So... My first time posting a fic on this chan. Also my first time namefagging on this chan. OH GOD, I'M SO SCARED. WHAT IS FORMATTING. (Srsly, if the formatting doesn't work then I will need assistance. I have no idea what I'm doing.) Concrit and all that plz. -------- Nobody could say that she hadn’t at least tried to live a normal life. She had tried to get on with her life since her release six months ago, but four months of hospital treatment and psychiatry and being a fat, brain damaged orphan was expensive, dammit, which was why, when she found a double-page ad in the 1st issue of “Saxton Hale’s Thrilling Tales†since its gritty reboot she was instantly intrigued. The overly large font superimposed over a picture of a man in leather hot pants fighting a crocodile with an UZI claimed: “MERCENARIES WANTED†for “BIG CA$$$Hâ€. The disclaimer section of the ad was so lengthy that the print had been shrunk to unreadable proportions. Chell couldn’t really bring herself to care. Moon rock poisoning was in her future for sure, not to mention all the blue and orange gel she’d fallen in, had poured on her, swallowed. There was asbestos everywhere in the Enrichment Centre. She could feel her lungs burning in apprehension just from the memory. No, she thought, this could be the way to go. Sure, mercenary work seemed like it could be a bit dangerous, but hospital bills are not cheap, and if she couldn’t get the money to pay them she’d die anyway. It was this manner of thinking that lead her through the interview with ease, and found her sitting upright in a stuffy train carriage heading out to god-knows-where. She found that she didn’t even care where she was being posted. Her employers had told her that everything about her position was strictly confidential; it’s name, location and layout had never been written on paper, and even if they had, there was no way someone as low down on the corporate ladder as her would be able to get her hands on it. The sneer attached to that particular feminine pronoun did not escape her, nor did her interviewer’s condescending tone or the thinly veiled contempt behind his tight-lipped smile. “Mann Co. is not an equal opportunity employer,†he had told her with a disapproving frown, mostly concealed behind his improbable moustache, “And we wouldn’t be employing you if not for those boots. Aperture brand, huh? Vintage stuff. If only it was a hat…†He’d trailed off after that, and her attention had wandered as she’d tried to decide whether to feel angry or distantly amused by this man’s – this company’s – old-fashioned sexist view. The copy of “Girl's Adventure Starring Saxton Hale†she’d been given for the trip inside the windowless carriage was, while sexist in title, a pretty interesting read if you overlooked the fact that nobody was wearing anything less revealing than a bikini, Mr Hale included. Hours passed before the train screeched to a stop abruptly, Chell falling out of her seat where she’d been dozing for the past hour or so as it did so. She looked around her, embarrassed, and patted herself down, eager to make a good first impression. Being mute and awkward only allowed a girl so many chances, after all. She collected her things – the companion cube, once so burnt but now buffed till it shone once she learnt it could sing, and a large red carryall filled with clothes, underwear and medication, the latter smuggled in as ‘ladies’ goods’ and therefore steadfastly ignored by the medic who’d checked her over and declared her battle worthy. They didn’t need to know she was taking dimercaptosuccinic acid, or where she’d gotten it in that astounding dosage. All they’d wanted to know was that she could fight. Which she could. She hoped. A hydraulic hiss alerted her to the door of the carriage unlatching, and as it cracked open a fracture she was bombarded with a litany of sensory information: the pervading heat lingering after a long day of endless sun, the dry air, unusually odourless and clean, and lastly… voices. There were people on the outside, and from what she could tell they were of all different ages and nationalities. She felt a shiver run down her spine in anticipation. These people sounded friendly enough, and if they could all get on with each other, surely they’d accept her. One of the voices pointed out, surprised, that the door had unlocked, and there was a pause before she heard footsteps and then the door sliding open. There was a moment of shocked silence on both sides, although Chell’s silence was admittedly brought on less by shock and more the inability to speak full stop. She looked at the men in front of her, all frozen comically in the middle of their previous interactions. They were all actually pretty attractive in their own way. She was going to like it here. Sadly, the men didn’t seem to think so. “Th- Wha-†The shortest, youngest boy stuttered out. She smiled at him – finally someone who shared her difficulty speaking! – before he pointed at her, eyes wild. “That girl there’s a spy!†She stared at him, before a deep voice shouted out: “GET ‘EM!!†and the mob descended. To Be Continued.
Hmm. I am intrigued. Please, continue!
Aperture Brand.... vintage? Whaaaaat? Its well written and all, but the whole time issue really bothers me. TF2 is set in the 1960s while the Portal games take place in the 200-, sometime around the Combine invasion/defeat in the Half Life games. Something I can look past personally, but it makes like no sense. Especially if you're going to call Aperture things /vintage/. Still well written, though. Ill be watching this.
"If only it was a hat…" Hah I liked that line. I'm ok with the altered time line cause I like portal/tf2 crossovers. Can't wait to read more. Since when is she fat though? I never played Portal 2.
Oh hohohoho~! I am going to love this~ <3 Oh, and Chessolin? The "fat" reference is one of GLaDOS' constant insults to Chell throughout I think both games, including mute, lunatic, brain damaged, orphan... GLaDOS is a bitch.
OH HEY people actually commented on this. I'M SO PROUD. I still have no idea about how this can works, so if it doesn't look like I'm replying to you directly, then just use your imagination. >>3 The timeline thing bothers me too. Try not to let it worry you too much at this moment in time (ahur hur hur) because I will be resolving the issue soon enough. I thought it out and it might be a source of some mind-fuckery later on. So yay! >>4 Like ArmouredSoul said, the fat thing is a reference from Portal 2... although it could be in Portal 1 as well, I don't remember. Thank you all for commenting, you sexy amazing people! More soon.
Do you want more? Well, yeah, you'd better, cuz it's here. Concrit plz. -------- The RED base was rustic and charming in its incongruity, all worn wood and quaintly sagging doorframes from the outside. The inside, however, was endless concrete, off-white with badly scrubbed bloodstains and bullet holes in the wall. Directly in front of the chair Chell had been sat on, a sinister looking crack wound up the wall lazily, continuing onto the ceiling a fair way. She opted to inspect the wall rather than face up to the nine men positioned around her, falling back into her old habits of scientific and logical analysis excluding emotional outbursts – her own brand of escapism. Some people would read books, or play games; Chell ignored. The room she was in now was small, about 4x4 metres, probably some sort of supply room. Her chair was backed into the corner, where she was held forcibly by the biggest – and strongest – man she had ever met. He had his hands on her wrists, slowly cutting off her circulation as she strained against him. “Leetle girl not move,†he warned, “Or will break wrist.†He squeezed his hands around hers tighter, and she felt the bones in her wrist groan ominously. She nodded frantically, and the man behind her loosened his hold on her slightly, but only slightly. “Doktor,†he asked one of the men crowded into the small room. “What do?†A man in a maroon three-piece suit who didn’t look very much at all like a doctor answered him. “I believe zat I am zee master of interrogassion ‘ere,†the presumably French man said as he pushed his way to the front of the group. The others muttered and tutted about his behaviour but nonetheless let him get on with his business. The suited man stood uncomfortably close to her, and Chell felt her face redden with something between anger and embarrassment. “Ah, chére…†He leaned down to touch her face, tracing her jaw with a leather-gloved hand. She jerked away as far as she could, held down as she was, and snapped at his fingers with her teeth. He chuckled as the man behind her yanked her back into the chair, and she bared her teeth. What a welcome. He wiped an imaginary piece of fuzz off of his lapel before speaking again. “’Onstly, you must ‘ave thought us stupid to fall for your tricks! An’ what a low blow, too… Sending in a woman to deestract us… Ah should have expected as much from zose feelthy BLUs.†He looked as if he was barely managing to contain the urge to spit in her face, or some other such horrific outburst, which made her glad she was a woman. He, hopefully, still had some sense of decorum. Yet, she heard him say ‘BLU’… She wasn’t a BLU at all, and they’d called her a spy earlier. She felt silly now for not putting it together earlier. They thought she was a BLU spy! She could disprove this easily enough… if she could talk. She noticed that whom she could only assume was the RED spy had been pacing in front of her, listing off the numerous and varied ways he could make her reveal the whereabouts of the intel in increasingly graphic detail. Some of the more delicate men in the room were starting to look rather queasy, and the spy stopped in his ranting to appraise her approvingly, if not grudgingly. “I see it will take more than idle threats to make you talk.†He stepped away from her, and raised an arm to beckon one of the men. “Engineer.†A shortish man with his face mostly obscured with goggles and a helmet stepped forward somewhat reluctantly and tipped his hat awkwardly in her direction. The southern accent he proceeded to speak in told of a childhood imbued with impeccable manners, long summers and good old-fashioned southern hospitality, and if he didn’t disobey the spy, he at least had the good grace to look mortified when the spy asked him for “some thin wire and the car battery, if you please.†Her eyes widened as the battery and a pair of jumper cables were lugged in. She started to panic, thrashing in her seat as she bemoaned her inability to speak. Come on, she coached herself internally, albeit in Wheatley’s voice. Say apple. ‘Apple.’ It didn’t work. A strangled whine resounded from the back of her throat somewhere before she choked up, her throat convulsively contracting, her brain refusing to cooperate. The man behind her laughed menacingly as he reached a hand out to receive the wire to bind her up proper, and she’d never wanted to talk so much in her life. Say apple! The grip on her wrist loosened as the man fumbled with the wire with his other hand. Apple! Of course, rather than speaking, she ended up jumping up from her seat and yanking her other wrist from the gigantic Russian man’s grip causing no small amount of confusion on his behalf and quite a lot of pain on hers. The gyroscopes built into the long fall boots only worked from a certain height, as well, so the unusual angle she’d jumped from ended up launching her straight into the arms of one of the smaller mercenaries. He stared down at her, his look somewhere between amused and scared stiff of the girl in his arms, before he cleared his throat. “Hey, toots, if you wan’ed a piece a me that badly, ya only needed ta ask.†She glared at him, pushing herself away from him as the rest of the men in the room laughed harshly. She sneered, before trying to convey that she wasn’t able to speak. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, pointing at her throat insistently, but it was no use. “Hey, look, guys, she’s fuckin’ gaggin’ for it.†An angry glare and a middle finger were flung in the boy’s direction as she became more frustrated. As her thinking distracted her, she failed to notice the spy sneaking up on her from behind. A soft fwump sound echoed behind her and she turned suddenly – but not suddenly enough to avoid being jolted with 12 volts of electricity. Her muscles convulsed and shuddered, the current shaking its way through her body as she grit her teeth. It hurt, dammit, it hurt, but not in the way she was used to. This didn’t feel like ten bullets slamming into you at the same time, or a toxic gas burning your airways as you breathed, or acute organ failure brought on by fucking moon rocks. It felt different, and much, much worse. She couldn’t even move through the pain, the electricity, and the spy himself, keeping her upright and immobile. She didn’t think the spy had been planning to stop any time soon; it was only after she heard a low but firm Southern accent saying “That’s enough, Spah,†that the clips were removed from her skin and she tumbled to the ground, broken, like a member of the control group. She lay there unmoving for what felt like an age as she tried to get her breath back as quickly and quietly as possible. Old survival techniques kicked in and she tried to press herself against the floor, staying as still as was humanly possible. She didn’t move until a Scottish voice broke the startled silence. “…Shudn’t tha’ ‘ave fraid thuh curcuits, laddeh?†“I’m not your ‘laddeh’, Demoman, and you’d do well to remember zat.†He did, however, nudge Chell with his foot, before speaking once again. “…Zere is no disguise present.†Chell would have groaned, if she’d had the ability to. “Scout,†the spy called, and the short boy from earlier perked up. “Check ze lady’s luggage.†The boy sagged visibly. “Do I hafta?†“Do eet.†“Geeze, man, I’m doing eet.†Scout’s apathy quickly melted into uncharacteristic glee as he rifled through Chell’s carryall, pawing at underwear with reckless abandon. “Must be Christmas,†he grinned nauseatingly, and the nearby Engineer smacked him over the head lovingly with his wrench. “Give it ‘ere, ya pest.†The Engineer found some official-looking papers within seconds and gave Scout a disapproving, if not downright malevolent, look before skim-reading it. “She’s legit. Sent ‘ere for training, or so it says ‘ere.†Chell wanted to scream. Why didn’t you look for those in the first place?! Spy looked monumentally unimpressed before levelling her with a condescending stare. “Well, consider zis your initiation then.â€
Spy's an ass heh. Thanks for the update!
"Say apple, apple" That made me baaaw! I can't wait for more.
A late-night post when I should in fact be doing coursework? SHAW THANG. ---------- Spy had left the room, and Chell, splayed across its floor, before the Demoman tentatively spoke. “Ah think ‘e fookin broke ‘er.†There was the sound of shifting feet and a foot nudged Chell’s side none too lightly, rolling her onto her back. She stared dimly into the strip lighting above her, wanting nothing more than to scream at these people. I never want to get up. Never let it be said that anyone ever cared about what Chell wanted. The Engineer leant over her and offered her a helping hand to get up, all animosity on his behalf apparently lost. She accepted it after a long enough pause to make things awkward, and hauled herself up to a standing position. Her legs were wobbly, like jelly, and she’d let go of the Engineer as quickly as possible, still unused to human contact of the positive kind. The Long Fall Boots’ heels made her totter comically as she was led out of the room and along a corridor, the Scout and Engineer in front of her, Scout stealing glances at her unashamedly. It took two minutes of uninterrupted silence before the Scout whirled around to face her, jabbing his bat into her ribcage threateningly. “Why the fuck ain’t ya talkin’ none?†He spat. “It’s creepin’ me the fuck out.†He looked to his friend for confirmation. “Tell ‘er, hardhat.†“Now, son,†the other man replied with all the patience and benevolence he could gather, “You can’t just make the lady speak. It ain’t how the world works. We ain’t exactly bein’ the best company ourselves, and we ain’t made the best first impressions neither.†The southerner wiped his hand clumsily on his overalls, smearing grease everywhere, before offering it to her for a handshake. “Name’s Engineer. You can call me Engie.†Chell eyed up the hand suspiciously before accepting it with a grimace. When her hand came away it was covered in oil; she quickly shook the Scout’s hand and smirked as she saw his bandages come away smeared black. “Now we’ve introduced ahselves,†the Scout pointed out rather redundantly. “Fuckin’ speak up already.†Chell rolled her eyes rather pronouncedly. Trust me, I would if I could. Instead, she tried her hand at something she’d learned over the past six months in speech therapy. The two men in front of her exchanged looks. “…The fuck is she doin’, Engie?†“Looks like-- Miss, can you talk?†Chell nearly cried from joy, although she couldn’t believe two men could be so slow. She shook her head violently. “Ah thought that looked kinda like the signals we use in battle, but… Well, nobody on base speak sign language, Miss, ‘cept maybe Pyro…†She shrugged. She was used to people not understanding her. Engineer reached out as if to clap her on the shoulder, before realising that her luggage was clasped firmly in his hand, so it fell to his side uncomfortably. They all stood in their inelegant triangle for a moment longer before Scout started fidgeting, eager to move on. Chell shared his exact sentiments. “Well,†the Engineer started again, after several more minutes of lazy walking. “Where would you like to head to first? Your room or the canteen?†Chell pondered for a moment, before looking down at her tummy anxiously, prodding it from the side, sighing. Just as she was about to signal she wanted a nap, the Engineer interrupted her. “Canteen it is.†She struggled against him as he pulled her arm in the direction that Scout had already headed off in, but he just pulled harder. “You ain’t nothin’ but skin and bones, son- I mean, miss. It ain’t right.†Chell flexed her free arm in front of him, as if to say, not just skin and bones – muscle too. “That ain’t nothin’, son.†The Engineer chuckled at her display before doing the same. “Check out those guns. Ought ta be illegal to be in possession of firearms of such high calibre.†Chell found herself smiling before she realised she was being pulled in the direction of the canteen once again. The Engineer’s gloved hand felt warm and unyielding tucked firmly into the crook of her elbow, and she realised she didn’t mind the feeling so much. Maybe eating wouldn’t be so bad. Ten minutes was all she needed to realise how wrong she’d been. Maybe the Engineer had been brought up well enough, had matured enough, to see past her gender, but the other men… Maybe it was her imagination making her feel that way, but she’d never felt more uncomfortable, more like a piece of meat, in her life. The stares… they weren’t necessarily hungry in that lustful, animal way, but they were still fully focused on her, with the intensity of a predator examining its prey. It threw her back to her time in Aperture – it may have been lacking a particular presence, but the pervading feeling of being watched remained. A soft touch on the elbow from Engineer anchored her in the real world, and she allowed herself to be pushed into a chair as he went off to find some form of sustenance for them. She allowed herself to be distracted by her thoughts, and only looked up when she noticed another person ease himself into the seat opposite hers. She stared at him, wide-eyed. He didn’t make any move to speak to her, instead plonking a bowl of stew down onto the table and fishing out an old porno mag from one of the pockets of his vest. She continued staring at him, eyes flickering between the front cover and his face. It was long, slightly sunburnt, and very annoyed. “Are you going to keep on staring at me or are you going to start mindin’ your own business?†She continued looking at him. He visibly shrunk under her gaze. “…I’m reading it for the articles, you wan—you.†She shrugged and was about to wave his excuses off, before Engineer came by, nearly dropping her bowl into her lap in shock when he saw her choice of company, and his choice of reading material. “Sniper, Ah don’t think tha’s exactly what y’all’d call appropriate ta read given present company.†Sniper scoffed. “I don’t follow.†“What I’m tryin’ ta say is that I think y’all should take your erotic lit-er-a-ture elsewhere. It’s not right ta read that in the presence of a lady.†“It’s not lit-er-a-ture, mate, it’s porn. And I don’t see this lady yer talking ‘bout. All I see is some impolite moron that won’t deign to even introduce her highness-†“She can’t speak.†“She what now?†“She can’t speak.†There was a long pause before Sniper broke it. “Well, fuck.â€
>>10 I laughed quite a bit at the end there. I look forward to this fic's further updates.
So far you're handling Chell's character quite nicely. Definitely looking forward to more!
Have another chapter. I should be working on my History right now. Instead, you get this. It sucks. LOL WTF IS ACTION And thanks for the input, people. For my first fic on this chan I can live pretty happily on two comments per chapter. WORTH IT. -------- A brief silence fell over the canteen. Tumbleweed may have rolled in and back out of the room during this time. It would have been appropriate. Chell saw this moment of peace as an opportunity to dig into her stew, and did so voraciously. It was only when she heard muttering behind her that she stopped and turned in her seat slowly to face the perpetrator. It was the Spy. She stared him in the eye and cocked her head at him, shrugging, as if to say, excuse me? The violent, jerky movement seemed to startle the Spy and he spat back at her, indignant, “You don’t belong on ze battlefield, especially not wiz us.†She sighed and rolled her eyes, having expected nothing less. She turned to the Engineer, and held out her hand flat, miming writing on it with the other. He nodded and rummaged in his utility belt. Chell couldn’t help but notice during the delay that none of her teammates were leaping up to defend her. It’s not that she’d expected them to, as such, but the blatant rejection stung her slightly with a sense of… almost nostalgia for that robotic voice. Which was retarded. It figures, she thought, amused, that instead of Daddy issues, I’d get… GLADoS issues. She wasn’t allowed much time to reminisce, as before long the Engineer was pressing an overly long piece of drafting paper into her hands along with a mechanical pencil. She nodded her thanks before turning to scribble on the table. Seconds later she shoved the paper in the Spy’s face. “Why?†he sneered, as if the question itself was preposterous. “Did you really just ask me zat? I only ask because I could not read zat chicken scratch you call handwriting!†He guffawed in that quintessentially French way before continuing. “For one, you’re a woman, and zat’s grounds enough. But eef you’re asking for anozzer reason? You’re mute, and as our dearest Solly over zere tells us every day, teamwork is ze way to win ze war. ‘Ow can we ‘ope to work wiz a teammate we cannot communicate wiz?†Chell snatched back the piece of paper, baring her teeth, and hunched over it again for a solid half minute before she handed it back. It was a crudely drawn sketch of a man in a gas mask. “Ze Pyro?†The Spy smirked at her as the rest of the team looked on. “We can understand him perfectly.†“Mm nph hvphnng nnee phhf mff fphh.†“…Besides, ‘e actually makes a valuable contribution to ze team.†Chell didn’t need paper to convey her sentiments. Her middle finger did the job perfectly. She snatched the paper back anyway, writing one last thing before stalking out of the room dramatically. I can shoot a gun and run with the best of them – I don’t expect you to like me but I do expect you to teach me, like I was sent here for. Spy narrowed his eyes and crumpled up the paper in his hand maliciously, before addressing the room. “Gentlemen,†he said, “I still find zis highly suspicious. I will be talking to HQ immediately – I imagine zis shall be resolved within moments.†With that, he stalked out. It was less than an hour later that Spy walked back into the canteen looking far less pompous than before. A rather drunk Demoman sidled up to him within minutes and sat next to him staring into the depths of his bottle of Scrumpy. “Wot got yer knickers in a twist?†The Spy stared at his hands. “…She is set to stay here for ‘as long as eet takes’.†“Takes ter wot?†“To win, monsieur. To win.†“…Fookin’ ‘ell.†“Indeed.†Demo stared at his bottle of Scrumpy again, forlorn, before offering it to the Spy. He accepted it with only the smallest of grimaces. “I never thought I’d see ze day… Not only have zey employed zis… Untrained… Woman, but zey are also sending along new weapons for ‘er! On zee next supply train, no less!†Demo barked out a laugh at this. “Is that wot this is all about, lad? A bit o’ weapon enveh?†“Of course not!†Spy snapped. “I just- wait a minute. Demoman, what exactly are you doing in ze canteen anyway?†“Ah.†The Demoman looked somewhat abashed. “Ah cannae stand up long enough tae get ter me room.†Spy sighed and grumbled at this good-naturedly, but nonetheless hooked one of his arms around the other man, hauled him to his feet and started walking him to his room. Demo smiled at him crookedly. “Ach, Ah always noo yeh was a good person at ‘art.†Spy chuckled. “Don’t let ze others know,†he sighed dramatically. “Eet’s a very well-kept secret.â€
Poor Chell. I'd want her on my team!
I love the story! Chell is an amazing character and the way you make her interact with the team is genius. I was just reading the Portal comics, and on her test subject review which I thought would be cool to share: "Test subject is abnormally stubborn. She never gives up. Ever."
This fic is everything I have fantasized would happen when a woman comes into the TF2 world. I love your character realizations, and I hope to see more of Demo - he is so under represented in fanfic. I love how Chell is so strong and doesn't take any crap from the much bigger and stronger men but I can also visualise her pretty face sitting at the table with 'what the fuck do you want?!' written all over it (perhaps directed at Scout!). Best wishes with the rest of this fic - It gives me quite a lot to think about when i go to bed at night!
THERE WILL BE BLOOD. i'm on my period. EVENTUALLY. sorry, that was gross. Have some cute stuff. I guess. ------------ There was no doubt about it – Chell was lost. Stalking out of the kitchen had been all well and good dramatically speaking, but when it came to reality… She looked around her once again. Yep, definitely lost. It had been, what, half an hour since she’d walked out? Someone would definitely pass by her soon and she could nonchalantly ask whoever came along for directions, as casual as you like. …Who was she kidding? The corridor she was in seemed endless, and was entirely empty. It wasn’t that she didn’t like being alone – quite to the contrary – but at the moment she’d much prefer to get to her room, collapse onto her (hopefully comfy) bed, and sleep into the early hours of the afternoon. Instead, she got a mumbling person in a red jumpsuit very similar to hers. “Hrh, rehd!†The sound of squeaking rubber echoed through the hall along with the padding of, if not tiny, smaller-than-usual feet. Chell spun around to look at the person as they approached; it was the one from earlier, who she’d drawn for Spy… the Pyro, she thought he was called. Not that she’d ever be able to use his name in conversation, but still… it was the principle of the thing. It was those exact same principles that made her smile at the Pyro, no matter how disturbing she found the reflective lenses on his gas mask, or how much the squeaking that suit gave off was already annoying her. She waved at him when he was near, and he gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Rhh hhuu rhhhd?†Chell stared at him for a moment, trying to decipher his speech, before shrugging apologetically and clasping a hand around her ear. The Pyro wasn’t fazed, and if he looked it then the mask hid it entirely. “Hhu, hukka.†The Pyro reached behind him, into a pocket or bag or something on his back – what, exactly, she could not see – to pull out that same piece of construction paper from before. It was crinkled and torn in places, but the writing was still clear enough. The Pyro unravelled it slightly, smoothing out one particular area. It was the sketch she’d drawn of him earlier, and next to it a small heart was thickly pencilled in. She smiled at him, pushing some of her errant hair behind her ear, before signalling again for a pencil. He gave her another thumbs up before reaching behind him again. He came out with a slightly singed chopstick, which he held under the pilot light on his flamethrower for a moment. He pressed it against the paper to demonstrate that it worked, and it left behind a thick, smudgy trail – the same one from the heart on the paper – before pressing it into her hand. She grinned at him again before getting to writing. You liked that? She wrote, an arrow pointing to the little sketch, receiving another thumbs up in reply. Really? It’s not very good… The Pyro crossed his arms in mock anger, and she grinned, waving her arms signalling her surrender. She turned to the wall to write against it, and shoved the paper into the Pyro’s hands moments later. This is kinda embarrassing, but I have no idea where my room is… or any of my stuff. She didn’t need to be able to understand the Pyro to know that he was laughing at her. Hard. Chell crossed her arms, only half angry. The other half was embarrassed. Terribly so. Anyway, the Pyro didn’t seem malicious in his intent, unlike some of the other men here, so she settled for just rolling her eyes and clicking her tongue at him to hurry up. The Pyro eventually calmed down enough to stand properly, and he chucked a thumb over his shoulder, beckoning with his other hand for her to follow him. She did, and after a few minutes of walking the Pyro snuck his hand very sneakily through the crook of her arm under the guise of pulling her along. She didn’t find she minded very much, and sneakily snuck a bit closer to him, grinning as she noticed him look up at her, and then, as soon their eyes (probably) met, swiftly look away. They arrived at her room too quickly, and the Pyro tore himself from her side reluctantly. She found herself missing the feeling of warm, vaguely slippery plastic, likening it to the familiar caress of the portal gun. “Mrrr, whh ihh huur wmmm.†The Pyro’s voice distracted her from her feelings of nostalgia, and she took a moment to memorise where the room was before moving forward to push the door open. It did so reluctantly, with a pronounced creak. The Pyro winced, and she looked apologetic, before stepping in and pausing for a moment. What the hell, she thought, I’ve got to make friends of these people, not enemies. With that thought in mind, she stepped aside slightly, shrugging and throwing her head backwards, inviting the Pyro in.
There must be something wrong with me, because I'm seeing shipping hints with every single male Chell has a significant amount of interaction with (barring the Sniper).
>>18 OH GOD. That's probably my fault, but I'm not meaning to portray them as being romantically involved. It's more meant to be a kind of detached interest due to the fact that she's different. Besides, I've always seen Engineer as being very well-bred and proper, and Pyro's a girl real cutie so that'd be why. Trust me, I'm planning on pairing her with anyone, let alone everyone... ohgodnowimanxiousaboutthis
>>19 hey don't worry about it! Sometimes in life people think they see a spark or something and it simply isn't there. Just keep writing and it'll turn out the way it turns out.
>>20 asdfghjkl; thanks for that anxiety issues suck ass, every time I do ANYTHING it's like MY PERSONAL EVEREST if that makes sense. Pressing enter shouldn't be so hard. Also >>19 6 o'clock in the morning typos; read that as "I'm not planning on pairing her with anyone, let alone everyone". There ya go, misunderstanding solved. Now, to press enter.
/squeak This is so great! I'm really looking forward to seeing where this goes. Please keep writing!
Can I- can I just? This is awesome! I'm absolutely loving this story. And you made me learn what dimercaptosuccinic acid was for. I love when stories make me learn stuff. And the little hits to her having PTSD (not sure if intentional?) and then the portal references and the team being a bunch of dicks or awkwardly helpful and almost cautious but not coddling her is just gahfahglawgsyjgf. Its brilliant.
>>23 Oh, man, I was psyched for an update, too. Y U NO SAGE?!
Oh my. You have been waiting a while. Thanks for all your support, you amazing people. Believe it or not I was looking down here and then I was like "WTF is my fic doing at the top of the fanfic board? I didn't update, did I?" and then I got really worried that I might've updated with something really bad while I was drunk last night and it turns out that people are actually wanting to read my crappy writings! Fancy that. AND LO, the fans did say "LET THERE BE MOAR" and the author replied, "NO. LET THERE BE FILLER." -------- The pyro hadn’t accepted her invitation, which she was, in a way, grateful for, as she’d settled into her room and fallen to sleep within minutes. The room was homier than an Aperture Science Relaxation Vault, and the bed more comfortable too. It had only been half an hour ago that she’d woken up, but stood in the kitchen confronted with a hungry team that seemed like but a distant memory. As she entered the kitchen, she felt, like last time, the hungry stares of a roomful of men on her back, and she whirled around to face them, hands in the air. Chell clicked her tongue in disbelief – they didn’t honestly expect her to cook for them, did they? She ignored them all, opting instead to sit down in the one free space at the table, armed with nothing but a glass of water, where she proceeded to make aggressive eye contact with the spy sat opposite her, until a man dressed in a lab coat stood up and offered to cook breakfast. The team seemed more or less amenable to this, and as the man busied himself cooking the team settled into a comfortable conversation. The latest edition of “Guns and Buzz-cuts†– the earlier “Guns and Haircuts†being discontinued in the mid-80s – the running score of the base and the next supply train were the main points of the conversation that she heard, the last issue only really being brought to her attention due to the fact that it led to Soldier shouting within spitting distance of her face (something which also occurred copiously) about something or other being shipped in especially for her in a week or so. She honestly lost the plot of what he was saying a few times due to him just being so darn loud and ended up nodding inanely to his diatribe, a tactic she had witnessed many other members of the group utilise with the soldier previously. It did seem to placate him, however, as at the end of his speech he clapped her firmly on the back before about-facing and marching out of the room. The blank look she directed at the table afterwards earned her a few laughs until the man she’d found out to be named “Medic†took pity on her and summarised the conversation from the stove. Apparently she was to report immediately to the training room-cum-shooting gallery to begin intensive training. She stared longingly in the direction of the stove, the smell of intensely non-German bacon and pancakes wafting towards her, but she somehow managed to force herself up and walking in the direction of the training room. She probably shouldn’t eat anyway. LOL HOW THE FUCK DO I FORMAT A PAGE BREAK She’d had no clue where the training room was, but ended up finding it 30 minutes later. The base was predictable in layout, even if it was not familiar, which – while useful for her – seemed to be a blatant strategic flaw on behalf of RED… Soldier was fuming. “Listen up, maggot!†he screamed in her face, specks of spittle spattering her cheeks as she cringed away from him. “When I give you an order, I expect that order to be carried out to a tee. Do you understand me?!†He jabbed her in the chest with a single, accusing finger. “I don’t expect you to be sitting on your ass eating to your heart’s content, sister! This is not the Girl Scouts!†Chell stared at Soldier incredulously before pulling away slightly and nodding. Seemingly spurred on by this, Soldier began pacing thoughtfully as he spoke. “As punishment for this… You’re going to have a handicap imposed on you during your training!†Chell was torn between questioning whether this would just hinder her development as a member of the team, and wondering whether Soldier ever spoke in sentences that weren’t punctuated by exclamation marks. She settled for rolling her eyes, albeit discreetly. She doubted Soldier could see her anyway with his helmet obscuring his vision as it did. Soldier was still speaking, and she tried to listen in and actually absorb what he was saying rather than just let it wash over her. “…And while admittedly HQ did tell me that this was a crucial part in your training anyway, this seemed like as good a reason as any to implement…†Nope. Completely lost.
Anon >>24 here. I love you so much. alsoiwanttoreadyourdrunkenwritings Oh, Soldier. You so crazy. And your Medic is so kind! It's odd to see that. Though I'm waiting for the day that he flips over Aperture. You've got to keep in touch with the science-y news with that job.
>>26 Glad you like it. One of these days I'll write a massive, 10 page long chapter like you deserve and it will be amazing....But not today. And yeah, Medic. IDK, man, I don't like portraying characters as everyone tends to automatically. Like, you read one prominent fic where someone shows someone as having this trait, and suddenly that's headcanon for everyone. Meh. As for drunken writings, maybe one day, but not today. My liver is crying at the thought of it.
I'm glad I'm not the only one that has trouble hearing people who yell. I wonder what kind of weapons she's getting. I have an idea though.
I'm interested in this fic. Any hope for an update any time soon?
Oh, please update this! It's perfect in every single way!
I'm going to say 'thanks' this time to whomever bumped this, because I hadn't seen it before. But please, do mind your saging.
This is the first Portal/TF2 crossover I have ever seen, and I am eagerly awaiting more.
Y'know, why are people having a go at people who don't sage? When I was new, I didn't know you had to and had people moaning at me. Correct me wrong, but there's nothing in the rules though about it. Why is this?
I know I',m not "having a go" at the person who bumped this board before I first posted; I'm just asking that he or she remember to sage next time they post in an older thread. If I were having a go at that person, I'd be a lot bitchier about it. But, I'm not the kind of person to blow up at someone for what's possibly a first-time offense. Anyways. It's asked that people sage when they post in an inactive thread because, when most of the other visitors check the boards and see an older title high on the list, they tend to assume it's actually been updated. And if they think that, they tend to get excited about it. And then when they find out there IS no actual update... well, there you go. It's a courtesy for the other readers (and to the author as well, so he/she doesn't find the thread locked later). As to why it's not in the rules... that's a good question. Perhaps it should be added in.
Since this is already up near the top, I'd like to say that I would like more of the story. Please Lemons?
Ask and sometimes ye shall receive. ------- And so the next few days passed in a pattern of misogyny, social exclusion and training. Chell couldn’t say she minded the peace and quiet. It was, after all, what she was accustomed to, as was the feeling of being constantly watched while simultaneously ignored. After the first day with its initial interrogation and subsequent social failures on her part the team had by and large left her alone. The man who called himself Solider, and whose voice she still heard echoing through the halls from across the complex, excused himself from her training after loading her up with a rucksack full of rubble and telling her to go about her business as usual. Press-ups, chin-ups and jogging all received the treatment of soldier’s expert training regimen, but by the end of the customary long weekend the team would get to meet and bond with new members, Chell was officially tuckered out. For the love of balls, Chell thought to herself exasperatedly, it’s only been two days. Keep it together… She was currently in her room splayed across the bed idly cleaning underneath her fingernails. She’d awoken early, or maybe not slept at all. She didn’t particularly know, or care. Her teammates weren’t awake yet, or so she assumed; the sun was just brimming over the dusty horizon and the sky was tinged with oranges, pinks and already a dusky cerulean. Sunday. Tomorrow would be the day of her first match, and today she got her first weapon. Her back already ached from its heavy weight, and as she stood up and ambled out of the room to look for some form of sustenance she rubbed at it futilely. Leers met her in the kitchen. She looked around her, and then down, shrugging violently when she realised what the Scout – of course it was the Scout – was staring at. What?! She gestured at him angrily. Never seen a girl stick her chest out before? Something in her face must’ve shown, because the Scout’s face paled significantly and he started spitting out apologies like never before. She waved him off with a roll of her eyes, and, retrieving a glass of water from the kitchen on the way, went to sit at the table opposite him. Despite all the young boy’s bragging, he didn’t seem comfortable being around her in just his boxers, and, noticing this, she stared at him, raising her eyebrows suggestively until he cringed into submission. Victorious, she nursed her water for a while. The Scout stared demurely into his bowl of corn flakes with a growing flush of anger on his cheeks. Taking pity on him, Chell tapped the table with a stubby fingernail until he looked up, tapping on her wrist when he finally did. “Yeah, what?†the Scout snapped at her irritably. Chell frowned and tried to mime out her question slightly better. She tapped first on her wrist and peered at it, before making a gun with her hands and pretending to shoot the Scout between the eyes. She finally shrugged to show it was a question and looked at him hopefully. Thankfully, that hope was not unfounded. “Aww, man. We playin’ Charades, sweetheart?†Chell rolled her eyes, and then nodded reluctantly. Whatever works, I guess. “Frickin’ sweet. Me and my brothers used ta play this all the time – every day it was rainin’ an’ we couldn’t cause havoc in the street. So, yeah. Come at me.†She repeated the sequence. “…Something about a watch… and a gun. You wanna know when we start matches?†If Chell could have groaned, she would’ve. “I believe, my incompetent friend, that the lady,†¬– the intruder rolled the word around on his tongue like a dirty word ¬– “Meant to ask when the train comes in, and therefore her weapon.†“Christ, Spy!†Chell had to admit that watching the boy jump out of his skin was nearly as, if not more, interesting than watching the spy appear out of thin air. “Warn a fella before you pull a stunt like that – I think I shat a brick!†Scout saw Chell and paled again. “I mean– Not, a literal brick. A figurative one.†“So it was a literal shit, then?†Spy asked candidly. Scout roared with rage and jumped out of his chair, dashing after the fast retreating Frenchman. The room was empty once more. Without anyone watching her, Chell felt free to ditch the water and dig into a plate of bacon in privacy, and still left before the clock hit seven. Then a shower. Push-ups. Chin-ups. Jogging. Breakfast turned into lunch, which she skipped. Morning turned into afternoon, which she did not. When the sun began to burn she jumped fully clothed into the open sewer (which she was relatively sure was clean, and if it wasn’t it still couldn’t be much more deadly than the Aperture water which had left burns and eczema and itchy rashes where she’d fallen in a few times) and did laps. The air was so unnaturally quiet today. The past few days she’d been able to hear her teammates from all corners of the base, shouting, laughing, shooting. Now all she could hear was the melancholy keening of her companion cube floating towards her sporadically on the breeze, and a distant honking sound. A- she shot up from her floating position and promptly began flailing as she lost her balance in the water and her ever-present long-fall boots got confused. That must be the train! She stayed silent and still, the only sound the quiet lapping of the water as she listened for the horn again. Within minutes, it honked once more, and closer. She paddled her way to the bank of the sewer-pond and sprinted in the vague direction of the sound, boots squelching all the way. Somehow she found her way to the base train station just as the train was pulling in, and when she arrived she found the rest of the team camped out underneath the red and white-striped awning on the platform, with loungers and glasses of patriotic red-grapefruit-ade. As she’d find out later, the supply train was essentially a free-for-all, so on the days it came every member of the team camped out on the track early, hoping for a spot closer to the door to get to the better ammo, better weapons, better food, better entertainment. Neither did she know how strange it was to get a weapon sent for a particular person, requiring a signature no less. Most of the team’s personal weapons – such as the Pyro’s flamethrowers or the engineers tools – were either homemade or undesirable to other classes, so the team was understandably confused when a person – an actual live person, armed with a clipboard and everything – came out of the train and offered the weedy new girl on the team the biggest crate anyone had ever seen on one of these things in exchange for a signature. Chell signed away as the man described the gun’s conditions to her, explaining that this was a contract rather than a proof of receipt. Nobody else is to use this gun, he impressed upon her, for your safety, and theirs. Not for the company’s liability at all. Chell didn’t believe him to begin with, but when she picked up the crate, which was about 3 foot squared and conspicuous to begin with, its weight made her even more suspicious. Her knees buckled underneath her slightly, and she carefully dropped the crate on the floor. The man raised his eyebrow at her, but in sympathy rather than mocking. “You’d better take that out and put it on. It’s easier to handle that way.†I sincerely doubt that, she grumbled to herself, but smiled at the man anyway as he seemed friendly enough. She looked at him imploringly as she gripped the wood with her fingernails, hoping for a crowbar. The man looked apologetic as he shrugged his shoulders, and Chell furrowed her brow. The lid of the crate was swiftly ripped off in a blur, and Chell looked up in surprise only to see the hefty Russian man who’d restrained her earlier that week. A small smile graced his face, making him look even more terrifying than before, as it was one not of kindness but anticipation. It became clear to her as she looked around that the rest of the team was looking forward to seeing her new weapon as much as the Heavy was – none of them had even looked at the contents of the other crates, instead staring at hers – and Chell peered down into the box.
There are two options that I can take here, depending on what the weapon is: If it's a portal gun, I can whine about the lack of originality. If it isn't, I can whine about how the 'Portal' aspects of the fic are practically negligible, since the most important thing is missing. I'm joking, of course. But I'm suspecting it's a portal gun, anyways, considering how he talked about 'putting it on'. Anyways, hoping the next update comes soon, because leaving us on the edge of a cliff like that is just mean. But it's nice to see you back. *toasts*
Oh you, leaving us on that little cliffhanger. I am quite amused by the thought of all these grown, battle-hardened men crowding around, as though children on Christmas day, to see what she got. Though all signs point to portal gun, I could see a disappointment from Chell leading to hilarity or perhaps even envy on the part of the men if she got a superior weapon in their eyes.
This is wonderful. I can't wait for more! I'm especially looking forward to seeing how Chell handles herself in the first battle.
While I can still be bothered to write... ahahahah what is action. I'm getting there, I promise. ---------- What… “…The fuck is this?†The team sounded about as confused as Chell felt as she peered into the newly opened crate. It was filled to the brim with… she didn’t know what. Bouncy balls? They looked plasticky; she supposed they were meant to be packaging for the gun underneath, and nearly slapped her forehead when she realised it. Scooping some of them to the side – they felt weird under her fingers and oddly sticky – she dug around for her weapon deeper in the box, almost bending over fully at the waist before her fingers grazed cold metal. Just as she curled her fingers around this thing’s shaft, a loud popping noise from behind startled her. Her head whipped around, and the Heavy shifted sheepishly in his place. It seemed he’d stepped on one of the plastic balls, and it’d split open, spraying the area with white goo. Strange… Just as she was about the pull the weapon she’d managed to grasp out of the crate, the man from before, who’d momentarily retreated back into the train, re-emerged at just the right time to prolong the tension of the moment for everyone involved, holding a sheath of paper in his hand. “Contractually, you’re supposed to read this manual before you use the device.†He coughed again as she shifted her gaze between the proffered manual and his face before snatching it from his hands venomously. The rest of the team visibly sagged and set about scouring the train for boxes that hadn’t been marked with a big stamped X – the default sign that a box was reserved for a member of the team – while Chell sat down in one of the abandoned lawn chairs and thumbed open the hefty tome and started to read the first page. Congratulations astronaut, war hero and/or Olympian! Oh no… The simple fact that you're standing here reading this means you've already decided to make a glorious contribution to Science! You were chosen for testing because we want the best and you are it. The manual fell to the floor from her suddenly limp hands as she levered herself out of the chair and stalked to the crate, already knowing, yet dreading, what she would find there. It took most of her energy to lift it out, but eventually the rubber and steel behemoth was released from the crate and dropped to the floor, where she regarded it, unamused. What kind of sick joke…? It was big and clunky, and rusting along its incredibly visible seams of welding. The nozzle was cracked and yellowing, inflexible rubber. It was a portal gun, but unlike anything she’d ever handled personally. In fact, if she hadn’t read a poster advertising the precursor to the Handheld Portal Device in the depths of Aperture itself, she wouldn’t have been able to recognise it as such. Indignant, she aimed a weak kick at the offensive piece of machinery and crossed her arms angrily at the man from the train. “You’re… you’re supposed to read the manual.†She threw up her middle finger to show the man exactly what she thought of the manual. Some member of the team heckled her from the inside of the train, and she promptly gave them the finger as well. The man from the train coughed. “I, uh, suppose that you could just read the gameplay section? They shoved a few loose papers in there...†Seeing that the man wasn’t going to leave until she’d at least given the manual a cursory flip-through, she exaggeratedly rolled her eyes, stalked to the thick, yellowing book, picked it up by its spine and shook it. Several papers fell out, and she picked them up, raising an eyebrow to the man who shook his head exasperatedly at her. She picked them up and began to read. To our newest mercenary, Welcome to the wonderful world of Mann Co machinery. This one isn’t technically ours, but damned if we haven’t had a finger in every pie since the beginning of time, and a few spies too. We smuggled this baby out of Aperture Science Industries before we lost all contact with them in the 80s, and before they stopped allowing test subjects to take home merchandise as part payment. Apparently those darn hippies they hired couldn’t be trusted with this kind of stuff, and now we’re giving it to you despite that long hair of yours. Just a reminder: standard issue buzz-cuts are complimentary when you’re a member of RED, you filthy hippie. From the desk of Saxton Hale Dictated but not read There was a bit of creasing and smudging for a few lines below where the paper had obviously been pulled out of the typewriter and rewound through, although why anyone would use a typewriter in this day and age confused Chell deeply. She read on, regardless. P.S. Have fun with the bouncy balls of paint. Chell stared at the paper for a moment, vaguely enraged. The longer she looked the lower her anger simmered until finally she ripped the letter in two with an air of finality. Deep breaths. Breathe. You’re locked into a contract. There’s nothing you can do but go with the flow. Unsurprisingly these thoughts did not make her feel much better, but they instilled her with a sense of resignation. At least they’re paying you for this, she reminded herself. Which is more than those bastards at Aperture could say. She looked for the other sheet of paper, which had floated some feet away from her. Another teammate had reached it first, and was already reading it. “Well, what do we have here?†The engineer had unfolded the sheet and was now scrutinising it through screwed up eyes, goggles on the brim of his hard hat. Chell sidled up behind him and tried to read over his shoulder, but the engineer coveted the sheet away, turning the corner away from her. “It sure ain’t often something come for me in the post, miss, and if you don’t mind, I’ll be havin’ the first look.†Just as Chell was about to tear it from his hands (she’d never had the most stable of tempers) she saw, printed in red ink in the corner, a stamp with the Engineer’s rank emblazoned on it. She nudged the man’s side with her elbow and screamed out please with every inch of her body language. The Engineer just looked at her, sighed, and held out a corner of the sheet of paper for her to grasp, muttering about darned Southern hospitality the whole time. Chell smiled at him, even though he was already absorbed in the paper once more, and looked at them herself. It was a blueprint. Or… a recipe? She read down the list of ingredients. Clear suspension gel (formula below; 5 parts), acrylic acid emulsifier (2 parts), crushed moon rocks (2 parts). …Well, at least now she knew what the balls were for.
Um, wow. I'm kicking myself for not clicking on this sooner. Seriously, this story's...absolutely wonderful. Keep going, please!
I can't wait to see how this works in battle. Thank you for resuming this. Really.
Got a fifth of vodka (that's what you call it over there in ye olde US of A, right?) and started writing. Because, like, whatever, I do what I want. Ahahahahahah I like to think I'm funny, but deep down I know I'm not. Next chapter they will FINALLY GO INTO BATTLE. I have the mechanics down and everything - I thought this through and it will be awesome if I can do it justice. UNTIL THEN. (Also please do give me any and all advice you can about writing because I suck so badly and need all the help I can get.) ----- “Da fuck is this thing, sweet cheeks?†the scout, eloquent as always, asked her from a few metres away as he circled the forgotten portal gun. If it could be called a gun, being as large as it was. “Looks kinda like your medigun, Doc, come look.†A harassed-looking man in a lab coat and glasses looked over from his position pawing around in a crate. “I certainly hope zey aren’t thinking of replacing me,†he called over to the scout. Another potential reason for animosity; another glare Chell’s way. The scout was doing his best to sneak closer to the machine, but Chell, who was having none of it, elbowed him viciously in the side and shielded the machine from him almost jealously. On impulse, she’d later think to herself, wondering why she even cared about the portal gun after all she’d been through. Or maybe reflexes. As many scrapes as the portal gun had gotten her into indirectly, it had gotten her out of all of them as well. Almost on autopilot, she crouched down in front of the machine and stroked its scarred surface all but reverently, reminiscing. Startled by a cough, she twisted her head around to see the scout, and some of the other mercenaries, eyeing her up strangely. “You…†The Scout coughed again. “You two want a room, pal?†Chell rolled her eyes and stood up quickly, bending over to swing the stupid thing onto her back in the hopes that she’d actually be able to transport it. Along the way, she’d evidently underestimated its weight and barely managed to throw it over her shoulder before one of her knees gave out, leaving the machine, and herself, to clatter to the floor where she stretched out her leg, face screwed up against the threat of a cramp. The mercenaries were unimpressed. “I cannot believe they sent this incompetent-†the Spy managed to eke out before he stopped, resignedly burying his head in his hands in a – Chell thought – inappropriately melodramatic reaction. “We are going to lose everything we ‘ave worked for in this war!†The objectionable man in the hunting jacket from earlier that weekend had sidled up to the Frenchman and was now awkwardly trying to console him. “Awww, come on, Spy, it’s not so bad.†While the rest of the team seemed rather uninterested in Chell since the grand unveiling, the Medic had stepped closer to her and looked down his glasses at her with an expression of politely vague interest. “Fraulein, if I may,†he began, “Would you mind if I had a look at your…†Chell waved her arms at him, trying to let him know that actually, I’m fine, I just stood on my foot wrong – you don’t need to- “…Interesting machine there?†the medic finished, looking at her askance. Of course they weren’t interested in her wellbeing. She waved at him to please, do, and wondered, exasperated, why she had expected anything less. She wasn’t used to feeling weak – compared to everyone she knew (even if those numbers weren’t especially expansive) she was a paragon of fitness. She yanked her leg into one last stretch, glaring angrily at her ankle for giving out on her in these damnable high-heeled boots, and stood up. With nothing left to do, she watched as the medic poked and prodded, hummed and hawed, and eventually called the Engineer over to come look as well. They exchanged more words as Chell got increasingly bored. As her mind wandered she could still hear the Sniper try to calm down the Spy (“Listen, mate, I love you but you’re having a bit of a paddy right now.†“I am not having a bit of a paddy, Sniper, I worked too hard to let this girl sabotage everything I worked for…â€), and the scout had apparently enlisted the little rubber-suited man to help him harass the heavy-set Russian – a dangerous endeavour at the best of times. Chell amused herself by watching the big man take the abuse good-naturedly. Minutes later, the two resurfaced from the machine and exchanged meaningful looks. “Interesting…†“Yes, I thought so too.†Chell, who had been playing catch with one of the balls shrugged at them as if to say what?! The engineer looked at her sheepishly and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, I can’t make hide or hair of it.†Had Chell possessed the proper functions in her temporal lobe to speak, she might’ve laughed in his face, or screamed I could have told you that! As it was, she settled for a wry smile. “It’s a very strange design, zat’s for sure,†the Medic continued on from the Engineer. “It looks similar to mine in some ways, but much bigger, and zere is no über…†He trailed off and looked at her uncertainly. “You’re sure it has no medical capacity?†Chell nodded. Quite sure. The Medic visibly became less hostile and smiled a little, tipping his hat to her as he wandered off to earmark a case of German import beer. The Engineer, on the other hand, stayed put, and even sidled up closer to Chell now the rest of the team was occupied. “Hey,†he grinned, vaguely sinister with half of his face hidden by his goggles. “I showed you mine,†– he waved the blueprints from earlier in the air a few centimetres in front of her face – “so how ‘bout you now show me yours?†Chell’s face remained carefully blank. He was going to have to beg, in order to make up for the last few days on site. “You know,†the Engineer mumbled even quieter, “Like a demonstration?†Scout’s amazing sense of hearing tuned into this one word in much the same way as he’d instantly know when and where someone had opened a can of Bonk if he was within a 50 metre radius. “A demonstration? Sweet. You gonna show us your moves, girl?†This loud proclamation seemed to snap Spy straight out of his little huff, and he was once again sneering at her. “Your moves? Oh,†he laughed snidely. “This I would like to see.†Chell sneered, even more nastily, in return and – carefully this time ¬– hoisted the Aperture Science Portable Quantum Tunneling Device (as it had etched into the side) onto her back, fastening it with a series of nasty clicks as she ratcheted the harness into place. Finally, she looked for a switch or a button to turn the machine on (rusted over and hidden inside the gun’s hand alcove) and with only a small moment of hesitation flicked it on. Or tried. It took several tries thanks to the build-up of rust and sticky gunk (either repulsion gel or a mixture of blue paint and pulverised body parts – probably both) but it eventually flicked on with a screech of metal and a deep, ominous rumbling emanating from the pack. “What on Earth-“ The Aussie didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as a terrifying shudder rocked the earth. “THE FUCK WAS THAT?!†Chell trembled slightly and stared wide-eyed at the rest of the team. A tinny voice came from the machine’s handheld attachment, and Chell stared at it even more. “Caroline? Is this darned thing recording?†“Let me just check, Mr. Johnson. Yes sir, Mr. Johnson – ready and recording!†“Right then, pre-recorded messaging: go. Welcome to Aperture Science Innovators, astronaut, war hero or Olympian! You’re here because-“ Oh, come on, come on, hurry up, she urged it, once again staring wide-eyed at the rest of the mercenaries who for once were as silent as she was. “Start-up sta- wait, Caroline, will you take this over for me? I need to take a slash. I’ve been peeing gasoline all day. I thought it was supposed to be blood we were turning into gasoline.†“…Yes, sir, Mr. Johnson… It was, Mr. Johnson.†The conversation faded out slightly, and Chell shook the gun frantically and held it closer to her ears to hear it over the increasing rumbling. She was vaguely aware of the Spy freaking out again in the background, as well as the rest of the team becoming increasingly agitated, but all she could do was listen to the message. “Start-up status-report on Mr. Johnson’s behalf. Black hole: online.†“Black… hole?!†Chell held the device closer to her ear than ever and glared in the team’s direction. The rumbling was physically shaking the earth now, and she could see why. There was a crackle – Chell was worried the message had cut out – but it returned with another message, obviously recorded at a different time. “Cooling fan: offline. Please retreat to nearest safe distance. In case of implosion, look directly at implosion.†This doesn’t help me at all! She wanted to scream at the indignity, but the rest of the team was doing enough of that for her already, as the rumbling got steadily more violent. “Black hole: destabilising.†Chell flailed in anger and distress. The portal device smacked into the wall. Everything went quiet.
Author's Note I forgot to add: If you're like "wtf is she talking about black hole" this is a quote from the portal wiki: According to the Aperture Investment Opportunity #4: Boots video, the ASHPD is powered by a miniature black hole, which is kept stable through the use of a cooling fan at the rear of the device. In case the black hole should begin to fail, two miniature German stick grenades, stored within the casing, can be used to restart it, by screwing them into two small holes in the device. Should the fan fail, the device should be disassembled to retrieve the Event Horizon Estimation Wheel, which will determine the minimum safe distance to survive the resulting overload. The video, in case you haven't seen it (watch for the schematics of the portal gun and you'll see): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wX9Sc88qreg
I need to find some integrity. Or self-respect. Or writing ability. Urghh. ---- After a moment’s silence, Chell opened her eyes from where she’d reflexively cringed. The pack on her back began thrumming and sputtering again, but not as violently as before. “Cooling fan: Online. Black hole: Restabilising.†Her face was blank as she gathered herself together. The only thing that stopped the entire world imploding was her freaking out and hitting this piddly cooling fan into submission? I am a GOD. The pack on her back droned on, however, and refused to quieten down. She tried hitting that, but all she got for her efforts was a bruised fist. “Wait, wait, wait a minute.†The Scout was, naturally, the first to pick his jaw up off the ground. “You’ve got a black hole powerin’ your machine thing there?†Chell shrugged dispassionately. She’d never thought of the mechanics of her gun before, and never had any reason to turn it on or off. She’d never even known that was possible. Apparently powering up your own personal black hole was dangerous. “I’ve certainly never seen anything like it…†…And unusual. The Soldier, who had up until now been uncharacteristically quiet hoarding every scrap of ammunition he could find for himself, pulled himself out of one of the supply crates to put in his two cents. “That’s all well and good, but this is AMERICA, and in AMERICA we don’t just rely on fire-power! There are such things as WILL POWER, SPIRIT and PATRIOTISM.†He paused for a second as if he’d forgotten half his diatribe mid-speech. “Oh, and THE ABILITY TO AIM. And PHYSICAL ENDURANCE. And from what I’ve seen, you have NONE OF THIS.†He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them to push his helmet up just enough to judge her with his eyebrows, and then re-crossed them again. (His helmet fell down within seconds.) She spread her arms out to the side (or as far as they would go while still clutching onto the portal gun) aggressively as if to say ‘proof? I’ll give you proof’, or maybe even ‘come at me bro’. She cocked her head to show she meant business, or something, and then shot a portal at the wall from the hip. The portal rebounded off the wall in a blaze of sparks. Of course. Not everything in the world was painted with moon rocks… and she felt stupid for forgetting that. Unable to communicate her problems with the team, she watched as a range of expressions set in from amusement to despair. Vaguely panicked, she held up a single finger in the universal sign for ‘just give me a moment, guys, just one minute’. She thought for a second. The conversion gel paint balls! Simple! All she’d have to do was throw one at the wall… …It bounced back. Shiiit, this was embarrassing, and not going to plan at all. Okay, how to get the conversion gel to break on impact… While Chell was obviously lost in thought, the rest of the team muttered to themselves. “She’s gonna get us killed. And herself.†“Zis is ‘opeless! Will we never finish this damnable war?†“Maybe we should go in without the wee lass tomorrow? Give ‘er a chance to practice or summat?†“There will be NO coddling of my troops as long as I am commander-in-chief of this base, private!†“Who died and make you the boss, anyhow?†“I DID. MYSELF.†“Well that’s a load of bullcrap, old man, and you sure as hell kn-“ “Hudda!†“Oh whadisit, Py- wait, guys, what the hell is she doin’?†Mere metres away, the lady member on their team had somehow gotten a hold of the demoman’s grenade launcher and had raised it to shoulder-height. She turned around to face them with a grin, and aimed it as high as she could on the side of the base – a good three stories up – and pulled the trigger. The recoil made her stumble a little, but the team watched with something akin to horror as she scooped up another of the balls from the crate, shoved in into the barrel and shot it at the wall next to her, and another time at the base of the wall. The balls split on impact, painting the walls and some of Chell’s face with the white goop, much to the amusement of some of the less mature men. The portal gun hummed in anticipation as she grinned at the assembled team. Chell couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt as free as she did when there was a portal gun in her hands and the air beneath her feet. All she knew is that one minute she was standing in a puddle of white goo, and the next she’d shot a pair of portals and was flying through the air. The recoil on the old machine was terrible, and its reaction time even worse, but she still managed to fire another portal underneath her as she fell from the side of the building. Through that one, out the other; speedy thing goes in, speedy thing comes out. Needless to say, the rest of the RED team was suitably surprised when she flew from a hole three stories up their building, with no explanation as to how, straight over their heads and came out top from a collision with the ground. …For the most part, anyway. The heavy weight of the machine on her back did a number on her knees upon landing, but the Long Fall Boots had taken the brunt of the landing. Regardless of any pain, the finale to the performance was a big grin and middle fingers aplenty. The desert was silent but for the sound of her panting from adrenaline for a few moments. Silence was good; stunned silence even more so. “Well, that little BALLET act there was all well and good, but how is that FANCY FOOTWORK of yours going to HELP US on the BATTLEFIELD?!†…There is just no pleasing some people. With that, Chell turned around and began ambling back to her quarters. The sounds of excited chattering didn’t follow far behind her.
I wonder if Engie's going to be miffed that his teleporter might very well now be replaced.
Engie might be a bit predisposed working with Chell to build that schematic, which sounds like a recipe for perhaps...An Aperture Science Military-Grade Turret!