4
Water Hazard
"Eh…you are Gordon Freeman," said the sentry.
In response, Gordon thrust a hollowed bullet casing at them.
"Um…vhat is zis…?" asked the sentry.
They were twenty-five feet inside the mouth of a giant drainage pipe; standing on a plywood dock raised a foot above a stagnant brook of algae that made the hazard suit's internal Geiger counter crackle. The sentry was the pipe's front guard; he sat in a folding chair with a shotgun and a walkie-talkie, by which he had signaled his boss to "Come here fast". He spoke with a thick German accent.
"Vhat is sis?" the sentry repeated, eyeing the bullet casing uncertainly.
Gordon answered: "This is an emptied bullet; it has stalactite-monster guts in it. It's a very powerful smoke bomb when it gets wet. Have you guys heard of it?"
The sentry looked confused. "Eh…'stalactite'?"
"I'll just tell your boss."
"Vwe…eh…heard zhere vas…an explosion, ja? Yellow smoke, ja? Zhat vas you?" The man looked at Gordon amazedly. "How did you…?"
"Doctor Freeman!" said a new voice, from down the tunnel. Running over to them were two men; the speaker was in front. He had a rodent quality to him, was only five feet tall, sharp-faced, dark haired, sweaty and wearing what looked like a military uniform. The other man was built like a bear: nearly six feet, barrel-chested and with a thick beard. A submachine gun was slung on his back.
"You're Doctor Freeman, aren't you?" the rodent-man repeated as he got close. He had something of a Brooklyn accent. It was the same voice Freeman had heard over the radio in the bunker, the same voice he had lost his temper with.
Freeman immediately said, somewhat softly, "Did you evacuate?"
"What's that?"
"Did you evacuate, like I told you?"
"Yeah," he said, looking over at his bodyguard, "all but the most essential personnel. About ten people are left -"
"It's not an evacuation if people are left," Gordon replied.
"Listen, doctor," the man snapped. "I run this camp. Not you. I really don't know about you; just that you were at ground zero of this mess and got the Vortigaunts on our side; that you've got a dozen purple hearts and a medal of bravery. And I'm so sorry that you don't like being a messiah; take it up with the Vortigaunts you're so chummy with, eh? Not me. 'Cause I assure you, you're no messiah to me, got it?"
Gordon replied so quickly it was almost insulting. "Best news I've heard all day." And before the little officer could react, Gordon thrust the bullet casing at him. "And here," he said. "Smoke bomb made of stalactite guts."
The man blinked, his mind struggling to switch gears so quickly. "Uh…what?"
"Those stalactite monsters, they cling to the ceiling and grab you with their tongues."
"Sure, yeah…"
"Their guts explode when they touch water."
"Yeah…wait, what? They do?"
"Maybe it's just a very specific species. Or a mutant. I don't know. Just take this bullet to your labs, and do not drop it -"
The bearded man leaned down and whispered in the rodent-man's ear. The latter seized the bullet and began leading Gordon down the pipe. "Yeah, great, great, scientific discovery doctor -"
"Darn straight," Gordon agreed, dryly.
"- but we've got to get you on the road, now," he continued. "There's a recon team heading upriver from Black Mesa East to pick you up, and we've got a watercraft that'll help you reach them quicker. The recon team leader is on a radio in my office; she wants to talk with you -"
Gordon's heart skipped.
" - she's a legend, it was an honor just to hear her, honestly -"
Alyx.
They were coming to the end of the tunnel. Sunlight blared from the exit; it was already beginning to set. As his eyes adjusted, he could see that the pipe opened up to a grubby camp, set up as a system of docks over the oozing sludge. Everything was made of trash and set up haphazardly, as if to camouflage it.
Something's in that sludge that helps hide them, Gordon thought. If the Vortigaunt's energy is third degree plasmic, like what Dr. Rosenthal had been working on, then the algae in that sludge would be either Benzaminite rich, or just plankton eating pure Xen Silicone, which would hide it from most -
BAM.
As they reached the tunnel's edge, something cratered into the camp, only twenty feet away from them. Plywood and trash and two personnel were thrown in different directions by the pod's force - the toxic sludge spewed everywhere and Gordon heard screaming - It was a large, dark grey pod, shaped like a squid but smoking like a rocket - three flaps opened on its posterior, and from inside came -
"Headcrabs!"
Gordon's handgun was out and firing. Five beasts, frog-ticks like "Lamar", had already scuttled over each other like cockroaches and were leaping onto the docks. He grazed one and pinged another, but it wasn't good enough, they were too small and fast, he needed a faster gun and he needed it now -
"Get Gordon to my office!" the rodent man shouted, "The Combine's shelling headcrabs in their own city -!" Accordingly, the bearded man grabbed Gordon by the shoulder and tried to shove him along -
Gordon shot him through the leg.
The bear-man screamed. Gordon kicked him against the pipe's wall and seized the submachine gun from his back. Needed it five seconds ago, he thought.
The rodent-man was horrified. "What the -!?"
Gordon ran into the open, aimed at the escaping hive of headcrabs, fifteen of them now, and opened fire - BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG - It sounded like a heaving train. Smoke flumed like milk in coffee, and thirty casings hit the ground like quarters from a slot machine. Gordon watched the headcrabs shred to cartilage. Only one or two got away.
Then Gordon saw another two pods careening down from the sky.
He ran back, seized the rodent-man's shaking hands, and took back the bullet casing. He returned in time to see the pods crash down into the middle of the camp, pluming smoke and slime. He spat into the casing, and as the yellow gas began frothing, he flung it as hard as he could into the camp. Yellow, acidic smoke billowed out like a nuclear bomb blast, filling the entire area with a spicy fog.
- It's acidic, I can taste it, Gordon thought, I used those lab acids to blind the "headcrabs" before; it should work again. And our guys should know their way around this place well enough to get away -
Meanwhile, the rodent-man was trying to help the bear-man's wound. "Have you lost your mind?!" he screamed at Gordon, who stared back at him blankly. After a moment, he stepped closer to the two rebels, towering over them. His glasses flashed from the sunlight behind him, and his eyes grew cold and piercing as Orion's belt. He spoke, and his hoarse voice was quaking with anger.
"You…should…have…evacuated."
There were screams from in the camp. Men and women, cries of anguish. And the little officer, stalwart, brave, honorable, a sufferer of tragedy, and justly skeptical when he first heard the folktales of the Free Man, how a PhD in physics could take on both human and alien marines singlehanded - that officer sensed something momentous and even terrifying in Freeman that commanded his respect and attention.
Gordon left the two men in their contemplative stupor and ventured into the camp.
These people had better know how to get out of here, Gordon thought, as he rushed through the maze of bridges and platforms, coughing hard, and squinting his eyes. Please, please know how…please, don't let me see the zombies again…please don't let me see that again…I can't…I can't do that…
He found a truck shell, half submerged in the sludge. It had a wooden door installed in its back, with the words "office" painted on it in a clearly ironic manner.
He hadn't seen anyone on his way through the camp, but he could hear screaming and orders and gunfire from through the smoke - if these people can't find their way through it…c'mon, they have the advantage, I gave them the advantage…what more can I do for them…?
He kicked in the door to the truck. Inside was a metallic floor made of welded sheet metal. There were several desks covered in papers, ammo, electronics and a few television screens…
…and a radio…
"For the love of - is anyone there?" Alyx's voice was shouting over it. "I told you not to leave the radio unattended - no, he's not picking up Richard, and I hear gunfire. Something's gone wrong and we still don't know if Gordon's with them -"
"He is," Gordon said aloud.
A pause.
"Gordon?"
"That's me."
"That's you!" Alyx shouted, laughing. "That's him! Gordon Freeman!" There were hoots of laughter, even some clapping from people on the other end. Alyx continued, obviously relieved, "He does it again! You did it again...good grief..."
Gordon was smiling rather broadly, despite everything, and fumbled for something appropriate to say - but a gunshot from Gordon's end awoke him to bloody reality. He began to replace the clip in his machine gun with one lying on the desk. "They're shelling this camp with headcrab rocket things. I've counted three…"
"- headcrab rockets -?" Alyx said incredulously.
"I contained one of them," Gordon continued, "but couldn't get to the other two, so I threw a makeshift smoke bomb. The smoke should have blinded the crabs; I hoped people would know the area well enough to still escape…"
Alyx threw in, "Sure, great, sounds good - listen to me Gordon, you get out of there now. You know better than us the danger here -"
"Also I shot one of our own in the leg," Gordon interrupted, his voice oddly monotonous, "so that I could get his machine gun - there was no time…but I shouldn't make excuses. If he dies you'll have to execute me, it's only fair. Or just shoot my leg too -"
"What? No, Gordon, shut up," Alyx said. "You're alive - that's like…that's what counts right now to me, alright? You've got to get out of there, now -"
"I haven't been checking on the personnel here," Gordon began insisting, in the same tone. "I don't know if they're in trouble. I have to get them out -"
"Listen, Gordon," Alyx replied firmly. "You cannot do that right now. They knew what they were getting into, alright? They can take care of themselves. You've done great."
"Okay," Gordon said.
"I'm serious Gordon. Nobody needs to execute you, okay? Forget about that. It doesn't matter…you are under immense pressure, okay? You are doing fantastic, okay?"
"I…thanks," Gordon replied, swallowing with a dry throat. "But those people…"
"Gordon," Alyx repeated, almost sharply, "We need you to get to us, okay?" There was some interruption, "-no Richardson, I'm not - shut up while I'm talking to him or I'll - no, I'll take as long as I want - Hey, Gordon," she continued, "you've got to be a bit selfish, here, okay? You have to worry about you, right now, okay -?"
Gordon was starting to silently cry. He felt like a winepress, and the juices were leaking from his eyes whether he liked it or not. "Thanks again," Gordon managed, as sincerely as possible. Then, without emotion, he continued: "There's a boat here, somewhere. A motor boat. Where should I meet you?"
"You're welcome," Alyx replied. "And take that boat down the river. Go south - in an hour you'll reach a red barn. That's one of ours. If something goes wrong - and at this rate, it will - you're going to keep on south down the river -"
CRASH.
Energy thrummed through the H.E.V. suit. It sparked across his smeared glasses and grazed his cheeks. Then he felt a numbness and momentary exhaustion…the suit had absorbed a severe electric shock.
Gordon realized the radio was no longer working; it had been shocked too. In fact, it was smoking from the inside, and smelled like burnt plastic.
Something got wrecked outside, Gordon realized, and looking down, saw a few leftover sparks scurry across the metal floor. A live wire or something, and it sent a surge through the truck's metal.
Gordon tried for a few moments to bring the radio back. He could still hear Alyx's voice. He wanted to hear that voice again, just a few more sentences. He was going to lose his mind, and her voice was the only thing keeping him grounded.
But it was useless. He smacked the radio across the "office", and crushed it beneath his heel. He was irate.
He breathed deeply. He kicked the radio again.
"I'm such a weirdo," he mumbled absent-mindedly.
- When something appeared at the truck-office's door.
Gordon turned to face it.
No…
Gordon drained of color.
The figure stumbled towards him, like a marionette…
Gordon saw a headcrab -
- engulfing a man's head -
- like a hungry octopus -
- green slime was oozing through the man's shirt -
- it flecked as they swung their way around -
Gordon's heart was going to burst his own arteries. Everything was on such high alert in him that he couldn't function, like an overloaded lightbulb, like a downed power cable -
Gordon could hear the victim's voice sobbing weakly beneath the parasite. He was grasping unwillingly at Freeman with bloody fingers, weeping, weeping…"Iiiii'mmmm ssssoooorrryyyy…"
BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG
Gordon was unloading the gun's clip into the man. In the truck, the sound was deafening. The casings jangled sharply against the metal floor. Gordon watched with dazed fascination as the bullets punched through the man's shirt, into the chest, rippling the flesh at high speed, like pouring rain in a pond. After a few seconds the man fell backwards in a bloody, torn heap, and in turn, the headcrab fell from his face like a wet burlap sack.
Gordon chose not to look at the ruined face underneath - he had seen it enough times before.
He felt like vomiting instead.
As fast as possible, he ransacked the office for more ammo clips, but only found two. I've got to be a bit more frugal, he thought absently, as he reloaded. Anything to keep him occupied. Then he stepped out into the mustard mist. He saw the shapes of personnel running along the walkways. He saw glimpses of headcrabs leaping. There was gunfire, there were screams.
You idiots… Gordon thought bitterly.
A personnel approached him from the left, limping a little. "Free Man?" he asked, then saw the body of the dispatched zombie. "Das ist Jakob, sie haben Jakob…!"
Gordon grabbed him by the shoulder, and roughly pointed in the direction of the camp's entrance pipe. "Exit! Now! Uh…Haus Gang - eile! Ja?"
The man looked at Gordon blankly. "Ausgang?"
"Sure! Now go -!"
A headcrab leapt from the smoke.
It snagged onto the German man's face, digging its legs into his cheek, scrambling for his scalp…Gordon backhanded it sideways. Its legs tore the man's skin as it clung on - Gordon smacked it again, and it flopped onto the boardwalk - Gordon brought his boot heel down onto the forefront of its body. Teeth and cartilage crackled, and guts spewed like fruit from a pie.
"Free Man -!" the man repeated, in growing awe, tears from his eyes mixing with his bloodied face. He was grasping onto Gordon's forearms. "Save us! Save us!"
The fear in the man's eyes was itself terrifying. Gordon understood.
"Ausgang!" Gordon said firmly, pointing again. The man began running.
And Gordon followed, protecting him, and looking for more survivors.
"May I have my gun back?" the bearded bear-man man asked, his voice slurred from emergency anesthetic.
"No," Gordon answered simply.
He was at the pipe's entrance again. It was ten and a half minutes later. They counted seven of the ten personnel as they had gone rushing through.
BANGBANGBANG - Gordon shredded another headcrab as it tried to scramble across a pier.
"Bajeezus!" the rat man shouted. "How do you catch 'em so fast?"
Gordon didn't answer for a moment; then, "Because I have to."
A pause.
"Demetri is still on guard in the tube," the rat-man continued awkwardly. "That's eight."
"I only killed one zombie," Gordon said.
"Jacob," the rat-man replied with dark sobriety. "Without you and your weird smoke bomb it would've been at least half of us stumbling around like him. Headcrabs are fast; and Combine's hardly dared to try shelling since Ravenholm…much less in the city…how are they gonna contain this…? Anyway, we still can't handle the buggers in these numbers - and that's half because of sheer panic -"
"It's warranted."
"Nine accounted for, which leaves Arlene. Poor girl's likely cowering in a corner -"
There was a horrible crash from within the camp. Another shell had landed.
"Lunatics!" the rat-man shouted. "We'll have to scratch the boat, and Arlene - you've gotta come with us, doctor - Hey! Where are you -?"
Gordon was already running back into the camp.
Arlene, he thought. I can at least put her out of her misery -
He rounded a corner into another pipe. He heard the headcrabs croaking throughout the camp, like mating frogs. He felt awful shivers up his spine, like he was traveling through curtains of fresh spider-web…
There lived a certain man in Russia long ago…
He was big and strong; in his eyes a flaming glow…
He rounded another corner; he was now in a boat shed - and there was the motor boat, docked in a small wooden harbor, floating on the toxic soup. It had a patchy seat, and behind that a metal frame holding the engine and propellers. It had a motorcycle's steering grips wired into the front. The whole rig rested on two long, buoyant blocks, like lifesavers crossed with skis.
And somebody was still there, filling its tank with gas.
Upon seeing Gordon, the person withdrew the fuel tube, set the container on the floor and stood at attention. It was a twenty-two year old woman with short, blonde hair, a long flat nose, and full lips set low on her oval face, in a melancholy expression. She was dressed in civilian issued clothes, like most of the other rebels.
"Doktor Freeman!" she exclaimed, making hasty salute. "Arlene Fischer steht Ihnen zur Verfügung! Ich hoffte, du würdest bald auftauchen; dieses Boot ist bereit zu gehen!"
Freeman looked at her in utter disbelief.
Arlene Fischer at your command…? he translated.
She continued, her voice breaking a little, "Ich werde die Krabben aufhalten, während du entkommst. Ja?"
Gordon just stared. He could see her whole body was trembling, and tears were welling in her eyes.
"Nous avons déjà choisi," she managed.
"Get in the boat," Gordon replied, softly.
A pause. "Wie bitte?" she stammered.
Gordon seized her hand and forcibly threw her into the steering seat.
Fifteen headcrabs began leaping around the corner into the shed.
"Drive!" Gordon bellowed, gesturing violently towards the exit of the dock. She started the engines; it sounded like a lion belching. Gordon opened fire on the swarm - BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG -
"Doktor!" the woman screamed, as the boat began to move forwards. Gordon leaped from the docks onto the boat's framework, avoiding the propellers. His weight made the whole boat pop a wheelie so high it nearly capsized, but it came back down, just as it roared out from the shed, past the camp's docks, out onto the algae infested river, under the fiery sun and the smelted iron clouds.
The river was the epitome of pollution. It was not dead, but living dead. Whatever was now in it, Freeman could no longer call "water"; it carried the boat like water, but it smelled of old, wet socks, and was colored like jungle camouflage. Occasionally, bulging islands of muck would present themselves before the boat, but they were so slick that the boat rushed over them without a loss in speed.
They were outside the turmoil of the city: they were in something of rurality now. Things were much quieter out here; a vacuum for the disconcerting roar of the airboat. Gordon could see a landscape of rolling hills and fields dotted with great gnarled oaks and starved cypresses. In the distance there were abandoned farmhouses, but the view was often interrupted by the stained white concrete walls of neglected industrial plumbing networks, that barricaded off large swathes of the river's bank.
They rode in silence, with Freeman now settled, uncomfortably, behind the driver's seat, machine gun at the ready.
We're dead in the water, Gordon thought. How is this a better method than just walking? Everyone in a mile radius is going to hear this racket, especially so close to where they hit the camp.
Then again, it's a big world, and they've had to get volunteers to run the city's "civil protection". In fact, there's no way they could have enough soldiers brought over here in the first invasion to maintain this conquest, especially when people like Alyx keep picking them off.
If there were no limits to the Combine's ability to transport soldiers from their home base to Earth, then surely they wouldn't need volunteers. Nor would this countryside be so empty.
Therefore, there are limits to their transportation, which makes sense. It took an entire Resonance Cascade to power the first portal to Xen, and that was hardly stable, dropping monsters all over, randomly. To get organized troops through would be no easy feat, it would take enormous energy.
Therefore, they can't get reinforcements, at least not right now. So their numbers are dwindling, so they herd all humans into the city centers to control them, but the countryside is left abandoned and lawless…
The airboat gradually came to a stop, the engine shutting off.
Freeman looked at Arlene for an explanation.
"Du sprichst Englisch?" she asked, and after a moment, with dripping accent, "Do you speak English?"
"Yeah," Freeman replied.
"My English…is bad," she said, and then, her voice growing more and more feverish, "Ich bin in den Slums aufgewachsen; I am in the slums - Es gab keine Zeit oder Gelegenheit, Englisch zu lernen. Und dann haben sie uns alle zusammen gemischt, damit wir uns nicht verstehen konnten-"
"I can't understand you," Gordon said softly.
She halted: "Wie bitte?"
"We are going to…" Freeman stopped and rubbed his forehead. "Wir gehen…das rot…scheuer. The red barn - Rote Scheune. Down the river -" he gestured forwards.
She bit her sad lip and nodded. "Ja." She turned to start the engine.
"Wait," Freeman interrupted. "Why were you still at the…em...Why didn't you run…? Du hast nine laufen?"
"Du hast nicht gelaufen?" she corrected.
"Sure, Ja. Why didn't you run away? With the others?"
She blinked. She looked almost like a child. "Zhe boat…vas not…good, yet."
Silence.
"Du bist der freie Mann," she offered. "Die Vortigaunts sagen, du wirst uns retten. You vill save us."
Freeman did not answer at first.
"You were going to suffer worse than death, to gas a boat for me," he finally said.
"Tod, keine Niederlage," she replied.
Death, not defeat. Freeman translated.
He sighed deeply, and after a few moments of calculation, managed, "Du bist alles Idioten, aber danke." You're all idiots, but thank you.
She looked confused for a moment, then decided to smile. "Bitte schön."
"Danke," Gordon said again. "Now drive. Rote Scheune."
The red barn sat on a rocky crest that dipped into the riverbank. One half stood firmly on the grassy plateau of the crest's top; the other half stretched over the water, supported by multiple beams drilled into the riverbed. These also supported a large porch extending from the barn's front; a cement dock was in the riverbank, and an iron ladder reached from it up to the barn's porch. The barn itself was old and grungy, its red paint faded and peeling, but still reasonably intact. On its roof, a second, smaller barn was situated, like a poorly conceived addition to the building. An old, complex crane and pulley system was rigged into its front, and dangling from it like a donkey's carrot was a large wooden crate bearing the lambda symbol in orange spray paint.
Smoke was rising from behind it, as if from an unseen chimney.
Arlene switched gears as soon as they spotted the structure; the growl of the engine shrank to a buzz, and they continued forwards at a walking pace.
"Does the building have a chimney?" Gordon asked.
Arlene pointed at the smoke. "Rauchen: I do not know…why that is there."
Freeman kept the machine gun ready.
As they grew closer, he saw someone on the barn's overhanging porch. He pointed them out to Arlene, who nodded. It was clearly human, and not an Overwatch officer. Their clothing was dark, unlike the civilian scrubs Gordon was used to seeing. By now their boat was in full view of the figure: only a quarter mile of river lay between them.
"Wait to see what they do," Freeman said. "Auf Sie warten."
The figure grew odder as they approached: it seemed to be a man, somewhat old, dressed in a black business suit and adjusting his tie -
That smile: A passenger, Mr. Freeman…? Heroic as your actions may be…I fear that they have…hm…made you…late to heroism elsewhere…
The smoke was trailing…
…no signs of life…
The G-man, speaking so softly only Freeman could hear: So much pain and so…little time…if only there…were not all these restrictions…
The G-man turned and walked away…
"Doktor?"
He was gone.
"Doktor?"
"Yes?"
"Ich denke, es muss ein Trick des Lichts gewesen sein; die Figur ist weg."
Freeman translated, it was a trick of the light, the figure is gone…
They were at the dock. Freeman motioned for Arlene to stay put, and keep the engine running.
He clambered up the ladder; he was on the porch, where the G-man had stood. No sight of him anywhere.
Freeman approached the great double barn doors. One was slightly ajar: he edged it open with the tip of his gun - He remembered Black Mesa, and how every door he opened was another risk, that feeling of fight or flight…
There was a headcrab rocket crashed inside, through the left ceiling. Smoke from its back end was trailing up through like a chimney. Parasites engulfed five dead bodies of rebels, and there were plenty of the frogticks crawling around besides - they wandered aimlessly about the room until they sensed the fresh meat of Gordon Freeman -
I fear that they have made you late to heroism elsewhere…
Freeman was going to shut and block the door on them, but he saw something in the corner of the room, something priceless to Freeman at this moment - a yet undamaged radio -
Alyx…
Arlene was frozen stiff with fear.
There was machine gun fire in the barn, and the sound of things breaking.
Then a horrible explosion, and several windows shattered. Arlene held back a scream as a limp headcrab splashed into the toxic river nearby.
Nein…bitte nein…bitte nein… She had met people at the red barn station: they were a French and English unit, but Arlene had thought they were nice…
And now…
She started at a new sound, from far away. A beat of wings…it pounded the air like prison bars, trying to break through, and the long moan of an engine soon joined it in the background. Thump-thump-thump-thump-
Hubschrauber.
She leapt from the boat onto the cement cliff, clinging to the cracks and weeds as she snuck over for a better look. She saw a helicopter was approaching from the horizon, only a hundred feet off the water.
"Freeman!" she screamed. "Freeman! Hubschrauber! Helikopter!"
It was closing in. She ducked back under the porch, hid in the boat. Any noise from the barn was drowned out in the cacophony of the helicopter. She could hear it circling over the top of the barn, before settling itself directly overhead like a territorial cat.
Her knuckles were white, gripping the boat's frame.
Overwatch radios above; she couldn't make them out, and they always spoke English, anyway.
"- ghkdsatk ksjdfer sdfjakkejrkjoispoajsdklsa -"
"- dskhke khsdkukje ksjdk -"
"- sdkfjkerkj SDHksdjf SHDK -"
Silence.
"- sderer gtre free man tehkas -"
"- ser free man earkjlgh aslkdjerhkjl - GEKRYEKRLSEJR -!"
"- GEKRYEKR! GEKRYEKR! -"
BANBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG
Bullets ripped through the porch. Arlene leaped back onto the concrete cliff again -
BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG
"- GEKRYEKR! GEKRY -!"
Abrupt stops. Scream of the radio -
Another explosion - BAANGG -
An Overwatch soldier stumbled down the concrete cliff to Arlene's right. They were bleeding from the shoulder - They were fumbling with something - they tripped into the water and -
- exploded from the torso -
- their arm went flying off and ricocheted off the airboat's frame before splashing into the water.
BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG - Another soldier fell from the porch into the water. The body floated, red swirling with green.
Then Freeman appeared. He skipped the iron ladder and landed heavily on the dock. He was spattered in blood and slime, and cradled in his arms a whole radio and a large, crumpled map with two thumbtacks still in its corners.
"Drive," he said.
But Arlene couldn't let go of the cliff. She had heard of war violence, she knew it in the abstract, and even now she knew they had to get away, but her body was not convinced - her fingers were numb from gripping so hard, and she couldn't relax them -
Freeman hugged her from behind, and with tremendous force ripped her from the cliff - her fingers scraped and bled - He set her gently into the airboat, between the driver's seat and the back frame, uncomfortable on the radio and map.
"Es tut mir leid," she was sobbing, apologetically. "Sorry, very sorry - Es tut mir so leid, es tut mir so leid…"
The airboat roared: they catapulted forwards, out from under the porch and into the fading light of a bloody sun. Arlene looked behind them: the barn was on fire, the smoke dark and opaque. But the helicopter sawed through it in pursuit, raging up the river after them. In its wake, a swarm of Overwatch soldiers rushed from the landscape surrounding the barn, and some were trying to shoot the airboat as it escaped - Small machine gun fire rained on them from behind, a few bullets smacking against the metal frame and Freeman's H.E.V. suit. Its energy field was nearly depleted, and Gordon felt each hit like a baseball bat.
He was pushing top speed. The slightest bumps made them soar into the air for seconds at a time - Arlene was too dizzy to think straight -
There was a large bridge up ahead, running over the river - Two Overwatch guards were positioned on it. They opened fire. Two rows of splashes erupted in the river as they tried to hit the boat that was screaming towards them at eighty miles an hour - Freeman was blocking his face with his armored arm, bullets banged against it -
- and Arlene numbly felt something sting her in the arm, then in the leg…
The airboat smashed through a rotted wood blockade, and they were rushing under the bridge - they hit something underneath them and it sent them flying through to the other side; they crashed down hard on the water, but somehow they didn't capsize - Arlene watched the helicopter race over the bridge after them.
They charged down the river, between great cement walls on either side - eighty, ninety, one hundred miles per hour - But a wall was coming up. Two great hooping sewer tunnels were in it: Freeman was aiming for the one of the left. But on top of the wall, there was a lumbering, armor-plated military vehicle, a four-wheeled tank, and something launched from it in a plume of smoke -
- missile? -
- they know it's me - they aren't playing -
Freeman kept accelerating - a hundred and twenty miles per hour -
KABOOM.
A blast of air hit them from behind, and it was raining sludge - but the missile had missed them, and only sent them careened even faster into the tunnel, where Freeman finally began slowing down -
They were in a drainage maze. Freeman continued, running the engine low, until they were as untraceable as a wolf spider in brambles.
The map was highly detailed, if somewhat hard to read. It led them to an abandoned hideaway, emergent from an old cement sewer pipe. It was a boggy crack between concrete and natural rock. There were old wood and metal structures built onto the concrete: scaffolding hosting old moldy mattresses, fly infested buckets, a dozen empty soup and spam cans, a rudimentary pulley elevator, a broken propane stove and, strangely, an entire washing machine. Freeman deduced it had been refugee living space on the underground railroad, but was threatened to be compromised and abandoned. The scaffolding raised them above the swamp. In fact, as they had entered the drainage pipes, the water had grown less and less polluted, until finally it resembled real water again, a darkly glass under the setting sun.
Arlene was nearly unconscious when they arrived.
Freeman saw she was bleeding heavily from both her left forearm and thigh, soaking her scrubs dark red. The adrenaline was wearing off and she was gasping in pain. Without her protest, Freeman stripped off her scrubs and tore them into bandaging to stop the blood. She was left shivering in an undershirt and shorts. Gordon quickly saw the full severity of her injuries: two wounds in her left thigh, with no exits, and one to her left arm that seemed to have damaged the bone and then exited into the left breast.
He had seen similar damage at Black Mesa. They hadn't lived through it.
Her bleeding was stopped, for now at least. He repositioned her in the airboat so she would be more comfortable, and set about to find medical supplies and blankets.
The helicopter thundered overhead. Freeman had hidden the airboat in shadow, but he had to dive for cover. After a few minutes it passed, and he resumed.
He scaled the scaffolding, but struggled to find anything useful. The place had been abandoned for a week, at least. Reaching to the topmost platform, he caught glimpses of the horizon through the rocky crags: near the evening sun's grave, he could see the silhouette of the Overwatch citadel, a black bar in the sky, an inhuman intrusion. No birds chirped or frogs croaked. No fireflies came out to dance. All was silent now; all was dead. The river lands were an infected scab.
He finally found a small crate, which he smashed open with his crowbar. Inside were several unopened soup cans and a syringe packet labeled "Vortigaunt blood". He brought this to Arlene, and asked if she knew how to administer it, but she had become completely unresponsive. She still had a pulse, but over the course of five minutes her breathing quickly diminished, and Freeman, growing desperate, injected the serum into her healthy wrist. Meanwhile, he began performing the breathing portion of C.P.R. in an effort to stimulate her lungs.
She seemed to awaken. Her eyes gazed blearily at him.
"Hallo," she greeted him softly.
"Hi there. Stay with me. You're going to be fine."
"Du bist…ein…guter Mann."
"Sure, thanks."
"Ich bin…in dich verliebt…" she said.
Freeman stopped and stared. "Verliebt" meant "in love".
Are you kidding me…? Freeman thought.
"Du bist ein schöner Mann…" she continued, smiling. Then she began coughing uncontrollably and blood flecked out.
By now the blood had begun soaking through the scrub bandaging; there was not enough material to clot all the wounds at once. Freeman ran to scavenge the mattresses, ripping out their soggy, moldy material. He had no choice. He did his best to squeeze out old moisture and used them to thicken the bandaging.
Arlene was fading out again.
"Ich wollte so schlecht zu lieben..." she murmured.
I really want to love…? Freeman translated.
"Es fühlt sich gut an."
It feels good...
"Danke…"
Her breathing stopped.
Freeman, panicking, returned to C.P.R.
It had no effect. She did not begin breathing again.
"I'm…I'm sorry…" Freeman said. "I don't…know how to…"
Her pulse was becoming erratic. He realized the bullet to her breast had likely penetrated towards her heart.
The serum isn't working, he thought. She's lost too much blood already; it won't have time to work.
Arlene did not wake up. Her skin grew pale and cold.
The sun disappeared, leaving Freeman in the twilight.
Freeman got the radio onto the right channel. It took him twenty minutes of fiddling, before he heard a human voice say, "Confirm? Is this Station 7? Red Barn?"
"This is Gordon Freeman. Station 7 is down."
"Wait, what?"
"I need to get in contact with Alyx Vance."
A few minutes passed as he passed through the bureaucracy, and was redirected to the proper channel. Gordon, in fact, had stripped off the H.E.V. suit, down to his sweat soaked shorts and T-shirt, so that he could examine the awful welts where the bullets had been barely deflected by the suit's depleting energy field. Four bruises on his chest, a nasty one on the front of his shoulder, and another three along his forearms. It was a miracle nothing was broken, but his bones had begun throbbing.
Alyx finally came through. "Gordon?"
"Hi there," Gordon said hollowly. It had only been a few hours since they last talked, but it was just as relieving to hear her voice.
"Gordon! You've got to stop doing this disappear-reappear thing!" she gave an exasperated laugh, the relief of great stress. "You're calling from the Station 7 radio-? Are you still there?"
"No. But close by. I think…" he did a few calculations. "About a mile and a half up the river from it. Maybe two. Station 7 is the red barn, right?"
"Yep."
"They're all dead. Headcrab rockets."
Alyx swore, but away from the radio.
Freeman continued, "And then a helicopter and a regiment of Overwatch came and I got out of dodge."
"You lugged the whole radio with you?"
"I wanted to finish our earlier conversation."
"Heh, you charmer," Alyx said absent-mindedly. She said something to another officer; then, "You sound okay, but are you?"
"Sure."
A pause.
"Like, emotionally?" Alyx asked.
"I just watched a young woman die under my medical care. So about the same as always."
Another pause.
"She was from Station 7?"
"No, from the docks. Arlene Fischer. She was gassing the airboat and I forced her along so she wouldn't get headcrabbed. She wanted to stay and be a martyr. So I guess she got her…her wish."
Pause.
"…Alright, Gordon," Alyx said finally. "We're coming for you. Give us your location and stay there -"
"She used her last breaths to declare undying love for me."
Pause.
"Ah jeez, Gordon…" Alyx groaned.
"Why did she do that?" Gordon demanded softly.
"What? Gordon -"
"Because you told me the citadel shut down the sex drive."
"Well yeah, but Gordon -"
"She didn't know me, Alyx. She didn't even speak English."
"Gordon -!"
"WHAT?!"
His outbreak was unexpected. Up until then his voice had remained unnaturally monotone. But suddenly the dam cracked, and a million gallons were trying to escape in cutting sprays. It was violently defensive, the growls of a cornered bear displaying its teeth, tired and angry and ready to kill without eating.
Alyx tread carefully.
"Gordon, it's not…surprising she would do that. Especially because of the citadel. Sex drive is tied up with emotions, right? And all us younger kids who grew up with that citadel in place, going through puberty with it - a lot of us still have issues. Because all the citadel does is block off chemicals in the body; it can't stop the human spirit from wanting emotional intimacy. In fact, the physical blockage only makes the emotional need stronger, though distorted and confused and immature…"
Gordon didn't respond.
"And, I mean," Alyx ventured, choosing her words carefully, "you said she was young, and you're a tall, dark stranger, y'know? I had that crush on you when I was only a kid…"
Still no answer.
"Gordon…?"
"It's like…she was falling…" Gordon said hoarsely, "…and when she said she loved me, it was her reaching out her hand for me to save her, but I knew if I took it then she would…I don't know…she would never let go. Even if she died, her hand wouldn't let go of mine, and I'd be lugging her body around with me, along with everything else I'm carrying. But I don't even know her…so I can't do that for her, I can't give her that. But I don't want to just watch her fall…why did she have to reach out to me…? Why give me responsibility for her heart…?"
More silence.
"Because you're a hero," Alyx answered simply.
Gordon was sitting in the seat of the airboat. It was dark as pitch now; the night sky was overcast, swaddling the moon with black gauze. The only light was from the few glowing dials on the radio. Arlene Fischer's body was buried a hundred yards away in a shallow grave of mud. The air was wet, and the only natural sound was the breeze in the crabgrass, and the occasional lonely croak of a frog.
Gordon had buried Arlene in a shallow grave of sludge, twenty paces away.
"I assume you've found a safe place?" Alyx asked.
"Seems safe so far." Gordon answered.
"Good," Alyx said, her voice hard and forthright. "Gordon: stay there. We will travel through the night to your location and hopefully get there by tomorrow noon. Don't move. There is no reason for you to move. You've been through a lot today, and I think it will be best for everyone if you take some time off, alright? We'll make the extra push to get you, and we can all go back together."
Pause. The grass rustled. A frog croaked.
"Alright, I'll wait here," Gordon lied.
Instantly, "Sorry, but…that doesn't convince me, somehow…?"
She's good, Gordon thought. Then he said, "I've got a map here. There's a lot of red circles around a 'hydro plant', south down the river."
"Yeah," Alyx answered, "it's an old industrial complex with a hydraulic dam and warehouse storage. It's controlled by the Combine; they use it as an inter-city outpost. They mostly repair their vehicles there. Why?"
"Alright. Perfect," Gordon began. "Because the headcrab rockets didn't come from the city center. They came from the rural areas. Even the one that hit Station 7; it hit the left side of the barn, away from the city. And, the Combine doesn't have nearly enough manpower to maintain too many bases outside the cities. This is a big outpost, so I suspect it's the only outpost. Meaning it's the only place the headcrab rockets could come from."
"Gordon, what are you thinking right now?"
"Now," Gordon continued, "the Combine use a computer network. I saw Barney using it. Meaning every base connected to the Combine must have some kind of access to that network. Meaning there's a chance one could both take out the headcrab cannons and get some more information on the citadel, just by infiltrating that base. Maybe I could interrogate someone into accessing it -"
"Gordon…"
"I don't like headcrabs and I don't like the citadel -"
"Gordon, for the love of -"
"I've got a bulletproof suit and can't seem to die anyway - everybody just drops dead around me, so I'm going to the hydro plant, and I'd request that you not do that, because members of your team will die and I've quite enough of that for today…" But he was starting to cry again. Freeman was cursing himself internally: couldn't he just talk without blubbering like a child -?
On the other end, it sounded for a moment as though Alyx was going to say something, but thought better of it. There was radio silence for a full minute. Someone was talking in the background of her feed.
"It'll be easy as pie," Gordon added with morbid dryness, once he'd regained control. "Drinks are on me when I get back."
"I think this is a bad idea," Alyx said. "I think you need to rest." She paused, as though expecting Gordon to respond, but he didn't. "I think you're doing this as self-punishment. You feel like you have to redeem yourself, somehow. For what happened at Black Mesa, for what's happened here, for what happened to Arlene, for what happened to that fellow you shot at the docks…" Gordon still did not respond, and she continued, "But that's not how redemption works. You can't redeem yourself. Something else would have to do it. Something else has to justify the bad. You can't work the scales yourself; you can't add good stuff on one side of the scale to make the bad go away…it'll always be there. All you can do is…I dunno, change who you are, or change how you see it. Maybe grow something on it, like compost."
Gordon still did not respond.
Alyx kept talking. "I tried being a therapist at Black Mesa East, for post-traumatic stress. That was a few years ago; I was trying to retire from the fighting, I guess."
The non-sequitur intrigued Freeman. He finally spoke: "But you're not a therapist now?"
Alyx replied, "Naw, it didn't work out."
"Why's that?"
"I've got a horrible temper."
Gordon actually laughed. "You did," he said. "You were a fiery kid. I thought maybe it didn't carry over."
"No, you just haven't seen me a whole lot yet," Alyx said.
Gordon rubbed one of his bruises, soothing it. "It's a shame. You've gotten pretty good at therapy stuff."
"I think you bring it out of me."
They both sat for a minute, in relative quiet, on their opposite ends of the radio feed.
"Alyx," Gordon said. "I could make you a promise to stay here, and mean it; but I hear so much as a twig cracking and I'm gone without a thought. I'm not disciplined like a soldier; I'm just a survivor - I do my own thing. And I'm going to go to that hydro dam. I'm going to destroy things and maybe get information. That's what I did in Black Mesa. And that's what I need to do right now. I can't give you a better reason than that."
Alyx actually sighed.
"Alright," she replied. "I still think it's a bad idea, but I can't stop you."
Something about how she said it made Gordon incredibly sad. He almost reconsidered his entire plan, but it wasn't enough. His course was set.
"But," Alyx added, almost slyly, "you can't stop me from meeting you there to help."
"I also think that's a bad idea," Gordon replied. "But I can't stop you, either."
Alyx had information on the base, as much as the rebels had gathered. It was enough to make something of a decent plan. Alyx and her team were closer to the dam; they would attack first and draw the enemy fire into a guerilla fight on the south side. "We're not playing martyr for you, Gordon," Alyx assured him. "It's a distraction. We just want them occupied and annoyed." Gordon could then enter a northern door and begin the work of sabotage. The glaring problem, of course, was they did not know what precisely was inside the building.
But in a strange way, Freeman preferred that. It was how he was used to operating. He'd had no idea what Xen would be like, and he'd succeeded there. Snaking tunnels in the floating rocks…everything seemed alive and trying to cling to him…
Freeman shook his head and moved on.
The briefing was done, the radio was off. Gordon was readying the airboat. The half-moon peered through the torn clouds, giving him just enough light to work without needing his suit's flashlight.
"Such a…shame…isn't it, Mr. Freeman…?"
Gordon turned. He could just barely see the dark presence of a man, tallish, well dressed, standing fifteen feet away on a strewn plank of wood, so as not to ruin his shoes. The G-man continued, "As I told you before -"
Gordon fired the machine gun at him.
Time stopped.
Five bullets had already escaped the gun, flying towards the G-man at errant trajectories, lit in this single frame of time by the gunpowder's flash. The G-man was also illuminated, just enough that Gordon could see the mothy age of his wrinkled skin, and the malevolence in his eyes, and his mouth gradually changing from a self-satisfied smirk to a disenchanted scowl. There was no sound, not even an echo. The bullets were frozen in the air.
The G-man reached up and adjusted his tie. "I was only going to…perhaps…share a tender moment…" He reached out and spun one of the bullets with his bony middle finger. It twirled in place like a coin. "Is this your submission of…resignation…?"
"Only if it actually killed you," Gordon said.
The G-man smiled. "Oh?"
"I didn't think it would work, but I figured I'd try."
"Hmm…you are…quite the find, Mr. Freeman. Quite the find. Every moment you…blossom, show newer and newer colors and shapes. And you never seem to stop…like a train that never arrives…hm…limitless potential…"
They stood for a moment in silence. The G-man continued to smile in the flash of the gunpowder. His head tilted forwards slightly, so that the shadows completely engulfed his eyes, save for a little reflection of light in each of them, so that they gleamed like a tiger's.
"You represent a tremendous investment, Mr. Freeman," the G-man finally continued, "One of far more worth than even…this Earth. The right man in the wrong place…can make all the difference…in the world. Thus, you are my priority, Mr. Freeman. Nevertheless…I have agreed to abide by certain…hmm…restrictions…and if you go forward with your current plan, your fate will have no...guarantee until your arrival at Black Mesa East…"
"Are you going to stop me?"
"No; the choice is yours, as always, Mr. Freeman. I can guarantee your safe arrival at Black Mesa East, if you do not continue with this plan. But if you do…there is no guarantee how it will…turn out. However," and here the G-man's smile grew malicious, "if you succeed in your plans, then your return as…an investment doubles." The G-man straightened his tie again. "And I don't mind a gamble."
"What kind of 'return' do you mean? Does it salt my meat?" Freeman asked dryly.
"Hm…" The G-man only continued smiling for a moment, and then, "Well, why did you accept my…offer of employment, Mr. Freeman?"
Unhesitating: "Great benefits."
"Indeed," the G-man agreed, sarcastic. "For instance…detachment from…needypeople like Arlene? Detachment from everyone, because…Mr. Freeman…you care too much about what is only mortal…? You would be…a god, if that would let you save them all. That's why you wanted teleportation…? To arrive and escape at will…?"
Freeman did not answer.
"But everything dies," the G-man said. "Even stars. It is all…void in disguise. That is what you will learn…Mr. Freeman. Everything dies…except…"
"Except you?" Freeman offered.
"Ah, but you as well, Mr. Freeman," the G-man replied. "Whenever there are two, you always survive while the other dies. The coin toss is ever in your favor. -" Freeman struggled to remain stoic "- I wonder how?"
"Through you, I assume," Freeman replied coldly. "You'll keep me alive until the last star blows up. And you keep helping me out down here -"
"Not nearly as much as you think," the G-man interrupted. "I did not intervene at all during the Black Mesa incident…I only spectated, as I do…and you did marvelously well, as I told you, but…hm…here is the crux…of what I am asking you," and the G-man straightened his already straightened tie. "99.999% of our…interviewees choose death over employment, Mr. Freeman. They are broken by the…preliminaries; by their own little…incidents. The one time they can choose…the coin toss, and they choose to lose it. They are tired of playing. So why aren't you?"
Gordon Freeman stared the G-man directly in the eyes, as fearlessly as he could. "Why not?"
The G-man grinned so broad, Freeman could see his teeth.
And in a moment - Freeman came to. It was dark again. His gun was smoking but there was no echo of the gunshots. The G-man had vanished.
Freeman rode up the river in the moonlight - sixty miles-an-hour, for two hours: a hundred and twenty miles south of City 17. He stopped the boat underneath an old highway bridge, one Alyx had described to him. There was a lambda symbol painted on one of its pillars; Gordon left it underneath and climbed up the brambly slope to reach the road. He was on foot from here on in.
He jogged another two miles down the road, which curved around and roughly followed the river to the south. The only sounds were lonely frogs; it was a pale wasteland.
When finally, there: the complex, a concrete sprawl clenching its jaw on the river. Large warehouse yards with great metal storage units set in rows, and behind those, a large building attached to the dry dam, and overlooking an artificial valley behind it. But closest to Freeman was the garage, a three story building on the northwest corner of the complex. That was Freeman's destination.
He was startled by a distant gunshot. It came from south of the complex. He thought he saw the tiniest blinks of gunpowder flashing from the wasteland over there.
He left the road and dove into the brambles, slugging a little in the muck, passing old scraggly trees and a ruined wire fence.
"There's a door on the north side of the building, with little traffic through," Alyx had said. "There's always a guard posted there, and I doubt they'd withdraw them and leave themselves completely open."
There was indeed a guard there: Gordon brought out his pistol, almost forgotten on its makeshift holster with the crowbar. There was a stretch of forty yards between his cover of bramble and the guarded door. So Gordon, belly on the ground, steadied his arms on the wet rocks, and aimed the pistol - BANG, BANG, BANG -
"Good grief, Gordon! You're a killer shot!" Barney shouted to him one day in the Black Mesa training rooms. "You preparing for an alien invasion, or something?"
"I just like shooting," Gordon would say. And that was true, then. But it's not as much fun now, Gordon thought, as he watched the guard flinch, flinch, and crumple. Three hits - arm, side, head. Gordon considered himself lucky, as he ran up towards the door. It was locked with a Combine mechanism. Gordon looked at it for a moment, figured the design, and tried sticking the dying man's finger into a hole on it. Three tries and he got it right. The door opened. Freeman crept in and closed the door behind him.
He was in an empty room, twenty feet by twenty feet. It had been stripped of any original furniture; now it was a sparse military room. There were glass windows and a door leading into the next room, which was similar, but more spacious. There was also a very large computer module wired into the right wall, of the same kind in the interrogation room when Gordon reunited with Barney.
Gordon ducked down and crept his way underneath the window, listening to sounds of people or guards. All was silent, however, but for the occasional blip of the computer or the hum of the building's refurbished air conditioning, trying to keep the temperature above forty-five degrees Fahrenheit -
An image exploded on the computer's screen, and was followed by a squeal from the building's intercom. Freeman nearly leaped in the air from surprise.
It was video of Wallace Breen. He filled the screen with his well-aged, fatherly charisma. His voice rang out clearly through the entire building; like a stick, it stirred Gordon's memory of Black Mesa.
"Good evening, citizens of the new world -" he began. And as he did, Gordon heard voices from the room over, and thought he saw movement there. He ducked down underneath the windows. "- in order to address an emergency. I would have waited until the next scheduled broadcast, but events have transpired today which prompt immediate attention -"
Freeman could hear human voices talking on the other side of the wall and window. There was the trotting of boots, and then the door opened. A man in guard's clothing entered, his facemask and helmet missing: his head was shaved and his skin looked clammy, but otherwise he was quite normal - he halted upon seeing Freeman, and drew his gun -
BANG.
"- Yes," Breen was saying. "We now have direct confirmation of a disruptor in our midst…"
The guard fell dead, shot through the eye with Gordon's pistol. Another guard appeared, gun drawn - BANG BANG - Gordon blocked the bullets with his forearm and shot the man three times in the leg.
"…one who has acquired an almost…messianic reputation in the minds of certain citizens…"
The other guards had retreated. Gordon could hear human voices mixed with Overwatch radios. He went on the offensive, rounding the door's corner and entering the next room. It was a large garage space, opening up to Freeman's right, with automotive parts scattered on tables and helves, and a partly dismantled tank-car in the corner. Several guards dove behind it. One turned and aimed a submachine gun. Nothing was to Freeman's left, but ten feet ahead there was another door, slightly ajar -
"…His figure is synonymous with the darkest urges of instinct, ignorance and decay -"
Breen's voice was cut off completely by the cacophony of the machine gun, as Freeman sprinted across the room and dove through the new door. He shut it behind him and looked up, hoping there would be another door, or a way to circumvent the guards.
No - there was an interrogation chair, and the half-charred corpse of a woman lying in it.
"…Some of the worst excesses of the Black Mesa Incident have been laid directly at his feet…"
There were no other doors in the interrogation room. The corpse was fresh; its smell was familiar to Gordon, a sick parody of burnt pork roast, seasoned with toxins and the musky perfume of smoked spinal fluid. The smell combined with the words Breen was saying against him, until something acrid welled up from Gordon's insides…
"…yet unsophisticated minds continue to imbue him with romantic power…"
Freeman returned to the garage room, peering around from the door. The guards had tipped the tables on their sides, created a crude defensive blockade where they squatted with their guns, as though they were preparing for an army.
They were right to do so.
"…giving him such dangerous poetic labels as the 'One Free Man, the Opener of the Way'…"
Gordon sighed ironically. Do they really call me that?
Then, as he took stock of the supplies in the interrogation room, he shouted out, "Who killed the woman in here?"
In response, the guards told him, in so many words, to go rape himself.
Breen's voice: "…the dangers of magical thinking. We have scarcely begun to climb from the dark pit of our species' evolution. Let us not slide backward into oblivion, just as we have finally begun to see the light…"
The room provided Gordon with a metal pipe from the interrogation chair, a small table of metal dental tools (stained with blood), a box of Combine batteries and transfer wires, and a large supply of dead human flesh.
Many things had been rolling in Freeman's head all day, things he hadn't granted full conscious consideration until now, where everything, as if by Providence, fell into place; two hundred words in five seconds:
Those stalactite monsters from the sewers weren't normal. Something made them different. And the camp in the toxic sludge…that sludge was full of Benzaminite rich algae. Because its emissions shielded them from being detected, but only if there were enough pools of that algae in the city area that one wouldn't be suspected over another. They have a Benzaminite pollution problem. The only way to produce that much Benzaminite is as waste from mass yeosynthesis…so apparently mass yeosynthesis is possible, meaning my old modifications on Huxtable's equations are wrong somehow…Anyway, the Combine uses yeosynthesis to power their technology. So that's what Kleiner must have rewired the H.E.V. suit to do, so that I could leech off the Combine's power if needed. And that's why the Vortigaunt could provide power to my suit, because they're actually yeosynthetic beings! If my old equations are wrong, then that would mean Huxtable was right when he predicted Benzaminite molecular inflation when introduced to nucleotides…how embarrassing for me. Those stalactite monsters…they were in the sewers…they had been sucking on leaking Benzaminite from somewhere, and it bloated their arteries…I had thought they'd seemed rather docile. And they were. They were filled with toxins, and toxins continually on the brink of explosion…
He juiced his H.E.V. suit with a Combine battery. He located the Benzaminite waste capsule inside of it. He ripped flesh from the burned corpse, and wrapped it around the capsule, and crushed it in his fist. He heard the glass crack within the meat, and the pressure building up instantaneously. He fed the awful packet into the metal tube -
- and all the while Breen was declaring soberly, "…If you see this so-called Free Man, report him. Civic deeds do not go unrewarded, and contrariwise, complicity with his cause will not go unpunished…"
Freeman kicked open the door and threw the little cannibal Benzaminite pipe bomb over the guards' heads.
"Be wise," Breen said.
The guards were panicking.
"Be safe."
Gordon shut the door behind him and plugged his ears.
"Be aware."
KABOOM.
The door was smacked inwards, cracking its hinges from the plaster and concrete. An immense air wave blew through and almost knocked the corpse from the chair, and filled Freeman's nostrils with acidic spice. The air was fogged with a pale yellow-green.
Freeman stepped back into the garage.
From where the pipe had landed, the immense pressure of the reaction had blown everything away from it at deadly accelerations. Everything in the room was now against the walls and painted yellow from Benzaminite saturation. This included the broken bodies of all seven Civil Protection officers.
Breen's voice was gone from the building. The broadcast must be over, Gordon thought absently.
He returned to the computer terminal in the previous room, whistling Rasputin to keep his mind clear and focused. But he could barely make heads or tails of the machine: all he recognized was an English keypad, which looked like it had been cannibalized from another computer and wired into the aliens'. He tried typing, but the screen flashed red and sounded displeased. He tried another key and got an even stronger reaction.
Well, Gordon thought, guess I'm not getting citadel intel.
A textbox appeared on the screen, with a little beep. Gordon was startled.
In large English letters, it displayed the words: GORDON - DO NOT CONTINUE, they sent a squad of nine to engage you. -Alyx
Gordon was thunderstruck for a few moments. In those few moments, more text appeared: P.S. hope you see this, I only sent it to the terminal by the entrance you said you'd take.
Gordon tried typing, and it worked this time, his words appearing in the chat box. Thanks. I think already took care of the squad.
A few moments passed.
I'm actually not surprised, Alyx typed.
Gordon replied, How are you holding up? Also, how are you doing this?
I'm good. My team is still outside distracting them. I went ahead inside and took out a transhuman officer - used their headset to snoop on them all. That's how I knew they were coming for you. And I also started hacking into the mainframe. I actually think there are some files on the citadel here. But a tiny probl-
The text halted for half a minute.
There's a chopper; I'm in a control tower- -sending map now
Schematics of the complex appeared, with a red "A" and "F" appearing in their general locations.
Help wld b appreciatd; bring grenads
Gordon could hear the beating of iron wings -
And as he approached, the guns thundered louder and louder - bangbangbang … BangBangBang … BAngBAngBAngBAng -
He met two guards on route: one had their helmet on, and Gordon had to duck behind a corner. It was a whole ninety seconds before Gordon caught him off guard and riddled him with the machine gun. As he did, he noticed from the corner of his eye a half unsuited officer standing with his arms raised, backing down a nearby hallway. His helmet was off, he was bald, but had some scruff on his chin and looked no older than nineteen. Gordon let him go.
He went through a metal door - he was outside, in a concrete pit, a stairway leading up towards the surface and the night, now alive with the blazing beams of two skylights. Gordon began ascending it, when a guard appeared at the top -.
This one was different. The uniform was not Civil Protection, but a darker color, and clearly better made. It padded their whole body. The gas mask looked like a tighter fit, and the goggles glowed deep fluorescent blue, like a fruit fly.
Both fired their machine guns, Gordon being the faster draw. He heard a bullet whizz past his ear, and felt several ring vainly against his recharged H.E.V. suit. He watched several of his bullets pierce into the guard's vesting, and they stumbled back, but did not fall. Gordon retreated behind the door for shelter, and heard the bullets rain against it for a few moments. Silence - Gordon kicked open the door and opened fire again, catching the guard by surprise. They finally went down.
Tenacious buggers, aren't they? he thought, as he ran up the stairs. Now he was in a giant industrial yard, scattered with piles of gravel and metal storage tanks and chain-link fences. The whole place was lit up like a baseball field, Overwatch officers in black armor and blue glowing eyes were scattered throughout, as though searching for someone. Several were already zeroing in on Gordon's location, alerted by the gunfire.
Gordon could hear the thumping of the chopper, but he couldn't see it yet -.
He saw the control tower to the south. He began running.
"- copy that, I've spotted him -"
"- what? It's Freeman! It's the Freeman! -"
"- alert the chopper -"
"- we have visuals on Gordon Freeman, heading south down Yard C -"
"- engaging -!"
BANG. BANG-BANG.
"- Roderick -? Come in, Roderick? -"
"- Something's wrong -"
"- We have him surrounded -"
BANGBANGBANGBANG
"- do not engage! I repeat, do not engage! -"
"- Let the chopper handle it! For the love of -"
"- Roderick? Do you copy? -"
"- Cameron? Cameron, do you copy? -"
"- Roderick is dead, I repeat, Roderick is dead. All Beta team units regroup at sector -"
BANG BANG.
"- Where is that -" BANGBANGBANG "- chopper?! -"
The beating of iron wings: Gordon saw the belly of the chopper lit up by the skylights. The guns flashed orange and white - wumwumwumwumwum…
...BANGBANGBANGBANGbANGBaNGBANGBANgBANGBANGBaNgBANGBaNGBANGABAnG
Freeman dove behind a storage unit: several of the chopper's rounds penetrated through it and pulverized the concrete ground nearby.
Twenty second recharge, Gordon thought. He sprinted the last ten yards to the tower, and scrambled up the ladder, the tower between him and the chopper. As he did so, he noticed two Overwatch guards were bleeding out on the ground beneath it…
The chopper swung around the building, as Gordon neared the top - wumwumwumwumwumwum -
- BANGBANGBANGBANGbANGBaNGBANGBANgBANGBANGBaNgBANGBaNGBANGABAnG -
The side of the tower was riddled with dents; a whole section of metal ladder was wiped off from it. Chunks of cement fell and smashed on the ground below.
But Freeman had made it. He lay on his back in the top of the tower, pulled in at the last moment by -
"Alyx," Gordon gasped.
She stood overtop him, smiling that same wide smile she had when he first met her in City 17.
"So here's our predicament," Alyx explained, as Gordon took in his new surroundings. It was a little box with large windows and lots of buttons and dials on various dashboards. Except the windows were utterly shattered, the glass nearly carpeting the floor, and the dashboards were not faring much better. Alyx had dissembled the bottom of all the dashboards, laying the covers on the floor to protect from the glass, and exposing a host of wires and microchips to view.
"The chopper knows that I'm up here. They sent some guards up the ladder to get me, but my position is very defensible."
"I noticed the bodies down there."
"Right. Now, Gorbachev has contact with me via earpiece," and she gestured to a black ball in her left ear. "He's listening in right now, actually - he says hello - anyway, they can give us cover to get us out of here, but only if the chopper is down. Did you bring the grenades?"
"I did."
Alyx grinned again. "I heard you took down a chopper at Black Mesa."
"It was a different model," Gordon said, "and I was using a rocket launcher, but yeah. That happened. I'll try again for you."
"Would you? I'm almost done with this data transfer on the citadel. I hope it was worth it."
"Do you know where the headcrab rockets are? Was I correct?"
"You were. They are in Yard B. Now, it's your call, but I'd say we retreat and take on those another time -"
"Where's Yard B?"
"To your left. Past the red painted wall."
- BANGBANGBANGBANGbANGBaNGBANGBANgBANGBANGBaNgBANGBaNGBANGABAnG -
Bullets rained through the empty window frames; Freeman and Alyx kept beneath the cover of the dashboards, the angle protecting them as the bullets ripped into the opposite side. It protected them…for now.
Alyx pulled out her gun: a sub-machine gun like Gordon's, but with some additions.
"Grenade launcher," she said, grinning a little too happily. "Did you have a plan for damaging Yard B, too?"
"I think so," Gordon said. "But I need you to try launching something very strange."
Alyx gave him an odd look. "Okay -? Oh crap, move, move! Other side!"
- BANGBANGBANGBANGbANGBaNGBANGBANgBANGBANGBaNgBANGBaNGBANGABAnG -
"How much ammunition do those helicopters have?" Gordon asked.
"We've fought them before. The Combine packs those things with enough bullets to keep shooting for hours."
"I assume we don't have hours?"
"I reckon we've got another five or six minutes before it finally starts ripping through the concrete and dashboards. But I'm being optimistic."
- BANGBANGBANGBANGbANGBaNGBANGBANgBANGBANGBaNgBANGBaNGBANGABAnG -
"You wanted to launch something?" Alyx continued.
Gordon nodded, and from his makeshift holster-pack, he pulled out a used Benzaminite battery and a small cloth bundle cursed with the smell of burnt flesh. Alyx's eyes widened. "Uh…Gordon…?"
He was already dissembling one of the grenade canisters. He had done it once before, when making the laser tripwire trap in Black Mesa. He carefully but quickly unpackaged the slab of meat into the emptied canister, and used the cloth to cover the battery. He then wrapped the battery in the meat, and -
"Move!"
- BANGBANGBANGBANGbANGBaNGBANGBANgBANGBANGBaNgBANGBaNGBANGABAnG -
"Gordon…what are you doing?"
Gordon did not answer until his little bomb was complete. In the meantime, he handed a regular grenade to Alyx. She raised an eyebrow, but took it, loaded it, and aimed -
- schoomp! -
…
KABANG.
It was caught by the top propeller, knocking it off balance for a moment, but it kept spinning, sawing through the smoke - wumwumwumwumwumwum -
- BANGBANGBANGBANGbANGBaNGBANGBANgBANGBANGBaNgBANGBaNGBANGABAnG -
A few bullets penetrated through, nearly shattering Gordon's bomb. His heart leapt to his throat.
Alyx took aim - schoomp! -
KABANG.
It was caught in the propeller again. The force made a few small cracks in the cockpit window. Alyx fired the machine gun, raining lead on the strained glass, exacerbating it, forcing the helicopter to maneuver away.
"Force it towards Yard C!" Gordon shouted.
It was swinging around, hovering over the yard, out of bullet range -
"Fire this at it." Gordon said, handing her the bomb.
"It's out of range!"
"Trust me."
There was a moment that they looked at each other. It was such a cliché thing to say. But she took the bomb anyway -
The helicopter was charging up…
- schoomp! -
- wumwumwumwumwumwumwumwum -
The bomb almost reached it, but the chopper moved out of the way just in time. It went careening towards Yard C -
The chopper fired - BANGBANGBA -
KAABBOOMM.
A force of compressed air flung the chopper into the sky; it capsized midair, and caterwauled down like a clipped duck, crashing into the storage crates, the launch pads, the industrial wares of Yard C, as Gordon's bomb blasted a good quarter of it.
Alyx blinked.
She looked down at Gordon, grinning again.
He gave her a dry thumbs up. "Thanks for believing in me and stuff."
End Notes
First of all, I changed the title of the whole story from "Half-Life" to "The Remarkable Schrodinger Man", to better reflect the fact that this is not even really a novelization so much as a reimagining or retelling. That especially shows in this chapter, where Gordon contacts Alyx Vance, who is coming to get him on route, and much of the action from the original video game is skipped or altered.
I plan for this entire fic to run through all the chapters in the original Half-Life 2 game (before the episodes), with the intention of it being a coherent whole that follows an arc in Freeman's development, as fed and guided by his relationships with the G-man and with Alyx Vance.
I am especially curious what people think of the story as a whole so far, or with individual its elements in this chapter (or others). I'm worried that the whole makeshift bomb thing was a little much - it's meant to show that Gordon really is very, very smart in a useful way, and his PhD in physics, combined with first-hand experience of weird physics and Xen, actually plays a role in his success. But I don't know for sure if it's coming off that way.
Thank you for reading! Next time will be a chapter I've looked forward to since I began writing this: character development at Black Mesa East!
Cheers!