Subject 3281; Chell's Story

Unexpected Emotion

Time seemed to slow as Subject 3281 watched her partner lose momentum and begin to fall.

No, was all she could think, no, no, no, no, no, no! Hadn't she done everything right? Hadn't she cleared her head, reassured her partner, placed her portals, and given him more than enough room to land? How did she deserve this; how did she deserve to be left alone in the world again?

No, she thought again, I don't deserve this, and neither does he. This boy has given me opportunity to earn his respect and friendship—to be a better human being—time and time again, and I have given him nothing. Nothing. I cannot let him die like this, she thought, as time seemed to be returning to its normal flow and speed, he's a better human being than I'll ever be.

No, she thought, I'm not a good person. Good people can't test like I can.

She came back to herself with the blink of an eye, and was just in time to see her partner's hand stretch her way as he fell past her, gathering speed at an alarming rate. In one quick motion, the girl threw—or rather, slid—her ASHPD to her right, launched herself farther out on the platform, and stretched her right arm out to its fullest extent.

In less than a second, Subject 3281 drew in a sharp breath as her right arm was yanked downward, nearly toppling her over the edge and breaking her arm to boot. The girl looked down to the struggling form hanging onto her for dear life, and her eyes widened. His life didn't appear to be in any immediate danger, but—judging by the acrid smell in the air, and the distinct sounds of sizzling and bubbling that could be heard—it appeared that the two weren't out of the woods yet.

His boots must be touching the acid, she thought, as she grabbed her partner's gun and threw it behind her. Her thoughts were quickly silenced however, as something between a shout and a yelp escaped the mouth of her partner. Her brows furrowed. It was already at his feet, then. Not good. Not good at all. The boy, his right hand now free of his gun, stifled his sounds of anguish, and gripped the girl's left hand, which she had stretched out after securing the safety of said gun.

Come on, she thought to herself as she heaved and the boy scrambled his way up the sheer wall of the platform. Come on, you can do this, you can do this! You may not be very strong, but you can't let this boy die. Not like this. Come on, pull! Pull!

With that final mental shout of, 'pull,' the girl tugged on her partner's arms with all of her might. Not a lot changed about his predicament—he was still dangling over a pit if deadly acid, his feet still making contact with the surface of it from time to time resulting in loud hissing and strangled yelps—but something had changed for the girl holding him aloft.

She had been able—with the help of her sudden burst of strength and determination, as well as the added efforts of her partner's frantic scrabbling—to slide at least a half foot back towards safety.

This could work, she thought as another hefty pull from her end found her at least a foot and a half out from where she had started. This could really, actually work!

For once it seemed, this wonderful thought did not prove itself as too good to be true, as the boy took charge of the rescue effort, and—using Subject 3281 as an anchor—half-climbed half-hauled himself up and over the side of the precipice.

As soon as he had made it safely onto the platform, the boy fell upon his acid-eaten disheveled boots like an animal, tearing them off his legs and away from himself with a frenzy that was rather impressive to behold. At least, it would have been an impressive sight to behold, if it hadn't been for the state the sole of his left foot and the backs of both of his calves were in.