The Strange Goings-On In Room 235B
Harold Mathison was like any other citizen in City 17. Afraid? Yes. Been beaten up a few times by Civil Protection? Check.
Wondered what went on behind closed doors? You betcha.
There was one door, however, that he desperately wanted to open. It was on the abandoned third floor of his apartment building. The faded nameplate read 235B in engraved characters that were grimy with neglect. He really had no express reason for passing through on the third floor; his own modest apartment was located on the fourth floor. But Harold just couldn't resist stopping for a few minutes and staring at the door. He occasionally heard low talking from within the room, but dared not to stay around too often on those instances, though he was agonizingly curious about the circumstances of the mysterious chamber.
On one day in particular, Harold Mathison was walking up the dingy staircase to his apartment. As he passed the third floor he paused. Room 235B seemed to be calling to him.
Okay, today is the day, consequences be damned...he thought as he stepped off the staircase and quickly made his way to the door. As he stood in front of the door, he gathered his bearings and turned the doorknob and entered the room.
Harold found himself on a short flight of stairs that emptied into a large, rather dark room. There was a long bar lined with barstools on the left wall. In the middle of the room were several round card tables, and on the right was a moldy-looking couch.
But the settings of the room were overshadowed by the people inside it.
On one of the barstools sat Alyx Vance, though she was not her normal self, it seemed. She was hunched over, speaking low and angry to something in the seat next to her. Harold moved unnoticed into the room and saw that the subject of Alyx's ramblings was a rather innocent-looking watermelon. When Alyx paused for a moment, the watermelon bobbed and nodded a bit. At this, she continued her tirade anew, this time turning to face the watermelon with a note of pleading in her voice, though it was clear she was trying to keep her voice down. Harold heard her words as he started to walk away.
"...ich erkläre Ihnen nicht, egal wie viel Sie plädieren. Oh, der Aktenkoffer, der Aktenkoffer, wissen Sie nicht, was ich gesehen habe. Oh, Freund, die Grausigkeiten im Aktenkoffer, wissen Sie nicht, wünsche ich Sie nicht wissen, sind Sie mein Freund und ich wünsche Sie nicht wissen..." (1)
Harold could translate a few words, but couldn't follow the rest due to the rapid fluency of the young woman's speech. He continued to the center of the room where he found a small group at a card table.
Here sat Barney Calhoun, a rather intelligent-looking headcrab, and a Civil Protection officer. They all had a hand of cards, even the headcrab, who was holding them very well considering the nature of its front claws. As Harold watched, it became the Combine's turn. He pulled three cards out of his hand and laid them facedown on the table.
"Three twos," he stated in the low garble of the Combine voicebox.
"Now that's a load of crap," Barney sneered with disgust, "turn 'em over!"
Reluctantly, it seemed, the combine reached out a gloved hand and revealed the three cards. They most certainly were not twos; they were in fact a five, a ten, and a scribbled-on queen. Mumbling, he filed them back into the fan of cards in his hand. Next in turn was the headcrab.
With surprising dexterity, the headcrab extracted two cards and laid them on the table.
"Two threes," it said in a very educated tone. Harold couldn't believe his ears. A headcrab? Talking? How?
"I don't dispute that," Barney said, "Jerry doesn't bluff. Period. Unlike others here..." he trailed off, casting an eye towards the Civil Protection officer, who just scoffed through his voicebox.
As the game proceeded and Barney took his turn, Harold Mathison walked to the furthest side of the room. He came to the moldy couch he had seen earlier, noticing a goatee'd man in an orange HEV suit contentedly sleeping on the piece of furniture. His glasses were askew, one arm was hanging over the edhe of the couch, and the suit seemed to be singing to him in a soft almost-feminine computerized voice. On the ground next to the man just below his fingers lay a war-beaten red crowbar. As if sensing Harold's gaze, the man's fingers twitched as if to grab the weapon.
Oh crap, he'd really beat me with that thing...I should probably get out of here before things get weirder...
So Harold crept along the paneled wall toward the door, though he was not noticed by any of Room 235B's strange inhabitants anyways. He still felt the need to keep himself somewhat hidden. He climbed the few stairs and exited, leaving the mysteries of Room 235B unsolved...
...for now.
A/N: Yeah, I don't know what the hell. This idea just kinda came to me and I HAD to write it. You know how it is. I'm really fond of the idea of a dynamic card-playing trio of Barney, Jerry the headcrab, and the bluffing CP. Bahaha.
BONUS:
(1) Alyx's German Tirade!
...I do not explain to you, no matter how much you plead. Oh, the document suit-case, the document suit-case, know you not, what I saw. Oh, friend, which know [Grausigkeiten] in the document suit-case, you, do not wish I you do not know, are you my friend and I wish you do not know...
Make of that, what you will.....but there is, a right answer...and, a wrong one.....[BLATANTCLUEROMGZORZ]
R&R and I will give you wishes and cake. And I keep my cake-themed promises. Unlike some robots we know.