Black Mesa

by Vulture

There have been many attempts to novelize the story behind Half-Life. The approach of its sequel has inspired me to chronicle its story in my own style, with enough twists and turns to make the story more than a simple walkthrough. (COMPLETE)

9. Surface Tension

Black Mesa

By Patrick Williams

Based on the storyline from Half-Life, a game from Valve Software and Sierra Studios. The Half-Life franchise is the property of Sierra Studios. All rights are reserved to Sierra Studios.

Chapter 9 - Surface Tension

Black Mesa Surface

Captain Wellington swore under his breath.

This entire operation was falling apart, and there was little he could do but try to slow down the collapse. His team was assigned to enforce a road block along the road to Black Mesa's bio labs. HQ was convinced that one of the hazard suits was still loose and would come through this checkpoint. Wellington knew that this position was a good choke point, but he still felt exposed. He had heard the rumors about Freeman. He wasn't sure if he believed them or not. Deep down, Freeman was only human, wasn't he?

Damn those scientists, Wellington thought. The operation had been going by the letter before they had shown up. Aside from a minor snag at the Lambda Complex gates, their containment operation had been going well. The military had gained a stranglehold on the surface, and nothing had been getting past their blockades. Then Freeman and his buddies had arrived. HQ had seen fit to disable them rather than destroy them, and of course they had escaped custody. If they had just blown them to hell from the start they wouldn't have lost the initiative. Instead, the General had, in his infinite wisdom, decided to send half of his command deep below Black Mesa's surface to hunt for the scientists and disable them again. The fact that the soldiers had orders against actually killing their targets severely limited their options in the tight quarters underground. The soldiers had been out maneuvered and slaughtered by the blitzkrieg assault of the scientists. Wellington could still hear their desperate calls for help and their subsequent screams echoing through his mind. He doubted he would ever be able to forget them.

Since the disaster below the surface, the soldiers had been in a fighting retreat. A majority of their force had been killed, and the reinforcements had done little to stem to momentum the aliens had gained. Like a whirlwind, the aliens had swarmed upon the troops as if they had sensed their preoccupation with the hazard suits below the surface. The aliens had attacked precisely at their greatest moment of weakness, supported from the air by alien fliers aptly referred to as Mantas. The skies above them had erupted in a spectacular air battle, and it was difficult to tell who controlled the skies anymore. Several minutes earlier they had lost contact with the AWACS, no doubt destroyed by Mantas. Without guidance from the sky, the soldiers, already reeling from the massacre below the surface, were caught with their pants down. The surface campus was now littered with the bodies of fallen soldiers, and the air was heavy with the stench of death.

The capture of two of the hazard suits had been little solace to the soldiers, but it had brought a sense of hope that they could yet achieve victory. The surviving soldiers had been assigned defensive positions around the garage where the hazard suits were being held. Those hazard suits were their last hope of getting into the Lambda Complex and completing their mission. If they lost the hazard suits, they might as well fly back to Santego with their tails between their legs.

The news that Freeman had gotten loose and was coming towards them had deeply troubled Wellington. Wellington feared that he and his men would share the same fate as his comrades below the surface. However, there had been three hazard suits below the surface. Wellington tried to assure himself that his team could handle just one of them. Besides, they were no longer wasting their lives trying to disable the suits. From now on, they were playing for keeps. Wellington would see that this egghead scientist in a multi-million dollar suit of armor would get what he had coming to him. Not even Freeman's bulletproof armor would withstand a shot from his 120mm cannon.

Wellington received another call from HQ. Freeman was almost upon them. It was time to get ready.

Wellington opened the hatch of his M1A2 Abrams tank. He inspected the defensive formation and satisfied himself that his troops were ready. All they would have to do is keep the scientist busy long enough for the tank to line up one good shot. Then they would finally be free to use the two remaining hazard suits to get into the Lambda Complex, complete their mission, and get the hell out of this place.

He called out to his men, passing the news along. Freeman was on his way.

Sector D - Cafeteria

Shephard slowly regained consciousness. He wasn't sure how he was able to do so. The fall from the helicopter should have killed him. Yet he felt little pain now. In fact, he felt pretty good. One doesn't get up from a low altitude parachute jump feeling like a million bucks. Had the whole ordeal been a nightmare? Would he find himself in his bunk at Santego? It had all seemed so real, though. However, that bit about an alien ship did seem too strange to be true. Hopefully he would open his eyes and find the familiar surroundings of his barracks.

Shephard prepared for the worst and opened his eyes. A bright light was suspended above him, leading him to believe that he was in a hospital operating room. How much of his nightmare had been true? The tiled walls around him supported his operating room theory, but there was something odd here. Shephard saw an oven, sink, and a row of freezers not far from the table on which he lay. He wasn't in a hospital; he was in a kitchen.

"He's coming around!" a voice shouted.

A man rushed to Shephard's side. Shephard did not recognize him, but a familiar face joined him at his side. It was Jones, the team's medic.

"Don't worry, sir," Jones said comfortingly, "We stopped the bleeding."

"What bleeding? The last thing I remember was falling out of that helicopter."

"The landing ruptured some of your blood vessels, sir. We waited at the LZ for a medevac, but without Sarge's radio, we didn't know if anyone was coming for us and couldn't call for help."

"What happened to Sarge's radio?" Shephard asked, knowing the answer before it was given.

"Sarge is dead, sir. The impact killed him and shattered his radio. You were out cold when we found you, sir. You were bleeding internally and there was nothing I could do to help you in the field."

Jones continued his story, describing their trek from their LZ through the surface campus in search of medical help. They hadn't found any sign of other soldiers, aside from their dead bodies. Jones hadn't been able to tell what had killed them until after the ambush. Jones had a difficult time describing their foes, as he had never seen anything like the aliens from Xen. They had been flanked by Vortigaunts and Grunts and caught completely off guard. The soldiers had been well equipped to fight the aliens, however, even if they hadn't known what they were getting into when they boarded that doomed helicopter. The team had had little trouble dispatching the alien slaves, and while the grunts did pose a challenge, Jackson had an M-203 grenade launcher that took care of them nicely. Normally, Shephard would have doubted such a story about close encounters with aliens, but he had seen something destroy Goose Three that could only be described as an alien ship, and all of what Jones told him only confirmed his suspicions.

When the dust had settled from the ambush, the team continued on, holding on to the hope that they would find someone that could save Shephard. The remainder of their journey was a series of close encounters of the hostile kind, and from Jones' report, the entire facility appeared to be overrun with aliens. Part of Shephard was grateful he had not been conscious to see the horrors the team had experienced on the surface. Clearly, the aliens were getting the better of the military.

The team had stumbled upon a group of local security officers in a nearby truck yard. The guards had been convinced that the soldiers were there to kill them, but the team talked them out of it before the situation came to blows. The security guards had been the outer line of defense for an encampment of survivors of the invasion. After realizing that the team hadn't come to kill them, the guards were more than happy to guide them through the warehouse to their encampment deep below the surface. The survivors had settled in to wait for a rescue from the military. They hadn't expected their knights in shining armor to need the rescuing themselves.

Being dragged several miles hadn't helped Shephard's internal bleeding, and he was close to death when he arrived in the cafeteria. They had taken him into the kitchen and gone to work immediately. Normally, it would have taken a very delicate surgery to save his life, but the scientists were equipped with next generation medical technology. The other man present, whom Shephard learned was named Dr. Eli Vance, had done a great deal of R&D on a High-Intensity Focused Ultrasound scanner. This handheld device could scan a body and locate internal injuries and then use highly focused ultrasound waves to create enough heat at the source of the wound to cauterize it and allow the blood to begin to coagulate and heal on its own.

"Dr. Vance performed a miracle to save your life, sir," Jones said, as he concluded his story. "You would have died before getting back to base or to a hospital."

Shephard turned his head to face the man standing next to Jones.

"I suppose I have you to thank for this miracle?" Shephard asked.

"Yeah, I suppose you do. It was quite simple, though. More like an Etch-a-Sketch than anything else."

"Except this Etch-a-Sketch could have killed me, Doctor," Shephard pointed out. "Thank you for not missing."

"Think nothing of it, Corporal." Vance replied, smiling, "There is something you can do to repay us, if it's not too much trouble."

"Name it, Doctor. I owe you my life."

"To put it simply, we need to get out of here. We've been waiting down here to be rescued since the initial disaster, and we've been fighting off aliens since we arrived here. We have plenty of weapons and ammunition, but their attacks are getting stronger and we're on the verge of being overwhelmed. We were hoping for a larger rescue party, but beggars can't be choosy. Your help would be greatly appreciated if you could bring us to safety."

"It's the least we could do, Doctor," Shephard replied. "We're headed for the nearest Army camp we can find. We'd be happy to drop you off there."

"It's settled then. You should be fit enough to travel, Corporal. We should leave before another wave attacks."

Jones and Vance helped Shephard to his feet, and he was more than capable of walking from there. They left the kitchen and stepped into the cafeteria.

Shephard marveled at the ingenuity of the scientists. They had set up an effective defensive front using overturned tables. The outer edges of the fortress were patrolled by men in black and blue body armor, with the words "Security" printed across their backs in clear white text. Within their makeshift fortress, dozens of men and women in white lab coats stood or sat about, clearly anxious and ready to go. Among the security guards stood the rest of Shephard's team; Tower, Jackson, and Chavez. They turned when the kitchen door opened and rushed forward to greet Shephard. Jones joined them in line, saluting their new leader.

"At ease, team," Shephard spoke in a businesslike tone. "Since I was second in command to Sarge, I'm assuming full command now. We didn't learn our orders before Sarge bought the farm, but I'm sure our mission here was to find these scientists and bring them to safety. We don't know what we're going up against, but we're not going to let a few freaks from outer space stop us from completing our mission. Let's get packed up and get the hell out of here."

"Yes, sir!" the team replied as one.

They were on their way in a matter of minutes. They moved in a loose escort formation. Chavez took the point position, checking to make sure their way was clear. Shephard led the scientists, keeping them out of sight while Chavez scouted ahead. Chavez used hand gestures to communicate with Shephard and the rest of the group. Tower stood close behind Shephard with his M-249 locked and loaded. The scientists followed in a loosely organized mass with the security guards acting as shepherds guiding the flock. Jones and Jackson took up the rear, weary of ambush from behind after hearing tales of the heated battles that had taken place in the cafeteria behind them.

They moved into the warehouse facility without incident. Chavez was little more than a shadow as he moved invisibly and silently among the boxes in the warehouse. If Shephard hadn't been following him with a close eye, he might not have seen the urgent hand signal. Chavez raised his right fist into the air and held it there.

Shephard repeated the signal for those behind him but realized that the scientists might not understand it. He took a chance and forcefully whispered "Take cover!"

The scientists needed little urging, and quickly disappeared behind boxes. Tower attached the M-249's tripod and placed it on top of one of the boxes. Shephard stood beside him, his M-16 held ready. The security guards took places behind cover, shotguns and pistols aimed to face any coming threat. Anything that came around the corner ahead of them would be torn to shreds.

Chavez crouched, perfectly still. Shephard watched for a signal of any kind. He saw Chavez take his left hand, point two fingers towards his eyes, then point down at the ground beside him.

"Stay here," Shephard whispered at the scientists behind him as he quickly but silently moved to crouch beside Chavez.

He quickly saw what Chavez had seen and why he had been so cautious.

Ahead of them, several men in black jumpsuits and heavy body armor stood guard, their faces hidden by black ski masks and night vision goggles. They looked like black ops commandos. A group of them carried a large cone-shaped object down one of the aisles of boxes. Both Chavez and Shephard immediately recognized what it was. It was a nuclear warhead.

Chavez and Shephard shared a look of understanding. There were two possibilities. It was possible that these black ops troops were part of a legitimate government cleanup crew to remove the warheads from the warehouse before they fell into enemy hands. That would be perfectly understandable. However, it was also possible that these commandos weren't from the government and that they were stealing the warhead to sell on the black market or worse, to use themselves. If that was the case, the situation had changed dramatically.

Shephard waited with Chavez and watched as the black ops commandos left the area with the nuclear warhead in tow. Their business here apparently done, the commandos continued through the warehouse towards the exit.

"Did you run into these guys on your way down, Chavez?"

"No, sir. Those guys came out of thin air, literally. A big ball of electricity appeared out of nowhere and this g-man in a business suit seemed to just pop right out of it. Those black ops troops popped out next and seemed to know just where to go to find that warhead. The man in the suit left through another one of those balls of electricity, but I guess those black ops guys decided to leave the old fashioned way."

"This morning I never would have believed that story, Chavez. But if I believe that story about the aliens, I guess teleportation isn't any more far fetched. What's your take?"

"They sure as hell weren't Army or Marines. Special Ops, maybe, but I think we should wait and find out what they're doing with that warhead before we walk up and say 'Hi.' Either way, I don't trust anyone who appears out of thin air and steals a nuclear warhead, sir."

"All right, we'll follow and see what their game is before deciding what to do next. If nothing else, they might lead us to the nearest camp. Keep an eye out, Chavez."

"Yes, sir."

Shephard walked back to the group as Chavez disappeared back into the shadows.

"What's going on, sir?" Tower asked. Dr. Vance approached from the cluster of scientists to hear the explanation as well.

Shephard's explanation was short but effective, "In a nutshell, this situation just went from bad to worse."

Black Mesa Surface

Like a modern day Paul Revere, a soldier came running towards the checkpoint from the direction of the bio labs. "Freeman is coming! Freeman is coming!" the soldier shouted in a voice that would have made the revolutionaries proud.

Like a bright orange flash, Gordon Freeman burst onto the scene, firing his MP5. The soldiers opened fire immediately, and Freeman's body disappeared in a shower of sparks.

"Fire!" Wellington shouted into the body of the tank.

The tank's cannon fired and hit the building behind Freeman, sending bricks and pieces of shrapnel flying in every direction. The round had missed Freeman by a matter of inches. Freeman dove for cover behind the concrete dividers blocking the road.

"Move in!" Wellington shouted at the men huddled behind the sandbag bunkers.

The soldiers rushed forward, grenades ready. Their bullets might not do much against that armor, but the shrapnel from their grenades would tear the suit apart bit by bit. As soon as they were within throwing range, the soldiers began chucking grenades over the divider.

Several of the grenades were thrown back towards the soldiers, who scattered to find cover. It was literally raining grenades as Freeman scrambled to throw them away before their timers expired. He almost made it. The grenades began exploding around the checkpoint, sending equal amounts of sand, dirt, and blood into the air. The final grenade thrown exploded beside Freeman, sending him flying over the divider and out from behind his cover.

"Fire!" Wellington shouted again.

The turret groaned momentarily as it adjusted its aim before firing. The ground beside Freeman's body exploded, sending Freeman flying through the air once again. Freeman landed in a heap beside a sandbag bunker. Freeman struggled to crawl behind the sandbags, clearly shaken. He seemed human after all. The soldiers sensed this as well and moved in with more grenades.

Wellington was about to order the tank to fire again when something struck him from behind. He never knew what hit him.

Calhoun pushed the tank commander's body down through the tank's hatch. He dropped a grenade into the body of the tank after the commander, slammed the hatch shut, and jumped away. A deep explosion announced the death of the crew members within. Fortunately for Calhoun, the grenade's shrapnel did not detonate the tank's ammunition. The resulting explosion would have taken Calhoun out with it.

Calhoun's BDU disguise had again worked like a charm. No one had questioned him when he rushed towards the checkpoint warning about Freeman. By the time anyone began to notice him moving towards the tank, Gordon had arrived and provided the perfect distraction.

Calhoun climbed back onto the smoking tank and grabbed hold of the .50 caliber machine gun. The soldiers were getting ready to toss another grenade volley, and Calhoun wasn't sure Gordon's suit could withstand another bombardment. Calhoun hated to do it, but he opened fire at the cluster of soldiers. They were caught completely off guard and most of them lay dead before they realized who was shooting at them. A few turned to shoot back before being mowed down, but they fired wildly and their bullets flew wide of their targets.

Moments later, a blissful silence fell over the checkpoint. Bodies littered the area.

Gordon stepped out from behind the sandbags. "Took your time, didn't you?" Gordon chided.

"Last time I save your ass!" Calhoun laughed nervously, trying to forget the fact that they were surrounded by dead bodies.

Gordon tried to relax, but in truth he was still terrified. Prior to that battle, the suit had brought him a feeling of invulnerability that he hadn't felt since his teenage years. Gordon had felt that there was nothing the soldiers could do to stop him. However, Gordon had just come dangerously close to death. If the tank gunner hadn't been such a bad shot he would probably be dead right now. And the grenades had taken a serious toll on his suit's power. One more direct barrage of shrapnel could have wiped the suit's power completely. Without power, his suit's nanites would have been unable to repair any damage. His armor would have become a heavy coffin, pinning him to the ground as the grenades tore him to shreds. Gordon felt lucky to be alive.

"Look!" Calhoun called, pointing down the road towards their objective.

Several Bradley tanks were rapidly rolling toward them, no doubt full of more grenade-toting soldiers. Gordon felt his stomach rise into his throat as panic gripped his heart.

"I don't know what to do, Barney!" Gordon said, his voice betraying his panic.

"Relax, Gordon. Look what I found." Calhoun said as he pointed to a shack across from the tank. Stacked against the shack were several wooden boxes marked "Explosives." Several long green tubes leaned against the boxes. They were M-136 AT4 anti-tank rocket launchers.

Gordon and Calhoun both picked up M-136s. Like most light anti-tank weapons, each launcher was issued with a single round of ammunition. After firing, the tubes would become worthless and thrown aside. The weapon seemed fairly intuitive, with a sight down the side of the barrel and large buttons labeled "SAFE" and "FIRE." Gordon and Calhoun crouched down with the M-136s propped on their shoulders and aimed at the approaching Bradley tanks.

The rockets flew almost faster than the eye could follow. They covered the hundred meter distance to the approaching tanks in a fraction of a second. The warhead was shaped like a football, with a fin assembly guiding it along its path towards the Bradleys. Upon impact, timers within the warheads activated themselves, waiting for the proper moment to explode. Directional jets fired behind the warheads, penetrating the armor plating of the Bradley tanks. When the warhead had penetrated a certain distance, the warheads exploded and sent shrapnel and incendiary fluid throughout the interior of the tanks. The troops inside would have been burned alive if not for the resulting explosions. The tanks disappeared in great balls of flame. Several secondary explosions could be heard as the ammunition within the tanks detonated from the heat. The entire process from firing to detonation took less than a second. The troops inside never knew what had hit them.

The M-136s hadn't even recoiled from the launches. Gordon and Calhoun were shocked at how easy it had been.

A third Bradley appeared down the road, and Calhoun repeated the process with a new rocket launcher. The third Bradley shared the fate of the other two. For a moment, Gordon and Calhoun felt they were in the clear. However, a new challenge presented itself. An Abrams tank appeared from behind the wreckage of the three burning Bradleys. The Abrams quickly approached, pushing the wreckage out of its path as it did so.

Gordon grabbed another M-136 and was prepared to fire, but Calhoun stopped him.

"That's an Abrams, Gordon. They're shielded against rockets. The only thing that could stop that thing is a land mine or another tank shell. You don't have any land mines handy do you?"

"No, but I think we can come up with something better. Follow me!"

Gordon pulled Calhoun out of the road and back towards the checkpoint. Gordon's plan didn't sit well with Calhoun, but he couldn't come up with anything better. Calhoun lay down in a group of shredded bodies, trying his best to look dead. He clutched his pistol in his hand beneath his body. He would be ready when he saw his opening.

Gordon tried to disappear beneath a sandbag bunker. He too would wait for the proper moment. A sound in the distance made Gordon's blood run cold. A helicopter was approaching fast. An Osprey appeared over the horizon, no doubt bringing more troops with it. They would have to move quickly or their plans would be ruined.

The Abrams wheeled into the checkpoint. The tank's commander was exposed above the turret's hatch, scanning the area for signs of life. The turret rotated to face any possible threats. Calhoun wasted no time waiting for a better opening. He emerged from his prone position and fired twice, hitting the commander in the back and shoulder. The commander's body disappeared through the open hatch. The tank stopped in its tracks, the crew members clearly caught off guard and unsure of how to proceed.

Gordon saw his opportunity. He rushed forward and leaped onboard the tank. He climbed to its roof and dropped down through the hatch.

Calhoun watched and waited. The Osprey was now directly overhead, orbiting the checkpoint. The soldiers onboard gazed down, surveying the carnage. Calhoun again pretended to be among the dead, careful not to move a muscle. To Calhoun's horror, he saw ropes drop down from the Osprey as it hovered over the checkpoint. Soldiers were coming down, and they would catch Gordon inside the tank.

Several soldiers rappelled down the ropes from the Osprey. They fanned out and inspected the area, probably looking for Gordon. They moved as if they expected him to jump out from behind every corner. Fortunately, they were too tense to notice the fact that the tank hadn't moved in a few minutes. Calhoun was relieved to see they were ignoring the tank and Gordon for now.

A soldier moved amongst the bodies, looking for survivors. He was a medic, as the red cross on his helmet indicated. He was coming dangerously close to where Calhoun lay. Calhoun wasn't sure what they would do if they found him alive. He would have a hard time explaining the fact that he didn't have a scratch on him. Calhoun tried not to flinch as the medic approached him. Calhoun kept his eyes closed, but knew any second now he would feel the medic's fingers on his neck taking his pulse, and then the gig would be up.

Calhoun never realized just how close the medic got. The medic came within inches of Calhoun's neck before a soldier across the checkpoint shouted out "Hey, we got a live one over here!" The medic rushed to help the survivor, and for now Calhoun was safe.

With a sudden jerk, the tank began moving again. Calhoun couldn't tell if Gordon was in command or not, but the tank was clearly headed back towards the garage where Gina and Colette were being held. It was still too risky for Calhoun to follow it just yet. For now, Gordon was on his own. Calhoun had his own problems to worry about.

The tank disappeared down the road, and it seemed as if the soldiers had given up hope of finding any survivors. The medic had lost a brief battle for life with a wounded soldier across the checkpoint. The soldier's dying screams had disillusioned the soldiers' hopes of saving anyone.

One of the soldiers held a radio to his ear and began barking orders. The soldiers took off running down the road after the tank. Did they somehow know Gordon was in it? Calhoun followed the soldiers, staying far enough back as to avoid detection. Fortunately for Gordon, the tank drove much faster than the soldiers could run. If they knew Gordon was in there, Gordon would have a head start before they could get the word out.

Inside the tank, things were tense. Gordon had held the tank driver at gunpoint, ordering the crew to take him to the garage where they were holding Gina and Colette. If they resisted, Gordon would start shooting. The crew had firearms, but knew they would do little good against Gordon's hazard suit. They nervously acquiesced, and for now Gordon had been promoted to tank commander.

The tank drove down the road without incident. They passed many more soldiers along the way, and Gordon hoped none of them got suspicious about the blood splattered on the hatch above the tank. Most of them seemed to be concentrating on the road towards the checkpoint, ready to defend themselves from Gordon's inevitable attack. None of them seemed to suspect that he would be able to commandeer a tank and bypass their security directly.

They arrived at the garage without incident. When asked how to proceed, Gordon told the driver to park near the garage's ventilation duct access on the far side of the building. They wouldn't expect Gordon to get past their lines of security without being detected, so the ducts would be lightly guarded. Gordon would be able to sneak into the garage without having to fire a shot. With luck, he could free Gina and Colette and get them back to the tank without having to take a single life. Gordon held out hope that this was possible. He had seen enough killing for one day. He had seen enough for an entire lifetime.

Gordon waited until the coast was clear before popping the tank's hatch and racing towards the ventilation ducts. He crawled in and through the duct several meters before it angled upwards to rise above the garage. Gordon wasn't sure how he would be able to get down to the ground level without arousing attention, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. Gordon moved as silently as he was able to through the narrow duct. He was sure he was directly above the garage floor now. He listened for any sign of what was going on in there. He crawled several more meters and listened again. Surely he should be able to hear something.

Gordon crawled one more meter, and that would be his last. The duct collapsed, deliberately weakened to set a trap for any unwary duct explorers. Gordon fell two stories and hit the ground hard. His suit insulated him from the impact, but it could not insulate him from the EMP field surrounding the center of the garage. Gordon was unable to lift himself off the ground where he lay. The EMP field had completely disabled his suit, much like the NEMP rifles and the EMP trap had previously. However, this was not a single jolt of EMP. The field pulsated endlessly. As long as Gordon was in the range of the EMP field, he would be unable to move, unable to defend himself, and unable to do anything to help Gina or Colette.

Much to Gordon's surprise, he was greeted by a familiar voice.

"Welcome to the party, Gordon," Gina said, soberly.

"The communicators are still working?" Gordon asked, surprised.

"Yes, they always were," Colette explained. "The same device generating the EMP field also dampens our communication. Now that you're here, I guess you can finally hear our warnings to stay as far away from this place as you can."

"I'm afraid it won't do us much good now," Gordon sighed.

Gordon could not turn his head to look at the figure approaching. He could only see a pair of legs with dress uniform, complete with immaculately polished black shoes. Gordon had little doubt as to who had come to greet him.

"I'm glad you could join us, Gordon." Major General Thompson gloated above him. "Now which one of you tin cans should I crack first?"

The General laughed, sending chills up the scientists' spines. They had little doubt what would happen to them once they were out of the protection of their suits. They would die here in this garage.