Combined
Prologue
I decided to take a shot at an HL fic. Enjoy.
He wasn't sure what had woken him up, but the deep, unsettling tug at the bottom of his stomach made him know that something his wrong. The strength with which his eyes tried to snap themselves shut again gave him a guess that he had slept for three, maybe four hours.
His senses slowly activated, one by one.
Sight first. It was pitch black, so he couldn't see anything.
Touch next. He was blisteringly cold, so he pulled up his legs and crossed his arms even more. The small pile of old shirts salvaged from dead CPs didn't do anything for his warmth, just barely protecting his ungloved hands from frostbite in the Eastern European air.
His nose was clear; he hadn't been sick in months. Thank god he didn't have allergies. He felt the overpowerig scent of dry wood, with the faint smell of human waste and the acid twang of the nearby canals making his sinuses burn.
Taste was next, although there wasn't much. His throat was bone-dry, and the coppery taste of blood reminded him of the fall he had taken today from a fire escape. He nearly bit his tongue off.
Sound was last, and that was strangest.
It was music that had woken him up.
He thought: What in the hell is going on? The pit in his stomach deepened as the musical loop reached his ears.
He recognized the sound of trumpets from middle school; his girlfriend had played one. Shrill, annoying, but here: scaringly quiet. Ominous. Up, and down. Down then up; a terribly slurred scale. It sounded like it was being played over one of the old inter-station radio networks run by the Resistance. Just today, he remembered flirting nonchalantly with some chick at Station 8. Her voice was horribly garbled, but she was sexy as hell even then - yeah, it sounded like that.
It looped like this for a minute, than paused for a millisecond.
He sighed and closed his eyes, hoping he could fall back asleep before the sun came up.
Suddenly, there was a piercing ring. His ears felt like they were going to implode. It seemed just an octave or two lower than the ringing in his ears after a grenade had gone off nearby the other day.
With that piercing audio came a glow; a yellow glow sprung into existance in front of an aluminum plate at the front of his shack.
He sat upright like a statue, hands already reaching towards the machine gun in his holster.
A man appeared - no, walked - out of the glow. Tall, slender, ragged. A man in blue; dark hair, red tie, briefcase in the left hand. Deep wrinkles in his face, but not from age. His eyes were a bright lime green, almost radiating like the sludge in the upper canals. Exiting from the apparent portal, he looked right at the man. The man immediately looked at him, wearing what could've been a smirk. A smile, even. The man's eyes seemed to stare right into his soul.
His personality turned to the exact opposite of his quiet, bashful self: he stood up in the air, almost jumping. He screamed, "Who the FUCK are you?"
The smirk disappeared. The man lifted the index finger of his free hand up to his lips. He attempted to make a "Sh-sh-sh" sound, but it was extremely rough; he took a sharp intake of breath beforehand and pushed the second "Sh" out far too hard as if with anger was behind it.
There was a quick pound on the wood separating him and the next shack. A husky female voice hissed at him. "Pipe down, Sullivan! CP's are conducting a raid two blocks over. Our shacks are hidden pretty shitty as it is."
Fear began to rise up the so-named Sullivan's stomach like a headcrab partly between its mutation to a poison one. His throat squeezed up, and his mouth seized up. No words. He could hardly breathe. The man's smirk returned, and he opened his mouth to speak.
He spoke loudly and clearly, almost as loud as Sullivan's previous shout. His surrounding environment seemed to take no notice, however. He would randomly stutter, and emphasize wrong syllables all over. Every other sentence was broken by a sharp intake of breath.
"You h...eard the woman, Mr. SsssuLLLLivan."
How creepy.
"You have ffffffailed to live up to your... expectations. My emp...LOY...ers have lost faith in your ccc...ontract and have placed it up for... bidding."
Contract? What the hell is he talking about?
"It is not sssssstrange for you to not UNders...tand what I am t...alking about. It is beyond your... pay ssssscale." The smirk widened, as if this was an inside joke.
How should I know what expectations I am failing? Sullivan thought conversationally, as the mystery man could clearly decipher what thoughts he had other than raw terror.
"I ad...dmire you, Misssster S...ullivan. You have... survived a great deal."
The smirk disappeared, and images began flashing in front of Sullivan's line of sight. His family: mother, father, wife, son; birthday photos, home videos, et cetera. Memories he had pushed away for over fifteen years; Sullivan felt indescribable happiness.
He couldn't fathom the memories the man would dredge up next, but they came regardless. The very same family. His love, his life, his hopes, his dreams.
Then, headcrabs. Hundered upon hundreds of headcrabs.
His wife. His son. He hardly escaped with his life, not speaking at all for theirs.
Sullivan collapsed to the floor in tears, still unable to open his mouth.
Why?! He screamed inside his head. Why?!
"I ad...mire your strrrrrrength, Mr. SsssuLLLLivan. You gave my... employers to have... great... expECTations. You would have... SHOULD have... been a leader. The... one tttttrue rebel. Insssssstead, you succumb to... your feeeeears."
He smiled.
"Your petty... human... para...LYZing fears."
"So, desssspite my recccccommendations... my... your... employ-yers refused to renew your contract. I was... tempted... to serve a... what you call, fa-vor."
He paused and sighed, sharply in-taking a breath. "How...ever, I am under... strict... instrrrructions."
"Sppppeaking... privately, Sullivan, I must... apologize. For what will... soon... happen. Stay... ssssssstrong."
Sullivan heard light chatter approaching. It was deep and throaty.
Combine.
The man turned towards the shack's door for a second, and turned back. His smile had gone entirely, and his mouth was creased into a deep frown.
He stared again into Sullivan's soul, who suddenly had a splitting, screaming, monstrous headache. His consciousness ebbed, and he was thrown from his senses.
Sullivan suddenly saw the scene from above, himself included. His own head lay hung, like a ragdoll, for just a moment.
His body shook for just a second, and looked up where he (bodilessly, he noted) floated.
He, himself, the human, had acidic green eyes.
A pounding knock hit the front of the shack; the Combine chatter continued, louder. "Citizen, open the door."
Sullivan (the human) sighed heavily, slowly pulling his SMG out of his belt and pointing it at the door.
The knock came again, harder this time. "Open up."
Seconds later, the door was blown down by a single Pulse Rifle shot. Civil Protection and Overwatch Soldiers came pouring in.
Sullivan (the human) opened up on them, but they were endless. Shots rained down on his human body; blood splatters exploded everywhere from Rebel and Combine alike.
Without warning whatsoever, Sullivan was pulled back into his own body. However, he had an wholly strange and discomforting feeling: he wasn't alone in his body. His presence was still there.
He felt the damage Civil Protection had dealt him... his heart pounded, his arm screamed in pain. He was on his knees; his foot burned where they clearly had shot him a couple of times. His ears were hot, and he felt one. It was bleeding.
Sullivan was surrounded.
One of the soldiers walked up and pointed a gun an inch away from his heart.
The chatter was frenzied; among this, the semi-cognizant and dazed Sullivan heard something that made sweat pour from his brow. There were two voices: first was the robotic female voice Overwatch Controller and second was of the very Metrocop that stood in front of him.
"Permission to deliver final verdict granted."
"Preparing to administer final verdict."
Sullivan felt his presence ebbing, though he used his waning control to deliver two fatal words. Sullivan spoke them in his own voice, but entirely not of his own will.
"I... surrender."
His presence left as another of the soldiers with a shotgun walked up behind Sullivan. He heard its pull-click of doom; the Combine slowly loaded the weapon with a final chh-chik that echoed the impeding finality of his own life.
Sullivan closed his eyes, which were now leaking tears.
He would finally see his family again.
After living through this hell for twenty years.
After countless failed suicide attempts.
After each increasingly deranged brush with death... this was it.
He had starved, he had fought, he had killed.
And this was it.
A nearby Metrocop, slightly higher, said something. "Overwatch, be advised, administration halted."
The group looked up at him, including the bleary-eyed Sullivan. Combine chatter set off immediately.
They were silenced as the bodiless female voice responded. "Dispatch requests reason, or request denied."
"Rebel citizen surrenders. Charged with multiple anti-civil violations. Bringing rebel in to custody."
The other Combine stared at the offending Metrocop, looking as if they'd shoot him before shooting Sullivan.
"Confirmed. Final verdict: deploy to Nova Prospekt."
The radio clicked off and silenced with a beep.
The soldier behind him shifted his foot.
Confused, Sullivan wondered what would happen next.
The soldier knocked him in the back of the head with his shotgun. He was brought to the floor instantly.