Author's Note: Black Mesa, Barney, Otis, the Black Ops, everything from Half Life and Opposing Force is owned by Valve. The original characters are all mine however. This was originally published a few month's ago at the Half Life Writer's Block, now the Writers Block Media Group. Check us out at www.wbfanfic.com !
Black Mesa
Blake kept running for a long time. He ran aimlessly, not paying attention to where he was going. He kept running, trying to put as much distance between the massacre and him as he could. He ran for as long as he could, finally collapsing from exhaustion. He crawled over to wall, and sat against it. After he sitting for a moment, he took off his helmet and mask, and ran a hand through his hair.
While he caught his breath, he scanned his surroundings. He was underground, in a corridor. The walls and floor were concrete, sturdily built. It was a roomy hall, about 8 feet across. At one end, it opened up into a large chamber. At the other, was an intersection he had just come from.
As his heart stopped racing and he started thinking clearly, Blake just realized how bad a situation he was in. He was lost and alone, in the middle of an apparently huge government facility. He had killed his own squad, eliminating all of his backup and probably bringing the entire regiment down on his tail. They would have missed their check in by now, the regiment was probably already looking for them. When they didn't find his body, and found that the bullets in their backs came from his gun, he'd be considered a witness. They'd kill him with the scientists.
He wasn't going to let that happen. If they were gonna come after him, they wouldn't get him without a fight. He checked out his equipment. He had dropped his SAW. That was a stupid move. If he was going to survive, he'd need another real weapon. Fast. He still had his Desert Eagle holstered at his belt, along with 2 extra clips. Wasn't much ammunition, but it would get him through a fight. The ancient Colt .45 he kept against regulations was still there, but he only had one clip for it. If he had to pull it out, he probably wouldn't be putting it back. Finally, there was a combat knife strapped to his thigh.
His PCV vest was charged and undamaged, probably the only thing he had going for him. If anything kept him alive in there, it would be the vest. He just hoped it would be enough.
Suddenly, something about the massacre was nagging at the back of his mind. Painful as it was, he replayed it over in his head. Entering the room, the scientist running towards them, the squad opening up, the scientists dying….
The scientist running towards them. What he had said. Creatures. Some kind of creatures that the facilities security team couldn't handle. What kind of research had this place been doing anyway?
Suddenly, he noticed something he'd missed in his original scan of the corridor. There was something lying in the shadows a few meters ahead of him. Grunting, he stood up and walked over. As he approached, he got a better look at it. It was small, maybe a foot long, and a pale beige color. It looked like a cross between a spider and a crab, with a bulbous body and four long, thin legs. It was also lying in a pool of yellowish blood, obviously dead.
Curious, he flipped it over. The thing had eyes and a mouth full of razor sharp teeth on the bottom of it. It also had a bullet wound, the source of the blood and it's death. Looked like the security forces aren't completely useless, he mused.
Suddenly, he heard a click from behind him. The sound of a pistol being cocked.
"Turn around. Slowly." Came a voice from behind him.
Slowly, he turned, keeping his hands above his head.
"That's good, keep 'em where I can see them." Blake could see who the voice was coming from now. It was a woman, about 5'9'', average build. She had light brown hair, worn a little on the short side, and brown eyes. 'Pretty attractive.' Blake thought. More importantly, she was wearing a Black Mesa security uniform and pointing one of the facility's standard-issue Glocks at his head.
Suddenly, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Something behind the guard. A single thought ran through his head. 'I hesitated once, and innocent people died. Never again.' Reacting quickly, he pulled his Desert Eagle out of it's holster, and fired 2 rounds over the guards shoulder. He was rewarded by a screech of agony and the thud of a body hitting the ground.
The security guard looked over her shoulder, her eyes widening when she saw the body. She quickly looked back at Blake, a question in her eyes.
"Why didn't you let it kill me?" She said, the gun wavering.
"I don't kill innocent people. My squad did, but I'm not with them anymore." He said, slowly putting his pistol on the ground.
"Give me one good reason why I should believe you? I've seen security footage of you bastard grunts slaughtering unarmed people." She said, the gun coming back up.
"I killed that thing instead of you. My gun is on the ground at your feet. I'm alone. I'm running through a government facility infested with god knows what without a real weapon. I count 4." Blake said, struggling to keep control of the memories.
The guard paused to consider this. She looked him over, closer this time. She noted that he didn't have anything larger than the pistol on the ground in front of her. She also noticed that he had some blood on his uniform, obviously not his own. The gun relaxed, still pointing at him but now held at waist level, rather than at the ready.
"What happened to your squad?" she said, in a softer voice now, no longer giving orders.
Blake wasn't planning to talk about it, but there was something about her that made him trust her. Somehow it was easy to open up to her. So he told her everything. The orders, the cafeteria, the massacre, opening up on his squad, everything. And his it felt out, he could feel his grip slipping. His voice started to shake, his throat felt tight. He finished just in time. Gradually, he regained his composure.
The guard stood there, listening. Her face softened as he spoke, replaced by an expression of first horror, than sympathy. She could hear the pain in his voice, and see it in his eyes at one of the rare times he made eye contact. He wasn't one of the killers. She could trust him.
"If we're gonna survive this, we're going to have to help each other. The name's Kim Conrad." She said, offering one hand to him while giving his pistol back with the other. He took both.
"Corporal Robert Blake. Call me Blake." He said, holstering his pistol. Suddenly, he felt a lot less alone.