-Shephard's Story-
-Twisted Turn of Events-
A/N: I am desperately sorry this chapter has been so long in coming. But recently my laptop, along with all my work, was stolen. So as soon as I bought a replacement, I got right back to finishing it. I plan to have a long chapter released every other day. And again, thank you so much for the great reviews, they mean a lot to me.
Now on with the show!
The world was upside down; at least it seemed that way to Tower. Hanging by his seat belt, his head touching the ceiling, he tried to make sense of where he was. Moving his arms hurt, but just the same the marine reached to unhook his belt. Tower slide out of his seat and out the broken driver's side window. Lying there among the coarse desert sand, the entire incident came flooding back to him. The Osprey ride, the fight through the complex, and the nuclear explosion.
He inhaled deeply, he was alive. His voiced cracked as he began to laugh. His body almost convulsed with the euphoria of making it this far. He laughed for life, he laughed for his comrades. The thought of his friends brought him back to reality. Arms, cut and bloodied from the broken glass, pushed him up from the sand. The car was turned upside down in a ditch next to a section of road. Running to the passenger side of the jeep, Tower tried to pry open the door.
"Jackson, you there man?" The old engineer was moaning in his seat, trying to unclip his belt. "Lemme get that." Tower pulled his combat knife out and slit the strap, causing his friend to plunge headfirst into the ceiling, eliciting a barrage of curses.
"Christ, where did you learn to drive?" Jackson struggled to get upright and out of the car.
"Probably the same place you learned to tell time." Tower shot back, reaching to help him up.
"Yeah well I was off by half and hour, what did you want me to do? Radio the Black Ops and say 'hey we're trying to escape here, I was wondering when you plan to detonate that bomb of yours?'" Tower grabbed his left arm and hoisted him out of the overturned car. "Ouch! Put me down, put me down!" Jackson yelled in pain. Tower let him down easy.
"He's probably broken his arm." Tower turned to see Wilkes standing behind him, a large cut above his eye and a bandage soaked in blood wrapped around his right hand.
"You alright, buddy?" Wilkes waved the comment away, he'd be okay. Kneeling next to Jackson, Wilkes gently squeezed the injured arm, causing him to mew in pain. Wilkes nodded to Tower that his diagnosis had been correct.
Sitting their friend up against the side of the car, Wilkes improvised a sling from some of the gauss he had left. "This'll do for now, but I cant set it without the proper supplies, that means getting to civilization."
Jackson pulled his last cigarette from his vest pocket and placed it between his lips. "Yeah good luck, we're miles away from anything resembling a bar. And what about the Doc?"
"He's knocked out cold, but he'll live." Jackson snorted in detest and puffed on the bud. "How much water do we have?" They'd need all they could carry to make it to the closest town in this scorching heat.
Tower knew the news wouldn't please the medic. "Whatever you got left in your canteen, that's it. There wasn't anything in the car." Jackson coughed into his right hand, the cigarette hanging limply from his bottom lip.
"We might as well throw in the fucking towel now." He said between puffs. Wilkes turned his head in the direction of the base, the gray mushroom cloud slowly fading into the wind.
"Dehydration could be the least of our problems, if the wind blows in our direction, we going to get hit with that fall out. The radiation we've already been exposed to wont be good for our health." All the more reason to start walking. Tower had seen the pictures in hazardous environment training of the guys who'd been exposed to high levels of radiation, and he didn't want to end up like them, dying on some hospital bed, they're own throat chocking them to death due to swelling.
Jackson moved to get up and, grunting in pain, managed to stabilize himself against the side of the jeep. "That's okay Wilkes, I didn't plan on having kids anyways."
"Maybe that's for the best." Wilkes mumbled. Jackson laughed out loud, and immediately regretted it. Any movement hurt his arm.
Tower opened the door on Doctor Bennett's side and he and Wilkes pulled him from his position curled up in the ceiling. "Any way to wake him up? We wont be able to carry him the whole way." Wilkes told him that besides an injection of adrenaline, the doc could stay this way. "Why not give him the shot?"
Wilkes checked the man's pulse and cleaned up the gash across his forehead. "Oh it'll wake him up alright, and immediately put him back into shock, he could die from a heart attack." Tower didn't need the doctor dieing on him, but they needed to get out of the way of the fallout.
Jackson stepped out onto the road, trying to see if he could make out anything down the way. It looked like a long walk, one he dreaded making. The sun sat high in the sky, a vigilant and deadly watchdog. Heat rose from the asphalt and made it seem as those the road was trembling.
Or maybe it really was trembling. Jackson felt his feet vibrate and he turned to the other two marines. "Hey you guys feel that?" Tower could see the sand shift and sway. How could their situation possibly get any worse? His question was rewarded with what he thought must have been a cruel joke played on him by his maker.
All across their view of the desert, the same green portals appeared enmass. They covered the landscape and the sky grew dark with gray clouds of despair. Out of the portals dropped the same electricity spitting creatures that had plagued them for the past two days.
More than two-dozen of the Xenian creatures surrounded the tiny jeep. They stood still for a moment, most likely unsure of where they were and why they had been brought to this strange, unknown place.
"This has got to be some kind of fucking joke!" Jackson screamed at the top of his lungs. He couldn't believe it, they had escaped, and they were home free. But even out here these things still hunted them. The aliens took notice of the frantic human figure and let out a collective howl. Tower stood paralyzed, they were completely helpless. Dehydration no longer presented a problem, nor did the radiation, they didn't have near enough ammunition to defend themselves. Tower and Wilkes took cover in the space between the edge of the ditch and the side of the overturned car.
"Jackson get down here!" Tower yelled to his friend. He didn't move from his spot on the road though. Instead he brought his pistol up to bear and took aim. He had six shots left, five for them… one for himself. "What the hell are you doing!" Tower screamed, he wouldn't be able to kill them all, it was suicide. The moaning persisted from the creatures, but they had yet to attack. The sky overhead still rumbled with thunder and shook the ground; it was a terrifying spectacle indeed. Running from his position under cover, Tower scrambled up the side of the ditch and onto the road. Jackson was trying to flick the laser sight on with one hand, and was frantically mumbling to himself. Tower grabbed him and pulled him off the road and into the ditch.
"No!" Jackson screamed. "Lemme go! I'll kill em!" Wilkes grabbed his broken arm and squeezed tightly, causing his friend to cry out in pain, not anger.
"Sit the fuck down and shut up. Listen." The three sat intently and tried to hear the roar of the ravenous creatures over the thunder and lighting of the storm. But there was nothing, no sounds of clicking mandibles or hungry mouths could be heard.
"Oh my cranium!" The doctor was finally waking. He shifted awkwardly and rubbed the gash on his head. Wilkes put his hand over the Walter Bennett's mouth and brought a finger to his lips, pointing under the car and through the broken windows. The doctor, confused, looked out to the other side of the vehicle. His face paled as he saw how many of the creatures lay on the other side. "I've never seen so many vortigaunts in one place." He whispered. So that's what they were called, Wilkes tucked that little bit of information back in his mind for the time being. "But they're acting strangely, just standing there."
The vortigaunts, who normally stooped and hunched over, were now standing erect, like a human. Their eyes moved to focus on one new, strange thing after the next, taking in their surroundings, but they did not growl, they did not howl. Slowly, each one turned to another and raised their three grotesque arms to the sky, each letting out not a moan, but more of a shriek. The high-pitched sound overwhelmed the four men as it rose over even the thunder and lightening.
"What the hell are they doing?" Tower yelled over the piercing shriek. The doctor didn't reply, he was fixated on the creatures that were mere yards away. The cry finally subsided and the creatures ripped at the shackles covering their bodies. The green metal sank into the sand and the vortigaunts rubbed the raw flesh beneath. The doctor rose from his squatting position, his head visible above the jeep. Tower grabbed for the man's lab coat, trying to pull him back down. "Get back down! They can see you!"
"I knew it!" The scientist cried. "They have intelligence, but were slaves to something, or someone. Freeman you did it!" Tower was about to ask the doctor what that traitorous saboteur had to with anything, but the doctor's cry had attracted some unwanted attention.
Several of the nearby vortigaunts snapped their heads in the direction of the four, attracted by the human's cries. Their feet sank uneasily into the sand as they hobbled over to the car, seeming as nervous as the men hiding from them. Tower gripped his combat knife tightly, knowing that whatever came next, he wasn't going down without a fight. But he couldn't possibly have predicted what would happen next.
Three vortigaunts wobbled up to the car, their red eyes shifting like the sand beneath their feet. Wilkes closed his eyes and waiting for the sparking sound that accompanied the electric shock, but it never came. Instead the three marines heard a strange gurgling sound, like someone struggling to speak underwater. Doctor Bennett never moved from his spot behind the car, but he did not cringe in fear either, as the alien creature tried to move its mouth in such a way as to produce human words.
"Frr…ffrrr." One began. "Freeeeee." Another continued. "Freema….nnn." The last one completed the word. The other two copied the last and soon they were chanting the scientist's name.
"Freeman, Freeman, Freeman." They raised their liberated arms into the gray sky and soon the rest of the vortigaunts were doing the same. Tower heard the man's name over and over again, in the same strange tone that the creatures spoke with.
"They can talk." He whispered to Jackson, who shrugged and let his hand stray to his pistol.
"They can bleed too. One wrong move, and I wont think twice about blowing a hole in the face of doc's precious pets." For the moment the three sat tight, listening to the chanting of the vortigaunts. The doctor finally moved from his spot and slowly approached the alien creatures, not wanting to startle them.
"Freeman, yes… he saved you, didn't he? He broke you out of your bondage?" He spoke to the nearest one, who stopped his chanted, following almost immediately by the rest of the group, it seemed to imply some type of communal intelligence, the doctor thought.
"Say…saav…d….saved." The creature was amazing, it was learning words as fast the doctor spoke them to it.
"Yes, yes! That's it!" Tower finally had enough of hiding behind the car and slowly stood up. The alien's center eye stayed focused on the doctor, the eye on the left side of his face strayed to focus on the marines. Dilating and moving from soldier to soldier, the alien lost interest in the doctor and snapped around. Jackson brought his gun up, but Tower held it away from the alien, shaking his head.
"Sh…shep…ard." The vortigaunt gargled. "Shephard…" It was unmistakable; this thing knew the name of their missing comrade.
The doctor was further confused by this turn of events. He looked to the three marines. "You know someone by that name?" Tower was about to reply when Wilkes nudged him.
"Hey you hear that?" A rhythmic noise was coming from the other side of the road. Wilkes climbed the ditch to get a better look.
"What do you see?" Wilkes brought his hand up and waved as though he was trying to get someone's attention. He stood there for several seconds then turned and dove back down into the ditch.
"Take cover!" The doctor was still trying to talk to the vortigaunt when a black helicopter flew overhead.
"What is the meaning of this!" The doctor yelled over the whine of the rotors. The helicopter flew over the group of vortigaunts, and then doubled back, flying lower to the ground.
"Doctor Bennett, get your ass back here!" Wilkes screamed. The other two asked Wilkes what the problem was. "It's an apache, an attack helicopter." And with that the helicopter opened fire on the vortigaunts. The creatures scattered, but in the wide-open desert, the helicopter had the upper hand. It mowed down the creatures, smearing yellow blood across the crimson rock.
"No, what are they doing!" The doctor screamed, the nearest vortigaunt shrieked as the helicopter made a pass over it and the doctor. The aging man waved his hands at the black plane screaming that there was no threat. If he could just make them understand, that these creatures no longer posed a hostile threat. But before he knew it, alien hands were lifting him off the ground, and he was being carried behind the car.
Tower couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the yellow-brown creature crawl into the space behind the jeep, the doctor in tow. It cradled the man in its three arms like a mother holding an infant. The helicopter made one more pass, spinning its gatling gun, and bringing down several more of the creatures. With each vortigaunt demise, the marines could see their new alien companion wince in pain. Could these things feel each other's pain? Finally the helicopter disappeared from view, leaving only a cloud of smoke from the overused machine guns. As the storm raged overheard, the marines contemplated what to do.
The vortigaunt that had saved the doctor was hunched over, not used to being confined to such a small place. Jackson, sitting next to it, was understandably uneasy. He tried to shift his body to turn away from the alien, but only managed to press his bad arm against the side of the jeep. Searing pain shot up his side.
"Ouch! God damnit!" Jackson groaned through his teeth. The alien next to him turned to face him, the four red eyes all focusing on the grieving man.
"G..gawd." The alien mimicked. Jackson cursed and pulled the canteen of whiskey from his vest. Hell if he was going to die, he would greet it with a smile on his face and a warmth in his stomach. He shook the container and, hearing a pleasant swish, popped the top off.
"God." He said tipping the flask at the vortigaunt. "You know, the guy who really seems to hate us right about now." The sarcasm poured out of his mouth as the whiskey flowed in. The searing pain continued to crawl up his arm, it was maddening. "Wilkes you don't have anymore morphine?"
Wilkes and Tower were staring into the sky. They thought if they stayed hidden long enough, maybe they could leave by nightfall when it would be easier to avoid detection. Wilkes rummaged through his medical bag and frowned, shaking his head. "Sorry man. All my needles are unusable."
"Oh this is just great." He touched his arm where he was sure the break was, just below the elbow on the backside. The area was tender and it would start to swell soon. "Just great…"
"Gr….ate…great." The vortigaunt's alien hands reached for the arm, its mandibles clicking and grinding. Jackson pathetically tried to push the creature away.
"Beat it! I'm not going to be your dinner, bug face!" He brought his boot up to kick the thing in the face but he was stopped short by the blue stream of light the middle, smaller arm, began to conjure. The ethereal glow lit the near blackness of the hole in which they hid. It extended from the vortigaunt's arm and snaked its way through the air and surrounded Jackson's arm. The rhythmic clicking was now replaced by a rapid humming coming from within the creature's throat. "Hey what are you…" But he was slowly becoming light headed. Wilkes and Tower sat still, mesmerized by the light show in front of them. Jackson's broken arm gradually began to feel numb, until he couldn't feel anything from his shoulder down. Finally the blue light began to fade, and the numbness disappeared.
The vortigaunt placed his three pronged hands on the arm where the break had been. "Grrreat." It mumbled. The pain was completely gone, Jackson couldn't feel the break, and it really felt great.
Realizing the feeling of the cool alien flesh probing his arm, he whipped it away. "Hands off buddy."
"Buddy." The creature was getting used to human speech, his vocabulary growing with each verbal transaction.
Tower smiled. "Hey Jackson, I think you got yourself a new friend." The vortigaunt copied Tower's facial expression, albeit ineptly. Jackson grimaced and looked away.
"There is not enough liquor in the world to make me want to be this thing's fri.." Wilkes' gasp stopped him short though.
"Here they come again." Wilkes moaned as the thumping of rotary blades assaulted their ears again. In the sky overheard the weary survivors saw a gray Chinook helicopter descend to the desert surface. It kicked up dust and debris, forcing the men and their alien friend out of the confined space. Maybe these people were here to help.
Tower neared the helicopter, shrouded in dust. Out of the cloud slowly appeared two figures, both clad in white HAZMAT suits. Tower's heart leapt in his chest. This must be the nuclear response team out of Santiago Marine base. He waved for Wilkes and Jackson to get moving as he jogged up to the two suited figures.
Their faces hidden by black visors, the two men met the marines in the midst of the killing field. "Jesus, are we glad to see you guys." Jackson pointed to the fading mushroom cloud. "Hey that blast is going to produce some nasty fall out. We need to get out of here…"
The figure on the left cut Jackson off before he could finish complaining. "Are you the only survivors?" His voice was cold and icy, not filled with concern like they had hoped. It sounded more like he was making a report. Tower nodded and pointed to the alien and the doctor, both leaning on each other for support. The two men didn't seem to be surprised by the creature. One tapped a radio attached to the suit. "Command this is clean up, we have three marine survivors, one civilian, and a xeno."
Tower didn't like the way these guys were acting, they didn't seem like marines at all. "Hey what regiment are you guys with?" The two men exchanged veiled glances. Tower knew something was wrong now.
"This one." The one on the right pulled a pistol from his pocket and pointed it at Tower's leg, knowing his vest would protect him. There was a woosh of air and a needle, filled with a powerful sedative dropped him like a ton of bricks. The other man reached for his weapon and stunned the other two marines. Tapping his radio once more, the masked man informed command that the marines were sedated. The radio spouted back static gibberish. Leaning over Tower's body, the man fingering through the pockets of the vest until he found what he was looking for.
"Got it." The disk with the security feed between the man's fingers. Two figures unloaded from the helicopter, dressed in the form fitting jumpsuit characteristic of the Black Operations personnel. "These three are needed for questioning. Get them on board." The black visor then swiveled towards the alien and the doctor. "They need to come too, lets move it, this storm is only getting worse."
X X X
Tower's Limp form connected with the ground, the jolt bringing him back to consciousness in a flash of pain. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. Behind him he could hear the muffled laughter of what he was sure were Black Operatives. They had been duped, Wilkes, Jackson, the doctor and he. The men in the hazard suits weren't sent in to collect survivors; so much as they were witnesses. Tower rolled over onto his back and squinted to see in the dim light. The walls of the room were so close together, he was sure he was in a cell.
"Fuck you!" He could hear someone scream down the hall. Crawling to the bars facing down the cellblock, Tower was not at all surprised at what he saw.
The struggling form of Jackson, his arms flailing, looking for an opening to slug one of his captors, was being drug down the block. "No! Fuck this shit! Lemme go!" He successfully managed to connect with the right cheek of one of the men, who did not flinch as he unholstered his pistol and slammed the butt of it against Jackson's face. The marine spewed blood across the floor, and coughed up more. "You fucking piece of shit!" He mumbled through a bloody mouth. The jumpsuit clad assassins stopped in front of the cell adjacent to Towers and radioed for the door to be opened.
"Get in." Tower could see them throw Jackson inside. Slamming the door shut, Jackson reached out through the bars for the neck of one of the men, his voice full of absolute hatred.
"You better fucking kill me! You murderers, you don't give a damn!" One of the men walked up to Jackson, though not within his grasp, and lifted the black balaclava, revealing a youthful face, but eyes that seem to imply they had seen more death than was their fair share.
"You'll die here, make no mistake." The cold eyes shifted to the left and right of Jackson's cell. His voice grew louder as if addressing a larger audience. "You'll all die here, once you've outlived your usefulness." His eyes rested back on Jackson, boring holes into the older marine's, whose fiery hatred seemed quelled in front of such icy coldness. His grasping arm fell, and the body slinked away from the bars. The two assassins marched down the hallway, never breaking stride with each other.
Tower thought about what the man had said. What did he mean by usefulness? What was there that the black ops could want from them? His mind clicked, and Tower felt for the front pocket of his PCV, but it was gone. They'd take the data disk.
"Damnit…" He leaned against the bars, his spirit taking a sharp blow.
"Tower that you?" Tower perked up at the sound of Wilkes' voice. A pair of hands flashed out of the bars next to his cell. Tower reached through and grabbed the outstretched hand.
"Yeah buddy its me. They took the disk." Wilkes was silent for a moment.
"Doesn't surprise me, I guess." The silence continued, neither man knew what to say. But they knew what each other were thinking. They were royally screwed. There would be no cavalry, no reinforcements, just them and the black ops. In the cell to the right of Tower, the two could hear Jackson spitting, red droplets of blood hitting the floor in front of his cell. "Sounded painful."
"No shit." Two red hands, obviously used to wipe blood from his mouth, rested on the bars. "What the fuck now?"
"Where's the doc?" Wilkes asked, he had been in the cellblock the longest, and had seen neither hide nor hair of the doctor and their vortigaunt friend.
"Better yet, where the fuck are we?" Jackson was answered, but not by Tower or Wilkes.
"A staging area for the Black Operatives." The voice was male, and came from Jackson's left. The engineer was startled to hear another voice in the loneliness of the block and arched his head, trying to catch a glimpse of anyone in the cell next to him.
"Who the hell are you?" Jackson asked, bits of blood still flicking out of his mouth.
"Private Anderson, 501st HECU." The man pronounced the acronym of the Hazardous Environment Combat Unit hekuh, which is how everyone in the marines referred to it.
Jackson exploded in a fit of coughs. "Bullshit, all of you murderers high tailed it the second you were done cleaning up for Uncle Sam!" Two gloved hands appeared at the bars, and the top of a shiny bald head rested against them.
"Murderers? What the hell are you taking about?" Wilkes and Tower listened intently. All three of them had thought that the marines had done their dirty work and left, leaving behind a lot of good men that didn't deserve to die.
Jackson deliberately spat the rest of the blood in his mouth in the direction of the marine. "You fuckers did the governments dirty work. Killin' all those innocent civilians…"
The hands and head slunk away from the bars. "Oh…" The man began. "You must have been separated awhile then, weren't you?" Jackson was confused, what was this murderer talking about?
"We got separated from our CO, our bird crashed and we had to hump it through the facility to make it to some of the excess transports." Wilkes calmly explained. The man was silent for a while, and then began.
"The birds that made it to the LZ's were immediately ordered to 'sweep and clean'. Only Colonel Graves," The leader and commanding officer of the 501st HECU. "knew what the orders were. No one had any clue what was going on. When the creatures attacked, we began to understand that something had gone terribly wrong. My squad commander ordered us to ignore our orders and save as many civilians as possible." Tower sucked in a sigh of relief; here was the proof, the vindication that the 501st had nothing to do with the atrocities of Black Mesa. The private continued. "We rescued a group of scientists and security personnel and brought them back to board one of the birds when Colonel Graves ordered that they be shot. When my commander refused to do so, the Colonel said he'd be shot for insubordination." The marine chuckled slightly. "My CO told him to fuck off. So the Colonel pulled his side arm on him. We knew he was going to do it. But Dmitri Destovaya, shot him."
"Dmitri?" Jackson asked, incredulous. Dmitri Destovaya was the Colonel's notorious lap dog. It was impossible to even think that he might shoot the Colonel.
"Yeah, the man must have grown some balls. Anyways, with Dmitri now in command of the 501st, he rallied the rest of the squads together and ordered us to rescue who we could, and evac." Jackson was glad to hear that his comrades weren't involved, but how did that explain the scientists who were ardent that Marines had attacked them.
"Oh them." Anderson's tone became filled with resentment. "Those fuckers were the regular infantry. When Uncle Sam found out we wouldn't have any of it, he sent in two battalions backed up by the Black Ops. They had no problem doing the dirty work."
"So why are you here? Why didn't you evac?" Wilkes asked.
"Me? My squad made one last attempt at stopping the spooks from detonating the nuke, but they had the drop on us, and we were either taken prisoner… or executed." Tower slammed his fist against the wall.
"Goddamnit! They can't get away with it!" The other marines lamented with him, and the cellblock grew quiet as they pondered their next move.
"Where exactly did the 501st go?" Asked Wilkes, if they got out, it would at least be pertinent to know where they were headed. Not like it was very likely they would see the outside of this place at all.
"Well before me and my squad left, there was talk of hot footing it back to base, to pick up the rest of the HECU. Dmitri had been keeping in contact with the reinforcements there. But after disobeying direct orders, shooting a superior officer, and retreating, I doubt they could stay anywhere in the open for long. They have to be hiding."
It all made sense to Tower now, what the operative had said about their 'usefulness'. "They think we know where the 501st is. They think that we'll tell them how to find the rest of us." The thought sent shivers down his spine; the Black Ops knew they wouldn't divulge any information willingly. They would torture first, ask questions later, questions that the four marines didn't have the answers to. "We need to get out of here."
"No shit, Sherlock." Anderson replied dryly. "But, we're about three stories underground right now, being watched by some of the most well trained killers the world has ever seen." Tower looked to Wilkes, a questioning look on his face.
"Three stories underground?" He didn't remember riding an elevator; in fact he didn't remember anything between being sedated, and landing on his face in his cell.
"Yeah, I was awake by the time we landed. We're not far from Black Mesa, about a hundred or so klicks, I'd say. On the surface, this place looks like just a rusted out hanger, standing alone in a desert valley. Inside, though, is a different story."
Before any of the marines could reply, the sounds of boot heels clicking in unison echoed down the block. They all strained to see, and caught a glimpse of two operatives, their rifles at the ready, marching decisively. They took up position in front of the cell of Anderson and radioed that his door be unlocked.
"Come on, big boy, lets have a talk." They hauled the marine, his shredded white fatigues covered in blood, down the hall. He didn't fight them; he seemed to accept his fate.
Jackson rubbed his hands together and slunk to the floor. "We're never going to make it out of here, are we?"
X X X
"Eat." Was all the man said, as he threw the plate of unrecognizable, not to mention practically non-edible, foodstuffs into Tower's cell. He picked at the sloppy gray mass; the consistency of runny mashed potatoes, and decided he was better off hungry.
"Hey! What about my one phone call!" Wilkes shouted after the man as he exited the holding cell room. The men had been held captive for several days, and not once had they seen any evidence that their comrade, Anderson, was going to return, they had all begun to assume the worst. As Tower set the plate down and laid his exhausted form on the uncomfortable metal cot, he pondered letting himself sleep, a luxury he had denied himself for the last thirty-six hours. As his eyes slowly slid shut and the warm, inviting grasp of sleep swept over him, Tower wondered if he would wake up in his bed, back at the Santiago marine base, and realize this was all a bad dream.
But before the marine could indulge in the hidden pleasure of sleep, the walls began to shake, and his cot began to wobble. "Looks like it's starting again." He could Jackson say. The earthquakes had become so common, nearly one every twelve hours, that the marines had almost grown accustomed to them. Almost.
That the ground should shake so violently, or that the sounds of explosions above should reverberate so deep into the underground facility, the marines could not find the reasoning for. But they had bigger problems on their plate currently. Like how to escape from their interrogation facility. But no matter how many ways they twisted the truth, the current situation, there was no solution. They were locked up, and would remain that way until the Black Operatives saw otherwise.
"You think the 501st is has already gotten the truth out?" Wilkes had grown increasingly silent in the past day and a half, but he ventured out from the back corner of his cell periodically to ask Tower his opinion. On this topic, though, Tower had no advice or knowledge.
"Beats me, man. I hope so, but if they have, then why are we still here?" Tower had a point. They had been held captive for so long, he almost wished that the double doors at the end of the hall would sweep open, and the black men would come for them, to take them away, to a painfully uncertain future.
And as the doors did just that, screeching and groaning as they did, Tower wondered if he should retract his wish. Two men, each identical to the other, stood in front of Tower's cell, and in the same routine that he had seen before, radioed for the cell to open, and one aimed his M4 at Tower, while the other clamped his hands with restraints.
"You're next, buddy." Knowing now how Anderson felt, the utter hopelessness, Tower realized it was futile to fight, and went willingly.
X X X
Being awake for the walk through the facility afforded Tower a glimpse at its internal workings. The hallways were low and narrow, but down every dark linoleum corridor stood several rooms, each one darker than the last, but lit by the glowing lights of the blue computer banks. The assassins pushed him forward with the muzzles of their rifles, but Tower was able to catch a glimpse of several sadistic looking rooms, each occupied by a bloody chair, restraints attached to the arms and legs, electrodes lying at the base.
Could that be what was in store for him? Tower worried, as he was lead into another hallway, this one much brighter. The rooms that lined the corridor were no longer filled with implements of torture, but with scientific research equipment, much like he had seen at Black Mesa. Did they perhaps steal the equipment from there? It could be suggested, considering how the equipment lay strewn about the rooms, in no particular order.
Eventually they came to the end of the corridor and stood in front of a large, rusted red metal door. Knocking once, an annoyed voice called for them to enter. What Tower saw next was surprising to say the least.
"We'll you must be Private Tower, am I correct?" The man was obviously in his late fifties, white hair like snow covering the mountain of his head, and cascading down the sides of his face to form a neatly trimmed goatee. Dressed in a brown suit and black turtleneck, the man was the embodiment of a new age scholar. He sat in a large leather chair, behind a bank of monitors, filled with different video feeds. There was even one of the topside world, but the view was obstructed by rubble and debris, but threw the cracks, he could see the sky over head, and the cloud looked green.
A rifle butt slammed into Tower's backside, bringing him to his knees. "The man asked you a question." He heard one of the men behind him sneer. The old man, though, waved his hand, dismissing one of the operatives.
"Please there's no need of that…" He trailed off. "Yet." He finished. Tower regained his composure and the kindly looking gentleman gesture to a chair in front of the desk. "Please sit, I have some questions I need to ask you."
Tower refused to sit for this man. He could feel the soldier behind him raise his rifle to attack him once more, but the old gentleman raised his hand once more, an exasperated look smeared across his face. "As you wish. My name is Wallace Breen, the former administrator of Black Mesa."
X X X
"This is bullshit." Jackson said, kicking at the bars of his cell. "If we don't do something now, we'll never get out of here." He pointed down the hall in the direction Tower had gone. "They'll do to him what they did to Anderson if we don't move."
Wilkes, cradling his head in his hands, almost began to sob at the hopelessness of the situation, but gulped down the tears. He would feel better if he just had a plan. "I know man, but what the hell are we gonna do?"
Jackson's eyes shifted to the floor. "Yeah, I know, we really don't have many options." Wilkes jumped down from off of his cot and began pacing his cell. He pulled out the canteen he had been given for water and pulled open the cap. Tipping it to let the cool refreshing liquid enter cleanse his arid palette, he was disappointed when nothing came out.
"Damnit, just my luck." He chucked the canteen across the room. He was so frustrated he could practically scream.
Scream. Jesus, he thought, that was it. Running up to the bars, he whispered as low as he could, but still loud enough for Jackson to hear him. Their conversation continued on in whispers, careful not to alert anyone who might be listening in.
Jackson's face contorted in a mixed expression of confusion and disbelief. "You really think it'll work?"
Wilkes' mouth cracked a grin the Grim Reaper might display. "Got a better idea?"
X X X
"Now that introductions have been made, I have a few things to discuss with you. Such as your involvement with the Black Mesa incident." The old man, by the name of Wallace Breen, took a seat behind the desk, leaving Tower to stand, his guard taking up post behind him, conveniently within striking distance.
"Our bird took a hit, crashed near the administrative building. Me and two of my squad members were the only ones that survived." He answered curtly. Breen tussled the whiskers in his white goatee pensively, as if he didn't quite believe the private. Shuffling papers from a file and laying them out across the desk, he sifted through them until his face registered something positive.
"I see you were instrumental in the rescue of doctor Walter Bennett. Congratulations, private, you have saved one of the finest minds of our generation." Reading further, his eyes widened and he looked up. "You were able to capture one of the Vortigaunts as well?"
"He captured us is more like it. Hostile intentions ended once the nuclear explosion decimated the facility. A nuclear detonation triggered by these fuckers!" He turned to the Black Op standing guard. Tower knew he was going to be beaten, physically and figuratively, but he knew he wouldn't go down without a fight. Breen stared at the marine, then at the operative.
"Actually, they were under my direct supervision, private. So, in retrospect, I am the 'fucker' you so desperately wish to pulverize." Tower turned and the hatred in his eyes was now focused on the bureaucratic looking figure sitting across from him. The man brought his hands up in defense. "But believe me, the option was chosen after all others had been exhausted." The man's tone soon became sarcastic. "You it had not been for you and the rest of your unit, failures not worthy of wearing that uniform, the situation would have been contained, and the current state of affairs would not be so grim."
What did he mean by current state of affairs? He was about to ask when Breen launched his next set of questions. "Now I need to know, the sake of global security, where the remainder of the 501st, under the rogue command of Colonel Dmitri Dostovaya, is hiding." Tower shook his head, he hated being right.
"I don't know." He knew no matter what answer he gave, the outcome would be the same, and so he might as well tell the truth. As expected the rifle butt connected with his lower back and sent pain shooting up and down his spine. Tower dropped to one knee and struggled to keep his balance with the restraints still firmly clasped around his wrists. His teetering, though, would be for not, as a solid boot kicked him face first into the concrete floor. Once more, the same boot connected with his ribs and the private gasped for air.
Breen clasped his hands together, his eyes downcast, as if ashamed to watch the man being beaten. He was obviously a stranger to the world of the Black Operatives. "Now that hopefully we've refreshed your memory, lets try that one again, shall we…?"
X X X
"Hey! Hey! Down here! We need water! Come on! We're going to die!" Wilkes screamed at the top of his lungs, his arms flailing outside of the bars, hoping to attract attention. He had been screaming for near ten minutes, and his voice was slowly become horse. If he couldn't attract the attention of the guard outside the door, they would have no chance of making it out of here.
Thankfully, though, Wilkes didn't have to scream much longer, as the double steel doors squealed open, and a lone operative marched down the hallway, two full canteens under his arms. He stopped in front of Jackson's cell and dropped a canteen near it. He then did the same thing for Wilkes, and began to walk away.
Not wanting his chance to slip away, Wilkes called out to the man. "Hey, hey, stop." The man turned, and leveled his gaze on the captive marine. Wilkes continued, "Look I know I'm fucked, but man if I could have one last thing, it would be a cigarette, you got any?" The Black Op was silent for a few seconds, but relented. Wilkes almost felt sorry for the man, after the little bit of humanity he had just shown, he almost regretted what he was about to do.
Pulling a small, unmarked packet of cigarettes from his front vest pocket, the assassin stuck one between the marine's lips. He fished out a zippo lighter and flicked it open. Jackson knew the signal and took the large piece of debris he had picked from the floor and chucked it through the bars, causing it to land behind the operative, who instinctively turned around. Bad idea.
His time at hand, Wilkes reached through the bars and swiftly and silently, twisted the man's neck so hard, that he was dead before he hit the floor. As quick as he could, Wilkes was pulling the body up against the bars, looking for the keys. Instead he found a PDA, the names and locations of the cells drawn out on a digital map. Using the stylus, he tapped the holding cells that he was sure corresponded with his and Jackson's. The gates slowly opened, and the two marines picked the dead guards body of clean of anything useful.
Shouldering the silenced M4, Wilkes continued to look through the stylus for anything useful, why Jackson marveled at the dead assassin.
"Where the fuck did you learn to do that?" He asked, not even sure if he had the dexterity and speed to snap a neck that smoothly. Wilkes' focus never left the PDA's screen as he flipped through folders and prisoner rosters.
"It looks like the good Doctor and our alien friend are being held here." He said showing Jackson the glowing screen. "One level up." He scrolled down farther, and his brow furrowed. "Oh no…"
"What?" Jackson said, pulling the silenced pistol from the guard's holster.
"They're both due for 'termination'." Jackson grabbed the extra pistol clips and stuffed them into his PCV, the Heads Up Display registering their acquisition.
"What about Tower?" Wilkes scrolled through more files, till he came across the one marked interrogation.
"He's still 'in progress', I don't know that means. Lets split up, you grab the doctor, I'll get Tower." He showed Jackson a small blue print of the next level up. "I'll meet you here, it's a storage area, its far removed from any security stations. Any trouble," He tapped his ear, the signal for their PCV's build in radio. "You know what to do."
The two men exchanged looks of exhaustion, but knew that their work was far from over. They then took off in opposite directions, but their destination was the same.
A/N: Please review! It keeps me alive!
