THE HAZARD SUIT
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My first story!! Be gentle. This story takes place in the first game, before Freeman enters that freezing room that saps your health. Half-Life, I don't own.
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"I can let you in, but you'll have to hurry", said Dr.Irons, as he leant over the retinal scanner. "It's cold in there."
"…So?"
Dr.Irons paused. It was rare for Freeman to speak out like that. "So, you'll die if you stay in there too long."
Silence. Then:
"Are you telling me, that a suit designed to withstand the most hazardous conditions on the planet, can't keep out the fucking cold?"
"Umm…" Actually, that was a good point. Dr.Irons racked his brains for an answer. "You don't have a helmet?"
"I wasn't issued with a helmet!"
"Hmm…" said Dr. Irons. "Well, I'm sure there's a logical explanation for it."
Freeman groaned. That was effectively the scientific term for 'I dunno'. "Great", he grumbled, "another entry into the List of Things this Suit Should do, but Doesn't."
"Oh? What else is there?"
"Well for one thing, there's no oxygen cylinders, so if you get stuck underwater, you're pretty much screwed."
"Ah, but underwater isn't a 'hazardous environment', is it?"
"It is when you're drowning."
"True."
"Not to mention the fact", growled Freeman, "that the suit's god-damned healing system has given me a morphine addiction!"
"…You know", said Dr.Irons, as he once more leant over the scanner, "I think I preferred you when you didn't talk much."
"You know", said Freeman, as he fingered his crowbar, "I've taken to killing anyone who pisses me off."
"But talking Freeman works too."
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THE END
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Constructive criticism welcome. Flames ignored.