#askcavejohnsonceo

Why, thanks, Mr. Johnson, sir! I appreciate it!

I might have a problem V2

In light of recent comments, I feel I have to instate the following rules.

Effective immediately.

If the turrets aren't shooting bullets at you, they're broken and ignore them.

Don't listen to the turrets, we built them to kill you, not strike up a conversation.

Sweet God I don't believe I have to tell you this one....

Under no circumstances should you marry a Goddamned turret.

They're genderless, it's a robot and more importantly, they're property of Aperture.

Here at Aperture we recognize a lot of things; Science, Experimental Science, dangerous testing at the cost of human life, muffins on Wednesdays...but I absolutely will not recognize the marriage of a test subject and something I'm trying to sell.

That's it people.

A package in the mail from ol' Cave Johnson..?! o:  This certainly doesn't happen every day!  It can only mean one thing...!!

Among the contents: a lovely letter full of Cave's usual humorous wit!  (I see you were enjoying a nice cup of coffee there, sir..!)

Also, a business card!  Going to keep it on display next to my Sherlock Holmes business card! :D

And finally:

My combustible lemon prize!!  ;v;  With this, I now feel ready to tackle anything that life tries to throw at me!  No more making lemonade!  except for occasions where I want to make lemonade, because that stuff is tasty.

I can't possibly thank you enough, Mr. Johnson!!  To receive a combustible lemon from the big man himself is one of the highest honors I can possibly think of..!  I will treasure this lemon for the rest of time!  Many, many thanks!! c':

Of course, nothing can keep you away from science; Not the damage to your chambers, or even the moon Peering in. Nothing is more important than testing. And you know you're better off with her gone, in exile. Killing her is hard (and besides, it's not as if you'd want--), And anyway, she's certainly better off among the wheat.

Soon, there will be no sign of a trail cut through wheat, But you won't notice. Your brilliance is focused on science, On the perfection of portals and platforms. (But you want--) The hard light hums, and who could choose the moon? Who could choose birds and deer and Carolines and exile Over turrets and jumpsuits and GLaDOS'es and testing?

Happily, you busy yourself in the soothing art of testing. And if you have a few external cameras fixated on the wheat, Well, that's just to watch for murderers returning from exile. You wouldn't blame her; the siren call of operas and science Might sway a former test subject from her precious moon. (At least, that's what you keep hoping, wanting beyond all want.)

Look at your enrichment center. What else could an A.I. want Besides weighted cubes and robots and guns and testing? Your only problems are gone now. A moron circling the moon And a mute lunatic somewhere far beyond a field of wheat. No distractions, you have all the time in the world for science. Yes, sir, it's paradise (and an itch to scratch) and never exile.

(But late at night your circuitry sparks with the thought of exile. Is it so terrible to need something they didn't program you to want?) Nothing matters more to you  than your facility, your science. (Yet still you remember a whirl of orange, a dervish of testing.) And today, you saw a deer, dancing on the edge of the wheat, (And there's no one to taunt, so you ignored it) playing under the moon.

(If she knew she was welcome, turrets singing an aria to the moon-- But she doesn't know, and even she'd never choose neurotoxin over exile.) You turn your cameras away from the rustling stretch of wheat. There's no point in wasting valuable resources on an unscientific want. (Perhaps there's a faint whisper of Caroline, beneath the testing. "You had a best friend. Now there's nothing left but science.")

Cave you kids an extra hour to get your stuff in.

Damn I'm a nice guy.

Now I've just got to filter through the 50+ entries I received.