(Sorry it took so long for chapter 3 to be completed, but I took a break from writing during Easter. Since most of your reviews were compliments, I'm going to take this time to answer Syntheticsoul's review.

First of all, THANK YOU. I've been waiting for a long time to get a good review which goes to show how sucky my story is (they just won't believe it in school) and how to improve my writing. Now, I realize I made a boo-boo when I had them fly in an Apache, but I already said before I wanted to depict the shortage of ospreys they have (If you play Half-Life Decay, in the 4th mission, you can see that when the military arrives, there is not one single osprey among them). And I didn't technically steal the opening from Opposing Force, since I haven't ever played the mods. As for Dylan and his brother, well, I've added a bit more insight in their relationship into this chapter, so I hope it suits you. Though I think it's a matter of which you like more: story-oriented or character oriented stories. But still, I hope this solves some of my problems.

Well, anyway, I hope you enjoy chapter 3. I'm sorry it's so long, but I hope you don't mind.)

Chapter 3: On A Rail, Marine Style

Dylan groaned and shook as he laid on the ground. He was yet again living that horrid night, the night his brother had been killed.

His brother had chased him worriedly into a closet, telling Dylan to hide there. He then closed the door, but Dylan quickly opened the door slightly so he could watch what was going to happen.

"Henderson!" a voice boomed and the door was kicked open. A man in his early fifties stepped in with a switchblade. "You double-crosser! That wasn't cocaine, that was sugar powder!"

Dylan's brother stepped backwards. "Rob, I tried to tell you, I was out of cocaine, the latest shipment had been-"

"Shut up Henderson! I need my drugs!" Rob screamed and lunged at Dylan's brother. The two struggled for a brief moment, but then Dylan watched in horror as his brother fell back. Blood gushed out of his chest, and his face shortly turned pale. Rob turned away and started walking out.

"I'LL KILL YOU, YOU BASTARD!!!" Dylan screamed snapping out of his dream and firing his pistol. He breathed heavily and realized it was just a dream. Just a dream, he repeated in his thoughts, just a dream.

Anger changed into panic as he realized where he was. Everything was dark and he could only slightly move. He turned his head around and saw light leaking from the holes that he had fired when waking from his dream. It all came to him. Dylan remembered the osprey, the tentacle, the ground splitting under him, and the darkness. He realized he was buried under the cement and sand that had caved in on top of them.

"Help! HELP!" he screamed under the rubble. Would he be trapped for eternity in here? Would this be his grave?

"Dylan? Oh my god! Dylan's alive, sir, Dylan's alive!" a familiar voice came from somewhere. The sand and rubble on top of Dylan started to move, and a huge slab of rock was pried over him. Dylan looked up to see Greshwald and some of the marines.

"So it was you who fired those bullets a second ago," Greshwald laughed. "Jesus, we thought you were killed in the collapse!"

"Nah, I was just buried alive," Dylan grinned climbing out of the rubble and wiping the dust from his sleeve. "So, what's the situation?"

"We've lost a heck-load of men," another marine came forward, "and we're stuck INSIDE Black Mesa."

"Inside?!" Dylan exclaimed. "Our job wasn't ever to go in here!" he had been briefed of the compound before they had left for it. He had listened worried as lieutenant Manners had described the multileveled corridors, office complexes, research labs, and sewage pipes. Dylan had never been scared of tight places, but to be in a maze under tons of rock and sand... he couldn't imagine what a claustrophobic would feel like in the alien- infested research facility.

"That's why we're looking for a way out," the marine said. "We checked out where this corridor leads. We're stuck in the rail system."

Dylan remembered that description. The area was a mass of pathways of rails, winding around like a labyrinth in some points. "Wasn't a team sent here some time?" he asked.

"Rail Team," Greshwald said, "one of the largest teams we got. We were about to head off along the rails to find Rail Team, when Manners decided we should check if there were any survivors in the rubble."

"Where is Manners right now?" Dylan asked. He noticed the lieutenant wasn't among the few marines here.

"He went with two others to scout the nearby area while we digged for survivors. We're supposed to go meet up with him once we're done checking things out here."

"Well, we might as well go then," Dylan sighed. "I don't think anyone else survived being buried under that rock." The small corridor behind them was now sealed of by a pile of asphalt, rock and sand. "I survived cause that sand softened the blow of that huge rock slab, but it doesn't look like others were as lucky."

So the small group of marines started to head down the corridor. Dylan noticed that there were only six of them in all, and that meant that the tentacles had picked out a load of their men. They continued down the path, meeting no resistance. Just when they thought they were out of danger, the heard a strange noise and turned to see a green flash. Out of thin air, an alien slave appeared, and immediately started loading it's shock attack. The marines started firing at it, and did kill it soon, but another of the noise came, and they turned to see six more slaves appear.

"Oh come on!" Dylan thought at the sudden amount of enemies. This was ridiculous: their enemies were spawning out of thin air! Since he had left his M4 with grenade launcher outside, Dylan took a normal grenade from his belt and pulled the pin. He threw the grenade among the slaves, who fired their electrical attacks. The marines ducked, but some were too slow and were severely electrocuted. And worse still, the grenade didn't explode when it struck the slave, but bounced harmlessly to the side and then detonated. With a twist of fate, however, the explosion burst open a gas pipe, which lit on fire, spewing fiery death all over the slaves. They all doubled in pain and burned away into blackened piles of burned flesh. The smell of smoldering meat made the marines sick, and they slowly rose.

"What the Hell was that?" a marine asked. "They just came outta nowhere!"

"This is gotta be one big joke," another one muttered partly to himself. "How can we win if they keep coming from thin air?"

"Oh, please," Dylan shook his head, "they can't keep coming forever. It's a matter of being able to keep fighting long enough."

The marines, now moderately wounded, started to continue down the path. They walked around the open gas pipe, and continued with little resistance. The path had a few headcrabs, but the marines easily dispatched them. After a short walk, they came to a large corridor. Two of their marines were sitting here. A rail lined with caution lines travelled along the hallway and behind a corner. Distant gunfire was continuously heard.

"Hey, you made it," one of the two marines said. "Manners is coming soon, he's over behind that corner. We found a lone rail car here. If we squeeze in tight into it, we can all travel on the thing."

Happy that they found friendly personnel, the marines sat down on the side, wary of the rail track going in the middle. The thing was electrified when used, and delivered a nasty shock when stepped on.

They didn't have to wait long when they heard a humming sound and Manners came from behind one of the corners at high speed on a rail car. He stopped by the marines and motioned them to come.

"Hurry up fellas, we got company!" he called, and a pack of aliens they haven't met before came from behind the corner. These ones were a lot like headcrabs, small in size and a bit the same shape, but they were obviously built for running. The yellow things dashed at them, and Dylan saw a massive amount of eyes in their faces. In fact, they didn't have faces; their heads were completely dominated by hundreds if not thousands of eyes. The things emitted chirping noises, and while they seemed harmless, the marines quickly climbed on and started driving away.

"Good to see you're alive, Henderson," Manners said, "we need all the men we can get. We're probably not going to be much of use for Dam Team anymore with our small amount of men, but orders are orders." Dylan only partly listened, as he balanced on the side of the rail car. Even though the soldiers held their backpacks above their heads, they were still tightly crammed on the car, and Dylan had to concentrate not to tip off the vehicle.

"Heh, we're gaining distance from 'em," Greshwald laughed as the multi- eyed aliens slowed down to a halt. The gunfire was now sounding louder than before, and they could hear the occasional scream. Sometimes it was human, sometimes alien.

"SHIT!" Manners suddenly yelled. Around the corner came another cart with a scientist and a guard in it at full speed. Behind them came marines running and firing at them.

"Dammit!" the new marines yelled. "They broke through!"

"Brace yourselves!" Manners called, "we're gonna crash together!" At this point the marines saw the approaching cart was on the same track, and they also noticed something equally horrible: not only did the car have a scientist and a guard, but also a large box marked 'explosives' that they had carried on it.

"Die, you military bastards!" the guard called, and he and the scientist jumped off the car. The guard opened fire on the car as it crashed with the marines' own, and the explosives blew up.

At first Dylan saw only a flash. A deafening roar filled every nook and cranny of his ear. Then he saw the whole car tilting backwards and his brothers-in-arms flying in all direction. The last thing he saw was the roof and then darkness for the second time this day.
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Meanwhile, a man was sitting in a local restaurant in Santa Fe, the capital of New Mexico. The locals stopped to stare at the man, who replied by smiling back. Then the locals continued walking, thinking he was only a tourist visiting their splendid city. The man seemed foreign: not Canadian- or-Mexican foreign, but behind-the-Atlantic foreign. He ordered a dish of tex-mex food and started eating. He paid for the food, but then approached the restaurant owner.

"Excuse me, but might I visit your storage room? I'd like to do it privately, and I hope you accept my gratitude for letting me do so," he grinned handing a large sum of money to the manager. He grinned back and opened the storage room. The man went inside, sat onto a chair, and pulled out his mobile phone.

The phone rang for a second, then answered. "Ah, you finally called. What is the situation?" an accented voice came.

"I've listened to that Black Mesa with my radio. I eavesdropped on a transmission and heard military voices. It's finally happened, boss. The 'Cossack resonance' has struck," the man answered.

"That's 'cascade resonance'. Good, the time has come to take action. Do you have your men with you?"

"Our men are scattered among the city, disguised as tourists."

"You do have weapons along with you?"

"We're all armed with MP40 submachine guns and Molotov Cocktails. Don't worry."

"Good. A shipment of Nazi Panzer tanks will be arriving there soon. You will use those and the trucks you came with to storm Black mesa."

"Sir, might I ask why we are using World War 2 weaponry?"

"For one, it's the cheapest the army surplus has. For second, I have made a contract that the tanks and guns are being shipped to a war museum in California. This way it won't raise suspicion that a troupe of Panzer tanks are traveling across the desert."

"How ingenious, boss! Don't worry, we'll take that place down!" Saying this, the man closed his phone and walked out. He thanked the manager and set off to gather his men. Today would be a day of victory.
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"Ugh," Dylan stirred in his coma.

"Well, what do you know? He survived the blast, even though the car fell on him," a voice in his sub-consciousness rang.

"Good, that means we all survived," Manners' familiar voice appeared.

"We've patched up his wounds with some medicine stolen from Black Mesa," the voice came again. "Wonderful stuff they make here. We really should save the recipe for it and take it with us."

"Another time," an unfamiliar voice came. "Right now all you've got to do is take care of our wounded, and you got a lot of work to do."

"What..?" Dylan mumbled suddenly waking up. At first he only saw brightness, but as his eyes adjusted, he saw he was in a canvassed area. He was sitting on a bloody operating table, and a soldier with a red cross on his helmet stood backwards. Along with him was Manners and another person.

"That was a fast recovery," the medic said surprised. "We really should look for that medicine recipe."

"Later!" the other person said. "So, you're still living, eh? Thank god, Major Hickory would kill me for losing Dam Team members," he chuckled.

"What happened? Where are we?" Dylan questioned Manners.

"Remember the security guard and the scientist with the explosives?" Manners asked. "Turns out they were part of a bunch of resisting fools who got the idea to go all Rambo. Rail Team killed them quickly, but they blew our members all over the track. The car toppled on top of you, so we were naturally mostly worried of you."

"Welcome to Rail Team HQ," the other soldier said. "I'm Staff Sergeant Beckinghill, I've been given task of supervising our medics, or rather medic. The others got killed when a bunch of bullsquids and alien slaves broke through the sentries."

"They broke through? How's that possible? Surely Rail Team's powerful enough to keep out all attackers," Dylan stated.

"Well, those damn aliens... yikes!" he leapt backwards as the canvas burst open and a bullsquid came through. A bunch of soldiers ran in and fired at the bullsquid before it had a chance to do any damage. "Don't worry sir, everything's under control!" the soldiers yelled, running back out as a green flash appeared in front of the hole and another bullsquid appeared.

"Damn!" Beckinghill cursed. "That's what I mean! Those blasted freaks come outta nowhere and tear through our defense lines!"

"Well, if you're all right, Henderson, then let's move out. We still gotta get to the dam," Manners said walking outside. Dylan stood up and ran after him. Staff Sergeant Beckinghill and the medic stayed as a few marines walked in with various wounds.

"Sir, you're kidding!" Dylan called. "Our troops have fallen to half their original amount! We'll be picked alive by just about everything! Including those Black Mesa guards!"

"Don't worry Henderson, we won't be worrying about that soon," Manners grinned, and Dylan now saw Greshwald and the others hanging around behind a small sandbag bunker in the middle of the room. The huge chamber seemed to be a garage for the rail carts, as there were tens of small tracks leading to a center track. The air was full of gunfire and alien voices, and marines were everywhere, either dealing with appearing aliens, or resting while the others were fighting.

"Heh, Dylan, that's already twice you've been knocked out," Greshwald laughed with his easy-going attitude.

"Hey Greshwald, how's it going?" Dylan asked. The attitude was a lot less tense now that they were in a (slightly) safe place.

"Great! Not only did those medics with their Black Mesa stuff cure the pain from that rail cart trip, they also got rid of all the other damage I've got today!"

"Cut with the chatter, we're moving out!" Manners called, and waved at one of the sergeants of Rail Team. He hollered at a small group of marines, and they all came over.

"Sir!" the sergeant saluted. "The situation here in the rail system is pretty much in control, so the commanders have assigned my group to be part of Dam Team."

"Yes, yes, I know," Manners said to the sergeant, who put his hand down. "Well men, here's our reinforcements. I told you we wouldn't have to worry about our loss of troops. Plus, we get free big guns along with them!"

At this point, Dylan saw that the ex-Rail Team members weren't sporting an M4 Carbine: they were armed with M-249 SAW machine guns. Yes, it would certainly be a LOT easier now to get to Dam Team.

"Now, let's go. First we reload our weapons, then we head on into the rails," Manners said and walked over to a box. He opened the lid and handed ten clips of ammo for everyone. Dylan was relieved to be able to have a new rifle instead of the pathetic pistol he had.

After everyone was stocked up, the now full Dam Team reinforcements walked over to one of the pathways. The corridor was blocked with a sandbag wall, and lots of gunfire was heard from behind it. A dozen marines were standing behind the sandbag, around a rope ladder leading to the top of the wall. Another rolled up rope ladder was on the other side of the wall.

"Drop the ladder! We're running low on ammo!" a call came from behind the sandbag wall, and a marine climbed quickly up and dropped the other rolled up ladder. Soon six marines raced from the other side and down to the marines' side, followed by electric beams.

"We were gaining the upper hand, when a fresh amount of alien slaves showed up," one of the marines said.

"Going out?" the marines asked Manners' team. "Wait a sec, we'll clear out the behind." Three marines then pulled the pin off grenades and threw them behind the sandbags. A huge explosion followed, and then silence.

"Here's your chance to move, we'll provide cover fire," the marines said, and Manners started climbing the rope ladder. The other Dam Team members climbed to the other side, and Dylan saw they were in another rail system.

"Ok, we're heading for the office complex. There we'll go topside and hitch a ride to the dam. This place is crawling with aliens and Black Mesa personnel, so let's move!" Manners called and started running down the hallway. Dylan and the others started following, just as a pack of bullsquids appeared behind them. They didn't stop to fight, as a bunch of Rail Team marines fired from behind the wall. The marines dashed behind the corner and continued running. They saw some marines to the right fighting a bunch of Black mesa security guards, but they didn't have time to stop and help. They met a lot of resistance on the way, ranging from bullsquids and slaves to the occasional headcrab, but they didn't even then stop to fight.

Diving behind a corner, the marines came to a long stretch of track. The sound of the pursuing creatures came closer. They wouldn't be able to evade behind a corner here. "We fight," Manners whispered turning around. As soon as the first bullsquid appeared, Manners fired a grenade around the corner, blowing a great deal of aliens. Dylan opened fire, as did the others, and they started to back up as more aliens came from behind the corner. The machine guns were really shredding the creatures to pieces, much more effectively than the rifles, but they had to give in, as the mass of enemies was too much.

Most marines took acid and electric damage as they raced behind the corner, but now things became easier: although it was another long stretch, this time there was a small group of marines at the end, and one of them was manning a huge missile launcher. "Get down!" he called, and Dylan leaped flat to the ground. He heard the electric loading of the slaves' shock attack, but then he saw a bright flash, and a deafening roar filled the air as a rocket flew over the lying marines' backs, colliding among the aliens. What had a moment ago been a huge armada of foes was now nothing more than chunks of meat.

The marines walked over to the missile launcher, and Manners signaled a break. Dylan slouched down, his adrenaline wasted. Manners was discussing with the Rail Team troops, and the others were just sitting on the ground. Dylan saw one of the old Rail Team members walk over to a vending machine to the side. He pressed a button, then banged on the machine as no can of soft drink came down.

"Here, let me help," Dylan said walking over to the machine. He looked at the machine for a second, then landed a sharp kick on the thing, breaking open the cover. He stuck his hand in and pulled out a can of Vanilla Coke, which he handed to the marine.

"I'd rather take the sugarless, but thanks anyway," the marine laughed and took a big drink. "Adam Dykowski, nice to meet you."

"Dylan Henderson, glad to be of help," Dylan smiled back. "So, what do you think of thsi mission so far?"

"It's bogus. This is not what I was expecting out of the army. I wanted to kill off some ragheads, not something with a claw as big as my cell phone."

"Yeah, I was just hoping for training myself, not war," Dylan looked away, the memory of his brother coming back.

"Training?" Adam asked in wonder. "You didn't want to fight anyone?"

"I don't like fighting," Dylan now said, feeling uneasy.

"What?! Then why'd you join the army?"

"I'd... rather not talk about it."

"Oh, come on! Tell me! Here, have a drink, it's on me," Adam laughed sarcastically, pulling out a can.

"Ok, I'll tell you," Dylan sighed. He thought he could trust Adam. " I used to live in a bad region. My family was poor, and everyone hoped I'd get to college. My brother stole some cocaine once and started dealing it to get me enough money to get to college. But one day, the newest shipment didn't come in, and a client called Robert Berfusco wanted some of the stuff. The guy was a madman. My brother was afraid Rob would kill him, so he gave him some sugar powder. Well, Rob found out about the trick later and came back. He stabbed my brother."

"Ouch," Adam said, "sorry I asked you."

"Nah, it's okay, might as well continue now that I've started," Dylan smiled. "I was so shocked after that. I was barely a teen at the time, and my brother had worked hard for the money. He did all he could for me, and then got killed. I hated fighting after that, but I figured that the only way I'd be prepared if a moment like that came would be by learning to fight and handle weapons. So I joined the army in hopes of gaining experience. Looks like I'm just going to get myself killed here."

"Don't worry pal, you don't need to care about your past, you've got friends here to trust on," Adam cheered Dylan up and patted him on the back. Dylan already started to like Adam. He really seemed like a person to trust your worries with. Although the only friends he trusted were Greshwald and now Adam.

"All right men," Manners called, "I need someone to go scout the pathway down there to see if it's safe to go on. Any volunteers?"

"I'll go," Dylan said standing up. He needed to get his brother away from his mind.

"I'll go too," Greshwald said. "We'll have better luck of surviving if something's over there if there's two of us, right, Dylan?"

"I can go too," Adam lifted his hand. "I haven't got anything better to do," he said. "Plus, I can make up for having you tell your story," he whispered to Dylan.

"Ok then, get moving, we haven't got time to spare!" Manners ordered, and the three of them started hiking down the corridor. Here he was, Dylan thought, with the only people he really trusted among the marines.

"So," Dylan asked, "did you have any special reason to join the army, Adam?"

"Nah, not really," Adam answered as they came around the corner. "I happened to watch an old war movie and saw one of those old "Uncle Sam Needs You" posters. It made my heart stir, so I joined. Pretty dumb, huh?"

"I just came cause my parents wanted me to," Greshwald said. "I'd rather have been a civilian at first, but then I had such a cool time in boot camp that I changed my mind. Now I'm not so sure anymore."

"Listen!" Dylan suddenly called, and the three stopped, now serious. A small humming noise was coming from the end of the corridor, which grew louder all the time. Almost immediately gunfire joined the cacophony, and the three started to race to the end of the corridor. It was a rail car elevator, and one was coming up. It was HIM.

Dylan's eyes widened as the elevator came up. He was only able to say one word, he was so surprised. "Freeman."

There he was, on the elevator, his HEV suit glistening like a suit of armor. Although he was armed with an M4 instead of the SPAS-12 in the mission briefing, it couldn't have been anyone else but Gordon Freeman, Dam Team's third objective.

"You! You're gonna die!" Greshwald called and started firing, at the car, but fell backwards. Blood flew all over from his body as he collapsed against the wall. His chest was full of holes from Freeman's gun, and his eyes fell backwards. NO, Dylan thought.

"YOU!" Dylan screamed as the car passed them. His mind filled with rage, the want to kill the bastard who had shot or even killed his friend encompassing him. He leaped onto the car, and dropped his gun to the side. "You think you're so tough, killing with your big guns?! Put down your gun, and let's fight for real. Then we'll see who really kicks ass!"

To Dylan's surprise, Gordon dropped his own gun onto the cart. "Well, that's a surprise. You're the first marine with enough guts to actually fight fair." Saying this, both men lifted their dukes.

Adam seemed to understand that Dylan wanted to fight alone, and stopped to watch as the cart slowly moved forwards, carrying the fighters with them. The two eyed each other, then Dylan did the first attack, aiming a punch at Freeman's side. Gordon blocked the hit, but he didn't seem to be used to fighting, and opened his defense on his other flank. Dylan did a roundhouse kick into Gordon's side, sending the man onto his knees. Freeman now head butted Dylan into his stomach, sending the air out of him. As Dylan squeezed his aching stomach, Gordon tried another head rush, but this time Dylan grabbed his head. Holding Freeman's head in place, Dylan kneed his face, then lifted him up.

"You killed my friend, so now you're gonna taste the pain," Dylan hissed between his teeth. That head butt had hurt. He tightened his hands around Gordon's neck, trying to strangle him. Suddenly, Dylan felt a sharp pain, and crouched down. He saw through his eyes, which started to fill with tears, that Gordon had landed a kick right in Dylan's groin. Freeman executed another kick, causing Dylan to fall off the cart. He saw as the cart continued past Dam Team. The missile turret fired a few shots, but judging from the curses Dylan could hear Manners throw, Freeman had escaped.

"Dylan, you ok?" Adam's voice came, but Dylan, still clutching his crotch in pain, couldn't and didn't want to answer. His friend was probably killed, and he wasn't able to pay back. That hurt him more than the kick to the groin.

(There. Chapter 3. I'm sorry it's so long, but the look into Dylan's past takes a little space. I hope this is better than before, Syntheticsoul, and I thank you one more time for your helpful review. Like this chapter, Chapter 4 might take a while longer again, since I still need to plan for it. Stay tuned!)