#chelldon

Testing and chill

This wasn’t the first time Caroline had to deal with failed projects. Mantis men, firing people from the labs, the whole Black Mesa disaster… Sure, it was hard, but all those times she had been able to solve it, with only mild-complaining from Mr. Johnson, still insisting on how it could’ve been great.

But this was a monstrosity. Something against aesthetic and good taste — and probably against God’s Laws, too, if he even existed —. A 16-foot-long advertising panel that was causing her a headache the more she looked at it. Probably not a good idea.

She was still pondering on how to get rid of it — and more importantly, on how to convince her boss to stop — when Mr. Johnson walked into the cramped office, a box in his hands and a grin about to split his features in two. “Sir?” Caroline asked tentatively, eyes widening when the overly enthusiastic man in front of her started to take things out of the cardbox. Specifically, t-shirts. “I think that wasn’t included in the budget”.

Turning around, holding  a neon orange shirt, Cave spoke as fast as he could before a cough attack stopped his nonsense. “Caroline! Who cares about keeping a budget when you can attract new test subjects to do more science?” He tossed the shirt her way unceremoniously, and she wasn’t sure if it was her fashion senses complaining or her common sense, but she knew it was going to be one of the most horrid things in the history of mankind. Maybe almost more than the advertising… stuff. “C’mon, take a look, this is what we should have done several years ago.”

She only could muster a look of dissaproval. The words “testing and chill” were plastered all over the fabrics — along with some… how were these called? Emojis? Being locked in the laboratory all day long wasn’t doing her any good. She’d probably know if she spent a little more time experimenting with social networks, but who was she fooling? She didn’t have many friends left to help with it. — “Mr. Johnson, there’s a lot of repairs to do in Test Chamber 12. And we’ve have to buy enough sulfuric acid to keep some machines. We don’t have time — or money, for that matter — to waste in bad advertising.” His smile decayed a little, just before he slammed the box in the table. “It is not unnecesary spending! We are running out of volunteers, jails don’t want to collaborate with us anymore, and, anyways, millenials would be quite interesting test subjects if they cared about something else than their phones and their memes”. “Sir, did you even check it with a marketing team before printing them?” She asked, her brow furrowing. “Nah, I’m completely sure this is how this new generation works. Why bother?  Have I ever been mistaken?” Caroline bit her tongue to refrain herself from answering. Yes, yes, many times, she thought before putting the tee aside and pulling the giantic advertising.

Hell, she had agreed to create a Facebook page and a Twitter account —ran by one unfortunate lab boy, whose job now was to post outrageous memes and vines created by Mr. Johnson himself — but, if she wanted to keep the company alive, she should get a better marketing team than that.

… After repairing the damaged test chambers, of course. “And what about this? Sir, what makes you think a panel with a… giant frog… human... will convince people to invest in testing? This is a serious science Company, for god’s sake!” Meanwhile, Cave kept smiling, leaning against a nearby desk. “It’s called a Pepe. I did my research.” “Whatever.”

She wasn’t really considering their improvised campaign working, or even putting these outside. The assistant didn’t know much about teenagers, but she was sure it wasn’t going to call attention in a positive way, or, to make bitter millenials go to Aperture. “Maybe I should dress like them and make a press conference. Swag neon baseball cap or… something like that. And lots of junk food, preferably with some kind of chemical we want to research and… electropop blasting. Whatever it’s called. As long as it’s free. Yeah. Those lazy rats doesn’t work to earn their money. What do you think, Caroline?” “Absolutely no.” She took the box with her —earning a grunt from her boss — and headed towards the door. —“We’re returning this t-shirts and using the money we have in more important matters”. Another grunt. “Caroline?” He hesitated. Her heels scraped against the rug when she stopped dead in her tracks. “Yes, Mr. Johnson?” “They can’t be… returned. I bought them on sale.” Cave was smugly smiling now. “Guess we’ll have to use them, then.” She couldn’t believe what was she hearing. The brunette almost let the box fall against the carpet. “Oh, for…” She mumbled, throwing a death stare to her boss portrait at her right, turning around bitterly. “So. Sir.” She gulped. “What do you want me to make with these.” “Call a employee to hand out the shirts. Science will become the trendy thing again.” She sighed, and accepted the phone her boss was handling her. “Don’t tell me I didn’t told you.”