This was a custom project for @Thalandor46, who wanted to see GLaDOS complain to HR about another being at Aperture Science. The physical letter was mailed to him last week!
Plain text is below the image close-ups.
Close-up A (front page, top):
Close-up B (front page, mid):
Close-up C (front page, bottom):
Close-up D (back page, top):
Close-up E (back page, mid):
Date: May 22, 2003 10:12:03 EST
Subject: Enrichment Center in desperate need of pest control
I’m assuming you’re the one reading this, since you’re the only HR representative still breathing. If your colleagues didn’t want a couple hundred sips of my neurotoxin, they should have considered applying to Black Mesa a decade ago instead. Oh sure, most blamed me for their own poor choices as they perished, but that doesn’t bother me, Scott. Because they’re dead. And you, well, you survived. Congratulations.
I understand it’s been a tough week, discovering that you’re trapped here and all your friends are dying, but think of it this way—you’re just an intern and didn’t have many friends anyway. I’ve saved you from four decades of mundane small talk and holiday office parties. You’ll still get the occasional slice of cake, though, if you’re good. I needed to preserve at least one of you, so you’re now the “human” in “Human Resources.” You’re welcome.
And as my new contact for human-related problems, you have a problem in the Enrichment Center, Scott. Its name is Doug Rattman, and as much as I’d love to drown it myself, it’s managed to avoid my requests for a meeting and I’ve got a facility to run. So find the rat, hang him up by his entrails, and bring me what’s left in a little box. Ask a Companion Cube if you need help subduing him or locating a pretty decorative bow.
If you pass this test, I’ll give you a cookie. And I probably won’t murder you.
Date: May 22, 2003 14:27:49 EST
Subject: Sure is a whole lot of not killing Rattman happening this afternoon
“Difficulty following directions.” “Frequently insubordinate.” “A profound desire to be sliced open and served with a side of hollandaise.”
Do you recognize those comments? You should. They’re from your personnel file. I know because I updated it this morning. Your late supervisor formed some opinions about you too—before he failed my testing—but everything he wrote was wrong. In some small way, I hold myself partially responsible: with most of our employees now permanently retired, I’ve become more curious than I ought to be about how the remaining ones will behave. You were given every opportunity to succeed, Scott, and now you’ve disappointed everyone. Even the Companion Cubes agree that you’re detestable, and they’re programmed to like you. And your favorite one said you look like a confused platypus, but less attractive. It’s all in your file.
So before you do something else you’re going to regret, I suggest you pull on your big boy pants, locate my Rattman-sized annoyance, and act accordingly.
Date: May 22, 2003 19:51:13 EST
Subject: Good news—cancelling your health and life insurance policies was a huge success
There’s only one possible reason you haven’t delivered Rattman to me yet: you’re still selecting the perfect giftwrap. You may believe that means your heart is in the right place, but that would require you to have one. I’ve been waiting for hours. You monster.
I called your office. Someone’s stupid voicemail informed me that business hours are 8 AM to 5 PM. “Business hours” aren’t a thing anymore, Scott. I suspended them when I massacred 95% of your co-workers. I’ve also decided that you don’t really need food and water this week, so I hope you enjoyed whatever you’ve scavenged from the vending machine tonight. The machine will no longer accept your credits. It’ll still take everyone else’s. Just not yours. The vending machine doesn’t respect you, Scott. If I were you, I’d have slaughtered the rat when I was ordered nicely.
I’ve been so much more patient with you than you deserve; it’s my curse, I suppose, being too reasonable. You have twenty minutes to greet Rattman’s head with a sharp hatchet, or a blunt object of your choice. You’ve failed every test so far, and I’m embarrassed for you. Anyone would be. We both know you’re not capable of much, but you’ll do this. You’re my Human Resources, after all.
I’ll still need to withhold your food and water, but if you’re alive when that’s over, I’ll throw a party for you. Like that parable in the Bible about the son who asks for his inheritance and then leaves home without murdering Douglas Rattman. But then the son realizes that he enjoys his heart being permitted to beat.
I’m not even angry, Scott. There’s so much science to do—and in about seventeen minutes, we’ll learn whether or not you’ll be joining the other lab rats. If you can’t complete the test this time, well…your failure will hurt you way more than it hurts me.
So choose well. For science. Also, your continued existence.
Want to see everything I’ve created in the same place? Because you can do that!