| Portal | Chapter 1 - Subject #69

The air in the chamber was frigid, a stark contrast to the unsettling warmth creeping through him. Where am I? he thought, his mind struggling to grasp his surroundings. The last thing he remembered was… nothing. A void. Had he been drugged? The thought sent a shiver down his spine, even before the chill of the room fully registered. Kidnapped?

The questions swirled in his mind, unanswered, fueling the growing dread. He tried to move, to push himself up, but his limbs felt heavy, unresponsive. A subtle pressure, like a gentle caress, held him firmly in place. He could feel the subtle vibrations of the machinery through the cool metal of the restraints, a constant reminder of his helplessness.

Restraints? His muscles tensed involuntarily against the restraints, a futile attempt to break free. The thin fabric of the grey jumpsuit felt rough against his skin, a constant reminder of his vulnerability. He could feel the cold seeping into his bones, a deep, penetrating chill.

His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim, sterile light. The world came into focus slowly, revealing a stark, minimalist room. White walls, gleaming metal surfaces, and the unblinking eye of a camera mounted in the corner. It felt clinical, sterile, like a laboratory. Or a prison. Why am I being watched? He felt a prickling sensation on his skin, the unsettling awareness of unseen observation.

Beyond the hum of the machines, he could hear a faint, rhythmic clicking, like tiny gears turning in a clockwork heart. It was a sound that both fascinated and terrified him. The harsh fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting long, distorted shadows across the white walls. The air carried a faint, sharp scent of ozone. He could almost taste the sterility of the room, a dry, metallic tang at the back of his throat.

"Greetings, Subject 69. Welcome to Aperture Science. I trust you are compliant?"

Subject 69? The number echoed in his mind, cold and impersonal. "Where am I?" he managed, his voice raspy and weak. This has to be some kind of mistake. The voice was familiar, yet he couldn't place it. There was an edge to it, a hint of something sharp and dangerous beneath the surface. It sounded artificial.

He tried again to move, a flicker of panic rising in his chest. I need to get out of here. The pressure on his limbs intensified, not painful, but firm, undeniable. He was restrained.

"Please remain calm, Subject 69," the voice continued, ignoring his question. "Your cooperation is expected. Today's test is a little different from the usual physical challenges. Consider it a more intimate form of research."

A chill ran down his spine. Intimate? What did that mean? He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears, a frantic drumbeat against the silence. Sixty-nine. The number echoed in his mind, a brand, a label. He wasn't a person anymore, just a subject, a specimen.

The ozone scent, sharp and sterile, made his stomach churn. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly. What are they going to do to me? He glanced around the room, trying to find some clue, some escape, but there was nothing. Just the white walls, the gleaming metal, and the unblinking lens.

"Today," the voice purred, "we will be exploring the fascinating, and often perplexing, world of human arousal. Specifically, your arousal, Subject 69. This is, of course, purely for scientific documentation. You are the test subject. Please refrain from embarrassing yourself too much."

The clinical tone did little to soothe his growing unease. He felt exposed, vulnerable, like a specimen pinned under a microscope. The lens seemed to bore into him, its unblinking eye recording every flicker of emotion, every involuntary twitch. Sixty-nine. The number felt like a brand, marking him as something less than human.

"Arousal?" he whispered, a mix of apprehension and confusion swirling within him. This can't be real. He thought of the machines, the glimpses of metal and wires he'd seen in the shadows. A cold dread settled in his stomach. What kind of "research" was this?

"I understand this may be unsettling," the voice continued, "but rest assured, this is all perfectly observed. Think of it as a learning experience. A journey of self-discovery, if you will."

A hollow laugh echoed through the chamber, devoid of warmth or humor. It was a sound that crawled into his mind, raising a sense of primal unease. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw something in the corner of the room, a flash of metal and wires, before it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

He could see glimpses of complex machinery in the shadows, wires snaking across the floor, metallic arms poised like predatory insects. He didn't know what they were for, but he had a feeling he was about to find out. What was that? He had a feeling this "learning experience" was going to be anything but pleasant. There was something in her voice, a subtle undercurrent that hinted at more than just scientific curiosity.

It was a predatory tone, a hint of amusement that made him uneasy. He felt a growing sense of helplessness, a feeling that he was trapped in a game he didn't understand, with rules he couldn't possibly win. On a metal table in the corner, he noticed a single, pristine white cube. It seemed out of place in the sterile environment. A low whirring sound emanated from one of the machines, accompanied by a series of clicks and hisses. It sounded like something was powering up.

The room shifted subtly, a low hum resonating through the floor. A sudden draft chilled him, raising goosebumps on his arms. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, leaving him in the unsettling warmth once more. He could feel a change in the air, a prickling sensation on his skin. Something's about to happen. He just didn't know what. And that, he realized, was the most terrifying part of all. "No," he breathed, a desperate plea against the inevitable. I'm trapped.