-=Chapter Nine: Antagonism=-

Borealis, 8:31 AM

An entire platoon of heavily armed Overwatch soldiers, all wearing white and grey snow camo, stood by the large ship, standing on the recently constructed bridge joining the two sides of the crevasse. It was made of jet black metal, was about five metres wide and crossed over to both sides of the steep icy underground walls.

The side they had come from led into an underground Combine fortress, set up to guard the Borealis from any attack that the Resistance could throw at them. Turret platforms had been set up on the vast collection of wide ledges on this side of the fissure to defend the ship from aerial insertion, and foot soldiers and temporary walls had been set up to stop any ground attack.

The side they were on had the Borealis lodged in the ice, secured in place by thick metal clamps that had themselves been dug deep into the ice to ensure the large ship did not dislodge itself and fall into the abyss.

A soldier knelt down in front of the Borealis, at the spot where the bridge ended. Carefully, he pulled a blowtorch from his webbing, ignited the flame and began cutting the thick metal hull.

With silent anticipation, the soldiers stood by, holding their various smallarms tightly in gloved hands. Glowing sparks flew everywhere, bouncing on the metal bridge and off the Borealis' painted hull, the light reflected in the empty eyepieces of the waiting soldiers' masks.

At last, the soldier reached the bottom of the hull with his flame and he stood back up, a faintly glowing semi-circular line about a metre and a half high now left to cool off. He turned to the unit's Commanding Officer, who gave a sharp nod.

The soldier turned back around, bringing his booted foot into the side of the hull. The metal groaned disapprovingly as the soldier continued his assault, before finally it gave way and the soldiers poured in, taking up their positions inside the ship. The CO followed, standing in the entrance for a few moments, and he realised it was slightly colder than outside.

With a wave of his hand, his men headed up the metal stairs in front of them, their firearms pointing in all directions and their boots clanging loudly as they went.

The CO looked around, taking in his surroundings. They had busted into what looked like an engine room, or so the large machines connected to the floor and the computer consoles showing different gauges told him. There were those old diesel-electric propulsion systems down here, as well as some other various pipes and valves.

He took a few steps around, holding his rifle close to his body.

Suddenly, gunfire erupted from the top of the stairs, on the metal walkway it connected to. A soldier began yelling in his earpiece over the racket. "Sir, we've found something!"
"Report!" the CO ordered, a loud whining noise coming from behind a metal barricade to the officer's right.

There was something on the other side that was killing his men.

"There's li—"

The line went dead, a flatline echoing in the CO's ears. There was no female voice around to give details of his death, not since the destruction of the Citadel and consequently the Overwatch Voice.

The only thing to give the officer any indication some serious shit was going down was the sound of gunfire and screams as what sounded like metal being impaled in flesh echoed in the confined space.

The CO ran for his soldiers, his rifle pressed against his shoulder ready to attack whatever it was killing his people. Up the stairs, onto the metal walkway...

Where upon he saw his men, empty casings bouncing off the walkway, getting slaughtered by—

Bang.

The CO's head exploded, a single bullet having flown through it from behind. His decapitated body fell to the walkway, the perpetrator running down the stairs holding a smoking Colt Python revolver.

He was smiling at how efficient he was.

Gordon Freeman wasn't going to see the end of this week, if Adrian Shephard had anything to say about it.

8:27 AM

Shephard didn't remember ever being on a cold ship in a cold bed, wrapped in a cold blanket that smelt of blood. Slowly, he rose from the old mattress and looked around the dim room he had found himself in.
From the little light there was he could make out a desk, a doorway surrounded by thin lines of light streaming from beyond, and something silvery on the desk, glinting weakly in the minute amount of light.

More out of curiosity than anything else, Shephard moved his hand over the silver object on the wooden desk, smiling thinly when his hand curled around the six-chamber cylinder of a revolver. Picking it up, he moved over to the door, feeling around for the doorknob. Having found it, he swung the door open and looked closer at the gun. It was a Colt Python, .357 Magnum bullets. Opening the loading gate revealed the gun had all six bullets unfired.

With a smile, Shephard closed the loading gate and cocked the gun. He didn't know where he was, but the boat wasn't moving so he assumed it was stopped somewhere, assumedly somewhere snowy.

Looking around at the dim lights and the blood stained walls, Shephard guessed this ship was deserted. The walls were rotting, paint was flaking and it all smelt horrible. There was also something crackling with what sounded like incoherent words shoved into the middle, and the temperature was probably below zero judging by the icy breath floating from his mouth.

Not wanting to stick around for much longer, Shephard decided to head for the bridge. At least, he was about to. When he heard loud thumping coming from below, he stopped. He turned around, holding the revolver casually, and took a few steps toward the engine room stairs. After a final loud bang there was the sound of boots on metal floor and ruffling of clothing.

People were inside.

Curious, Shephard headed for the stairs that lead down to a walkway in the engine room. Waiting at the top of the stairs revealed masked infantry down in the engine room, holding shotguns and automatic rifles, speaking in garbled English. The distortion seemed to be because of something in the masks, most likely voice alteration devices.

Soldiers ran up the engine room stairs, onto the walkway connected to the stairs Shephard was on. They ran down another set of stairs leading back to the floor, before suddenly they began screaming and loud mechanical flatlines began echoing in the enclosed metal space.

Shephard decided he didn't really want to find out what was doing that to them, so he quickly headed for the walkway and the exit thereof.

An officer ran up the stairs, holding a futuristic looking rifle in his hands, who didn't seem to notice him. Shephard quickly put a bullet in his head and ran.

—

Standing outside, his body taking in the freezing wind that was whistling around his ears, Shephard gazed at what would be described as a winter wonderland if it actually was one. However, the proper description he thought to give it was mountains made of ice surrounding him on all sides. He appeared to be on a bridge suspended in the middle of a wide crevasse, of which he could see all the sides.

From what he could estimate, it was about three or four kilometres long, about two and a half hundred metres wide and some insane depth he couldn't even guess.

So there he stood, on a long metal bridge in the freezing cold with his nose reddening behind his gasmask. He had no idea where he was supposed to go and there seemed to be only one escape route and that was a large barricaded hole in the other side of the crevasse — he had not been expecting there to be a gate blocking his progress, but he also hadn't been expecting to come out of a boat stuck in one side of an icy crevasse and see a bridge suspended above a bottomless pit leading over to the other side.

There were two tall towers in this hole, assumedly guard towers. Shephard could see turrets set up along the icy cliffside, with their own little holes leading into the ice. He guessed they were accessible from inside the base he was certain lay beyond the barricaded hole.

And all he had was a revolver.

Shephard didn't recognise the masked soldiers who had just been shredded back on the ship, but because he didn't know anything about the world whenever this was — which according to what he knew could've been the year 3000 — he just decided that he wouldn't give them a chance to kill him.

He wasn't very happy with that man. He'd been given about as much information about his mission as a child does when inquiring how babies are made. All he knew was that Gordon Freeman was somehow still alive and he had to kill him.

Shephard looked up at the sky, far above him. "Thanks for the details!" He yelled.

"Your sarcasm is noted." The Gman replied semi-curtly from beside him.

Shephard glanced over his shoulder and spotted the smiling fiend. He was holding an M4A1 by his side. "You want more information as to what is happening, no?" The Gman continued. "I believe I'm capable of explaining things to you."

Shephard looked down at the rifle in his hand. "That for me?"

The Gman chuckled. "Of course." He passed the gun to Shephard, who took it eagerly. "After all, relief from your weapons was only temporary."

Shephard released the magazine, checking the bullets. It was full. "Got any spare mags?" he asked anyway. "Or didn't you take them from me?"

The Gman gestured for him to check. "See for yourself."

Shephard checked the pouches on his combat webbing, surprised to find they were full of thirty round STANAG magazines.

Shephard smiled briefly at the gun. Gas operated — meaning when the hammer hit the primer and fired the bullet, the high pressure gases pushed the bolt carrier back and therefore made the empty case fly out — selective fire including full auto and 5.56mm bullets that could kill a man up to 500 metres away.

He looked up at the Gman as he slung the rifle over his shoulder. "What were you saying? About an explanation...?"

The Gman gave a short nod of his head, reaching into his suit and pulling out a single folded sheet of paper. He passed it to Shephard, who took it cautiously. "This should give you... an adequate account."

Shephard cocked his head slightly. "Can you at least tell me what year it is?"

"According to the Gregorian calendar, it is the year 2021."

"Right..." Shephard nodded slowly.

There was a brief pause.

"Evidently you still suspect me." The Gman broke the silence casually. "I promise that everything on that sheet of paper, and the testimony I have given concerning your mission, is truth."

After sliding the paper into his webbing, Shephard looked back up to see the Gman had left. Just like that, he had disappeared like vapour in this frigid wind.

Shephard sniffed, turning around and cocking his rifle. Looks like I've got some people to kill.

—

The tool hooked onto the top of the gate easily, allowing Shephard to haul himself onto the gate by effectively walking up the side. After getting a good hold on the ledge, he climbed over and crouched down inside the left tower — left from his point of view on the bridge, that is.

Fortunately for him, the guard towers were plated with chest-high plates of metal. He guessed this was so a sniper or whoever was usually up here could duck down for cover or to reload.

How fortunate for him.

After slipping his rifle from his back with professional silence and checking it a second time, he flicked the fire selector to semi-automatic and propped the rifle up on the metal plates. Shephard looked down the sights, moving the gun along the edge of the plate as he scanned the area below. No one, the area was empty.

Satisfied, Shephard stood up. He stayed ducked down, bent low. Looking over the side of the tower revealed a ladder on the platform connected to it. The gate was pretty high, about four or so metres, so he quietly placed his feet on the top rungs and lowered himself to the ground.

After hitting the ground with a soft thump, Shephard snuck over to the left corner of the large room he had found himself in. It was mainly empty, save for some large stacks of crates and other things one would find in a utilitarian place as this. There were even two large black forklifts on the right side in front of two big metal doors leading somewhere Shephard couldn't see and didn't really care about.

He was certain there would be a way out, but he'd have to find it. Sneaking around on foot seemed to be his best option, so he quickly headed for a double door on the opposite side of the room.

—

Having scaled the stairwell he had found inside the small hole, Shephard had found himself at a second door, another big double one. Through the dirty glass panel in the door, Shephard could make out the blurred figure of a masked soldier.

Checking his ammo and flicking to fully automatic, Shephard grunted softly and opened the door calmly. If he had busted the door open forcefully, the soldiers inside probably would've been alerted. Opening the door as any normal person usually warranted that no one look up from what they were doing unless they were curious.

Two people looked causally up at Shephard, before tensing up when they saw him and as their chests became acquainted with numerous metal slugs.

Papers flew everywhere, shredded by the intense fire. Soldiers dived among gunfire, some of them not making it to the ground without bullets getting in their way.

Suddenly, orange streaks were coming out of Shephard's M4 along with bullets. Quickly, he dived behind an olive green fling cabinet, released the almost empty rifle and reloaded it. He'd known he was running low on ammo when he saw the tracer bullets. It was something he'd been taught to do at the Santego Military Base, to load tracers as the last few bullets so soldiers knew when they were running low.

Wrenching back the loading handle, Shephard stood back up, resting his gun on top of the cabinet. Shephard opened fire on the remaining soldiers who had, by now, grabbed their weapons and were taking cover behind identical filing cabinets, some of which had been knocked on their side.

Quickly, he ducked down again and checked his grenade launcher. Seeing as it was empty, he popped open one of the pockets of his combat webbing and reloaded it. Standing up again, Shephard aimed the launcher at the wall, seeing as the grenade could fly as far as 150 metres and that would be way too far. If he aimed at the window, it might go straight through. So he aimed at the wall, readjusted his grip so his right hand was on the trigger and fired. A loud whump noise followed by a searing blast of heat and light from the other side of the room signified the grenade had exploded. Shephard ducked down, holding one of his hands up to stop the cabinet he was behind falling on him. After propping it back up and standing, Shephard spotted a charred body lying on the security console. Looks like that took care of them, he thought to himself grimly as he walked over to the wall mounted console.

Thankfully, the words were in English so he could read everything. On the other hand, there was some sort of security thing needed to access the full map.

Shephard looked over at the dead soldiers, the ones he'd shot. There appeared to be a sort of electronic card hanging limply by one of the soldier's legs. Shephard hurriedly ducked down and grabbed the card, unclipping it from the soldier's webbing. It had a small droplet of blood on it, but Shephard doubted that would matter.

Having obtained the card, Shephard looked around for somewhere to put it. He saw what looked like a scanner in the form of a red light, so he pressed the card against it to see what happened. Nothing, except for a small negative boop.

He tried the other side, and the machine beeped twice, before a screen with more options appeared. A map with extra spots coloured red also appeared. Smiling to himself, he looked for an exit.

—

Back in the large storage room or whatever it was, Shephard noticed that one of the forklifts was missing. Also, two soldiers were now standing on the gate, scanning the area. Shephard quickly snuck over to behind a cluster of crates, when suddenly he heard people yelling from behind him.

"Subject confirmed!"

"Affirmative, we got him now."

So much for stealth. Shephard thought, turning around. There was a group of five or so soldiers running toward him, two of them in the forklift that had disappeared.

One of the crates he was hiding behind exploded violently coupled with the crack of a supersonic bullet. Shephard stood quickly and ran back toward the door, a blue laser swinging around to point at the door as he slammed it shut. From the other side, Shephard tensed as a heavy calibre round tore through the door, smacking into the concrete wall and embedding itself in it.

These guys were using some powerful rifles.

Shephard rushed up the stairs, through the security room door he had — very fortunately, in retrospect — left wide open, slammed it shut so hard he was scared it would fall off its hinges and ran over to the console. He hurriedly whipped out his card, pressed it against the red scan and...

Boop.

"Son of a bitch..." Shephard cursed angrily, flipping the card and pressing the right side down, this time coupled with an affirmative beep.

Quickly accessing the map files again, Shephard scanned over it, looking for an alternative way out. Otherwise he'd have to hole himself up in this tower for some ridiculous amount of time and his ammo wasn't unlimited.

A loud crash came from the foot of the stairs, making Shephard growl in frustration. Then he paused, eyes widening. Slowly, he peered out through the glass windows. The floor, about seven or so metres down. It was also unoccupied, except for two soldiers and the forklift he'd seen earlier.

Shephard had an idea.

—

The Combine soldiers kicked the security room door down with their combat boots, their gun barrels following close behind. The room was empty, save for some bodies and a shattered glass window. The soldiers ran over to the window and looked out. There was a single body there, surrounded by a puddle of blood.

"Threat eliminated." The ranking officer reported smugly on his radio.

Wouldn't that make your day? Shephard thought to himself as he stood up from behind a filing cabinet, firing a grenade at of one of the soldier's back.

Fire erupted from the explosive, shredding the poor soul who had been hit by it and toasting everyone else. A jet of red hot flame poured from the hole in the window, spraying charred debris all over the floor below and tossing two smouldering bodies out with it.

Shephard ran out the door, heading back to the storage area.

—

Oh, hell no.

A whole platoon of soldiers was running toward him. Plus, there were two snipers up in the guard towers.

Shephard was screwed.

Or at least, he thought he was. Then his eyes glanced over at the remaining forklift, and he smiled. Thank you, God.

He stood up from his hiding place behind a tower of metal boxes and ran. Bullets began hitting the ground all around him, most of them staying about four metres from him but some lucky shots actually got within a foot. And of course he was being followed by two angry snipers.

Not even bothering to slow down when he reached it, Shephard grabbed onto the sidebar of the forklift and swung himself inside, starting it up and flooring the accelerator. The vehicle drove a hell of a lot faster than he had been expecting, but that was good.

So now he had two feet on the pedals, one hand on the steering wheel and one hand firing his M4. His aim was pretty shocking, but then again he was firing one handed while driving a forklift. Fortunately the soldier group only thinned out after two of them had been shot by his military technique known commonly as spray and pray.

Orange streaks again, this time telling Shephard to stop shooting and put the gun behind his back. He continued driving, but not toward the exit — the soldiers were there, after all. He took the long way around, before turning right toward the double doors leading up to the security room.

And the only thing Combine soldiers shooting at him could do was watch as he ploughed through the doors and began his bumpy ascent of the stairs.

—

"Where did he go?"

"Sir, it appears he went up to the security room of Sector B."

"And what are you doing to stop him?"

"We've already sent soldiers up to ge—" The soldier was interrupted by the cataclysmic sound of multiple glass panes shattering and machines exploding, coming from the security tower. The soldier snapped his head around just in time to see a large yellow forklift occupied by a green clad individual crash into the ground, having driven through the security room wall into mid air!

Amazingly, the forklift stayed intact. The only thing that actually happened was the entire chassis snapped in numerous places and the wheels burst violently, but otherwise it was fine. The soldier climbed from the ruin, pointing his rifle at the soldier at a speed anyone would think impossible from someone who had just fallen seven and a half metres and firing the last of his tracers at the soldier. Orange bullets met red blood, both of them pasting themselves on the wall.

Shephard charged over to the first forklift, reloading his gun as he went, silently praising his PCV and the morphine now coursing through his body. This time, he slowed down to get in the forklift, but after he was in he wasted no time in spinning the vehicle, tyres squealing loudly as he rocketed down the wide hallway, leaving a trail of burning metal, shattered glass and bodies in his wake.

—

The exit — or entrance, depending on what perspective you look at it from — was on full alert. They had reports of a nutcase soldier who was trying to escape and they had been ordered to prevent him doing so at all costs.

What they hadn't been told was he was in one of the diesel-electric powered forklifts with an M4A1 assault rifle.

Chest high sandbag walls had been put in place as a means to defend the soldiers. But really, they didn't do much when they were being rammed by a forklift.

Any other vehicle might not have made it through these barricades, but the two prongs on the forklift made sure to get any obstacle out of its way.

Oh, and the angry soldier with the gun was also a bit of a pain in the ass.

Soldiers threw whatever they could at him: Bullets, pulse rounds, grenades, you name it. But most of the time they either missed or the rounds just bounced off.

Shephard was going nuts himself, swinging his gun around with such speed and firing with such intensity he was afraid his arm would fall off. But what kept him going was his combat vest, they fact that he was in a forklift and the torrents of blood and meat that went flying every time he crashed through a sandbag wall.

Suddenly, something smacked right into his left shoulder, thrusting it backwards and causing him to swing the steering wheel around uncontrollably, veering around crazily. One soldier who didn't move fast enough got his face pasted onto the front of the forklift and his body was left to rot on the ground.

Out of some sort of insane coincidence, Shephard hit a large blast door — the one that was the exit — and the forklift simply tore a large chunk of metal off it.

As bullets smacked the ground around him, Shephard looked at his shoulder. It was bleeding and it was burning, so that told him he'd been shot. But he couldn't focus on that now, especially since there was about to be a thousand soldiers breathing down his neck.

Gazing at the ruined door through the green lenses of his gasmask, Shephard climbed from his forklift — among bullets and all types of shit — and scrambled through the hole.

Adrenalin pushing him forward, Shephard stumbled up the ramp to the surface, looking over his shoulder occasionally to see if anyone was coming. No one ever did.

When he reached the surface, he found there was a large metal shed nearby. Hoping there would be some sort of vehicle inside, Shephard walked over to it.

After opening the large metal garage door, he found an empty room. At least, it was empty of people. There were four snowmobiles waiting for him.

He smiled. Maybe that man wasn't such an asshole.

He's mean, he's fast, he's good. This is what I can do with Shephard and fast vehicles.

In the original version of this chapter, it was coupled with Gordon and Alyx going to the prison to rescue Dr. Mossman. I guess Shephard didn't get enough time and everything happened too fast, so here's the better version. And yes, I know you can't drive a forklift though a computer console and land seven and a half metres down without dying, but I sacrifice reality for the thrill of the chase.

And also, in the original chapter Emancipation, there was this section in big bold letters saying REDO REDO REDO. I found it by accident, and I felt like a complete retard. I think it's still there, if you want to check it out. But seriously, if you see something like that, PLEASE TELL ME.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed!