This is my first attempt at a Fan-fiction. I wrote this up to quell the writer's block that has been plaguing me since I started writing my English midterm paper.
Have you ever wondered what that dramatic scene at the end of Half-Life: Full-Life Consequences: Free Man, wherein John decides that he has to kill fast and "bullets too slow" would be like if it had appropriate tone and worthwhile action sequences? Hopefully we will find out soon!
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John Freeman: Total Carnage
A Half-Life, Full-Life Fan-fiction
Gordon Freeman died with a smile on his face, in an alleyway near the base of the Combines citadel at the heart of City 17. John Freeman laid his brothers corpse down on the trash-strewn ground. It was an undignified final resting place for humanities greatest hero.
John turned away from his brother's corpse. He wanted to do nothing but cry for his fallen brother, and best friend. Gordon's last words echoed repeatedly in his mind, and gave the sole surviving Freeman brother renewed purpose. "John. You've got to save them. Save humanity, save Henry."
John Freeman looked up towards the Combine Citadel. Lightening arced down the superstructure, impacting the ground around the tower and burning massive swaths throughout City 17. The tower seemed to stretch on forever, easily stretching above the cloud layer. John heard rumors that some of the Africa towers along the equator doubled as space elevators.
Any minute now, the Citadel would go nuclear, destroying City 17 and opening a wormhole. From this wormhole, millions of battle-hardened Combine soldiers would spew forth. Humanity had trumped most of the transhuman arm of the Combine, but if the shock troopers arrive on the scene, they wouldn't stand a chance.
The battle was still raging throughout the city. John turned his earpiece on, and plugged back into the resistance battlenet. "Henry, are you still with me? Someone give me a Cit-rep."
"Dad, you're alive!" Henry's exasperated voice crackled over the radio.
"Of course I am. Where are you?"
"I've raided a motorcycle depot on the corner Kiev Street and 5th. We're making a run for the hills! Where are you?"
"Main Street, about a mile from the Citadel." John responded.
"That's only a few blocks from my location! Join us, and we can get out of here!" Henry pleaded.
"No. Someone has to destroy the Citadel, keep that wormhole from opening. I'm going in. Alone."
"Alone? That's suicide, dad!" John's teenage son cried. "Let me and come back you up!"
John wanted nothing more than to see his son once more, but it was a desire that he knew could not be fulfilled. Henry was right, this was a suicide mission. The Citadel would explode with the fury of a high-yield hydrogen bomb. That much was certain. John could still stop the ensuing surge of reinforcements through the hole in the space-time continuum.
"No!" John barked. He flipped a switch on his headset, so that he was now addressing every free human currently in the city. "Everyone, this is John Freeman speaking. You must evacuate City 17 now. Get in contact with our forces in the other cities; tell them to do the same! That's an order!" John took his earpiece off and threw it aside before Henry could volley further complaints.
John had a mile of enemy territory to traverse. Then, countless stories to climb before reaching the main control room of this particular Citadel. He wore nothing but the standard rebel garb, stained with blood from five hours of continuous battle. Gordon had once stormed a Citadel like this single-handedly, but he had the fabled HEV suit at his disposal.
For weapons, John had only his brother's trusty crowbar and gravity gun. The gravity gun was glowing with a bizarre, white alien light, the product of some unnatural Combine modification.
His foes were legion. From the average metro-cop with a pistol, to crack Special Forces troopers with the latest in Combine weaponry. There would be Striders, troop transports, attack helicopters, and tanks to contend with.
As if to accentuate the point, the first metro-cop came waltzing in through a door to his right. John braced himself for the inevitable hail of bullets.
But the bullets never came.
The cop was standing in the threshold, looking at John through his face-concealing helmet. He was pointing his gun at John, but his arm was shaking wildly. Metro-cops were the lowest branch of the Combine caste system, with minimal transhuman augmentations. John was no scientists like his brother, but he didn't need to be to see through this man's mask. The cop was scared out of his mind.
As John Freeman began to advance on the traitor to his species, he realized what had instilled such primal fear into this hapless soldier. The prospect of getting revenge for his slain wife and dearest brother were causing John to smiling. Not the kind of content smile that adorned Gordon's face as he died. Johns smile was worthy of a slasher villain.
Thousands of Combine soldiers versus John Freeman?
They're in desperate need of some reinforcements.
