After being bounced through all sort of wild locales and feeling—even if only for a moment—like I was actually somewhere else, there was something to be said for sweet familiarity. Aperture Science's (of Portal fame) sterile corridors were a sight for sore eyes, and yes, it was time for tests.
First I had to open a drawer. I grabbed a handle, squeezed my controller, and pulled. Again, the lack of tangibility was strange—an uncanny valley effect if ever there was one—but it worked just fine. It was the wrong drawer, said a voice over a loudspeaker. So I opened one right below it. It contained—ha-ha, very funny—a moldy piece of cake. Also, that was the wrong drawer too. Next, the final one: it contained what appeared to be a diorama of a workplace environment, with tiny silhouette people seated at tiny desks.
Until they sprang to life and started cowering in fear of me. "Oh no," said the loudspeaker voice, "they've noticed you, and now they think you're their god. Please close the drawer." I did that, and then the voice came back on. "Experiment contaminated. Incineration mode activated." I could hear muffled screams from inside the drawer and laughed—a little too loud—in spite of myself. In other words, it was all very, very Portal.
One tiny person slipped out of the drawer and began to feebly crawl away. I tried to pick him up, but no dice. "Damn these ghost hands!" I bellowed (in my mind). "All they ever do is destroy my sense of immersion.
After being bounced through all sort of wild locales and feeling—even if only for a moment—like I was actually somewhere else, there was something to be said for sweet familiarity. Aperture Science's (of Portal fame) sterile corridors were a sight for sore eyes, and yes, it was time for tests.
First I had to open a drawer. I grabbed a handle, squeezed my controller, and pulled. Again, the lack of tangibility was strange—an uncanny valley effect if ever there was one—but it worked just fine. It was the wrong drawer, said a voice over a loudspeaker. So I opened one right below it. It contained—ha-ha, very funny—a moldy piece of cake. Also, that was the wrong drawer too. Next, the final one: it contained what appeared to be a diorama of a workplace environment, with tiny silhouette people seated at tiny desks.
Until they sprang to life and started cowering in fear of me. "Oh no," said the loudspeaker voice, "they've noticed you, and now they think you're their god. Please close the drawer." I did that, and then the voice came back on. "Experiment contaminated. Incineration mode activated." I could hear muffled screams from inside the drawer and laughed—a little too loud—in spite of myself. In other words, it was all very, very Portal.
One tiny person slipped out of the drawer and began to feebly crawl away. I tried to pick him up, but no dice. "Damn these ghost hands!" I bellowed (in my mind). "All they ever do is destroy my sense of immersion.
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