They found themselves in a hallway; dim, murky, thick with dust. Chell leaned against the door with her shoulder, panting, breathing back into relative calm. The combined weight of Wheatley and her rucksack wasn't getting any lighter, and her shoulders were aching badly.
The hallway was as silent as a tomb. The black-and-grey squares of linoleum were faded and frayed at the edges; her boots left scuffed swathes as she padded through drifts of grey fluff which had built up, undisturbed, for decades. The halogen tubes overhead were running on some kind of emergency backup power, flickering at half-strength.
"Bit creepy in here, isn't it?" Wheatley's voice was loud in the stuffy air. He was speaking in a hushed whisper which, presumably, he believed added drama and atmosphere. "Don't worry, see, look; no panels! Which means, She can't get to us, thank you very much. None of that modular nonsense in here. No portal surfaces, either. Just good, old-fashioned, solid walls."
Chell doubted he really believed this. It sounded more like he was trying to convince himself just as much as her. Personally, she was extremely sceptical that there was any place in the facilities completely beyond Her reach. True, she'd found odd corners, forgotten nooks and crannies where she- and others, like her artistic, message-leaving friend- had been able to hide for a time, but as for real safety... no.
This wasn't a place for going to ground. This was a place to run from until you were absolutely sure you were beyond the reach of Her influence- and then if you were smart you ran a bit more, just to be on the safe side.
She turned a corner, tried a few locked doors, paused in front of an ancient bulletin board covered with mouldering posters and notices.
WORK SMARTER AND HARDER
reminded one.
HAVE YOU BEEN SCANNED YET?
asked another.
Be a part of Aperture Science's exciting new Human Relations Avatar Project!
Ask our Digital Biometrics Department for an appointment!
LOST
read a third, handwritten and blurrily photocopied.
Schroedy. Missing since BYCTW Day.
He likes enclosed spaces so please check your filing cabinets and cupboards!
"Yep, R&D," Wheatley was saying. "That's 'research and development', of course, in layman's terms. This is where they brought all their bonkers prototypes to try and get funding to take 'em to the next level. Most of them never saw the light of day. Huh. Bit like us, really."
He paused, twitched.
"Well, me. Like me."
Chell arrived at a third door, the last in the corridor. It was locked, and looked a lot more substantial than the others had- thick and grey with a keycode panel in a niche by the handle. A yellowed sign under the small window read;
PRESENTATION ROOM 03
Please Knock
Wear Protective Eyewear
Enter with Caution
Pitches may be in progress!
The sign was embellished with a long row of warning symbols. The number of different ways that the little stick-figure man featured in them was being struck, shot, burned, melted, tripped, exploded, blinded and otherwise creatively maimed, suggested to her that whatever products had been 'pitched' in Presentation Room 03, they hadn't always been particularly user-friendly.
"Hey, hey, turn around for a sec," said Wheatley, behind her. "Can't see a thing back here. Oh, hallo, it's got a keypad. Umm... well, not a problem! There should be a panel just underneath, just plug me in, I'll sort it."
