The tension between the two men was clearly apparent as the sun rose above the tall canopy of trees looming over them. Everyone crowded around to listen and were deathly silent. Somber news from the scout roused all of the rebels in the encampment to hear what was to take place.
"There is a limit to what we can do, son," the old man stated. "What you propose—it would destroy all we've done. It would destroy all of us."
"We'll be destroyed sitting around here, waiting for the Overwatch to attack!" retorted the younger rebel. "The scouts have seen mobilization down the hill at that Combine facility. The truth is we've been found out and it's time to move."
But I don't want us to go anywhere, the elder thought. I'm done running.
The old man was weary. His life for the past decade had been that of nomadic roaming with a band of thick-skinned refugees, a people who refused to be taken in by the alien Combine conglomerate. Ten years in extremely arduous conditions had taken their toll on his body. Although he was in his mid-forties, the tired eyes, rapidly graying hair, and slight sag in his shoulders cast him as a man of his late fifties. He'd seen friends disappear, desert, and die while surviving every second through steady vigilance, and sometimes pure chance.
He'd grown to like this place that the group had settled. It sat in a heavily wooded forest, where visibility from the sky was low and the trees were dense all around, making for a near impossible -to-find hiding spot. It had a nearby river for water (gotten only in the dark of night) and wild game for a few miles all around, enough to feed a couple hundred men and women.
"This camp is too large to move now. They'd see us before we could get more than ten miles out. We're being too hasty; for all we know, that Combine force could be using that facility down there as a way point while traveling to another location."
Wishful thinking, you damned fool.
The young man saw nothing but contempt for his elder's argument on the situation.
If we stay, we'll be sitting ducks for the Combine to run down our throats, he thought. Now that'll be a great way to preserve "all we've worked for."
He'd been with the convoy for a few years—a young guy in his late teens who'd survived only through brash, unforgiving tactics as a child. He was found by the old man and brought into the troupe as it passed through a town forgotten. He was also, ironically, the first to discover the hidden location where they now stayed.
"Look, either we go, or we fight. And to be honest, I'm all for fighting—" with this, many people nodded in agreement "—or just anything but cowering here and hoping they'll pass us by. That's not 'defense'. That's suicide."
"We've no army! We're rebels!" shouted the old man. He'd lost his calm composure in the face of a mounting agreement to attack. "We're but a few hundred men strong. Equipped with pistols and SMGs. We have lived through these years by lying low and—"
"—Old man, we're not gonna make it either way!"
A hush fell over the people as the words sank into every soul listening. The silence lingered for a few more seconds as the younger man contemplated what he wanted to say next.
"We have two options. Just two," the young man put up two fingers high in the air. "We can try and flee, but with a river to the South, the facility to the East, and roving Combine forces everywhere else, we're bound to hit something.
"Or we can fight. We gear up tonight and surprise them with an assault. If I'm going down, I'm doing it with demolition charges to bust through their compound gates, guns blazing!" Cheers rang out as everyone surrounding the two men became riled and the atmosphere electrified with excitement.
With that, the old man looked around to examine each and every rebel surrounding him. Staring into their faces, he could tell that their minds were set. He grew somber and his strength left him. He was more tired than he'd ever been. Turning back, he stared into the fiery eyes of his young adversary.
I just didn't want anymore dying, he thought, but I fear this isn't my decision anymore.
"They don't listen to you anymore, old man," smirked the arrogant youth.
"I do believe you've got yourself some rebels here, James," the old man conceded. "But might I ask: what element of surprise do you think you'll have, exactly? Day time or night time, it doesn't matter—the Combine never sleep, son."