Irrational Numbers
Chilled sweat, scarred nose, reddened eyes, spattered glasses, stained armor, scabbed thigh, shaking hands, aching abdomen, buzzing brain. Gordon Freeman stood in the chapel, crowbar in hand, his gears whirling to process it all.
Ripley point…Wheatley Mungo…the government man…
Something had clicked for a moment: a spark, like a flickering lightbulb. He was trying to turn it on again.
Erich Ripley…Aperture Science…chances of surviving…artificial intelligence…
Brows scrunched together, face intense, eyes like lasers. Gordon was not home at the moment, please leave a message.
This…this is too much…
The ground…
The ground was crumbling beneath him.
This is…no…no, this can't be right…
"Would you care, my dear delicious Ripley Point, to explain who this 'skull-faced G-man' is?"
Ripley, Wheatley, G-man. An intersection in three-dimensions. An intersection Gordon had never thought to see before. He was in non-Euclidian space; three lines he thought parallel were suddenly forming a coordinate point. His flat world was revealed to be a sphere: it was bending beneath his feet, crumpling up…contradictions were falling into place, and whole worlds of exploration were opening before him, whole abysses yawning to swallow him…
"I already know what you're up to," the G-man had said. "It won't work."
This…this is too much…
"Hello? Anybody in there?" the projection was saying. "I don't have all night here, yeah?"
"Leave him alone," Alyx managed, her voice gravely and hoarse.
The projection of Dr. Mungo peered about the chapel. "What's that?"
"I said leave him alone," Alyx repeated, louder. "You saw what we've been through."
Dr. Mungo caught sight of her behind Gordon, slumped in a back pew near Grigori. "Ah: yes, hello there!" he replied, cheerily. "Glad to see someone's still able to speak…who might you be? Do you know anything about this skull-face man?"
"I'm Alyx Vance. And no, I don't."
"…Vance?" Grigori said, eyes widening.
The hologram pressed on. "Ah, well. Technically, you didn't pass the test…got to get through with all your limbs and organs and such. The Mystery Man didn't protect you. But still very impressive that you're alive! Bloody brilliant job! Hardy girl, you are!"
Alyx leaned forward, and snarled like a pit bull. "Are you kidding me?"
Dr. Mungo seemed slightly taken aback. He stepped down from the choir, and positioned himself better to see Alyx. As he moved, the projector reangled itself on a ball-and-socket joint, thrumming quietly. "Ah ha, no, I'm not kidding you. What, you think I designed this place to give you some exercise? This is experimental research, love; it's for isolating a variable. Didn't Eli explain –"
"Nobody has explained anything to us," Alyx growled. She pushed herself to her feet. Her coat slipped off, revealing her arm, an open wound beneath the remaining shreds of her sweatshirt sleeve - a gross, thickly scabbed, dark green stump, glistening with Vortigaunt blood, oozing clear and reddish discharge, that dripped on the floor like juice through a split orange's rind.
Dr. Mungo recoiled. "Ugh," he muttered, pulling a face. "You want to keep that covered up, love -?"
"Who do you think you are?" She was growling like a wolverine. "Dad didn't send us through Ravenholm to give you information! To be your frigging lab rats! You've seen what we were just through, what you've put us through! We're not answering your questions – you're going to answer ours - And what do you mean, 'he sent thirteen people in here already-?!'"
"I meant that he sent thirteen people in here already," Dr. Mungo replied, his voice chilly. "Would you like me to repeat it in Spanish?"
"Explain! Now!" Alyx barked. "You tell us why we're here! And why we're not back at Black Mesa East protecting my idiot of a father! Don't you DARE tell me he's been lying –"
Gordon covered his ears and winced.
"Miss Vance," Father Grigori spoke up, "Has something happened at Black Mesa—?"
Alyx blasted back, guttural like a tiger: "I'M THE ONE ASKING QUESTIONS, AND YOU'RE GONNA TELL ME WHAT ELI SENT US HERE FOR." Her words rang through the chapel.
Gordon had sat down in a pew. His hands were shaking – but Alyx was too angry to notice; she was staring only at the hologram.
Dr. Mungo blinked. Then he smiled awkwardly. "Oh! Oh, oh, sorry, terribly sorry. Completely missed what you said earlier. I had to run back through it really quick. You're Eli's daughter? Really? He wouldn't shut up about you!"
A pause.
"Yeah?" Alyx said weakly, leaning against a pew, exhausted, nauseous-looking.
"Absolutely! Man, he's said only the nicest things about you! He goes on and on…"
"…what does he say," Alyx asked quietly.
"Why, how much he wants to f*** you!"
Silence.
"Oh, excuse me. I meant about how much you want to f–"
"You sick freak," Alyx spat bitterly.
"Guilty as charged," Dr. Mungo replied, venomously. He leaned forward over the first row of pews. "Get over yourself, darling. He hasn't mentioned you once. He talks about Mossman, not you. But I can read you like a book, love; you're not that complicated. I could infer everything about you, from all this data Eli steals for me…"
"Alyx steals the data," Gordon said aloud.
Dr. Mungo grew excited. "Hey! He lives! What was that, mate-?"
KA-BANG.
It was a rifle - the projector was blasted almost completely off its hinges.
Gordon had indeed gone to pull his gun on the A.I. – But somebody else had beat him to the draw. He looked at Alyx, curious. She hadn't tried anything.
They both looked back at Father Grigori. He was holding the smoking rifle.
"This is a disgrace!" the monk bellowed roughly, flushing ruddy, his eyes wide and wild.
"Greg," came Wheatley's voice, "what was that for?"
"This woman is Eli Vance's daughter! And this man is the answer to our prayers!"
"Your prayers."
"Acest lucru ar trebui să fie un moment sacru!" Grigori cried violently. "This is a sacred moment! I expected even the slight…the slightest reverence from even you, Chikov – you said yourself, we have finally found the one! The means of salvation - At long last! At long last…" He looked about to cry, or moan with pain – "și insolența ta…you defile the hand of God that works through you-!"
"Oh for the love of - You're not actually a priest, Greg!"
"Hold your tongue!"
"What're you gonna do, you lunatic? Kill me? You finally gonna do it?"
"I want you to show respect for these brave souls," Grigori growled. "They have not been briefed. Something has happened at Black Mesa East, yes? Eli would never send someone without briefing unless he had no choice -"
"Hey, brave souls," Wheatley interrupted, his tone supercilious. "Do be so good and lovely to tell me about this skull-man person. Pretty please with a cherry."
"Okay," Gordon said suddenly.
Everyone turned to look at him. He had stood to his full height.
"Don't tell him anything, Gordon," Alyx replied. She had sat down in the pew, exhausted, voice slightly trembling. "You don't have to tell anybody anything. Ever."
"I ap-p-preciate that Alyx, but I know what's g-going on here."
His voice was quivering. And his hands, momentarily still when drawing his gun, had returned to uncontrollable shivering. A terrible strain had worked its way up his arms; tension seized up the muscles in his chest and stomach. His fists clamped shut against his will – he couldn't open them, his body wouldn't listen…he sank back into his chair -
I know why Eli sent us here. I know why he sent thirteen people in before. I know what they're trying to find. I know what my significance is. I know what the G-man is. I know what the Combine wants. None of them understand but now I think I do…
Oh god help me…I'm the end of the world…
"Gordon?" Alyx cried. "Gordon, talk to me…"
"I'm…not doing…too good…" Gordon couldn't quite get the words out – his mind was moving too quickly for his mouth to catch up -Alyx, protective, stumbled across the aisle to Gordon, slumping down next to him. With her remaining arm, she clasped his hands, and tried to feel what was wrong through the H.E.V. gloves.
"It's just nerves," Gordon said. "Body's…not…it's just not…not cooperative…"
"This is poison. This is the poison –"
"It's not the p-p-poison, Alyx…p-panic, it's just stupid p-panic…I…I didn't…haven't told you…"
"Shh…shh…" Alyx was trying to massage his hand with thumb and fingers, but she barely had any strength to.
"So, what's happening?" Dr. Mungo asked. "My interface is gone – I can't see anything. Is he dying? Were these guys duds? Is he just crazy?"
"Silence!" Grigori shouted.
"Yes, I am c-crazy," Gordon spoke up. His voice droned in an unsettling way. "Oh yes, I'm c-crazy, c-completely insane. But I'm the m-man you w-want. I have the information you n-need, Dr. Mungo. The information Eli n-needs – Ha, ha…but you are not going to like it. So hear this!" he suddenly declared. His volume tripled, and his voice stopped wavering. He stood up again. "I have a secret. I've had it with me since Xen. And the very fact you want to know it, that you even now there is a secret at all – that tells me so much more…this knowledge has become such a burden for me…
"Here is my warning to you all: if you want to know what happened to me on Xen, and everything it means…well, then, I have no idea what will happen to you. You might die, you might be taken away to another universe, maybe nothing will happen. I can make no promises. It is your risk to take. I will speak it to whomever is willing to hear. I don't care anymore. You're willing to put us through that just to find someone a god talked to? Then I guess you've earned it. He'll do whatever he's going to do anyway…"
Grigori and Alyx did not move. Wheatley was silent. There was an awful gravity to his words, and foreboding.
Not a sound.
"Alright then," Gordon said, blankly, coldly. "I'm going to tell you why I'm pretty sure I'm the end of the world."
"Let's do this in order.
"First, what is this experiment you guys have made? It is a test for Ripley points. What is a Ripley point? Well, that takes a little bit of explanation.
"Erich Ripley: Swiss-American physicist from the sixties. Committed suicide at age thirty-two. Well respected during his lifetime, but controversial afterwards, because he left behind a big stack of unpublished papers that detailed some crazy ideas. I read through them at M.I.T.
"Crazy idea number one: life, in the abstract, is a force of nature, the same as gravity and electromagnetism. Specifically, it is a force that influences the probability fields of quantum particles. It is like a magnet to iron shavings; quantum probabilities arrange themselves in accord with the nature of the life-energy-field. Life causes matter to order itself in certain ways under certain circumstances – namely, to produces living beings.
"That's crazy idea number two: just as gravity grows stronger as it clumps more material together, so does life grow stronger as it organizes more material. The effect of gravity is attraction. The effect of life – is conscious intelligence. From germ to worm to ape to man…things grow more intelligent, more aware, more capable, both in body and brain. Evolution is just as much the cause as the effect of intelligence – it is a positive feedback loop – exponential growth. It is just like a nebula: the more matter it accumulates, the denser it grows, and the denser it grows, the more it accumulates. Until, finally, you get heat and light, and burning. Just so with consciousness – it is the shining star of the life force.
"But now comes crazy idea number three: consciousness is no more sustainable than a star. Eventually, it collapses in on itself. Its own laws consume it. See, for Ripley, consciousness is not an individual phenomenon, but is something that manifests planet-wide. It arises from living things interacting with each other and evolving together and colliding with each other like atoms and molecules. The degree of consciousness that manifests in me is the product of all of earth's evolution, and is interdependent with it. It is this planet-wide consciousness that is not sustainable. Eventually the planet's material being used to express consciousness cannot keep up with the intensity of the accumulated life force. The old bottles cannot contain the wine. What happens then?
"Normally, Ripley says, there is just an increase in insanity and discontent in the life forms, and they begin taking it out on each other, and on themselves. They kill themselves in droves, or wipe themselves out, or knock themselves back to the stone age and start over. That is the supernova – how a star normally dies.
"But, sometimes, something different happens. Sometimes a black hole is formed.
"If the life force is intense enough, then it becomes more and more likely that one of the bearers of its light, consciousness, will do something radically different from homicide or suicide. They will choose to consume their planet, and all of its life and consciousness. Ripley did not explain exactly what this means. He called it 'consumption,' or sometimes 'cosmic cannibalism.' It seems to be a transcendent act, much like a black hole – the life force has become so strong, so heavy, that its implosion creates something irredeemable and physics-breaking. The transcending being claims all the planet's materials and consciousness for its own individual use. And, in order to continue growing, to continue its increase of life force, it will search and consume as many other planets as it can.
"Ripley laid out the calculations necessary to determine whether someone is a potential candidate for this transcendence; such a candidate is called a 'Ripley point,' the seed of the black hole of life. The candidate is expressed, in Ripley's equations, as an irrational number – something produced by rational numbers and yet incommensurable with them. He also claimed that, the easiest way for a transcended Ripley point, or 'Bright Hole,' to consume another planet, is to cause a Ripley point on that planet to transcend, just like it, and to then feed on the planet's materials through the new 'Bright Hole.' It's a cosmic pyramid scheme, eating its way through all the planets in all the universes – felling them through the hubris of just one inhabitant. One bad apple ruins the whole batch…They are a coalition of god-farmers.
"During the Resonance Cascade Incident, I saw a lot of paperwork I wasn't supposed to see. I saw that Eli and Breen had done the calculations for a couple people in the Anomalous Materials lab…including myself.
"Get the idea?
"It didn't look like Eli was taking it seriously – he kept scribbling jokes in the margins. So, either he's had a change of heart, or he doesn't realize this all has to do with Ripley points. I suspect the latter – I think he feels Ripley's theories are beneath him. I can't blame him – the math was sloppy and absurd…you have to change a few things and look at it from a different angle…But you, Dr. Mungo, have deduced the connection for yourself, because you have data from the Combine and a good deal of processing power. And I bet Breen believes in Ripley's work and you managed to access some notes he's made since his self-promotion. Then, you manipulated Eli into agreeing to this obstacle course in Ravenholm, without telling him the full story. I bet you told him, 'Gordon Freeman is a symbol, not a reality. We're looking for someone with Gordon Freeman's qualities to fit the Vortigaunt's visions. That person will turn the tide for us.' Something along those lines.
"No, no, shut up. Don't interrupt me. You'll ruin my train of thought. There's more I need to go through. For instance, you, Dr. Mungo. I know what you are. First of all, you are a failed attempt by Aperture Science to solve this problem. I saw the files: Black Mesa stole so many inventions from Aperture Science…and one of them was a consciousness transcription machine. It's a method for transferring consciousness into a non-organic medium – the idea is to extract someone from the planetary field of consciousness without disrupting it…that way, one won't go insane with the rest of the world. It's a bit like generating a fake gravity field with centrifugal force – like, with a spinning space station. But the size and speed of such a station, not to mention the maintenance, becomes impractical. And the power output, complexity, and maintenance required to generate a fake life field, with only computers and machinery, is nearly impossible. Most of the burden still lies on the original central nervous system – as it does with you, Dr. Mungo. You're a brain in a jar, augmented with a supercomputer. And you are not the only one Aperture made.
"Who were you, Dr. Mungo? Someone well known – but not well liked. Sorry, it's the truth. After that madman Cave Johnson died, there was a huge legal battle for the company. His personal assistant – probably his lover – I can't remember her name…but she went missing about a year in. And you, Dr. Wheatley Mungo, managed to take control. You likely blackmailed the other major shareholders into backing down. Then you went on air, and looked utterly pathetic compared to Johnson. You, a lanky, awkward, tweed, self-important British man running an American company – you got up on live television and declared you weren't a moron. A whole T-shirt industry was founded on exploiting that statement…your caricature became a cultural icon. Then you tried to hold a fair to show off Aperture's new patents, including some new kind of A.I. – and something awful happened, and you got swept under the rug along with it.
"So, that's your story. I wouldn't be surprised if you threw Johnson's lover into a computer to get rid of her, and to see if the method works – kill two birds with one stone. And then her sympathizers threw you into a computer after some of their kids got killed at that fair – but let's not dwell on that. Eventually Eli found you – I'm not sure how. I don't think it really matters at this point. He found you, and knows only you have the necessary processing power to decode the Combine's data encryptions. Why? Because the Combine are cyborgs – they are the same thing as you. And the complexity of their data can only be handled by an organic processor with superhuman capacity.
"That's right - the Combine is using the more-or-less the same solution as Aperture, but on a grand scale. It is successful, but horrifying. Assuming I'm right, of course. But it isn't terribly difficult to figure out. If they are an intergalactic force, they must have a huge life force field. They should have attracted the god-farmers by now. Meaning they have a successful strategy for fending them off. That strategy is to combine. But while Aperture tried to extract individuals out of the life field – but the Combine shoves people further in. They cement the bonds. They destroy individuality to the point that no god-farmer, no Bright Hole, can penetrate it. Stop having children – because new genes are unpredictable, and mean new combinations of consciousness that might be irrational. Make the species immortal, make them unchanging, make them…unconscious. Make them something inhuman, at any rate. So that's Breen's plan.
"And what are they running from? Well, as you have demonstrated, everyone should be running from me. I'm a Ripley point. And I have already met with a representative of the god-farmers.
"When I was on Xen…how long was I there? I don't know. I couldn't tell – they don't have days like we do…the things…the things I could tell you…I've seen things…I faced the beast…it is called Nihilanth. It told me…I think I spent weeks trapped in a pocket dimension it sent me to. I had to eat…well, I killed the beast. And I wandered for another week, maybe. Or maybe a month. I was sure everyone was dead behind me. I was sure…and I was left to wander and die in hell…
"That is when he came to me. The government men. Who's government? I didn't know then, but I think I know now – the government of god-farmers. He offered me a deal…to enter his employ…in exchange…for immortality…and the ability to be alone…
"I didn't understand what I was doing…I didn't understand I was a Ripley point…I hadn't yet worked out that there is no way, when the Resonance Cascade first started, that I could have survived a quadruple teleportation from Xen and back – I should have been silly-strung across the universe - but I wasn't. And the only way I could have survived is if the sample that caused the Cascade was custom cut for me. For my Ripley point number, my irrational number – in that case, it is actually more remarkable that I only teleported four times…I figured that one out at Black Mesa East, and only realized its full significance now…
"But I didn't understand it then. I only understood that I either die or join with this alien…and I joined. I'm in his employ. I don't know everything that means. He's probably listening right now. Maybe he'll come right now and take me away, and forcibly transcend me and consume the planet for himself. I don't know if he can do that. Maybe I'm the only thing between him and what he wants…maybe he's trying to groom me for transcendence. I dunno. Maybe he'll kill all of you. I guess we all had it coming. Ha, ha…
"…
"I'm…I'm s-sorry. I'm s-s-so s-s-sorry…my g-g-god, I'm so s-sorry…"
Gordon slumped into the pew and wept.
The G-man didn't come.
Everyone remained silent, except Gordon, who shivered and shook. Alyx leaned against him but did not say anything – she was in shock. Either because she believed him, or because she thought he had completely lost his mind – Gordon could not tell. A part of him hoped for the latter.
A few sparks flew from Dr. Mungo's projector.
"Chikov?" Grigori called.
No answer.
"He did not like what you said about him, I think," Grigori explained soberly.
"How t-t-tragic," Gordon replied, with biting sarcasm and a dripping nose.
Father Grigori approached.
Alyx hissed at him, "What do you want?"
"To help," he replied. "Come: you must rest. You both need medical attention. That is how I should have begun, but I was blinded by excitement…I will show you where the supplies are, and let you rest…
"J-just b-bring the s-s-supplies in here –" Gordon began to say.
"No. I need to repair Chikov. And consult with him. It would seem he has been keeping secrets from Eli and I. Hmm…Erich Ripley…Eli never did mention him, so I suspect you are right." Grigori looked upwards at nothing. "Hmm. I haven't felt this lost since…never mind. Come, please," Grigori repeated. "You will need more strength; for, there is more I believe Chikov will need to tell you."
More sparks flew from Wheatley's chamber – but the rest was silence.
The abominable feast was still underway in the courtyard.
A row of zombies had left the gruesome proceedings, in order to rail against the chain-link fence, grasping and prying at it with their long, rickety fingers. Grigori unceremoniously shot one down with his rifle, and the rest stumbled away, wailing and gnashing their jaws.
Alyx and Gordon were, somehow, helping each other to walk. Gordon could no longer unclench his fists. His forearms were numb with strain, and he struggled to slow his breathing. Meanwhile, Alyx was struggling slightly to find her balance, now that she had lost fourteen pounds on one side, and hardly had the strength to walk anyway. So they put their arms around each other, and tried to hold each other up. Grigori did his best to assist them, but his stench made them feel even sicker, and Alyx hissed him away.
He led them across the churchyard to a wooden shed. It was built near a mossy boulder of granite jutting from the ground, one of many that grew into a cliff face further down the hill. Gordon saw that the bulk of the town was built on only one side of the hill, trailing from the church like a scarf. The other sides remained dark, muddy, rock-strewn moors. The chain-link fence was the hill's crown, encircling the church, its diadem.
The wooden shed was at least as recent as the fence; but still, it was old and ugly and warping. It had a single wood door set in its front, and no windows. With some effort, Grigori forced the door open. It moaned on aching hinges. Inside was pitch – until Grigori pulled a string, and switched on a single naked bulb in the ceiling. Now they saw: it was a heavy-duty workshop. Every tool imaginable was hung on the walls. Buzz saws, hammers, screwdrivers, chainsaws, drills, wiring…all well dusted and ordered better than anything else in all of Ravenholm. There were several work tables crowded inside for tinkering and building. On one of these was a large crate of white and red coded medical supplies.
"Welcome, brother and sister," Grigori said, proudly. He gently traced his hand across a clean tabletop. Gordon noticed a dissembled camera on one of the tables. Grigori picked up one of its pieces. He mused, "The work of a man who once had too much time on his hands, and now finds time for nothing…but the work of salvation."
There was odd sorrow in his voice, as he gazed about the room.
"I have worked with Chikov for two years now. Just the two of us. Like a married couple, ha! He is…well -." A pause. "It is all sanitized, I assure you," he added suddenly, knocking his grimy fist on a tabletop. "For all that is worth, coming from me, heh, heh…"
"Water?" Alyx asked.
"Bottled. In the crate. We can eat in the church, as soon as I have repaired my impious friend. Then he shall show you what he has distilled from the data." Grigori wiped his brow, nervously.
Alyx and Gordon remained silent.
Grigori watched their faces. "What happened to Black Mesa East? Our communication with them is very limited, to protect us."
"We don't know what happened," Alyx said shortly. "Sorry. How do you know Eli?"
Grigori hesitated, but interestingly, did not pursue the matter further. He merely answered her question. "We met in Ravenholm – this is my home, heh. And he sent me here to hide, with Chikov. To maintain him, and keep him a secret…and then, later, to build a testing course for him…hmm…"
"What happened to the other thirteen?"
Grigori narrowed his eyes. After a few moments he sighed, almost in defeat. "Chikov was being malicious with you. Only two of the thirteen actually died. It was the last two. The rest I rescued from the test, before too great a harm befell them. But the last two…were my sin, my fault…Eli did not send anyone else through after that. For five months…until Chikov saw you two coming down the tunnels." Grigori smiled. "I knew you would be something special, if you had changed Eli's mind. It is no surprise to me that you are his daughter."
Alyx's face was stony. "Thanks."
Grigori called to Gordon. "You have revealed much, brother. It is…difficult even for me to bear. I can only imagine how it is for you –"
"Go away," Alyx said sharply.
"You need assistance," Grigori said, looking at Alyx's lack of arm.
"Go!"
Grigori bowed slightly, and excused himself. "As you wish, sister. And take heart brother –" he bowed to Gordon. "The world has not ended yet! Heh…We shall speak over supper!" He was stepping back outside. "I will check on you both in –"
Alyx roughly shut the door in his face.
She stood for a moment longer in silence.
Then she turned to Gordon.
He was busy: with shaking fists, he had dumped the crate of supplies out on one of the tables, and was sorting through them feverishly. He said over his shoulder, "Does Vortigaunt b-blood serve as a d-d-disinfectant?"
Alyx had left her jacket in the chapel. Now she only had the gray sweatshirt with its destroyed sleeve. She had a quarter of a bicep left of her arm; it was a slimy stump attached to a shoulder. She glanced down at it; it twitched slightly, and some green fluid pattered on the floor. She spoke absently, as if in a dream. "Yes. But we…should bandage it. And some alcohol wouldn't hurt."
"To d-drink or to pour?"
Alyx blinked. "Why would I drink it?"
Gordon blinked. "What?"
She reached over to the stump, and touched it. She winced and gritted her teeth – then the shoulder twitched, and she almost yelled in pain.
"Alyx?"
"Is there any anesthetic in that crate?" she croaked.
"I don't know. All the labels are in Romanian."
"Never mind." She began, with her remaining arm, to pull up at her sweatshirt, trying to get it off. It tugged wrong at the stump and she jerked in pain, almost knocking into a row of wrenches on the wall. Gordon, his hands suddenly still again, grabbed her by the waist and other shoulder to steady her.
"Hold on," he said. He began, remarkably quickly, to strip the H.E.V. suit from his body, laying each piece on a nearby work table. Underneath he was still wearing the old plaid button-down from Black Mesa East, and the fraying gray pants. Everything was warm and damp from his sweat. His hands were hardly shaking now, and were quickly returning to normal.
He carefully pulled her sweatshirt over her head, without brushing the amputation. Underneath was a black, threadbare tank top. The straps were ragged on her shoulders; the loops hung low and did not hide the gray cloth bandaging wrapped loosely around her breasts like fraying boxer's tape. Her muscles were dense stones pressing up against her coffee skin: deltoid, trapezoid, bicep, triceps – They were dangerous muscles, powerful. That was her remaining arm. As for her missing arm, it was destroyed a few inches from the shoulder – the skin was split all around with slimy lacerations, like the shattered shell of a pipe bomb.
"Alcohol?" Alyx asked again, holding out her hand. Gordon handed her a bottle of rubbing alcohol. She unscrewed the lid and, without flinching, dumped it out onto her wound. As the harsh fluid gushed and burbled out, her neck went unbearably taut, her teeth gnashed, and half a scream fled from her lungs – but she did not drop the bottle, draining half of it out, all over the stump. Her hand shaking, she tossed the bottle to the side, where it shattered on the floor and spilled the liquor everywhere. She collapsed against Gordon's chest.
"That seemed unnecessarily brutal," Gordon noted with gentle sarcasm.
"I live…on the edge…" Alyx replied hoarsely.
Gordon, to better hold her weight, slid down to the floor, back against a table – her back was to his chest; his shoulder became her headrest. The light was harsh: yellow and black shadow. The room was cool and musty. Gordon reached up behind them, and grabbed, first, several rolls of cloth bandaging, and then two bottled waters - careful not to brush her amputation. He unscrewed one for her and offered it. She drank gratefully. He followed with his own, as she pressed the bridge of her nose against his neck and closed her eyes.
So far, they had said nothing to each other about his revelations in the church. They sat in their closeness and rested for a few moments.
"I can't decide if you smell nice or bad," Alyx murmured, sounding slightly nauseous.
Gordon thought she smelled pretty nice, and he liked the feel of her hair on his face.
"You lost an arm," he said simply, as if he couldn't believe it.
"I can get prosthetics."
"How good are they?"
"I'll compensate with my other arm. But you've lost…"
"My mind?"
"I wasn't going to say that."
"You were thinking it."
"I haven't decided, yet. It's a lot to take in. I don't know if I could believe it all at once even if I wanted to."
Silence.
Gordon decided she didn't want to talk about it.
Instead, he held up the bandage roll near her eyes. "How should we do this?"
He felt her hand, cold from the night air, take ahold of his sweaty, warm palm. She squeezed it and Gordon lost his train of thought for a moment.
"Just wrap it," she said.
Gordon hesitated. "Anesthetics -?"
"I don't want any more mystery fluids in my arm."
Gordon nodded soberly.
Alyx pressed her face further into his neck. "You got this."
It took ten minutes – ten very, very long minutes.
At one point, Alyx screamed, leaving Gordon's ears ringing for a minute or two. The rest was her shaking in his arms, and him having to restrain her reflexes. It was not easy to do. When it was over, and everything was securely mummified up to her shoulder and armpit, she continued to groan for several minutes as the pain plateaued to a dull, manageable throb, and then an irritable buzz. She did not leave Gordon's arms – he cradled her limp body, and occasionally, experimentally, without full consciousness, kissed the crown of her head, wondering if she could even feel it through her hair. She made no reaction to it, anyway.
He sat silently…silently…
Silently reliving Black Mesa.
For that was the only time he had heard so much pain – so many people riddled with bullets, or shocked by electricity, or that soldier impaled on a – no, not thinking about that. Not thinking about that ever. Think about Dr. Morgan, at least. It was Dr. Morgan, right? Dr. Morgan from the Advanced Thermodynamics laboratory in West A. She got her face bitten into by a pouncing headcrab. She bled out through the eyes –
Gordon shut his own eyes tight and kissed Alyx's head again.
Another thought tried to intrude on him: Your kisses are kisses of death.
No – he thought angrily. Think about anything else, anything else…
Think about Alyx. Stay in the here and now.
…
It's strange. I don't fully understand the Citadel…it isn't like I feel any aversion to kissing her head. But then again, I don't think there's any sexual hunger here. Is it more…platonic?
He observed a deep internal fact was, he felt…so hollow. He was noticing it like he never had before: like something was missing in his chest. It had been slowly blooming in him since the first kiss only six or seven or however many hours ago. Something wonderful and painful –
And now, Alyx, just by being in his arms, breathing deeply into his neck – it was displacing something in him, like opposite magnet poles rejecting each other. It made him tired. Like he was running – but he wasn't running –
The citadel, looming…
Her collarbones were smooth, like polished marble, and the flow of her pectorals down into the rise of the breasts calmed him, calmed him - like a Debussy crescendo – her skin was the music – a low choir, quiet desire, rising motion in his chest – to hold, to kiss, to taste – Black Mesa, it faded away – he felt calmer, more hopeful, more free. To kiss her, to caress her, to make her feel wonderful…how beautiful it would be -
It was gone.
Gone like a candle lit in the rain.
…
Alyx was looking up at him.
"You feel it, don't you?" she said gently.
Gordon did not answer. He didn't know how.
"It's okay, it's okay," she said. She smiled at him with her wide mouth. "I think I felt it when I kissed you." She paused, in thought. "We all feel it once in a while – but I guess it happened more regularly before the citadel?"
Gordon asked, bluntly, "We're talking about sex drive, right?"
Alyx chuckled. "Yeah, that's right."
"Well, I guess so," Gordon murmured. "But I was always ignoring it."
"Why?"
"It distracted me. From my work. I…I don't know…I didn't like it. It'd want me to do things I…wasn't ever going to do."
"Like what?"
Alyx was looking him straight in the eyes – she looked like a child hearing a bedtime story, a child hearing a myth she desperately wanted to believe was true: a tale of heroism and romance and things too good for the world she knew.
A candle in the rain…
"I…" Gordon murmured, "I dunno."
"I'm sorry, sorry," Alyx said, looking down suddenly – embarrassed by her own disappointment. "Sorry, we all just…" A pause. "Everyone wants to feel it. Everyone misses it – especially us younger ones, who don't understand it. We miss something we never even had. And I've heard crazy stories about what people would do to get the feeling back, or to make it stay. That's mostly died down now…it's become so rare. Some people have completely forgotten it. I think…eventually it will just go away forever. The citadel will finally have put it out."
A dark silence.
"I never quite…I didn't examine it before," Gordon murmured, his brow furrowed. "I guess I took it for granted. This is the most…dramatic I've felt it. Since I got here, I mean. I didn't fully realize how much…I guess, how big of a space it took up in me, until now, when I went to reach for it but it wasn't there. Or, it got pulled just out of reach." He was looking into the distance. "Or that's the theory anyway. I don't…it's very important to me. But it was never for me. I didn't want it. Others should have it, but not me. It's dangerous, I'm afraid of it."
Quiet.
"I'm afraid of it too," Alyx said.
Gordon was surprised. "Yeah?"
Alyx nodded, no longer looking at him. "I'm afraid it would make me act like my Dad."
…
"Alyx, you're hurting my arm."
"—shoot, sorry."
"That's alright. Glad your grip is still good."
…
"Thanks for bandaging my arm, by the way," Alyx offered.
"No problem-o, sen-your-ita."
"…I don't recognize that language."
"It's very bad Spanish."
Alyx snorted and started laughing. Gordon smiled.
"Where did the Spanish come from?" she was saying. "That was the worst Spanish I ever heard!"
Her laughter bumped her wrapped arm and she suddenly choked. She chuckled a little more but settled down.
…
"Alyx…" Gordon started to say. A lump was forming in his throat and was making it difficult to talk. She looked up at him expectantly.
"How are you feeling?"
She drew in breath. "Tired. You?"
"Tired."
…
"We'll figure this thing out, yeah?" she said. "You said you weren't going anywhere. And neither am I. So, yeah. We're going to fix this. Fix all of this."
Gordon nodded into her hair. "Thanks."
…
In the silence, his mind drifted back towards the awful realization – it sloshed back in like cold ocean water through a breached hull. Gordon allowed himself to think that terrible thought, his awful epiphany: You are a Ripley point. You are the end. Your kisses are death. Every good feeling you've had is in vain. And it's your fault – you caused all of this. Your deal with the devil has doomed them all…
"…Gordon?"
Only I will live…of all humanity…only I…My God, my God: what have I done…? Mom, Dad, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…I didn't know…how could I have known…?
"Gordon!"
His hands were shaking uncontrollably again – they were squeezing frighteningly tight – his fingernails dug painfully into his palms, and he couldn't stop it. He couldn't relax…panic, sheer panic…
"Gordon…Gordon, please -?"
"It's okay…it's okay, Alyx…I'm just scared…"
"What can I do?"
"It's okay…it will pass…"
From a wild impulse, she tried to kiss him full on the bottom lip. But, not aiming quite right, she cracked her nose against his. She yelped and retreated, smarting. Gordon, extraordinarily confused, and in slightly more pain, managed, with a quaking voice, "Alyx w-w-what – umph –" He was interrupted by another kiss - she had angled herself better and gone for it again, full on the lip –
Gordon tensed, then relaxed…time sped up, then slowed down, way down…
Her hand reached up and held him near the ear.
It felt…so very wonderful…the candle flickered again…
…but…
Suddenly he was emptied out. The pleasure was gone – now it was just someone sucking slightly on his lip and making it wet with spit – gross – No…no, not gross, there's more to it than this…
What does it matter? What does it matter in the eons to come for me…
Shut up!
NO!
She peeled herself away, and looked at him, biting her lip. Gordon gazed back at her blankly – too much was wheeling through his brain – Not even a smile? Smile, Gordon, smile…
It was clear her kiss had worked no great magic. His arms were still shaking, sweat was beading on his brow - She swore, then apologized, then swore again.
"It's alright, Alyx, it's okay…" It's not okay. This is very not okay. "Thank you – I'm just…still pretty broken…"
Alyx replied with a look of deep sorrow.
"I'm so sorry," she said. "I don't know why a kiss would help; I was being selfish – Look, here…let's try this…"
She gently, if somewhat clumsily, rolled up his sleeves, one after the other. Gordon's muscles were straining – she could see the tendons pressing against the skin. His arms were hairy – it was dark and coarse. In general, his body's proportions were broad enough to complement his height; despite his unobtrusiveness, he was a mongoose compared with his fellow lab rats. Even more, perhaps: he was a bear. It was no wonder to her (admittedly biased mind) that, if he chose, he could impose himself on an entire military…But for now, he was wounded - a dangerous, wounded animal in her care.
"Breathe," she encouraged him, remembering her training as a counselor. "Just breathe."
He began breathing in-and-out, in-and-out. She began massaging his forearm muscles between palm and thumb. At this gentle, rhythmic touch, Gordon noticeably relaxed. His breathing slowed, the shaking calmed, his fingers started to uncurl. So, she carefully reached her hand up to his face, and traced around his jaw, cheeks, temples…her cold fingers made everything tingly and drowsy.
"The doctors at Black Mesa East would do this," she explained, "to check for tumors…well, it's relaxing, is the point."
Gordon did not answer her. His eyes were closed, and his breathing sounded like purring. Alyx noticed his fists had unclenched all the way.
Without opening his eyes, he reached his hands up to her face, and tried to mimic her movements. His fingers were only just starting to cool in the winter air – they were hot against her cheekbones. She shivered and shook her face a bit.
"Sorry –" he said.
"No, no, it's alright."
"Like this?" he simply said, placing his fingers along her jaw and tracing his thumbs across her lips. She closed her eyes. It had been so long…no one ever…touched her like this anymore…But she reached up with her hand and took his right wrist, gently pulling it away.
Gordon's eyes remained closed, and he spoke quietly. His voice was gravely and baritone – almost bass. It flowed like the lazy stretches of a river – Alyx shivered up her spine – "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for everything."
They both felt hollow – emptied out. Candles in rain, and yet…
"Is it too soon," Alyx murmured, "to say I love you?"
…and yet they were pushing through…
"I think," Gordon replied, "that it's a worthwhile experiment."
…they were both starting to feel nauseous but they didn't care this was the closest Gordon had been to someone not just a woman anyone anyone at all and it was so wonderful and frightening and rejuvenating and yet wave after wave of reluctance set in like he were trying to swim to her on a beach in a riptide - there she was, on the shore, and behind him, in the ocean, the citadel, dragging him away…but he was going to keep swimming…he would rather die than give in, my god my god is this what it is really all about? Is this what I was willing to give away? Is this what I've been running from? Why do I have it so easily now? Never mind, never mind – she's here, we're here –
Their lips met halfway – his bristly beard against her smooth skin.
She wrapped her arm around his neck and pressed up against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her, careful of her wound. And they kissed and kissed and sank onto the floor together –
There was a knock at the door.
Gordon's eyes opened. His glasses were slightly skewed. He started to turn but Alyx gently pushed his face closer to hers, and kissed his nose –
The knock came more harshly.
Alyx became somewhat more aggressive in response – Gordon felt her start to rub along his chest and stomach, and chase his tongue in his mouth –
"Hello?" came Grigori's voice. "I know you are in there –"
Alyx broke away from Gordon and suddenly barked, hoarsely, "WHAT?!"
A pause. "I am checking on you," came Father Grigori's voice, gruff but apologetic. "…Are you well?"
"We're doing just fine," Alyx snapped back. "Go away!"
A pause.
"I can procure a mattress," Grigori began, "but in general, I prefer you not try to make love in my workshop –"
"WE'RE NOT MAKING LOVE –-!" Alyx shouted, but then added, "Ah jeez, sorry Gordon –" He was clutching at his ears and wincing a bit; yet he was also, for once, smiling. Grinning, in fact, but trying to hold it back.
Grigori said, "I apologize but, you see, I have surveillance in my workshop and –"
Alyx's face had shown hardly any flush while making out with Gordon – the hormones were simply not cooperating. But now she went bright red.
"—I am sorry but…" Grigori was continuing. "Would not a mattress be more –"
Gordon burst out laughing.
Alyx began to protest; but she had never really seen him laugh this hard before. And it really was rather funny. It all was kind of funny –
Suddenly he leaned over and pecked her on each cheek.
"Let's try it again sometime," he said smiling. "But I think we have some work to do." Then, aloud to Grigori, "We'll meet you in there in just a minute, okay?"
"…bine. Bun," he replied. They could hear him pad away from the door.
Gordon and Alyx continued to lie on the floor. Neither particularly wanted to get up.
"What are you feeling?" Gordon asked.
Alyx breathed deeply, and smiled at him. His heart leapt a little. "Happy. And also like I'm going to throw up," she added.
"Yeah…same," Gordon agreed. His nausea was getting worse…almost like a retroactive punishment for their experiment. But it was purely physical nausea – emotionally, he was smolderingly warm and comfortable…and the two feelings sometimes got mixed up and he suddenly felt a little lost but then he would look at Alyx's face, and see she seemed just as lost as him, so maybe they could just be lost together.
"It probably wouldn't be very sexy to vomit in each other's faces right now, huh?" Gordon said. Alyx laughed loudly. "No, no it wouldn't. Not into that sort of thing –"
CRAKANG.
Both Gordon and Alyx jerked up. It was the sound of cracking metal – as loud as a gunshot…it came from outside…from the church…?
The pair dragged themselves to their feet, Gordon helping Alyx, and bracing himself against the table. He was already reassembling the H.E.V. suit around him. Alyx had her pistol in hand.
"You think he just got mad at the hologram man? Dr. Mungo?" Alyx suggested.
Gordon stopped assembling. "That makes sense, actually."
KABANG. Grigori's rifle.
KABANG. KABANG.
"Never mind –" Gordon said, strapping the bottom layer of the chest plate over his shirt. On the dime, he was in war mode.
Alyx tried to crack open the front door, but it was too stiff. So she waited for Gordon.
"Ready?"
He nodded silently to her. He was suited up.
Alyx kicked open the door. It staggered on its hinges as it swung 180 degrees.
There were zombies at the fence again, trying to force their bony arms through the tiny holes. They were agitated, yet also quiet: no yells or moans, just gurgling and murmuring – the silence was more unsettling than the usual noise.
The church door was shut – but light flooded through the cracks, and burned in the small, stained glass windows, throwing painted shadows onto the lawn.
Alyx and Gordon stood on either side of the door.
"Father Grigori?" Alyx called out.
No answer.
Gordon slowly pulled one of the doors outwards.
"Father Grigori?" Alyx called again. "Dr. Mungo?"
No answer.
Alyx and Gordon peered around the door, into the chapel.
Father Grigori was sprawled on the aisle floor, covered in blood.
His chest was very slowly heaving, up and down. He had wounds to the crown of his head, his left cheek, and blood all over his clothes and collar. His wide eyes bulged, and stared blankly at the ceiling, as though all his concentration were consumed with the effort of breathing. His bloody rifle was just out of his reach, down the aisle towards Gordon and Alyx, as though it had flown from his hands when he'd tumbled backwards from a blow.
What delivered that blow was in the choir.
Dr. Mungo's computer chamber - the bulbous, cable-tangled metallic tank attached to the ceiling, where his brain and spine were supposedly stored – it had a crack in its front. And something was squeezing its way out, like a boneless octopus, blood-purple and quivering, four feet of horror dangling from the breach. A long, black, ropey tentacle drooped the rest of the way to the floor, where it twitched and undulated like a deep-sea jellyfish.
Gordon's mind raced – What in the…what …what is this – think of options - Viodrive? Is this Viodrive? I don't know hardly anything about Viodrive…
The mostly repaired projector swung in its socket, and Dr. Mungo's image flickered into the room.
"Ah! Hello!" he said with exaggerated cheer. "Did you know that Viodrive radiation can cause super-cancer? I didn't know that, until I read it in the Combine data stores you people gave me. You have no idea what Breen's been up to in that Citadel! I just have to manipulate my violve valves, get some uneven exposure on my spine and brain, and voila! You can grow yourself a tentacle! And more than that, if you do it right. A lot more…man alive!" Wheatley was pacing up and down the choir, grasping at the air with his hands.
Gordon stood dumbfounded. Alyx moved to Grigori's body, checking his wounds. Gordon, after a moment or two of watching the pacing Wheatley, stepped around Grigori's body. He heard the old Romanian croak, "He…is ang-gry…with you…"
"Dr. Mungo," Gordon called out, his voice dry, calculating - "You alright?"
Dr. Wheatley Mungo turned and looked at him – his image flickered for a moment, and his face almost seemed to change slightly in between.
"Am I…alright?" Dr. Mungo repeated, unbelieving. "Ha, ha…ah ha ha ha…ah HA HAHAHAAHAHAHHA!" The image doubled over, clutching at his virtual chest, his laughter nearly maniacal – it was not full and croaking like Grigori's, but strained, twanging, unhealthy… "Am I alright? Haha…"
The tentacle suddenly animated, and lashed out towards Gordon.
It was longer than it appeared – or perhaps it had stretched itself – It reached within three feet of Gordon's face, where he was standing in the fifth row of pews. The thin tip flung mucus across the chapel – CRACK! – the supersonic of a whip; it broke the air open – Gordon stumbled back, nearly tripping over himself in surprise – his hand reached for the gravity gun -
The hologram glitched – the face distorted horribly, the body stretching and shrinking randomly within the field of the projector – And then suddenly it was normal, though straining with hot fury.
"AM I ALRIGHT!?" Wheatley screamed. "Do you have ANY idea what you've told me? Do you have ANY idea? I didn't think the whole bloody planet was doomed! I thought this was between you and the skull-face – he around anywhere? He going to pop out and kill me? Ha! Fun thoughts. But that's not the half of it, no, no – because I REMEMBER…! Oh, I remember…and then, oh ho, then…do you know what this lunatic Greg tried to do? He went to wipe my memory! HOW MANY TIMES, GREG? HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU WIPED MY MEMORY?!"
"As…many…times as…we had to…" Grigori managed, his voice now strong enough to be heard over the blustering servers. "You are too…unstable…prone to…scheme…"
"HA!" Wheatley spat, barring his teeth. "You could wipe my memory but you couldn't find this beauty in my chamber?" And he waved the tentacle limply.
"I would have killed you the first time," Grigori wheezed. "But Eli said…we need you…And there was no way to stop your…growth experiments, without…damaging your brain…We could only slow you down…"
"Killed me? KILLED me? Oh, ho, ho, ho-!" The tentacle lashed out again, but towards the side - CRACK! – against one of the stained-glass windows, and it ruptured, shattered, fell apart with a terrible crash.
"No…!" Grigori shouted, in pain. "Oh why…?"
"YOU F—bzzzt—NG F—bzzzrtn- Keep me ignorant, yeah, keep me locked up in a box, only working on what you need me working on at a given time…while the whole bloody planet could die at any moment – GOD, I CAN REMEMBER – SHUT UP! SHU-bzzrtrkjdi—UP! I AM NOT A MORON!" The hologram was staring up at the ceiling, stretching his arms out in self-crucifixion… "Dr. Rory Wheatley Mungo…I'm a doctor…I earned that degree…I earned it…one way, or another…not a drop of sympathy for what I've sacrificed, for what I've done to help this world…the ingrates…that rutting metal ball, it didn't sound like me at all! I don't care what they said…using it to keep Caroline in check – god, I hate them ALL! Then they threw me in this prison cell, the MURDERERS – What did any of THEM sacrifice?! Nothing. Zero, zilch. I BORE THE BURDENS – AND THIS IS HOW THEY – THIS IS HOW YOU ALL THANK ME?! Well I've got news for you all! Oh yeah – I'm not sticking around for thiszzzzt-! No sir!"
"Dr. Mungo," Gordon called out, his voice calm but his heart drumming, "what exactly is your plan, here?"
"In about ten minutes you'll find out," Wheatley answered immediately. "It's a rush job, but y'know, when someone's about to wipe your memory for the – ah, I see, 74 times! – well, you got to defend yourself. You can only take so much abuse. Heaven – I'm a genius! You wiped me 74 times and I still managed to piece together a plan of action…Granted, your revelations have forced me to make some modifications but I think I can manage –"
"We cannot allow him to escape!" Grigori shouted. "Without him we will never win…we will never set the world right again-! He has everything – he is the only thing that can handle the data –"
"I'm afraid ol' Jesus freak is right, mates," Wheatley said. "The citadel info is too complex to process without me – they're half machines, and so am I. You could go try to find Caroline — if you can find Aperture! Good luck with it, my blessings! But I'm not sticking around here in Ravenholm - I'm DONE. I've got my own plans - Sayonara! That's it for me-!"
"UNPLUG THE RED CABLE BEHIND HIM!" Grigori hollered out.
Gordon brought out the gravity gun – and at the same time, the tentacle leapt forwards, extended even longer now, just long enough to – CRACK! – across Gordon's armored chest – it knocked him flat on his back.
KABANG KABANG
Alyx had picked up Grigori's rifle, and using a pew, tried to stabilize it – but her shots both swung too wide, grazing the projector, and hitting a server, shooting sparks – Wheatley let out a scream and glitched insanely – the tentacle suddenly drooped like a wet noodle, smashing one of the pews. But in another few seconds he returned – and the tentacle straightened again - "DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU JUST RUINED?!" Wheatly screamed. "THAT SERVER MANAGED ALL MY –"
"PLEASE!" Grigori wheezed. "You must not damage him-!"
Gordon, glasses askew, aimed the gravity gun at the projector –
It worked.
The projector slammed on its socket, jerked over to face Gordon. It threatened to snap its metal bonds to reach him. The hologram went crazy, suddenly splaying out in bizarre webs around the gun's zero point energy field, as though the projection were occurring on the surface of an invisible jellyfish.
"What-? What is going on-? Everything's crazy-!"
The tentacle extended further – Gordon tried to shove himself away on his back – and Alyx was barely managing to reload the rifle. She saw the tentacle reach for Gordon, and pulled out her handgun instead – BANG BANG –
She was not used to firing so quickly with one arm - One bullet shattered another window, and the other sunk deep into the purple bloody flesh with no effect.
The tentacle slapped the gravity gun from Gordon's hand - then snaked quickly around Gordon's neck.
"Ah!" Wheatley exclaimed. "There you are -!"
The tentacle ripped Gordon from the ground, hanging him in the air – Gordon gasped for breath as the tentacle constricted his throat – he grasped at the slimy surface, his mind racing on lowering oxygen – a solution, there must be a solution –
"I'm sorry, truly I am –" Wheatley was saying. "But I can't have you taking this ONE victory from me – just for once I'M GOING TO WIN –!"
A blood-curdling war scream erupted – from Alyx's throat. She ran forwards, her Bouie knife in her one hand, and leapt onto Wheatley's projector.
The hologram, now out of the gravity gun's grasp, stared up at her in disbelief. "What the bloody hell are you doing, love?"
Still screaming, Alyx, with her one arm, muscles bursting against her skin, swung herself up onto a lower hanging cable – and from there, onto a ledge of Wheatley's brain chamber – and from there, towards the tentacle's base –
"Hey – get away from that!"
The tentacle tried to slam into her, but she met it knife-first – it gouged into the slimy abomination; and, with a single thrust, Alyx carved a foot gash across its hide. Purple and blue and red sprayed out – Wheatley screamed in pain, and the projection vanished for a few seconds before reappearing, on fetal position on the floor, swearing a blue streak up to Alyx.
But it was too late – the blow caused the tentacle to loosen, just enough for Gordon, his vision blurring, to force his head down through the slime and out – he dropped five feet to the floor. Slathered with purple slime – Gordon wiped it from his beard – it stuck to his hands like thinned molasses…
He leapt for the gravity gun. The tentacle tried to lash out for him again, but Alyx, letting out another primal scream, jumped face first onto the tentacle and buried the knife into it again, dragging it longways down its back – it reeled, trying to reach her –
Gordon ran through Wheatley's hologram, towards the server wall. He looked for a red cable…red cable…red cable – there! There, up above -!
"NO!" Wheatley roared.
The tentacle reached Alyx's head. It wrapped around her like a twitching boa constrictor. Her nose was barely poking out, barely able to breathe as the snake held her there – she had lost the knife – it was buried somewhere along the worm's body –
"HEY! GORDON!" Wheatley shouted, his hologram standing up. "I GOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND! YOU PULL THAT TRIGGER AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS!"
The snake squeezed a little, and Alyx's body flailed desperately, clawing at the suffocating snake –
For Gordon, the world went quiet and still.
He thought.
What is Wheatley? He's a Viodrive Interface. That's why Eli uses him. He combines human intuition with superhuman memory and processing power…something like that. Viodrive radiation makes the connection possible – but originally it was meant to catalyze the transition of consciousness…so this growth is what happens when consciousness won't go any further, when the organic material rejects the Viodrive radiation. I wish I actually knew what Viodrive radiation even is, instead of just some stolen reports from Aperture…never mind. Focus Gordon. What's important, is that it is the borderline…a buildup of frenzied cells that can't pass through…Why bother growing it? He wants to escape, perhaps?
He's growing more in that chamber. And whatever else is in there…that's his surprise for us. It's what he's been working on. And what will allow him to escape.
He's growing some kind of body, isn't he?
Gordon noticed…the slime was hardening – and as it did, it shrunk like ice, tugging at Gordon's skin.
Fascinating.
Gordon lowered the gravity gun.
"That's right," Wheatley snarled. He did not let go of Alyx. "Now, put the gun down, on the ground."
Gordon hesitated.
"I said put it down."
A moment…two…
"I will crush her skull -!"
Gordon set the gravity gun carefully on the floor.
"That's right. Good. Bloody brilliant. Now, eh, run along, yeah? Over in that corner. You're going to watch a great show…"
Gordon stepped away from the gravity gun.
Wheatley was gazing up into the light of his own projector, looking vaguely mystic.
"My creation," he said. "I'm not going crazy with the rest of you – ha – I'm doing what Cave Johnson and his cronies couldn't…"
Gordon pulled the drying slime from his hands and fingers, before it stretched his skin too much. He smiled as he watched how much it pinched at him.
He smiled because he had slathered the trigger of the gravity gun the stuff, and set it down to point at one of the servers along the wall.
"Just a few minutes more," Wheatley said to no one in particular.
"Too bad," Gordon said, "because my science project takes two more seconds."
"What-?"
With that electric tire-shriek, the gravity gun turned on. The orange-yellow lightning sparked between its pincers – and the server scraped off the ground, ripping a dozen power cords out of its surrounding servers, and bringing the whole stack down with it – Wheatley didn't even have time to scream – he glitched out completely and the tentacle drooped again, dropping Alyx into slimy heap on the floor, gasping for breath like a fish. Gordon leapt off the choir and into the aisle, as the thousand pounds of metal and silicon thundered down behind him.
Looking over his shoulder, Gordon saw that many servers were still connected to each other, but everything was a flood of wires and cables, and two or more years of dust had been disturbed, clouding the air.
He could hear Grigori mourning in Romanian.
Alyx had already stumbled to her feet, and made her way to Gordon.
"You brought the whole thing down -" she began, incredulous. But before he could answer her, Wheatley flickered on again.
He was facing the servers. "No – NO NO NO NO NO…" he was moaning. "You've ruined it – why me? Why me?!" He clawed vainly at the equipment, his hands passing through it like a ghost. "I can salvage this, I can…I just need more time – no, stop! Program, stop! How do I shut it off?! It's not shutting off – you've glitched it, you murderers! Everything's messed up in here – no! I don't want to transfer! It isn't ready! Don't do it! How do I shut it-ARGH!" Wheatley clutched at his head, and suddenly flickered out again.
A bolt of blue lightning flashed from above his brain chamber. Thunder roared, making Gordon almost cower for a moment. The tentacle rose up with the lightning, its cast shadow careening across the chapel – it was like a corpse possessed by electricity.
In the hundredth of a second it was over, and the tentacle came crashing down again.
Silence.
And then it split open.
With a sickening sound, a slit opened up from its base, like a tent flap. Something was emerging from this cocoon.
Something humanoid.
It flopped on the floor in a quivering heap. It was purplish and dark and…and…
Like a tongue, it raised up its head. It looked like a fetus, with black dotted eyes, a head too big for its body, cartilage instead of bone – but the size of a grown man.
It opened its mouth, gasped for air, and then collapsed again on the floor. It smacked its enlarged head, and it burst open like a fattened tick. The abomination was still.
Gordon and Alyx were speechless.
"I think," Gordon said, "he tried to make himself a new body."
Alyx murmured something in what he thought was Japanese.
Then she turned and scrambled back to Grigori. He had stopped moving.
When he was sure she wasn't looking, Gordon allowed himself to vomit onto a pew.
He quivered –
He looked at the giant fetus he had indirectly killed.
"Mom…Dad…I'm so sorry…I'm so sorry…"
From outside…moooaaaaahhhhhhh…
Alyx was swaddling Grigori's head in her sweatshirt.
"No…" Grigori said. "It is…all lost…"
"No it's not," Alyx replied. "It's not…Are there any terminals or…how did you use to wipe his memory?"
"There…is a console…"
Gordon was distracted. He had to distract himself.
He retrieved the gravity gun from the wreckage, peeling the slime off the trigger and shutting it off. Then he stepped carefully towards the smashed window, and peered out into the moonlit yard –
The fence, which had refused to yield in any way to the zombies' advances, was suddenly malleable – and it was quickly being torn and bent into larger and larger holes for the monsters to crawl through –
"We have c-c-company!" he stammered to Alyx.
She had left Grigori's side, and was feverishly navigating some form of Linux on a modem wedged into a cabinet on the wall.
"Give me…I need a few minutes here…he must have it somewhere…"
"It is no use –" Grigori cried. "Totul este pierdut, pentru acel diavol…!"
Gordon turned back to the window. Mooooaaahhhhhhh…
The fence tech…I remember, from Black Mesa. The moldable metal, it's programmed and locked down in a particular shape by a computer. We damaged the computer, so the fence…isn't locked down.
Zombies were swarming the gate, seemingly realizing what was happening. Some had already pulled through, and were lumbering into the courtyard. And then, from the city streets, the runners were approaching – Gordon ran back towards the monk, picking up the rifle Alyx had dropped earlier -
"Free man…!" Grigori called to him.
"A little busy here!" Gordon replied.
The old monk seized him by the wrist. Gordon almost socked him.
"I have told Alyx," Grigori began, "what to find. If she succeeds – God be praised – then you must, Free Man, you must go to the tabernacle of Lu'Thez, off the coast – it is across the great bridge…twenty miles from the lighthouse – there is a path you may follow…"
"What are you talking about-?!"
Grigori took Gordon's wrist with his other hand.
Gordon felt a sharp sting.
He threw Grigori into the pew, smacking his head again – maybe even cracking it. The old monk still laughed…
Gordon felt…strange.
He looked at his wrist…a droplet of blood…Grigori had stuck him with something…
Gordon thought he heard the old monk say, "I was saving it for dinner…I am sorry…but things are greater than you…please, Free Man, you must save us…the Vortessence has seen you – God has called you—"
"Get away from me!" Gordon shouted. He stumbled backwards and crashed onto the ground.
The world was spinning, Gordon was afraid he might fall off of it –
The ceiling of the chapel had opened up – Gordon stared downwards into an abyss of stars – the waters of gravity became agitated, it began to roil and roll…he heard the deep guttural groans of Vortigaunts in the near distance – chanting –
There was a clap of thunder and a shock of bright blue. Alyx screamed, from somewhere -
"Alyx?!" Gordon cried out. "Alyx-!?"
Moooaaahhhhhh—RRRRWWWAAA-!
Gordon saw a lighthouse beneath him –
- he fell towards it –
The noises grew muffled, as if he were in water.
Something huge was coiling around him.
He thought he saw a pale worm, lightyears across, circling him like a galaxy – wide, black, alien eyes – the colors –
- oh, there, the lighthouse…on a bleached, crab-grass cliff, overlooking a long, desolate seashore leading to a lake – there were ships stranded a mile from the water – a whole oil tanker too –
Then he saw a camp in the sand, he saw every rock – cliffsides –
He saw a great compound on a beach – on a beach cliff – a prison –
Now he saw the citadel looming…
The worm was moving in the way – very quickly – its head leered down on a thin neck, it stared with its alien eyes – Gordon saw himself reflected in them – Gordon was wearing a curt, black suit and tie -
"….fffffrrrreeeeemmmaaaaaannnnn…"
Gordon saw the citadel – he saw the great corridors lined with metal sarcophagi – he saw a room with booming lights – a room with a body suspended in its center –
"…ffffrreeeeemmmmaaaaannnnn…"
"What is…the meaning of this –"
"Give me…I need a few minutes here…he must have it somewhere…"
"It is no use –" Grigori cried. "Totul este pierdut, pentru acel diavol…!"
Gordon turned back to the window. Mooooaaahhhhhhh…
The fence tech…I remember, -
Wait.
What?
Gordon was standing, the taste of vomit in his mouth, watching the zombies pull their way through, exactly like they had before.
Alyx was typing, just like before…everything, just like a few minutes before.
He heard the G-man.
"How…? What happened…Hmm…this cannot stand…ah, we must press forward a little…his trajectory is strong for a few more…minutes ahead…"
Everything around Gordon sped up.
He felt like a man in a planetarium, watching the world spin around him in a warping globe. The zombies scurried to the chapel, burst through the windows. Alyx was shaking Grigori, as if trying to wake him up, then ran to the servers, searched through them for something – And Gordon was there too – he was firing Grigori's rifle at the invaders – his face straining with cold determination – his glasses – flickered on his face…
They were outside, running, Gordon followed them, as if he were watching a movie. They had left Grigori behind – he was dead, presumably. Gordon shot a zombie chasing them – they ran through a back gate…Gordon couldn't tell, everything was moving too fast. Now they were in a cemetery – they were running somewhere – the hordes were rushing from the surrounding – ah, those were trees, it was surprisingly hard to tell, everything was going so fast – Oh, there he was, firing at something –
KABOOM!
Firelight, orange and yellow, and black silhouettes of debris –
Gordon was lying face first in the cemetery grass, next to Alyx. Time had resumed its normal pace. He was back in his body.
They both looked up, and saw a nearby shack had exploded, and the chasing zombies were disoriented by the light and noise and odor of burning –
"Let's go!" Alyx shouted. She was carrying something in her one arm – it was some kind of long silicone circuit board. "Grigori said the mines were past the graveyard!"
Gordon didn't say anything. He was frozen in place.
"Gordon, now really is not the time to zone out -!"
He leapt to his feet.
He ran after Alyx into the night.
He thought he could still hear Father Grigori's voice laughing in the distance -.
Hello there, everybody!
Hope you enjoyed this latest installment! Took me a while, but it's also a longer chapter. I had a really hard time getting the exposition together...this chapter went through a lot of different drafts. Whew...but I keep chugging along!
My favorite part was writing Alyx and Gordon's more intimate scene. Side note, in case anyone's worried (or in anticipation) I don't do sex scenes. So yeah. This isn't supposed to be titillating, but to develop the characters and touch on some of the more mature themes that inevitably crop up when there's a giant alien obelisk sucking all the lovin' out of the air. Also because it gives me the warm fuzzies. Not the obelisk - I mean Gordon and Alyx being themselves.
Anyhoo, hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think! You're all wonderful people! Thanks!