I feel that the needs of the story call for quite a bit to happen during Gordon's rest at Black Mesa East. Too much for a single chapter, anyway. Also, I saw how much people were enjoying the story and hungry for more, and I decided it was far better to give you guys part one of the chapter, rather than to make you wait another couple months while I work out the second half.

The support and reviews have been wonderful. Thank you so, so much for the feedback! I really appreciate it, and I'm very glad you guys have really been liking the story! I've worked very hard on it, as the time between uploads indicates. Sorry for the long gap between chapters - though that is probably how it will be for the rest of the story's run. I will try to limit the length of the gaps to only a few months at most, so don't worry that I've gone AWOL if it takes that long. I am going for quality. This chapter was especially hard because I wanted to get the character development right. I had a lot of false starts as I worked out how I actually wanted it to read. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! Like, I really hope so! But either way, let me know what you think!

Oh, and yes, there is a reference to "The Prestige". But it was so perfect for the themes of the story that I had to steal it. So, citation, or whatever.

Black Mesa East

(Part One)

On May 5th, 2009, Dr. Gordon Freeman entered Administrator Breen's office at Black Mesa.

"Ah, Dr. Freeman - Have a seat; I'll be with you shortly."

Dr. Gordon Freeman was two months on the job at Black Mesa. Administrator Wallace Breen had called him into his office early Tuesday morning, before any scheduled tests in the Anomalous Materials labs. Freeman had only been in Breen's office once before: when he first arrived at Black Mesa, Breen had wished to interview him personally.

His hair was still brown and vital then, and his whole complexion full of well-controlled vibrancy. He was professional but personable, with a firm yet unthreatening handshake, and a smile that set even Gordon Freeman at ease. In fact, it was that first interview that convinced Freeman that he might actually be happy at Black Mesa; at least that his fears of a tyrannical, or incompetent, or insufferable boss would not be realized. Breen was not a picture-perfect man with sparkling teeth and perfect manners. He was something better. He seemed to be a whole man, a personality that had worked itself out entirely, in Biblical fear and trembling.

What's more, Gordon had reviewed Breen's non-confidential contributions to science: though he focused in theoretical physics, his ambition and eye for fundamentals gave his work a remarkably wide scope of influence: entanglement theory, new quantum electrodynamics, supraquadratics, superstring and M-theory, micro-neurology, radiology, reproductive biochemistry, and masked integer theory in mathematics. He could have become a high-profile advocate for science, a step above Carl Sagan. He could have been a science rock star. But after a single widely read interview with Popular Mechanics - the cover bearing his confident smile - he more-or-less disappeared, to work under the confidentiality of Black Mesa. And for that, Gordon Freeman felt a natural and deep respect for him.

Now Gordon was in this man's office again. He had a suspicion why.

As instructed, he took a seat. The office was somehow both clean and cluttered at once. The desk was not just for show: it was covered with Breen's daily work. Books, paperwork, calculations, logistical sheets - Gordon noticed a thin book was already open on the desk. Its bookmark was a slightly crumpled check, made out to Wallace Breen from Black Mesa. It was from two pay periods ago.

Then, with a heart-skip, Gordon realized the book itself was a copy of his own dissertation. It was heavily marked and annotated with highlighter and pen.

Breen was standing near a window in his office, overlooking the building's lobby. He was deep in thought. Gordon knew the feeling.

Finally Breen turned and smiled at Gordon. His eyes crinkled in an almost grandfatherly way. "I've been reading your dissertation," he said.

"I noticed."

"I had already read it, of course, before approving you for hire. But even on a second and third read through, I find new insights. You are a dense thinker."

"Thank you, doctor."

"Call me Wallace."

"Alright, Wallace."

Dr. Breen guffawed. He had athletic lungs, like Gordon; his voice was resonant. He sat down opposite Gordon and set the dissertation (and paycheck bookmark) aside. "Most of Black Mesa is abuzz about your teleportation experiment. You've made history. Obviously, it will take a while before the rest of the world knows it, classification and all that, but you're as good as famous."

Gordon's eyes were bright, and his head grew lighter. "Thank you, doctor."

"No need to thank me, you're the one who did it. Not just experimentation, but a demonstration. Not just theory, but activity. You have no idea how bankrupt the sciences are of strong thinkers. Or maybe you do. You were at Innsbruck, after all..."

Gordon nodded. He did know what Breen was talking about.

"Newton - now there was a thinker. One man revolutionized the world, and how everyone saw it. How we all use the world. There would be no cars without Newton: they wouldn't have the theory, for one thing, but I think more importantly: they wouldn't have the mindset. They wouldn't be able to see the world rightly. All it took was one man, and all of humanity could…'evolve'? Is that too romantic a word? It makes me sound like some sort of mad scientist…"

"I know what you're saying," Gordon assured him.

"Of course you do," Breen agreed, with a smile. "Well, I'll just say what's on my mind. Newton evolved the human race. How else could one look at it? He changed everything. Without him, no cars, no airplanes, no globalization, which means there is no infinite sharing of information between groups…this planet is more connected than ever before in our history as a species. I can catch a flight to Africa; I can visit the Bushmen there. I can scout out every secret tribe in the amazon, given a decent supply of resources. No one is alone anymore, everyone is connected. Everyone has to deal with everyone else."

Gordon gave no reaction. He had noticed that Breen sometimes struggled to stay on one topic, unless he had written things out beforehand. "We are a single planet," he continued, "whether we like it or not. And how did this happen? A long string of individuals, leading humanity along: Einstein could not exist without Newton before him. 'Standing on the shoulders of giants,' as it were. Leap by leap, we disintegrate superstition and nonsense in ourselves. We get closer to reality. How? Because, more and more, we can communicate with each other; we root each other's superstition out. We are becoming a united species. We are becoming more than we ever could be before. I'm getting all idealistic and speculative, obviously, but your experiments got me thinking, Gordon. Please pardon a fellow like me; sometimes I need a few moments to play the romantic instead of the scientist. Does any of this make sense?"

"I think so," Gordon answered tentatively. His appreciativeness had simmered back down to calculation. Breen was looking intently at Gordon. Then he smiled.

"You're on the precipice of history Gordon. Cold, strong winds are blowing up from the abyss. But I think, if we play our cards right, we might be able to fly."

Gordon was silent for a minute. "Why are you telling me all of this?"

Breen guffawed again. "Ah, Gordon, your honesty is just…ah, that's your problem right there. When your boss hauls you into his office and just starts making conversation, you're not supposed to ask him why. You just ask for a raise while he's in a good mood. But you know, that's why I like you. You don't care about rules; it's like you don't even know what they are. You just do what you know is right, no matter what it is…Well, anyway, I just wanted to talk a bit. Maybe I just wanted to talk at you! Bounce my ideas off. See if we really understand each other like I suspected."

This is important, Gordon thought. What is he getting at? What's going on…?

"Alright, alright," Breen said, laughing again. "We'll get to business then. You had given a request for more element and material - it's granted. And there's a sizable chunk that I would like to see you work on - give you the opportunity to push your first rock under the spectrometer, eh?"

And then the Resonance Cascade - and the bloodshed - the screams and crimped hearts - Freeman burst through the doors of the train station and saw the great citadel invading the clouds, and Breen's reassuring face shining out from every telecast - evolution, evolution, evolution - then it began making all too much sense -

December 12th, 2025:

It was three days since they raided the Combine base and stole the data.

They came, they saw, they conquered; they escaped into the wasteland.

They now needed to throw the Combine off any trace of their scent, so they were hiding in an underground bunker, one of several scattered about the landscape as alternate safe houses for the Underground Railroad. After a few days, Alyx had said, they would return to Black Mesa East, where they could begin sorting through and decoding what she had obtained. Meanwhile, the headcrab yard lay in flames; they could still see the black smoke trail, like a long coffee stain on the sky.

Take that, Breen, Gordon had thought, sardonic.

Now, three days later, he was sitting on a knoll above the bunker, his back against a scraggly, barren oak tree, one of many across the brambly moor. It was sunrise, and very cold. Gordon had long since removed his hazard suit, and was wearing new clothing provided by Alyx's team: gray and brown jackets and sweaters and pants, all of heavy material to ward off the cold. They also padded all his many bullet bruises, which had finally begun aching in earnest. It was very distracting, and he could barely grip anything anymore with his sore hands. He rubbed his quaking gloved hands together for warmth. The throb intensified all through his forearms, making him wince and grind his teeth. He breathed on them quickly to help, and set them back down. He watched his breath freeze, coiling away from him like little ghosts.

The sun was blinking through some trees on the horizon. It would be a clear day.

Then he noticed something odd: a black speck in the sky. It nearly scared him to death - it looked like a flying droid from the Combine. But no; in a few moments he made out the shape of wings, the trace of feathers; it was a lone hawk, skating on the frozen blue.

It was getting closer - it was steering right for him, in fact -

It swooped and landed on one of the branches above Gordon. The two earthlings regarded each other, curious. To Gordon's surprise, the hawk began making its way down the tree, hopping from branch to branch, until finally it fluttered to the ground next to him. Gordon remained still; he had a pistol and knife hidden in his jacket, if anything went south. The hawk was colored much like Gordon's clothing: brown and gray, peppered with orange and white, which gave its plumage artistry, though the individual feathers seemed a little haggard and unkempt. The hawk's yellow, scaly legs planted awkwardly on the grass. It regarded Gordon with glassy eyes: perfect marbles, set in sharp, angry brows. But its manner did not seem to reflect its expression. It was very friendly with Gordon, as though it had been a park pigeon.

Gordon stared back into its eyes. He could think of nothing else to do.

"Made a friend?" came Alyx's voice from behind. She had emerged from the bunker to find him.

"Is it trained?" Gordon asked.

"Nope. Just docile. We feed them, and most other Earth animal that comes our way. There aren't…a lot of them left."

Alyx approached and threw a dead mouse to it. The hawk seized it in its beak and went to work. Alyx sat down next to Gordon, and they watched it feed.

Alyx continued, "This hawk is probably second or even third generation from when the Combine arrived. And animals are smarter than we think, at least when it comes to long-term survival. After a decade, most predators got the picture: they know we've got food."

Gordon nodded. "Where'd you get that mouse?"

"Don't know how to tell you this, Gordon, but these bunkers aren't actually five star hotels."

Silence. The breeze was frigid.

"Want any water?" Alyx asked, reaching for a canister at her side.

"I'm good," Gordon said.

"Drink water."

"No. Later."

Alyx smiled. "I swear I didn't put anything in that first drink we gave you."

"I slept for twenty-four hours straight, once we reached this bunker. And it was right after I drank the water."

"It was only eighteen hours, and you've been sleep deprived. Nothing was in the water, Gordon."

"I didn't have nightmares, or dreams at all, which isn't normal for me -"

"Neither is sleep deprivation. Now drink, please."

"Fine, but only because you asked nicely."

He reached up for the bottle, but couldn't keep hold of it. So, although Alyx still let him hold his hands around it, she bore the full weight of the bottle, bringing it up to his mouth. Gordon felt an instinctive pang of self-loathing at this, but was distracted by the water - it was like ice sliding down his throat. It almost hurt his stomach, but instantly refreshed him.

Alyx was saying, "And I'll get Thelma to make you some more of that mushroom soup you liked."

"That stuff is ambrosia," Gordon said, handing her back the canister, only for her to make him drink again.

"That's because you're also food deprived." Alyx explained. "In reality that soup is…gross."

"Fine, don't let me compliment you people's cooking," Gordon said. Alyx laughed, and it made Gordon lose his train of thought.

She said lightly. "How's your math stuff going?"

Gordon had a flash back to the day before. One of the soldiers had asked Gordon what he was working on. It was like they had dropped an Alka-Seltzer into a Coke. After a few false starts and some encouragement, he had become a runaway train:

These are my modifications on Schrödinger's equations describing Y particles in three dimensions; non-relativistic and time-independent. Also, given the Z-position and Laplacian limit, obviously. Though I'm guessing you don't know what that is. That's fine, the point is that a simple analytical approximation is found for the wave function of an electron when simultaneously exposed to, first, a strong, circularly polarized plane-wave field and second, an atomic Coulomb potential. The long and short of it is this: you can 'persuade' the wave functions to collapse in certain ways, given certain conditions. Though those conditions would require absurd quantities of energy…

"I think," Alyx said, as she reached out to stroke the hawk's head, "that they understood about five of the words you used."

"How much did you understand, though?" Gordon asked.

The hawk was nibbling Alyx's thumb affectionately with its beak. "I liked the part about 'persuading' quantum wave functions. That's radical thinking. But my Dad worked with you on this sort of stuff, so I have more background."

Gordon remembered something. "I'm sorry - I never asked how Eli is doing. Your father, Eli, I mean. Or really how you're doing, in general. Because you're always asking me that, but I haven't asked you. I don't think of these things. I just assume people are fine so long as they look fine. So how are you? And your father? And sorry I haven't asked sooner."

Alyx patted Gordon on the shoulder. "There, there, it's okay."

"Wow, what an amazing therapist you are."

"I'd tell you to be selfish again, but I doubt you'll listen to me any better than before. Anyway, everyone is fine. Eli is fine…"

Silence.

"We're heading to Black Mesa East tomorrow," Alyx said.

Gordon nodded.

"I haven't pushed you to talk," Alyx said. "I wanted to let you rest out here. I know from Eli and Kleiner how little you like crowds, but the fact of the matter is: word is already out at Black Mesa East that the Free Man is back. That's what it sounds like over the radio. And since you've already done some damage on the Combine and saved people and what not, when you get there, you will be famous, and you will be swarmed."

Gordon nodded again, but said nothing.

Alyx blinked. "Will you be okay?"

"I don't really want to go, Mom."

Alyx smiled at the joke, though half-heartedly. "And what would you rather do instead?"

Gordon didn't answer. Alyx gave him a penetrating look.

"You don't want to stop," she said. "You're afraid to stop shooting and fighting. Like you've crossed a line, and don't feel you can go back."

Gordon looked at her, interested.

It was the first time she hadn't been completely right about him.

"I…well, sure…" he began, awkwardly, "that's part of it, at least. I don't know about the other part."

Alyx nodded, but she did not speak.

"Well, if you insist," Gordon said, harmlessly sarcastic, "I suppose I'll relent and still accompany you to Black Mesa East."

"Yeah, yeah," Alyx agreed quietly, looking nowhere in particular.

They were silent.

"I assume," Gordon offered, "that your team is under your orders not to swarm me while we're out here, though,"

"You assume correctly. They know who's in charge."

That's an interesting way to put it, Gordon thought. But it was quite accurate. She led a team of nine, not including herself. They all followed Alyx without question. Gordon sensed their mixture of love and fear towards her, and there was something mildly disconcerting about it.

Six men and three women, all able to speak English, but only Gordon, Alyx, and another young woman were American. This young woman's name was, "Laura Tanner, at your service, sir! And if I may be so bold, the highest honors accorded to you, sir! I never thought I would have this opportunity, sir, and I'll shut up soon, sir, but I…em…just very honored. Thank you, sir!" And she saluted him.

The second woman was French, as was her husband - Renee and Paul Clement - they were in their forties, and shared a sleeping bag out of habit, if not desire. "You bring us a…uh…ray of hope," Renee said, speaking for both of them. "Merci docteur, merci. Your sacrifice has saved this human race, and your modesty crowns it."

The third woman was Ukrainian, looked thirty, and kept to herself, except for the one time she spoke with Gordon, briefly but sincerely. "I wish you swift health, doctor, after your struggle. Boh pochuv nashi molytvy."

Three men were German, all brothers, aged nineteen, twenty-one, and twenty-four. "I speak for us all," began the eldest, "Vhen I say, vell, you have made szis vorld possible for us. Gnädigster Dank."

A small but stocky man, built like a wolverine, aged 35, was evidently from Nepal, but got his unsightly facial scar in Germany, ten years ago, from Combine soldiers - "He doesn't like to talk about it," Alyx mentioned to Gordon one day. This fearsome little man could hardly get a thickly accented "thank-you" out before seizing Gordon in an embrace that nearly gave the doctor a heart attack. The man leaked tears down the front of Gordon's shirt. "Sabai kurā aba ṭhīka hunēcha…Sabai kurā aba ṭhīka hunēcha…"

Finally, there was Adrien Gorbachev, a Russian, aged thirty-nine, who seemed to serve more-or-less as Alyx's right hand - he looked like a wolf and smelled a bit like one too. "I vwas skeptical," he said, "of zhe Wortigaunts' story, zhat zhey had joined our side because of you. Zhey alvways speak in riddles and nonsense. But now I see viz my own eyes. Dr. Freeman…" and he fell silent in contemplation.

"That's my name, yeah," Freeman had replied dryly.

"The Combine," Alyx had explained the day before, "has gradually moved the Earth's populations around, in order to quell rebellions by creating language barriers."

"So where are we right now?" Gordon asked.

"Southeast Romania," Alyx replied. "Which is why you won't find that many Romanians here anymore."

"How did Eli and Kleiner and all the rest of them end up here in Romania?" Gordon had asked Alyx. "Did they all get moved together?"

"No, but they did all get moved to Europe," Alyx said, laying a card down in their game of Shuttle. "It's actually a little complicated, I think it would be better that you just ask my dad yourself."

"Fair enough," Gordon replied. "But what exactly is Black Mesa East? There's no way they built something like Black Mesa over here?"

"No, no; but they did get in contact with several people who used to be in on the Russian military. And they were able to set up shop in an old, secret Soviet base, built underneath a power plant during the Cold War, when they occupied Romania."

The underground bunker included several options for entertainment: Chess, Monopoly, or Dominoes. There was also Alyx's pack of cards. But most importantly, the team had brought with them something of incredible importance to them, something unconsciously essential in the minds of Alyx and her crew, something Alyx had rebuilt from salvaged junk with her own two hands when she was only fifteen: a CD player and speakers.

It had one CD, a burned disc of classic rock. Freeman became quite familiar with its twenty-one tracks, and could even remember the names and bands for some of them. Magic Carpet Ride, Steppenwolf; Magic, Pilot; Renegade, Styx; Freebird, Lynyrd Skynyrd; When the Levee Breaks, Led Zeppelin...They looped the songs all day long, kept on medium volume in a corner, where sometimes team members would go to listen more closely, while the others used it as background comfort. It was like salt to their meat; it was one of the first things they did upon reaching the bunker, and there was a noticeable relief of tension the moment track one began - the low whinny and whine of Steppenwolf's opening, which stooped into a deep thrum like the reeling axles of a drag-racecar, only to break suddenly, almost comically, like a curtain being drawn, revealing that boiling, leathery voice over a smooth funk backdrop -

I like to dream! Hm…yes, yes: right between my sound machine.

On a cloud of sound I drift in the night - any place it goes is right -

Goes far, flies near, to the stars away from here…

Alyx would stay by the speakers at least once a day, to listen through a full loop of the tracks. It took a little less than two hours. Gordon would sit next to her on his sleeping bag and work on his math with aching hands.

The hawk finally realized that it wasn't getting any more food, and with a few flaps it soared away into the deep blue. Gordon and Alyx watched it curve into the sun and disappear in the glare.

"Alright, Eli did lose his leg. And he gets pretty stressed being leader of this little rebellion thing, but otherwise he's fine."

Gordon blinked. "He lost a leg and he leads rebels."

"That's what I said."

"So he's basically a pirate now."

Alyx laughed very hard at that. Gordon wasn't sure how he did it to her.

"He's got a robotic leg," Alyx finally explained. Gordon afforded her a smile.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked quite suddenly, still smiling awkwardly.

Alyx gave him a confused look. "What?"

"I threw myself into a suicide mission instead of just waiting for you," Gordon explained. "I made everything needlessly complicated. And you told me you still have a temper. So are you secretly mad at me?"

"Did I…do something that seemed angry…?" Alyx asked, concerned.

"No, which doesn't make any sense to me…but I don't always read people well, but sometimes I do, I dunno. I figured I'd just ask."

Alyx raised an eyebrow. "The mission was a success, wasn't it?"

"You all could have gotten killed," Gordon said.

Alyx drew in a breath. "We didn't have to come help you; that's what you told us, remember?"

"I know, but…sorry, I just wanted to check."

"I'm not mad at you, Gordon," Alyx said, laughing. "You have no idea how not mad at you I am."

Gordon forced a smile back."I think…maybe this is it…" he began carefully, "See, when I was a kid, like, maybe seven or eight, I got really interested in magic tricks."

Alyx's eyes widened and she grinned. "Really?"

"Yes," Gordon affirmed. "Card tricks, mind tricks, sleight of hand, making things disappear and reappear…I thought it was amazing and beautiful, how things would vanish and come back with a flourish of the hand. The laws of logic, cause and effect, were just broken, suspended - I swear this relates, just listen -"

"I'm listening, Gordon," Alyx assured him. "Don't worry about me."

"- So my Dad," Gordon continued, "being a good Dad, I think, more-or-less…well, he took me to a magic show in Seattle. And there was the magician up there doing his card tricks and getting members of the audience and pulling animals out of thin air…and there was this one trick he did, where he had this little downy brown wren, cheeping away. And he placed it in this little cage, and put a handkerchief on it, and slammed his hand down on top of it. Well, the handkerchief just dropped with his hand, as if the cage hadn't even been there. He pulls away the handkerchief and there's nothing there, nothing we can see, anyway. The cage and bird is all gone. And then, with a flourish of his hand, there is the wren again! Cheeping away in his hands…I was floored. I couldn't understand how he teleported that little wren from out of the cage into his hand like that. Maybe I just liked the animal -"

The hawk hopped onto Gordon's leg and let him stroke its feathers.

"- But you see, at the time I had a retainer, for dental work, right? And before the show there was this dinner, and I had left my retainer with the food, which happened a lot, actually. Anyway, it was a mess…we talked to the kitchen staff, they didn't have it…it culminated in my Dad and I looking in the alley trash. Because the retainer had been expensive and our medical coverage wasn't that great. The magic show, looking back on it, was actually all rather sketchy and cheap, but my Dad was doing the best he could. Well, anyway, that's when I saw how the magician had done his bird trick."

Gordon paused, looking the hawk in the eye.

"There was this collapsed bird cage in the trash, with this smashed, broken, bloody little brown wren caught inside of it. I put two and two together; the magician had used a collapsing cage, so when he smashed his hand down, it hadn't disappeared: it just went flat. He just collapsed it really quick. So quick, in fact, that he smashed the little bird too. Well, no matter, because he just had a second little brown wren hidden up his sleeve, to make it look like the first one was okay.

"I didn't cry. And I never told my Dad what I saw. We found the retainer, somehow, and cleaned it with hot water and soap for a few hours…well, anyway, I ended up crying a few days later but wouldn't tell Mom and Dad what the matter was, I don't know why. Maybe because I didn't want to talk about it with them, I was afraid that they would try to justify it to me, and that was the last thing I wanted in the world. No one was going to tell me that it was acceptable for that little dumb animal to get killed for my entertainment.

"I felt betrayed, you know? Suddenly it wasn't magic, it was lying, because behind the beautiful flourishes and wonderment was a dead, bloody, broken bird. There was no true leap in logic. Everything made sense in the end, and the way that it made sense was awful. So I guess that's why I became a physicist: to figure out how every magic trick in the universe is done. And I think that's why it matters so much that you make sense to me. Or that Arlene…that she make sense, too. Everything makes sense in the end, whether we like how it does or not."

Alyx was respectfully silent. Gordon offered her a genuine smile. "So that's my deal, I guess."

"You're afraid my being nice to you has some dark side to it."

She's good.

"There ought to be a sufficient reason for it. That's all."

Alyx sighed, leaning her head back against the tree. "You must have hated those old Disney movies."

"Disney was the antichrist."

Alyx started laughing again.

"We're both crazy!" she was saying.

Black Mesa East: a complex of concrete buildings and black power lines and giant spiked transformers silhouetted against the purple-dusted dawn. It was built right on the bank of a dwindling river, about two hundred miles south of City 17. There was no sign of life; it was just another abandoned structure in the emptied landscape.

Alyx had grown exceptionally reticent.

This was a trait Gordon had not seen in her so far. But the closer they drew to Black Mesa East, the less she spoke, and the more her compatriots followed suite - not out of their own discomfort, Gordon observed carefully, but because they knew Alyx was…sad? Mad? What is going on?

They wove their way through the alleyways between buildings, before they finally reached a shallow tunnel hollowed into the rocky hillside, at the back of the complex. This led them into something like a metal antechamber -

- as soon as they entered, a metal door shut tightly behind them. They were trapped inside. It was black as pitch…

…but some fluorescent back-up lights blinked on - giving the whole team ghoulish under-glows…

The team was perfectly calm. This is standard procedure.

"Hello?" said a woman's voice, over a scratchy intercom. "Is that you, Alyx?"

Alyx somewhat limply raised her hand.

"Ah yes; yes it is," the woman's voice continued. "You must forgive the scanning process, Alyx: we can't take any chances. You were out much longer than originally planned, I was getting worried that -"

The voice was drowned out by a steaming hiss: a white mist began to fill the room from several vents in the ceiling. It irritated Gordon's skin a little, and he began to feel claustrophobic.

"Wait…Gordon Freeman?" said the voice again. He jumped a little at hearing his name, having momentarily forgotten his fame. "Gordon Freeman? Is that you?" The voice was pleasantly incredulous, and sounded on the verge of showy laughter. "You've made it here! You've made it here safely - why, Eli will be so relieved…"

A long rectangular panel in the wall retracted. This revealed a window into an observation chamber. There were several people inside, all now gazing curiously through the thick, tinted glass. Foremost among them, Gordon made out a tall, thin, clean-cut Caucasian woman, gazing out at their party, and then directly at Gordon. She was the one speaking.

She placed her hand against the glass, as if signaling peace.

"Ehem…I'm Dr. Mossman, Dr. Judith Mossman," she said after a few moments of awkward silence.

A red laser grid turned on and began descending around the party as she spoke. "I've been hearing about you since long before the Black Mesa incident...I so envy you, getting to work with Eli and Dr. Kleiner when they were at the top of their field…Ah! There we go. You're clear to go through now."

Another set of doors opened like jaws, leading into the rest of the tunnel, lit with bright white fluorescent lights. Gordon was shuffled forward with Alyx's team as they stepped automatically into the space. Dr. Mossman exited a few moments later from a control door nearby. She was at least as tall as Gordon, with straight, mousy brown hair held back by a large plastic hair clip. Her nose was long, her mouth small, and her eyes seemed very alert and anxious. She wore a white, fraying turtleneck and dark green slacks. Gordon couldn't help but notice a certain innocent insincerity in her voice, like a bad actor unaware of their ineptitude.

"Alyx," she said warmly. Alyx responded by holding out her hand for shaking, but Mossman did not seem to see it, and went in for a sisterly hug. Alyx hesitated, but then acquiesced and returned the embrace. Mossman continued, "I'm so glad you're back safe. No one was telling me anything about your mission but now that I see Gordon…are you all alright? What happened to you?"

"Sorry," Alyx said blandly. "We'll talk later. We're tired, shaken up."

"Oh, of course," Mossman agreed. "I'll take you down to Eli right away - he would never forgive me if I kept you waiting." She chuckled awkwardly, and cast a glance at Gordon, who instinctively gave her a plastic smile that made him feel dishonest. Mossman didn't react to any of this, and moved to lead their stringy band down the hallway to a thick, code-locked door. She opened it and shuffled the team through, but held Gordon back by beginning to talk to him.

"We could certainly use the extra help around here," she said directly to Gordon. Her artificiality was off-putting, especially considering the circumstances of his arrival. It was like she didn't care what Gordon had just been through, but felt obliged to seem like she did, in order to gain his approval. Yet strangely enough, there was something Gordon appreciated about it, something almost familiar and refreshing. She was someone who got right to business, who didn't have time for emotional niceties, who likely did not understand them.

"We've covered a lot of ground in the last few months," she was saying, "but things would go so much faster if we had more people who had worked with…well, with you. Or at least with your level of training. Now we have even better than both."

They were approaching a grated elevator, where she began punching in on another keypad. Several rebel soldiers were stationed along their route, all staring with deep curiosity at Gordon Freeman, and beginning to whisper excitedly to each other. The members of Alyx's team began peeling off as well to join them, taking positions of authority in the secret conversations…"Yes, that's him, that's the one we told you about!"

Mossman seemed oblivious to it all. "You saw from a few days ago that we've finally closed in, through your original work, on a reliable, local teleport technology. What's remarkable is that the Combine still hasn't mastered it - Eli thinks their portals are string-based, similar to the Kolabier model, but they fail to factor in the dark energy equations like you and Kleiner were doing. So they can tunnel through from their universe, but once they're here, they're dependent on local transportation - if they knew what we were doing with entanglement -!"

The elevator arrived and the two doctors entered.

She was laughing again. "Listen to me, I sound like a post-doc, I - eh -" She looked Gordon in the eye. "I'm just so excited that we'll finally have the chance to work together."

The grated doors closed.

Suddenly, Gordon realized that Alyx was not in the elevator.

Where is she?

There, there down the hallway, leaned up against the wall…what is going on? Why isn't she with us? Is she staying with her team…?

Too late - they were going down.

"- so Dr. Kleiner compressed the Xen relay, except far beyond anything he imagined at Black Mesa. We figured out how to use Xen as an unexpressed axis; effectively a dimensional slingshot so we can swing around the border world and come back in local space without having to pass through -"

They were going down levels; Gordon could see into each one. There was a Vortigaunt playing chess with a human…there were Vortigaunts in…chef hats? Chopping carrots? There were Vortigaunts summoning lightning…they were charging generators…

"Dr. Mossman -?" Gordon said, fitting in between a pause in her speech. She halted and cocked her head to listen. "Is Alyx not joining us?"

"Oh, Alyx? She gets claustrophobic," Dr. Mossman said with artificial breeziness. "She doesn't…like me questioning her. She's a free spirit, as I'm sure you noticed," she laughed, but Gordon's face remained stony. "I assume Eli will have a better idea - speaking of which, here he is now!"

The elevator slowed - and there, through its bars, was Dr. Eli Vance in the flesh.

Gordon remembered all the nights he had dinner with Eli and his wife Azian and their little daughter Alyx Vance -

- "Dr. Freeman, I presume?" Azian said cheerfully, opening the door to their on-base residence. "Come right in! Eli is just getting finishing with the vegetables. It is a pleasure to finally meet you; I've heard so much from Eli. All good, of course!"

- "Gordon! Come in!" Eli bellowed. "Glad you could make it again!"

- "Dr. Freeman! Right on time!" Azian laughed, because he was five minutes late. "Are you alright, doctor? You look a little tired…? Alyx is rather excited to see you but I can hold her at bay for you -"

- "Doctor Freeman!" squealed Alyx as she opened the door. She seized his hand and led him into the living room where she had created a pillow fort. "You need to help me fight the giant bugs! Giant mantises, giant mantissess…mantises Doctor Freeman! Blam, blam!"

- "Gordon! Come right in, come right in, we can take a look at those equations before dinner…"

- "Well, Dr. Freeman! I take it you were able to make it after all? Dr. Breen and Dr. Kleiner are already here; there's punch over there on the table, chips - no, Alyx don't do that you'll spill the dip -"

There he was, there he was. He was wearing the same clothing when Gordon saw him over the video-call: a blue sweater vest covered by a green cargo vest. His hair was dark silver and gray, short and spongy. His skin was the color of well-watered earth. His nose was flat but prominent, and his eyes curious and crinkled. His left leg, at the knee, was replaced with a stripped but hardy prosthetic. He was an inch taller than Gordon, and broad shouldered.

Eli hadn't seen them yet. He was busy talking to a Vortigaunt, handing it some device and giving words of congratulations in his gravelly voice -

- then he turned and saw Gordon, just as the elevator gates opened.

Mossman said: "Eli! Look what the cat brought in!"

There was Eli's smile, as warm as a spring sun.

"Gordon Freeman," he said, limping his way over to meet him. "Let me get a look at you, man!"

Gordon didn't respond for a moment. He needed something clever to say.

"Morning, Eli," he offered. "I'm back from sabbatical."

Score: that got a deep, long laugh out of Eli, and he embraced Gordon tightly.

They were in a spacious laboratory, at least thirty by thirty feet, and made of walls and arches of stone. The air was cold and earthy as a catacomb or a wine cellar. It was furnished with iron shelves and scaffoldings that supported various experimental apparatuses, rows of glass mason jars with alien organs, and a few corkboards covered with drawings and notes. Black tubes and thick gray cables hung from the high ceiling like jungle vines. A small desk in the corner had a few sheaves of paper in neat piles, and a framed but cracked photograph of Eli, Azian and Alyx.

The Vortigaunt shuffled off, after regarding Freeman with its horsefly eyes.

Eli held Gordon away from him now, looking intently at his face. "You really haven't changed one iota…" he said, "…It is unbelievable having you back. Now, last time I saw you in person…that was at Black Mesa! Nearly score years ago…gad! Think about that! The Vortigaunts were right! I had my doubts but…well," Eli took Gordon under his wing, and gestured towards the whole room, "anyway, welcome to the lab! It's not Black Mesa, but it's served us well enough. Now, what do you need, Gordon? How are you holding up?"

Gordon couldn't speak. There was too much now, too much feeling. All he could say was -

- But Mossman interrupted. "It's going to be a lot more like Black Mesa with Gordon around here to help," and she smiled at him.

"Right you are, Judith!" Eli agreed. "M.I.T. graduates are few and far between these days, heh; we'll get you out of those rags and back into your lab coat, where you belong!"

Gordon stared, almost uncomprehendingly. Lab coat…?

There was a crackling sound from somewhere in the lab. "Oh, that's right, I think that's from City 17," Eli said. Mossman went ahead of him and began adjusting dials on a television screen. Suddenly, there was Barney and Dr. Kleiner, peering through.

"- Lamar is not inside the television; don't be absurd Barney! Oh Gadfrey -! There, you see? It's working! Hello? Hello?"

"We are hearing you loud and clear, Dr. Kleiner," Mossman said.

"Gordon Freeman! Thank heavens you're alright!" Kleiner exclaimed. "Finally things can get back on track with your work -"

My work…

"There he is!" shouted Barney, pushing Kleiner away from the screen. "Gordon! How are ya!? You're alive!"

"Barney, for heaven's sake," Kleiner was saying, readjusting his glasses.

"He's alive, Kleiner! He's alive! I've never been so happy to be wrong, Kleiner, come 'ere!"

"Oh heavens - Barney, please, I am too infirm for roughhousing…"

"Noogie!"

"Get off of me, you savage!"

"Heh, they couldn't wait to see you," Eli was saying, "once they knew you were finally coming in today."

Gordon was nearly in tears, and he didn't understand why. Everything else was forgotten.

"Whoa, you alright, Gordon…?" Barney asked.

"Never been better," Gordon said, "My God, I've never been better…"

"This man," Barney said, pointing at an irritated Dr. Kleiner, "has refused to let me put down that little cretin that nearly got you killed."

"I have not found sufficient evidence that Lamar was actually responsible for the malfunction -"

"Right, besides the thing leapin' around inside of it."

"Correlation is not causation, Barney," Kleiner insisted. "In any case, killing Lamar would do nothing to help Gordon now. He's safe and sound -"

"Ah shut up, doc. I'm in too good a mood right now to care about it."

"Well thanks for asking, Gordon," Eli said appreciatively, patting his robotic leg, "but this thing doesn't cause me too much pain anymore. It just took me some tuning after the, uh, accident."

"I was there for it," Barney chimed in. "Trust me, you don't want to know the details. Let's just say: never pass through antlion country this time of year."

"Here," Dr. Mossman offered, "I'll get you your lab coat right away, if you're so excited about it. Let me just finish some work in my office -"

But before she left, she turned to Gordon and said, with a real sincerity that surprised him, and a smile of actual warmth: "Dr. Freeman? It's been a real honor. I look forward to working together."

When she was gone, Eli immediately said, "You and Judith have never met - but she greatly admired your work in teleportation, as did everyone else at Black Mesa!"

"Yeah," Barney added, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Let me know when the wedding is."

Gordon noticed everything in conversations, out of habit, even if he didn't know what to do with the information. And one thing he noticed was a bit of flush in Eli's face.

"Hm, yes, hilarious joke, Barney," Dr. Kleiner reproved dryly, "but we already told Gordon about the citadel's radiation effects on reproductive hormones -"

"Oh shoot, that's right." Barney's tone was utterly dry and bored. "Stupid me, right?"

"Eli, where is Alyx?" Gordon asked.

He caught everyone exchanging odd looks, just for a half-second.

"Ah," Eli began. "She told me she may slip back outside after she dropped you off so that she could go looking for junk and scrap in the countryside. She doesn't like it much inside. But she should be back in a few days. And she already gave us the data you two stole from the Combine base. That was some daring work, Gordon."

"It was terrifying. But you said she'd be back in a few days?"

"You can never really tell with Alyx, she's grown into quite the free spirit - as I'm sure you could tell!"

Gordon was not convinced by the answer, but he did not pursue the issue. I don't have time to worry too much about it; she knows what she's doing…

"We've got to call it quits, Gordon," Barney said. "We can't keep broadcasting like this for too long. Civil Protection's been cracking down like you wouldn't believe. I've nearly lost all the trust I've been buildin' up with these guys. But hey, if you ever want to talk again," and Barney said this with renewed emphasis, "procedure's in the manual for you - on the desk right beneath the television, right Eli? Yeah, so, you're a genius, you'll figure the rest out. See ya around."

The television was off, Mossman was gone - it was just Gordon and Eli.

"It's just surreal seeing you again Gordon," Eli said.

Gordon smiled.

And that was all there was to say. Gordon had no words; only feeling, and the crude instruments of facial expression, of language, even of art or poetry - all were too clumsy to convey it. It seemed to Freeman that there was not enough elegance in the human body or mind to handle what he was feeling, to outline the billion, billion nooks of his heart's cliff side. To say something - other than merely utilitarian phrases - he would be recreating the Mandelbrot set on a postcard with a crayon. And what was worst about it was that people would assume he had done a fine job, that he had accurately represented it, that they were indeed viewing the Mandelbrot set, and were entitled to say, "well, that's a very nice little scribble" or "I think I've felt that way before, too"; it would amount to deception, even blasphemy against these emotions that had chosen to nest in his soul. No, he couldn't do that. His tongue would not let him attempt it. And it never really had -

- except with Alyx.

Why Alyx?

Because, somehow, she had seen Mandelbrot's work too. Somehow she kept guessing right what he was drawing - she recognized it, even when he had to do it in crayon on a postcard. And because she recognized it, he knew that she could appreciate the fullness of the feeling for herself. There was no deception involved. He could trust her to understand.

But why did she understand? How?

What was the magic trick?

Mossman came back with a lab coat. It was perfect, because it was a little too big, and Gordon liked his clothes comfortable and baggy.

They asked him if he would like to go to his room - he said no; he had never felt better, and he wanted to learn.

So Gordon learned that Black Mesa East had seven levels.

One: the surface level, where Gordon and Alyx came in.

"That's where we maintain our façade," Eli explained, "and keep constant watch for Combine attacks. It is our first defense. Judith is kind enough to help out up there."

"It's quiet, by necessity," Mossman said. "I can work on my equations." And she gave Eli a very warm smile.

Two: a kind of atrium level, or "moat" for their fortress. "If an attack does happen, we lock that place down tight," Eli said, clenching his fist in demonstration. "But in the meantime, it works for storing scrap metal, and for testing equipment and weaponry. Alyx practically has her own workshop up there!"

"Is that where she is?" But Eli never happened to answer.

Three: cafeteria and recreation. "The base's population cycles through two rationed meals a day. Though you're the man of honor, Gordon, so you can eat whenever you like -"

"No thank you. I'll do the cycles."

"- suit yourself. We do reeducation there too. Heaven knows, our newcomers often need it."

"Breen's done an incredible job with propaganda," Mossman whispered to Gordon. "He changes just the slightest details in the facts, but it's all the details that matter most."

"What are you two whispering about?" Eli called over his shoulder.

Four: food production and storage, "Of, namely, mushrooms and funguses," Mossman said authoritatively, "as well as genetically modified cavern pygmy milk goats, some artificially bred subterranean potatoes and turnips, a small ecosystem of plankton, shrimp and bivalves, all maintained by the Vortigaunts, by the way. Oh, and of course," and Mossman laughed to herself, "a dozen chicken uteri and ovaries that the Vortigaunts have kept animated. They produce eggs for their poor starving humans. They unveiled it to Eli and I as a surprise gift last year, though I think they were confused about the rituals involved in gift-giving. They kept saying 'April Fools' while they demonstrated it, and said Vladimir Lenin brought it to us, because we've been very good this year. They are the strangest beings, ha, ha!"

Eli, oddly nonplussed by Mossman's candor, added, "If you ever want to try any of the above, just go ahead and ask them -"

"I told you I'll do the ration cycles."

"They'll figure out who you are -"

"I know. I'll be fine. Everything is fine now."

Five: power generation, where "The Vortigaunts send a bioelectrical charge through the refurbished generators. It works like a charm!"

Six: laboratories and sleeping quarters, "Where we are right now, obviously. Sleeping is also on rotations, so that we can accommodate everyone -"

"How many?"

"We keep it around one thousand. We congregate the most skilled people here; but we have other posts and quarters throughout Romania."

Seven: waste management. "There's a type of Xen worm that got dropped on Earth during the portal storms, when the Combine first arrived. We think it's some sort of parasite, because it needs its food predigested. Anyway, we figured out that we could cultivate them in subterranean conditions, and just reroute the plumbing to dump everything in their nests. They take care of the rest."

"It was Eli's idea," Mossman said, her voice dripping almost comically with admiration.

Their short term goal: to build a reliable teleporter. Their long term goal: to mass produce reliable teleporters.

"The primary advantage of the Combine," Mossman was explaining to Gordon, as she gave him a more in depth tour of the lab, "does not lie in their technology. Actually, they seem to rely on our technology to a remarkable degree. They did not come with as much supplies as one would think - they've had to salvage things from humanity. And yet they maintain an iron grip on the entire planet. Why?

"Because the first thing they did, when their resources were fresh, was to divide up all the populations and rearrange them. And they continued rearranging them - forcing people to move to a different city every year or so. They control all transportation, and they use it to starve humanity of the infrastructure needed to establish organizations. No one knows each other in the cities; everyone is a stranger, speaking a different language."

"It was Breen's idea," Eli added, with uncharacteristic contempt in his voice. "He engineered Babel."

Mossman moved on. "That means that any large scale, coordinated group effort has been made impossible. Communication is interrupted by virtue of unfamiliarity. It was only when Eli and I…" Mossman paused. "…and Kleiner and others and so forth…it was only when we had managed to escape the cities that any of this became possible." She gestured around herself at the laboratory. "Group action is one of humanity's greatest advantages - we're like ants in that way. But the Combine keep mixing and matching ants to colonies, making such group action impossible - not because there aren't enough humans, but because none of the humans know each other well enough or have enough time with each other to establish the bonds and coordination needed to do anything meaningful. They have alienated everyone from each other."

"And as you saw," Eli added again, "they do not take well to people trying to escape."

"That's why," Mossman resumed, "we need teleporters. It would allow us to take back control of transportation, to move people on our own terms…"

"To reunite families," Eli said. His eyes were shining, and he looked down with sadness.

That's why they halted sex, Gordon thought. Or at least a part of it. It messes with people's ability to connect with each other…it removes the most powerful kinds of bonds humans can make…

He was so deep in thought that he almost didn't notice how Mossman rubbed Eli's arm, almost mechanically, to comfort him.

"But now," Eli said, "we have you. We have Gordon Freeman, the master of teleportation…finally, we might stand a chance in getting this thing working perfectly, and maybe in making more."

Freeman managed to keep his identity concealed from the general populace of Black Mesa East - for about two days.

His exposure happened something like this.

Three workers in the base who shared the same food rotation would often meet for their midday rations at the same table on level three. They were all English speakers, something that drew them together, though it was one of few things they actually shared in common. An American, an Irishwoman, and an Australian; fifty-five, forty, and twenty-three; black, white, and mixed; married with children, widowed without them, single. Their names were Richard, Katerina and Noah.

"So," Noah offered, "have you heard the rumors about the Free Man?"

"Yes," Katerina answered immediately, "because no one will shut up about it."

"Jeez, alright."

"She's just grumpy 'cause she's hungry," Richard explained.

"I'm not talking about the Vortigaunts' prophecies or anything," Noah said, somewhat timidly. "I'm just talking about the rumors. And if you guys knew anything else about it."

"I'm afraid not," Richard concluded. But then he pointed down the table. "He might know something though."

He was pointing at a man, sitting nearby but alone. He had gulped down his mushroom stew like it was chocolate milk, and was now just as wholeheartedly engaged with two or three pieces of scratch paper, on which he appeared to be crafting equations with a pencil. He had a stern Van Dyke beard, somewhat unkempt. His eyes were severely focused, and almost seemed to clash with the thick rims of his glasses. He was dressed in a plaid button-down and patched slacks, typical hand-me-downs that were salvaged for newcomers, but over this was draped, rather conspicuously, a white-grey lab coat that was clearly made for something far thicker than him. There were purple bruises splotching his arms, some swelling around his jaw, and other faded evidences that he had recently been in brutal circumstances.

"You mean the lad cosplaying as the Free Man?" Katerina groaned.

"Cosplaying?" Richard asked.

"Dressed up like a fictional character," Katerina said, noticing how Noah winced at the word 'fictional'. "It was after your generation. And in any case, can I just point out that by now the Free Man would be, like, fifty? Why is he always seen as twenty? And with that same beard and glasses?"

"It's just what the Vortigaunts say he looks like," Noah explained sincerely.

"Hey." Richard signaled for the odd man's attention, much to Katerina's dismay. "Haven't seen you around. You're new, yeah?"

The man looked up, and after a few awkward moments, nodded.

"When did you get in?"

"A few days ago," the man said politely, his voice a little hoarse.

Richard looked him up and down. "You, uh, look a little worse for wear."

The man didn't respond, but maintained a puzzled look on his face, as though Richard was somehow acting strange, and not the other way around.

"You ever heard about the Free Man?" Noah suggested, looking him up and down.

The man didn't change for a few moments. "Yeah."

Katerina stifled a snicker.

"Like, recently?" Richard continued. "I don't know if you heard our conversation - we're just curious about some rumors about him around here. Like, that he's finally come back. Not that I believe them, but some serious damage was done in the region recently, and people keep saying it wasn't Alyx Vance -"

"Who is the Free Man? I'm curious." the man asked.

They all gawked at him for a moment.

"Wait," Katerina objected. "Do you seriously not know you look like him?"

"Like who?"

"Like the Free Man! The beard, the glasses, the hairstyle…"

"A lot of people have beards and glasses, don't they? I'm just curious what you have in your mind."

Katerina started laughing, "I like this guy!"

"What are the rumors?" the odd man persisted, his expression still blank.

"The guy who was there when the alien portal first opened up," Noah answered readily. "Breen opened the portal to let the Combine come through to here. He had made a deal with them to take over the Earth and subject everyone to him! But the Freeman found out and tried to stop him. Freeman was a brilliant PhD in physics, and he had done incredible work with teleportation, he was the next Einstein! And so Breen -"

"Did you just say 'Freeman' instead of 'the Free Man?'" Katerina interjected. "'Freeman' wasn't his name, it's just a title. C'mon."

Noah pressed forward anyway, "- Breen got all these military marines together to stop Freeman from getting to the portal. And they slowed him down, but he and the other scientists fought their way to the portal, and Freeman leaped in after clocking Breen in the face; and after he did the Vortigaunts suddenly started helping us. His knowledge of portals and teleportation and physics helped him, plus his incredible willpower and love of humanity. And now he's working to defeat the Combine from the inside! And the Vortigaunts say he'll come back through the portal someday, to finish the job!"

The young man had grown more and more energetic as he told the story, like someone beginning with a walk, but then realizing that what they really want to do is run and sprint and even frolic.

But the man with the Van Dyke beard simply nodded, slowly. "Interesting," he said. His voice was wavering, as though whole volumes were on the tip of his tongue. But he did not give way: he returned to his math.

"So, like, have you heard anything?" Noah persisted.

The man set down his pencil and rubbed his eyes from beneath his glasses. "No," he said, returning once again to his math.

"What are you working on there," Katerina said sarcastically. Nevertheless, the man perked up at once.

"Do you actually want to know?" he asked.

Katerina was taken aback. "Sure, why not?"

The man, whom we by now know was Gordon Freeman, deliberately took this permission at face value. It was like Katerina had dropped an Alka-Seltzer into a Coke.

"I'm calculating the free energies 'F' for 'U' gauge theories on the 'd' dimensional sphere of radius 'R'; because contrary to Richter's 1999 paper, I've found that the theory of free Maxwell action grants the exact result as a function of 'd'; it contains the term '7\frac{d-4}{2}\mathrm{log}R,' consistent with the lack of conformal invariance in dimensions other than 'XY', right here. So when the 'U' gauge theory is coupled to a sufficient number 'N' of massless four-component fermions, it acquires an interacting conformal phase, which in 'd\lt' describes the long distance behavior of the model (because the conformal phase can be studied using large 'N' methods); but the point is -"

By now the entire cafeteria, from the combined noise of Noah's sermon and Freeman's science, had fastened its attention upon their table. And what did they see and hear? A young man saying "Freeman", "Freeman"; and an older man speaking in equations, a man with glasses and a Van Dyke beard…

"Free Man…" came a voice from behind.

Gordon started, instinctively, at the sound - the wet growl of something distinctly inhuman. He looked around the cafeteria, and finally noticed that everyone's attention was on him. He had been so absorbed in the equations, and in the opportunity to finally talk about his passion again, that he hadn't realized -

A Vortigaunt was approaching from behind.

"Free Man…" it purred from its throat flaps, "He is here…"

Freeman stood stock still, rejecting his instinct to beat the monstrosity's head in.

Then more began appearing, shuffling from the back kitchen. The humans stared at them, then back at Freeman, then back to them - their eyes grew wider, even the Irish lady's. Freeman's heart began beating faster.

Don't panic. Deep breaths, he thought. You'll be fine. You can be fine. You knew this would happen, something like this, anyway. But you can deal with it. You are going to eat rations like everyone else. You are going to be like everyone else…

"The Free Man has come!" declared the first Vortigaunt, for the entire crowd to hear. "Guna gän ig meit…he has returned to us…"

The Vortigaunts began chanting, "Gän ig meit…ig meit…ig meit…"

Gordon's fear turned, momentarily, to bafflement.

"Yes, I'm the Free Man," he said aloud, interrupting them. "Would you all like to hold a press conference?"

Everyone in the cafeteria was beginning to circle around Freeman, like rings of Saturn, buffeting each other to get closer, and asking questions and telling each other to shut up. Gordon felt his entire chest grow tight and fill with lumps, like a vacuum-sealed bag. His breath became short as they got closer and needled him with a thousand points of equally emphatic data. The noise, which was bearable in an environment where brute violence was encouraged, was now intolerable, precisely because he had to restrain his animal reaction: to silence the sources forever. He was on a fence between mass murder and ceasing to function - to balance between them, to struggle on in the grayscale, was excruciating.

This is…I'm not…not doing as well as I thought I would…He did not want to have to deal with it. I'm…I cannot deal with this…I can't think…what's happening…? He was not anticipating such a strong reaction from himself, but he should have known better…Black Mesa had been different - he never had to answer anybody if he didn't want to -But now he had to - he had to -

He clamped his palms over his ears. His eyes squeezed shut until they forced tears out. His head dipped down into his chest, as he curled up, like a hermit crab, on top of the table.

His whole body was clenched so tight, he feared his tendons would snap.

His brain turned to raging static.

"Gordon…?"

"…Gordon…?"

"…Gordon…!"

It was Eli's voice, bellowing out over the confused and hushing crowd.

"Yes, Eli?" he wheezed, with sarcastic cordiality. He did not open his eyes. "I'd like to get off the ride now, please - thank you, goodbye."

Freeman did not insist on taking rations after that, nor did he continue forcing himself to sleep with everyone else, or do anything with anybody else, except Mossman and Eli, when he worked in the lab with them, getting up to speed on their teleportation work. He took personal quarters, provided by Eli, and ate whenever he felt like it, and didn't speak unless he felt like it. It had been a long time since he had been quite this…difficult. University life, and life at Black Mesa especially, had allowed him to conceal his eccentricities.

And, he realized to his horror, running around shooting people had concealed it best of all, because no one was expected to be normal under those circumstances.

An old wound in him was roused up; he remembered the bitter poison he had grown so used to as a child -

That he was an exception.

That he was strange.

That his brain was wired "differently".

That he had to be accommodated.

That he was a burden.

That he was a freak.

What was Kant's old rule? "Do not live by any maxim you cannot will everyone else live by." Justice, fairness, equity. But Freeman's body, his nervous system, continually rebelled against what was rational and fair. It would not allow him to make do with the accommodations provided to everyone else. His nerves demanded that people give him special treatment - that they give him adequate time and space, that they give him his own room to sleep in, that they let him eat alone…He hated it. He hated what he required of others.

And now…now that he had survived Black Mesa…now that his powers had proved themselves in the most absurd of situations…now they were all only too happy to accommodate him.

He found out that the circle of people had been extraordinarily concerned about him, realizing he was in some kind of pain. One of them had already fetched Eli, and several sought to do medical examinations. And then everyone was apologetic, and everyone was saying, "What does he need? I'll get it, I'll give it." And then his personal room was vacated by its seven previous occupants - People were offering to only take one ration a day, to make sure he could eat enough. People volunteered to listen to him ramble about math, even if they had no idea what he was saying. "What does he need? What does the Free Man need?"

He hated it.

When alone in his room, he snarled sarcastically to himself, "Does he need sexual release? He can have my body! No, mine! No mine!"

He put his head in his hands, now disgusted with his own disgust. He knew they meant well. He was being selfish and difficult - He even knew that he ought to accept their genuine care and support. But…something held him back, something stung him whenever they tried…it's all so messed up…why does it have to be so messed up? Don't I appreciate it when Alyx gives me accommodation? Didn't I like her calling me a hero? So what's the deal now? Why can't I deal with these people? Why can't I deal with people at all?

And where is Alyx? Maybe she could try her hand at it. I bet she would know what I needed to hear…

It was five days since he arrived. There was no sign of Alyx.

And Gordon could not help but put together why.

"Dr. Freeman!" Kleiner exclaimed through the television. "I wasn't expecting a call until this afternoon! How are the resolutions looking? Once we have them we can begin the actual hard labor on this teleporter -"

"I'll have the resolutions by this afternoon," Freeman replied. "But I wanted to ask you something, in privacy…while Eli and Mossman aren't here."

Kleiner blinked. "I have a hunch I know what it is," he said, somewhat apprehensively.

So Gordon asked his question point-blank. "Are Eli and Mossman sleeping together?"

Kleiner sighed. "Very likely, yes."

"And is that why Alyx doesn't like being in Black Mesa East?"

"I would reckon that is one of her grievances, yes."

"But you and Alyx told me that sex wasn't a thing anymore, because of the citadel?"

Kleiner replied in his measured, scientific tone, "The sexual drive itself has been shut down, as well as the essential enzymes involved in fertility and reproduction but…I am told that certain aspects of the act are possible, though difficult. The emotional aspect has not been shut down, and this manifests for some, especially those who are or were married, as a building pressure of unconsummatable emotion. Honestly, for Eli, I think it is a metabolic habit. You knew how…close…he and Azian were…"

Gordon had always appreciated Kleiner's candor. It was Kleiner who convinced Gordon to move from Innsbruck to Black Mesa, and Gordon felt that no one else would have convinced him, not even Eli - Eli was, in temperament, more of a man than a scientist, and among their team he was in good company. He loved food, he loved socializing, he loved his wife, he loved kissing and hugging and loving his wife, and raising his daughter. There was a very human love of life in him. Perhaps that was why he enjoyed his time with people like Kleiner or Gordon; he was unconsciously trying to lighten them up. Perhaps the contrast between them gave him that much more purpose in life, and that much more enjoyment in himself as a person.

This was why, as Eli and Mossman grew more comfortable around Gordon, as he became more and more a fly-on-the-wall in their laboratory, working nearly all the waking day - that was why he was not so surprised when he would see Eli kiss Mossman on the cheek, the forehead, the mouth, much to her overly overt delight - or when they would leave the lab together, hand-in-hand, and return an hour or two later in desperate - and thus artificial - good spirits. When Gordon accidentally found Eli's old wedding ring set behind the portrait of Azian and the young Alyx - Eli is lonely. Mossman is lonely. He shows her attention because she's there, and she responds with laughable attempts at sounding happy like him. Fascinating.

"I'm not altogether sure when it began," Kleiner continued. "Not before Black Mesa East, as far as I'm aware…and mind you, I am not replete with details on this…but you have likely noticed that Mossman is not…ahem…very genuine. At least, not in the traditional sense. Actually, she was your primary competitor for the position at Anomalous Materials in Black Mesa, if I understand the facts correctly; she lost due to your Innsbruck experience - though frankly, I think it had more to do with my personal recommendation and lobbying for you…I don't think she's ever really forgiven me for that. But I am disinclined to say that she is at all a "bad" person. She did good work for Black Mesa's General Biochemistry labs, instead of Anomalous Materials. She's similar to you, if I may say so…?"

"You may say so. I understand what you mean."

"Good. She's like you, except rather than not speaking, she speaks all the time, and tries to sound normal. I don't think anyone has had the heart to tell her it's not working. Least of all Eli. Though actually…" and Kleiner hesitated for a moment, "…I think Alyx probably would have told her by now, and that didn't likely go over well."

Day seven.

Gordon was tapping his finger on a large glass jar. Inside the vinegar solution was a large, fleshy lump, like a meat potato, with several tubes stuck haphazardly into it.

"We're still not sure what that does…" Eli admitted to Gordon. "Alyx brings in the strangest things…"

A door opened to the laboratory. "That's probably Judith," Eli said warmly. "Finally back from dinner -"

They both turned to see.

It was Alyx: same clothes, same hair.

She stood in place awkwardly, before finally giving them both a beaming smile. "Sorry it took so long," she said. "Just needed some…time."

"Ah, sweetie," Eli groaned with deep feeling. They met halfway on the laboratory floor, and he gave her a father's embrace and kissed her forehead. "It is always good to have you back. It is always good."

Gordon watched Alyx's face over Eli's shoulder, and she pressed her face into it, eyes shut tight, as if trying to imagine something.

Gordon did not move. He did not want to accidentally spoil anything. But the moment he saw her, his heart leapt into his throat. She's finally back. I bet she knows Mossman isn't here right now, and that's why she came…

Alyx and her father separated, and then Alyx turned to Gordon.

Hi there, Gordon said, though not aloud. Where have you been?

Now she was approaching him.

Wait, what are you-?

She caught Gordon in an embrace too. Her whole front pressed tightly against his, and her arms wrapped beneath his, clasping her own elbows, and pressing her face into his chest. His skin sung from head to toe; his bones rang with the vibrations. His abdomen was a cathedral - the feelings echoed like bells throughout the cold stone walls.

She's very…warm.

He was so taken aback that he did not even think to return the embrace, and Alyx retrieved herself rather awkwardly, frowning.

"Um…sorry?" she said, apprehensive.

"What?" Gordon replied. "Who…I mean…?"

"Well, it goes to show," Eli offered as tactfully as possible, "that there's nothing Gordon can't handle, with the possible exception of you, sweetie."

"Dad, please…"

"Will you be staying with us long?" Eli continued.

"Well, I at least wanted to be here with you two for the hour."

"…you mean us three…?" Eli replied hesitantly.

Alyx frowned again. "I thought Judith was at dinner."

"No, no; she switched rotations. She should be back any minute, sweetie…"

The door opened again.

"Eli!" Mossman called. "I have an idea for improving the Lancer resolution - Oh."

She stopped dead in her tracks upon seeing Alyx, who had yet to look up at Mossman.

"Ahem, um…well, I…um…"

"Would you like to join us, Dr. Mossman?" Alyx said plainly.

"Well, yes. This is where I work, after all," she replied honestly.

A moment of silence.

"I suppose it would be more accurate," Mossman continued innocuously, "to ask whether you would like to join us, Alyx? Ha, ha!" Her punctuating laugh was so poorly timed that Freeman cringed.

The four of them stood around in excruciating silence. Eli looked as though he was about to speak, when Mossman tried her hand again: "I had thought you were on active watch in the countryside!"

"And I had heard," Alyx replied, neutrally, "that you were at lunch."

"Well, I was, but lunch is over now. Ha, ha! Um…" she glanced at Eli, who was struggling for words. "What is your excuse?"

"I wanted to see Gordon. And maybe help with the teleporter. I didn't want to miss too much more action."

"We have the repairs well in hand, but thank you!"

"Well, my apologies, then," Alyx replied, but then, as though upon impulse she added, "It seems to be taking a while."

Mossman's smile somehow grew colder and falser. "Indeed; somebody misjudged the capacity of the Combine phyrister."

"Well, I think maybe -" Eli began, attempting to insert himself as a mediator - but Alyx interrupted, her saber of sarcasm slightly drawn from its sheath:

"Uh huh. You wouldn't be blaming me, would you?"

"No. Not at all," Mossman asserted, chuckling. "It was a miscalculation, not a mechanical problem."

Alyx's eyes were icy.

"Then maybe you should let me do the calculations next time," she said, almost growling, "as well as installing it, since somebody is distracted from doing their job."

The tension was strung like a tripwire.

"Alyx, really," Mossman said with a stereotypically maternal tone. "Sometimes I think you deliberately misunderstand me."

Eli cleared his voice loudly. "Alyx! Why don't you take Gordon…eh, give him some practice with the gravity gun?" His voice was a mixture of cordiality and command. Mother and father, against their daughter...Gordon gave Alyx a long look. Her fists were clenched and white-knuckled, her whole arm strained, her brows knit together, her wide mouth curled in an almost grotesque contempt. And there was Mossman, looking almost triumphant in her calm…

"Sure," Alyx replied, her voice struggling to sound unaffected. "C'mon Gordon. Let's go have some fun."

Mossman, her smile suddenly gone, reasserted herself unexpectedly. "The zero-point energy field manipulator is not a toy, Alyx."

To which Alyx violently hocked a fat loogie on the ground between them.

"Let's get out of here, Gordon," she said, walking to the door Mossman had come through. Gordon followed, not waiting to see Eli or Mossman's faces.

They strode down the hallway towards the secondary elevators. Alyx did not say a word all the way there. They passed several workers on their way, who all stopped and stared at the two of them - the Free Man and Alyx Vance - but thought better than to say anything, as though they already knew the trouble Alyx posed when she looked like this.

Gordon felt almost disembodied, as though he were merely a specter following Alyx Vance around, immune to any harm due to his detachment. He was not sure if this was how he was supposed to feel; he wondered if he was compartmentalizing. In fact, there were similarities to his adrenaline soaked experiences in firefights. He was rigidly attentive, both terrified and fearless, shaking and still, ready to switch strategies at the drop of a pin.

The elevator arrived, with a young man and an almost elderly woman inside.

Alyx gestured her thumb for them to leave.

"But…we're still going up…"

"Beat it," Alyx snarled. They obeyed.

Gordon and Alyx entered the elevator. She pressed for level two.

Silence. The elevator was rising.

Alyx's teeth were grinding viciously together, the veins in her neck beginning to bulge with rage, and her breathing was nearing hyperventilation - Gordon's eyes were wide and on alert, and, to his dull horror, a few possible methods of incapacitating her darted through his mind: (1) knock head against metal wall, (2) bear hug her from behind and suffocate her, (3) threaten with knife in your pocket…But Gordon remained stock still, almost fascinated by the display. He was in a cage with a tigress.

By the time they reached level two, however, Alyx had managed to calm herself. The muscles relaxed, her breathing regulated, she stood up straight again.

"So," she began quietly, as the doors opened. "I see you've met Dr. Mossman."

Gordon did not answer. He simply looked at her, almost like a curious bird.

"She's one of the main reasons I spend so much time outside," Alyx explained.

Gordon nodded.

They began proceeding down the hallway. It was empty.

"You should hear her," Alyx continued, "droning on, about how… it should have been her in the…Black Mesa test chamber that day," and she began grinding her teeth again. Gordon, as he heard the attempt at gossip, felt his heart leap at the accusation. Well, that certainly would be a good way to bother me, he thought. But he remained neutral.

At the end of the hallway was a blue, metal door with a keypad. A yellow lambda symbol was spray-painted on it, along with the letters "RH".

"I'm sorry, Gordon," she said suddenly, holding her head in her hands for a moment. "I shouldn't…be talking behind her back. It just…gets a bit claustrophobic down here."

She began punching in a ten digit code. A buzzer sounded, and the doorknob unlocked. Alyx pushed her way through and Gordon followed. As they entered, a series of lights blinked on, revealing a cold, musty, metal hallway, devoid of any signs of life. At least half of the lights had burnt out, and one or two kept flickering - it cast everything in sallow inky shadows. Alyx, unperturbed, continued on, with Gordon striding to keep up.

They passed by a second hallway to the right, where the lights had not turned on. Gordon paused, looking down it with curiosity.

"That's the old passage to Ravenholm," Alyx explained, her voice somber, as though it were a headstone. After a moment of silence, she drew in breath, and continued on. "We don't go there anymore."

Gordon looked into the darkness, a deep, black throat…

"C'mon," Alyx beckoned softly. So Gordon jogged back towards Alyx.

They were approaching another airlock, much like the one they had first entered into Black Mesa East. But this one did not go through any of the same procedures: Alyx simply punched in another combination, and the second set of doors opened.

Absolute blackness.

Then, with an electric stutter, five industrial floodlights crackled on, illuminating a surprisingly large, cavernous space, a half-carved, half-natural air pocket in the rock. The floodlights were hung across the ceiling in strategic positions to better hold off the dark; but the shadows remained, like swaths of spilled ink on a picture. The exact size of the room was difficult to determine, because stacks of large metal storage crates and towers of metal scaffolding blocked his line of sight. Lining these intermediary metal walls was scrap and junk, sometimes piled neatly, sometimes less so: there were car engines, microwaves, computers, lamps, wood furniture, dissembled guns…Gordon noticed to his left a particularly well organized space with its own smaller lamp to light it. There was an old mattress and blankets, stored underneath one of several tidy work benches and tables. Behind those were actual shelves, which served to organize a museum of trinkets and gadgets and broken things: digital clocks, lightbulbs, things in jars, circuit boards, metal plates, springs, nuts, bolts, washers, nails, dissected power tools, a Combine helmet…actually two, three, four Combine helmets…And a whole shelf dedicated to stacks of pistols and batons.

Trophy shelf.

"So," Alyx said loudly, listening to her own echo, "here we are. The scrapyard. My childhood playroom."

Gordon noticed, hanging from one of the metal scaffolds, a tire swing.

As if by magnetism, Gordon approached it. He tugged at the rope, to see if it were stable. He pushed the tire, and watched how it swung, back and forth, like a pendulum.

Alyx watched him silently, with folded arms.

He turned back to her, and with an uncharacteristic grin, he leaped onto the swing. He kicked himself up in the air, riding a thirty-five degree angle, smacking the tire into a stack of machinery that promptly collapsed in an awful cacophony across the floor - he heard Alyx laughing, and grinned again. He was wildly rocking back and forth, and spinning around like a lost planet. But he clung on to the rope, fighting the centrifugal force, his lab coat flapping comically behind him, until finally he dragged his foot across the ground and came to a stop.

He and Alyx looked at each other.

"I had a tire swing when I was a kid," Gordon explained.

"You don't say?" Alyx laughed back. "That's probably the happiest you've…well, my memory might be off."

Gordon was back to swinging, but at a more relaxed pace. "This was your playroom, you said?"

"Oh," Alyx replied, looking around herself, "basically, I guess. I don't know what else you would call it. Dad gave it to me once we moved to this place; a place I could work on things, get my energy out…He strung that tire swing up for me, though I was hardly a kid anymore by the time we got here." She sighed. "But hey, what about you? You had a tire swing when you were a kid?"

"Sure," Gordon answered. "I'd spend an hour or two on it every day. I'd just go out into the backyard and swing on the tire and think. Sometimes I'd do it at night, too, and that drove my parents crazy. We'd watch a movie, and I'd get so excited from it - all these ideas would just start flying around in my head, and I could hardly keep myself from acting it all out, unless I went and swung for a good hour or two."

Alyx smiled, seating herself down on one of the work benches. "What movies did you guys watch? Did you have a favorite?"

"Ah, we didn't actually own a lot of movies. We mostly caught them on television. But we did own Raiders of the Lost Ark. I loved that one as a kid…except for the gore, funny enough. But I probably watched it so much that I always knew when to turn away."

"What was it about? I haven't ever heard of it."

"Oh, it's about this archeology professor, but he does field work, where he collects really dangerous ancient artifacts. So he's absurdly good as a fighter, and all this other stuff he's really good at. He had this bullwhip that he could snatch guns away with, and I thought that was the coolest thing. It's a funny contrast, this professor being all…well, anyway, he gets word that there's this very precious artifact, and he has to get it before the Nazis do -"

"What were the Nazis? I've heard of them, but only glimpses."

"Ah, they were…well, that's a tough one to explain." Gordon had slowed down on the tire swing, and placed his foot firmly on the ground as he thought. "Basically they were like the Combine, just they were all humans. They were trying to systematically kill entire demographics from their own country's population - particularly the Jews."

"What were the Jews?"

"Oh, well, I would hope that there are still Jews around! Um…they're a religion. I don't actually know that much about them, to be honest. It's hard to know where to start with these things; they're just so…taken for granted, by me."

"That's fair," Alyx said, nodding. But then, "I more-or-less know these things, but they're all just faded history. We've had to set a lot of cultural things completely aside in order to cooperate here, or at all."

Alyx fell silent. The only sound was the buzz of the floodlights.

Gordon coughed, to get her attention. "Something about a 'gravity gun'?"

"Oh yeah," Alyx said, without much enthusiasm. She flipped over the work bench and slipped behind one of the shelves. Gordon heard sounds like a locker being opened. She reemerged carrying a large, dense contraption.

"You can call it the 'Zero-Point Energy Field Manipulator', if you really wantto," she continued sarcastically.

The device was a ten inch glass canister reinforced with dark steel rods, and filled with…something…which was orange and dully glowing. To one pole of the canister was bolted a sort of radial claw: three spindly robotic fingers arranged symmetrically around the circumference. The other pole hosted a large metal handle on the back, and perpendicular to it, a secondary handle. It made faint, irregular noises like neon sparking through a tube.

"It's designed for handling hazardous materials," Alyx said, "but we mainly use it for heavy lifting." She proffered the device to Gordon, smiling slightly. "Give it a try."

Gordon took it in his hands. It was bottom-heavy: the weight was centered in the handles. He pointed it towards the tire swing.

"The primary trigger emits a charge -"

Gordon, accordingly, pulled back on the larger handle - the front blazed up, orange lightning surged silently between the three claw fingers and the front of the canister; the only sound was like rubber streaking on pavement, a flat, low squeal. And to that sound, the tire swing instantly flew over towards the lightning's triangular intersection. It halted, in midair, almost touching the bolts, but not quite.

Gordon flinched slightly in surprise, but held his ground.

Holy crap.

"Zeeber was right?" he exclaimed. "He was right about zero-point energy? That son of a gun - is he here at Black Mesa East? This is incredible! Who made this thing?"

Alyx smiled, almost sheepishly. Gordon, almost to his own surprise, understood the face immediately.

"You made this," he said, admiringly.

"I made about forty percent," she replied. "Though I'll admit it was the most important forty percent. I used some designs Kleiner had saved from Black Mesa, and consulted my Dad about some things…anyway, I built the triggers and the core of the field generator. And I designed most of the targeting computer system. I had to raid a Combine armory just to get the right materials. I was going to build the whole thing, but Mossman got ahold of it for a while and -"

Gordon, noticing the way Alyx's voice grew tense, coughed very loudly deliberately. "If Zeeber was right," he continued, somewhat tactless, "then a reverse-coordinated shutdown of the field would result in five powers momentum gain. I mean, um, it would launch like a bullet."

Alyx sighed and smiled again. "You think I wouldn't exploit that? Try the other trigger -"

He obeyed, pulling it back. The intersection exploded in a burst of light and long, yellow sparks. It sounded like a twenty pound grasshopper buzzing through its chitinous sides. The tire of the tire swing was thrown, with terrifying force, away from Gordon. It ricocheted off of a metal scaffold, almost smashed into a floodlight, and finally embraced the floor with an echoing thud. The thick rope had snapped almost perfectly in half.

Gordon looked back at Alyx, who was grinning.

"Sorry?" he said.

"I can fix it if you really want me to."

"The gun or the tire swing?"

"The tire swing," Alyx replied. "Mossman wanted to get rid of the gravity gun's launch feature, the killjoy."

"You mean the Zero-Point Energizer Quadratic Y-Axis Persuasion Field Modifier Whatever Thing?"

Alyx laughed, sounding like her old self more and more. Gordon smiled too. It's working, he thought happily. Then he offered, "What else can this thing do?"

"Try it on something else," she suggested. "Mess this place up, if you want. Its targeting computer is incredibly fine-tuned; it can distinguish different objects from each other super well. Just point and click."

Gordon aimed at the fallen tire.

The tire leapt back into the gun's field, perfectly obedient. It hung there, in midair, not even turning from inertia - it was pinned in place like a butterfly on display. Yet the rope remained unaffected; it dragged limply on the ground like a tail.

"How do I drop it?"

"Reverse primary trigger."

The tire fell with a dull thud. Gordon aimed at the rope and clicked. With terrifying speed, it slithered up into a tangled ball in the air, and froze in place. The tire dangled beneath like a chicken's waddle. Gordon realized that he did not feel any weight added to the gravity gun - the objects became weightless in the field.

Gordon looked at Alyx. "When you say 'fine-tuned'…"

"The tire will not whip back and kill you, no. The momentum is isolated in the zero-point field."

Gordon stared at her, thunderstruck. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I'm serious! Give it a try!"

He fired. And to his amazement, the ball of rope launched forwards, but instantly was caught by the unmoved tire. The speed of the rope dragged the tire forwards a few yards, while the ball unwound itself, like yarn attached to a brick. It spent all its momentum, and draped itself in a line along the ground.

Gordon was silent.

"What do you think?" Alyx asked, slightly concerned.

"If there weren't a citadel, I would probably be rather aroused right now."

Alyx blinked. "Um…"

"Sorry, bad joke? That was a joke."

"Not one of your best," Alyx said kindly, punching his arm. "But maybe that's just me."

Gordon could feel his face turning red.

Alyx, as if in response, ran over to one of the metal crate walls. Like a cat, she scrambled up the side, and perched on the top.

"Try placing some boxes, to build a staircase," she suggested. "I want to show you something over here."