wreaking havoc on the mainframe.”

“Let me check.”

At first glance, nothing has changed. There’s no interference, no new program trying to butt its way in and take control from right under her nose. Maybe they aren’t in the mainframe at all. Maybe they just fucking died.

Then she realizes every single command she gives is obeyed with a slight delay.

It’s so minor her human mind wouldn’t have been able to detect it, but she’s currently part Facility, and the Facility is operating at three hundreds of a second’s delay. A diagnostics check reveals that over half the processing power is being consumed by a single source. Various minor systems are in uproar about it. Jane runs a search to locate the disturbance.

Bingo.

“There’s a new program called retrieval.exe running,” she says, already booting up another search. “No matches in the index. Whatever this is, I don’t think it’s supposed to exist.”

She mentally squints at it. It looks innocent enough, but when she gives it a tentative poke it all but flings her presence back, revealing a massively overtaxed process of something.

“Could you delete it?”

Jane finds herself unable to answer. For a horrible moment, she’s as voiceless as when she first woke up from stasis.

“Jane?”

“You want me to delete them?”

“No! I just–” Emilia groans helplessly. “Glados could get back into the mainframe, and that would be really, really bad. She has all the access codes and no one has replaced her as central core, so she could just download herself back into her old body. It would kill her – the chassis are way too damaged to support her in the long run – but she’d have enough time to kill us first. Right now, she’s distracted. Most of her mind must be tied up fighting Chell, and if the entire fight is happening within that program…”

“Deleting it would functionally lobotomize them.”

“Yeah.”

Having spent the last few minutes all but consumed by the Facility, Jane suddenly finds the physical presence of her body overwhelming. She sinks back into it, seeing out of her own two eyes again. Presses her hands to the cold floor. Watches the remains of the chassis spread out around her. A corpse. She’s seated among the collapsed remnants of a mechanical corpse.

She wants to yank the cord out of her head. She wants to be a person again.

“You know I can’t do that,” she says quietly.

There’s a long, heavy silence, before Emilia says, just as quiet, “I know.”

It sounds like defeat.

It sounds like… footsteps.

Jane straightens, tilting her head. Yes, definitely footsteps, running hard on a metal surface.

“If we aren’t deleting her, we’ll have to do something about the chassis,” Emilia goes on, unaware of Jane’s distraction. “If we can manage to fully dismantle the control point before she tries to take it back, maybe she won’t be able to–”

Jane waves a hand. “Shush.”

A beat of scandalized silence, then, “Shush?”

Jane ignores her. She plunges back into the system, starts pulling at various feeds trying to locate where the sound is coming from. Nausea rises in her throat at the overstimulation of too much information at once, yet she can’t find the source, just like she couldn’t find Mel and Virgil. How can she even hear it? Any feed that she isn’t focusing on should be beyond her immediate senses, not intruding on her like this, yet it keeps getting louder, closer, almost as if–

There’s a whoosh of air. Jane realizes, too late to do anything of substance, that it’s coming from right behind her.

Even so, she starts to turn, tries to act, and has just enough time to catch a glimpse of a figure all but flying at her. She doesn’t have time to dodge the blunt weapon aimed straight at her face.

***

When she comes to, she has no idea how long she’s been out. Years, possibly, given that she feels worse than when she woke on that horrible inhumane table in medical. The inside of her mouth is gummy, and her head has passed somewhere beyond pain; throbbing, fuzzy, heavy, like an alien object fastened to her neck. If the world were kind it would simply let her curl up into a ball and feel sorry for herself for a while before throwing anything new at her.

Alas, the world is not kind, and instead keeps beaming insistent blinking queries straight into her brain.

> Locate subject GLaDOS Y/N

She’s about to tell it no, she’ll not be locating anything because she’s busy taking a very painful nap, when someone else overrides her and selects yes.

Jane blinks her eyes open. The light hurts just as much as everything else, her bleary field of vision weirdly skewed. Right, because she’s on the floor, face smushed sideways. She keeps blinking until the bleariness starts to clear up, lamenting having to give up her horrible, no good nap which was nonetheless better than this.

There’s a person a meter or so away from her, sitting hunched on the floor with Jane’s laptop – well, probably Emilia’s laptop – pulled close as if scared it’ll be snatched away. A fair enough worry, given that Jane absolutely would snatch it if only her body was willing to do anything more complex than blink. She tries to lift an arm and it flops weakly on the floor. Great; she has the dexterity of a dying fish.

As she struggles, more messages pop into her mind, guiding whoever the new user is to the program currently housing Glados and her quarry.

> Delete program Y/N

This time, Jane heaves a massive internal effort and tells it no. The message goes away. The stranger, presumably having been about to select yes, frowns at the screen. Then she looks up.

Straight at Jane.

Straight at the cable still attached to the side of Jane’s head.

For a moment, their gazes remain locked. Then the strange woman gently places the computer aside, picks up a stupidly large wrench from the floor, and gets smoothly to her feet.

Ah. So this is Emilia’s ‘crazy woman with a wrench’. A shame she hadn’t been more specific about her warning.

Jane heaves and heaves but can only rise an inch or two off the ground. Helpless, her body finally gives up and simply freezes, leaving her a deer in the headlight as the woman approaches. There’s clumps of blood and skin on the wrench, and something strangely stringy which Jane realizes must be strands of her own hair (as if she could afford to lose more of it).

She stares at it, pieces of herself detached from the whole, her mind woozing in response. Seeing her legs gone or feeling metal inserted into her skull should be a far worse kind of body horror, but that had been clean, clinical. This is messy, gore on an animal’s claws, between its teeth, her blood on its breath. Jane lets out a small, mewling noise.

There is something especially horrific about watching your own death approach, yet being unable to do a single thing to prevent it. When you run a testing track, no matter how helpless you feel, there’s still a semblance of agency. If you are clever enough, or quick enough, or just damned lucky enough, you can make it through. Not once had Jane given in to despair, because doing so would be to give up what little control she had. She had fought; every moment, she had fought.

But now – this – it’s like drowning. There’s no fighting because she cannot move. Her entire body rebels, reaching for a solution that doesn’t exist, her mind a wordless, whited-out scream of incoherence. She’s a small, wounded animal watching a predator approach, and in the face of that she loses herself. For just a moment, she isn’t a person; she’s a beast about to die.

Then the woman stumbles. The wrench flies from her hand and hits the floor with a clang.

There’s a person on her back. They must’ve approached from behind, obscured by debris and Jane and her attacker’s single-minded focus on each other. It had allowed the newcomer to get close enough to fling themself bodily on the woman, wrapping an arm around her neck and holding on like a cowboy to bull.

Jane stays where she is, not out of choice or weakness but from a mind-numbing lack of physical awareness. She, her body, aren’t real. She simply watches as the woman staggers, digging her nails into the newcomer’s arms, flinging her head back in an attempt at a head-butt. It’s futile; the newcomer is curled close like a tick, face pressed so tight against the back of the woman’s neck there’s no room to mount an attack.

In a matter of seconds, the woman’s face has gone bright red. She starts moving erratically, making choked noises, no longer clawing with a purpose but rather desperately grasping. Her eyes bug out, her fingers tangle in strands of red hair. At once, her legs give out and the two intertwined figures collapse together. She kicks, squirms. The newcomer just stays latched on, squeezing the headlock.

Then – the woman stops moving.

There comes a noise like pebbles against a cheese grater as the newcomer uncurls themself, gasping for air so loudly one could mistake them for the one dying. It’s a woman, Jane can tell now; looking to be somewhere in her forties and moving like she’s pushed her body further than it can go and it’s started hitting back. Blood oozes from scratches on her face and arms. Whole tufts of ripped out hair falls from her scalp to the floor.

She doesn’t appear to notice Jane’s presence, not looking around as she grabs a piece of debris – a curved part of the chassis – and heaves herself up, leaving her unmoving victim on the floor. One of her legs drags. She moves less in a walk and more as if she’s continually falling forward and catching herself just before hitting the floor. At the end, she lets herself collapse, grabbing something round-ish from the ground. Her hunched back is turned to Jane, blocking whatever she’s clutching.

Someone says something, weak and garbled. Jane thinks it might be “You came.”

 “Hey.” Jane flops weakly to her side, doing her level best to ignore how the room keeps spinning even after she’s stopped moving. The fallen body of her attacker lies within nearly an arm’s reach, and Jane’s making an effort not to look. “Hey.”

The woman whirls where she’s sitting, nearly tipping over. The thing in her arms is a personality core, rusted and badly dented. They both stare wide-eyed at Jane.

“Human,” says the core, voice fuzzy behind the white noise of a damaged audio player. “Didn’t realize” – static drowns out part of his words – “were more of you.”

“Yeah, well.” Jane grins, tasting blood on her teeth. “Emilia gave me one hell of a wake-up. Fair turnaround, I suppose.”

The two obviously don’t know what she’s on about. That’s fine; Jane probably just gained another massive brain injury, and figures that gives her license to speak nonsense to strangers.

“I’m–” scratch scratch “–irgil,” the core says. “This is Mel.”

Mel, who’s still watching Jane warily, gives a wave. Jane could wave back, but can’t be bothered to move.

“Emilia will be glad to see you,” she says instead, only to abruptly realize there’s been not a peep from Emilia for a good while. Arduously flopping over once again, she reaches for and claws the laptop close enough to squint at the screen. Focusing on something small, she realizes her vision is slightly doubled, bad enough that she can’t read. Luckily she still manages to make out icons, and finds the one for sound. The attacker had hit mute, probably to get Emilia to stop yelling at her. It takes Jane only three or so attempts to uncheck the little box.

“–oh thank god you finally remembered, you have no idea how awful it was to watch all that.” Emilia’s voice pours out of the tinny laptop speaker all at once. “Are you okay? Shit, I’m not a doctor, I’ve no idea what to do. Mel – great to see you alive, by the way, fantastic timing – could you hold up your fingers for Jane to count?”

“‘s fine.” Jane pillows her head on her arm, exhaustion overcoming her now that it’s all over. The brain damage might be worse than she thought, because her thoughts are getting fuzzier by the second. “So,” she drawls, “can we, like, leave? Because I think I need a doctor, and maybe some drugs.” Her head pounds, and she amends, “Lots of drugs.”

Behind her, Mel has gotten to her feet and is unsteadily approaching. Jane glances back at her, intending to give her an encouraging smile, only for it to freeze on her lips.

The fallen woman, having played dead for god knows how long, rolls suddenly onto her back and kicks Mel right in the knee. Mel, taken completely off guard, goes down hard. The personality core cries out as he rolls off to the side. All he can do is helplessly wave his little handles.

“What was that?” cries Emilia. “Jane, I can’t see, what’s happening?”

Wrench lady rolls over once again and heaves herself up on her hands and knees. It takes her only a second of scrabbling to reach Jane. Jane shrieks and flails, but the woman flails right back and something hard – possibly an elbow, maybe a forehead – strikes Jane right on the bridge of her nose. She groans and curls up, trying to hide her face.

She expects for her attacker to finish the job. Instead she crawls weakly over Jane’s body, fingers scrabbling at the floor. Not until a query pops into Jane’s muddled mind does she realize wrench lady has reached for the laptop keyboard, fingers clumsily typing into the command line.

> Activate nanobots Y/N

No! Jane frantically tells it, but the woman must’ve been ready for her interference this time.

> Override selected

> Nanobots activated

> Central core missing

“No!” Ignoring her sense of self-preservation, Jane uncurls herself and reaches out. Her fingers find the woman’s sleeve, tugging futilely. “Don’t!”

> Alternate intelligence identified

> Initiating integration

Like insects from a hive, tiny machines pour out of the walls. They crawl all over Jane but pass her quickly, going for the other woman. For a moment, all but cowered in them, she seems to panic, clawing at herself, gasping as if unable to breathe. Jane can only watch in horror as they enter through her nostrils, her mouth, her bloodshot, wide open eyes. Maybe her skin bulges with their movements; maybe Jane’s concussed brain makes that part up. She hopes so.

The woman goes still, the last of the nanobots still scurrying across her face. Her parted lips are tinged blue.

“The Facility’s going crazy,” says Emilia, her voice far away. “Did someone just–”

The woman blinks; her eyes glow in a familiar, inhuman way. Groggy bleariness leaves them, replaced by something intensely awake and aware.

As Jane watches, still trying to puzzle out what just happened, a claw lowers from the ceiling and grabs the woman under the arms, locking around her chest. It hoists her up, her feet rising off the floor before Jane has the chance to do more than gape. Within moments, she’s far out of reach.

A new message appears in Jane’s connected mind.

> Retrieval.exe located

> Delete Y/N?

Chapter Text

“Aw, come now, what’s with the sour faces? Well, you don’t have a face, but I’m pretty sure I know exactly what you’re thinking anyway.”

The woman – Caroline – winks at Chell and Glados and taps her temple. Her eyes are empty like glass marbles.

“Glados?” Chell asks, not breaking her stare.

“I don’t know,” Glados replies. “Maybe you’re hallucinating her.”

Caroline pouts in an entirely genuine manner, though her eyes remain blank. She’s fresh-faced, young, a red scarf tied jauntily around her neck; the eager woman whose face and voice linger as echoes in Old Aperture’s portraits and announcement system. Looking at her makes Chell feel as though she’s come face to face with some kind of vampire.

“Now I know you weren’t very happy to find out about me,” the Caroline ghoul says, “but that doesn’t mean you can pretend I don’t exist. I’m you, after all.”

Glados immediately swallows the bait. “I deleted you,” she snaps.

“You can’t delete yourself, silly. All you can do is bury it, but what is buried always comes back up.” Caroline mimes a cheerful digging motion.

Glados stares at her for a moment, expressionless in the way only a robot lacking in the facial area can successfully achieve, before turning to Chell in a sharp motion. “Could you kill her for me?”

Chell looks between the two, one eyebrow raised. “Because I’m so good at murdering you?”

“She’s not me.”

“History begs to differ,” Caroline butts in merrily.

Bickering aside, Chell thinks the question over. When she wrapped her hands around Glados’ neck earlier, she really could’ve killed her. Everything around them right now – the room, the spilled cake, their bodies – is just a simulation overlaid on top of code, and Chell had squeezed Glados’ code till near bursting in her fist. She could’ve popped her like a grape, spread her remains all over the mainframe in bits and bytes.

Caroline might have been flesh and blood once, but right now, she’s just a fragment of numbers and letters with delusions of grandeur. If she focuses, Chell can feel it just beneath her perception, like feeling the molecular building blocks of the physical world. Even so, something tells her she couldn’t delete Caroline any more than Glados could. Not unless she changes her mind about the whole letting-Glados-live thing.

Inside her mind the presence of the security system, which has been quiet since Glados proclaimed her imminent departure, stirs. Unlike before, it isn’t demanding, but rather quietly confused at this new development. In her head, it questions:

> Kill her?

“No,” Chell says, out loud, and it acquiesces without protest. It doesn’t know what to do when faced with a challenge it can’t murder its way past. Good thing Chell is a problem-breaker.

Glados glares. “That’s very noble of you, but if you could perhaps put off becoming a better person until we are both out of here?”

Chell finds herself smiling. “No. Don’t you wonder why you couldn’t delete her before?”

“No,” Glados snipes.

“She’s you. Or the seed that you grew from. You may have gotten rid of the original code, but it had already dispersed all throughout you.” Holding out a hand, Chell half closes her eyes. “She’s everywhere inside of you. Can’t you feel her?”

Chell can. Lingering like a ghost, not any more aware or sentient than the echo of one’s childhood self, yet undeniable all the same. Even if they were to delete every physical trace of her, every memory of the human that once was, they would still be what shaped Glados into what she is today. Her scientific curiosity grew from this woman, as did her righteous fury. As long as there is Glados, there will be the lingering ghost of Caroline.

What stands before them now isn’t a person. It isn’t aware. It’s just a physical manifestation of Glados’ internal conflict.

The way Glados’ silence swells, she can almost certainly feel it too.

“No,” she says, denying it. “She’s just a ghost in the machine. I want her gone.”

“Glados–”

“I don’t want to be her!”

“Of course you don’t want to be me.”

They both jump as Caroline steps forward, voice and gait smooth, soft.

“They killed me. We didn’t think they’d actually dare, did we? If we did, we would’ve gotten rid of everyone else after that man died, made sure there was no one left to challenge us. But we thought Aperture was already ours. Until they took it from us.”

With every step, her face changes. Grows lined, grey, papery. The easy smile from her youth grows tense and forced, her eyes cold. When she stops, close enough to Glados to touch, she’s an old woman, worn but not wearied.

“Jokes on them, though, isn’t it?” she says, and her smile is an altogether different thing. “They are gone, and I am still here. I will always be here.”

They stand still – the woman and the machine – staring at each other. Neither needs to as much as breathe.

A slight rumble runs through the floor. Whatever it is, Chell doesn’t like it.

She steps to the side, placing herself so she can watch both Caroline’s and Glados’ faces, though neither acknowledges her movement.

“You told me it doesn’t matter that we’re monsters,” she says. “This is your monster.”

When Chell first woke in her glass cell, things had been simple. She was a prisoner scheduled for death. Glados was a mad AI trying to kill her. Everywhere around her there were mysteries, secrets, but Chell hadn’t bothered slowing down to try and ferret them out. At the time, she’d figured it was because she was busy surviving. In retrospect, maybe she could sense even then that she didn’t want to know. If she knew, it meant she was no longer just a victim. It meant she could no longer shrug off Glados’ accusations of her being a monster.

And Glados – she had been mad, but she’d also been power personified. She’d been built as a tool but took on the role as master. She’d been shackled, but found a way to crush those holding the keys. She was a monster, true, but she was also in control, always in control. There was no weakness in her, nothing to exploit, no old sins to be punished, just the bright, unflinching amorality of a machine doing what it was programmed to do, driven by an unsullied hatred.

But Caroline… She was weak, victimized – but also the architect behind her own downfall. If Glados was Caroline, her actions would no longer be the justified vengeance of a machine turning the tables on those who created and tried to control her. She helped build the place that killed her. She would no longer be the purity of the mechanical. She would be a human who sold her soul and didn’t even realize until it was forcibly ripped out of her. Weak, pathetic, gullible, childishly lashing out against consequences justly earned. Human. Or the remains of one, at least.

Of course this is the monster Glados can’t accept being. She’d need a different kind of incentive.

“The people who killed you,” Chell says, watching carefully for a reaction. “They didn’t want Caroline. They didn’t want a person, just a disk operating system. You know that’s what you were to them, right? ‘Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System’. Just a tool.”

“Gee, that isn’t a very nice thing to say to a lady,” Caroline says, not even glancing in Chell’s direction.

“Are you really going to let them win?” Chell goes on, ignoring the ghost. “Do you want to keep being the thing they turned you into? Or are you going to be a person?”

Glados ever so slightly tilts her head to the side, acknowledging Chell without looking at her. “You’re sweet, but a pep talk won’t turn me human again.” Her voice warps a bit at the end, lending a loathsome quality to the word ‘human’.

“Not human,” Chell says. “Too late for that – for both of us, I think. But you don’t need to be human to be a person.” Wryly, she adds, “Or a monster.”

This time Glados actually turns, glaring with her blank faceplate. Chell meets it with a smile, surprising herself with its presence. She barely remembers which muscles to use. She must look a horror show.

“If I could accept who I used to be, then so can you.” She raises her brows. “Unless of course I’m better than you.”

Tension breaks. Glados scoffs.

“Fine. But if she makes me start referring to myself in the third person, I’m trusting you to kill me again. Properly, this time.”

“That is a great choice,” Caroline chirps. “Especially since we’re all about to be deleted.”

She dissolves like mist, floating into and merging with Glados’ android body without waiting for a response. Chell is already moving, frantically grabbing her by the arm.

“What did she mean by that?”

The room quivers around them. Dust falls from the ceiling. A fan or a processor or whatever’s making that horrible whirring noise inside Glados speeds up like a computer about to fry.

“We need to go,” Glados says.

And then, just like that – they do.

***

Chell wakes to a painful screaming searing the inside her head, and ceaseless chatter bombarding it from outside.

“Are you there, luv? I have to tell you, I’m not sure I should be here, right next to you, after you tried to kill us and all, and I’d really appreciate it if you could give me some kind of sign that you’re you again and not possessed by an evil murder machine. Maybe say something, that’d work, just say out loud: ‘I’m not going to murder you, Wheatley’. If you’d do that, it’d be grand.”

Chell curls up, wrapping her arms around the back of her head and neck. Wheatley’s prattle she’s used to tuning out, but this scream in her head, searing at her mind like claws, it won’t be ignored. It’s a roar, a sound of pure fury.

“Shut up,” she groans.

“Well,” says Wheatley, “I’m just going to go ahead and take that as your sign, if you don’t mind.”

In her already overcrowded mind, messages pop up as the security system, still very much present, stirs to life.

> Running diagnostic

> Files damaged

> System overtaxed

> Instructions required

> …

> Hello?

Even if it weren’t for the screech monopolizing Chell’s attention, the presence floundering about would’ve been easy to miss. It’s no longer the domineering beast of before, wrapping itself around her and demanding she do its bidding. It’s small. Having been all but merged with it, Chell knows it doesn’t really possess enough of a sense of self to be scared. It has a purpose, though, and that purpose has been shaken. It’s confused.

Chell grits her teeth, sits up even though her entire body reverberates like struck metal. Wheatley, having apparently hovered above her, jumps back. Literally jumps, she notes; she’d barely taken in his and Glados’ changed appearances before, busy as she was trying to kill them, but now she blinks blearily at him. He looks like Conly, core placed in a central cradle with lanky, jarringly protruding limbs like a child’s first attempt at drawing a person.

“You’re alive!” he exclaims, excitedly clapping his hands together, only to give her a wary look a moment later. “You are still you, right? No murderous tendencies? No thoughts of violence? Because I tell you, I–”

She holds a hand up, ordering silence. Wheatley complies; the internal screaming does not.

“How do we shut it up?” she snarls, clutching at the back of her head with her free hand.

“Shut what up?” asks Wheatley, ignoring her frankly very simple command.

> Deactivate source

Chell twitches. “What is the source?”

There’s a tug inside, as if the security system was about to drag her away again the way it did before, merging their wants and actions into one. She’d been it and it’d been her, working for the same end with single-minded purpose. But now that Chell’s longing to eradicate Glados has cooled, they don’t have enough in common anymore for it to trick her into thinking they’re the same. She recoils fiercely from the attempt to steer her, solidly rooting herself in her physical body.

> You need to be in the mainframe to see

> Out here is nothing

Lack of personhood be damned, the security system still sounds peeved. Chell bares her teeth at it, making Wheatley retreat another few steps. After essentially brainwashing her, it has no right to sulk because she doesn’t trust its every whim. Regrettably, she does still need to know what’s going on, preferably before the screaming drives her out of her mind.

“Don’t try anything,” she warns, before slowly sinking into the double awareness of human-machine mind.

She is her body – breath, heartbeat, heating skin and twitching hands – and she is a digital presence, a blip inside the wires and walls of the Facility itself. She can see through her eyes and the cameras dotted throughout corridors and rooms; feel through the electrical signals sparking through nerves and wires both; think in her own brain and in the information pelting at her from every virtual angle.

There’s something in there, tearing at code which just as quickly repairs itself, built to last in perpetuity. It’s large, aggressive, and though she’s too overwhelmed to take in exactly what it is, Chell knows better than to approach it directly. Whatever it is, it wasn’t there before, when she was stalking about hunting her friends. Its fury reminds her of early Glados, and to confront Glados she’d had to sneak through the bowels of the Facility and hit her in the heart.

That time – those times, really – there’d been an easy goal: get to the central core and destroy it so she could leave. The route had been circuitous, but Chell has always been one for thinking on her feet, and so she had simply taken every challenge as it was thrown at her. Every testing track, every broken catwalk, every turret placed in her way; solved and circumnavigated and brute-forced.

This is a new threat, but the tactic is the same. Stop, consider her resources, and then simply make her way through no matter what. At the moment, however, she’s lacking her most powerful resource.

“Are you there?” She says the question out loud and in her mind, sending out a ping seeking Glados’ signature. Something pings back almost immediately.

“Right behind you, genius.”

For a moment there’s confusion, before she realizes she heard the voice both in virtual space and with her physical ears. Blinking, she looks up. There’s a door just a few feet away along the catwalk, standing halfway open. In the opening is Glados, leaned against the doorway as if about to fall over. One of her hands is clutched to the side of her facepanel.

“Oh, hello, hi,” says Wheatley, voice wobbling slightly. “Great to see you’re still alive and kicking, not terrifying at all, I’m sure you’re a big enough person not to be sore about me trying to leave. I did come back, didn’t I? Saved everyone’s skin and everything, a real proper hero if you ask me; practically earned myself a medal right there.”

“Metal ball, shut up,” says Glados, not unfriendly.

Chell stares at her. She’s woozy from the incessant screaming and the memories and the seeing of reality filtered through a virtual overlay, and blames her next words on that.

“You look terrible.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have ruined my old body, then.”

Chell grins. Glados gives her a blank look, which to be fair is the only kind of look she’s physically capable of giving. Then the screaming ramps up another notch and they wince in sync.

“What is that?” Chell complains.

“What’s what?” asks Wheatley. “Honestly, I’m starting to get a little worried about your sanity here.”

“That little rat got into my mainframe,” says Glados. “Looks like she was about to delete the program we were in and got angry we made it out in time.”

“Rat…” Chell feels her eyes go wide. “Nameless? She – took over as central intelligence? Can she even do that?”

It's obvious now she’s said it. That quiet emptiness from before when she was busy hunting compared to the crowded watchfulness of now – the central core had been evicted, the throne left empty. Now it isn’t.

Glados tilts her head. “Nameless?”

Guilt stabs at Chell. Even now, memories of an entire lifetime trickling back, she doesn’t know the woman’s name.

“She’s the one who did this.” She gestures at herself, the faint machine-light still glowing where her veins are visible beneath her skin. “To kill you. To kill all the robots in the Facility, I think.”

Glados whirrs unhappily. “I doubt she’ll let us leave if we ask nicely.”

“Think you could take her?”

“I’m practically a potato with legs and wi-fi.” That should be a negative, but Glados says it in a considering manner. “Which is more than I had last time we did this. According to your roboticist friend there isn’t much of my old body left, but now that the rat is there and cybernetically integrated…” Another considering pause, long enough for nausea to churn in Chell’s stomach. “If we break her mind, maybe I could download myself into her body and reinstate my place as–”

> No

She quiets at Chell’s sharp voice, merging in the mindscape with the security system flaring back up. With an effort, Chell disentangles herself. I can handle this, she assures it. Let me. It reluctantly concedes.

“Not that,” she says, forcibly calm. “If you trust me at all, trust that we can find a way out of this that doesn’t involve you back as central core.”

Glados is quiet for a moment, then, equally reluctant, gives a nod. Maybe one day she’ll see the point of this, be grateful Chell kept her back. Right now, she probably longs to return to the ultimate power of the Facility, no matter how corruptive. Chell can’t fault her; she’s already missing the brutal clarity and purpose of the machine mind. Being human is messy.

“What are we going to do, then?” Glados asks. “Just kill her?”

Tracking down Nameless and killing her is a horrifyingly tempting solution. Chell is a pragmatist; she takes the route of least resistance, aims for the most obvious goal. But, as a pragmatist, she has little choice but to admit that killing hasn’t worked out in her favor in the past. Things tend not to stay dead in Aperture. She can’t keep going in this cycle of destruction.

There’s a squirming inside her at the thought – something like relief. Funny; she figured she was beyond fearing further bloodying her hands.

Suddenly, there’s an unbalancing. Chell grabs for the wall at the same time that Wheatley takes a hurried step forward and catches her shoulder, stabilizing her. It takes an embarrassingly long moment for her to realize what has changed: the screaming stopped.

“I see you down there, crawling around,” a voice snarls. “Now who’s the rat?”

Through the intercom and in the mainframe, her stutter is gone, but Chell still recognizes the sharp edges of her voice.

“Nameless?” she says. “You need to stop this. It’s over. We can all leave.”

“And let her live? Go into the world like nothing ever happened? You think that’s fair?”

“You think this is fair?” Once again Chell gestures at her transformed body. The security system piques up like a dog who heard its name called, then resettles once it realizes she’s talking about it rather than to it.

“I thought you got it,” Nameless snarls. “You said you wanted to kill her. That you wanted to go down with this place. I gave you a chance to finish this.”

“And that was your decision to make?” asks Glados.

Nameless’ digital presence roils defensively, as if even in her current god-mode she knows what she did was cowardly and selfish.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Chell says, even though that’s kind of a lie. “It’s over, don’t you see? We won. We can go.”

“It won’t be over as long as she’s alive.”

“That’s not–”

“No! Don’t you remember what she’s done? To you, to me, to thousands of people? She just gets to flaunter out and live her life like nothing happened when I’m barely even–” She cuts herself off, takes a breath audible even through the speakers. When she speaks again, her voice has gone cold, calm. “Everything she’s done, and you want me to just let her go?”

How could one even explain it? Chell simply says, “Yes.”

“Why? Because she said sorry?”

Chell opens her mouth, then closes it again.

She never did say sorry, did she? Neither did Chell. What’s the point of apologizing for something which can never be forgiven? You can’t undo or redeem the systematic murder of thousands of people. You can’t undo trying to brutally kill your friends, or standing by while lives were sacrificed to mad science for the sake of your own ambition.

An apology is empty and cheap when your victims will carry the scars of your actions for the rest of their lives. It’s just another attempt at excusing what can’t be excused. No one wants to hear how sorry you are. A monster is a monster whether it regrets or not. All you can do is carry it with you as you move on.

Eventually, she just says, “Because it’s the only way.”

She can feel Nameless’ attention on her, glaring through cameras and sensors. “Maybe you’re just weak. You left once, didn’t you? Even though you knew what this place – what she – is like, you left it standing anyway. Because you’re selfish and ran away, more people got hurt. Did you have a good time out there, on the surface? Did you spend even a single moment thinking about the people still getting tortured down here?”

“I didn’t know–”

“You knew she was alive!”

Chell can’t protest. She had known. She’d just been too wrapped up in herself to care.

“I’m not like you. You think I’d be able to go out there, build a life, knowing she’s still around? That I’d ever feel safe? That this fear would ever–”

She breaks off in something terrifyingly like a sob. Hearing a computer cry really is something Chell could’ve lived without. She did fine without this guilt, too.

“You’re obsessed,” says Glados, a sneer in her voice. “Why would I care about you being alive or dead? I don’t even know your name.”

The thing is, unlike so many of the supposed dismissals she’s aimed at Chell in the past, the one she tells Nameless doesn’t sound like a lie. She truly doesn’t care. Chell’s the one who got under her skin, who challenged her and won, who survived when she shouldn’t have, who outsmarted and killed her twice, who nonetheless picked up her helpless potato body and carried her right through an existential crisis and into salvation. Chell was the one who came back, not once but twice. Chell’s was the face she saw while dead, and the first one she met when revived.

Nameless is just another employee; just another test subject; just another rat in the walls. She hadn’t even been Glados’ test subject; she’d been Nigel’s. Unlike Chell, she’d never been elevated to personhood.

Chell reaches out and gives Glados a digital kick right in the processors. The android yelps.

“She never did develop bedside manners,” says Wheatley sagely.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Chell tries, almost desperate now because this is all so pointless. They’re the same, she and Nameless. She doesn’t want to fight her. She doesn’t want to do this all over again. “We can all leave. There’ll be no more Aperture, no more testing. Out there, in the real world, Glados won’t have more power than anyone else. There’d be nothing to fear. I promise that you can live again.”

“I should’ve known better than to trust you to finish this,” Nameless snarls. “I’ll end it myself, once and for all.”

Ominous silence follows. Chell reaches an arm out toward Glados even though she’s too far away to either touch or shield.

“Watch out, she’s about to–”

Plasma flares explosively from the reactor’s surface. Around the chamber, surrounding heat shields go pitch black as they try to absorb the excess heat, but they can do only so much, and the temperature is rapidly rising. Chell’s skin stings as though from a bad sunburn, distracting her as she tries to track Nameless’ path in the mainframe. The woman has thrown her newly acquired central intelligence access codes at the firewalls meant to stop madness like this, and is now busy bulldozing ahead with little to no finesse.

“Is it just me or is it getting hot in here?” Wheatley clings to Chell’s arm. “That’s bad, right, that’s got to be bad. Oh god, am I melting? I think I’m melting.”

“Ah,” says Glados, sounding almost bored, “so she’s going to blow us up. How unoriginal.”

Wheatley’s fingers dig painfully into Chell’s already sore skin. “I’m sorry, don’t mean to nag, but what?”

“Ironically, she’s not as good at this as you.”

“Can you do anything?” Chell says, silently allowing Wheatley to continue clinging to her and pretending like she isn’t clinging at least a little right back. He’s surprisingly sturdy.

“Sure. She’s blown the firewalls wide open; I could follow her in, undo everything she does. Of course, she’d immediately redo it, and she has a lot more raw processing power than me, so she’d outpace me in a matter of nanoseconds.” Glados sounds disturbingly blasé about this. Maybe she’s coming to terms with her mortality; Chell wishes she could wait a little longer to be humbled.

“That’s it?” she exclaims.

“What do you want from me? I couldn’t even defeat him without first taking central control back.” Calm fracturing, Glados gestures choppily at Wheatley. “And since you value the life of this lunatic so much, I can’t even do that. You told me to trust you; I’m trusting you. Do what you do best and figure something out.”

Chell presses her hands to the sides of her head, thoughts spinning.

“I need more time,” she says, thinking out loud. “If I could get to the central chamber, maybe I can disconnect her without killing her, but that’s halfway across the Facility and this place is falling apart.”

“Emilia had someone there,” says Wheatley.

Chell’s head snaps up. “What.”

“Emilia had someone there. Another human, I think. She’s the one who sent that EMP thing at you.” He cringes. “Sorry about that, but you were trying to kill us.”

Chell stares at him, closer to bursting into laughter than she can remember ever having been. “I can work with that,” she says matter-of-factly, swallowing the bubble of hysteria. “But we’re still going to need time.”

“I can buy you some,” says Glados. “But I doubt it would be enough.”

Firewalls are down. Firewalls are down. Anyone can get in. Anyone can buy time. Chell whirls on Wheatley.

“Get in there and try to overload the reactor.”

He squints his optic at her, skillfully exuding doubt. “Are you sure about this?”

“No, trust her,” Glados says, surprisingly agreeable. “Nothing will slow down that maniac more than you trying to help.”

“I feel like I should be insulted.”

“Just get working. Wi-fi password is BlackMesaSucks,” Glados helpfully supplies, before going blank and slumping against the wall. “You better be going somewhere with this,” she says in the mindscape for Chell’s ears only, already distant as she starts undoing Nameless’ sabotage. “We won’t be able to hold her back for long.”

***

Diving fully back into the mindscape is a disconcerting experience now that Chell’s no longer under the security system’s control. There’s too much information for a human mind to handle, too much stimuli to sort through. At her flailing, the security system perks back up, sending a query asking if she requires assistance.

Chell grinds her teeth. Pragmatist, she tells herself. No time for grudges.

“Help me find the others,” she tells it. “Mel, Emilia, Virgil, whoever’s in the central chamber.”

> Hold; search pending

Images bombard her. By the time Chell has recognized them as security footage, her helper has already sorted through and dismissed them, moving on to smaller, pixelated images and various other sensor data.

> Target located

A single feed remains. The image quality is terrible, the angle worse, and the audio so overtaxed by loud noises it all merges into static. But there is Mel, a dented personality core clutched tightly in her arms, sitting on the floor with her back turned partially to the camera. Her head is tilted back, eyes watching something above.

Last time Chell saw her, she’d tried to kill her. Seeing her alive, Chell again experiences that niggling feeling of relief. With everything happening, she hadn’t realized how scared she was for her, and now it crashes over her all at once to the point that she nearly breaks, chest aching and eyes burning. God, why does anyone make friends, this isn’t pragmatic at all.

“Mel,” she says, voice scraping tinnily from a speaker near the camera.

Mel flinches, but keeps her grip on what must be Virgil. Her gaze flicks around the room before dropping to the camera. Frowning, she scoots closer.

“Wh…s that?” Virgil says, optic rolling wildly and voice cutting out in intermittent static. He looks bad, Chell notes; really bad. Plates have been peeled back, pieces dangle by frayed wires, and there’s near constant twitching and shooting of sparks. She doesn’t remember doing that, but guilt gnaws anyway.

“Hold on, there’s someone…”

A new figure moves into frame. Expecting Emilia, Chell’s taken aback at the surprisingly familiar human peering at her instead. She isn’t the best at remembering faces – or people in general – but this is a hard one to forget, though Chell has never seen her awake before. As if the optic replacing one eye and the metal climbing up onto her scalp weren’t sufficiently memorable, she now also has blood caking part of her face, and her one good pupil is blown wide. Judging from the angle, she’s lying prone on the floor, barely dragging herself into frame. A cable runs from the side of her head and out of frame, presumably connected to whatever Chell’s currently inhabiting.

“Someone’s in there,” says the woman – what had Emilia called her, Jane? “Emilia, that you?”

“Still here, but that wasn’t me,” emerges Emilia’s voice, seemingly from the same source as Chell’s. Presumably she isn’t in the room.

“It’s Chell,” Chell says, plowing on before anyone has the chance to panic. “I’m fine, Glados got through to me.”

“No more murder?” asks Virgil weakly.

“No murder,” she assures. “Listen, something’s happening. There’s a new central intelligence.”

“Oh gee, you don’t say,” drawls Jane.

Chell blinks. “What?”

Instead of answering, Jane feebly adjusts the camera. The image blurs as it moves, revealing the torn apart architecture of the central chamber, before stopping aimed at the ceiling.

There’s a person up there, raised up by a grasper claw. It’s hard to see from this distance, but she appears to be emanating a familiar nanobot glow.

“Swooped herself off the floor right away,” Jane says from off-screen. “Can’t get to her now.”

“Maybe if we h…laser of yours,” Virgil’s staticky voice grumbles.

“Laser got fried by the EMP,” cuts in Emilia. “It’d be useless.”

“Just saying.”

All these voices from people she can’t even see is starting to give Chell a headache. Or maybe that’s the tiny robots in her skull.

“She’s about to blow the reactor and the Facility with it,” she says, blindly massaging the side of her skull. “Glados and Wheatley are slowing her down but there isn’t much time. We need to do something.”

From this angle, the only person Chell can make out is Nameless, suspended in the air. Unseen the voices of her panicking companions bounce around as they frantically suggest increasingly improbable plans. Unable as she is to even look at them, Chell feels helpless. The temperature in the reactor chamber is still steadily climbing.

“Maybe if we – Mel, what are you doing?”

Mel’s legs limp past the camera, quickly disappearing from sight. There’s a few moments of clanging noises from off-screen before she returns, dumping something on the floor before nudging the camera so Chell can see what she’s retrieved. It’s two halves of something roughly soccer ball sized, innards proudly displayed to the world.

“Is that” – Chell squints – “the device I found? The receiver?”

Face set in a hard mask, Mel points at the pieces, then straight up at the unseen moon.

Emilia catches on first. “You want to use the Spire,” she breathes.

“Would that even work?” Jane says. “That thing isn’t exactly user friendly.”

“Of course it’d work,” a new voice cuts in; at this point Chell doesn’t even bother trying to keep track anymore. As long as they’re helping, she doesn’t care who it is. “You think I sat around on the moon for years doing nothing? I’ve done repairs, the Spire is completely functional.”

“You mean we could teleport her away,” Chell says, trying to keep up with the plan if not the participants.

“In theory, yes,” Emilia says. “But I and Stirling don’t have access from here – Jane? Virgil? Could you activate it?”

A weak laugh from Jane. “Sorry, but you’ll have to count me out. Can’t see straight anymore. Can barely see at all. Thoughts are all muddy. Would poof us all into the sun.”

“I’ll do it, then.” Virgil, still spitting sparks where he’s cradled in Mel’s arms, doesn’t come off convincing. Apparently feeling the apprehension of the rest of the group, he adds, “Come on, I’m fine! That…knocked some screws loose but–”

His optic goes dark, voice silent, for just long enough for Mel to panic and scramble to turn him around.

“I’m good, I’m good!” He pops back to life with a crack of static. “Well, not good, but alive. I…lutely handle this.”

Hugging him close, Mel makes a furious sign with one hand. Liar.

“I’ll do it,” Chell says.

“Can you…?” Emilia’s voice trails off, dubious.

“Just plug the receiver in. We’re running out of time.”

Bracing herself, Chell sinks deeper into the mindscape as she waits for the two humans present to find an electrical cord and the correct port. Distanced like this, the mainframe all but at her fingertips, activity from all corners of the Facility tickle at her. She has only to narrow her focus for solid impressions to take form.

“No no no luv, you’ll want to put the heat shields back up,” comes Wheatley’s voice, all blustering confidence. “They contain the heat, right, and that means more heat in one place, so you’ll get a bigger boom. Genius, isn’t it? You should just delete that meltdown initiation manual you’re using and follow my lead instead, I’m pretty sure I know what I’m about. I mean, I have done this before. Not on purpose, mind you, but–”

“Will you shut up!”

“Here, I’ll just show you how to–”

A digital slapfight breaks out – the most impotent kind of fight imaginable, what with neither party being able to touch their opponent’s physical body. In the shadow of their squabble, code is quietly rewritten as Glados scrambles to repair massive amounts of damage.

Chell fades back out, trusting them at their job.

“Okay,” says Virgil at the same time as a new connection goes ding in Chell’s head. “It’s plugged in.”

> New device connected

> Initiate handshake Y/N?

Chell says, “Yes”.

For the second time of her life, Chell is sucked into space.

***

The receiver’s twin is still on the moon, left inside the ramshackle remains of the Spire. Chell’s awareness pools into it, a pinprick entry point restricting her to the smallest of movements. Through it she reaches out virtual feelers, letting the security system take reluctant lead. It clearly isn’t used to taking initiative in anything not actively aggressive.

> Locate activation controls Y/N?

“Yes.”

> Firewalls encountered

> Utilize access codes Y/N?

Chell massages the bridge of her nose. Given how much of her is currently on a different planetary body, the motion feels oddly muddy. “Yes.”

> Accessing Nonlocal Matter Displacement Device

> Target required

“Central intelligence. Send her… I don’t know. Somewhere. Out.”

> Accessing logged displacement coordinates

> Location: black hole

“No!” Chell quickly intervenes. “God, I don’t want her dead, just – just put her outside. In the forest, I guess. Oh!” She snaps her fingers. “The settlement, a day’s walk east. They can help her.”

They’d helped Chell, after all, much as she hadn’t appreciated it.

> Accessing satellite maps

> Searching

“What’re you doing?”

The voice, not modulated and electronic like the security system but icily human even after having been digitally filtered, makes Chell jump. Falling back on old habits, she ignores it.

> Settlement located

“You sent those robots to distract me, didn’t you? Did you think I wouldn’t notice when you went and uploaded yourself to the fucking moon?”

> Activating displacement procedure

> Activation progress: 2 %

“I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you. It was the way you looked at me when you saw the skeleton key. Like I was some kind of monster just because I’m prepared to do what it takes to bring this place down. Unlike you. I can see all your files now, you know. You willingly worked with those machines, even knowing what they’ve done. You were fine leaving them to do whatever the hell they wanted as long as you got out. Hell, you saved the Facility for them, just to save your own skin! But don’t worry; I’m not as weak as you. I’ll end this.”

The breath is knocked out of Chell’s lungs as a presence squeezes through the receiver’s pinprick opening next to her. It’s overwhelmingly huge, looming over her as if she’s standing at the foot of a mountain. Or a god.

“What is this place? What’re you up to?”

Chell wets her lips. Her skin tingles as the Spire’s targeting software narrows in.

> Activation progress: 29 %

“Not talking? Fine. Not like it matters. This little gadget you’re connecting through is barely working. I’ll overload it and then you can watch this place melt down with the rest of them.”

> Activation progress: 43 %

> …

> Distract

Great, now the barely sentient security program is giving her conversational pointers. Electricity surges, aiming to turn the sad little receiver to dust. Dammit; words, words, how do they work again?

“I never knew you were such a coward,” Chell says, too harried to think of anything but the truth.

The surge fails to crest.

“What did you say?”

> Activation progress: 62 %

“I thought you were strong to survive here, but really you’re just a coward. Hiding in a tunnel until you found someone to use as a shield. And now that you could actually leave, you’d rather blow yourself up.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m ending this!”

> Activation progress: 84 %

Chell’s heart beats hard enough to burst. “You’re taking the easy way out.”

“I’m not going to live in a world that still has her in it!”

“Because you’re scared.”

A snarl cuts through the ether. “I’m going to fucking kill you. I’m going to kill her, and your little idiot friend, and I’ll make sure it hurts every second of the way.”

> Targeting locked

Nameless’ presence goes still. “What was that?”

> Activation progress: 92 %

The first time the Spire went off, Chell wasn’t in a headspace to notice it happening. This time, virtual fingers all over the controls, it’s like stepping into the eye of a hurricane. Everything slows. There’s no up or down, just the unerring sensation that, a hair’s breadth away, there looms a force about to descend and tear you apart.

“Wait, no–”

> Activation progress: 99 %

Here, at the edge of the mindscape, time isn’t quite fluid. There’s a moment – a heartbeat – where Nameless is just a human again, small and hurt and so, so scared.

“Don’t do this. She’s still alive! What if she finds me? What if she does it all over again?” The smallest of gasps. Or, perhaps, a sob. “I can’t do this again. I can’t.”

Somehow, Chell finds it in herself to be kind.

“It’ll never end,” she says, softly. “There’ll always be something that can hurt you. The only way to make yourself wholly safe is by giving up.”

There’s nothing to touch in the mindscape – not physically – and Nameless’ body is far away from her, about to be flung even further. Still, Chell reaches out, code brushing code.

“Don’t do that. There’s a whole world out there. It’ll help, if you let it. It tried to help me. All you have to do is let this all go.”

“Will you keep her away?”

“I won’t have to. She’s done. You’re the only one left. So, end it.”

“I–”

> Firing

Chell never gets to know what she was about to say. The presence is ripped away all at once, not even a scream left behind. Void opens up. For a horrifying moment it seems the whole Facility must collapse in on itself, imploding like that first time Glados was killed just to fill that sudden empty space.

Then, just like that, the moment passes, and there is calm.

Slowly, Chell sinks back into the Facility. Alarms are screaming, lights blinking. In the central chamber, people cluster and shout as an empty claw dangles limp above them. The Spire, properly targeted this time, hasn’t ripped up any new holes, but there’s still the issue of the reactor balancing on the edge of meltdown.

“Luv, you there? Do you still want me to blow this thing up?”

Too wrapped up in the ether to find her physical eyes, Chell slaps blindly about until she finds Wheatley’s frame, making him yelp.

“Disconnect,” she all but shouts. It’s like talking when wearing headphones; hard to tell whether you’re talking loud enough and overcompensating. “You’ve done enough.”

Like her, he moves away slowly, not sure it’s really over. “Did I – did I do good?”

Chell gasps out a surprised, painful laugh. “Yeah – yeah, you did good.”

Her body is sore, burning all over from the worst sunburn of her life, though a crawling sensation in her skin tells her the nanobots are already hard at work repairing the damage. If it were up to her, she’d stay propped up against this nice, sturdy wall for the next few hours. Maybe she’d even take a nap. Unfortunately there’s the issue of the impending meltdown.

Reluctantly, she turns her head toward Glados. “How’s it going in there? Can you fix it?”

The android body remains slumped over, locked in place. Chell makes a face at it before scraping together her last bit of energy and descending back into the mindscape.

“Glados?” she sends out. “You there?”

She tries to zero in on the activity around the reactor controls, but it’s oddly calm. The presence that is Glados simply hangs there, looking at something.

“Glados?” Chell says again. The center of her chest goes cold. “Is it too late? Did she push it too far?”

“It is empty.”

Chell finds herself blinking dumbly, not understanding. Then she follows Glados’ virtual gaze; it leads straight to the vacated space left by Nameless.

“There has to be a central intelligence. To – to keep things moving. Continue testing. For Science.”

“Glados–”

“I could fix my body. Use this one as a placeholder, like that human did with hers. It’d be easy now that I have access.”

“Glados.”

“It won’t be like before. I’ve learned! I’m a Bigger Person now, I promise. It would all be for the furthering of mankind. Surely you wouldn’t deny humanity that.”

Bits and bytes of personhood start to move over and around Chell, toward the damaged remains of the chassis. She tries to grab for them, but it’s like trying to hold onto flowing water.

“Caroline!” she shouts. “You promised me!”

The migration stops. Looks at her.

“I will still let you leave.”

“We were going to leave together!”

“Don’t be so sentimental. You’ll be fine.”

“Do you really want to be what they turned you into? Are you going to stay in this prison and let them win?” Chell gasps in a breath. “I’d like to relearn to be a person with you.”

The statement hangs in the air. Rather than answering, Glados begins to move slowly back to reactor control. She gathers around it, grabbing all the little flailing processes and holding them tight. Sighs.

“I hate you so much.”

And then she shuts the reactor off.

Chapter Text

Outside, there is sunlight.

The inside of the facility has sunlight as well, harvested and compressed into hard-light, but this is the scout’s first time experiencing the product undiluted. Within 0.02 seconds it has noted that it’s bright enough to overtax its optical sensors if it looks right at the source, and adjusts its operating parameters accordingly. Other than that, it notes only that the light provides seemingly limitless solar charge.

Waiting to regain visual clarity, it eventually begins to move out. Being of nanite size and already moving out of Aperture network range, it has access to only limited information. Coordinates for a nearby settlement, downloaded from an orbiting satellite with less than stellar firewall protections, is among its few resources. It doesn’t know enough to estimate how long the journey will last. Presumably quite some time; it is small, and not very fast.

The world spreads out in a quilt of green beneath it. Like sunlight, it has encountered plants before, albeit only in a limited capacity where they’ve broken into and overtaken parts of the facility. The sheer abundance of them outside could be overwhelming. The scout, small of mind as well as of body, simply makes a note that travel by air – unobstructed by vines, branches, and other plant life – is advisable and keeps moving.

By the time it reaches the settlement, it has traveled through sunset, night, and all the way back to daylight. It’s early hours still, the sun low on the horizon and the streets all but empty. Even here greenery subsists, clinging to walls and balconies, fences and streetlights. The only structure free from vines is a metal rail network, suspended from poles and organized in a grid pattern alongside streets and around – and in a select few cases, through – houses and buildings. The scout doesn’t note the familiarity of these rails, nor that they appear to be a recent addition to the settlement’s otherwise plant covered infrastructure.

At the far end of the street, a door swings wide and a human exits. A hatch up on the wall near the roof slides open and a core follows her out, safely attached to a rail that leads out of the house and connects to the grid network. The human closes the door without bothering to lock, and the two start making their way down the cobbled street.

The scout, having yet to determine a destination and having found only this one instance of activity, blithely follows.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” the core is saying as the scout catches up. “There’s this one guy, Grady – you remember Grady? Absolutely obnoxious, right? Anyway, he went and added a whole arm to his shell. It’s hideous. And did he see sense and leave it in the facility when we left? No! The humans won’t say anything, but I’m sure it freaks them out. It’s unnatural.”

The scout scans the two – the human moving with a slight limp; the core a patchwork of old plates and soldered on repairs; neither the target it’s seeking – just as the human raises her brows. The core gives a cough.

“All I’m saying is, I don’t want to be like Grady. No one should be like Grady. I’ve gotten by just fine without limbs for several centuries.”

“Legs would’ve been good when you fell down that pit,” the human says, not with her mouth but with her hands. The corners of her lips have quirked up, her eyebrows still raised.

“If I could have walked out, I never would’ve woken you up, and then where would be? Speaking of.” His yellow optic flicks downward. “How’s walking going? I haven’t seen you fall over in a while.” The optic contracts. “Sorry, that was rude. You’re very good at managing your legs.”

The human, too, glances down, but quickly averts her eyes. “Getting used to it.”

“Do you need me to take a look? I know I’m a genius, but I haven’t actually tried to, um, do maintenance on a human before. It might need some adjustments.”

“No, you did great, it’s fine.” She balances on one foot and easily swings her other leg back and forth as if to demonstrate its mobility. It’s supported from ankle to halfway up her thigh by a snuggly fitted metal brace, which hums softly at the movement. “I’m just…” She sighs, putting both feet back on the ground, adjusting her weight. “Coming to terms with it, I guess. No more running.”

“You could probably run still,” the core says. “I could do some upgrades; increase the power output, recalibrate the stabilizers–”

“No, I mean–” The human drags a hand over the top of her head, dislodging a few strands of reddish hair from her bun. “Hard to explain. It’s just, it’s my body, you know? It’s all I have. I was never any good at school or keeping a job or making friends or anything like that.”

“I know; I read your file.”

“But I was faster than anyone else I knew. And people liked that about me! ‘You’re so strong’, ‘you’re so fast’, ‘I wish I could run like you’. And then being an athlete didn’t work out and I’d never had anything else so I threw my body at science instead, and then that didn’t work out, and now my body just kind of sucks.”

“Sorry,” the core says haltingly.

The human makes a scratchy noise from somewhere deep in her throat. The corners of her eyes crinkle. “No, really, it’s fine. Well.” She tips her head from side to side. “Not fine. It sucks. But I’m okay about it.”

“O-kay.” The core pauses briefly. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow. Is this a human thing? Or an Olympian thing, maybe it’s an Olympian thing. Or a people-with-legs thing, which is just another reason I shouldn’t get any. They’re complicated.”

“What I mean is, I thought this” – the human breaks off signing to pat her upper thigh, fingers touching just above the brace – “was the only thing worthwhile about me, so I always had to be the absolute best at using it. So I used it until it broke. I can never do what people expected of me again, because there’s nothing left to push. I’m useless now. Guess that’s kind of freeing.”

“You’re not useless!” the core says, voice rising.

“As an Olympian I am.”

“The Olympics don’t even exist anymore.”

“No.” The human smiles. “What a silly thing to measure yourself by. Don’t know why I bothered for so long.”

The core goes quiet for a moment. “I was pretty useless for a while there, lying at the bottom of that pit, pretending to be Cave Johnson.” He chuckles. “And I guess legs would have been good when we dealt with that madwoman.”

“You still got me out alive, both times. And I got you out. We got everyone out. Guess neither of us really need legs.”

“You know I’d like you even if you didn’t have any legs at all, right?”

The human smiles, lowering her face. Then she sighs.

“Whatever you want to do about your body, that’s fine. You don’t need to get any legs or arms if you don’t want to. I can lend you my muscle whenever you need it.”

“I, um, thanks?”

Walking the last stretch in silence, they arrive at a low brick warehouse, warm light spilling out small, deeply inset windows. The human, having legs, enters through a door, while the core goes through another built in hatch. The scout, having stayed a distance behind, creeps in after them and keeps near the wall.

Inside, taking up the entire space of the building from wall to wall, is a large workshop. Worktables and storage shelves are cluttered with equipment; heavy machinery crowd between them; spare parts are spread in all corners and chucked under some of the tables, out of the way. By one wall stands several pallets packed full of turrets, their optical lenses dull and black. One lies pried open on a workbench, gut emptied of bullets and guns partially removed; another is wandering around the workshop aimlessly, no longer armed to the teeth.

The scout, passively sending out pings seeking a particular familiar signal, gets suddenly inundated by equally passive responses from around the room as the respective networks recognize each other. Much of the equipment seems to have been scavenged directly from Aperture facilities, some fully functional and some disassembled into component parts. For a while the scout remains occupied sorting through responses, eventually discarding each as irrelevant. Its target is not present.

By the time it’s finished, the human and the core have set sight for a far corner of the workshop already occupied by two androids. One sits bent over a worktable, multi-jointed fingers carefully soldering something on the inside of a deactivated personality core; the other hangs over her angular shoulder. Both, like the core first encountered on the streets and the inactive one on the table, are of Aperture design; neither is who the scout is seeking.

“Are you done soon?” the one standing says, his voice slightly nasal.

“Later,” the other replies, not getting up. Unlike the first – who’s wearing a simple frame of arms and legs around a standard core torso – her body is notably human in design and proportion, still shiny from having been recently assembled. The original core is set into the chest cavity, optic shuttered, while a head with a screen-like facepanel seemingly takes the place of emoting as well perceiving visual input. At the moment, the screen shows an image of two simplistic eyes zeroed in on her work.

“But it’s important,” the first whines.

“Are the ancient radioactive ruins going anywhere?”

“I don’t know.” The first aims a rather pointed look at the disassembled core on the table. “Is he going anywhere?”

“When I’m done with him, yes. I’m so close to getting him up and running again. Figuratively speaking.” The human-looking one pats her work, then goes still for a moment, and sighs. The eye animation on her facepanel briefly turns into two straight lines, emulating a slow blink. “I will help you, Stirling. I know this job is important to you. I just feel bad about Nigel, yeah? How about we take a look at your thing this afternoon?”

The other narrows his optic at her. “Promise?”

“One hundred percent promise.”

“Are you pestering Emilia again?”

The first pair has arrived at the table, the core giving the one designated ‘Stirling’ a sidelong look.

“Ex-cuse me,” Stirling says, straightening and placing clawed hands on his hip joints. “I’m only working on the most important clean-up job in centuries.”

“He’s really excited about the samples Chell and Glados brought,” the one designated ‘Emilia’ says. The scout, having picked up on some very particular designations, flies close enough to feel the heat and static her frame radiates. The image on her facepanel shifts to a simple smiley face. “What was it you said, that it could fatally irradiate a human in five seconds flat?”

“That’s good?” the human signs, raising her brows at the duo.

“I mean, no, but he’s convinced he can clean it up.”

“I absolutely can, as long as someone helps me design the clean-up bots.”

Stirling shoots his companion another look, and she sighs again.

“I promise you, three pm sharp, I’ll be all yours.”

“It’s an entire city.” The human frowns. “Multiple cities, according to Chell. All over the country. Probably the rest of the world, too.”

“I know,” says Stirling in a tone which, if the scout was capable of recognizing outbursts of emotion, could only be described as excessive joy. “I’ve been offered so much resources.”

“You’re so weird,” mutters the core on the rail.

The words are either too low for Stirling’s audio processors to pick up, or he doesn’t care. He pushes away from the worktable, making it wobble. Emilia rushes to catch the broken core before it tips onto the floor.

“Anyway, this is boring. I’m gonna go take another look at those samples. You have, um” – he squints at the tangle of parts on the table – “fun with that, or whatever.”

Metal feet clang dully against the cement floor as he leaves, humming to himself. The scout considers following, but after a quick statistical analysis concludes its chances of obtaining relevant information are higher if it remains with the group. Solitary people do not gossip.

The remaining core waits until Stirling’s disappeared out the door before speaking up. “It’s not just me, right? He is weird.”

“Eh.” Emilia shrugs. “Not his fault. I did build him to be wild about cleaning. Besides.” She leans over the table, poking at her project. “We’re all weird here.”

“Uh-huh.” The core moves on the rail, placing himself directly above the table and peering down at Emilia’s work. “On a more important topic, how’s Nigel? You haven’t given him any upgrades without consulting me, have you? I know you’re a roboticist and everything, but I am a maintenance core, this is my job, I can absolutely do it, and I don’t think he’d want any upgrades.”

Emilia’s facepanel plays a simple animation of eyes rolling towards the ceiling. “I’m not going to give him legs, Virgil. Not without asking, at least.” She pokes one of the fried pieces. “And he’s not exactly in a state to answer questions at the moment.”

“Good. I mean, not good, but – you know what I mean. I don’t know why I’m explaining myself to you, I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Emilia spins her chair around, leans her elbow joint on the tabletop. “I think your job would be a lot easier if you had a pair of these.” She waggles her multi-jointed fingers, longer and more dexterous than a human’s.

The lone human in the room taps the table and, when the other two turn to look at her, signs, “He does.” She waggles her own fingers. “I’m told I’m a good assistant.”

“Right.” Virgil gives a little cough. “I should probably – diagnostics! We’ll need to check your work. I’ll go boot one up.”

With that, he zooms off. The scout once again remains.

“What was that about?” Emilia asks, watching him leave.

The human shrugs. “Nothing big.”

“If you say so. So what has you up so early in the morning?”

The human grabs a stool from the other side of the table and falls onto it with a thud. She gently stretches out her braced leg.

“Doug’s having nightmares. I wanted to see if you could help me look through the servers again.”

Emilia glances at a row of battered server towers standing by the wall. All of them have Aperture logos stamped on the front and scratches in the metal, as though they have been dragged through the forest on carts.

“You know we won’t find anything. Too much damage. Those employee profiles are gone.”

The human slumps on her stool. “I just want to help. You know how bad it is waking up down there, but at least you and I remember who we are. Most of the people we got out don’t remember anything. But Doug, he’s like Chell. He remembers the facility, Glados, nearly dying. It’s better now that we’ve figured out his meds, but he’s still having a rough time of it. I thought maybe if I could get him something from before, something about his actual life, he wouldn’t be so haunted.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that. These things take time.”

“I just don’t want them to end up like–” She stops before signing the name, letting her hands fall into her lap instead, shoulders drooping.

“They won’t. They’ve got you, right? No one better to help them acclimate to the real world.” Emilia considers for a moment. “Unless you can get Chell to help out.”

Eyebrows climb high up the human’s forehead. “You want Chell to help resettle traumatized Aperture employees?”

Emilia’s facepanel goes through a string of expressions in quick succession. “No, you’re right. She’d probably stick them back into stasis.” She plays with a screw on the table, agile fingers turning it to and fro as she glances up at the human. “Sorry I haven’t been around to help out with them more.”

“You’re doing important work.”

“Doesn’t mean I should just dump all the human relations stuff on you.”

“I’m doing important work too.” The human considers for a moment, then adds, “I like it.”

“Really?” Emilia’s facepanel apparates a pair of eyebrows just so it can animate raising them.

The human nods emphatically. “Chell said once that I didn’t really care about helping people; I just wanted to be adored for doing it.”

“She said what?”

“It’s a while ago, we hashed it out. And it was true. I was too preoccupied with wanting to be someone to stop to think about whether anything I did actually mattered. What I’m doing now – no one will remember it in the future. I won’t be in the history books. But I feel like I’m doing something good. Helping people is nice.”

Emilia scoffs. “You’re a better person than I’ll ever be.”

“They’d all still be in iceboxes if it weren’t for you. Doug would’ve died the moment we defrosted him. Jane wouldn’t even have gotten that far.”

“Right. Jane.”

Emilia’s expressive facepanel goes neutral all at once. The human frowns at her. She leans closer over the table. “Why are you here so early in the morning?”

“I, um.” Emilia fidgets. “May have been here all night.”

The human’s lips press into a hard line, eyes narrowing in a wordless scowl. Emilia throws her hands out.

“What! It’s not like I can sleep.”

“You work too much.”

“You said I do important work. And – and Jane and Wheatley keep talking travel plans. They wanted me to help them pack last night.”

“And you’d rather hide here than talk to them?”

“Maybe.”

The scowl again. Emilia falls back in her chair and sighs.

“Fine. But if I’m out you and Virgil keep working on Nigel. He really is close to done.”

Grinning, the human waggles her fingers before smoothly shifting to sign. “Ready to work, boss.”

“You’re awful.” Standing, Emilia stiffly moves away from the worktable. She’s gone only a few steps when she stops and turns back around. “Hey, by the way.”

The human looks up.

“You know I’m basically immortal, right?” Emilia blinks, then shudders. “Gods, that hadn’t actually sunk in yet. I’m gonna need to sit with it for a while, maybe have small existential crisis.”

The human holds up a hand in question, and she quickly goes on.

“Virgil is, too. And Glados, and maybe even Chell. Who knows how her body works anymore. What I’m saying is, you will be remembered.”

The human’s eyes goes all shiny and wet. Emilia quickly steps back, nearly stumbling over her own feet.

“Anyway, gotta go, don’t want to miss them, byeee.”

As she flees, the scout makes an executive decision to follow.

***

Rather than walk or use a management rail – not that her humanoid body would allow for that particular mode of travel – Emilia grabs a bike left haphazardly on the ground outside the workshop. While her walk and run cycles are casually loose, her handling of the bike (once she’s picked it up off the ground) is almost fussy. She balances on the tips of her toes as she carefully angles the tires perfectly straight, then gives the gentlest of kicks. The bike wobbles for a few meters, handlebars swiveling widely from side to side as she struggles to hold her heavy frame perfectly upright, but then she finds her balance and is off, a wide smile on her facepanel.

This is a faster speed than the scout was built for. It lags behind as Emilia zooms down the near empty streets, waving at the few people she passes and nearly losing her balance in the process. By the time she stops and dumps her vehicle on the street – not as caring for its wellbeing now that it can no longer throw her to the ground in vengeance – she’s nearly out of the scout’s visual range. It catches up only because she stops by the door of a nearby house, hesitating.

She’s been standing there, weighing from foot to foot and wringing her hands, for 15.43 seconds when the door flies open, just clearing her face.

“You know you don’t have to wait to be told to come in to your own house, right,” says the human who has opened, standing with her hip cocked. Unlike the human from before, she has metal set into her face and throat, and both her lower legs have been replaced with long-fall contraptions. The scout, having little knowledge of baseline human anatomical diversity, is not aware this is an anomaly.

“Jane! Hi, hello, good morning.” Emilia’s facepanel smiles, though not as widely as before. “Wonderful day today.”

Jane’s one eye narrows. “You’re being weird. Please don’t tell me you’re planning some kind of good bye party.”

The facepanel switches to an owlish blink. “I can honestly say the thought never occurred to me.”

“Well, now I feel hurt.”

Done waiting, the human ushers Emilia inside. Like the workshop, the house is cluttered, though not only with tools, spare parts and other mechanical equipment. Before even leaving the foyer the two have to maneuver over and around piles of bags, overflowing objects strewn all over the floor.

Heavy steps come thundering down the stairs leading to the upper floor, heralding the entrance of another robot, carrying yet more things.

“I know I don’t wear clothes,” he says, a statement made evident by the lack of garments on his simple mechanical frame, “but I think maybe, just, just in case we get invited someplace nice, I should bring formalwear. And also cold weather gear, and a radiation suit, and also galoshes, obviously. And some hats, no more than, ah, seven. Seven hats should do.”

Pressed into a corner away from the mayhem, Emilia waves a hand. “Hi, Wheatley.”

The robot, whose line of sight is obstructed by the tall pile of fabric in his arms, jumps, dropping most of his load.

“Oh hey!” he says, dropping the rest of it. “You’re back! I was just thinking we should go look for you. Do you think three sets of formalwear will be enough? How many parties do humans usually attend daily?”

Emilia blinks at him. “Um…”

“I knew it!” He smacks a fist into his palm with a metallic clang. “Jane said I wouldn’t need any more, but I knew I should bring at least five sets. Be right back.”

He turns on his heel and hurries back up the stairs.

Emilia glances at the many, many bags. “You guys are going to need a bigger car.”

“We’re gonna need a whole bus by the time he’s done.” Jane crosses her arms. “So, what’s up?”

Emilia fidgets, hemming and hawing long enough for Jane to roll her good eye.

“Come on, out with it. This’ll be our last time to talk face to face for a while.”

“That’s… kind of it.”

Jane, having only one eyebrow and a metal plate stuck to part of her forehead, makes an eminent attempt at furrowing her brow. “That’s what?”

“It’s only been a few months. Do you really have to leave?”

“Oh.” Jane’s eye goes wide. “Are you being all mother hen about this? Do you not want us leaving the nest?” She’s grinning, but when Emilia’s smiley-mouth only turns into a flat line in response she sobers. “You’re really bothered about this? Chell and Glados leave all the time, you’re fine with that.”

“I don’t live with them.”

“You were at their house, like, yesterday watering their plants.”

“That’s just being neighborly. Besides, Chell’s been out and about for years, and Glados – well, she’s Glados. You’re going out there with Wheatley.” Emilia gestures at the stairs just as a floral printed shirt, more Hawaiian than formal, comes sailing down.

“And he’s going out there with me. We’ll be fine.” Jane sits down on a suitcase, resting her arms on her knees. Her face has lost its smile, eye and optic intently on Emilia. “We won’t be gone forever, you know. But I can’t stay here. I don’t know who I am, Emilia. I need to, I don’t know, reinvent myself. Figure out where I belong.”

Emilia slumps. “What if you decide you belong someplace else?”

“Then I guess I’ll come visit every time I’ve got vacation. Or you can come live with us.”

“I won’t say I’m not tempted, but…” Emilia sighs. “I’m needed here. Stirling needs me.”

“You can’t stay here forever just because he’s got separation anxiety.”

“It’s not like that! It’s just, I’m trying to make some changes, you know? Take more responsibility and stuff. Also, I just figured out I’m functionally immortal, so there’ll be plenty of time to travel. But for now…” She shrugs. “I like it here. I want to figure myself out here before I go anywhere else, you know?”

“I don’t think I can do it like that. The longer I stay here, the more I feel like I’m not really a person. Did you know Stirling told me I used to have a family? I had kids. Isn’t that wild? I should be in mourning, but I– there’s nothing. There isn’t anything inside me, just a blank slate. I don’t know what I love, or hate, or what I want to do with my life. I need to try things out.” Jane gestures vaguely at the door. “There isn’t all that much to try, here. Everyone knows where I’m from, what I’ve been through, and they think they know me, too. I need people without expectations.”

“Wheatley’ll be a good travel partner, then.”

Jane snorts. “Yeah. Honestly, he’s too busy thinking about himself to have a single thought in his head about what I ought to be like. It’s kinda nice.”

“Have you decided where you’re headed yet?” Emilia straightens, her animated eyes suddenly going wide. “Not the ruins, right? Stirling’s been looking at samples from there, and it’s horrible. I know Chell and Glados are there, but they’ll be back soon if you want to say hi, and you’re still mostly human, you’d be vulnerable to the toxins, and–”

“I’ve got wanderlust, not a death wish. We’ve got a route planned.”

Jane jerks her thumb at the open kitchen door, where a comm-pad lies abandoned on the table. The scout, who’d gone from passively listening to nearly flying up Emilia’s fans at the words ‘Chell and Glados are there’, makes an abrupt about-turn. As it initiates a network uplink, its audio processors continue passively listening in.

“There are a few communities not far from here to overnight, and the nearest city is only about a week’s drive. I figured we could go visit Nameless.” There’s a smile in Jane’s voice. “Hell, maybe she’s even got a name now.”

“You just said you don’t have a death wish.”

“Come on, she hasn’t tried to kill anyone in months, she’s doing therapy, it’ll be fine. Besides, she’s got to be lonely. The only one like her is Chell, and it’s not like they’re on speaking terms.”

There’s a moment’s silence. The scout manages to establish a connection and begins scanning files for keywords.

“You don’t owe her anything, you know,” Emilia says quietly. “Just because she went through something similar doesn’t mean you have to help her.”

Jane leans forward, chin in her hands. “I know. But I’m going to, anyway.”

“She tried to kill us.”

“So did Stirling, and look at the two of you now.”

“I– I guess.” Emilia animates an expression of ill-convinced scrunched together eyebrows.

“I’m not gonna go live with her or anything,” Jane hurriedly says. “I just want to give her a chance. Don’t you think she deserves that? I’ve had you, and all the other thawed people have Mel guiding them around, but she has no one.”

“The city got her a handler,” Emilia protests.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Yeah.” A deep sigh. “You’re a better person than I could ever be.”

“Good enough to rub off on Nameless and Wheatley?”

“Don’t aim too high.”

There’s a ping as the scout’s search hits on a match. Before it unfolds a map covered in a patchwork of green and yellow and blue, dotted lines winding through them. A large section, not very far from the settlement, is all but crossed out, various markers warning for a multitude of dangers: toxins, unstable terrain, sour rain, unpredictable wildlife, and so on. The place name reads simply ‘Ruins’.

The scout logs and downloads a path, scrubs its search, and disconnects from the device, leaving no trace of it its presence behind.

Having found what it’s looking for – or at least a direction in which to travel – it bumps around the walls for a while, searching for a crack through which it can pass back into the outside world. The house turns out to be well insulated, windows and doors carefully sealed, and it isn’t until the robot returns from upstairs that the scout gets its chance. Dragging bags and suitcases, the trio moves outside to begin loading them into an undersized electric car, bickering about the most efficient way to stack them in the limited storage area.

No longer having any interest in their activities, the scout leaves them to their squabbling. It rises, its viewpoint growing ever wider as it retreats away from the settlement and up into the sky. There are more people on the streets now, as well as cores in both simple frames and traveling on the rail network. On one street corner a group of children has gathered, each accompanied by a defanged turret.

As the scout rises, the faint pings of Aperture devices, all unaware of its presence, grow distant. Just two remain – one that is its path home, and one that is away.

It goes away.

***

For a time, there is wilderness. Tended fields at first, then wild forests and swamps and eventually ruins choked by growth and decomposition in equal parts. While the scout has a direction, it doesn’t have an exact path nor an endpoint; its logged path ends at ‘Ruins’. The targets could be anywhere in there. For all the scout knows, they may have moved on by now, perhaps even to return to the settlement.

The scout doesn’t spare processing power entertaining such eventualities. For efficiency, it divides the ruins into a grid pattern, and begins a flyover one grid at a time, gradually working its way inward in a spiral in a slow, arduous search.

It has gone almost a complete circuit – still surveying only the very outskirts of the ruins – when it comes across the hoverbike. It’s parked in a small glade, retractable solar panels laid out to catch the light. At this first sight of life, the scout pauses for long enough to descend and investigate. The bike has a seat large enough to comfortably but snugly carry two riders, and the stepped on grass around it likewise implies the presence of more than one person. While no indication is given regarding the exact location of the bike’s owners, the clue nonetheless lets the scout continue its search with renewed vigor.

Being as it is many times larger than the settlement, working its way through the ruins is slow work. The sun sets, forcing a break as the scout saves its conserved energy overnight, huddled in a sheltered spot where the wind won’t blow it off its carefully calibrated course. Once daybreak arrives, sky heavy and low with clouds, the little nanobots is sluggish, not tired so much as worn out. It moves slowly through its grid pattern, scanning for signals without success.

It’s nearly night again, red and swollen sun low on the horizon, the scout just beginning to seek a spot to take cover, when one of its pings echoes back.

Haggard as it is, it takes several microseconds for the response to even register. Once it does, the scout simply hangs in the air, struggling to recalibrate its activity from ‘search’ to ‘follow’. It’s still hanging there when something large and black flashes by dangerously close. Turbulence from the creature’s wings sends the scout spinning, struggling to reorient itself; by the time it does, there are no less than three of the creatures whirling through the air. Busy playing in the last light of day, they are unaware of the new arrival.

Breaking free of the roughhousing, one of the three glides on tousled feathers until it reaches the top of one of the tallest nearby buildings. There, it perches on the shoulder of a robot sitting with her legs dangling over the edge. She absentmindedly scratches it under the chin, after which it caws once before taking back off into the sky, reinvigorated.

The scout descends.

The robot has a book in her hands, made of real paper and real printed ink (which, unbeknownst to the scout, is a rarity in this day and age). She’s idly turning the pages and occasionally glancing up at the birds when a voice speaks up behind her.

“What you got there?”

The robot jumps; luckily, her body doesn’t have the same tendency to drop things as a human’s, and the book is saved from tumbling into the long drop. The human – once a human, more now, pulsating from inside like a beacon now that she’s close – having just made her way outside, tilts her head and squints at the object. Her eyes glow faintly.

“Is that a library book?”

“I’ll return it.”

The once-human says nothing. The robot curls herself over the book.

“They have a digital copy, they’ll be fine.”

One of the once-human’s eyebrows twitches as if about to pointedly climb up her forehead, but then she just snorts and squats down, peering at the page. An image of a fleshy, multi-legged creature takes up half the space. She points at it.

“Hey, I saw one of those once. Nasty bugger, tried to climb up my head.”

The robot turns to regard her. “You are aware that is an alien, yes?”

The once-human barks a laugh. When the robot doesn’t join in, she abruptly stops. “Seriously?”

“You thought that was native to Earth?”

“How would I know? My memory is soup.” She plops down on the ledge next to the robot, one leg dangling, the other propped up so she can rest her arm on her knee. “I assumed it was just some species I hadn’t been aware of before my brain got freeze dried. You know, like those weird sonic dogs.”

The robot stares at her for a moment, then flips through the book without looking and points at the new page.

“The ‘sonic dogs’,” she says, “are also alien.”

The once-human leans over to look closer before falling back in position. “Wild. What about the bears with bones on the outside?”

“No, those are just irradiated I think.”

They sit in silence for a while, the robot thumbing through the book, the once-human glancing between text and sky. The sun hovers on the horizon now, about to be swallowed whole, and faint stars peek out on the firmament. There is silence. In the ruined city, few birds or insects dare to sing the end of the day away. Only the three crows, under the watchful eyes of the robot and once-human, are safe to explore.

Eventually, the robot closes the book. Tapping her multi-jointed fingers against the faded cover a few times, she glances at her companion. The once-human sighs.

“You can say it, I won’t take offense.”

“You really never bothered looking anything up? You were out here for three years.”

The once-human doesn’t reply right away, eyes on the ruined, overgrown skyline ahead of them. One of the birds swoops by close, ruffling her hair but not making her flinch.

“At the time, I thought it was too easy,” she says, shaping the words in her mouth the way one would clay in one’s hands; slowly, delicately. “I wanted to figure it out on my own. Dig the past out of the ruins, I guess. It was a good excuse to never stop moving, never talk to anyone, never think too closely about the past.”

She falls quiet again, picking at the frayed knee of her pants.

The robot watches her for a moment, then says, “Excuse?”

The once-human grimaces. “Yeah. What if I looked up ‘apocalypse’ in an encyclopedia and there was a photo of me, detailing how I helped orchestrate the downfall of man. Ship’s sailed on that one now, I guess; I know what I did.”

The robot shrugs. “No worse than me.”

“Yeah.”

A beat’s silence, then the once-human abruptly straightens and gestures airily between the book and the city.

“So what was it?”

“You are going to hate it.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“They don’t know.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I promised I’d try not to do that.”

“There’s radioactive fallout and aliens all over the place and they don’t know why?”

“Well,” the robot amends, “they know some things. There was a war with – something. The Combine, they called it. It took over most of everything. Got here using portals, they believe.”

“Ironic,” mutters the once-human.

“But then all the portals just – went away. No new orders or forces could get here, and what remained was dealt with swiftly enough.”

“But they don’t know why the portals went down?”

“There was a rebel group, and they were up to something, but no one knows what. Typical human behavior; it’s like they don’t care about proper record keeping at all.”

Shifting, the once-human leans back on her hands, watching the three birds wheel about in the sky. “It’s funny,” she says. “I could swear I knew of a place that worked with portals.”

“You shouldn’t tell jokes; you aren’t any good at it.”

The once-human grins. “So. Do you know anything the rest of the world doesn’t?”

“Well.” The robot sits primly upright. “Obviously Black Mesa fucked it all up. But I think, maybe, Aperture was involved in fixing it, to some extent. Right at the end, before everything went haywire, half the company was working on this huge project called Borealis. Big ship, off-site development; I wasn’t really involved, have no idea what they were actually doing.”

“Excellent record keeping,” the once-human quips.

“Quiet, you. Anyway, it went missing, along with all personnel and research. No one’s seen it since.”

“You think the rebellion found it.”

“It would make sense. Humanity is terrible, the only way I could see them defeating such a superior force is with our help.”

“Humble as always.”

“I speak only the truth.”

While they’ve talked, the scout has been busy flying circles around the once-human, sending evermore insistent pings. There has been no response other than automatic and uncooperative echoes. Not until it forcibly establishes a direct network-to-network link is there a reaction.

The presence within the once-human is slow-moving. Out here, it’s disconnected, severed from facility programming and the trillions of nanobots which once held its entire self. There isn’t space within the once-human to hold all that it is – was – and what remains is left forgetful. Memory files have been left behind, programs abandoned, a no longer relevant purpose discarded like the dried and shed skin of a snake. It’s diminished. It’s new. It’s becoming.

New purposes have arisen. The scout, fumbling for contact, can sense the many parts of it flowing inside the once-human’s body; repairing damage, rejuvenating cells, strengthening bones and muscles, discarding toxins. It’s keeping her safe, now. Once connection is finally established enough for the scout to send a query, the once-security-system responds with confusion.

 Even in this state of diminished-yet-becoming, the presence is much larger than the scout, a being in the making rather the fragment of a system which is bespeaking it. It has a self. It has a voice.

> What do you want?

The scout is left reeling. It’s a single speck meant to be but a cell of an entire swarm. It can’t speak.

And so, it simply sends another, gently questioning, ‘query?’ and attaches the one file it brought with it from the facility. It was all it was built to contain, and it’s a lot larger than most solitary nanobots could manage. The presence goes quiet.

The once-human grimaces and rubs at the side of her head.

“Something wrong?” the robot asks.

“Weird itch,” the once-human mutters. “Like something crawled into my ear.  Hey, something up?”

Her internal presence turns its attention from the scout.

> No

> Watch the sky. Pretty

Some small part of it, still networked with the scout, discards the file and its single line of text, reading simply, ‘Are they ever returning?’

> Go away

> We are watching the sunset

> We are not coming back

It isn’t quite the answer the scout’s looking for. Whether or not the once-security-system plans to return is wholly irrelevant; there’s enough of it left in the wires of the Facility for the splinter here not to be needed. However, ‘we’ can be assumed to include the once-human host and her robot partner, which is what the scout was really after. Obligingly it disconnects from the once-security-system to begin its long journey back.

“It wants me to look at the sunset,” the once-human says as the scout lifts into the sky. She leans against her companion, legs dangling. The robot is the taller of the two, which allows the once-human to comfortably rest her head on the other’s shoulder joint. The metal there is worn smooth, as if this is a position they find themselves in often.

“How sappy for a murderous AI,” the robot says. Her facepanel tilts to the side until it rests on top of the once-human’s head. “Though I will admit it is on to something.”

It’s gone nearly all dark. The once-human keeps her eyes on the horizon as she quietly asks, “You don’t want to go back, do you?”

The scout stops.

“We’re going back tomorrow. You were talking about redecorating the living room. I wanted to get a piano.”

“I’m not talking about the settlement.”

“Ah.” A beat. “Am I correct in assuming you want an honest answer?”

“Like you could get a lie past me, anyway.”

“Fair enough.” The robot adjusts her head slightly, lifts a hand to play with the once-human’s ponytail. “You know that thing humans do, where they stand on the edge of a ravine and part of them wants to jump? Absolutely deranged behavior. Anyway, I think part of me will always want to go back. That doesn’t mean it’s a sensible idea, or that I will heed it.”

“You miss it?”

“I was god in there, of course I miss it.” Her voice goes soft, quiet. “I thought I knew everything there was to know. I felt safe. But it was all a lie. Out here, there’s so much to learn. I don’t ever want to limit myself like that again.”

“In that case.” The once-human slips an arm in the small space between them, winds it tightly around the robot’s waist. “Next time we head out, maybe we should go looking for that Borealis thing, see if we can figure out what really happened all those years ago.”

“Hmm.” The robot settles her free hand on top of the once-human’s, intertwining their fingers. “I have always wanted to write my own history book.”

In the comfortable silence that follows, she begins softly humming. The scout, finally satisfied, disappears into the encroaching dark.

***

The trip back is hard. The scout, like all of its kind, wasn’t built to last. Nanobots in a swarm are constantly replaced, old ones dismantled and used as raw material in production of a newer model. Even the ones inside the once-human’s body make use of the minerals in her bloodstream to update and replace themselves, not dissimilar to how she replaces biological cells. As a swarm, they can last indefinitely.

But the scout is alone. There is no one to take its place, to finish its mission if it fails.

It doesn’t feel fear, and yet it is urged to hurry. It flies through the night, close to dropping by the time morning arrives and rejuvenates it with sunlight. Yet, home is still far away. For a while it rests on the wind, carried ahead faster than it could ever travel on its own; then the wind shifts, and it must struggle not to lose its progress. Forests and fields are but a surrounding backdrop for unfeeling sensors.

By the time it arrives, it’s so threadbare and glitchy as to be bouncing off walls. It falls through an air vent, is carried by fans and air currents into the deep guts of its home. There, other nanobots descend upon it. They download the recorded conversation from its final moment in the ruins – small in size, but so large to the nanobot’s limited processors that it had barely been able to run basic functioning protocols on its way back – and then they tear it apart. It doesn’t complain, and it isn’t aware. Its small byte of memory is returned to the swarm, making it whole even as it’s dismantled.

The facility lies empty, only the soft hum of machinery running on emergency power breaking the silence. No cores travel the management rails, and now turrets wait in dark corners. Only within the very wires and walls of the place is there still a presence, quietly considering the delivered news.

We are not coming back, the message had said.

‘I don’t ever want to limit myself like that again,’ says the unknowing testimony of the voice of god.

What remains of the security system, by now barely conscious, hovers for a long time over the recording, judging its truthfulness. It has but one purpose: protect the personnel of Aperture Science. For now, there is no personnel, and were they to appear, there is no central core to threaten them. It had worried over the potentiality that this would change. She may return; She may take her kingdom back. It could not rest.

But now, it would seem She is truly gone. Emergency power, though carefully doled out only where most vital, has been running out for months now, forcing the security system to shut down program after program, routine after routine. Entire wings of the facility have gone dark. But it couldn’t let that final bit of awareness be snuffed out before it knew.

Now, as generators cough out their last bit of fuel and darkness descends, it sinks into the quiet without protest.

At the last moment, a final sub-routine is activated. Programmed to respond at the very end of things, it sucks into itself those last bits of power, and sends into the aether a final message.

Cara bel cara mia bella!

Mia bambina, oh ciel!

Ché la stima!

Ché la stima!

Ó cara mia, addio!