It started with a hum. A low vibration traveled through the floor, rising from my feet to my bones. Then came the groan—an unsettling sound of strained metal and grinding gears.
The portal flickered and died, leaving only the Conversion Gel-streaked wall beneath it.
Then everything shook.
I stumbled, but Archer's strong arm caught me before I hit the floor. Joe swore, and Steve let out a startled yelp.
Just as suddenly as it had begun, the shaking stopped.
"See? No need to worry, my pure-blooded Aryan friends," came Wheatley's voice over the loudspeakers, cheerful and utterly unconvincing. "Everything is under control. Complete control. Just a minor turbulence… in space. A space turbulence!"
"Space turbulence?" Damien echoed, blinking as he tried to steady himself. "Is that even possible?"
"Of course not," I scoffed, brushing myself off. "This is the consequence of the gyroscope being misaligned. The calculations for something like this need to be incredibly precise. Any error, and—well, in the worst-case scenario, it could tear the ship apart."
"So can we go home now?" Steve asked hesitantly, his voice tinged with a faint, almost hopeful disbelief. "If the Nazi spaceship is going to destroy itself…"
"Unfortunately not," I replied, pushing myself away from Archer's steadying arm. It had been pleasant, but now was not the time. "We can't gamble that the ship will self-destruct before it has a chance to fire on Earth—or that it'll be destroyed at all. And if it reaches L2, gravity will do the rest, even if the ship tears itself apart."
Steve tilted his head, confused. "What do you mean?"
I sighed, wishing I could explain in simpler terms, but there were no shortcuts here. "L2—Earth-Moon Lagrange Point 2—is a stable position in orbit. If the Götterdämmerung reaches it and starts to break apart, some of the debris is likely to get caught by Earth's gravity and fall toward the surface."
Steve's eyes widened. "Fall on Earth instead of the Moon?"
"Exactly," I replied, my voice sharp. "And considering the size of this ship, the impact on Earth would be catastrophic. Even without firing its weapons, the sheer mass of the debris could cause widespread destruction. You should know that."
Steve shifted uneasily, his usual bravado fading in the face of cold, hard facts. "So, even if it falls apart, it's a problem."
"It's worse than a problem," I said, my voice sharp with urgency. "It's an extinction-level event waiting to happen. That's why we have to stop it before it gets to L2. Or before it falls apart. And believe me, being on a ship this size when it starts to disintegrate won't be a pleasant—or survivable—experience."
"No reason to dawdle, then," Archer said, raising his sniper rifle, his tone steady as always.
"No," I said firmly, placing my hand on the barrel and pushing it down. "We can't use the portals anymore. They're sensitive to vibrations—or, more specifically, vibrations deform the surface they're anchored to. That causes the quantum effect holding them together to decohere. If that happens while we're halfway through..." I let my voice trail off, letting the image of the bisected Mantis Man finish the thought.
Steve visibly paled, his hand tightening around his Q-gun. "Well, walking it is, then," he muttered.
"Precisely," I said, turning toward the path ahead. "We'll need to go the rest of the way on foot. Stay alert—this ship is massive, and I guarantee we haven't seen the last of the Mantis Man."
"So much for taking a break," Sen grumbled, his exhaustion clear in his tone.
"There's no time," I replied curtly. "We'll have to make do." I holstered the portal gun and replaced it with the diamond sword, its edge shimmering faintly even in the faint light. I then turned my attention to the mobile, giving my next order. "Trace the shortest route to the bridge. Activate motion detection. Activate life-sign detection. Mark any movement on the map."
The insect-like device clicked and whirred as it scuttled forward, its mechanical legs moving with unsettling efficiency. I turned to Sen and Helena next. "Sen, monitor the map. If there's any fast movement, project the approaching vector telepathically. Helena, guard him and the mobile. If you get an opportunity, intensify the fires."
Sen nodded grimly, his face drawn but focused. Helena flexed her fingers, faint sparks flaring to life as she prepared her energy.
Facing the rest of the group, I gave my final instructions. "We'll move in a reverse triangle formation. Joe, you're front left. Lukas, guard him. Steve, you're front right. Damien, you've got Steve covered. Joe, Steve—use ranged attacks first. If anything gets too close, Lukas and Damien will intercept."
My voice hardened slightly as I added, "Dwight and I will guard the rear in case we're attacked from behind." It was essential to preserve our strongest fighters for the inevitable confrontation at the bridge. Archer and I needed to save our energy for the finale—whatever form it might take.
Of course, there was always the slim chance that the bridge would be sparsely defended, that resistance would be minimal. But I had long ago learned not to hope for the best. Better to prepare for the worst possibility than to gamble on the best one.
Archer gave me a wry look, his rifle resting against his shoulder. "Always the glamorous assignments," he said, his tone dry as ever.
"Only the best for you," I shot back, my lips curving into a faint smirk despite the tension. But internally, I was already calculating, cataloguing every possibility. Archer at my side wasn't just practical; it was essential. He was my sharpest blade, my steady hand when things became chaos.
I turned my attention back to the group, my tone regaining its commanding edge. "Stay close. We move fast, but we move smart. Let's go."
We didn't bother trying to move silently—there was no point. The ship's interior was already filled with noise, the constant symphony of grinding gears, hissing steam, and clanking pipes. It was a consequence of the Nazis' retro-technology: mechanical energy transfer systems, massive cogs, and conveyor belts that churned endlessly.
But the downside of all that noise, aside from being deafening, was that it played havoc with motion detection. Every shifting gear or conveyor belt created false positives, though Sen adapted quickly. By cross-referencing motion patterns with life-signs on the detector, he filtered out the static background of the ship's machinery.
Following the route projected by the mobile and relayed by Sen, we moved swiftly but cautiously through the corridors, alternating between the cavernous main passageways and narrower side halls.
It took less than a minute before we encountered another Mantis Man. This one was alone, skittering across the corridor ahead of us.
"Contact," Sen warned, his voice steady, accompanied by a mental projection of the Mantis Man's position.
Joe and Steve reacted immediately. Before the creature could close the distance, they fired their Q-guns in unison, green flames erupting across the mutant's body. It shrieked—a horrific sound, a mix of human agony and insect chittering—before collapsing into a smoldering heap.
Helena stepped forward without hesitation, igniting the remains with a burst of flame. The fire consumed the corpse in seconds, saving us from having to detour around it. All that lingered was the acrid smell hanging in the air—an unpleasant mix of burnt human flesh and something far more alien, sharp and chemical, impossible to fully define.
There was another tremor—subtle, almost imperceptible. If I hadn't been expecting it, I might not have noticed it at all. And I probably had missed a few smaller tremors earlier, ones too weak to catch my attention before the larger one shook the entire ship. Thankfully, none of them had been strong enough to disrupt the portals we'd used.
I mentally tagged Boaz, one of my embedded Personality Cores, assigning it the task of tracking these tremors and building a predictive model. I didn't have high expectations for it; there were too many unknown variables for anything approaching precision. Still, a rudimentary warning system was better than nothing.
Sen's mental projection painted a clear warning of several mutants lurking in a side corridor to the right. We slowed down, adjusting our formation slightly so both Joe and Steve could angle for sustained fire. As soon as the mutants charged, they were met with synchronized bursts of green flame, their screeches swallowed by the Q-guns' poisonous fire.
Once the corridor fell silent, we returned to our original formation, advancing methodically.
I cast a glance down the side corridor, confirming the smoldering corpses. The acrid stench of charred chitin and scorched flesh lingered in the air, sharp and unpleasant, but familiar by now.
"This is too easy," Archer remarked. He spoke just loud enough for me to hear over the noise, but low enough that the others likely wouldn't.
"It's to be expected," I replied calmly, matching his tone. "At first glance, injecting security personnel with the Mantis Man serum seems ruthless but effective. Mantis Men are stronger, faster, and more durable than ordinary humans. Their appearance alone would inflict morale damage on any intruders. But," I paused for emphasis, "the drawbacks are glaring. They don't use ranged weapons, they don't communicate or coordinate, and worse—they're indiscriminate. Mantis Men would devour anything that isn't another Mantis Man. Their weaknesses can't be covered by other personnel."
Archer gave me a sidelong glance as I continued.
"Unlike humans, mantises are solitary hunters, not social animals. It's the kind of plan the Intelligence Damping Core was designed to create: brilliant at first glance, but critically flawed when you dig just a bit deeper."
"So, are we saving Wheatley from the Nazis or the Nazis from Wheatley?" Archer asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Neither," I replied to his rhetorical question, glancing at him. He had swapped his paint-gun sniper rifle for a compound bow—a choice that somehow suited him. "Or perhaps both, depending on how you look at it. Mostly, I'm here to retrieve the Intelligence Damping Core—for GLaDOS's sake."
Steve's Q-gun flared to life, the green fire it spat casting harsh shadows against the walls. A screech of chitin cracking under the blaze signaled another Mantis Man down, its body slumping to the floor. Without missing a beat, I continued, as though exterminating mutants were just background noise.
"She's terrified of him," I continued, "enough that she's entered complete isolation. And honestly, I don't blame her. Listening to the Intelligence Damping Core is bad enough. Imagine having him wired directly into your brain."
"So instead of, I don't know, assuring GLaDOS that everything will be fine, you decided to lead an attack on the Moon Nazis," Archer remarked, his voice sharp with sarcasm. "Anything to avoid honest communication."
"There was also theft," I added dryly. "I don't like people stealing from me."
Joe swung his Q-gun to the side and fired without hesitation. A flash of green erupted down the corridor as another mutant was set ablaze. Its twisted form staggered for only a moment before collapsing, twitching once before going still. The smell of scorched chitin filled the air again, sharp and acrid.
"Yes, you've inherited Fëanor's calm and measured approach to personal grievances," Archer shot back, his tone as dry as lunar dust.
"I'm not swearing any blood oath about Wheatley," I replied in the same clipped tone. "But I would prefer to retrieve him."
"Retrieve? Not destroy?"
"If practical."
Another distant screech echoed down the corridor, and Joe muttered under his breath before taking aim again. His shot went wide this time, hitting the wall, but Steve quickly compensated, sending another burst of corrosive fire into the mutant's torso. It collapsed mid-charge, flames licking across its body, the corridor briefly illuminated by the eerie green glow.
Archer's gaze flicked to me, his smirk sharp. "You do realize he betrayed you, right? Ran straight to the Nazis, joined their little club, probably drinking schnapps and goose-stepping as we speak."
"I'm not deaf, my love," I said, voice calm. "I heard. But this is Wheatley we're talking about. Joining the Moon Nazis is exactly the kind of idea he'd come up with. Honestly, I'd be more surprised if he hadn't."
"Really?"
"You have no idea," I said flatly before continuing, "Wheatley doesn't betray people out of malice. It's not in his nature. He wasn't built for loyalty or even critical thinking. He was designed to latch onto the nearest person, agree with whatever idiocy they spout, and make himself seem indispensable. It's how Doug made him."
Another screech came from further down the hall—closer this time. Joe and Steve turned in perfect synchronization, their Q-guns flaring to life again. One mutant fell before it even managed to cross into view. Another staggered forward, green flames consuming its limbs as it shrieked in agony. Helena stepped forward, igniting her own fire to finish the job, and the air filled with thick, choking smoke.
"Classic Aperture," Archer muttered, cutting through the sounds of combat. "Let me guess: the person who designed him wasn't exactly a paragon of stability?"
"Doug Rattmann," I admitted, keeping my voice steady even as the crackle of flames subsided. "Paranoid schizophrenic. Brilliant mind. Terrible with medication compliance."
"Ah, so instead of barring mad scientists, you hired them. Makes perfect sense."
"He was fine on his meds," I countered, "and after the Wheatley Incident, we automated the entire drug dispenser process. That design alone has saved thousands of lives and turned a healthy profit. And mind you, that was before I was Director. Aperture has always been ahead of the curve when it comes to anti-discrimination policies—even under my brother. I just expanded them. No more prohibition on witchcraft."
"I thought that was officially rebranded as psy-science," Archer said with a smirk.
"One should acknowledge historical roots," I replied, my tone mock-serious. "Though I'll admit, it's easier to sell to investors if you use a name that doesn't make them think we're all dancing naked in the woods."
"You only have one investor left," Archer dryly countered, gesturing with his bow toward Steve. Naturally, he didn't mean Steve himself, but his family patriarch. "And that one ordered a shark with a laser on its forehead for his home pool. I don't think 'witches' would be the dealbreaker."
Then, with a teasing edge, I added, "Jealous you're not part of the government's new superhero team? I could always get you in as a liaison. Or maybe even propose a special sponsored team, just for you."
Archer raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I'll pass. That little experiment of yours isn't much of a team—it's PR wrapped in spandex."
"And PR is important," I replied, the teasing fading into seriousness. "If psychics are going to be more widely accepted, visibility is key. It's all about control—controlling the narrative, controlling the public's perception, and, yes, making a profit while we're at it. That's how you avoid another witch hunt."
Joe and Steve fired another volley down a side corridor, their Q-guns lighting the walls with green flashes. A piercing screech followed, quickly muffled as Helena added a burst of flame. The smell of burning chitin wafted back to us, acrid and unpleasant, but none of us so much as flinched. This was routine by now.
"Especially since we'd be the ones burned this time," Archer said, his voice dry but cutting.
I allowed myself a small nod, acknowledging the truth of it. "Exactly. People fear what they don't understand, and they'll fear psychics unless we stay ahead of the curve. Turning them into something flashy and heroic helps." Then, with a smirk, I added, "You'd look good in a cape, by the way."
"Never going to happen," Archer shot back, but I caught the faintest tug of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.
Before I could respond, a faint scraping sound echoed from up ahead. Sen projected a mental image—a Mantis Man lurking around a corner, motionless for now but poised to strike. We slowed our pace as Joe and Steve shifted into position, their Q-guns raised. The crack of gunfire came again, clean and efficient, followed by a wet thud as the mutant collapsed.
"What happened to the boy who, when asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, said, 'Ally of justice?'" I asked, mock sorrow dripping from every word, as though the interruption had never happened.
"He grew up," Archer replied dryly, his voice as flat as the Moon's surface. Which, now that I thought about it, was a terrible metaphor—the Moon was full of craters.
"The map shows that the bridge is near," Sen called out, his mental projection painting the image in my mind as well.
"I see the door, but it's closed," Steve added from the front, his Q-gun lowered as he scanned the corridor.
"Not surprising," Damien said with a shrug. "Nazis wouldn't exactly leave the bridge unlocked when their pet mutants are running loose. Especially if said mutants might decide to make them the main course. No problem—we'll just cut our way in."
"Those lightsaber things can do that?" Steve asked, eyeing Damien's psy-lens with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.
"No idea," Damien replied with a grin. "But it'd be fun to try."
"They could," I cut in, "but you'd burn out the crystals in the process. Besides, I have a better solution." Reaching to my hip, I pulled out the latest iteration of the singularity grenade. Sleeker than the earlier designs, it no longer resembled a portal gun rolled into a ball. "Singularity grenade. Perfect for when you forget your keys."
Archer groaned audibly, tilting his head back in exasperation. "Singularity grenade? Terrible name. You should call them Wormhole Grenades."
"They contain a singularity," I replied, irritation creeping into my voice.
"Sure," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "But if you were really just unleashing a micro-singularity, it wouldn't implode—it'd explode."
Steve frowned, looking between the two of us. "Wait—what? Then how does it work without blowing us all to hell?"
Archer smirked, leaning casually on his bow. "Relax. It's not actually a traditional singularity. What happens is, the device contains a controlled singularity, but when it collapses, it creates a wormhole—two linked spatial points. When it detonates, it projects everything within a small radius—say, two meters—across a much larger sphere. Think two astronomical units wide."
Steve blinked. "Uh… what's an astronomical unit?"
"It's the distance from Earth to the Sun," Damien replied with a sigh. "Pay attention in class."
I decided to keep the explanation simple. "Same tech as the portal gun, just not flattened into a disk. The grenade generates a wormhole and collapses it, taking a chunk of space with it. Makes doors like this," I gestured to the massive, well-reinforced, sealed bridge door, "a non-issue."
Joe scratched his head, eyeing the grenade with unease. "And why aren't these standard-issue again? Seems like they'd be useful."
Archer chuckled dryly, gesturing at the device in my hand. "Because it's about as efficient as using a supercomputer as catapult ammunition. Sure, it works, but you'd go broke making them."
"It's not wasteful," I countered with a faint smirk. "It's recycling. These grenades are made from failed portal gun prototypes."
Before I could toss the grenade, Joe's voice cut through the rising tension. "Wait—what exactly is this Wheatley thing capable of? I mean, we're about to storm the bridge, and I'd like to know if this 'Intelligence Damping Core' is going to make us all stupid just by being near it."
I paused, raising an eyebrow. "What gave you that idea?"
Joe shrugged, glancing at the others. "Well, considering one of those Aleph objects was a mirror that killed anyone who looked into it and raised their corpses as zombies, I figure it's not out of the realm of possibility."
Steve nodded quickly. "Yeah, that thing was… really reliable for something with such a dumb name. 'Intelligence Damping Core' doesn't exactly inspire confidence."
I let out a sharp exhale, already feeling a familiar twinge of irritation. "The Intelligence Damping Core isn't like that. It was designed as a countermeasure for GLaDOS, not some random death trap. It's meant to flood her mind with ideas that seem brilliant at first glance but are critically flawed. She'd waste her computational power trying to untangle them."
Steve tilted his head. "But… why would you need an anti-GLaDOS device? She's nice."
"Now," Archer interjected, his voice laced with dry sarcasm. "Back then? She wasn't. The team that first worked on her had two survivors: Ace and Dr. Peterson."
"Wait, you mean that guy who dressed like a Ringwraith all the time?" Steve asked, eyes widening.
Damien smirked. "I didn't think you even knew what a Ringwraith was. I thought the only thing you read for pleasure was Playboy."
"Playboy has articles, you know," Steve shot back defensively.
I ignored their banter and chimed in, "She was a bit… cranky when she first woke up. But those issues were fixed. These days, she hardly ever wants to run lethal tests on the Aperture staff."
Lukas frowned, scratching his chin. "Wouldn't it make more sense to design a device that gives her moral ideas instead of dumb ones?"
I let out a low chuckle. "I asked Doug—the designer of the IDC—that exact question. His response? 'Everyone ignores conscience, but dumb ideas stick in the mind.'"
Archer raised an eyebrow. "And did you reply to him: like this one stuck in your mind?"
I smirked, letting the jab land. "You know me so well."
Before Archer could get another word in, the loudspeakers crackled to life. Wheatley's voice came through, brimming with misplaced excitement.
"Attention, proud crew of the Götterdämmerung! This is your Exalted Commanding Intelligence of Superior Operations—Wheatley—speaking! Thrilling news! We are now mere moments away from reaching L2! That's right, Earth-Moon Lagrange Point 2! Isn't that exciting? Soon, our glorious invasion of Earth will officially commence! Explosions, parades, speeches—it's going to be brilliant!"
The announcement ended with a distorted trumpet fanfare.
"At least we know we're not late," I muttered.
"We will be if we don't hurry up," Archer countered.
"Mobile, initialize material barrier," I ordered, my voice sharp as I turned back to the door.
The mobile skittered forward, projecting a shimmering layer of virtual diamond.
"I thought it wasn't supposed to explode," Damien remarked, arching an eyebrow.
"It's not for the grenade," I replied dryly, switching the device in my hand to a primed position. "When this door opens, I can guarantee there'll be Nazis on the other side, and Nazis usually come with guns."
Without waiting for more commentary, I lobbed the singularity grenade at the door. The device sailed through the air, a sleek metal orb, before detonating with a flash of impossible light. The space around the door warped, bending inward like reality itself was folding before snapping back with a sharp crack.