Reginald Harrington the Third

"Where is my Batman suit?"

Those were the words by which our principal investor greeted me. I critically looked over Reginald Harrington the Third —or Reggie, as he insisted. He was acutely unlike any depiction of Bruce Wayne I had ever encountered, even in fanfiction. His hair, now silver with age, once bore the dirty light brown shade reminiscent of Steve Harrington, not the stark black of Gotham's Black Knight. The same surname was not a coincidence; they were related. That's why I had the younger Harrington escort the older.

There were no signs of any martial arts training. Neither muscles nor the way he stood. Far too slender. Perhaps only his clothes, expensive, and with just a little hint of eccentricity, like his archaic cufflinks.

Since he chose to dispense with niceties and customary greetings, I responded in kind. "And why would you need one?"

"Well, you've made me so rich that I can be either Batman or Lex Luthor. So, I need a Batsuit."

"We still have to pay a cent in dividends for our shares, and I don't think it will not change for a year or two," I replied. Perhaps it was a bit self-defeating, but I did not want to raise expectations. I needed money to flow in, not out.

"Who cares about that?" He waved off my concern, his golden cufflinks catching the light. "The worth of something is less important than what people believe it's worth. Look at Aperture stocks—rising as if they gorged on Viagra." He chuckled, a self-satisfied gleam in his eye. "They called me mad for buying when everyone sold. Who's mad now? All those fools who sold them."

If did not have the heart to tell Reggie that was definitely not superhero behaviour. Quite the opposite.

"If you so pleased there is one additional venture we could use more money for," I said. If an old thing between us, and I did not think it would work. But I had to ask.

"Black Mesa? Again?"

"How did you guess?"

"You ask every time, like a broken record. Or that senator from ancient Rome."

"Cato the Elder? I take that as a compliment."

"Is that his name? You are smart. I like that about you. So, you want to be like him because?"

"Because he got Carthage destroyed in the end."

"So, you're buttering me up," Reggie observed, his gaze shifting towards Steve. "Don't get me wrong, I actually like him more than the rest of the parasites in our family tree. Steve, at least, is trying to make something of himself."

"Your psychological profile suggests that you might," I idly commented.

"You fancy science talk won't be enough. I am no fool who can easily be manipulated. After all fool and his gold are easily parted. And no one taking mine."

"This is a test for Steve Harrington, not you Reggie," I countered.

The old man shored, unconvinced.

"A test for me," Steve blurted aloud and then shied back.

"In Aperture, the tests never end," I declared with a hint of solemnity, then continued to clarify, "Mr. Harrington, your leadership qualities have been noted, particularly in managing both organic and robotic employees at Aperture—not to mention your adept handling of teenagers. As such, assessing how you guide important clients is essential for your advancement. Given Reggie's likely favourable perception of you, this was considered an appropriate initial challenge."

"Teenagers? You mean Dustin and the others? But I handled that mostly in my personal time. Except for that incident with Brenner... But that was a disaster," Steve admitted, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

"That incident wasn't your fault, Steve. Your actions under those circumstances were largely commendable. And as for 'personal time,' remember, privacy is a concept with little relevance here in the Enrichment Centre."

"Personal time?" Reggie snickered, interrupting.

"What are you twelve?" I countered, mildly annoyed my lecture was interrupted.

"I am not one perving on strapping young men during their personal time," he shot back with a leer.

"If I were interested in such a spectacle, I'd have volunteers queuing up," I shot back, without a hint of exaggeration. My wealth, though not as vast as Reggie's, combined with my looks, made attracting potential partners a trivial matter.

"Like half the security department," Steve interjected, sharper than he probably intended.

"Experiencing some difficulties, Steve?" Reggie turned his attention to the younger Harrington, his tone deceptively compassionate. It was a trap, albeit one likely to fail. Having access to security records afforded me insight into the 'problem' at hand. Yet, observing how Steve would navigate this predicament would provide precisely the data I needed.

"It's not about that. They're nice guys. And it doesn't bother me that they're mostly into guys. I just wish they'd stop suggesting Jonathan would be a better match for me than Nancy."

"Well if your relationship resembles metronome a little less, they would perhaps be less motivated to give unsolicited advice," I added. Now I got the data I needed, moving the conversation along was beneficial.

"You know about that too? Of course, you do. Watching us all like Big Brother."

"It's actually GLaDOS who does the watching, so it's more akin to Big Sister. Besides, we would never create an Orwellian nightmare; that would only corrupt our data. Our monitoring is purposed for collecting it, for the good of all."

"How is that for good of all?"

"Misunderstandings and miscommunication often cause more disruption than outright malice. Humans achieve their best when engaged with tasks that strike the perfect balance—neither too dull for their skills nor excessively challenging. It's about maintaining that state of 'flow,' where they're fully absorbed and enjoying the challenge. Environments that offer diverse but not overwhelming perspectives are key. Finding that precise balance, especially since it varies individually, is complex. Here, we endeavour to help everyone reach their full potential, for the good of all. Especially since achieving 'flow' can differ from person to person, the mathematics of organizing such an environment can become very complex, but here we try to ensure everyone reaches their full potential."

"How very modern," Reggie said, scepticism evident in his tone.

"Not so much. It actually dates back to Aristotle and the pursuit of the highest virtue in life. It's just that now, we can practically achieve it, with artificial eudaimonia."

"Shouldn't people strive for that on their own?" Steve asked, his eyes wide, reflecting a mix of confusion and engagement. This idea seemed to challenge the American individualism he was steeped in before coming here, yet there was an undeniable appeal to it.

"Generally, people are poor at evaluating themselves and others. Hiding aspects of ourselves because we seek approval, or dismissing parts we dislike. Conforming to the crowd for acceptance. Underestimating or overestimating one's abilities. There are many reasons, but I see this as progress. However, without testing, a hypothesis remains just that."

"No," Reggie interjected firmly, "I appreciate how their competition keeps you hungry and sharp."

"You might appreciate it less if they manage to destroy Earth. After all, your wealth is entirely situated here," I pointed out.

"Well, in that case, we could always relocate to the Moon Base you constructed," Reggie countered with a hint of sarcasm.

"It's not exactly habitable. It's just a mine," I sighed, resigning from the argument for the moment. "Enough about that. Now, come and let me show you what you really came here to see. What your investments have been funding."

The main control room for the Moon Shot project was built for function, not form. The centre of the room contained numerous workstations, each manned by various scientists. The ceiling above was adorned with rails that Personality Cores travelled on, adding a dynamic element to the otherwise utilitarian space. The wall opposite the entrance was dominated by large screens. Most displayed the interior of the repurposed mine shaft, while some screens offered live views of the moon.

"The weather forecast was correct. The moon is completely unobstructed tonight," I remarked, observing the image on the screen. "Is everything ready?"

"Quantum tunnelling device is green."

"Package is green."

"The launch tube is green."

"The experimental test satellite reports green."

One by one, each component of the project confirmed readiness.

"Start in ten," I commanded.

"10, 9, 8…"

"Sealing launch tube… green."

"Activating vacuum pumps… Atmospheric pressure declining… Atmospheric pressure reached optimal levels."

"Activating quantum tunnelling device. Expected time 1.3 seconds. Portal formed at the expected time. Location within 10 km of the target. Portal is green."

"Deploying propulsion gel."

"Decoupling test satellite clamps."

"Satellite is in free fall."

"Acceleration within expected parameters."

"Moon escape velocity reached."

"The package has passed through the portal. Repeat, the package has passed through the portal."

"Deactivating quantum tunnelling device."

"Reacquiring telemetry."

"The test satellite is green."

"It will take some time for it to arrive at the prescribed orbit, but the main test of the Moon Shot is successful. Did you enjoy the show, Reggie?"

"Going down to go up. It's like a riddle," he chuckled.

"Since we utilized Earth's gravity to conquer the Moon's, the mass of the satellite is irrelevant. The volume is still limited by the size of our launch tube and portal, but it's more than sufficient."

"Cheap satellites. When you first showed this to me, I nearly thought you'd taken to snorting Moon rocks like some cosmic cocaine. But then, the difference between genius and insanity is merely what works. How much to the phase two."

"We should have a satellite network robust enough to connect all the major cities in North America and Europe within six to twelve months, depending on weather and other miscellaneous problems. We could easily outpace all of our competitors."

"Internet? I'm not fond of the name. Are you sure it's going to be profitable?"

"I'm not the only one who believes it will be. As you know, it's being touted as the modern gold rush."

"By you and no one else," Reggie countered with a hint of scepticism. "But you've proven right before. I suppose you have to spend money to make money."

"And then, to phase three – S.W.O.R.D."

The serene scene of quiet monitors was abruptly replaced with the chaotic image of storms, while the sound of thunder filled the room. GLaDOS developing a sense of humour was a sign of progress in her development, but sometimes it was inopportune.

"It was a bit embarrassing, but there was no real harm done. She had been very cautious," I confessed to Archer much later, after recounting the incident.

"You're putting in a lot of effort to seem annoyed, yet you sound more like a proud father," he teased me.

"Well, I am proud she didn't attempt to kill or even maim anyone. It's quite the progress, wouldn't you say?"

"Come on, admit it, you enjoyed it. Maybe I should get a metal sheet or even a tape player with recorded thunder. So, when you make your dramatic proclamations, I can provide the sound effects."

"Only if you're looking to get spanked," I retorted, the corner of my mouth twitching in amusement.

"So, it's a yes then," he concluded, his voice carrying what I supposed was a grin. It was all in the tone.

That was the problem with threatening a masochist with punishment. He just enjoyed it too much. But then again, I also took too much pleasure in doling out the punishment. We were well-matched in that regard.

"Finally, Andrew is alone," I remarked. Even as I sat next to Archer, engaging in conversation, my true focus lay elsewhere. Blindfolded, I was remotely viewing Andrew. "Begin insertion Cid, at my thought mark."

"Insertion complete. Door linked. Bounded Field deployed"

As I removed the blindfold, the Entrance Hall came into view, appearing mostly unchanged at first glance. Yet, the differences lay in the details. Beyond the zodiac symbols on the outer rings, additional, smaller constellations were now present, expanding the cosmic references. The Archangels in the frescoes were no longer solitary; they were accompanied by their celestial hosts. The inner rings brimmed with more detailed occult symbols, each meticulously crafted to enhance their power.

This intricate design would allow for a much longer reach through time, far beyond my initial calculations. I might have overcompensated, as it seemed capable of reaching back to the Precambrian era. This was only possible because this version of Earth was rooted in science rather than Mystery. Here, the birth of life held no mystical significance, and the Mythological Ages were relegated to mere stories.

The door led into the private quarters assigned to Terry and Jane, a space that bore the standard layout but was imbued with personal touches that made it distinct. Among these were Will's paintings, which adorned the walls, adding a splash of colour and personality.

One corner of the room was transformed into a modular entertainment and research hub, equipped with a terminal that granted access to Aperture's extensive digital archives and communication networks. This area also housed specialized devices and games designed to explore psychic potential.

The furniture, minimalist in design for an aesthetic appeal, offered unsurpassed comfort and functionality. It was modular and transformative; couches unfolded into beds, and tables could be retracted into the walls to maximize space when not in use.

Notably absent was a kitchen, as the Enrichment Centre provided communal dining options. This setup fostered a sense of community among its inhabitants.

Several sleek, Aperture-style cameras dotted the room's corners, a constant reminder of GLaDOS's vigilant surveillance. However, the introduction of a bounded field elegantly circumvented this conundrum. Not only did it render the Police Box invisible to cameras, but it also clouded the observers' perception, ensuring they remained oblivious to any discrepancies.

"You bastard!" Andrew yelled, charging at me, his fist raised.

His stance and movement betrayed his military training; he knew how to throw a punch. I, on the other hand, had been rigorously trained in martial arts by a sadistic exorcist.

As his fist neared, I giggled, and with an elegant twist, sidestepped past him, twisting his arm behind his back and immobilizing him easily.

"Is that any way to greet a friend?" I murmured, my words a calculated whisper at his ear.

"You ain't no friend of mine!"

"How ungrateful. I extricated you from the quagmire of the Vietnam War, afforded you an excursion to a medieval witch's sabbath, and ultimately orchestrated your reunion with your girlfriend and daughter."

"Fifteen years too late! You got any clue what they went through 'cause I wasn't there?" Andrew's voice cracked with raw emotion.

"Indeed, I was cognizant of the potential ramifications. Your absence was a necessary sacrifice, allowing Brenner to advance his agenda unhindered," I replied, my tone measured, attempting to infuse a semblance of reason into our heated exchange.

"So you're tellin' me this was all you playin' games?"

"My involvement was non-existent in the orchestration of your predicament. Yet, Brenner's manoeuvre to have you conscripted demonstrated his reach. Had that tactic faltered, his subsequent actions would undoubtedly escalate."

"That was my call to make," Andrew insisted, a defiant edge to his voice.

"Yet, failure would not merely have endangered you; it could have culminated in your demise. And I had...further plans necessitating your survival. The alternative, success, would have engendered far graver consequences."

"Graver? Like what?"

"Consider the implications of time travel—its capacity to render both the future and the past unalterable."

"You mean to say, you let Jane get snatched by that lunatic as some kinda... preventative measure?"

"Your perspective is too narrow. Everything that transpired with Jane moulded her into the person she became. Do you believe you have the right to cavalierly rewrite her existence, even if ostensibly for her benefit? That's akin to erasing the person she is now, substituting her with an alternative version. That's why one must tread carefully with time travel. Otherwise, one risks burning down worlds to forge new ones from their ashes. Are you calm now?"

"Yes," he conceded.

Releasing him, I watched as he turned, massaging his sore wrist.

"Ready for the trip to Rome, Praetorian?" I inquired, addressing him by the title the witches bestowed upon him.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Always. Provided you're willing to face the consequences."