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Chapter 2
The Aperture Event
The bus was a humid cramped mess of sweaty people. There was a tangle of arms stretching every which way attempting to cling to whatever stable part of the bus they could find. All the while I anxiously wondered whether or not buses should make such loud clanking and creaking sounds.
When the bus pulled up to the library I was the only person who attempted to shove my way towards the exit. I mumbled my thanks to the bus driver, and stumbled into the blinding sunlight. Gordon's public library was yet another dingy old relic from the Blank Age meant to remind us of the horrors of whatever came before the Blank Age, and something else I couldn't remember because I never paid attention in history class.
A pigeon sat on the shoulder of Gordon Freeman's tarnished, bronze statue, which stared dejectedly at the town hall across the street. The pigeon gave a soft coo then flapped its little wings until the breeze gave it flight, leaving the bronze hero all alone on his pedestal. What an unfitting end to a hero, I thought, to be remembered only as a perch for birds. I ran a finger over the plaque, feeling each bump and crevasse as they formed words that nearly became invisible under many years worth of grime and lazy care-taking. I wondered briefly to myself what my life would mean to the world in a few hundred years, if a hero's fate was such. I turned away from the statue, because I knew the answer to my thoughts. It would mean little. I knew because that was my reality, I'd lived all those years, at least if you count being unconscious in stasis for a few hundred years as living, and no one gave a damn. There was no place here for us, the ones called the Sleepers, and the townsfolk made sure we knew of that.
The Library's oak door creaked open with the pull of a brass handle, and the smell of dusty books immediately hit me in the face. A few ceiling fans swung around lazily, doing nothing to disperse the heat. A few feeble rays of sunlight shone through the dusty windows, illuminating particles of dust that swirled in an invisible draft. Mark, the librarian's assistant, was asleep at his desk. His soft breaths scattered particles of dust which settled on the desk only to be blown away again. I took a breath and a large amount of dust shot up my nose. I sneezed, and Mark gave a startled cry. He removed his face from the desk as if he'd been burned, knocking over the lamp in the process.
"Nice to see not much has changed." I said with a smile.
"Wow, I really wasn't expecting you here." He propped the lamp upright again and returned a grin. "What's up?"
"I've actually got some research to do." I gestured at something invisible for no reason at all.
"Research?" He leaned back in his chair and chuckled. "You never did research even at school!"
"So? This is important!"
"So was school." He pointed out.
"Touché."
"So, this is it huh?" Mark said after a pause. "Wonder when it's going to feel like real life..." He reclined in his chair, and put his feet up on the desk. It was a habit that drove our teachers nuts for years. He must have once thought it made him look cool, then eventually it became a habit. I'd come to ignore it.
"I'm thinking fairly soon." I said, already imagining the daunting task of finding a job.
"Got any plans?" The suddenness of his question caught me of guard. It was an innocent question of course, but innocent questions tended to have the most complicated answers.
"Not really." I shrugged. In truth, I had never really thought about it. Why plan for a future with nothing in it?
"None at all?"
"No, Mark." I said abruptly. "I might get my hopes up." For a moment he seemed stunned by my sharp response. I hated being so short with him, but talking about the future was just something I didn't want to do. "I should probably get to my research." I mumbled, and without making eye contact, I turned my back on him.
"I'll be here if you need me." I wished he would stop sounding like that, like he was concerned. I didn't need him to make me feel any worse than I already did for talking to him like that.
I settled myself at a banged up oak table with the album of scanned newspapers, flipping through windows to the past. Two long hours, I sat there, my hopes dwindling with each turn of the page. Then I found it, the article I knew would change everything, tucked away at the back. It was titled "Disaster at Aperture Labs" in tiny lettering. It had been a lock-down gone wrong. Nobody on the outside knew what happened or why it was triggered, only that nobody escaped, and nobody had left the building afterwards. They had been trapped, both scientists and their daughters. My father and Chell amongst them. I scanned the list of missing persons. My name was amongst them, right below Chell's, and I knew instantly that something was not right. I had been home with my mother, safe and sound. But that was where my memories ended. If I only could just remember what happened, to the world, to my family. The sunlight shining through the window had already begun to turn golden, and I realized how long I'd just sat there looking at my name in print. I sighed and shut the book. I'd found myself nothing but more questions. I was going to need some help, and I knew exactly who I was going to call.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Chapter 2
The Aperture Event
The bus was a humid cramped mess of sweaty people. There was a tangle of arms stretching every which way attempting to cling to whatever stable part of the bus they could find. All the while I anxiously wondered whether or not buses should make such loud clanking and creaking sounds.
When the bus pulled up to the library I was the only person who attempted to shove my way towards the exit. I mumbled my thanks to the bus driver, and stumbled into the blinding sunlight. Gordon's public library was yet another dingy old relic from the Blank Age meant to remind us of the horrors of whatever came before the Blank Age, and something else I couldn't remember because I never paid attention in history class.
A pigeon sat on the shoulder of Gordon Freeman's tarnished, bronze statue, which stared dejectedly at the town hall across the street. The pigeon gave a soft coo then flapped its little wings until the breeze gave it flight, leaving the bronze hero all alone on his pedestal. What an unfitting end to a hero, I thought, to be remembered only as a perch for birds. I ran a finger over the plaque, feeling each bump and crevasse as they formed words that nearly became invisible under many years worth of grime and lazy care-taking. I wondered briefly to myself what my life would mean to the world in a few hundred years, if a hero's fate was such. I turned away from the statue, because I knew the answer to my thoughts. It would mean little. I knew because that was my reality, I'd lived all those years, at least if you count being unconscious in stasis for a few hundred years as living, and no one gave a damn. There was no place here for us, the ones called the Sleepers, and the townsfolk made sure we knew of that.
The Library's oak door creaked open with the pull of a brass handle, and the smell of dusty books immediately hit me in the face. A few ceiling fans swung around lazily, doing nothing to disperse the heat. A few feeble rays of sunlight shone through the dusty windows, illuminating particles of dust that swirled in an invisible draft. Mark, the librarian's assistant, was asleep at his desk. His soft breaths scattered particles of dust which settled on the desk only to be blown away again. I took a breath and a large amount of dust shot up my nose. I sneezed, and Mark gave a startled cry. He removed his face from the desk as if he'd been burned, knocking over the lamp in the process.
"Nice to see not much has changed." I said with a smile.
"Wow, I really wasn't expecting you here." He propped the lamp upright again and returned a grin. "What's up?"
"I've actually got some research to do." I gestured at something invisible for no reason at all.
"Research?" He leaned back in his chair and chuckled. "You never did research even at school!"
"So? This is important!"
"So was school." He pointed out.
"Touché."
"So, this is it huh?" Mark said after a pause. "Wonder when it's going to feel like real life..." He reclined in his chair, and put his feet up on the desk. It was a habit that drove our teachers nuts for years. He must have once thought it made him look cool, then eventually it became a habit. I'd come to ignore it.
"I'm thinking fairly soon." I said, already imagining the daunting task of finding a job.
"Got any plans?" The suddenness of his question caught me of guard. It was an innocent question of course, but innocent questions tended to have the most complicated answers.
"Not really." I shrugged. In truth, I had never really thought about it. Why plan for a future with nothing in it?
"None at all?"
"No, Mark." I said abruptly. "I might get my hopes up." For a moment he seemed stunned by my sharp response. I hated being so short with him, but talking about the future was just something I didn't want to do. "I should probably get to my research." I mumbled, and without making eye contact, I turned my back on him.
"I'll be here if you need me." I wished he would stop sounding like that, like he was concerned. I didn't need him to make me feel any worse than I already did for talking to him like that.
I settled myself at a banged up oak table with the album of scanned newspapers, flipping through windows to the past. Two long hours, I sat there, my hopes dwindling with each turn of the page. Then I found it, the article I knew would change everything, tucked away at the back. It was titled "Disaster at Aperture Labs" in tiny lettering. It had been a lock-down gone wrong. Nobody on the outside knew what happened or why it was triggered, only that nobody escaped, and nobody had left the building afterwards. They had been trapped, both scientists and their daughters. My father and Chell amongst them. I scanned the list of missing persons. My name was amongst them, right below Chell's, and I knew instantly that something was not right. I had been home with my mother, safe and sound. But that was where my memories ended. If I only could just remember what happened, to the world, to my family. The sunlight shining through the window had already begun to turn golden, and I realized how long I'd just sat there looking at my name in print. I sighed and shut the book. I'd found myself nothing but more questions. I was going to need some help, and I knew exactly who I was going to call.