Part 3 – Friends
Gordon shuffled clumsily down a drab boulevard, one of the last still traceable in the ruin, with a combine plasma rifle held uncomfortably at his back. His captors walked on all sides of him, anticipating, as if by some spontaneous impulse, their prisoner might try to dash away and escape through a shady egress. In any case, he was subdued; they had confiscated his weapons, and his hazard suit. Clad in only the same dull gray attire he had worn on his arrival, he for the moment appeared like any other tired-eyed resistance fighter, lost without a cause. The objective, which he could hardly recall succinctly, had vanished and now he was being taken to a nearby outpost where he would remain detained until the Combine figured out what to do with him.
The road skewed off to the left, partially obstructed by a series of street lights snared in a fallen power line. The buildings here, which were conspicuously tall, loomed under a mass of raven wires and dark circuitry. The walls themselves seemed to have strangely assimilated, or begun so, with a network of cords growing directly out of the substratum. Gordon had only begun to admire the bizarre development before he was told to keep his head down and remain unmindful of his surroundings.
Shortly after, a loud rumbling burst skyward, trailed by a myriad of fierce whooshes. Revolving shadows shifted fleetingly across the dust, slowly gathering into a single cognizable shape. Gordon watched as the hind rudder of a monstrous drop ship, shimmering in the morning haze, descended between the rooftops and drifted turbulently over the strip. The colossal vessel gyrated slowly, currents of vapor issuing off its specular hull, finally alighting outside a towering stockade.
The soldiers began squabbling in staticky blasts. Dragging Gordon along, they drew casually towards the stockade, where a squad of Overwatch was now disembarking from the drop ship. The entrance was protected by a blue coruscating force field, and lined atop the walls with mounted turrets. From what could be discerned, the lustrous bulwark was circular in formation, with many long ramparts and support beams. Along the perimeter, there had been erected a series of glassy parapets. The glass seemed to be strangely diffusing across an invisible mantle; the effect was distorted by aberrant refractions.
One of the soldiers accompanying Gordon stepped aside to operate a panel on the wall. The force field in front of them flickered for a moment, and then disappeared.
Within the stockade, there were sets of ramps, mounting from the earthen bedrock onto a huge framework. Here there stood what was presumably a Combine base. The central building, which appeared to have been something else long before, was circumvented by metal columns and covered with a nexus of intricate cables. Scattered across its nebulous face and bulging from beneath its reinforcements, was an array of pulsating nodules. From its enormous breadth, it looked to be about fifty feet off the ground and nearly a quarter mile in diameter.
Gordon continued to stare open-mouthed at the superstructure as they pushed him inside. He was immediately met with a loud buzzing noise, which discomforted his eardrums and gave him a severe headache.
Numerous Combine were moving about in here, employed across various catwalks, some busy manipulating computer terminals and others stacking armaments. Gordon was taken hastily down a flight of steps, and through a long corridor, into some sort of artificial courtyard. The ceiling was concealed beyond a screen of blinding fluorescent light, which illuminated the entire room. He squinted to make out a figure standing at the center of the enclosure. Feeling the plasma rifle at his back again, he was directed toward the figure, stopping a couple feet away.
The four soldiers that had been transporting Gordon now departed through a separate passage, leaving him face to face with a Combine elite. The elite was outfitted in a white uniform, with a blanched facemask and vest, and had a peculiarly angular body. Gordon was surprised to discover, after being harshly addressed, that it was a woman.
The female officer, without warning, grasped him firmly by the arm and hauled him into an adjacent room. The room was stark in comparison; it was dimly lit and cluttered with miscellaneous junk. Lying in the middle was a rickety metal chair, which the officer proceeded to shove him down onto.
Gordon didn't resist. He was at the hub of a Combine fortress and completely unarmed. All he could do was endure their interrogations.
"Who do you confide with?" She demanded immediately.
Gordon remained silent. He had no idea who she could mean; all his former allies had been captured by Overwatch patrols, or had disappeared. Kleiner's abandoned lab was the only source of aid he had left, and he wasn't about to disclose it to her.
The elite continued to watch him quietly, her arms folded across her chest. Gordon suddenly became aware of the gleaming silver slide of a USP Match, tucked in a holster on her belt. He thought nervously, for the first time, about the intentions of his adversaries. Would she shoot him if he didn't answer?
"This will not do," the officer chided menacingly.
Then, unexpectedly, the elite slid her hands over her head and removed her facemask. Gordon was stunned.
"Perhaps you'll answer to me now," said a familiar voice.
Standing before him in the dark room, her face cold and unwavering, was Alyx Vance.