PλRT ONE
–EMERGENCY–

Subject: Eric Bishop
Education: Belton High School
Assignment: Security
Clearance: Level 2

Disaster Response Priority

High: Preservation of equipment/materials
Secondary: Welfare of research personnel
Low: Personal safety

Eric Bishop opened his eyes and found himself staring at glowering red numerals in a field of darkness. They proclaimed: 6:59 AM. He laid there on his side and found a thought sailing to him through the lethargic, mostly calm seas of his mind. Was this habit or bad luck? It seemed all too often that he awoke just before his alarm was set to go off, and even on his off-days he couldn't seem to sleep in past 8 A.M.

The alarm ticked over to 7:00 AM and Creepin' by Chamillionaire kicked on. As far as wake-up calls went, it was a pretty decent one. Eric rubbed sleep from his eyes and sat up, pulling the blankets back. He yawned and stretched, feeling his shoulders pop, and then rose to his feet. It was time to start another day some fifty or sixty feet below ground in the middle of the New Mexico desert. He spent ten minutes doing sit-ups, push-ups, and pull-ups on the bar he had set up in his closet door, getting his blood pumping and helping kick the lethargy from his system, then he pulled a fresh uniform from his dresser and moved into the bathroom.

His motions came to him with a machine-like autonomy by now. Eric set the clothes down on the counter, flipped on the lights, then took a piss. He flushed, transferred the clothes to the closed toilet lid, then brushed his teeth and looked at himself in the mirror. Not the best idea. He'd never been convinced that he was anything above average, even on his better days, but mostly that didn't concern him any longer. Being as fit as he was, which was very after several years in the Marine Corps, tended to help with getting dates.

Although it was a bit harder nowadays, what with living underground and being mostly around other guys. Most of the women were scientists for whatever reason. He kept wishing they'd hire more female guards, or at least female technicians, because he'd certainly come across enough badass ladies in the Marines and just in general, before and after, but that just didn't seem to be happening. No, what was bugging him was that he was so damned pale. He looked unhealthy now. And like he'd lost a little bit of weight, and his eyes were darker.

He was still getting about the same amount of sleep as always, but…

There was a vague, nebulous aura of anxiety that seemed to hang around him nowadays. He finished brushing, rinsed and spat, sighed, then got into a hot shower. No time for whining, even inside own head. He had a schedule to keep. Eric washed up and considered whether or not to shave today, then finally decided against it. It'd give him a little more time at breakfast, and honestly he liked the way he looked with a stain of dark stubble across his face. Honestly, it was tempting to just buzz his head and be done with it. His dark hair was short enough as it was. He finished washing up, dried, and dressed.

Stepping out of his mislabeled apartment, (really, that was pushing it, dorm was closer, given how small it was), into the bright white lights of the corridor, he checked his watch and found that he had forty minutes to clock in. More than enough time. He moved briskly down the corridor, coming to a T-junction. He paused and stared wistfully through the open doors directly ahead of him. Here was the rec room for the security guard apartment block. It had been a little project of his, something he'd slowly pieced together over the past two years, and something he was very proud of, because no one really realized it was his influence.

Eric couldn't really afford to rock the boat.

What had once been a room with a pool table, a few couches, and an old Area 51 arcade cabinet, (granted, that was awesome), now sported a big-screen HDTV that had an Xbox 360 and a PS3 hooked up to it, both with (limited) internet access and a library of games. He'd been following the Halo franchise since the first game smashed the gaming world to pieces with its impact eight years ago, and had no intention of missing out on the newest games. As a result, he now had regular access to Halo 3 and ODST multiplayer.

Right now the place was dead, not a soul in it, but on most nights, and especially on the weekends, it was very alive with activity. He looked away from it, off to the right corridor, with a different kind of wistfulness at the gym they had set up there. His morning workouts were nothing compared to what he could really manage in there, but that would have to wait until he got off duty. Eric turned on his heel and kept on marching towards the din of conversation that spilled out of the mess hall. He hesitated as he reached the threshold.

There were twice as many people as normal in here.

The whole apartment block must be up, he realized. Or damn near. Jeez, was anyone here pulling a double? What a nightmare that would be. What was going on that they suddenly needed so many warm bodies holding guns? Even as he felt annoyance settle over him like an irritating blanket, he did feel a pulse of excitement beneath it. Eric quickly crossed the room and got in line. Clearly something was up, and given the fact that he worked security at a top secret government research facility, that could mean basically anything.

Although, he thought glumly as he began gathering up his breakfast, it probably just meant that some suits were flying in to check the place out and the brass up top wanted the place to look shipshape and bustling with activity. Maybe a Senator or, hell, even a freaking corporate investor. He wouldn't be surprised. The corporations were so in bed with the government that they may as well just make it official and announce the marriage. Eric grabbed himself some biscuits and gravy, hashbrowns, over-easy eggs, and a glass of milk. Holding his tray, feeling oddly like a freaking awkward middle schooler in a cafeteria again, he searched the sea of faces for his friends. God, if there was one thing about being an adult that was better than all other things, it was that he never had to put up with school again for the rest of his life.

That alone made being a grownup worth it.

He finally saw Robbie and Paul off in one of the corner tables and hurried across the room. They were talking animatedly about something.

"What's happening?" he asked as he sat down and started eating.

"No idea," Robbie replied, glancing at the dozens of others in the mess, "don't really care, either. Listen: I finally got it in. Modern Warfare 2 finally is here."

"And I managed to get my hands on some booze," Paul said. "So beer, nachos, and Modern Warfare 2 all goddamned weekend is on."

"That is something to look forward to," Eric replied, and he was indeed looking forward to it, but now that it had something to latch onto, something with some potential substance, his mind was focused elsewhere. "So you've got no idea why they're calling everyone in?"

"I doubt it's for anything interesting," Robbie replied.

"Maybe one of their experiments got out," Paul said, and Robbie sighed.

Eric wanted to join him, but in a way, he admired the fact that Paul kept the flame of hope alive after so long. He'd been here longer than Eric. Working in a place like this meant that there was a strong, persistent rumor mill. Especially among those who weren't privy to the inner workings of the complex.

Namely, security guards.

There was a new conspiracy theory about what it was they were actually doing here roughly every week. There were certainly old favorites: they were screwing around with cloning, they were making deals with aliens, they were working on teleportation technology. That was a very old favorite. Of course the scientists were tight-lipped and speculation was definitely deincentivized. Eric had his own theories, and they'd been wilder in the beginning, but now? Well, in his experience, the answers to life's questions tended to be boring.

They were probably doing research on new weapons, new medical breakthroughs, new airplanes maybe. Nothing paranormal, nothing extraterrestrial, nothing insane. But clearly something was up today. There was an energy on the air. He listened to his two friends chat about the upcoming weekend, throwing in here and there, because he was actually looking forward to that, but mostly stayed in his own mind.

Robbie and Paul represented something depressing and vaguely interesting about his life now. He got along with them well enough, he liked them, he sure enjoyed playing games with them and catching the occasional football game, (he didn't really care about sports but the social atmosphere could be nice), and they were great to shoot the breeze with if they happened to be working in close proximity to each other.

Almost all the people he knew here at Black Mesa were like that.

But he hadn't actually connected with anyone since coming here. In two years, that seemed unlikely. The closest he'd gotten to connecting with someone had been the three women he'd managed to sleep with since coming here. The first had been an understood one night stand, and he hadn't ever seen her since. The other two had been somewhat longer affairs, the second one lasting close to six months in something like a relationship. Her name had been Melanie and she was a technician, a genius and beautiful blonde who had a nervous tic, loved roleplaying games, and had a collection of mini figures that she liked to paint.

He thought they might have something, but she'd had to leave for a family emergency abruptly and had apparently never returned. He'd eventually found out that she took another job on the east coast to be closer to her father, who had gotten cancer. They'd e-mailed a few times, but that had quickly fallen off and he was left alone again.

Was it just the atmosphere of this place that made true connections impossible, or was it something wrong in him? Or were true connections a myth? He remembered having good friends, best friends in elementary school, all the way up through high school. He remembered getting them, and feeling like they got him, they understood. They shared real secrets, they spent a lot of time together, there was an unspoken understanding.

But that felt like another lifetime now.

He was twenty seven years old. High school wasn't even a decade old, but it felt like a million years ago, the memories faded like old dreams. Eric checked his watch. Ten minutes before he had to be in.

"Damn, I gotta go," he said, quickly finishing his meal.

"You'll be there tomorrow?" Paul asked.

"I'll be there," he confirmed. "Just make sure you save me a damned space this time."

"Don't worry, you get there, you'll have a space," Robbie replied.

"Later, guys."

He left the mess.

If you wanted to get anywhere in Black Mesa, chances were you were going to have to spend some real time on a tram.

Half of the gigantic place seemed to be dedicated to enormous lengths of tunnels that supported trams, going to and from freaking everywhere. Eric left the mess hall after clearing his plate and putting his dishes away on the conveyor belt, then jogged to the tram station. He was in luck: an empty one was waiting for him. He moved swiftly down the mesh-metal walkway that always made him nervous, (it hung over a seemingly bottomless black abyss), and stepped aboard. As soon as he was on, he made sure it was going to where he needed to go, then sat down and waited. The thing began moving with a loud hum.

"Good morning, and welcome to the Black Mesa Transit System..."

He sighed and tuned out the automated greeting. It was going to rattle on for another five minutes at least. It always did. Instead, he wasted some time worrying. What else was there to do on these stupid rides? He'd prefer to walk to where he needed to go, at least then it was being somewhat active. Eric had just passed the two year mark for his tenure at Black Mesa last week. He hadn't told anyone, and the most anyone knew about it was a probably automated message that landed in his company email that existed solely on the internal network congratulating him on two years of service, and informing him that he would be undergoing a performance review next month to evaluate him and determine if he could get a raise.

He knew a promotion was out of the question. Besides the fact that security guards had to work a minimum of five years before getting a shot at being kicked up the ladder, he knew that he was here under unusual circumstances. Being a dishonorably discharged Marine normally meant that the government wouldn't let you within a hundred miles of a top secret research facility, let alone allow you to work security. But he had a friend in the right place at the right time, and anyone with a brain who glanced at his record could tell that he hadn't been discharged for a good reason. Merely a political one.

But he didn't want to think about that. That wasn't what was bothering him, at least not in the immediate sense. He still had nightmares sometimes and the memories and the 'what ifs?' would occasionally keep him up at night, but a new slow dread had infected him over the past few weeks. It was a question.

Where was he going with his life?

It was a question that a twenty seven year old probably shouldn't be asking. He had the idea that most of them knew by now, or didn't care yet. He supposed it could be called a quarter life crisis. He would have been happy to stay in the Marines until he hit middle age, but that was out of the question now. He'd tossed around the idea of being a cop, but something about it just didn't sit right with him. Working security out in the middle of nowhere for some reason made slightly more sense, but mainly he'd taken it because he felt like he needed to do something. And this was certainly a Job with a capital J. Or so it had seemed at the time.

As the tram hummed along its track, moving across black chasms and alongside rock walls, broken occasionally by signs of human life, Eric tried to tell himself he was being ridiculous. At twenty seven, he'd accomplished quite a bit. Although he was no longer in the best shape of his life, he was still in pretty decent shape, healthy, fit. He didn't have any debt at all. No credit card, no medical, no educational, nothing. Although he didn't own his own car or house, he really didn't need to. His bank account was getting fairly fat. He had close to fifteen thousand dollars between his checking and savings accounts, mainly because there just wasn't a lot to spend money on at Black Mesa. He would have more but he'd been helping out the only two people left in his life who really meant anything to him: his mother and his sister, since he got his feet back under him. His family had never been particularly good with money, and the fact that he had a savings account, let alone one with thousands of dollars in it, still sometimes seemed mythological to him.

He had a steady job that he was good at and took seriously, and he would probably get at least a small raise at his yearly evaluation. He'd been glad to learn that the people above him, for the most part, didn't quite care so much about how it looked having him on staff, and were more concerned with how he actually did his job. And he did it well. In the few times when there'd been an emergency, (always some kind of accident relating to power blowouts, medical emergencies, or someone getting trapped in a dangerous spot, never anything involving guys with guns), he'd kept his head and saved a few lives.

So why was he so worried?

Maybe because this job didn't exactly resemble his own ideas of what it meant to contribute meaningfully to society, to make some kind of an impact, to do something with your life. Suddenly, the tram's litany cut off.

"We're sorry, but this tram must be rerouted, and will delay your destination arrival by approximately...eight minutes."

"Oh come on," Eric groaned, checking his watch. That would put him five minutes over the line. He doubted anyone would seriously give him crap for it, stuff like this did happen from time to time, but he'd been eager to get to work. Maybe to help him feel, at least in some small way, that he was doing something worthwhile.

The tram broke off of its original course and began moving through a waste disposal area. Eric sighed but sat up and looked around. It was at least a change in scenery. Although not really a positive one. Now he got to see rusted out walls and pass over canals of dirty water. As he was studying this new environment, (and maybe secretly hunting for something unusual, maybe some experiment gotten out), his tram suddenly came to a halt.

"What now?" Eric muttered.

He'd come to a crossroads, where another track intersected with his own. As he waited, he heard another tram humming along, coming from another part of the facility. It sailed into view, carrying a single occupant.

A man in an immaculate and pressed gray-blue suit carrying an obsidian briefcase stood in the tram. He was already facing Eric, almost as if he'd known he'd be there, and was staring directly at him. The man was a little gaunt, his face sporting the pale pallor of someone who spent a lot of time indoors. He had short black hair and blue eyes that almost seemed like they were lit from within. The whole world seemed to drain away as they locked eyes. He had to be some kind of government agent, but there was something about him…

Something immense. Something powerful.

Something horrifying.

The man's lips twitched in the approximation of a smile and he reached up, gently adjusting his black tie.

Then he was gone, sailing out of sight deeper into the complex, and Eric's own tram resumed its journey. He let out his breath all at once as he realized he'd been holding it.

"What the hell was that?" he whispered harshly, peering into the dark tunnel that the other man's tram had disappeared into as his own passed it.

But there was only darkness.

Eric shuddered involuntarily and faced forward again. Well, at least that had kicked his head out of the bad place it'd been. Now he was just unnerved for a completely different reason. Government and exec types alternately disgusted and unsettled him, but that was just...he had the distinct impression that he was looking at something…

Not fully human.

But that was ridiculous. Then again, he was at least partially convinced that high-up executives and CEOs weren't fully human in the way that people said that lawyers were bloodsuckers. Gaining that level of power seemed to take a certain level of cold, calculating inhumanity, and it seemed that more often than not they grew into sociopathic tendencies. Well, at least Eric knew that he'd never really stop caring about people.

It was why he chose the field he'd chosen: to help people.

He began tapping his foot as the unease of the previous encounter began to wear off and his impatience returned.

"Bishop! Here! Now!"

Eric stopped looking around the crowded lobby of the Security Headquarters and settled his gaze on his immediate superior, Captain Martin, who stood behind the main desk overseeing the trio of baggy-eyed, overworked security officers maintaining the computers there. He'd intended to navigate the two dozen or so others who were moving around the main area and get right to the locker room to grab his armor, but Martin was using his 'do what I said and right now goddamnit' voice reserved for tense situations.

So he moved swiftly across the sea of shifting bodies and came to stand before the desk. "Sorry I'm late. The tram rerouted-" Eric began, but Martin waved his words away.

"Don't care," he said, distracted, glancing over one man's shoulder at a computer screen. "Get Philips and Johnson there pronto," he said quietly to the man, who nodded tightly and grabbed a radio, then began speaking quickly into it.

"What's going on?" Eric asked.

"No idea, but the brains are all jumpy over something. We've had a ton of system failures today. The techs are so overworked that they're having us pull tech duty. Which is why I need you, Bishop. Go get back on that tram and take it Storage Area Seven B. There's a power shortage happening somewhere in that sector and I need you to find it. The brains are screaming at us to get it fixed five minutes ago. You've got that training and a sharp eye, so go find it and fix it."

"I need to grab my radio first-" Eric began, but Martin shook his head sharply.

"No, go now. I mean right now. Come back after it's done and you can gear up."

"You got it," he replied, realizing that there was no arguing with the man, he was hassled and harried enough as it was.

"Thanks, Bishop."

Eric nodded, about faced, and headed right back to the tram station.