Chapter 2

Forgot to mention that I, of course, don't own the Half-Life series or any of its characters.

Soldier 17307 reached down and rifled through the pockets of the dead rebel at his feet. One of eight who had been caught in the act of attacking a supply train. It had been a standard weapons raid, something that had been common in the city of late, as the rebels got bolder and bolder, but unluckily for them, the Overwatch had wised up and started putting patrols in the tunnels. Squad 173 had made short work of this particular rebel cell, killing all but three of them. Those remaining three had escaped into the tunnels surrounding them and thirty-seven minutes and eighteen seconds worth of searching had failed to find them. Now the squad had regrouped and was waiting for the maintenance teams to arrive in order to remove the corpses and get the locomotive operational again so it could return to the station. While their leader updated the Overwatch Dispatcher on the situation and requested increased security on every point where the tunnels opened to the outside world, the rest of the squad spent their time searching the rebels in case one of them had anything on them that could be used to trace the location of the various rebel bases around the city or any of the rebel cells hiding within it.

Soldier 17307 pulled a worn and frayed wallet out of the dead man's back pocket. It seemed extremely thin and Soldier 17307 doubted it would contain anything useful. Probably just the usual forged identification papers and passes that the man would need to get around the city without arousing suspicion. Rebels tended to be very careful about protecting their locations. Most of them rarely carried anything beyond what they needed for their tasks within the city. At least, this was what the information in his memory banks told him, given that he himself had no memories of previous searches. Combine Soldiers had their memory banks reformatted almost daily to get rid of extraneous information, which meant that they didn't retain memories of past battles or other experiences. However, the Combine supplied its soldiers with all the information necessary to complete their tasks, and it made no sense for any of that information to be faulty, so he trusted it. Searches were unlikely to yield anything worthwhile, but still had to be performed. Even a slight chance of finding a rebel base was worth a look.

"Attention Squad 173!" barked Elite 17300, the leader of their squad. "We have a possible location on one of the rebels who escaped!" At these words, Soldier 17307 and the other seven members of their squad stopped what they were doing and looked at Elite 17300, awaiting further information.

"The Overwatch Dispatcher has reported an attack on a Metrocop in the Train Station, right outside the Food Hall," Elite 17300 told them. "Given the proximity to our location, it seems likely that it could be one of the three escaped rebels," the Elite told them. "We aren't waiting for the maintenance team any longer. We'll proceed instead to the station for investigation and possible apprehension of the target. Fall in!" he finished, gesturing them to follow him as he ran down the tunnel toward the station.

Soldier 17307 quickly stuck the dead rebel's wallet into his belt pouch to inspect later and fall into formation behind Elite 17300 and his fellow squad members. They soon emerged from the tunnels and into the station itself. Citizens and even Metrocops balked at them as they made a short leap out of the pit that housed the train tracks and onto the platform. The Metrocop guarding that particular gate practically fell over himself to get it open in time for the group of them. They didn't need to show any identification papers or passes in order to get into the station. Combine soldiers always had the right-of-way, and answered to no one, except perhaps, another squad.

Elite 17300 led them through a short maze of hallways and chain-link fences until they arrived at a high ceilinged hallway with a metal gate at one end. Three Metrocops were standing together near this gate, engaged in animated conversation. There was an overturned garbage can on the ground beside them, and something lying stretched out on the ground beside it. As Soldier 17307 got closer to it, he realized it was another Metrocop. Most likely the one who had been attacked, judging by how he was clutching at his leg and moaning. None of the other Metrocops were paying any attention to him, seemingly more interested in their own conversation.

"Enough with the chatter!" Elite 17300 barked at the group of them. "Give me an update!" The three Metrocops instantly shut up, and one of them, likely the highest-ranking member of the group, stepped forward.

"He was attacked by an unidentified assailant," the Metrocop told the squad leader. He gestured to a dirty shovel that was lying on ground a few feet away. "With this. We only caught a glimpse of the attacker, but he was dressed in ordinary Citizen's clothing, had short brown hair and appeared to be roughly six feet tall. I sent two other CPs after him, and they've reported to me that he jumped into a storm sewer outside the building that was open due to maintenance. They lost him in the tunnels."

Soldier 17307 silently processed this information while he waited for his squad leader to issue a command. There was nothing in that description that indicated the assailant was a rebel, and indeed, the rebels they had been fighting had all been wearing combat vests. It was possible that the man had changed into ordinary clothing to allow him to blend into the other Citizens during his escape, but given how none of the other rebels had had any spare Citizen's clothing on them, Soldier 17307 has reasonable cause to doubt that. Perhaps this attack was an unrelated incident coincidentally taking place within the same time period. If so, they had wasted valuable time, and tracking down the three escaped rebels was going to take much more time and resources because of it.

The sound of running footsteps made him turn his head toward the end of the hall. Another Metrocop had just come inside and was heading toward them

"What did you find out?" the lead Metrocop asked him as he approached the group of them.

"The assailant has been identified as Citizen 17500948," the other Metrocop replied. "He was working with a group of maintenance workers on the storm sewers outside. The others identified him to me and said he had gone inside the Food Hall to pick up his ration, then came running out a short time later and jumped into the tunnels. He must have gotten into an altercation with Eighty-se-er, with the injured Metrocop during that time."

Elite 17300 immediately turned away from the Metrocop he had been talking to and placed his hand on his helmet as he spoke to the Overwatch Dispatcher. "We followed a false lead. Subject was merely a disgruntled maintenance worker. Three remaining targets still at large." He was silent for a moment as he listened to the Dispatcher's reply. "Affirmative," he finally said, then turned back to the rest of his squad. "This mission is concluded. We are to return to the Citadel to await further orders."

"What about him?" one of the Metrocops asked, kicking at the Metrocop who was still lying on the ground. The fallen CP moaned slightly.

"What is his status?" Elite 17300 asked.

"Busted helmet and busted leg," the Metrocop told him. "I doubt he's going to be returning to the force. Can you deal with him?"

Soldier 17307 looked back at the wounded Metrocop. He wouldn't be referred to by that title much longer. Broken limbs almost always ended a CP's career. They took too much time and resources to heal, and even healed, they often left the individual with a limp or other handicap, reducing their fitness for duty. Such an officer was almost always better used as raw materials for other projects.

"Deal with him yourself," the squad leader told the Metrocop. "We have better things to do."

"Aw, c'mon!" the Metrocop whined. Soldier 17307 looked at him in surprise. It was highly irregular for a CP to talk back to anyone who ranked higher than him, since it put them at risk of disciplinary action.

Elite 17300 had the same reaction, turning and fixing the Metrocop with a pointed stare that made him back up a few paces. "Are you arguing with me?"

The Metrocop shuffled his feet, the action making him look a bit like the Citizens he and his kind were famous for harassing. "N-no, Sir," he said, much more contritely. "It's just that….we aren't allowed to process anyone who's at the same rank or higher than us. We'd have to wait for an Elite Metrocop to come out here to do that. And in the meantime, we'd have to stay here with him," he continued, nodding at his injured co-worker. "The whole thing's a waste of time and resources. Things that are better put to use on increased security for this area. We still have to worry about those escaped rebels, after all. It's best if we do what we can to minimize any potential public disturbance. If you or one of your squad members took care of this issue right now, we'd be able to move along with what really matters."

Elite 17300 looked at the Metrocop for a moment more, as if processing the information. However, Soldier 17307 knew their squad leader would come to the same conclusion he himself had. Despite the lead Metrocop's insolence, what he had said made sense. Speedier processing of the wounded Metrocop was in everyone's best interest.

Which was why he wasn't surprised when Elite 17300 nodded. "All right," he said curtly, then turned from the Metrocops to face his squad. He glanced over them briefly, the single red eyepiece on his helmet eventually coming to rest on Soldier 17307 himself. "17307, take the Metrocop to one of the interrogation rooms for processing. Once you're finished, you can leave him there, as long as you inform one of the others to put him on the next train to Nova Prospekt. Afterwards, rejoin us at the Citadel. I have a feeling we're going to be given a new assignment shortly, given our failure at fully destroying the rebel squad back in the tunnels."

Soldier 17307 nodded and changed his objective. "Yes, Sir." He told the squad leader, then started forward. The Metrocops who were standing near the doorway immediately got out of his way, leaving their injured comrade lying alone in the middle of the floor.

"D-do you need one of us to show you where the interrogation rooms are, Sir?" one of the Metrocops asked him.

Soldier 17307 shook his head. "No, I know where they are." He had maps of all major areas of the city in his memorybanks. "Just make sure one of the rooms is empty when I get there."

The Metrocop nodded. "Yes, Sir!" he said, then began speaking to someone via his helmet. Clearing one of the rooms out, no doubt.

Soldier 17307 ignored him and moved toward the injured CP. Behind him, he heard the footsteps of the rest of his squad as they exited the hallway. Hopefully, this issue wouldn't take too long to resolve and then he could rejoin the rest of his squad and find out his next objective.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Metrocop 87 had been drifting in and out of consciousness ever since the other Metrocops had arrived in the hallway. He had long since lost track of how much time had gone by, and was no longer quite sure of what was happening or who was around him. He also didn't know how bad his injury was, and what little bit of his mind he still had left to devote to rational thought, the tiny bit that wasn't currently dealing with the screaming pain shooting up from his leg, was terrified to find out. He knew what a debilitating injury meant for a CP like him.

He wanted to feel the break to assess the damage, to see if maybe it wasn't as bad as it felt, but the pain made it impossible. And for that, he was almost grateful, since as long as he didn't know for sure the extent of the damage, he could allow himself one small speck of hope that maybe it wasn't as bad as it felt. That maybe this injury wasn't career-ending. Because if it was, he knew that what was waiting for him wasn't a cozy retirement and a steady pension. No, what waited for him was the very thing that haunted the nightmares of every man and woman in the city. And facing that fear at this moment was impossible. His mind was already stretched to the breaking point by agony. He had to allow himself the comfort of…if not hope, than at least a delusion.

It might not be that bad…

But the cold harshness of the reality he lived in denied him that comfort. There was a sharp, metallic crunch as a booted foot came down just inches from his face, crushing the empty can that was lying beside him. The dim alarm bells that were going off in his head increased in volume when he saw that the boot was not the polished boot of a Metrocop, but instead a heavy, dusty combat boot, most which was hidden underneath the cuffs of worn gray trousers.

A low, meaningless sound of terror escaped his lips when he looked up and saw the hulking shape and glowing blue eyes of a Combine soldier looming over him. Without a word, the soldier leaned over and seized him, hoisting Metrocop 87 up and slinging him over his shoulder. Metrocop 87 cried out in agony as his broken leg swung freely, bouncing painfully against the padded armor covering the Soldier's chest. The Soldier paid him no heed and soon the two of them were moving away from the Food Hall, Metrocop 87 still moaning in pain. Behind him, he heard one of the other Metrocops laugh.

"Where are you taking me?" he managed to say through a cloud of pain. The question was unnecessary; there could only be one place the Soldier could be taking him, but he needed confirmation. Whereas before, the uncertainty had brought him comfort, now, as he was carried down a narrow hallway usually restricted to imprisoned Citizens, it brought him nothing but terror.

"Nova Prospekt," the Soldier replied, confirming his fears. "You are too injured to continue as a CP. I am stripping you of your rank and registering you as new recruit into the trans-human arm of the Combine Overwatch."

No…

They would cut him open. They would pull out his organs. They would slice into his head. They would carve up his brain and fill it with wires. They would open his throat and take away his voice. They would cut off his…

"No!" he protested, despite knowing it was useless. "No, no, they can't! It wasn't my fault! That worker did this! It's his fault! Punish HIM! NOT ME!"

But his protests were useless and he knew it. "Punishment" had nothing to do with it. This had nothing to do with right and wrong or who deserved it and who didn't. This was merely a consequence of the ugly reality they all lived in. Of the unfeeling masters they lived under. He was no longer of use to them. A random occurrence had stripped him of his usefulness and now he had no more choice over his fate than a condemned Citizen. Both of them were simply put to better use elsewhere. It wasn't personal.

It just was…

He cried out in terror and desperately tried to seize the chain-link fence they were now passing. He only managed to get two fingers through the metal loops before the Solder harshly jerked his hand away, nearly tearing his glove off.

He moaned and clutched at his now throbbing fingers with his free hand as the Soldier turned a corner and passed by two other Metrocops, who turned their heads curiously toward the pair of them. Metrocop 87 didn't know who they were. He was moving to quickly to get a clear view of their numbers. But he knew it didn't matter. They may have once been co-workers…..perhaps even friends, but in his current situation, he knew that neither would lift a finger to aid him. He was no longer one of them. He was no longer anything but "raw materials." A non-person. Their familiar masked faces were suddenly impersonal and menacing. What was once the face of the Citizens' oppression had become the face of his oppression too.

He whimpered as the two of them turned away from him and started down the hall, leaving him feeling more alone than he had ever felt in his life. It was just him and the Soldier now. And soon, even the Soldier would be gone, having "processed" him and gone on his way. Then there would be nothing but an empty pod on a razor train and future of pain and terror….and then slavery as a brain-damaged drone.

He cried out again, unable to keep his terror in check. This couldn't be happening! This couldn't be how things would end! Everything had been the way he wanted! An hour ago, everything had been fine! He hadn't done anything wrong! He couldn't make this trip! This wasn't fair….it wasn't right!

But then, right and wrong were something he hadn't cared about in a long time. Why should he expect anyone else to care about them now that it was his life on the line?

The Soldier must have decided he'd had enough of Metrocop 87's noise. He brought up an arm and smacked his broken leg….not hard, but enough to make agony shoot through the dangling limb once more.

"Keep quiet or I'll do that again," the Soldier said over Metrocop 87's moan. Tears sprang into the former Metrocop's eyes as he bit down on his lip, trying to keep his screams inside. He couldn't bear the pain in his leg much longer.

His leg…

His leg! And suddenly, Metrocop 87's panicked mind happened upon a last desperate straw. Not much, but it was something to grasp at. And something was better than nothing.

"My leg," he managed to get out, as the Soldier turned another corner. "My leg is ruined. If I can't be a Metrocop, I can't be a Soldier either!"

The Soldier continued on without a hitch, heading down a narrow hallway lined with doors, a hallway that Metrocop 87 recognized as the Interrogation Wing. "Not everything in the Combine Army needs its lower limbs," was all the Soldier said as he entered one of the Interrogation Rooms.

Metrocop 87's mind needed only a single, cold moment to understand. To remember that there were worse things made at Nova Prospekt than Soldiers. To realize what fate awaited him.

Metrocop 87 started screaming, just as the heavy door slammed shut behind him.