Thursday May 15, 2003:
I’ve decided to stay.
I made up my mind this morning, as I was feeding Chumtoad. He was so snug and content in his locker, in the little nest I’d made for him, it just me me think about what’ll happen to the little guy if I quit this job and smuggled him out. He’d be dissected probably, or cloned, or something nasty.
Black Mesa would be investigated, questions would be asked. Breen would try to cover things up: I don’t put anything past that guy now. But the world would learn about stuff it just isn’t ready for. It’d cost everyone their jobs. Kleiner, Otis, Dr Vance, Dr Cross, Lauren, Miller, Chico, and Gordon. I’d be screwing them all over.
Gordon’s right. I think I am doing some good. I’m not splitting atoms and shooting particles, but I’m happy here, and I like it. Sure I might bitch from time to time, but honestly, I feel like I’m finally proud of myself. How about that?
I’ll wait till after Gordon’s test is over, and then I’ll tell him all about the Chumtoad straight away. He’ll know what to do. We’ll figure it out together.