Fanfic Reimagining of Half-Life: Full Life Consequences
Squirrelking's Half-Life: Full Life Consequences Revised
Original story by Squirrelking (This version is a reimaging by Truedarkhunter)
Rated Fiction T (not suitable for children)
Blurb: John Freeman does what he must in order to help his brother, Gordon Freeman, defeat his strange, alien enemies.
Sitting in his office John Freeman plunked idly at the keys of his computer entering his report. He always hated doing paperwork, but it was a necessary evil when you wanted to climb the corporate ladder. Suddenly his computer beeped at him. An incoming email? And it was from his brother! Well, he hadn't seen the high and mighty Gordon Freeman since he got into Black Mesa. But he shouldn't be so uncharitable. His brother's letter of recommendation is what helped him land this job. Moving the flickering cursor over the mail icon, John clicked and discovered that in the span of that small click, his world had changed forever.
"John, I need your help desperately, we've managed to open a rift to some other world, and there are things coming through, things that are killing the staff here. You have to get down here before it is too late. Watch out, these things can infect people, making them into some sort of horrid zombies controlled by crab-like entities. You have my spare gate key, come as soon as you can and be ready for anything." John stared at the screen for a moment then called up his calendar. It wasn't anywhere near April 1st. Either his brother was pulling a hell of a prank, or he was in deep, deep trouble. Well, he couldn't let the physicists have all the fun.
Grabbing his skateboard and helmet, he logged out from work, ducked down the hall and rode the railings down to the parking garage. John kept his skateboarding skills sharp and they came in handy when he needed to make a quick escape. He executed a back flip as he hit the end of the rail and landed smoothly, quickly reversing the direction of the board to coast down to where his bike was parked. Stowing his board in the side compartment, John squealed the tires as he burned rubber out of the parking garage. He made good time down the side street from his work, but the main drag was already a tangled snarl as the busses let out from the schools.
John slammed his hand against the handlebars in frustration. His brother was out there somewhere, fighting for his life, and he was here fighting traffic. It was crazy. The inching traffic finally cleared and he took a service drive around the worst of the traffic jam and was soon at the outskirts of town with a plume of dust riding in his wake.
Black Mesa was a long way from his office and John had time to wonder what Gordon meant by zombies. Would these be rotting corpses or the recently dead? And what was he going to do if he did spot one? He didn't have a weapon with him. He began to hope his brother did. The concept sent goose bumps down his skin and he scanned every tree and shadow for hidden monsters at first. But at last the bright afternoon sun blazing on the open countryside banished his fears, at least for the moment. Birds called back and forth from the brush lining the quiet fields of the countryside. The sun was sinking slowly towards the horizon but it's yellow rays still painted the scenery in light. Maybe he was driving to his death, but if so, it was a good day to die. It was an even better day to save his brother's hide and help him fix whatever went wrong at Black Mesa.
Closing in on his destination, John kept increasing his speed. He couldn't stop himself from imagining his brother dead. Fractions of a second could mean the difference between saving his life and retrieving his body. Finally his luck ran out as he passed a low billboard and saw a cop car pulling out in pursuit.
"No, no, no, no, no!" he shouted as the lights came on and blazed behind him. But wait, perhaps if he told him there was an emergency at the experimental facility, they could help him. Deciding quickly, he pulled off and tried to figure out the best words to convince the officers to give him aid. He pulled his license and registration out of his wallet and sat ready with his speech. But he need not have bothered. What came to the window was no longer a cop.
Where the cop's head used to be was a pink-brown helmet that sported wickedly sharp legs like spider or a crab. The front sported a set of four wickedly spiked chelae or mandibles. "I guess I can't give you my license officer," John said to the thing in almost a hysterical panic. The thing garbled something that his mind translated into "Why not?" as though the encounter were a common occurrence instead of an event of nightmare. Still giggling from the unreality of it all, he said back, "Because you are a head crab zombie." The thing seemed to be trying to figure out where the metal ended and the tasty flesh began between his bike and his body so John shot his arm out and grabbed the police pistol from the cop's belt and shot the thing straight in the face. It went down squirting unrecognizable fluids and John stomped on the gas before the partner in the cop car could join the fray.
All he could think as he sped the last of the way to Black Mesa was, my brother is in serious trouble. I've got to reach him; I've got to! He opened up the throttle and pushed the bike as fast as he dared. The complex was huge and if most of the people in it had been attacked like that cop had, he was better off on his bike. Once he came around to some huge, dark bubble effect in a hallway, but it didn't appear to harm him, thank goodness! He slowed down to check the various information charts, but was not having any luck. "Gordon, Gordon?" he called through the doorway that led into the lab he last knew his brother worked in. There was no answer.
Shrieks erupted from the next corner of the hallway. It was time to move. As he was about to turn away, he saw something that looked like a map that got bumped partway down the hall. It was a train schedule. It seemed his brother got relocated. But when, and how? John spared the map a quick glance and went in search of the tunnels that led to the train yard here. Black Mesa was large enough that it was more efficient to have things sent by rail than by truck. John dodged some more sad victims of the head devouring crab things and after having to double back a couple of times he found the train tunnels. They were mostly abandoned as anyone who could flee had used every means possible to do so.
Still, there were a few train cars left that could hide any number of monsters in their wake. John stayed wary. Across the tunnel from him on the back wall he spied a gas can. It seemed to be sitting next to a generator of some kind. John cut the engine and tried to listen for any furtive rustling of cloth over the pinging of the hot metal. Nothing charged out of the shadows at him and the can was larger than it looked and held at least a gallon of gas still. John thanked the Fates for such a lucky break. Once his engine was as full as he could make it, he tore down the tracks to the city marked on the map.
John had no idea where he was.
This city did not look like anything he recalled, even from history books. Some strange, black military garbed people with white, skull-like gas masks ushered him along with other fellow travelers down the streets of this strange city. John began to wonder about that dark bubble thing he had raced through before. His brother said something about a rift. Hopefully Gordon was here somewhere.
Night fell as John crisscrossed the city. He managed to find some change on the ground in his search and used what he gathered to add a little more gas to his bike, and to grab some chips and a cola. He hadn't expected things to take so long and the meal barely took the edge off of his hunger. The guards were beginning to look more hostile to him as the streets started to desert. He suspected there might be a curfew. He needed to get out of town and find a spot to bed down for the night. He took the back path out of town and drove looking for a decent stand of trees or something that would offer some protection from the oncoming chill.
Ahead of him loomed glints of a large iron fence. Following along it he came to a large sign declaring the place to be "Ravenholm". Someone had defaced it, adding the words 'you shouldn't come here'. It sounded like good advice. John tiredly turned his bike back towards the road when he heard someone screaming. The screams sounded like they came from his brother.
Thinking quickly, John spied some wooden pallets nearby and with the strength born of adrenaline, he propped them against the fence. Makeshift ramp finished he backed up, revved up his engine and tore across the field and up the ramp.
Free-fall is a strange place, everything seems to slow down for an instant. The light from the motorcycle headlamp lit a pair of people with their arms outstretched, as if anticipating him. Their heads were gone, replaced by the crab-like monsters. If they wanted him to land there, he needed to not be there. John leapt from the bike, letting the vehicle's momentum carry it into the faces of the monsters below. He took a rough tumble, slamming his back into some barrels as he rolled, but when he looked back, the bike had neatly smashed the crab creatures, leaving the now headless bodies flopping. John was grateful now for the meager meal. His stomach heaved as he realized the crab things didn't just sit on people's heads; they replaced them.
Checking his bike, he smiled. He found that it was mostly alright, but decided to hide it near the fence lest the noise draw out yet more of these things. Gordon was around here somewhere. He needed to find him. Setting a quick pace, John gazed around the courtyard ahead. Small fires burned, lighting the area. An abandoned shotgun lay only a few yards away. A quick check showed no movement other than the flames so John rushed towards the gun. That did it. Two of the lurching fiends came charging from the rooftop of the house to his left at the edge of the courtyard. He hadn't thought to look up. Praying, he pointed the gun at the first one leaping down at him. A touch on the trigger and the crab exploded into a fine yellow mist. John swung the tip of the rifle around at the second creature ready to spring from the edge of the roof at him. A second pull left it thrashing wildly and it rolled off the roof, finishing the job the bullet had started. Now he understood what his brother meant by "zombies". These people were effectively dead. They were just being steered like cars by those…things.
John started laughing wildly from the horror and shock of it all. He popping fizzle of the pale fluids shooting out of the second head-crab zombie hit the flames of one of the small bonfires. In the searing sizzle he imagined he could hear the voices of the ghosts of these creatures. Still reeling at the unreality of it all he imperiously held out a hand and said, "Zombie ghosts, leave this place" as if he could banish them.
"But this is our house," the headless bodies whispered in reply. The laughter died in his throat. Regardless of what they were now, these people used to live here. He was the intruder, just as much as the monsters that took their lives and corrupted their bodies. Maybe the souls could rest if he gave them a sendoff. John went back to the barrels he hit as he came in. They turned out to be what they looked like, oil drums. He rolled them over with care and placed a couple under the awning of the porch roof. Tearing some fabric from his sleeve he rolled it as best he could and caught it on fire with the flame from the bonfire.
It burned a lot faster than he expected. He ran over, dropped it into the hole at the top of the nearest barrel and booked it across the street as far as he could get. It didn't take long. The barrel exploded upward in flame. He stood for a moment from the far side, ducking as the second barrel caught and hoped it didn't spread too much. The clothing on the bodies caught and he bowed his head for a moment wishing them a safe journey and peace, far from the monsters that claimed their lives.
Another cry from his brother broke his reverie and he took long strides towards where it came from. He couldn't run outright, lest he found himself face to face with more of those creatures. So he stretched out his stride to its utmost, scanning the rooftops and land surrounding him for more of the head crabs and their victims.
Ravenholm held none of the beauty of countryside he passed through earlier. The earth here was trampled and packed flat, what sparse grass there was looked dead and even the larger oak trees bore no signs of life. Neither leaf nor bird stirred among the branches. The earth here had been scuffed by dragging feet and he could see patches of blood soaked ground where the crabs gorged on their victims.
John rounded the corner of the last house on the block and saw his brother in the field beyond fighting desperately against a pair of the military looking, gas mask wearing guards like the ones from the city. Gordon was attempting to duck and roll for cover as one of them aimed a heavy rifle at him. It barked and a pulse of light flew from it that tore up the ground where Gordon had just been. John had no idea what the weapon actually was but it looked pretty damn lethal. He had to get his brother out of here.
Gordon spotted him from the dubious cover of the back porch railing of the house. "John? John Freeman?" He said in disbelief, his eyes going wide. "Over here!" he called frantically waving for a moment before another pulse blast sent him scurrying backward. It took out the bit of railing but missed the support beam so John dashed over and hopped the section of railing close to him and slid across to where Gordon crouched behind an old and decrepit couch. The creature appeared to be making tactical plans with the second one for the moment. "You're a sight for sore eyes! Do you have any weapons with you?" his brother asked.
"A couple but I don't know how many shots are left," John replied.
"Hey, I'll take any over none. Just make them count, okay? I'll distract him," so saying, Gordon charged down the steps towards the strange guard. John sighted along the shotgun, taking aim, and heard a click as he pulled the trigger. It was out of ammo and the thing out there was zeroing in on his brother. Almost without thinking, he pulled out the cop's revolver and fired rapidly at the pale mask turned sideways to him. The shots tore up the side of the thing's face, as what was beneath was definitely not human, and a lucky shot grazed across its eyes, blinding it.
Gordon screamed at it, "It's time to end this once and for all!" And punched into the hole the bullets had made in the mask. The strange suit he was in must have augmented the punch as the thing went flying and collapsed like a ragdoll on the ground where it lay still. At least John thought the suit was the cause. If not, John needed to remember to stay on Gordon's good side from now on!
Bearing that in mind he sauntered out and said, "Glad I could help out, Bro."
Gordon eyed him questioningly, saw John's grin and said, "You should try to get here a bit earlier next time," and laughed. But they had both forgotten the thing had a partner. Gordon looked up at a spot behind John's head and cried out, "Look out, Bro!" His hand pointed to the roof where the second guard had climbed up to gain a sniper's vantage point over them. "NO! Get out of here John! Run as fast as you can!"
John's back seized up on him as he twisted around to retreat towards the dubious safety of the house. He gasped out as the thing assessed which target to go after first. John could only manage a quick, limping walk to the stairs and back entrance. Pausing at the edge of the door frame, John looked back just in time to see the thing leap onto his brother, it's legs kicking out wickedly to strike Gordon in the chest. Gordon crumpled to the ground.
Anger welled up in John at the sight. "I'll crush you, you damned monster!" He roared at the top of his lungs.
…to be continued?
