Chapter Text
Chell drew in a slow, deliberate breath and lowered her forehead to rest against the cool surface of the steering wheel. For a long moment, she stayed there, motionless, letting the breath settle deep in her lungs—until the ache in her chest swelled just enough to be felt. Only then did she release it in a shaky exhale. She had been repeating this ritual for days now. Weeks, maybe.
She first took it as a way to ground herself to reality, to calm down and prepare for whatever would face her in the next room or throughout her day..however, she had been sitting in the car for... far too long. She knew that. She knew that this wasn’t preparation anymore. This was stalling.
Her eyes drifted up to the looming facade ahead—Aperture Laboratories. Even the name brought a familiar knot to her stomach. It had been four years since she last set foot in the place, back during her internship. Well—technically she’d stepped inside a few weeks ago to submit her application, but that hadn’t really counted. That had been procedural, and she barely made it past the front desk of the main building. This, now—this was different.
Back then, things had been different. They had worked together. As equals. Now she would be working for her.
The distinction wasn’t small, but it felt right nonetheless. This was the only position she could take and have the slimmest slivers of hope to fix things.
And standing on the edge of seeing her again after all this time—
It had a gravitational pull Chell hadn’t prepared for. She’d thought about this moment a thousand times, but now that it was here, reality felt heavier than all the fantasies combined.
Three years. That’s how long it had been since she’d seen her. Three years since the biggest fuck up of her life. It was, without question, the worst mistake Chell had ever made. And it had taken Three years for guilt and longing to rot into something heavy enough to finally break the camel's back, to go through her pride and pass through her stubbornness. To build up a hunger to see her face again, a hunger that overpowered the instinct to run in the opposite direction.
Three years to be back. Not as a fellow researcher. Not as a partner in anything resembling equals.
As a test subject.
It should have felt humiliating. And maybe, in some small way, it did. But mostly? It felt... right. Like the first decision in years that hadn’t come from pride, fear, or spite. It was her own choice. Her own application. Her own attempt at... what, exactly? Redemption? Closure? Some foolish hope that this could be the first step toward making amends, even if there was nothing to repair anymore?
She didn't know. But it felt right. Or at least—less wrong than everything else she’d tried.
A flicker of light from the car's dash snapped her from thought. She blinked at the time on the display.
Forty minutes. She’d been sitting here, paralyzed, for forty goddamn minutes. She went from an hour early to almost late.
Shit.
She continued cursing mentally before she grabbed her phone and her wallet, placed them in her jacket, and all but ran towards the centre building. The silent curses echoed like a slap in her head. Her heart thudded faster, pounding against her ribs as if trying to shove her closer to the building at an even faster pace. Even as she basically sprinted toward the main entrance.
A breeze caught the edge of her jacket as she reached the central building. She slowed her steps, forced her hands to smooth down her shirt, and adjusted her shoulders.
Calm down Chell. She repeated the simple words in her head as if they were a mantra, and they might as well be at that point, till she grounded to a halt 10 feet in front of the door.
She couldn’t afford to walk in looking like a wreck. Chell might be a mess with all the stress but she didn’t need to look like one on her first day of the job, especially in front of her.
Her heartbeat had finally settled into something close to manageable when she stepped forward and opened the door. A quaint brass bell chimed overhead—an actual bell, not the sterile digital tones typical of modern facilities. That simple, old-fashioned sound was oddly comfortable and was a pleasant surprise she often forgot. What followed, however, was not comfortable at all.
Light flooded her vision with unforgiving intensity, nearly blinding her as she crossed the threshold. The noise hit next: a dull roar that pressed at her skull from all sides. Voices—dozens of them—rushed past in a flurry of overlapping chatter, mingling with the sharp click of heels, the scuff of boots on tile, the hum of machines, and the occasional sharp bark of instruction from someone in charge. Staff bustled past in efficient rhythms, applicants like her stood in loose, anxious clusters or spread out on multiple waiting chairs.
Unlike most offices where the reception is the quietest and most welcoming place, Aperture wasn’t shy to hide its nature under false pleasantries. Science—or money— is what brought people here, after all, so why bother hiding the nature of Science? Especially since the only thing that made this area a reception are was the front desk.
She clenched her jaw. The urge to stop and centre herself—to breathe, to count, to find her anchor—was overwhelming. But time was not a luxury she had today. So she swallowed the lump forming at the back of her throat, focused instead on the budding headache unfurling at the back of her head, and forced her legs to move with even footing.
One step. Then another. Slow, even.
Her eyes found the reception desk—a sleek construct of what might have been either marble or stone and brushed steel—and behind it, a brunette woman she didn’t recognise. Not the same receptionist from her last visit then. Which meant a possible delay. They would have to search for her information again and confirm it all, thus wasting more time. She wasn’t sure if that made her relieved or vaguely frustrated.
All she knew for certain was that her stomach twisted in protest, a low, uncomfortable churn that made her consider leaving…which she couldn't do now. She would never forgive herself if she did.
Still, the receptionist brightened as she approached. “Hello, and welcome to Aperture Laboratories. How may I help you today?”
Chell didn’t answer, Verbally of course. She simply offered a small polite nod, raising one hand to gesture politely for the woman to wait. Then she began to fumble through her jacket in search of the approved application form—the printed one, signed, and she triple-checked that she had taken with her when she walked out of her flat. She knew she had it. She must have had it.
But it wasn’t there.
A flicker of panic crept in. She patted herself down again—pockets, inside lining, sleeves, back pouch. Nothing. Her fingers moved faster now, more desperate, and she obviously began to skip into a proper panic
The receptionist noticed. She tilted her head slightly to the right, a mild note of concern colouring her voice. “Are you alright, ma’am? Did you lose something?”
“Yes." She all but screamed inside "My fucking mind"
Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her phone, already planning what to type to explain. But she hadn’t even completed half of her pattern before—
“Ah, Chell. Glad to see you made it.”
The voice was smooth, warm with familiarity and laced with quiet amusement. “I almost thought you’d bailed at the last minute, considering you didn’t arrive early like last time.”
Chell’s head snapped up.
There, rounding the corner of her vision, that unmistakable figure was Caroline Johnson. The CEO of Aperture Laboratories, and the mother of her ex.
The receptionist straightened at once. “Oh! Hello, Miss Caroline. Is this a guest of yours?”
Caroline nodded. Her eyes flicked toward Chell, but not unkindly. The woman moved with gentle authority—each step purposeful yet calm and unforceful. She easily gained the attention of those who were nearby without forcing her presence. Her hair, dark brown streaked liberally with grey, was swept into a loose twist. Her coffee-brown suit jacket contrasted softly with the darker slacks she wore, and her white shirt lay open at the collar. She was the CEO, and God knows how hard the woman worked. From what Chell remembered, the woman’s workaholism was only surpassed by her own daughter.
One could easily forget that she was well into her sixties. Her posture, her presence—none of it yielded to time.
Chell forced a polite smile, lifted a hand to scratch awkwardly at the back of her neck, and nodded once more in thanks. She extended her hand toward the older woman.
This felt awkward.
Truthfully, she’d never quite found comfort in Caroline’s presence. The woman had always been kind, but something about her—and, of course, what she knew from…more close aspects of her life—kept Chell at arm’s length emotionally and physically as well in most cases. Still, there was no denying her gratitude. This opportunity—however complicated—had been made possible by Caroline’s intervention and inclination to help, which in of itself was surprising considering the circumstances.
Caroline returned the handshake with quiet grace, then turned, gesturing down the hallway with a faint wave of her hand. “Come. This way.”
Chell followed.
As they walked, Caroline spoke without turning. “Now, while the circumstances are slightly... unusual, I trust you’re still familiar with our testing protocols from your time here.”
Chell gave a tiny nod, just once. She wasn’t sure if Caroline saw her though.
“If you need clarification,” Caroline added, “ask the automated system in the locker room. It’s programmed to provide everything you require.”
And just like that, the conversation ended.
Chell almost didn't want it to end, she almost wanted to ask questions, but she kept her hands and phone at bay, no need to work up her nerves already.
Chell blinked softly as she stepped into the designated locker room. The space was unexpectedly empty—silent save for the faint hum of distant machinery. She reminded herself she was the first test subject of the day, and so she let the quietness pass without question.
The room felt cold, but impeccably clean—far cleaner than any locker room she had ever encountered in her life. The sterile scent hung in the air, faintly sweet and reminiscent antiseptic with a touch of rosewood—oh, of course it would be rosewood—, unlike the usual mix of sweat and damp fabric she had come to expect from such places. There was an eerie sort of order to it, a clinical neatness that both unsettled and oddly comforted her. It was somewhat familiar after all.
Seeing she was truly alone and noting the absence of any obvious cameras, Chell made a decision to try and relax. She slid open her assigned locker, the metallic clink almost too loud for comfort—This will need some oil to the hinges—, and carefully hung the bright orange jumpsuit alongside its accompanying white tank top—both emblazoned with the Aperture logo—over the locker door.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she methodically emptied her pockets, placing each item with precise care inside the locker. Her fingers trembled slightly as she peeled off her dark olive jacket, letting it fall softly to the bench beneath. Then came the plain black T-shirt, slipping over her head with a brief flutter of goosebumps against her skin. Finally, she shed the rest of her clothing, the cool air prickling against her exposed arms and shoulders.
Sliding into the orange jumpsuit took only moments, the fabric cool and surprisingly lightweight against her skin. It was designed for ease and movement, to be unrestrictive—yet despite its practicality, a faint itchiness lingered, crawling just beneath the surface.
Still, she reminded herself, professionalism demanded she maintain a certain appearance here. Looks mattered in this chamber. Every detail counted, especially now.
After all, she was going to be there, and she was going to watch.
She had been left waiting for what felt like an eternity—just twenty minutes of silence actually—before the grating, mechanical voice of the announcer finally crackled through the chamber’s speakers, calling for the first test subject to step forward. Well, only test subject. There was oddly no one else with her. Chell, already a trembling bundle of nerves beneath her carefully controlled exterior, had to root herself firmly in the present moment to avoid unraveling completely.
Though silent by nature, Chell’s face was usually an open book. It said a lot without her uttering a single word. Yet now, she forced herself into stillness—her expression hardened, a calm, unwavering glare fixed straight ahead. She could not afford the slightest sign of weakness, certainly not here, not now.
Her number was called again, sharper this time, slicing through the thick tension. Only then did she find the strength to move—one tentative step, then another—until finally she crossed the threshold and entered the test chamber itself.
The room was stark, sterile, and glaringly white—a clinical cage devoid of comfort. Her gaze swept the space before her, but there was nothing but a plain, featureless wall directly opposite. The procedure dictated that she should be given some kind of instruction, some faint clue to guide her through the coming trial, yet she was met only with silence—radio silence.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, she shifted her eyes to the thick pane of glass separating her from the observers. Behind it, in the observatory, three scientists stood waiting—two huddled toward the back, indistinct figures blurred by the frosted glass, and one tall silhouette nearer the front, poised close to the screen. The details were shadowed, hazy, but Chell did not need to see clearly to recognize that figure. Either by shape, or stature. She'd always recognize her.
Gladys.
The name was like a weight pressing down on Chell’s chest, constricting her breath and threatening to shatter the fragile calm she had fought so hard to maintain. She swallowed hard, forcing down the sudden surge of emotion. Her face remained impassive, the hard, neutral mask intact—at least, she hoped it was.
Then, abruptly, the speakers crackled to life, the static fizzing sharply before the voice came through.
That voice.
Three years had passed, but the sound was unmistakable. Chell felt her legs almost give up on her as she heard it again at last.
“Oh, it’s you.”