-=Chapter Thirty Four: Incontrovertibility Part Two=-
Inside the Inner Wall of City 7, 9:41 PM
Running his thickly gloved fingers through his hair, Gordon trudged on behind the general toward the indescribably large tower about fifty metres away. His rifle swinging by his side in one hand, Gordon looked down over the edge of the wide bridge they were now traversing, into the deep rocky crevasse that had once been soil underneath the giant park behind the Eiffel Tower.
Surprisingly, the bridge had no guard rails, despite the fact that the sections for foot soldiers were on the edges. The railway ran in the middle, with two lanes of bitumen road on either side of it for APCs. They were also far enough apart that if a Strider had to walk across it wouldn't get in the way of the trains.
The design itself was rather lacking, and Gordon hadn't even been expecting anything above average. It was essentially a fifteen metre wide concrete slab that someone had stretched out across the seventy five metre gap between the Inner Wall and the Citadel complete with road, railway and footpath. There weren't any visible supports from where Gordon was, though he assumed they were on the underside and he wasn't exactly enthusiastic about the prospect of kneeling down and looking underneath with the giant pit trailing away beneath it.
They made it to about half way across the bridge before something started whining mechanically from far behind them. Turning to see what it was, Gordon looked past the Gman, who was walking just behind him, and instead focused on the line of armoured personnel carriers speeding toward them as the giant metal pillars of the Inner Wall started to drop.
Bad news: cars don't take that long to get across seventy five metres of road.
Springing immediately into action, the Gman broke away from the other two while they hurriedly started running toward the Citadel. Gordon knew that seventy five metres wasn't that long if you were running either and they were already halfway across, but whether or not they'd get to the Citadel with their bodies relatively intact depended on how many APCs the Gman could stop. Gordon had counted at least four before he'd turned to run and there were two roads the Gman had to cover.
How many would get past him?
While he didn't get a direct answer, there was a tremendous smash of buckling metal and shattering glass a few seconds later. It sounded a lot like the noise Gordon had heard earlier when the APC that blew up their train had unsuccessfully tried to make the Gman a strawberry pancake. He didn't turn back to see the guardian as he vaulted onto the steep dented bonnet of the first personnel carrier and jumped from the roof into the windscreen of the second one, his powerful legs crashing through the reinforced glass like it was brittle candy and flattening the driver's masked face like a ripe tomato.
Following through immediately by hoisting himself onto the roof using the top edge of the windscreen, the Gman landed gracefully on the roof and threw himself across the train tracks bisecting the two roads at the right side of the third APC. His deceptively built frame crashing into the APC's hard armour, it suffered a giant dent and flipped on its side, skidding over to the edge of the bridge in a shower of sparks and rolling onto its roof just as it slid into the gaping depths below.
Before it had even tipped over the side the Gman had stood up, turned to the vehicle that had been following behind it and thrust an open palm at it. Harnessing an incredible payload of invisible telekinesis the APC went screeching backwards at phenomenal speed until its blocky rear crashed into the towering columns of the Inner Wall it had come through moments previously.
As the Gman was about to deal death to the final APC, something yanked on the collar of his suit jacket and he felt something else get shoved down his back. Swinging his arm around reflexively the back of the Gman's wrist smashed into his assailant's face, his mask and right jawbone caving in as the skin of his cheek tore messily inside his helmet and a geyser of crimson sprayed onto the Gman's hand.
Suddenly, the Gman realised what had been stuffed inside his suit. He could feel it on his back, smooth, hard and curved, cylindrical.
It was a grenade.
In a nanosecond, the Gman's mind flashed back to Gordon's heroic feat back in Switzerland on the roof of the Palace of Nations, shoving the grenade launcher barrel of Corporal Shephard's M4A1 into his doppelganger's torn open stomach. The explosion had ripped him in half.
Hurriedly reaching around to his back, the Gman frantically shook the back of his suit jacket, desperately tryi—
Boom!
With a furious roar, the grenade detonated, sending out a shockwave of fire and pressure that rolled across the bridge and off the side of the second APC, the one whose windscreen and driver had been smashed by the Gman. Among the detritus flung into the air, myriad shreds of bloodstained material fluttered like burning leaves in the wind to the ground.
The Combine soldiers that had climbed from the wreck of the first armoured personnel carrier hadn't worried watching the carnage. Instead, they'd charged after the escaping physicist and his Overwatch companion, their rifles up and blazing gold and sapphire as soldiers from the second APC followed them.
Energy slugs cracking the air around him, Gordon spun on his heels and snapped his own rifle up, dropping quickly to his knees and squeezing off a precise burst that ripped the skin from one of the four soldier's chest, lifting him into the air and sending him tumbling backwards as if he'd been hit with a mighty uppercut.
His comrades dropped to their knees as others joined them and Gordon in turn got back up and continued running the final few metres into the Citadel. Gunfire started up again as he scurried into the faint azure light provided by the thousands of globes in the roof of the interior depot, stretching out into the distance for as far as he could see. Only problem was, he was stuck on the other side of one of those anti-Combine forcefields the general had assured him would be there. Gritting his teeth as the incessant gunfire whizzed and snapped all around his head, he dropped to the ground and lay prone on the cold grey metal that had replaced the concrete bridge about a metre away.
Then one of the APC's suddenly flipped up into the air from behind the two enemy fireteams, spinning rapidly in the air before reaching its peak and hurtling down into the ground, rolling over the seven or so Overwatch troopers and smothering their bodies all over its roof.
Climbing to his feet, Gordon watched as the Gman — for some reason wearing only a singed and tattered piece of white cloth with sleeves — walked around from behind it and headed toward him.
From behind Gordon, a low hum suddenly ceased and a faint blue glow on the ground cut out. Gordon turned to see the general waving to him, the forcefield now deactivated.
A loud crash brought his attention back to the Gman. Catching a glimpse of a flame-licked personnel carrier skidding off the bridge into the abyss, Gordon watched as one final APC rocketed toward the Gman as he walked calmly toward the Citadel.
Without breaking a stride as the roar of the vehicle's engine became louder and louder, the Gman offered Gordon a thin smile he wasn't even sure the scientist could see. Then, when the Gman was a mere fifteen metres from the Citadel, the APC crashed into him...
... and went flying into the air, flipping boot over bonnet in a wide arc through the sky, flying into the fluorescent lighting of the Citadel's depot and crashing down on the railway with a hideous grinding sound.
Soon after, the Gman reached the spot where Gordon was standing, walking up to him as if he hadn't even noticed his clothes in the dismal state they were in or the crushed APC lying a few metres away. Watching him walk past and spotting his scarcely covered back, Gordon opened his mouth to say something before the Gman calmly explained, "someone put a grenade down my back."
Gordon didn't bother asking about the crumpled mess of metal on the tracks, even after the Gman walked past it without so much as a dismissive glance.
Thinking about the whole grenade scenario, Gordon focused on the Gman's back. His skin seemed perfectly fine, but Gordon decided not to question the Gman's ability to fix whatever had happened. He'd done fine repairing the hole in his head... but Gordon had seen what a grenade could do to a Fissionist first hand. "And you're still in one piece?" he asked slowly, following the 'suited' guardian, in lieu of better description.
"I too was surprised," the Gman admitted bluntly as he and Gordon headed over to the equally confused general. "But I think the reason you were able to do such damage to my duplicate was the explosion occurred inside his body."
"So all that happened to you was it shredded your clothes?"
"And the skin of my back," the Gman added, walking around a brightly lit corner and briefly examining a Combine charger on the wall, gesturing to it so Gordon would notice. "But that issue was easily rectified."
"Hang on," Gordon pressed, glancing at the charger, "a lucky bullet is enough to blow a hole through your head, but a grenade exploding on your back only skins you?"
The Gman shrugged. "I wouldn't say it was a lucky bullet..." he put his hand in the pocket of his pants, pulling out two bloody slugs of metal. "Same calibre, at least before they crumpled inside my skull. Both of them came from a heavy calibre sniper rifle and both were supposed to kill me." He allowed himself the luxury of a humoured snort as he passed the general. "Neither did it very well, as you can see."
Gordon just stared at the Gman in disbelief, before shaking his head and pressing his thumb against the small glowing light in the centre of the wall charger, watching the little button beside it pump in and out and the glowing bar below it slowly slide back into the machine. After a few moments, the charger made a dull negative drone and Gordon withdrew his hand, raising his rifle and wrapping his hand around the handguard as he looked at the others as they waited patiently for him. "So, now we're on the home straight?"
"Hopefully so," the general replied as they headed off again. "And hopefully nobody from the Belgian Overwatch is going to be waiting for us at the top."
"And if they are?" Gordon inquired, rounding another corner into a wide open expanse of utilitarian blue-grey floor, the walls angled at odd gradients and covered in lofty metal protrusions jutting out from them like rectangular lumps.
The general's mirrored eyes panned the giant anteroom, settling on a hexagonal glass elevator resting complacently in the middle. "Then we'll have to kill them, won't we?"
—
Far above the glow of the streetlights nestled among the innumerable streets of Paris' City 7, something streaked across the moonlit sky like a missile, enveloped in impenetrable darkness despite the radiance of the moon above.
Shaped like a bulbous knobbly bullet, it glided across the gunfire illuminated cityscape down at ground level, heading directly toward the imposing goliath of alien metal absolutely dwarfing even the tallest of structures swarming at its mighty feet.
It had been liberated from imprisonment, and now it had the opportunity to remediate the crimes committed against it by delivering justice to those responsible for its incarceration.
Peace had been majorly restored between mankind and the Combine, but unfortunately the means had been grossly undesirable and resulted in numerous consequences. The French had taken irrational action, and all negative subsequence had committed inexcusable felony.
Insurrection, regardless of calibre, was not to be left unresolved.
The Advisors would once against take control of Earth, and all opposition would be crushed without consideration. Every man, woman and member of the Overwatch that had taken up arms against those on the side of justice would have any obstruction they presented eradicated with extreme prejudice.
And when the Evacuation Fleet finally arrived, the only support required would be to complete autonomy and welcome those men and women who had complied with the Combine's wishes into the vast arms of the Universal Union.
The only question was how many had not blindly followed the wishes of Gordon Freeman...
But that was a concern to be tackled later. At present, the only thing that this Advisor had to deal with was re-entering the Citadel and demanding the French stand down or be destroyed by the imminently victorious Belgian invaders.
It did not wish to see the soldiers and humans it had governed for almost twenty one years annihilated due to their illogical arrogance. They had never wanted destruction in excess of the requirement for subjugation as had been brought about by mankind's constant attempts at rebellion.
Electing a leader from among the natives had never failed previously, at least not to the degree to which it had here on Earth. The Combine had been baffled by Wallace Breen's failure to convince his fellow men and women the Combine were trying to save them. For many years he had proclaimed they represented a step forward, but he had been ignored.
Mankind was resolutely opposed to the possibility that the Combine were doing what they thought everyone realised was beneficial. Universal unity was the epitome of achievement for the many races of the universe. Recently they had discovered the means was undesirable to some species, especially mankind, but desirability came second when such methods were so successful.
If only the human race had been a little more patient. Or rather, if only Dr. Freeman hadn't come along and made his own misinformed decisions, shattering every form of order the Combine had put in place in favour of his own self-righteous anarchist state.
His actions had been critically detrimental to the Combine, and desperate times had called for desperate measures. So the Advisors had sacrificed a number of soldiers to eradicate the source of mankind's insurrection in Rostock, what did it matter? At least they had achieved something, rather than having Freeman and his entourage waltz in and out and have the soldiers die anyway.
Unfortunately, the other Gordon Freeman had been resurrected by the traitorous Phyx and the French general had shown he was just as foolish as Freeman by starting his own insurrection on the grounds of Advisor corruption.
And now, as this one Advisor came ever closer to the looming Citadel, it considered this might be the last chance it would ever get to pacifistically end this ridiculous insurrection once and for all.
Besides, Freeman had shown he was willing to be diplomatic back at the Palace of Nations. The Advisors knew he was no fool, so perhaps he could be convinced to stand down also if shown the wrong he had committed?
—
The giant open elevator came to a silent halt on the next floor up, and Gordon couldn't help but feel they'd left the Citadel entirely and entered some sort of grandly furnished vestibule in an expensive hotel or something.
Gone were the endless walls of sheer blue-grey metal and strong fluorescent lighting, the ambience of machines at work and the labyrinthine rails hanging in the ceiling that Gordon had seen both in the central Citadel in Romania and the level below them. In their place was something akin to the decor of Dr. Breen's penthouse, lights giving off a warm orange glow that suited the dark alien material splayed over the floor and the strangely translucent copper-coloured desks lining the walls on either side.
The elevator, now out of the powerful industrial lighting of the level below, no longer looked faintly blue but rather like polished diamond, standing out pleasantly against the auburn carpet-like fabric on the floor.
"I wasn't expecting this," Gordon muttered quietly as he and the other two stepped off the transparent hexagonal panel glistening in the floor.
The general glanced back at him, walking through the aisle between the columns of copper desks. "Were you expecting anything in particular?"
Gordon shrugged casually, "blue metal and grey floor."
The general let out a humoured huff at Gordon's expectation. "Guess you haven't been inside the real part of the Citadel."
Without answering, Gordon ran a gloved finger along the surface of a nearby desk. The first thing he noticed was the temperature, and the second was the texture. It was warm, but he didn't know a word to describe what it felt like. He withdrew his hand, like a child experiencing something new that it didn't understand. "What's this desk made of?"
"There's no human word for it," the general explained, having stopped to watch Freeman's experimentation.
"What's the Combine word?" Gordon pressed.
The general made a noise that sounded like someone sucking in air noisily mixed with a sharp hum. "That's why I didn't say it," he added, noticing Gordon's dumbfounded expression.
The Gman placed his finger on another desk, looking down with his one eye at its reddish-brown colour. Holding it there for a few moments, he slowly took has hand away and turned back to the general. "It's been a while since I've felt that."
"I imagine it would've been." The general nodded.
Gordon looked around the room again, still a little amazed at the general appearance of the room, and how deeply it contrasted the decor of every other Combine facility he'd ever been inside. Then again, the places he'd been in had almost always been for military or industrial purposes, and every other time the Combine had just fixed up the already existing human infrastructure.
Seeing this, and just how pleasant it was to look at and be in... the gradually narrowing gap between mankind and the Combine seemed even smaller. Perhaps they really weren't so different.
"If I hadn't come along..." Gordon looked at the general quickly, "...this is the sort of stuff we'd have gotten from the Combine Empire?"
"Mankind was destined for amalgamation into the Universal Union," the general nodded. "We showed our ability to suppress rebellion and offered people the surgical process to become part of the Overwatch as early as possible. We didn't take into account mankind would be both disgusted at the prospect and see it as betrayal of their species."
"The colonel at White Forest told me the plan was to have everyone undergo that procedure." Gordon added. "So you could change the atmosphere and set up a proper Combine state on Earth."
"It's what we did for every planet." The general answered. "Once the entire population had undergone the procedure — in the past this had never taken more than fifty or so of your years — a fleet would've come from the Capital to finalise our independence as another of the myriad states under the Combine Empire."
Gordon thought about that for a moment, touching the desk tentatively once more. "Is that why you suppressed reproduction?"
The general seemed impressed at Gordon's deduction. "Smart man. You're right, a bigger population was one of the reasons, along with the fact that we couldn't perform the procedure on children and doubtless whatever human guardians they might have had would've taught them to despise us."
Gordon smiled. "That was one of the last things lingering in my mind about how legitimate this all is."
"I've heard the stories, Gordon." The general continued. "Mankind was convinced we'd suppressed reproduction to slowly wipe you out." He looked behind him, down the long aisle toward the end of the room. A single door waited in the centre of the far wall. "We shouldn't be dawdling," he muttered, "we can talk in the elevator."
Gordon watched him start walking again, before he and the Gman followed. "Is that the elevator to the top?" he stared at the solitude door down the end of the long room.
"Indeed it is," the general replied, without turning his head.
"How long will it take to get to the top?"
"At a speed we'll be able to comfortably ride at? Three minutes."
In his mind's eye, Gordon pictured the ineffably tall construct in which he was now standing from outside, its peak invisible from below the clouds. And they were going to reach that unseeable pinnacle in three minutes. "Fast elevator..."
"You got that right," the general looked back at Gordon as he reached the lift doors, punching the button with his clenched fist and turning back to watch the doors slide open with a hushed pneumatic hiss.
The three of them shuffled inside the well-sized elevator, Gordon only taking a moment to appreciate the design once the doors had closed and he'd felt the lift start to rise. The decoration was similar to the area they'd just been in, with warm orange paint, gold bars lining the walls and bronze bands around the door frame.
It offered little distraction from the gravity of their situation... but at least they were probably well and truly past the more difficult part of the journey.
Now that they were in the elevator, Gordon thought about the general's earlier comments. He didn't have much else to say about the topic, now that he thought about it, other than he was satisfied with everything he'd been told and all the sense it made. "Sorry about starting the Uprising," he offered with a somewhat awkward nonchalance, in the tone one would use if they'd forgotten to bring something a friend had asked them to.
The general glanced over at him, the glow of the ceiling light shining in the officer's blue eyepieces. "The hell are you sorry for?"
"Screwing everything over?" Gordon added with a frown.
The general chortled softly at that. "I honestly don't get where you come from sometimes, Freeman. If you hadn't started the Uprising, we wouldn't be going up to the top of the Citadel here to deliver our little ultimatum."
"Exactly my point!" Gordon insisted. "If I hadn't come along and started the Uprising, your plan would've gone ahead without any real resistance."
"Then mankind would have been absorbed into the Combine, we'd have moved on to whatever planet we next discovered without changing our imperialistic methods and the Fissionist Faction would still be on our ass trying to wriggle inside our armour." The general retorted. "Is that how you would've preferred this all to play out?"
Gordon paused. "OK, I'm glad I started the Uprising and all... but think about what I did to get here. I struck at the heart of your empire, even though you were trying to help us, letting the Fissionist Faction run in and tear you to shreds."
The general shrugged. "Being a patriot blinds you sometimes. I'm still as loyal to my nation as I ever was, but I can't argue that we were a menace to most of the universe. That's why the Fissionist Faction was trying to stop us and why I'm glad that with their help you finally did."
Gordon stared incredulously at the general. "You're glad I stomped your country and had it ground up?"
"Why the hell do you think I'm still helping you, other than there being no other alternative?" the general inquired. "You've shown me that we were a threat and how we can start anew with a more peaceful approach to unification, together with mankind."
"You think the rest of the Overwatch will see it that way?"
"Absolutely," the general nodded. "What I'm actually worried about is what the Advisors wil—"
"We have a problem." The Gman interrupted matter-of-factly.
Both Gordon and the general looked at the Gman, who was standing behind the two against the back wall. He was looking at something on the floor, his face set with a look of grim discovery. The physicist and the officer followed his gaze, their eyes landing on a small metal capsule lying alone on the material-covered elevator floor.
It was a munitions capsule from an Overwatch Standard Issue Pulse Rifle.
Slowly, the Gman knelt down and picked up the little conical pellet, twirling it in his fingers. "It's still warm," he breathed, standing back up and watching as Gordon's expression changed and the general's eternally apathetic mask of a visage stayed the same. "They must have beaten us by mere minutes."
Gordon looked up at the roof, his mind going into overdrive as he visualised the platoon of soldiers waiting at their terminus, ready to send them to hell the same way they now travelled. "We're screwed." He mumbled to himself, despondence crawling into his mind once again.
The Gman, as expected, shared none of Freeman's anxiety. "You two, press yourselves against the walls," he instructed, gesturing to the walls either side of the double doors before them. Obeying immediately, the two moved over to either side, the general presciently hoisting his rifle and aiming it at the door. Gordon followed suit as the Gman made to brush off his nonexistent lapels, causing the tattered material of his shirt to fold off his shoulders and flap loosely at his front.
The Gman nonchalantly flipped the loose piece back up over his shoulder, his countenance telegraphing his displeasure to the two before him. Quietly, he reached into one of his trouser pockets and, like a magician performing a trick, pulled free a minutely folded blue suit jacket which he promptly unfolded, slid his thinly clad arms into and pulled it tightly around himself.
When he loosened his grip to button it up, Gordon noticed his shirt had suddenly repaired itself.
Silently, Gordon returned his focus to the glimmering doors before him. He didn't know how many soldiers were waiting to meet them at the top, but he doubted it would be any more than six. The elevator could only hold so much. Unless the elevator had been on more than one trip in the recent past...
And unless I stop being so damn pessimistic I'm going to get my ass kicked, he scolded himself.
There was a panel on the general's side, adorned with a big black button and two digital counters. The highest counter was in place of a list of floors and it showed the time remaining until arrival on the top level, currently at 0:26. The one directly underneath it was flickering up quite rapidly, now at 972 and with a single empty space for when it hit the thousand mark.
He licked the roof of his mouth, wishing that it didn't have the unpleasant taste he found himself experiencing. He didn't know why he was so nervous, especially with the man who'd taken two bullets to the noggin on two of the three days Gordon had been alive this year standing right behind him. The Gman had no intentions of letting him die, and he was certainly capable of stopping it.
But then again, Gordon wouldn't have needed to be resurrected three nights ago if death was impossible. The potential existed... it was just highly unlikely.
And why did he need to be worried? He was Gordon Freeman, the guy who'd survived being concurrently attacked by aliens, his own country's Marine Corps and a research facility that had become completely unstable from the two of them blowing the hell out of it.
After that, he'd survived running around with alien law enforcement and local military on his ass long enough to blow up a ex-high security penitentiary, start the Uprising, destroy the centre of the alien's administration on Earth and eventually launch a devastating rocket at their Capital through a portal they'd intended to get reinforcements through.
He'd survived all that, no sweat. Well, sweat included. Why did he need to worry about this? He'd only ever really had extreme difficulty with Advisors, one of which was the cause of his death last year in the bowels if White Forest.
But there wouldn't be any Advisors here. They were probably still trying to maintain command in Switzerland while he and his retinue of rebels actually took decisive action in ending this whole thing.
He'd learnt that the only useful sort of politics in this chaotic anarchist time was diplomacy, and the Advisors seemed to have that muddled in with all the other half-assed things they were attempting to keep intact over the rabble of humans and the increasingly large one of their own soldiers.
It was their fault anyway, nuking Rostock and sacrificing that many men in their desperation to eradicate him. And on top of that, the Advisors on Trysik had simply sent whatever Phyx were available to Earth without actually checking where their loyalties lay, resulting in rogue necromancers running around screwing with the Combine.
The Advisors didn't seem to be very good leaders. How the hell had they run such a large and powerful Empire for this long? Well, Gordon knew they only really ran things on a state level. Apparently running the world was a bit of a stretch for them.
Not to ring his own bell, but Gordon thought he was doing a decent jo—
The elevator stopped and the doors slid open.
In the moments before something flew through the doors and someone pressed the button on the panel outside, Gordon saw an overturned desk, behind which three Overwatch Elites were aiming their pulse rifles directly inside. He imagined the general could see something similar from where he was. Without a moment's pause, Gordon squeezed the trigger on his pulse rifle and sprayed slugs of sparkling energy at the soldiers in his view.
Of course, neither he nor the general got much of a chance to attack or look, because that aforementioned something bounced into the small space of the elevator and the doors began to hiss shut.
Gordon didn't even need to look at it to know it was an MK3A2 concussion grenade, and by the time he glanced over at it the Gman had scooped it up in his powerful grip, twisted the fuse mechanism and yanked it out of the cylindrical explosive. Then, as the detonator at the bottom of the fuse exploded with the violent ferocity of a timid party cracker, he lunged forward and stuck the device in the doorway a split second before it closed.
The doors stopped, the dead grenade wedged between them. Standing there, Gordon noticed they weren't opening again like every elevator he'd ever seen with automatic doors did when faced with an obstruction.
The general, assumedly having taken the upper hand, took a quick step over to the doorway, shoved his rifle in between the gap and depressed the secondary trigger on the side of the weapon. With a vibratory hum, the underslung launcher jolted back as a bubble of lethal energy burst forth, bouncing off the walls and slamming into two elites trying to take cover behind the overturned desk on the right side of the room.
With chaos now irrefutably secured the Gman stuck his hands in the doorway and shoved the doors back on their rails, both the general and Gordon poking out from their own cover and quickly firing off at the soldiers as they tried to regain composure after the general's orb of destruction finally exploded at the back of the room. The final soldier on the right side of the room spun like a ballerina and tumbled to the floor after taking a burst to the shoulder, leaving only the three on the left side alive.
A moment after throwing the doors open, however, the two elites flanking the doorway — one of which had thrown the grenade now lying uselessly on the elevator's floor — took a step away from the wall they were pressed up against, aimed their Italian shotguns at the Gman and pounded away at his torso and head with a deafening fusillade of buckshot.
Needless to say, they were dealt with quite decisively. After all, it is not often one survives the total violent liquidation of their body, and these soldiers were of course no exception. But the Gman was left in a terrible state, shreds of fabric and skin peeling off his chest and face. Opening his single remaining eye, the eyelid covered in blood but obviously undamaged, the Gman looked down at the empty shells and crimson stained black shotguns lying in the puddles of blood and other strangely tinted juices draining from the deflated white suits of the two soldiers' fatigues.
And then he brushed himself off, his skin and garments knitted themselves back together perfectly after a few gentle swipes of his hand. When he raised his head, the others peering at him from their spots behind desks on the other side of the room saw that the skin of his face was unmarred also.
They didn't get much of a look, though, because Gordon and the general reappeared and squeezed off their own volley of gunfire from behind the seemingly unkillable guardian. Spotting the elites ducking their heads down, Gordon burst from cover and charged at their position, the general following suit a moment after.
The soldiers poked their heads up once again, this time seeing two people closing in on them. All three of them valiantly raised their rifles and started to fire before Gordon clambered up onto the furniture which they knelt behind and, standing tall atop the upturned desk like a gallant warrior, he took all three of them out with a sharp spray of gunfire.
Blood stained the tiled floor.
Gordon turned and stepped down from the blood spattered desk, the general standing behind him silently and the Gman walking calmly over from the elevator doors as they slowly hissed shut. "That was easier than I'd expected," Gordon admitted, looking down at his legs and frowning at the glossy red muck coating the orange armour.
"I would imagine that's not all," the Gman answered, walking past the mess Gordon had so kindly pasted across the ground to a single door in the left hand wall. "This is the top floor, correct?"
"Well, second," the general corrected. "There's an elevator in the room past that door leading up to it."
Thinking back to October last year, Gordon could remember Dr. Breen running into an elevator adjacent to his magnificent office, which he and Alyx had soon discovered led to a trans-universal communications system and a panoramic view of the Citadel's Dark Energy Reactor. "Alyx and I saw Dr. Breen using that room to talk to an Advisor on a Combine planet last year," he told the general.
"Only the Romanian Citadel would've had anything that fancy," the general explained. "Communicating with the Capital was exclusively available from the Administrator's residence. After all, the Combine hadn't conceived a contingency when someone other than the Administrator and his Advisors would require an audience with the Primes."
"So he was talking to a Prime?" Gordon muttered, remembering some subtle differences between the Advisor he'd seen then and the ones he'd encountered on Earth. The mechanical arms of the Prime he'd seen had been much bulkier, and there had been some sort of engraving on what appeared to be the ring around their 'neck'.
"I'd imagine so," the general nodded, watching as the Gman opened the door he was standing before and poked his head inside. Waiting for a few moments, the general eventually cocked his head suspiciously. "Anyone in there?"
"Evidently not," the guardian replied, stepping inside the room. Looking at Gordon, the two of them headed in after him.
As Gordon entered, he noticed a distinct similarity between Dr. Breen's office and the one he now found himself in, except he was seeing it from the side Alyx had been on while she was captive. Looking up at the roof, he saw multiple rails crossing it, all meeting together at a brightly glowing circular junction in the centre of the ceiling. There was an opulent desk and a large padded seat behind it, positioned before a few tall windows giving a view of the night sky beyond. The general decor was also quite similar, with the walls and floor covered in grey tiles and a sort of red material laid out on the two ramps either side of the luxurious desk. On the other side of the room were two large doors that appeared to be made out of wood. Gordon remembered that he had come through that doorway when he had been captive in the Citadel.
Taking a few steps inside, Gordon turned to face the door he'd come through, trying to remember if there had been a door in the same spot in Dr. Breen's office. Then again, he hadn't been looking for it and he realised it too had grey tiles on it when the general closed it. "Is this where you lived?" Gordon asked the general as the officer walked past him.
"Yeah," the general nodded slowly. "As the highest-ranking officer of the French Overwatch, I commanded the local Overwatch forces but had no authority over the civilian populace. To them, Dr. Breen was just as much the leader of the human race as he was anywhere else."
"So you were the leader of the Overwatch here?" Gordon repeated.
The general nodded again. "It's how we operate a colony: a chosen native leads the natives and the five-star generals of each state lead the Combine."
"So what do the Advisors do?"
"They act as the vice-administration and command the Combine leaders."
"You're not the highest authority over the Combine?"
The general rubbed his gloved hands together. "We're loyal to our local administration, global administration and imperial administration, in that order. Basically if Wallace Breen ordered us to do something against the Advisors' will, we would, and likewise if the Primes ordered us against the wishes of Wallace Breen. At least," he added, "that's how I see it. Others, like the Belgians down there, think the local administration has dominant power over them, at least when they cannot contact the Primes and the global administration has gone down the drain."
"Well, that clears things up, then." Gordon answered, looking around the office and rubbing his hands together. "So, are we going to go ahead with this broadcast?"
"Indeed we should," the general agreed, heading toward the hallway in the middle of the room. "Gman, are you coming too?"
The Gman shook his head politely, "I'll remain here during Dr. Freeman's broadcast, in the event that further Belgian opposition arrives."
Nodding, the general looked over at Gordon. "You know what you're going to say?"
"I think so," Gordon nodded back. "I've just got to make sure the Combine know their only choice is collaboration with us."
"Don't smooth it over," the general added. "Tell it like it is, but make sure to clarify that you are deeply remorseful for what you caused and your enthusiasm to amalgamate the Combine and mankind peacefully."
"But will the Advisors accept it?"
The general paused momentarily. "Whether they like it or not, they can't refuse your proposal. The only logical decision they can make is to agree with your terms so as to not concrete their own extinction."
Gordon smiled. Man, he needed that sort of support right now. This was bigger than anything he'd ever done before, and that was coming from the man who'd escaped a research facility getting raped at both ends by aliens and people it had thought were its friends, among a plethora of other incredible feats.
They stepped into the elevator, and Gordon turned back to face inside the office. The Gman offered a casual wave at the two, which Gordon returned with a hint of nervous anticipation. Then the angled metal doors closed with a sharp grinding noise and the glass-like substance under their feet began to rise.
Gordon allowed himself a sigh. Not of disappointment or sorrow, but of rising anxiety. He wondered why, though. The general had just given ample and wonderfully rational encouragement, the sort that should've whisked away all his fears like chaff in a gale. But no, the anticipation of inciting such an abrupt and crucial turn of events through his imminent actions rested like a ten tonne weight in the pit of his stomach, with an expression he imagined was of complacent smugness at its ability to weigh down his psyche. "Holy shit, I'm nervous..." he mumbled, the words slipping from his lips as his concern rose.
A comforting hand slapped against his shoulder. "Hey, just remember: say what happened, tell 'em you're sorry and that you're open to fixing it all by restarting the Combine Empire with us here on Earth. It'll go down great with the Overwatch, and your words are like bloody dogma to mankind."
"And the Advisors can't refuse it," Gordon repeated, looking up to see the identical blue double doors coming ever closer from above. In under a minute, Gordon estimated about three-quarters of the planet would be listening to him explaining the orbital attack on the Combine Capital last year had allowed the Fissionist Faction to get a foothold in its territory and slowly rip the Empire to desperate, disconnected shreds.
Gordon couldn't even imagine how the Combine would feel. Would they react as he did when he learnt that they had incinerated the world order in seven hours twenty years before he'd arrived? No, he had seen things were horribly wrong before he learnt about the Seven Hour War.
This would come without any warning whatsoever, like a car accident. There had been no brooding of grey clouds overhead to augur the bad news that he was about to deliver.
Swallowing quietly, Gordon watched as the floor came to his eye level...
... and he saw an Advisor speaking on the giant screen at the far end of the room.
Gordon frowned as the doors slid open before him, confused at the image of the grotesque slug-like creature before him. He and the general stepped from the elevator and approached the screen, the strangely sibilant voice of the Advisor caressing the air with its words.
"—tand down immediately. My fellow Advisors assumed command of this planet after Wallace Breen's foolish decisions to ally himself with the rebel forces and as the leader of this state I order all militant forces, militia and Overwatch, to cease fire and submit once more to authority. Due consequence will follow when order has been entirely restored."
Gordon stared at the Advisor, listening as it broadcast its commands to the soldiers and rebels fighting far below. Initially, all it did was demand a cease fire. Then it started to diverge in the hope of convincing its audience, asking the civil populace if they thought Dr. Breen was some sort of traitor to their kind and arguing that he was trying to tell them all about the wonderful things the Combine were trying to do for them, which they had shown him after he'd thought organise a surrender.
After about a minute, the Advisor stumbled onto the topic of restoring order before the evacuation fleet arrived next June. As it said this, Gordon suddenly turned to the general, his eyes fierce. Any anxiety he had had earlier had evaporated in the heat of that powerful glare, and the general knew the scientist meant business. "Can we interrupt this broadcast?"
"Not that I know of," the general replied slowly, scanning the console before them as the Advisor's fricative words flowed out from it.
Gordon scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Can we talk to the Advisor from here?"
The general looked over at him briefly. "That we can do," he answered, flicking a few switches, "but it won't interrupted the broadcast."
"But will our voice be broadcast too?"
The general considered it. "Possibly. Look, it's not like anyone's tried talking to someone while making a broadcast before."
Gordon smiled. "What better time to start?"
The general nodded, chuckling quietly to himself. "Agreed," he looked up at the screen and pressed a button. "Go."
Unprepared, Gordon paused for a split second before speaking. "Advisor." He blurted out quickly, his mind racing as he thought of something to say next. "I have something I think you should know."
And as his voice rang out from the dozens of Breencast screens across the city, every head that heard those unexpected words turned to face the closest screen, watching as the Advisor onscreen froze in shock.
"In fact," the iconic physicist continued, "I have something I think you should all know." He paused for the slightest moment, contemplating the gravity of what he was about to proclaim to the whole world. "The evacuation fleet this Advisor speaks of is a lie. But," he added quickly, so the Advisor wouldn't assume he was pulling shit to turn the rebels and soldiers against it, "the Advisors are not responsible for its construction. No, they lied to as well, by the Phyx. After all, the Phyx betrayed the Combine almost immediately after getting what they wanted, and had been planning to ever since they left their planet on the orders of the desperate Advisors there.
"Why were the Advisors desperate, you ask? Well... the Combine Empire was on the brink of destruction at the hands of the Fissionist Faction. It fell in early May this year."
Gordon waited a few moments, imagining the shock of the soldiers on the ground. No doubt most of the French Overwatch would be facing a pretty difficult problem in their minds: our leader staged a coup to ally with our destroyer?
Fully aware of how quickly this could turn into a bloodbath, he continued. "But as I said, this all happened in early May, long before anyone knew about your true intentions here. Now that I know what the Combine came here for, I couldn't tell you how horrified I was to realise any chance of peace with your nation was impossible.
"But now I have a solution to this problem: start over. Both the nations of man and the Combine Empire have been destroyed. Only a fraction of their original might remain, and coincidentally we find both of them on one planet? If the Combine is willing to amalgamate with what remains of mankind to form a new nation, to restart to Combine Empire together with the human race, then I see no reason why we shouldn't."
Then he waited. He stood there and watched the Advisor splayed across the giant screen before him, his countenance set determinedly. He knew the Advisor was watching him, wherever it was inside the giant Citadel. Probably in the Advisor conference room the general had mentioned before.
A few moments later, the Advisor started talking to him. "The broadcast has been terminated," it announced matter-of-factly. "And I require affirmation on your proclamation: has the Universal Union truly fallen?"
The general stepped into view from behind Gordon. "It's true, Advisor," he answered, his tone appropriately smooth. "The Fissionist Gman assisting Dr. Freeman revealed the information yesterday evening. I was informed earlier today."
"And you accepted it?" the Advisor demanded immediately.
"As truth? Of course, the Gman had no reason to lie. But I didn't want to accept it; I attempted to murder both Dr. Freeman and the Gman."
The Advisor was silent for a few moments. "Evidently your loyalty to the throne hasn't wavered."
"Absolutely not. Surely you understand my actions were in the pursuit of loyalty?"
"Loyal by your own definitions, perhaps, but provably felonious," the Advisor retorted.
Not wanting to delay any longer, Gordon interrupted the two, "I made my proposition," he reminded the Advisor curtly. "What do you think about it?"
The Advisor's cybernetic oculus swivelled to face Gordon. "There is no chance that an evacuation fleet is coming?"
Gordon shook his head, "the entire Combine Empire has been destroyed. There are probably a few strands of survivors trying to avoid the Fissionist mercenary armies, but definitely not enough to send a fleet of ships to come and take you to what remains of your planets."
The Advisor pondered his response for a second. "Your proposal seems legitimate, Dr. Freeman," it answered, thinking about the calm diplomacy he'd shown over the past few days, "not to mention sensible. You have the Fissionist Gman accompanying you, don't you?"
"He's down in the general's office right now." Gordon nodded.
"I would imagine he has capacity enough to secure French dominion over this nation once more, correct?"
"Probably."
"With that in mind, I can't imagine you would be making such a crucial proposition with such power at your disposal if you were intending on solving this all with combat."
"I'm sick of fighting," Gordon explained, shrugging. "And I'm sick of killing. I don't want to see any more people die, especially now that I know what the Combine is all about."
"Loss of life is never an enjoyable thing," the Advisor agreed solemnly. Then it paused, thinking things over. "You say you regret destroying the Capital?"
"If you intended to destroy the human race like I thought you did when I launched that rocket, then I would be overjoyed by it. But because you're trying to unite the universe, I realise I played a critical role in the downfall of an intelligent and influential society." Pausing as well, Gordon averted his eye momentarily. "If the Advisors accept my idea for amalgamation, then there is one thing I want changed concerning universal union."
"What's that?" The Advisor inquired.
"We abolish your imperialistic methods in favour of consensual peace," Gordon explained.
Gordon waited for the Advisor to answer, watching it carefully. When it finally did, it made some sort of serpentine hiss mixed with a shrill gurgly cackle. "Freeman, why do you think we adopted imperialism?"
"I've heard from the Swedish general that the Prime Advisors rejected making peace consensually because there'd always be societies that would refuse." Gordon replied, frowning. "I think that's ridiculous, you make peace with the states that want peace and leave everyone else alone."
"That isn't universal union."
"It's universal peace, isn't it?"
"Not if those that refuse to join wage war with each other."
"Then perhaps you leave them to their own business?" Gordon suggested. "Look, you can't have absolute unity because you'd have to have a utopia, and utopias can't exist while people have different tastes and ideas."
The Advisor laughed its snake-like cackle again. "You think we adopted imperialism immediately? Freeman, conquest was a last resort for the Primes all those years ago! But it turned out to be the only way to unite the universe in its entirety, didn't it? Unless you can come up with a more beneficial alternative?"
"Well, why not have an independent organisation that every nation can become a member of?" Gordon insisted. "You know about the United Nation, don't you? Dr. Breen surrendered from its headquarters in New York at the start of all this; why don't we set up something like that?"
The Advisor didn't respond for a few moments. Gordon prayed to whatever God the Gman had said existed that it wasn't something that had been considered before, that it really was the fantastic solution he hoped it was.
Then, its eyes fixated on Gordon's own, it spoke. "I will relay your proposal and points to the Advisors in Switzerland. Perhaps your ideas are not as illogically radical as some of them think."
"Wait," Gordon stopped the Advisor, trying not to let his relief overwhelm him. "Am I allowed to broadcast all this?"
The Advisor contemplated for a moment. "Wait until I have the Advisors answer."
"You want us to stay here?"
"Until we have made our decision."
"How long will that be?"
Pausing, the Advisor thought about it. "You will have the answer by early tomorrow morning. Make sure you are present when I return."
And with that, the screen cut to black.
His gaze lingering on the monochromic screen for a few speechless moments, Gordon saw himself faintly reflected on its surface. His hair was messy, his beard was somewhat unruly and his eyes, though they glistened, showed he was weary as hell.
But you know what? He thought to himself, smiling at the wispy man on the screen, I probably just saved the human race.
A warm hand rested on his shoulder. Glancing at the screen for a moment longer and seeing the general's own vague reflection, he turned his head to see the officer nodding in approval. "You did well, Freeman. Those Advisors aren't going to have much on you when they hear about this."
Gordon beamed. "Come on," he turned, heading for the elevator. "We should tell the Gman."
"Should we stay here until morning?" the general asked as they headed down the hallway to the lift.
Gordon scratched his furry chin pensively. "I want to check on the people in the streets. I hope there weren't too many people killed while we were heading over here."
"Good idea," the general agreed, stepping onto the translucent blue platform with the physicist.
—
They didn't need to tell the Gman what had transpired up in the communication centre. They found him watching the blank screen behind the general's desk, turning in the chair as he heard the elevator arrive. Getting to his feet as the two stepped onto the tiled floor, he headed over to them with a grin mirroring Gordon's own immaculately. "Freeman, once again you demonstrate your extraordinary diplomatic abilities," he applauded the physicist as they met him before the general's desk. "I have great confidence that the Advisors will gladly accept your proposal. And trust me," he extended a hand to Gordon, "I assure you the Fissionist Faction will be behind you the whole way."
Gordon watched the Gman's hand, before he looked up and opened his arms wide. "Come here, man."
Pausing, the Gman retracted his arm. Then he smiled, hugging Gordon tightly. "Couldn't have done it without you," Gordon patted the Gman warmly on the back, pulling away. "I'm going to go and see how many people we lost, see if there's anyone that needs help."
The Gman nodded appreciatively, looking behind him at the starlit sky outside the slender windows. "We've certainly got time. I'll accompany you, in case anyone does need some help."
The group headed for the camouflaged door in the corner of the room. "Does the elevator still work?" Gordon frowned, remembering how brutal the Gman was with it earlier.
Opening the door into the adjacent room for Gordon and the general, the Gman shrugged. "I could always get it running again, if it isn't." He stepped past the bloody corpses lying behind the blood spattered desk near the door. "For someone who's tired of taking life, you certainly are good at it."
Gordon looked back at the Gman, frowning. "Doesn't mean I enjoy it."
"Rest assured I never contemplated such a contingency, Freeman." The Gman reassured him as they walked past the dead. "I'm a lot less heartless than you are... I think I remember telling you that sometime."
"A few days ago, yeah." Gordon agreed as they all stepped into the ajar doors of the elevator. Stepping in last, the Gman pressed a button on the interior panel. Unexpectedly, the doors closed with a quiet hiss. Gordon heard the Gman give a surprised hum as the elevator started to drop.
"How many people do you think got the message?" Gordon asked the general.
He shrugged. "Most of them, I'm willing to bet. Look, I doubt there's going to be anyone trying to kill us once, thinking about it. I mean, I'd certainly stop if I noticed everyone except my unit had stopped shooting. Hopefully that's how it is down on the ground."
"Hopefully," Gordon agreed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Shit, I need to go to sleep." He mumbled as his vision blurred and came slowly back into focus.
"I'm not sure where you would," the general admitted, "but I'm sure something could be arranged up in my office while we wait for the Advisor to come back."
Gordon looked at him. "I don't think I've ever seen the Combine sleep. Do you?"
"Hell yes we do," the general snorted. "Don't forget most of the Overwatch used to be humans, and one thing we still do is sleep like you."
Pausing for a few moments, Gordon rubbed his gloved hands together. "Were you once human, general?"
The general looked at Gordon. "No," he answered after a short moment of silence. "I was converted about fifty years ago now. I was once part of a species known as the falumanan."
Gordon was about to say something, but the Gman got to it first. "So you came from...?" he proceeded to say some kind of gibberish that sounded to Gordon like someone slurping a drink while blowing their nose squeakily.
"You know of it?" the general seemed surprised.
"Absolutely," the Gman nodded. "You're quite lucky, it was a beautiful planet."
"The Combine treated it well," the general added. "Some of our buildings were destroyed during their conquest... but when we were declared independent they replaced them with so many good things."
"It's a pity that's never going to happen here." Gordon muttered sadly, thinking about everything that he'd done to the Combine Empire.
"Dr. Freeman, you are not to blame for the destruction of the Universal Union," the Gman asserted. "You were merely following the will of the Fissionist Faction, even though it was subconsciously. I have said before I and the fellow Members take full responsibility for what happened. Don't feel guilty about it, it wasn't your fault."
Gordon nodded pensively. "That would've been a good point to make to the Advisor. Damn."
"I'm sure there'll be an opportunity to make that known to the Advisors soon enough," the Gman added.
Standing silently for a moment, Gordon looked back at the Gman. "If the Advisors accept..."
"When they accept."
"Yeah, alright," Gordon continued, considering the likelihood that the Advisors would refuse to comply with him and instead go on a suicidal rampage. "Anyway, I was wondering when the details would be sorted out. You know, arranging that peace organisation?"
The Gman straightened up importantly. "I and the other Members will see to everything whenever they are to be addressed. I couldn't tell you how things will proceed at present, but I guarantee we will finalise everything and this new era of the Combine Empire will operate in a manner much more suitable to the general ethics of the universe."
Gordon nodded slowly, stretching his arms behind his back anxiously, mulling the Gman's words over in his head.
...manner much more suitable to the general ethics of the universe...
A faint frown creased Gordon's otherwise enthusiastic visage. Fortunately, neither the general nor the Gman noticed the change, leaving him to think as the general sparked up another topic with the Gman.
Is all this really more suitable for the universe?
His frown deepened as his mind trailed off deeper into thought. Is this really the right thing to do? Are we making real progress, replacing the Combine's brutal imperialistic methods with our own? How many nations among the stars would be more favourable to a peace organisation? Maybe only a few, perhaps even less?
Had he made anything better?
Sure, mankind had been saved from the brutality of the Combine, since the Advisors couldn't really refute his ultimatum. Peace on Earth had returned.
Human peace.
And then Gordon's eyes widened as he realised what he had done: he was no different from everyone else on this planet. As they had labelled the Combine as evil from their own standpoint as moral human beings, he had made plans for improvement of the Combine Empire's methods based on his own ethical views.
He saw it so clearly now; his eyes had been opened. He had been told that the Combine knew nothing of their own immorality, and he too up until this point had been entirely unaware of his own.
His ideas were wonderful to man, but to some species of alien this peaceful organisation might be an abomination. Certainly, they were not forced to become a part of it, but that just meant universal union through his methods were even more flawed than that of the Combine!
And then... something sparked in his mind. Why hadn't the Advisor brought this up? Surely they had considered an organisation as this and realised how unfeasible it was?
Gordon thought. And thought and thought and thought. And finally, after much consideration, he made a conclusion in his mind and his brow furrowed darkly.
Motherfuckers.
"Gman, restrain the general." Gordon ordered coldly, his voice grave.
For a moment, nobody moved. Then, with a flash of dark bloodstained material, the general had raised his sidearm and pointed it directly at Gordon's temple. Apparently he wasn't taking any risks.
He didn't even get time to see his hand align with Gordon's head before the Gman had brought his arm down on the general's own and smoothly pulled the pistol from his hand, grabbing the slide and twirling it on his fingers as the general doubled over and squeezed his throbbing arm.
"How the hell did you find out?" the general spat, knowing full well it was pointless trying to justify pointing a gun at Gordon's head.
"Perhaps I was not being paranoid," the Gman muttered to himself. "I assume you saw it too, Gordon?"
Gordon nodded. "The Combine made too many slip ups, general. Little ones from only a few people, but still enough for me to figure out you've been fucking us over since you got here all those years ago."
The general straightened up, looking from Gordon to the gun-wielding Gman. "What slip ups?" he demanded furiously, as the doors of the elevator opened. Looking for a brief moment into the empty office-like room, Gordon stepped out. "Sit down, and I'll explain."
Gesturing with the stolen handgun, the Gman ushered the general into a nearby chair, standing guard as Gordon sat himself down on the desktop. Clasping his hands together with a resounding clap, Gordon stared into the general's mesmerising eyepieces. "Firstly, though, I want to know how many people were in on this little thing."
"What thing?"
With absolutely zero tolerance for bullshit, Gordon hoisted himself up onto the desk and kicked the general straight in the face. His chair sliding out from underneath him, the general hit the floor with a crash, the chair scraping against the material floor dully. "All the generals have been pulling shit about ethical difference and unity..." Gordon glared at the general, "...was the Swedish general in on it too?"
"Yes!" the general yelled, scrambling up against the wall as Gordon stood threateningly on the desk. "Everyone important enough knew about it! All the generals that went to Rostock before it got nuked, the Belgian and the Slovakian generals, everyone!"
"Bastard!" Gordon spat, unable to believe how easily the Swedish general had convinced him. "Did the colonel I shot know?"
"He was just following orders..." the general explained weakly.
"And so the rest of the Combine has no idea about any of this?" Gordon demanded furiously. "Everyone that isn't a general cops shit when your lies cause people like me to do stuff to the Combine, believing all this crap about Advisor corruption and loyalty to whoever?"
"Nobody below Brigadier."
Gordon let up momentarily, his fists clenched. Then he smiled. "Well, that explains a lot, doesn't it?" he looked over at the Gman complacently. "It explains why Rostock was nuked, completely without regard for the soldiers there, except four generals that went ahead to Switzerland to get further orders..." he paused, looking at the general fiercely. "Does Wallace Breen know?"
"No..." the general admitted wearily. "Look, Freeman... this is how the Combine operates. This is how we've always operated."
"So, you really aren't fabulously misunderstood people trying to unite the universe, are you? You're just lowlife, bloodthirsty cocksucking conquerors that don't give a shit about anything but ruling the universe, is that it?"
The general looked Gordon in the eyes, his stare masked by the glass covering it. "At least we made a name for our species, didn't we?" Malice had taken control of his words now.
Gordon ignored him. "And you spun Dr. Breen an intricate story about you all being such wonderful peacemakers. Do you always do that to your victims?"
"Why would our modus operandi be any different for scum like you?"
Gordon smiled. "And that also explains why the Phyx betrayed you. Everything you told us, up until two fucking minutes ago in that elevator, preaching about how fantastic the Combine made your planet after they'd finished taking over and turning you into a slave, was a big fat pile of crap, wasn't it?"
The general shrugged. "Of course it was. When I reached the rank I have now, I got informed by a confidential memo that similar things happened on my planet, and every other planet since the Primes conceived the idea at the start. It was a good trick; all that stuff about what the Combine thought was ethical and right was good enough to keep even the brightest bulbs complacent. It sure got you, Freeman."
"Yeah, but I just figured it out." Gordon reminded him.
"And what good's it going to do you now, huh?" the general demanded, sitting up. "The Advisor is on its way back to Switzerland. Once it gets there and tells the others that you really are a gullible idiot, things get set in motion to restore order on this planet once and for all."
"Like what?"
"Well, killing you, for starters. Why else do you think the Advisor insisted you remain nearby so it can contact you with its reply?"
Gordon smacked his head. "So, I was going to be ambushed, was I?"
The general laughed. "Oh, no. You were going to be inside the Citadel when we blew it up."
"What?"
"There are dozens of soldiers down in the core at this very moment, Freeman. Waiting for the Advisors orders to blow it sky high."
"You included?"
The general snorted. "Of course not. I was going to slip out whenever I got the chance."
"And what if you hadn't?"
"Then I'd have died along with everyone else." He shrugged. "It was a price I was willing to pay to return order to this filthy planet."
Gordon, still standing up on the desk, jumped down and sat on the edge. "Well, hey, even though it won't help you get what you want, why not pay up early?"
With a curt nod at the Gman, the guardian pulled the trigger of the pistol in his hand, the slug slamming into the general's forehead at close range and spraying a torrent of dark gunk out onto the warm orange walls.
Lowering the handgun, the Gman looked at Gordon. "Did you figure it out in the elevator?"
"Yeah," Gordon nodded. "I thought about how quick the Advisor had been to leave after hearing my suggestion, and I wondered how the Combine couldn't have seen the abundant issues with the idea if they really had considered all possibilities."
"Abundant issues?" the Gman asked, frowning. "I thought it was quite good."
"Well, I mean," Gordon shrugged. "Good from our standpoint. Fissionists and humans have similar morals. But then I realised other species might not join a peaceful organisation because it was an abomination to their culture, and that would make the universal unity situation worse."
"Right," the Gman nodded appreciatively, impressed with Gordon's knowledge.
"Then I thought about why the Phyx would betray the Combine if things really were so great on their planet, and after that I considered other possibilities to the explanations I'd been offered about things like the Rostock nuking, and how they fitted more suitably with what everyone had been saying about the Combine from the start: they came here to conquer us simply because they're evil. No relative ethics or any of that philosophical crap, just a deep desire to rule that wouldn't get in the way of anything." He smacked his head. "How the hell didn't I see it? Saying they had some sort of galactic senate and discovered nobody would rather peace over conquest, how stupid could I have been?"
Gordon rubbed his forehead. They got me, ever since the Swedish general spoke to me a couple of days ago. Shit, he didn't even get killed by the Combine. Shephard killed him. How didn't I see this lie for what it was? How could I have even considered something so farfetched as truth?
The Gman smiled. "You really are a brilliant man, Dr. Freeman." He complemented, interrupting Gordon's thoughts.
Gordon bowed his head. "Not smart enough to realise what was going on until it was too late, though?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, how the hell are we going to stop the Combine now? Looks like peace never really was a possibility."
The Gman smiled, placing a hand on Gordon's armoured back. "Don't you worry yourself about resolutions henceforth, Dr. Freeman," he chuckled quietly. "What matters is you've passed the test."
And before Gordon could even make an audible reply, the universe faded out into a rapidly spinning tunnel of light.
May 17th, 2001, Black Mesa Research Facility
All around him, unescapable and unavoidable, Gordon travelled through the cylinder of bright energy as it spun at a phenomenal speed all around him. He saw, at the indescribably distant end an infinitely small point of rainbow colour, spinning just as quickly in the opposite direction.
As he hung immobile in a state of blissful paralysis, the tiny pinprick grew. It was slow, painfully so, but as it grew ever larger he felt more and more numbness dissipating from his body, and with it a wonderful relief flooded over him like the effects of a drug.
Similar to morphine?
Even though he'd experienced it for so many years, soothing his innumerable lacerations from countless foes, he couldn't actually remember what it felt like, like the futile reminiscences of great achievements after waking from fabulous dreams.
After what seemed like eternity, the colour had filled his vision entirely, spinning so fast and yet each colour so clear and precise.
And then his vision was once again filled with white, but for only a period of time lasting shorter than any sort of measurement that had been conceived could describe. After the impossibly short flash of white, he saw blurred faces hovering over his head, faint pink lips moving quickly as whispers of joy soon became loud ecstatic cheers of jubilation as his hearing returned and faded images became clear as his eyesight focused.
He seemed to be strapped to some sort of bench, with people donned in perfectly white labcoats attending to him while they proclaimed their merriment at their success.
...
Success?
Unstrapped from the bench, Gordon sat up quickly, looking about himself as panic slowly rose in his mind. "Where am I?" he asked the scientists, fear creeping into his voice as he looked around the room and tried to get some sort of information on where he was.
It was a lab.
Just like at Black Mesa.
"Where am I?" he repeated, his tone laced with desperation.
"Dr. Freeman, please calm down," one of the scientists placed two warm hands on his shoulders. Feeling the warmth, Gordon looked down at his clothes. He was wearing a plain white shirt and black pants, "you've just come out of the simulation, there's no need to panic."
"What simulation?" he demanded furiously, looking even more frantically around him. The wall behind him was absolutely covered in machinery, glistening in the fluorescent light of the lab.
What was going on?
One of the scientists scratched his chin thoughtfully. "We predicted this might have happened..." he mumbled gruffly.
Gordon focused on the scientist, desperate to get whatever information he could. "Predicted what?"
"Dr. Freeman, about three hours ago you entered a prototype combat simulator we are developing for the Department of Defence to test the capability of intelligent civilians as militia during all forms of unfamiliar combat situations." His lips stretched into a wrinkly grin, while quite the opposite was happening inside Gordon's mind. "I'm proud to announce you have not only proved the machine operates exactly as we had hoped but that men like you certainly could defend this country in the event of surprise invasion."
Gordon looked around the room incredulously. Simulation?
"Of course, in the face of a well-crafted lie, you demonstrated that perhaps you would discover the truth beyond a point where any sort of action could be taken to rectify it, but I think that should hardly affect any decision those in power would make on the subject."
Gordon, only listening to the scientist's chatter in the back of his mind, continued looking around the room. Suddenly, something behind the plethora of white clad people caught his attention: a man in a blue suit holding a briefcase, watching intently from behind the mob.
Had he been there before?
Immediately recognising him, Gordon jumped to his feet and pushed the scientists aside, running toward the Gman. "Gman!" he exclaimed, before coming to a halt as two burly soldiers stepped in front of the pale suited man brandishing assault rifles.
Gordon stopped, unable to believe what he was seeing. "Wha—?"
"Dr. Freeman," one of the scientist's placed a hand on the physicist's shoulder reassuringly. "Frank Sheldon is one of the project's funders. He volunteered to have his appearance used as the avatar for the psychological enhancement entity... the Gman, as you knew him."
Mr. Sheldon smiled at Gordon. "You did well, Dr. Freeman." He congratulated Gordon, gently moving past the soldiers before him and offering Gordon his hand. Slowly, Gordon took it, noticing he also no longer wore gloves. "I'm glad I was able to witness such a remarkable breakthrough in virtual technology."
"We're ever so grateful for your financial support, Mr. Sheldon." The scientist standing behind Gordon added. "Especially Wallace Breen. Not to intrude, but I hear you and him have a history, is that correct?"
Mr. Sheldon nodded. "Indeed it is. We've known each other quite a while." He looked around the lab at all the wonderful machines filling it. "Besides, when he mentioned the project I couldn't help myself but help out however I could. The idea had monumental potential, and I wanted to make sure it bore fruit."
"And you can see it did." The scientist agreed. "As a good friend of this company, I trust you found our depiction of Aperture Science quite entertaining?"
A thin smile crossed Mr. Sheldon's face. It should have made Gordon happy. But it didn't. "While it lacked subtly and really any believability..."
Another kick in the nuts to Gordon.
"...I have to admit it did get a good laugh out of me. Sentient AI trying to take over the world, teleporting a boat to Sweden and making an army of parasitic robots to do her bidding. Imagine a movie out of it!"
"Well," the scientist allowed himself a chuckle, "Dr. Laidlaw was one of the men working on writing the test scenarios. He writes science fiction in his spare time, I believe."
Mr. Sheldon nodded. "Perhaps I'll read one, if he ever gets it published." He looked around the room, clasping his hands together. "Well, I think I'd better be off. I trust great things will come from the work you're doing here."
"Thank you, Mr. Sheldon."
Looking at Gordon warmly, Mr. Sheldon smiled. "Goodbye, Dr. Freeman. Glad to have been of assistance."
And with that, he and the two soldiers — apparently he had a military entourage of some sort — exited the laboratory.
Gordon just stared at the door, long after it closed. "Are you alright, Dr. Freeman?" the scientist asked quietly. He sounded worried.
"I'm fine..." Gordon answered monotonously. He had no reason to emote, did he? He was tired, having just fought for something with all his energy for however long it had been, only to find he hadn't done any of it...
"...do you remember anything from before the simulation?" there was sincere concern in the scientist's tone.
Gordon didn't speak for a while. "No." He finally answered.
Nobody said anything else for a few moments more. "Alyx..." Gordon whispered quietly.
"Pardon?"
"Where's Dr. Vance?" he asked the scientist. Would they be the same people? "And Dr. Kleiner, or Dr. Magnusson? Were any of them working on this project?"
The scientist opened his mouth to speak, before pursing his lips pensively. "Well, uh... they were all a part of the simulation, Dr. Freeman. Other than yourself, the only person in the simulation with any connection to reality was the Gman. Oh, and Dr. Breen," he chuckled softly. "He thought it would be funny to be leader of the world yet hated by the people. He joked often about it being an allegory to reality, even though I personally couldn't ask for a better boss. He got you your job here, did you know?" he trailed off, remembering Gordon most certainly didn't.
Gordon looked back at the door. There was silence once more. "So... a combat simulator..."
"That's right," the scientist affirmed with a little too much enthusiasm.
"Why are you working on it?"
"Well, uh..." apparently he'd forgotten Gordon had no recollection of anything before it. "We had to secure continued government funding somehow, Dr. Freeman. Mr. Sheldon offered to endorse the project, as well as a few other friends of the Administrator."
"Who is Mr. Sheldon?"
"He's a businessman, Dr. Freeman. I think he owns a shipping company."
Gordon nodded slowly. "Uh... what day is it?"
"May 17th, Dr. Freeman."
"2001?"
"Naturally."
"And so the simulation begins the day after?"
"Well, no. It always starts on May 18th. That's why we had to do it the day before, so there was only a minimal gap between entering the simulator and having the simulation commence."
Gordon could remember it so well. He thought he'd woken up late that morning. Had waking up at that time been part of the simulation? Had it been a side effect? "So... this is the real Black Mesa?"
"Of course," the scientist smiled. "Welcome back to life, Dr. Freeman."
Back to life?
Have I really returned... or have I passed on into Hell?
"Is my dormitory in the same place as the simulation?" Gordon asked quietly.
"Oh, yes," the scientist brightened up a little. "The whole facility was mapped out identically in the simulation. Familiarity was of the essence in the first test, where the subject was required to tackle a hostile situation in a familiar environment. Then we moved onto unfamiliar environments, which we selected Constanta in Roma—" he trailed off as Gordon wandered away from him, heading for the door. "Uh, Dr. Freeman?" he called after the physicist, who ignored him, pushing the door open and stepping out into the hallway beyond.
The scientists stood around awkwardly for a moment. "Well, at least we were able to get some positive results," the scientist reminded everyone with weak enthusiasm. "I'm sure Wallace Breen will be excited to see the recording we have of the simulation."
With a few mumbled agreements, the scientists got back to work. Going back to his room would be good for him, maybe he'd see all his old stuff and remember everything. The poor man, he'd only been away three hours and to him it felt like years.
The things that had happened to him in there were terrible... surely he was glad knowing he never killed anyone.
He would be fine by himself.
...wouldn't he?