Subject 3281; Chell's Story

Icebreakers

The door to the sleeping room opened with a hiss, and the two stepped into a room that looked dangerously similar to their previous test chamber. Subject 3281 stepped into the room, and examined her surroundings. No camera, no screens, just a speaker above the door, and three dark gray walls, creating a box around the size of their sleeping room. The other wall, the wall to their left... She quickly turned her gaze from its oddly textured surface, and blotched appearance.

A small buzz of static. "Hello," said a human voice, "and welcome to phase three of your Co-operative Testing Initiative training. This phase is centered around team growth and trust." The voice seemed to sigh, as if beginning to take on the tired qualities that had marked its predecessor.

"As part of the procedure," the voice continued, "we can neither see, nor hear you in this room, and will not be allowed to communicate with you until your testing day is over." Subject 3281 looked to her partner who had thrown a glance her way as well. The voice continued with its instructions, and the two looked to the speaker on the wall behind them.

"Your directions for the day are as follows;" Subject 3281 shifted her weight, and stared at the speaker in silent concentration. "Co-operate, and learn."

Subject 3281 felt her eyebrows furrow as she tried to process this strange new message. Co-operate and learn? She needed to co-operate with this... this boy? Listen to him? Learn his name? His invariably sad—though probably informative—history? When had communication ever come before—or even during—testing? She had to admit that it made perfect sense however, as two people were generally more likely to trust each other if each had a feel for the other. Generally.

Subject 3281 let out an inaudible huff, took three steps to her right, and sat down on that side of the circular passage the two had just exited. The door closed behind them, and the lock turned from green to red with an audible, beep.

A small burst of static. "Begin assigned routine." A final buzz could be heard, and then... silence. The voice was done speaking for the morning.

Subject 3281 stayed in her seated position against the wall, and waited for her partner to move. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then moved around the room, running his hands along every wall, as if seeking some escape from his predetermined fate. She knew that he wouldn't find any. Aperture scientists might sometimes be called—rightfully—unstable, but the same could not be said about their testing chambers.

Her partner seemed to realize this, and moved to sit against the wall opposite her. The two sat in silence for a minute or two, until the boy cleared his throat, and began in a halting manner, "My-my name's Forrest. Not Subject 3279, or Blue. Forrest. Forrest Brennan." His partner continued to stare at him in silence, almost amused at his feeble attempt at conversation.

The boy—she refused to think of him as 'Forrest'—rubbed the back of his neck, and looked to the speaker above the door. He tried again. "Do you really think that they would let us alone in here by ourselves? Unsupervised?" Subject 3281 cocked her head to the side slightly, and the boy continued, "I mean think about it, we could do or say anything in here, and they wouldn't know. We could—"

"No," she cut in, surprising even herself, "we couldn't." She left it at that. Her partner gave her a strange look, and he seemed to clench is jaw.

"No," he started, in a rather bitter voice, "I guess we couldn't. I suppose they wouldn't even have considered putting us in here together if they weren't sure you'd keep us both in line. Right, '81?"

Subject 3281 gave him her tight-lipped version of a strained smile. "There is nothing wrong with following orders. And," she added, "don't call me '81.'"

He snorted. "Right, of course." Her partner stood up, and started pacing. Subject 3281 followed him with her eyes until he came to the left wall, and her stomach took an unplanned lurch. She turned away, and looked again to her boots.

~ — — — — — — — — — — — — ~

"Alright."

Subject 3281 looked to her partner who, after nearly an hour of pacing, had sat back down in his original position.

"Alright," he said again, "I've told you my name, now you should tell me yours. It's really a common courtesy, you know." Subject 3281 was slightly surprised. Why did he need her name? It wasn't like they had needed to communicate with words often enough to warrant a first name basis.

"My name," she began carefully, "is not vital to the test." She didn't actually happen to know her real name, though that fact was of little consequence. At any rate, the boy didn't appear satisfied with her rather utilitarian answer, but he didn't pursue the subject, and instead began another.

"My... my father," he began, "did some work for... the old CEO of this place—Cave-Cave Johnson—back in the day, so his company... this company, had access to our home address. After Mr. Johnson's death, all of their... all of their contracts fell through, and Aperture contacted my dad to ask about... about our family." The girl watched as the boy's Adam's apple worked and his throat convulsed with a detached sort of interest.

"How we were doing... how we were growing," he continued, "if my dad had any—" he stopped for a moment. "—any children that needed to be provided for—" his voice broke. "I remember falling asleep that night, and... and the next thing I knew... I was... I was... here." He let out a long ragged breath, and drew a hand across his face. "I just feel bad for mom and dad, they never... they never saw it coming. None of us did.

"I mean," he continued with more feeling, "what kind of... of psychopathic lunatic would kidnap the children of his former employees? I-I've got two little brothers too," he added after a pause, "and if they got them that night too—along with me, I-I mean—well... let's just say they don't like following orders, and we all know that these people don't... they don't hesitate when it comes to—" he stopped, and turned away.

Subject 3281 narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. She assumed—no, she knew—that she should have been... feeling something, saying something, saying anything, but she didn't know if she was capable of doing so, and so she stayed silent.

Eventually, the boy's head came up again, the skin around his eyes a light shade of red. "Anyway," he continued, with a strained expression, "that's pretty much my life story. You got one, '81?"

Subject 3281 felt the beginnings of a frown crease her brow ever so slightly. "I told you," she said, "not to call me '81'."

Her partner sighed, exasperated, and obviously still a bit shaken at the recollection of his troubled past. "Well what am I supposed to call you? You still haven't given me a name to use. You know," he began with a snort of what seemed to her to be the beginnings of amusement, "I'm beginning to wonder if you even have a name." Subject 3281 made no reply. She didn't know either. The two sat in silence a little while longer.

The boy—as usual—was the first to break it, and asked what seemed to her to be the most practical question of the day. "Look, are you going to talk to me, or can I go back to acting like I'm in here by myself?" His partner gave him no verbal answer, though her silence was answer enough. He gave a sharp nod, stood, and began to pace the room as he had before.

Subject 3281 lay down with her feet facing the wall she had previously been sitting against, as if she were back in her cot, and settled in for the long wait.