The train wearily crawled its way up the hill and into the outer limits of City 14. Rain gently tapped on the windows and roof as though it desired to ride in the battered carriages, too. The passengers were silent: each wrapped up in his or her own thoughts and the general atmosphere was one of gloom. Gray Cabal leaned his head back against his headrest: feeling a mixture of regret and excitement at where he was going. City 14 was the closest Combine territory to the frontline in the Locust war. He ran one hand through his coal-black hair and sighed. He was tired: travelling for three days with no sleep had left him almost dead on his feet. There was no point in sleeping now, though: they would reach the station in under an hour.

Outside, a strange, hooting call echoed around the burned wastelands. It rattled the windows of the train and set Gray's heart racing, instinctively. He turned to look out of the viewing screen and suppressed a gasp: Striders. The massive tripods stomped across the outer limits in a clumsy four-'man' patrol formation. Their ochre, crustacean-esque armour looked almost organic in the dying sunlight. Cabal corrected himself: it was organic. Many of the Combine units utilised on a day-to-day basis were 'Synths'; a bizarre merging of mechanical components and living tissue. Their beady compound eyes squinted from under their shell and slung under their bellies were massive cannon assemblies wired into their actual body systems. Above the barrel of the gun was a stubby machine gun for secondary fire options. The speaker system on the train suddenly activated with a click.

"Due to recent seismic activity in the area: the outskirts of City 14 are off limits to all unauthorised personnel!" it squawked, cheerfully.

One of the beasts paused and turned its head to gaze down at the train, ten metres below it. They clattered along the track, betweens its spindly legs. It gave a noise which sounded like a mixture of static backwash and a threatening, animal growl. It was warning them against making trouble in the city, it seemed. They left the Striders behind them: stalking the outer reaches of City 14, and began to pass signs of life: at first just concrete outposts, shadowy figures watching them in mute distaste from windows and towers, but then storage barns and silos. Finally, they passed through a short, steel-walled tunnel and out into the city itself. On either side of the vehicle towered huge apartment blocks: linked together by metallic bridges (obviously of Combine origin) at seemingly random floors. Gray squinted at the housing blocks themselves: old 21st century flats in poor condition. A few citizens were hanging clothes on balconies or gazing out across their occupied home: dead eyed.

The train began to slow as it passed through a force field of sorts: designed to deny unauthorized access to wherever it was set up. It had a remote scanner attached to the generators (tall pylons stretching from floor to ceiling in the darkened tunnel) which, when tripped by a fake ID or the like, caused the force field to become almost solid and block the path of the offender. It appeared everyone on the train had valid visas and travel cards, however, because they passed through unscathed and the automated gun turrets on the tunnel roof remained stationary in their cradles.

The transport finally stopped with a slight jolt on the platform, and all doors clattered open. The silent, dejected passengers were disgorged onto the platform. Gray wandered after them.

The platform itself was a dull, concrete building, with cream tiling on the floors and halfway up the walls. Rubbish and dust piled up in every corner, and there was a dubious stain in the middle of the station platform that looked like it might once have been blood. At the other side of the room, chain-link fences had been bolted to the floor in such a way that the people emerging from the train would have to queue up in a zigzag in plain sight of security personnel before they could be checked and allowed out into City 14. A few tables and chairs were piled up against the opposite wall, and one or two people set themselves down there to take in their new surroundings. Fortunately for Gray, there were only a half-dozen people queued up and half had already been waved through to the other side of the security checkpoint. When his turn came, Cabal passed through a scanner-archway. To his dismay, a buzzing answered his movement, and a red light flickered on above him.

"Remain still, citizen."

The figure that approached him was one of the Civil Protection officers: a Metrocop as most citizens referred to them as: one of the few types of military personnel employed by the Combine who was totally human, with no internal modifications: just a mind-wipe and training. He wore a massive pair of boots, a black and navy-blue uniform with a logo on one shoulder and a featureless gas mask: the tinted goggles staring at Gray without emotion. One leather-gloved hand was wrapped around the handle of a Stun-Stick (an electrified cosh) which he had drawn and was tapping against his leg as he walked. The other guard manning the checkpoint looked on with disinterest: hand resting on the grip of his pistol.

"You have tripped the scanner, citizen." the speaker mounted on the throat piece of the police officer's uniform crackled. "It says you are wanted in connection with the murder of a Civil Protection officer in City 29."

"You must have the wrong person." Gray swallowed, raising his hands in protest. His heart rate increased: blood flowing faster around his body. He was automatically preparing for a fight or flight situation.

"You are resisting arrest!" The CP declared, accusingly pointing the baton at Gray.

"I am not a criminal! You have the wrong guy!"

Gray tensed to spring: to run, but the officer was too quick. The baton came crashing down into his shoulder. The shock of the blow and the charge sent him crumpling to his knees. The other officer half-drew his gun and made towards the injured citizen, but his counterpart shook his masked head.

"We turn this one in, we get a raise remember."

"We should just kill him here. Far less paperwork." The second office begrudgingly thrust the gun into its holster again.

"I'm going to take him to the interrogation room. You look after this lot until I get back."

The first CP took hold of Cabal's shoulder and arm, hauling him to his feet and giving him a shove.

"Through there!" He barked, gesturing to an open door behind a steel desk. Gray complied, muscles still twitching painfully after the blow. He staggered through into a rubber-floored corridor. Three doors dotted its length, the end one was open.

"In there!"

Gray entered, and the officer came after him. The room was, mostly, clear. In the centre of the floor space was a high-backed chair of the type used by dentists. Well except for the fact that this one had restraints clipped to the arms and leg-rests. Behind the chair, a large console dominated most of the wall space, a variety of screens and readouts glowed an eerie green in the darkness. Multiple keyboards jutted like tusks underneath their corresponding outputs and a single chair was pulled up there. Aside from that, the only other piece of furniture in the room was a trolley against one wall. It was difficult to see because the lights were turned right down, but it appeared to contain a set of dubious pieces of surgical equipment, which winked as they reflected the glow of the ceiling bulbs.

"Be seated."

Gray did so. As he sat, he noticed that the chair was heavily stained brown instead of its natural tan-colouring. He shuddered and settled back into it. Maybe if he was compliant with this cop, he would get off lightly. There was a click and the metallic bangles and anklets snapped shut. He was trapped.

"Do you know who murdered the officer in City 29?" the CP hissed, standing out of sight behind the helpless man.

"N-no"

"They say it was the resistance. Are you one of them, citizen?"

The last word was spat out: almost sarcastically.

"I am not a member of the resistance! I am a loyal supporter of the Combine!"

"Combine…?" The officer growled. Gray suddenly remembered the fact that Combine was just the human nickname for their oppressors.

"Universal Union! I meant Universal Union!"

"What is your business here?"

Gray was silent for a moment. What was his business in City 14? He could not remember ever getting on the train, yet he had not panicked when he had realised where he was. The last thing he remembered was…

"…oh…" he whimpered. He had killed the officer! His thoughts and memories were just a confused mess but some of it was coming back now. He remembered a strange blade: like some kind of sword made of pure energy. He had cut down the officer whilst fleeing from…something. He had passed out shortly after. That was when he had woken on the train. He could not remember who he was, suddenly. He couldn't remember anything about his past. Gray began to panic. He wrenched at the cuffs, furiously.

"GET ME OUT!" he snarled.

"Remain still!" The officer barked. Was that fear in his voice? "Stop that now!"

That was when it happened: time seemed to stop. The room became darker: suddenly pitch black, and the Officer was suddenly silent.

Gray was sitting in what appeared to be a vast black void. He felt his breathing return to normal and he sat back in his chair. What the hell was happening? Behind him, footsteps clicked an echoing rhythm as somebody approached. It wasn't the guard though. This sounded like shoes, not boots.

"Mr Cabal…"a voice whispered into his ear. There was something about this voice which made him uneasy: a sly undertone. It was clear that this man, whoever he was, had power and was all-too aware of it.

"Who are you!?" Gray snarled, trying to turn his head but finding it clamped in place.

"I am merely a businessman" the voice chuckled, dryly "and you are an employee, whether you like it or not."

"I don't-" Gray muttered.

"Mister Cabal would you kindly be silent. My time here is limited and there are several points I wish to make." he cut in. There was a moment of silence, then he spoke again from behind Gray's other shoulder: "I understand your confusion: I'm afraid the information you held was too valuable and you had to be mind-wiped and cut free from our organisation when you attracted attention to yourself by killing that officer."

"What do you want?" Gray sighed, growing weary of the mysterious stranger and his sarcastic, patronising tone.

"You were meant to awaken on the train here and we have nothing to do with you ever again" the man went on "But it has come to our attention that certain events which will be taking place very soon will occur here. I am afraid I am not going to offer you the illusion of free choice. All I ask of you, Gray Cabal, is that you fight."

"Fight?"

"With every ounce of strength in your body: fight, inspire and win. That is your task. I have left you a present under this chair. When you awaken you will be free to go from this place. We will meet again presently."

The footsteps came again, but this time they were heading away from Gray, into the darkness.

"And if I do as you ask? Will you tell me who I am?"

There was a pause, then a dry chuckle.

"If that is what you wish, then I shall. You may regret it, though."

Bang! A door slammed somewhere in the vast emptiness, and all was quiet.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gray jerked awake. The interrogation room was bitingly cold. He glanced down and realised that he was unshackled: wrists bruised from his struggles. It was dark, too. Not as dark as the void-like area of course, but the bulb seemed to have blown and the workstation was offline. A distant alarm was droning, and Gray swore he could hear the sound of gunfire from nearby. He got down from the chair and felt around under it, before grabbing some sort of material and dragging it out: it was a leather bag. He opened it and extracted a flashlight which could be clipped to his shoulder. Flicking this on, he checked the bag again. Inside was a shotgun. Not an old fashioned hunting thing: this was a tactical assault weapon, matt-black and stubby. It was loaded with two shells and around twenty more were lying inside the bag: reflecting the light from the little brass rings around their bases. Gray scooped them into the small rucksack he carried on his back and then slung the shotgun over his shoulder by its strap. It all seemed so automatic: like he had been trained for this. Before heading for the door, he glanced over at the guard's station. The masked man was sat on the stool, slumped over the console. He was dead. Gray looked the corpse up and down but there were no apparent wounds on the body. The head lolled back as he rolled him over, eye sockets catching the light of the torch. No injuries whatsoever. Gray stood and racked the gun, then he headed for the door.