Corruption

Part 1- A Bad Idea.

Chell ran, her boots pounding against the catwalk below her, her footsteps echoing off the walls around her. Her heart pounded like the drums of war in her ears as she wove her way around corners, trying to keep up with the gangly string of a man named Wheatley in front of her.

Now, Wheatley wasn't exactly running, per se, but more skidding along haphazardly and trying desperately not to fall over. Being tall did have it's disadvantages, after all.

After more frantic and hopeless running than was necessarily needed, Chell was more than ready to pass out then and there, and never wake up. She all but collapsed, bent over herself as she tried to catch her breath.

Once she felt confident she wouldn't black out the moment she moved, she stood up and examined her surroundings.

"Well done love! That was some top notch running! Now, do you have any idea where we are?"

Wheatley, Chell observed, was evidently not the kind of man accustomed to looking around. So, just to speed things up a bit, she pointed at the bright blue sign above the door, hoping he'd get the message.

"Oh fantastic! The turret production room!"

The door opened with the hiss of a large piece of metal that hadn't moved in far too long, because that's what it was. No need for flowery language down here. A conveyor belt was moving along on the other side of the glass separating them from the rows of beady red focuses, thankfully not pointed at them. The turrets were lined up as they were compared to the master turret in a compartment suspiciously close to them, with only a rickety old door between it and them. Aperture's security really was lacklustre.

As Wheatley 'manually hacked' the door by smashing through the glass pane with a swift punch, Chell watched as an outlier, a defective turret, came up to stand. The system rejected it, and it was flung into a painfully familiar hole on the other side of the large chamber, leading to the aptly-named 'Incinerator Room.' Such imaginative naming, honestly.

The wheels turned, and clicked, and she had her plan, looking between the upcoming defective turret, the master turret, and the platform in front of the incinerator.

She ran back through the old door, ignoring Wheatley's fading cries of indignation, and onto the catwalk above the incinerator that she had seen, the wall of heat hitting her like an oncoming truck every time it opened. The air quickly dried out her clothes, drenched in sweat from running, as she waited for the defective turret to fly past. With expert timing and hand-eye coordination, Chell caught it in the field of her gun, moments before it flew into the pit of flames scorching her arm.

She walked back to the control room, her prize in hand. With a quick smile to her distinctly-blue partner, she dropped the complaining turret, placed a set of portals on either side of the door, and easily stepped through after picking up their secret weapon, replacing the template turret with the defective one.

Wheatley grinned as he clocked on to what she was doing, running a hand through his already-ruffled hair. Chell took a moment to take in the askew tie, the ruffled clothes, and the wonky glasses clinging onto life by a thread, and continued, pushing the thought to the back of her mind. Time to focus.

"Nice thinking, love! Very... Human-y."

She grabbed his wrist and pushed him into the next corridor, conscious of how long they'd been gone. The last thing they needed was Her finding them.