Chapter 2: We Do what we Must

Mr. Johnson's wrinkling face finally popped up on the big screen. The room was quite poorly lit, to the extent that the pink glow from the neighboring chamber dominated the walls. A viscous substance, seemingly right below the platform, meshed back and forth like custard. It made this strange stirring noise with every movement, as if it were sitting on an ocean of metal springs.

"Now Dean... my boy. I know this hasn't been the most pleasant experience for you. I said you'd be out in 14 days and it's been uh... well how long has it been Caroline?" Mr. Johnson inquired.

"21 days Mr Johnson."

"21 days! Dean, I want you to remember why you came here. It surely could not have just been the money? You said something about changing yourself - about becoming better. It uh... brought a tear to my eye you know. And I don't cry!"

"Let me out you lit-" a platform emerged from the ground, pinning Dean down before he could finish.

"It's one way audio, Dean. I can see you struggling, but your hollering just amuses me. Calm yourself, and we'll unmute ya, okay?"

How much Dean had come to hate that stupid grin. It reminded him of his father - that self-assured smugness when he was finally rid of him. Or the prison psychologist, who had convinced herself she was there to help his lowly soul. It was everyone in his young life.

"Goooood." Mr. Johnson mused. "I said it before, and I'll say it again. You oughta be grateful. Do you know the last time I personally supervised one of ya lowlifes through this place? Never. I've never done it. But you're special, Dean. I've got something beautiful planned for you, and you're here. You're finally here!"

"Dean, this is the last chamber, okay? Once you finish this, Mr. Johnson will let you go."  Caroline inched her cheek closer to the microphone, cupping her hand as if she were letting Dean in on a secret.  "I know he can be difficult... I know he was secretive, but he's a man of his word. This is it, okay? We promise."

"She's right." Mr. Johnson chimed in, breaking the illusion. "We pr-" 

He suddenly broke out into a cough, his sputtering magnified through the massive speakers outlining the facility. Dean was practically deafened.

"Ugh, sorry. Just uh, get on with the test."

This nightmare was a peculiar one. Aperture Science had a reputation, and it was one of seemingly endless funds, a string of mad scientists researching to their life's content and the maddest of them all at the very top. That being said, what had taken place here was far stranger than even Dean had imagined.

Maybe he didn't know a whole lot about science - he hadn't finished high school after all. But whatever went on in proper laboratories -  it certainly wasn't this. Every room was a strange puzzle, seemingly thought up by a sadistic mind with far far too much time to itself.

Dean had been given that fancy portal gun he'd seen on television. He had bounced up and down, and ran like an Olympian. He had fallen from the height of a skyscraper, been catapulted across a lake, and lived to tell the story. At the end of it all supposedly was $20,000 in cash, but with every death he dodged, something began to dawn on him - if he got out of here alive, he wasn't getting shit.

The remarkably versatile platform finally released its grip, and Dean took a moment to catch his breath. This test would be a real challenge - Mr. and Mrs. Science up there gave him 3-4 hours of sleep on a good day, but he hadn't gotten a wink as of late. According to Mr. Johnson, that blue gel from earlier was packed with calcium and vitamin D, which must have been partially true considering he was still alive.

Exhausted, Dean managed to drag himself up. He could hardly see a thing. Billions of dollars, and Cave Johnson could scarcely afford to light his facility properly. He saw the ledge he was standing on, a long drop leading to the goopy substance below and faintly, a similar ledge on the other side. 

The twist, of course, was that the other platform was several feet higher than this one. Even stranger, was that he could not make out the fizzly doorway that waited at the end. It really seemed like this was the end; perhaps Caroline wasn't lying.

Dean looked it over, and then he looked it over for a bit longer. He didn't understand how he could possibly make it to the other side. He needed some buffer point in between, so he would be able to see the other platform. But he looked and he looked, and he couldn't see that platform. And in his frustration, his eyes fixated... not on anything in particular, but they fixated on the distance. And that fixation led to bitterness.

It's incredible how much can go through your head in the seconds you stare into space:

'You got greedy.' Dean thought to himself. 'You wanted easy money, but you didn't want to put the work in. And now you're here.'

'This is their fault - this is his fault! If they had stuck with me... if they had believed in me, I wouldn't be here now!'

'Don't you dare go blaming this on someone else. You did this. You thought of this. You get to deal with it.'

It didn't make sense and it was all contradictory, but not a word of it was wrong. 

After what felt like a pathetically long time compared to the apparent simplicity of the chamber, Dean finally noticed a white ceiling several dozen feet above the other platform. Suddenly, the whole thing seemed incredibly simple.

He would be out of here in no time! That Caroline seemed like a real nice lady, as a matter of fact. He shot an orange hole on his side, and a bright blue one above the other platform. He would drop down in front and that would be that. He could wash his hands of this whole affair, walk out with or without the money and pretend this never happened. It wasn't what Dean had wanted coming in, but he wasn't going to die either.

With that, he popped into the orange hole and emerged out of the blue one. He closed his eyes, stuck out his feet and waited for it to be over.

But the fall lasted longer than he'd expected.

And longer.

And longer...