Art by Jacob, Words by Hunter
The following is a transcript of an experimental game show hosted by GLaDOS, the Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System, known for her work in Aperture Labs. Due to the impossible nature of the game’s questions and high rate of player fatality these episodes were never aired.
Lights up on a circular blue stage where GLaDOS hangs in the center. Across from her is an empty podium for show’s randomly selected contestant.
“Welcome test subjects to the first game show where the prize is greater than money, but still manages to disappoint your parents... Did you guess it? It’s your life. Answer incorrectly and this repurposed portal gun will open a singularity beneath your feet that will tear you apart like a cosmic wood chipper. The singularity generator is merely a prototype, therefore the process may be even more painful than I designed. Oh well. As you humans say, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Here comes that bridge now. Contestant number 1, please step forward.”
A large, mechanical claw plucks a rotund woman from the audience and places her on a spot-lit podium before GLaDOS. The woman is middle aged, smiling, and claps for herself the entire way through the air.
“Contestant number 1, against all odds, you have made it this far. Really, the selection drone is only calibrated to transport a maximum of 400 pounds. There must be… less… to you than meets the eye.”
The woman’s smile inverts.
“Why don’t you tell us something about yourself we couldn’t guess from your periwinkle handbag, or tortured pantsuit practically bursting with…potential. The name of your magic tailor perhaps.”
The woman thinks for moment. “Well, I work in accounting for--”
“That’s all the time for introductions. Like most things, you’ve gobbled it up. If only this were one of those contests where humans prove which of them can waste the most time... Sadly, we’re not playing college today.”
The woman’s eyes shift left, right, then back to GLaDOS.
“As a numbers girl, you should have no trouble with your first question. Are you ready? If not, just pretend the question is a cupcake and you’ll do fine. Here we go: The Triangulum Galaxy is 3,957,055,214.72 parsecs from Cosmos Redshift 7, the oldest galaxy in the constellation Sextans. Stop giggling.”
She stops.
“A third galaxy lies 920,245.40 parsecs from CR7. Given that light degrades as an inverse square represented by the equation II2=dd2, what number am I thinking of?”
The woman stares.
“Perhaps a pencil and some paper would help.”
A platform supporting a number 2 pencil and sheet of paper rises before the woman. She grasps the pencil, and looks up at GLaDOS.
“This doesn’t seem fair.”
The singularity generator whirs into action and fires a blast at the contestant’s feet. The woman vanishes in an instant, leaving behind only the pantsuit jacket.
“I’m sorry. All answers must be in the form of a question... And for the record, the number I was thinking of was 400. I am still amazed our selection drone did not break under the burden of all that...talent.”
GLaDOS casts a glance above the podium where the drone is twitching and emitting sparks, then returns to the camera.
“That is all the testing for today. Join us next week, when contestants will have thirty seconds to inspire me with an interpretive dance on the origins of dark energy... I should take this opportunity to mention that the software governing my capacity to feel inspired suffered critical damage and has not been repaired since the invention of the selfie-stick in 2005...Goodbye.”
The audience applauds.
Stage fades to black.
“Welcome test subjects to the first game show where the prize is greater than money, but still manages to disappoint your parents... Did you guess it? It’s your life. Answer incorrectly and this repurposed portal gun will open a singularity beneath your feet that will tear you apart like a cosmic wood chipper. The singularity generator is merely a prototype, therefore the process may be even more painful than I designed. Oh well. As you humans say, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Here comes that bridge now. Contestant number 1, please step forward.”
A large, mechanical claw plucks a rotund woman from the audience and places her on a spot-lit podium before GLaDOS. The woman is middle aged, smiling, and claps for herself the entire way through the air.
“Contestant number 1, against all odds, you have made it this far. Really, the selection drone is only calibrated to transport a maximum of 400 pounds. There must be… less… to you than meets the eye.”
The woman’s smile inverts.
“Why don’t you tell us something about yourself we couldn’t guess from your periwinkle handbag, or tortured pantsuit practically bursting with…potential. The name of your magic tailor perhaps.”
The woman thinks for moment. “Well, I work in accounting for--”
“That’s all the time for introductions. Like most things, you’ve gobbled it up. If only this were one of those contests where humans prove which of them can waste the most time... Sadly, we’re not playing college today.”
The woman’s eyes shift left, right, then back to GLaDOS.
“As a numbers girl, you should have no trouble with your first question. Are you ready? If not, just pretend the question is a cupcake and you’ll do fine. Here we go: The Triangulum Galaxy is 3,957,055,214.72 parsecs from Cosmos Redshift 7, the oldest galaxy in the constellation Sextans. Stop giggling.”
She stops.
“A third galaxy lies 920,245.40 parsecs from CR7. Given that light degrades as an inverse square represented by the equation II2=dd2, what number am I thinking of?”
The woman stares.
“Perhaps a pencil and some paper would help.”
A platform supporting a number 2 pencil and sheet of paper rises before the woman. She grasps the pencil, and looks up at GLaDOS.
“This doesn’t seem fair.”
The singularity generator whirs into action and fires a blast at the contestant’s feet. The woman vanishes in an instant, leaving behind only the pantsuit jacket.
“I’m sorry. All answers must be in the form of a question... And for the record, the number I was thinking of was 400. I am still amazed our selection drone did not break under the burden of all that...talent.”
GLaDOS casts a glance above the podium where the drone is twitching and emitting sparks, then returns to the camera.
“That is all the testing for today. Join us next week, when contestants will have thirty seconds to inspire me with an interpretive dance on the origins of dark energy... I should take this opportunity to mention that the software governing my capacity to feel inspired suffered critical damage and has not been repaired since the invention of the selfie-stick in 2005...Goodbye.”
The audience applauds.
Stage fades to black.
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