The Future of Half Life and the Second Coming of Gaben.

Gordon Freeman stared miserably at the mac screen's spurring display. Through it, he could plainly see three-dozen C.G fantasy characters using swords, clubs, and spells to crush one another into dust.

Dota 12 sure seemed like an interesting game, for those who liked the fantasy genre, only it just didn't seem on par with previous game created by Valve software. Older games, like…

"Gordon!"

Gaben snapped, sucking up the last of the roast chicken through his soda straw.

"Come on I ain't paying you to watch the play testing, we already got ten other guys for that. So if you want to continue receiving a pay check…"

Gaben pointed underneath his desk, down toward his sweating crotch in sweaty sweat pants.

"I suggest you make yourself useful…" the Lord of Valve adjusted his waste band.

Nodding solemnly, Gordon stiffly got down on his hands and knees, then, licking his lips…picked up the specially modified donut with liquid bacon interior and tossed it on the desk.

"Hey thanks Gordon,…" Gaben said ravenously, taking a syringe from his desk drawer and transferring the porky liquid from the donut straight into his own veins.

"Yeah…Oh hell yeah that's my little whore…" Gaben croaked, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

"I've been trying to reach that liquid orgasm for hours, oh, and the toilet down the hall needs unblocking again, I think Dave Kircher may be eating too many packs of marshmallow peeps. Yeah that'll do…it was Dave. Completely sure."

In the center of Gordon's vision, the quest objective flashed up in white type -writer text.

'Clean out peep shit', then faded away.

Freeman looked doggedly at the cleaner's cart he'd dragged in an hour ago, adorned with polish, sponges, mops, and lemon Jiff. In truth, it had taken that long just to clean Gabens' knife collection, as he always did on the first of every month. December 1st 2020, and forty years old. Today had been no different. Gordon felt weary, as if he were looking at all the years that had gone by like stations passed by a freight train.

It was then that Gaben sensed the discontent in his janitor, and let out a breath which sounded like a whale had died.

"If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times, Gordon…" He began, using all the muscle fiber in his arms to push his chair away from his desk.

"If we don't have any work for you, we don't have any work. But that's how Valve operates, if no two people decide to start development on Half Life 3..."

Gordon flashed two fingers and Gabe with one hand, and three with the other.

"No Gordon, Christ, , there will not be a Half Life 2 Episode 3 you known that for years…Now I know it seems unfair but if we compromise our principles of work-ethic flexibility Valve will soon descend into a soulless corporation like E.A, and judging from their latest take over of Ohio and Georgia, we are the only thing standing between them and their domination of the world's gaming."

Gaben trailed off, but locked his powerful eyes to Freeman's, un-phased as they were by the passage of time.

"I'm sorry Gordon, it was the all I could do just to keep you as a custodian working at Valve. But you do a good job dammit, so you should feel proud in that."

But Gordon had already taken his cart in hand and was pushing it out of the office door, saddened by the prospect that his golden years would forever be behind him.

Undeterred, Gaben leaned over his desk, creating a 'rubber-ring' of fat that drooped over the sides.

"C'mon Gordon, we're busy enough as it is shipping Portal 5, so don't take it personally hey, HEY, GORDON, I MEANT WHAT I SAID ABOUT THE WORK YOU DO. C'MON, YOU WANT SOME TF2 HATS? I GOT A WAREHOUSE FULL OF THEM!"

But Gordon Freeman had already turned the corner, with only the smallest hint of a tear welling up in his silent eyes to keep him company.

The rest of that day passed like any other. The monster turd clogging up one of the toilet stalls impeded its flush to such a degree The Freeman could only clear it by creating a massive back pressure in the plumbing.

After Gordon sent the floater demon back to hell, he tried to get up from where he was sitting on the cubical floor, and finding his knees weren't as strong as they used to be, used the porcelain bowl as purchase. This however, proved to be fatal.

A white hot pain flooded through Gordon's wrist and he yelled aloud, before slipping on the wet floor, and falling backward amongst his cleaning utensils. The health display in the bottom left corner of his sight flashed, spelling out 96% from his previous one hundred.

It was his right wrist, he knew. Over time, RSI had severely weakened the joint that connected his hand to his forearm, this due to over-zealous use of his crowbar in the entirety of the Half-life series.

Towards the end Gordon could barely hold it in his palm.

He should have known better. Crowbars were made to be used with BOTH HANDS, not swung about madly with only one.

There had been an almighty crash, but no one had come to check on the scene, and after a minute had elapsed, Gordon slowly got to his feet to assess the damage.

'MINOR FRACTURE DETECTED' was what he would of heard had he been wearing his infamous H.E.V suit. But where that was now, lost to the confines of the virtual props department, he had no idea.

Gordon tried to move his fingers and felt the small after shocks of tendon hitting bone. He reflected on how he could really do with a dose of morphine at that moment, but then again, without the hazard suit it was all just wishful thinking.

'Take away the suit and what do you have left?'

Despite his inner doubts, Gordon realized he still had a job left to do. With his free hand he began gathering up all the spilt cleaning equipment…when he noticed something in the toilet bowl.

Staring up at him from the shifting surface of the water was a middle aged man with an annoyed look on his face. Gordon sighed at what reflected features had become.

"Oh Gordon!..." said Gaben's head suddenly, bobbing up and down in the water.

"There you are, we've had a spill down in the snack room, could you come clean it up? Ta, Thanks, bye."

The Lord of Valve bit on his bottom lip, then, using it to pull himself up out of the john swanned out of the tiled room and disappeared to the canteen.

Gordon looked on after him, catching his real reflection in a mirror opposite him.

A tired OLD man looked back up at him, his hair streaked grey on either side of his furrowed head.

'You'll be waiting forever, no sequel. All those loyal fans out there, die hard after all this time, and in the end, they won't remember your name.'