Disclaimer: I don't own Half-Life.

(A/N: Thanks, as per usual, to hhgbh for beta-ing!)

The Black Mesa Incident

Chapter Twenty Five: Friendly Fire

After explaining the presence of a red wrench tucked into his belt, Shephard only had a few moments to himself before the elevator came to a halt at the highest floor it could manage. It likely wasn't the surface, but they could probably climb their way up if they had to.

A polite bing echoed through the room, and the doors opened. Shephard had positioned himself around the left-hand corner, with Gruber and Andes on the right. The doors now open and waiting, Shephard listened for anything suspicious. Nothing. He poked his head around quickly. Dull green carpet stretched out into the room before him. A stairway went up and around, spiralling onto a balcony that overlooked the entrance to the elevator. Another stairway ascended from the balcony, leading to a walkway with one door at the end.

Shephard assumed that the higher they were the better. He gave Gruber the all clear with an authoritative nod, and the engineer returned the gesture before whirling around the corner, Desert Eagle at the ready. A blast of green electricity hit him in the chest, hurling him across the room and into the back wall of the elevator. The thin metal dented with the impact.

Gruber, ignoring the danger, ran straight to the inert body of his friend and came to a skidding halt down beside him.

"Shit!" Shephard spat, whipping his machete out of it's sheath on his boot. He whirled around the corner, and instantly saw the electricity alien that stood on the balcony. How the hell had he missed that thing standing there?

He brought the machete back to toss it straight at the creature, years of training and uncanny fighting instinct assuring him the blade would land dead centre in the creature's eye.

The knife never left his hand. A spray of shotgun pellets ripped into the creature, throwing it back and spraying yellow blood everywhere in a moist cloud. Shephard looked back to the red-eyed Gruber, his chest heaving from either weeping or exertion. Probably both.

Alien grunts sounded from further up the stairs. They were coming from the room on the top floor. With only a quick glance at Shephard, Gruber rushed out of the elevator and into the complex beyond, heading straight for the stairs.

"Come on, you bastards! Try that with me!"

Shephard tried to think of something to say to stop Gruber. But nothing came out. Nothing sounded adequate. Instead, he slipped the machete back into his boot and walked to the dead body of Andes. He knelt down beside him and futilely checked for a pulse.

Nothing.

As if it would have been anything else. His PCV should have protected him. Why the hell wasn't it working?

"Why?" He gripped Andes by the shoulders. "Why wasn't it working, you idiot? You… fucking… idiot…"

His breathing became more laboured his emotions bubbled to the surface. Andes was his responsibility. He had only known him for a few minutes, but he had still looked to Shephard for guidance and safety. Why the hell hadn't he seen that thing on his first recon?

Gunfire sounded from the corridor above, Gruber's screams merging with the din to become a continuous roar. Shephard blinked the wetness in his eyes away and searched Andes' body for ammunition. He found a few clips for the Desert Eagle, loaded up, and headed out of the elevator.

Andes' cigarette burned on the floor just in front of the elevator doors where he had been standing. Shephard delicately pressed down on the tip with his boot before glancing back to his fallen comrade. He turned around and ran up the stairs. He saw the elevator doors close as he reached the top walkway.

A low, angered growl emerged from the corridor beyond, and Shephard rushed through. Far ahead of him, Gruber stood in front of a towering brown beast of an alien, black armour plating around different parts of its' body. Shephard sprinted ahead, and could only watch as the creature picked up Gruber by the legs and torso. The screams echoed down the corridor and burnt Shephard's ears as he saw the creature tear Gruber in two.

The creature let the legs hit the wall beside it, but kept hold of Gruber's lifeless torso long enough to throw it out of a window on the other wall.

With a roar that emerged from someplace deep inside him, someplace he never knew he had, Shephard charged the monster. He leapt up onto the creature, grabbing onto the armour plating on its' back for leverage as he jammed the Desert Eagle down its' three-sided maw. He pulled the trigger.

Again.

And again.

He kept on firing until the weapon in his hand clicked helplessly, its' ammunition spent. Shephard stood over the creature, staring down at its' obliterated face and the yellow blood that pooled around his boots.

"Hope that hurt, fucker," he snarled, giving the head a vicious kick before turning to the window.

He didn't even want to look down. Christ, what if Gruber was still alive? That happened, didn't it? People blown into pieces by bombs and live to tell the tale. Below him was a small, contained rocky area. In a messy, bloody puddle almost directly in the middle, Shephard made out the still remains of the soldier he had been talking to barely moments before.

The slightest whisper of a gasp reached his ears from down below. He was still alive. And he was saying something.

Shephard crouched down and tilted his head.

"Please…"

The young soldier pushed himself back away from the broken window, shaking his head.

"No, no…"

He instinctively turned to some closed double doors, intent on getting to the surface and finding some help. But the words echoed in his head. He scrunched up his face, forcing the tears back into his eyes. He took a long breath, turned, and stormed to the window, loading and cocking the Desert Eagle as he went.

Without pause, Shephard aimed the gun and fired three times.

For a few moments, he just stood there, staring straight out into the space ahead of him. A few thin slits in the rock face revealed what looked like a tunnel running alongside it. That was probably where he was headed.

He nodded, eyes closed. Good. Focus on the task, not the details.

Details like letting two soldiers die.

An alien gurgle sounded from the double doors behind him. Shephard opened his eyes, his jaw clenched so hard it almost hurt. He reloaded the Desert Eagle and ran shoulder first into the doors, knocking them from their hinges.

A long conference table stretched out in front of him, a lit projector screen blankly flickering at the far end of the room. There were three aliens; one stood on the table, and two flanking it on either side. Shephard killed the middle one first, knocking it back and off the table. The second shot was to the creature on the left. On Shephard's right, the last remaining creature had taken the time to charge up an attack.

Shephard lashed out with his leg, kicking one of the chairs straight into the creature's face, interrupting the charging process. It knocked the offending piece of furniture out of the way with a swipe of its' arms, its' red eyes widening as it came face to face with Shephard, who had followed the chair. He grabbed onto the wrench with his left hand, swinging it around and hitting the creature in the side of the head. The force of the impact forced it into the wall, flattening the head like an egg.

He lingered for only a moment before tugging the weapon from the wall and slipping it back into his belt. Another gurgle hit his ears, and Shephard brought the Desert Eagle up again, gripping it with both hands. It was coming from behind the projector screen. Green electricity gathered from invisible points all around the room, focusing on one point behind the screen. The experience made the hairs on his arms stand on end.

He barely noticed.

With an angry snarl, a green bolt of energy sprung through the white material. Shephard threw himself back, watching as the lightning exploded against the wall, leaving a sizeable burn mark. He brought the Desert Eagle up at the now exposed alien and shot it through the head.

For a few seconds, Shephard allowed himself the brief respite of simply sitting on the carpeted floor, feeling the air entering and leaving his lungs. Finally, remembering who he was and what he was supposed to be doing, he pushed himself to his feet. He was a soldier. He was going to do his duty.

He turned and walked back into the corridor. Gruber had dropped his shotgun the minute the creature had picked him up. Slowly, he knelt down and picked the weapon up. There wasn't a trace of blood on it. He emptied the weapon to see how much he had left. Only one cartridge. It was barely worth taking with him, but something… either the desire to honour the memory of Gruber and Andes, or simply the comforting feel of the weapon in his hands… either way, something was pushing him to take it with him. So he loaded up the single cartridge.

Another open door beside the conference room drew him inside. Two long dead scientists lay on the ground of the small office, their desks splattered with blood. Whether it was aliens or soldiers that did this, Shephard wasn't sure. The very thought of the latter sickened him, but the former wasn't exactly preferable either. A diagram on the wall drew his attention.

'The Displacer'. What the hell was a displacer? The picture on the wall looked like some kind of weapon, but… not like anything Shephard had ever seen before. It looked more like some elaborate vacuum cleaner than anything else. He shook his head and returned to the corridor, looking for a way out. Another quick glance into the conference room revealed some double doors off to the right that he hadn't noticed during his initial entrance.

Hardly surprising.

He walked out into the corridor beyond. There were a few doors dotted around on either side of the corridor, all of them leading to equally bland and useless offices. Finally, he was left with only one door stood at the far end of the corridor, staring at him enticingly. He had started towards it when he heard the distinctive whine of a falling bomb.

Shephard turned and ran. The bomb landed with a thunderous bang, shaking the foundations of the corridor and knocking him off course, sending him scraping into the wall. The red door flew off its' hinges, whirling past Shephard and crashing down along the floor. Smoke billowed out behind it, filling the air around Shephard. He futilely tried to wave it away from his face as he made his way towards the now destroyed office.

Inside, Shephard could make out some huge structure diagonally coming down through the destroyed ceiling. His boots crunched against the collapsed roof tiles, turning them to powder beneath his feet. Sunlight filtered through the steadily thinning cloud, and Shephard could only smile at the sight, despite of everything he had gone through in the past few minutes. There was something so simple about the sun, so life-affirming. It gave him the smallest glimmer of hope, somehow.

The structure in front of him eventually revealed itself to be a collapsed electrical tower. Shephard poked it with an experimental finger for any current before gripping it more tightly in his fist. He was about to start up when he noticed someone staring at him out of the corner of his eye. Or rather, a picture of somebody. On the wall, the picture frame cracked and off-kilter, Gordon Freeman stared dully back at him. The words 'EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH' were adorned beneath him.

Shephard let go of the electrical tower to take a look at the man all of his comrades seemed intent on killing. He didn't look so dangerous. Freeman looked alarmed by the fact that anyone was even taking a picture of him, so his reaction to being shot at… This was the guy who his fellow soldiers were after? Why? If this guy had killed any soldiers, it surely must have been by accident. Because Shephard knew he would be able to kill this skinny, pasty little guy with his eyes closed.

"Scientists…" he muttered, shaking his head as he remounted the electrical tower and climbed his way up, shotgun tucked under his arm.

As soon as the sun pricked against the exposed skin of his arms, Shephard longed to remove his mask and feel it against his face. But training held steadfast, and he continued climbing up until he was on the surface. He hopped down onto the concrete floor. He was in a small, closed off area. A tall, barbed fence stood on his left, blocking the way to the rocky passage beyond. The other three sides of the square Shephard found himself in were taken up by a warehouse of a building. He heard a footstep on his left, and whirled the shotgun around to meet it.

A military medic, seemingly oblivious to the weapon being pointed at him, scowled at Shephard admonishingly.

"What the hell were you doing down there?" He sounded like he was scolding a misbehaving child. Shephard even felt a little ashamed as he lowered the shotgun.

The medic groaned and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. "Listen, we need to get our asses down to the extraction point near Lambda sector." He pointed over his shoulder to a locked door in the building beside the fence. Above the door, a yellow sign read 'LAMBDA SECTOR TRANSIT SYSTEM'. Shephard walked past the medic to the door, running his hand down the smooth metal surface. An extraction point. A way out. A goal. Something every soldier needed. The medic walked up behind him.

"With any luck we'll even get a shot at Freeman on the way out," he sneered, sounding like so many other soldiers Shephard had known in his time, desperate to accomplish their mission and go home in glory. Shephard turned around to look at him as he continued talking.

"Now, this transit system should take us there, but… the door's sealed up pretty tight. Where's an engineer when you need one, eh?"

The thought of an engineer just made Shephard think of Andes, so he returned his attention to the door. He propped his shotgun up against the wall beside it so he could study the door more thoroughly.

"I've already tried that, sir. There's nothing. There's a door going into that part of the building, but it's locked up tight as well."

Shephard, now crouched on the ground in front of the door, turned to look up at him. "Then how did you get here?"

His companion nodded to the fence. "Managed to get myself over that. PCV does wonders against barbed wire," he said, knocking a fist against the hard material with a wink.

"So we're not getting out that way."

"No, sir."

Shephard stood up and stretched out a hand to the medic. "Adrian Shephard."

The medic stared down at the hand for a brief moment, then took it, shaking it only once. "Simon Robbins. Most people call me Robber."

"Why?"

"If I told you, you'd just get embarrassed."

His frown was hidden behind his gasmask, but still, Shephard figured that Robbins probably felt his discomfort from the knowing smile on his face. Shephard picked up his shotgun and started walking around the area, looking for some other way out. Robbins followed around behind him.

"Robbins."

"Yeah?"

"Who is Gordon Freeman, anyway?"

"His name's Gordon?"

Shephard looked over at him with a cocked eyebrow, concealed as it was. "You didn't know that?"

"Well… no, sir. All I've heard is that some guy called Freeman started this whole thing. Sabotaged the facility, and then went on a killing rampage with a crowbar."

"Acrowbar?"

Robbins shrugged. "Some people are saying he's from the government. That's how he's been able to kill so many soldiers."

"What, like Black Ops?"

"Exactly."

This elicited a rare smile from Shephard, who just shook his head with a snort.

"Well, no matter what you believe sir, what we do know is that he started the whole thing, and he killed more than a few soldiers on his way out."

"Where is he now?"

"Since most of us pulled out? No clue, sir."

Shephard nodded, blowing out a weary breath as he walked around the gaping hole in the ground beneath him. As he came around to the other side, he spotted an air vent shaft poking out of the wall and bending down into the ground. It had been cracked open by the falling bomb, leaving just enough room for someone to crawl inside. He pointed out the opening to Robbins, who nodded.

"I'll do recon and see if I can unlock one of these doors."

Robbins seemed reluctant at first, but then simply nodded. From what Shephard could see, he only had standard Glock firearm. That wouldn't make Shephard too confident either, in his place. He had to climb into the gap one leg at a time, eventually wriggling his way through. Right now, he found himself grateful he didn't have his backpack to lug around. What the hell had happened to that, anyway? The scientists who rescued him must have taken it. Or cut him out of it to save him, who knew.

Shephard reached up and flicked on his IR goggles as he crawled forward into the shaft. It turned a rather sharp corner to the right and to the left, but Shephard could only see light coming from the latter. When he reached the turning, he found that the roof of the vent suddenly raised, giving him enough room to stand. This extended back to the right, but not to the left. But still, he could see light coming from a grate on the left, so he stayed in the crawling position.

Finding the experience surprisingly noiseless, Shephard crawled up to the grate. He flicked off the goggles to get a better look at the expansive warehouse. A military van was parked a few metres in front of him. In front of that, even closer to Shephard and with their backs to him, two soldiers stood. But something looked off about them… their uniforms, for one. He mentally shrugged. Soldiers were soldiers. He reached forward to pry the grate off.

"Why do we always have to clean up a mess the grunts can't handle?"

Shephard's hand froze at the sound of the voice. What?

The soldier beside him spoke up. "Tell me about it. I just want to deliver the package and get out of here."

"Yeah. Sooner or later the grunts are going to figure it out."

Slowly, Shephard released his grip on the bars of the grate. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. There were Black Ops here.

"Still," the other said, "I wouldn't mind a chance to go up against some of them. See what they're teaching the HECU these days."

"Just find out what's taking so long."

And they were… the Black Ops were here against them. Shephard clenched his jaw and scrunched his eyes shut. What the hell was wrong with these people? First his unit had been sent in to 'silence witnesses', and now they're targets too? He watched blankly as one of the soldiers wandered off to the right, leaving his friend by himself.

Slowly, Shephard backed up down the shaft until he could stand up, eventually reversing into the wall. Those bastards… all Shephard had ever done is follow orders. And now he was being killed for doing that? Some fucker in a suit was probably behind this. Who figured that ordinary soldiers wouldn't be able to keep their mouths shut about what they had seen. It was probably that fucker in the suit. That grey skinned, smirking weasel of a civil servant.

The thought of that bastard with his smirk and neatly pressed suit forced Shephard to grip his shotgun as tight as he could. It was already cocked. He straightened up, cricked his neck, and then launched into a dead sprint, turning it into a slide as he reached the lowered ceiling of the vent ahead of him.

His boots knocked the vent grate from the wall, and Shephard slid out just behind the lone Black Ops soldier. Shephard fired off the only shot the rifle in his hands could manage, blasting the soldier's head clean off. His companion, only a few metres away, quickly turned upon hearing the commotion. Shephard rolled over and jammed the nozzle of the shotgun between the bars of the fallen grate.

He whirled around, the momentum tossing the grate from the rifle and sending it twirling towards his enemy. It hit the Black Ops direct in the rifle, knocking his aim upwards and sending a few bullets into the roof. Shephard took the opportunity and slipped out his Desert Eagle. He fired off three shots, two hitting the soldier in the vest before the third blasted right through his forehead.

Shephard got to his feet and looked around the area. Just in front of him, the room expanded off to the right. A large missile lay beside him in a rack rising out of the floor, ready for transport. A metal thunk beside him drew Shephard's attention down. A grenade clattered to the ground beneath the van.

Without pause, Shephard sprinted as fast as his booted feet would allow. The explosion knocked him from his feet, warm air blasting him from his feet and onto his front. He heard the van crash down to the ground as he pushed himself up into a crouching position. A noise from his right made him whip around, Desert Eagle at the ready. The Black Ops soldier waiting there batted the weapon from his hand, sending it hurtling across the room and towards the flaming wreck of the van.

Shephard struck out with his left arm, knocking the soldier's rifle arm up, lodging a few misdirected bullets in the roof. He followed it up with a right hook to the face and a quick jab of a kick to the kneecap. Latching onto the Black Ops' gun-holding wrist with his left hand, Shephard drove his fist into the elbow joint, a cringe-worthy pop accompanying the blow. An elbow to the face made the soldier completely release rifle, and Shephard quickly whirled it around and blew holes through the soldier's head.

He took a breath. That was three down, but he was fairly sure that grenade had come from the other side of the warehouse. With his back to one of the immense missiles, Shephard poked his head around the corner. Two soldiers were making their way around the inferno of the van, their vision of him obscured by the bright flames.

After a quick look around to survey the area, Shephard looked to the missile he was hiding behind and clambered on top, only then noticing that it was dangerously close to the burning remains of the van. The two soldiers were only just walking by the missile. He chose the one that was trailing behind. Shephard ran along the length of the rocket, leapt off, and smashed down the butt of the rifle on the back of the soldier's head. He went down with only the slightest of grunts, but it was enough for the soldier in front to hear.

The Black Ops whirled around just as Shephard did the same, their rifles pointed at one another's heads with complete accuracy. For a few moments that felt like hours, they simply stayed in that position, Shephard kneeling and aiming upwards, the Black Ops soldier standing and aiming downwards.

Shephard whipped the nozzle of his rifle left at the Black Ops' gun, and his enemy fired. One of the bullets chipped against the vest of his shoulder, while the rest found themselves embedded in the wall beside them. His hands a blur, Shephard whipped out the machete from his boot and slashed it across the soldier's knees, sending him stumbling back with only the barest grunts of pain. These bastards were trained well. Shephard wanted to see how well.

Before the Black Ops could even contemplate aiming, Shephard tossed the machete into his right knee, bringing him down with a louder - but still restrained - grunt. Shephard ended it with a few bullets through the neck and the head.

Shephard closed his eyes and took some deep breaths. That hadn't been particularly easy. One slip up and they would have killed him within a few seconds. Hopefully they were only sent to the facility in small groups. If they had been sent in the same numbers as the HECU had been… Shephard doubted many people would get out alive.

And what the hell was 'the package'? Obviously something secret, since they were using code even amongst their own company. Shephard hoped he would never find out. He had enough rattling around his brain without super secret government conspiracies. Shephard clenched his teeth.

But that was what this was, wasn't it? The government conspiring against their own people. Killing their own citizens and civil servants… for what? Was whatever the hell was going on here worth the deaths of so many people.

A muffled, pained groan brought Shephard out of his musings. Even though reason told him that Black Ops soldiers would have attacked him by now, he still cautiously held up the M4 as he made his way around the missile. It was coming from behind a metal door in the wall, the simplistic, two buttoned control panel making Shephard feel even more uneasy. Weapon pointed at the door, Shephard reached out and pressed the button.

With a rusty groan, the door shuddered to life and rolled up into the wall, steadily revealing a bleeding form sat against a wall in the small storage room inside. It was an engineer, the blowtorch slotted into his vest immediately drawing Shephard's eye. What were the odds?

Letting his rifle fall, Shephard was by the soldier's side almost instantly.

"Are you okay soldier?"

Slowly, the engineer's goggle-obscured face lolled up to look at him. "Corporal…" he said, staring at Shephard's nametag. His eyes drifted up to look at the Shephard. "I don't think I'm gonna make it… I need a medic bad…"

"There's one close by. I'll go get him." Shephard sprang to his feet and ran out the door. He stopped in the doorway and turned back to the engineer. "Don't die, all right?"

That brought a smile to his face. "That an order?"

"Yeah."

"Good… because I haven't disobeyed an order in my life."

Shephard nodded and sprinted to the air vent. He paused. How the hell was medic going to get through there with all his supplies? It was probably possible, but the time it would take…

Cursing, Shephard turned and started exploring the warehouse. At the very far side, Shephard came across a door leading out into a corridor. Two explosive laser trip-mines awaited him, their familiar blue laser making Shephard back up a pace or two. Going back to the fallen bodies of the Black Ops soldiers, he pulled off one of their boots and returned to the booby-trapped corridor. A well placed toss rid of him of that particular obstacle, the explosion leaving his ears ringing and his eyes slightly dazzled, even behind the lenses of his gasmask.

He continued on around the corridor, an automatic turret greeting him this time. However, it was pointing down another corner, and as Shephard walked up beside it, he saw that it was pointing at a door. A red laser sensor lay just in front of the door, and would obviously trigger when hit. It was a good thing Shephard had mistaken that door for locked when he was on the other side. He lifted his leg to kick the turret over, but then, thinking better of it, simply picked it up and turned it until it was facing the corner of the corridor.

With the barest hint of a smile on his lips, Shephard went through the jammed door shoulder first, scaring the living crap out of Robbins waiting on the other side. Robbins, who had been sat idly against the air vent Shephard had used to get inside, was instantly on his feet, sidearm at the ready. When he recognised the Corporal, his demeanour relaxed considerably.

"Jesus, Corporal…" He shook his head. "What happened in there? You were gone for way too long."

Shephard, slightly breathless, shook his head. "No time. I've got an injured soldier in here."

That seemed to instantly bring Robbins out of his relaxed state, his back instantly becoming rigid as a metal pole.

"Lead the way, sir."

Shephard did, not once looking back to check whether the medic was following. Even though he could feel Robbins' desire for answers as soon as he saw the Black Ops soldiers, Shephard kept on powering to their goal. Priorities. When they finally reached the injured soldier, Robbins just tutted and shook his head, as though a grease monkey looking over an damaged car. After dismounting his backpack, he made his way over to the grateful looking engineer, rifling around in his bag for some medical implement or another.

"Don't worry soldier, I'll have you fixed up in no time."

Rather than stand over them and possibly hinder the process, Shephard let Robbins get to it and stood guard outside. His eyes felt like they were glued to the missile. There was something about it and this 'package' that sent shivers down his spine. Were they linked?

He must have been theorising for longer than he thought, because Robbins light tap on his shoulder was greeted with an instinctive aiming of his rifle.

The medic put his hands up. "Whoa, whoa, calm down, Corporal. It's not like I'm one of them, after all," he said, pointing to two of the dead Black Ops soldiers.

Shephard ignored the thinly veiled question and nodded to the storage room. "How is he?"

A heavy hand clapped down on Robbins shoulder, quickly followed by a grinning, clean shaven engineer. Although his skin still looked a little pale, he seemed much better than he had been. That wasn't hard, though, admittedly.

"Thanks, doc!"

"Not a problem," he said, heading back into the room to gather his things.

The engineer thrust out a gloved hand, which Shephard took gladly.

"Tim Schwarz."

"Adrian Shephard."

"And a Corporal, too!" He said, tapping Shephard's nametag appreciatively. "I could use someone to give me some orders."

"How did you end up in there, anyway?"

"Alien things, sir. They massacred my platoon and then left us for dead. Then these Black Ops bastards arrived and I managed to hide myself inside before they noticed me."

"How did you know they weren't here to help?"

Schwartz snorted a laugh. "I could ask you the same thing."

Shephard conceded that point with a sideways nod. Before he could say anymore, Robbins emerged from the storage room, adjusting the strap on his right shoulder as he stood beside them.

"Speaking of which, Corporal, what the hell exactly is going on here?"

"Let's walk and talk, shall we?" Schwartz suggested, gesturing to the other side of the warehouse.

All of them in agreement, they started their journey to the locked Lambda Sector door outside. As they entered the now safe corridor, Robbins re-initiated the conversation.

"Well? They're Black Ops, I gathered that much."

"All I heard…" Shephard said slowly, each word feeling laboured. He felt like he was divulging something he shouldn't. "…was two of them talking about a 'package' they needed to deliver. And Ithink it was something to do with the missile in there."

"I was gonna ask about that, sir," Schwartz said as they exited the corridor and emerged out into the sun. "That missile was bigger when I closed the door."

Both Shephard and Robbins turned to look at him.

"How much bigger?" Robbins asked, his frown the most evident and undisguised of the group.

"Pretty much the…" Schwartz paused to gulp, his mouth suddenly seeming dry. "Just the warhead."

"Oh, shit…" Robbins breathed, closing his eyes and walking away while he rubbed his face.

"You think it was nuclear?" the engineer asked, the thin line of his mouth creasing as the looked from Robbins to Shephard.

Shephard looked at the two of them. They both seemed pretty intent on looking to him for answers. He took a deep breath.

"I think… we should get to Lambda Sector and get the hell out of this place. That way, once we're gone… who gives a shit?"

This course of action agreed with both of them, because Robbins pulled out his firearm while Schwartz lit his blowtorch. He strode to the door slowly, reminding Shephard that his engineer wasn't exactly in good shape. They would have to move slowly. That made Schwartz a liability in any combat situation.

Shephard shook his head. What the hell was wrong with him? That wasn't anything he had ever thought before. But then again, this was the first time he had been in such a desperate situation before. He had been stranded behind enemy lines before, definitely. Without food, water or communication with base. But he had always felt assured that when he got home, he would be welcomed with open arms. Now he just felt abandoned and alone, no matter how many soldiers were around him. It wasn't something he had been trained for, or prepared for in any way. He had always believed in his country, and his cause.

What the hell did he have to believe in now? What was his purpose?

Schwartz grinned toothily over his shoulder at Shephard as he reached the door. "Who needs a locksmith, eh, Corporal?"

And there it was. That was his purpose. To keep these people alive. They needed him to give them orders. What kind of a man would he be if he left them to die?

Before long, Schwartz was done. With a sharp kick, he brought the door down. The high pitched beep of a laser sensor being triggered hit Shephard's ears, and he launched forward, hand outstretched and warning on his lips.

Dozens of high powered bullets tore through Schwartz before Shephard had even taken two steps towards him. Shephard dove to the side of the doorway, pressing his back to the wall. Robbins did the same on the other side, and they looked at each other over the dead body of their fellow soldier.

"Grenade!" Shephard screamed, and the medic nodded, pulling one from his vest. With a ferocity he hadn't though possible from someone like Robbins, the medic ripped off the pin and tossed the grenade down the corridor. After a few moments, the explosion was met by a deafening silence. All either of them could concentrate on was Schwartz's corpse, lying between them.

Head bowed, Robbins clutched onto the engineers' vest. Shephard could only imagine how he felt. To save someone's life and then have them ripped away so quickly…

And now that was three people Shephard had let die. Suddenly his Corporal rank was seeming like some sick joke by his superiors. Unsurely, he lay a hand on Robbins shoulder.

"Robbins," he urged, making his voice as gentle as possible.

No reply.

"Robbins."

Still nothing. If anything, he had curled up even tighter.

"Robbins! Get up!"

This grabbed his attention. His head immediately whipped up to meet his gaze.

"Stand up, soldier! We have to keep moving!"

Robbins stepped over Schwartz's body and put his face as close to Shephard's as he could manage with the gasmask in the way. "Do you really think I give a shit about rank right now?"

"Probably not," Shephard admitted, his voice gentle again, "but we still need to keep moving, whether I make you do it or not."

The staring contest went on for a few seconds before Robbins gave one last mournful look to the body below him and walked into the corridor beyond. Shephard knelt beside Schwartz.

"Sorry, soldier."

He stood up and followed the medic inside. They walked in silence down the corridor until it bent off to the left, going down some stairs and then going to the right again. Robbins seemed reluctant to go down, so Shephard led the way. A scuffling noise came from around the corner, and he pressed his back to the wall, waving to Robbins to do the same. After a brief countdown in his head, Shephard whirled around the corner with his rifle firmly buried in his shoulder.

Two soldiers, one wearing a bandana and another a gasmask with his helmet, stood in the corner of the corridor. Bandana seemed less surprised than outraged by Shephard's sudden entrance. His eyes glanced down to Shephard's nametag before he spoke.

"Corporal,what the hell is going on here? Nobody told us about Black Ops in the mission briefing!"

Gasmask was preoccupied covering the exit of the corridor, only partially glancing over at Shephard before whipping his gaze back outwards. "Yeah, I mean we're all the same team, right? Right?"

"Well I'm not sure what their mission is, but we need to keep moving!" Bandana barked, spittle flying across the room. "There's got to be a transit car somewhere on these tracks," he said, nodding to the exit of the corridor.

Shephard stepped around the corner and saw that a rail ran across parallel from him into a tunnel on his right. A safety crossing in front of him led to another section of pavement on the other side, this running alongside the rail and into the tunnel beyond. He looked back to his three companions.

"Then let's get moving."

On their walk down the dimly lit tunnel, the two soldiers introduced themselves Parker (Bandana) and Jetson (Gasmask). While Shephard tried to occupy himself with looking for Black Ops or aliens, he couldn't help but overhear their discussions with Robbins about their platoons and experiences in the Black Mesa Facility. It sounded like this place was going to become one of those battlefields of legend that people would talk about for decades to come. Until the next disaster struck and the media drew the attention to that particular disaster.

That was assuming the Black Ops didn't succeed in covering the whole thing up. Shephard could see that shit in the suit smiling smugly as he addressed all the reporters, telling them about some dire mechanical failure that resulted in the destruction of the facility. But what about rumours of alien creatures? Just that, ladies and gentlemen of the press; a rumour. Just like all the soldiers who had been sent to their pointless deaths there.

All of them, reduced to gossip and hearsay.

Shephard shook his head as they came to another crossing, this one going off into a corridor that bent off to the left. The sickly yellow of the walls didn't do much to disguise the blood stains across the surface, nor the dead security guard that lay beneath them.

"Squad, quiet down," Parker said, readjusting what he had told them was his 'lucky bandana'. Whatever the hell that meant. Shephard believed that either you were good at your job, or you weren't. No lucky charm would save your life. But right now, he was wishing he had something to believe in, even if it was just a dirty piece of cloth.

Shephard turned back to Robbins. "You stay here."

"But-"

"He's right, doc," Parker confirmed, his shotgun aimed firmly at the corridor beyond. "You're valuable right now."

"Oh, thanks. That means I'm even more likely to die."

All of them shared a smile at that. But the moment was quickly interrupted by the light tapping of feet on the concrete of the corridor ahead of them. All four soldiers took aim, Jetson pushing Robbins behind him. To his credit, the medic didn't complain.

The tapping grew louder.

Louder still.

A thin, lithe black figure hopped out from around the corner, the high pitched pop of the silenced weapon sounding only a few times before the figure jumped back under cover again.

The bullets were aimed at Jetson, all of them smashing through his gasmask with little difficulty. His body limply fell back onto Robbins behind him, who quickly managed to move around the lower the soldier to the ground slowly. Parker glanced back at his dead friend only once before his gaze, full of bloodlust, returned to the corridor.

"Oh, that's it, you sons of bitches…"

The tapping came to their ears again, and Parker launched himself forward. Shephard managed to grab onto his vest and tug him back again, prompting a vicious glare from the bearded soldier. He put up a finger in front of Parker's face, telling him to wait.

Shephard knelt and tilted his rifle at a slightly upwards angle. Then he waited.

The tapping grew closer again, as it had before.

This time, there were two sets of footsteps. And, as expected, two of the lithe figure danced out, small guns at the ready. Shephard pulled the secondary trigger on the M4, sending he grenade spiralling through the air. The pair of Black Ops had only a few seconds to register the explosive and try to move before it hit the ground between them. The white flash of the explosion blasted them to bloody pieces.

Once they had opened their eyes, Parker gave Shephard a congratulatory pat on the shoulder before leading the way. Shephard looked back to Robbins, who was knelt beside Jetson, head bowed in silent prayer. Slowly, he got to his feet.

"I sure as hell hope he's going somewhere better than this."

Shephard could only nod, once for agreement, then again to indicate that they should follow their bandana wearing comrade. Robbins went on ahead, and Shephard gave Jetson a silent apology before moving on.

Before he had even managed to get inside the corridor, Parker had already opened fire on and killed another Black Ops soldier. But his left leg was bleeding badly. Robbins knelt beside him to take a look, but Parker fiercely waved him off.

"No time for that, doc," he gasped before limping on ahead of them.

Robbins gave Shephard a pleading look, but all the Corporal could manage was a shrug. Once a soldier had made his mind up, it was difficult to change it, and that was in the most ordinary of circumstances. In a situation like this, where their very survival was in question, well… there was just no way Shephard could do anything.

His medic comrade didn't seem to see it this way, but Shephard wasn't about to be challenged on the matter, so he moved on, leaving Robbins behind him.

"Looks like that was the last of them," Parker ascertained from around the bend. "But look what I found!"

As Shephard and Robbins rounded the corner, they came to another section of the rail, this one complete with transit car. Although he wasn't sure how to operate it, Shephard figured he could figure it out without too much difficulty. They all piled on, Parker adopting a painful looking kneeling position overlooking the side, while Robbins could only stand there, staring down at the bleeding wound in his comrade's thigh.

A throttle stick protruded from the centre of the control panel on the car, so Shephard gripped that and pushed it forward. The car jerked to life with a loud mechanical grunt. Robbins had to grab on to one of the guardrails running along the side to stop from falling off.

And so they travelled forward in silence, the car taking them automatically around several turns and ramps before they passed by some viewing ports on the right. Looking in, Shephard recognised the rocky area; it was the place Gruber had died earlier. He crushed his eyes shut, hoping that none of the others would notice the bleeding torso lying in the miniature canyon.

At least a few minutes after that (although to Shephard it felt like seconds), they came to a stop, this one seemingly mandatory due to the red containment door that was down in front of them. On the platform beside them a sandbag wall had been erected, and Shephard knelt beside Parker to inspect it further as the car slowed to an automatic halt.

Suddenly, a black-clad form darted up from behind the sandbag and opened fire. The bullets sparked brilliantly against the metal of the car, the flashes dazzling Shephard. Parker leapt to his feet with speed Shephard wouldn't have thought possible for an injured man, charging at the Black Ops. Shephard extended a futile hand.

"Parker, don't-"

His enemy continued to unload his M4 into the soldier, but is seemed to do nothing to Parker except make him angrier. Blood flew out of Parker with every bullet.

The Black Ops ran out of ammunition as Parker dived onto him. Shephard ran over as he saw Parker shove the shotgun nozzle into the Black Ops face and fire. Dark crimson sprayed across the floor, glistening under the lights above him. But Shephard wasn't really paying attention to that.

Dropping his rifle, he cradled Parker's dying head in his hand.

"Oh shit, no, no… MEDIC!" Shephard looked up. Robbins was nowhere to be seen.

All Parker could manage was a gut-wrenchingly reassuring smile before his eyes rolled up into his head. Shephard just knelt there, staring at the dead body in his arms for what felt like days before he slowly lay the head down. He ran his hands over Parker's eyelids, closing them as gently as he could. Blood from Shephard's glove smeared of the dead soldier's face.

His eyes stung with tears. But the sadness quickly gave way to rage, his fists clenching and his jaw crushing his teeth into one another. He launched to his feet and ran back to the car, looking for Robbins.

"WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU? PARKER-"

The words died in his throat right there as he saw the medic lying on the electrified rails, the single bullet hole in his head telling Shephard all he needed to know. Robbins' body twitched spasmodically as the electrical current ran through him. Shephard, standing on the rail car, managed to retrieve the body and lay it beside Parker's.

Shephard stood beside them for longer than he knew he had. But he didn't care. The whole place could have blown to fuck and he wouldn't have cared.

And this was because of his own people. Not some ruthless dictator or merciless alien. American soldiers, from the American army, sent here by some fucking American bureaucrat in a crisp suit.

The tears flowed behind his gasmask, and he removed it to allow them freedom. Why go on? His bleary gaze fell on the bodies before him.

Because if he didn't, they would have died for nothing. And then, Shephard knew what he was going to do. He was going to get out of here. He was going to get out of here and tell the world what the government was doing in this Godforsaken place. And then he would find that Suit and rip his fucking head from his shoulders.

Jaw set, he put his gasmask back on, picked up his rifle, and looked around the room for an exit. A door at the far end lay loosely open in front of him, and Shephard went inside. It was an incredibly small office, but the ceiling had collapsed in. The dead bodies of some of those head-sucking things revealed why. Grabbing a nearby chair, Shephard used it to clamber up into the area above the ceiling. The light material of the tiles barely held his weight, but there was enough for him to move around very carefully.

A grate in the far corner attracted his attention, and Shephard made his way over towards it. With a single blow from the butt of his rifle, Shephard dislodged it and crawled inside. It went in a long, straight line ahead of him, light spilling out from whatever corridor was at the far end.

As he approached the exit of the vent, the sound of very heavy machinery at work gradually came to his ears. But it was unlike anything he had ever heard before. It was like a loud whirring, but nowhere near industrial sounding enough to be a fan or turbine. And then Shephard remembered where he was, and what kind of advanced technology they were likely to have there. He resumed crawling, heading for his new goal.

The Lambda Complex.

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(A/N: And so, Shephard gets to show off some of his Bourne-style moves. Having just recently obtained the trilogy on DVD, those movies have a become somewhat of a major influence on me for action scenes. Which I don't think is a particularly bad thing.

Although you might disagree. Review and let me know!

Next Chapter: Lambda Core)