-- Today, I was losing my creativity for the battle between the Zoc't'vicians and humans (if you can call it a battle. I think more like "slaughter"), so I decided to write up a dream Gordon has, and a surprise sequence of events near the end. Read it, yo! --
Chapter Five: It's All Just A Dream
English Version
Thursday – Day Four
Darkness. Darkness surrounded him. It engulfed him. It was his very essence. Everywhere he looked, there was the darkness. He swam in it, ran in it, breathed it, and drank it. The darkness flowed through him the way a lava flows through a volcano, bursting to get out.
Right when he was most comfortable with the darkness, it began to leave! Quickly, the darkness began to seep away from him. Why would it leave him? He ran, swam, flew, tried anything to get back to the darkness. It was futile.
White! Blinding, white light surrounded him now. It chased away the darkness. The light chased the darkness from inside of him. He felt hollow and empty. His emptiness, along with the light, scared him. It shrunk him. He appeared small and insignificant. When all the darkness was gone, the feeling began to leave him, too. Also, the blinding white light began to fade away, revealing a mountainous landscape.
Where was he? He, who could now identify himself as the scientist Gordon Freeman, tried to understand why he was here, wherever "here" was. To his left was a gigantic waterfall, which turned into a river, which turned into a blue, clear lake. To his right was a shed. Upon closer inspection, it had a door, with a lock on it. Taking out his crowbar, Gordon began to hit the lock. It melted and ran in small streams around his shoes, pooling near the soles. With the lock gone, Gordon could easily open the door. After doing so, he stepped in. It was much larger than it appeared from the outside. Maybe it wasn't. Oh well, it didn't matter.
What mattered was the puddle of lock. It was dripping into the shed. Although Gordon wouldn't normally be intrigued as he was, something compelled him to look at it. The puddle had shaped an image of its former self, only without any real depth, or solidity. Gordon kneeled next to it. He took out his crowbar again, and prodded the puddle. The liquid instantly solidified before his eyes on the crowbar, but maintained its liquid state on the ground. Gingerly, Gordon stuck his finger in the puddle. The metallic liquid was hotter than boiling water! He checked his finger for burns, only to find the metal had once again solidified on another solid.
The metal on his finger was beginning get warmer. Soon it was scalding his skin again. Then it dripped off, and the pain began to subside. Somehow, Gordon knew this puddle would be important, but he didn't know why. Or how. He just knew.
He stood up and began to look around the shed again. It seemed memories from Black Mesa were scattered all around. To his left, he saw a headcrab, lying on its back. A zombie was slumped against a wall past it. There was at least one of every Xen he had fought.
The headcrab was the most interesting in his eyes. Its legs were twitching at irregular intervals. Gordon walked over, and hit it once with his crowbar, which seemed to get longer whenever he needed it to be. After hitting it, the crowbar shrunk again. As soon as the crowbar had shrunk, the headcrab got up, as if just been woken from a deep sleep. It took a few steps to the left, then backwards.
Suddenly, the headcrab became aware of the presence of Gordon. It began to run towards him, and took a flying leap, screeching the entire time. Gordon raised his crowbar, which decided at that moment to turn into a pistol, and shot the creature in midair. It cried out in anguish as a back leg was blown off. Had Gordon's aim really gotten that bad?
Surprisingly, the headcrab continued to limp towards Gordon, screeching in a more pitiful then frightening manner. Unfortunately, just because it was now a tripod and sounded weak, it wasn't. It leapt towards Gordon again with amazing speed and strength. Gordon took careful aim, which he had time to do because the world had suddenly seemed to slow down at least 4 times. He shot the hovering headcrab three times right in the midsection. It let out a deep, slow screech which sped up into the all-too-familiar high-pitched screech of a headcrab as time sped up. The pistol suddenly turned into a shotgun afterwards, too. The headcrab fell on its side, and didn't move. At this moment, Gordon felt a wave of relief sweep across him. This feeling didn't last long, though, because the zombie Gordon had noticed before began to climb to his feet. Raising the once-pistol-but-now-shotgun, Gordon prepared himself for the attack.
It didn't come. At least, the one Gordon was prepared for didn't come. The headcrab that Gordon knew he had killed had leapt towards him; hole in his middle, and no leg. Yellow blood was all over the ground, and was still gushing from the wounds. This caused the headcrab to have slick skin, which partly helped Gordon not to be dead right now. It slid past him, and skid across the floor. Gordon raised the shotgun, and right before Gordon pulled the trigger, time once again slowed down. Gordon looked around at the frozen world. Some blood from the headcrab hung in midair. Without waiting any longer, he pulled the trigger once, twice, three times and watched in half-amazement, half-bewilderment as the bullets slowly shot forward, broke apart, and eventually hit the headcrab. As soon as the last bullet hit, time sped up again, and the headcrab spun in the air before landing on the ground with a "SPLAT". Gordon walked over to make sure it was dead. He nudged it with his foot. It wasn't dead, but very much alive!
What was going on? The headcrab should have been dead long before now. They never acted like this back at Black Mesa. Why wasn't the headcrab dying?
Gordon didn't have time to answer these questions. Instead, he shot the headcrab some more until all that was left was a very thin frame and two legs. It stopped moving. Taking no chances, Gordon kicked it as hard as he could. It flew through the air, screeching wildly. Eventually, it landed and skidded across the floor and came to a rest in the puddle of lock. It struggled to get up, but it couldn't. The lock had solidified around him, leaving him melted to the floor!
Gordon looked over his shoulder just in time to see the zombie swing his arms at him. Ducking, Gordon swore at his stupidity. Why did he forget about the zombie? Gordon hoped that this zombie wouldn't be like the headcrab, and never die. He shot it in the chest with the shotgun, as he nearly avoided another attack. It fell backwards, and then got back up. Obviously, it wasn't going to die as easily as it should. The shotgun had transformed into a crowbar again as Gordon was pulling the trigger. Gordon didn't know why his weapon kept morphing, but he didn't have time to dwell on this. Crouching, he slashed at the zombie's legs until the legs were rendered useless. It collapsed to the ground in a puddle of its own blood, but that didn't stop it. The zombie began to crawl towards Gordon by digging its claws into the ground and pulling its severed torso forward.
Gordon carefully aimed and shot it right at the base of the neck twice. The headcrab jumped off, virtually unharmed. Cursing again, Gordon shot it as time slowed down for a third time. This time, Gordon was used to it, and took advantage of the slowdown. He grabbed the headcrab and, hoping time wouldn't speed up soon, pushed it in the lock puddle next to the other headcrab. Backing away, time sped up again and the headcrab struggled to free itself. Gordon looked around at the other objects in the shed, which appeared to be more of a museum of Gordon's past.
Nearby was the body of Barney, a guard and a friend from his days at Black Mesa. Other, unidentifiable bodies lay close to him, too. Shuddering, Gordon backed out of the shed. Whatever else was in this shed, he didn't want to see it. Outside, the scenery had drastically changed. It was now a stone cliff, with a violent ocean below. There was a huge storm brewing overhead, and a man sat on a rock, slouched over and staring out at the sea.
Gordon wasn't sure whether to walk up to the man, or ignore him. He looked vaguely familiar, but Gordon wasn't sure where he'd know the man from. Gordon decided to take the chance, and walked over to the man. From the side view, Gordon was shocked at who it was. He was in his late fifties, or early sixties, and looked older, but Gordon recognized him instantly. It was himself, only older and more beat-up! The man paid no attention to Gordon, or even acknowledged his presence. He just stared out at the sea, breathing lightly.
"Why didn't you do something?" Gordon was surprised at the sudden question. The man appeared to not even notice Gordon was standing besides him, so it took a minute for Gordon to realize he was talking to him.
"Do…something?"
"Yes, why didn't you stop him? You had a perfect chance!"
"Stop who?"
"You know who. I shall not speak of his name. He let you live….if you can call it that. Daily torture sessions and no mental privacy is not exactly my idea of a life. You could have easily stopped him."
"No I couldn't have. I'm powerless against him."
"Oh. Is that true?" The older image of himself was stretching and twisting into a new image. In a minute, Gordon was staring at the G-Man. "Glad to know you admit it. Now it's time for you to wake up. It's time to feel the pain of life."
Gordon couldn't help it. He began to run. Not in any particular direction, just running. Soon, he had skidded off the cliff. He began to plummet. All the while, Gordon could hear the G-Man laughing manically in his ears.
The ground neared closer as Gordon fell closer and closer towards it. Closer, closer, and closer still. The last thing Gordon saw was a rock which had the words "No Outlet" on it, and then everything went black.
The G-Man looked around. He appeared to be in a warehouse. Why? He walked over to a large manila envelope and opened it up. It was a letter he had written while he was at Black Mesa. He had sent it to the Black Ops HQ. It was signed "G. Man" He could remember vividly remember writing that. What had his name once been? It hadn't always been "G. Man", or "G-Man". He couldn't remember his original name.
But the letter didn't explain why he was here. Or where "here" was. After examining a few more envelopes, he concluded this was a best described as a warehouse of his memories. There were pictures of his childhood, the Black Mesa incident, his days at the University, and fresher ones of him with the Zoc't'vicians. Finally, he found a letter he had written in 4th grade to his teacher requesting a seat change. It was pathetically written, with many spelling mistakes and a barely readable handwriting. It was signed "Fredrick Georgio, 5th row, 3rd seat".
Yes, that was it. Fredrick. "Rick" was his nickname. He had not been called either name in over 40 years. No, it's been 50. That would make him…63? Age didn't matter once you've been genetically altered by a superior race so your cells would never deteriorate. Looking through, he came across his college diploma, along with his DUI certificate. If it's been 50 years since he was called Fredrick, it's been around 40 years since he had a beer.
Fredrick, or Rick, as he decided to think of himself as, continued to walk down the aisles of the warehouse. He came across the obituary of his dead grandmother, father, and mother. He had forgotten what his parents were like. He remembered he had parents, but he had completely forgotten what they were like. After seeing pictures of them, he began to recall. His father came first. His name was Jose. He died at the age of 76. His birthday was August 5th. He was intelligent, but never got his diploma. His family couldn't afford college, and his final high school GPA was one point below what was needed for the scholarship.
His mother's name was Andrea. She had graduated college, and went on to be a realtor. She was 30 when she had him, and died at the age of 80. She was terminally ill for less than six months, and ultimately died of lung cancer. Andrea came from a fairly rich family, and always had what she needed. Her parents were amazed when she announced her engagement to Jose. They couldn't believe their ears. They begged her to change her mind, and offered her many attractive men for her to change her mind. Nothing deterred her from marrying Jose, though. Her parents banished her, and acted as if Andrea was a miscarriage. Andrea was abashed at the harshness of her own parents, but soon grew used to it. They threw away all pictures or records of her birth, and would deny the fact that they had ever had any more children than three to anyone.
Rick didn't even realize that was crumpling the photo. He looked down at it, released his hand, and let it fall to the ground. Before it hit, though, it burst into flames and incinerated, leaving no trace of its existence behind. Rick began to walk down the aisles again, examining different objects and letters. He began to realize that the artifacts were arranged in chronological order, going from the beginning of his life to now. He passed by a body of a long-since-forgotten uncle. He continued walking, and then he reached the area marking the beginning of the Black Mesa incident. There was a pile of ripped-up headcrabs, zombies, dead scientists and guards, and numerous Xen bodies. Then came the Zoc't'vicians. There were few bodies of them, but mostly bodies of humans, ripped to pieces from the alien-induced massacres. Rick hadn't realized that he had killed this many people, but most of them were useless. Anyways, it was time to, if you'd excuse the expression, "take out the trash."
Rick felt no sympathy for the dead humans, but rather felt a pride that he'd issued the order that killed them. As he progressed down the rows and rows of memories, he noticed a change. He began to see things that he had never seen. He was beyond his current time. There was letters written in Xor'k, the Zoc't'vician language, which he was fluent in. They began very orderly, but began to lose the harshness, and began to seem as if a confused man was writing them. He noticed grammar mistakes and incorrect characters that should have had an extra line or one less line. He was watching his own senility. The pictures were of him marching troops of Zoc't'vicians around Earth, whipping slave humans. Gordon was in a few of the photos, and every time he was clearly unhappy. There were scars and cuts and bruises covering his body. Apparently, Rick had stopped giving Gordon new bodies as often as he began. Perhaps he had forgotten.
Then, he found some more images that made his heart stop. His blood ran cold. There was a sequence of pictures that included the torture device Rick, himself, had hooked up to Gordon many times before. Except there was one difference: he was hooked up. There was blood pouring out of throat, forehead, and many other areas of his body. He had had his skin peeled back on both arms. The skull was completely visible; the skin had also been peeled back.
This was his fate? Was he going to be killed slowly by his own army? Why would this happen?
Rick began to feel really weak. It seemed as if the world around him was melting. No, wait. It really was melting. The shelves around him melted and began to swirl. He fell to his knees. His head really hurt. Rick grabbed the sides of his head.
All of a sudden, Rick was outside of his body, staring at his gaunt face. No, that wasn't the face of Rick. That was the G-Man. He was no longer Rick. Sure, he could call himself whatever he wanted, but as far as the rest of the universe was concerned, Rick was dead. The G-Man was here to stay.
Rick watched as the G-Man's head split into two pieces, and fell lifelessly to the ground. They, too, incinerated before actually touching the ground. The body of the G-Man slumped over, and millions of tiny Zoc't'vicians poured out of his neck. They swarmed everywhere, chewing everything up. They reminded Rick of locusts.
Right before his eyes, the warehouse was chewed to pieces, leaving an inky blackness behind. Soon, there was no warehouse, only darkness. Darkness was everywhere. He couldn't see anything, but he had the slightest feeling that he had seen this blackness before…
--Okay, that's it for chapter 5! What'd you think? Please leave all comments! I know that the names for the G-Man and his family weren't the most original, but I think it fits. I wanted to give a little background story to the G-Man, and also add a little dementedness to Gordon's mind. Anyways, please reciew!
-HydraulicCheese--
Chapter Five: It's All Just A Dream
English Version
Thursday – Day Four
Darkness. Darkness surrounded him. It engulfed him. It was his very essence. Everywhere he looked, there was the darkness. He swam in it, ran in it, breathed it, and drank it. The darkness flowed through him the way a lava flows through a volcano, bursting to get out.
Right when he was most comfortable with the darkness, it began to leave! Quickly, the darkness began to seep away from him. Why would it leave him? He ran, swam, flew, tried anything to get back to the darkness. It was futile.
White! Blinding, white light surrounded him now. It chased away the darkness. The light chased the darkness from inside of him. He felt hollow and empty. His emptiness, along with the light, scared him. It shrunk him. He appeared small and insignificant. When all the darkness was gone, the feeling began to leave him, too. Also, the blinding white light began to fade away, revealing a mountainous landscape.
Where was he? He, who could now identify himself as the scientist Gordon Freeman, tried to understand why he was here, wherever "here" was. To his left was a gigantic waterfall, which turned into a river, which turned into a blue, clear lake. To his right was a shed. Upon closer inspection, it had a door, with a lock on it. Taking out his crowbar, Gordon began to hit the lock. It melted and ran in small streams around his shoes, pooling near the soles. With the lock gone, Gordon could easily open the door. After doing so, he stepped in. It was much larger than it appeared from the outside. Maybe it wasn't. Oh well, it didn't matter.
What mattered was the puddle of lock. It was dripping into the shed. Although Gordon wouldn't normally be intrigued as he was, something compelled him to look at it. The puddle had shaped an image of its former self, only without any real depth, or solidity. Gordon kneeled next to it. He took out his crowbar again, and prodded the puddle. The liquid instantly solidified before his eyes on the crowbar, but maintained its liquid state on the ground. Gingerly, Gordon stuck his finger in the puddle. The metallic liquid was hotter than boiling water! He checked his finger for burns, only to find the metal had once again solidified on another solid.
The metal on his finger was beginning get warmer. Soon it was scalding his skin again. Then it dripped off, and the pain began to subside. Somehow, Gordon knew this puddle would be important, but he didn't know why. Or how. He just knew.
He stood up and began to look around the shed again. It seemed memories from Black Mesa were scattered all around. To his left, he saw a headcrab, lying on its back. A zombie was slumped against a wall past it. There was at least one of every Xen he had fought.
The headcrab was the most interesting in his eyes. Its legs were twitching at irregular intervals. Gordon walked over, and hit it once with his crowbar, which seemed to get longer whenever he needed it to be. After hitting it, the crowbar shrunk again. As soon as the crowbar had shrunk, the headcrab got up, as if just been woken from a deep sleep. It took a few steps to the left, then backwards.
Suddenly, the headcrab became aware of the presence of Gordon. It began to run towards him, and took a flying leap, screeching the entire time. Gordon raised his crowbar, which decided at that moment to turn into a pistol, and shot the creature in midair. It cried out in anguish as a back leg was blown off. Had Gordon's aim really gotten that bad?
Surprisingly, the headcrab continued to limp towards Gordon, screeching in a more pitiful then frightening manner. Unfortunately, just because it was now a tripod and sounded weak, it wasn't. It leapt towards Gordon again with amazing speed and strength. Gordon took careful aim, which he had time to do because the world had suddenly seemed to slow down at least 4 times. He shot the hovering headcrab three times right in the midsection. It let out a deep, slow screech which sped up into the all-too-familiar high-pitched screech of a headcrab as time sped up. The pistol suddenly turned into a shotgun afterwards, too. The headcrab fell on its side, and didn't move. At this moment, Gordon felt a wave of relief sweep across him. This feeling didn't last long, though, because the zombie Gordon had noticed before began to climb to his feet. Raising the once-pistol-but-now-shotgun, Gordon prepared himself for the attack.
It didn't come. At least, the one Gordon was prepared for didn't come. The headcrab that Gordon knew he had killed had leapt towards him; hole in his middle, and no leg. Yellow blood was all over the ground, and was still gushing from the wounds. This caused the headcrab to have slick skin, which partly helped Gordon not to be dead right now. It slid past him, and skid across the floor. Gordon raised the shotgun, and right before Gordon pulled the trigger, time once again slowed down. Gordon looked around at the frozen world. Some blood from the headcrab hung in midair. Without waiting any longer, he pulled the trigger once, twice, three times and watched in half-amazement, half-bewilderment as the bullets slowly shot forward, broke apart, and eventually hit the headcrab. As soon as the last bullet hit, time sped up again, and the headcrab spun in the air before landing on the ground with a "SPLAT". Gordon walked over to make sure it was dead. He nudged it with his foot. It wasn't dead, but very much alive!
What was going on? The headcrab should have been dead long before now. They never acted like this back at Black Mesa. Why wasn't the headcrab dying?
Gordon didn't have time to answer these questions. Instead, he shot the headcrab some more until all that was left was a very thin frame and two legs. It stopped moving. Taking no chances, Gordon kicked it as hard as he could. It flew through the air, screeching wildly. Eventually, it landed and skidded across the floor and came to a rest in the puddle of lock. It struggled to get up, but it couldn't. The lock had solidified around him, leaving him melted to the floor!
Gordon looked over his shoulder just in time to see the zombie swing his arms at him. Ducking, Gordon swore at his stupidity. Why did he forget about the zombie? Gordon hoped that this zombie wouldn't be like the headcrab, and never die. He shot it in the chest with the shotgun, as he nearly avoided another attack. It fell backwards, and then got back up. Obviously, it wasn't going to die as easily as it should. The shotgun had transformed into a crowbar again as Gordon was pulling the trigger. Gordon didn't know why his weapon kept morphing, but he didn't have time to dwell on this. Crouching, he slashed at the zombie's legs until the legs were rendered useless. It collapsed to the ground in a puddle of its own blood, but that didn't stop it. The zombie began to crawl towards Gordon by digging its claws into the ground and pulling its severed torso forward.
Gordon carefully aimed and shot it right at the base of the neck twice. The headcrab jumped off, virtually unharmed. Cursing again, Gordon shot it as time slowed down for a third time. This time, Gordon was used to it, and took advantage of the slowdown. He grabbed the headcrab and, hoping time wouldn't speed up soon, pushed it in the lock puddle next to the other headcrab. Backing away, time sped up again and the headcrab struggled to free itself. Gordon looked around at the other objects in the shed, which appeared to be more of a museum of Gordon's past.
Nearby was the body of Barney, a guard and a friend from his days at Black Mesa. Other, unidentifiable bodies lay close to him, too. Shuddering, Gordon backed out of the shed. Whatever else was in this shed, he didn't want to see it. Outside, the scenery had drastically changed. It was now a stone cliff, with a violent ocean below. There was a huge storm brewing overhead, and a man sat on a rock, slouched over and staring out at the sea.
Gordon wasn't sure whether to walk up to the man, or ignore him. He looked vaguely familiar, but Gordon wasn't sure where he'd know the man from. Gordon decided to take the chance, and walked over to the man. From the side view, Gordon was shocked at who it was. He was in his late fifties, or early sixties, and looked older, but Gordon recognized him instantly. It was himself, only older and more beat-up! The man paid no attention to Gordon, or even acknowledged his presence. He just stared out at the sea, breathing lightly.
"Why didn't you do something?" Gordon was surprised at the sudden question. The man appeared to not even notice Gordon was standing besides him, so it took a minute for Gordon to realize he was talking to him.
"Do…something?"
"Yes, why didn't you stop him? You had a perfect chance!"
"Stop who?"
"You know who. I shall not speak of his name. He let you live….if you can call it that. Daily torture sessions and no mental privacy is not exactly my idea of a life. You could have easily stopped him."
"No I couldn't have. I'm powerless against him."
"Oh. Is that true?" The older image of himself was stretching and twisting into a new image. In a minute, Gordon was staring at the G-Man. "Glad to know you admit it. Now it's time for you to wake up. It's time to feel the pain of life."
Gordon couldn't help it. He began to run. Not in any particular direction, just running. Soon, he had skidded off the cliff. He began to plummet. All the while, Gordon could hear the G-Man laughing manically in his ears.
The ground neared closer as Gordon fell closer and closer towards it. Closer, closer, and closer still. The last thing Gordon saw was a rock which had the words "No Outlet" on it, and then everything went black.
The G-Man looked around. He appeared to be in a warehouse. Why? He walked over to a large manila envelope and opened it up. It was a letter he had written while he was at Black Mesa. He had sent it to the Black Ops HQ. It was signed "G. Man" He could remember vividly remember writing that. What had his name once been? It hadn't always been "G. Man", or "G-Man". He couldn't remember his original name.
But the letter didn't explain why he was here. Or where "here" was. After examining a few more envelopes, he concluded this was a best described as a warehouse of his memories. There were pictures of his childhood, the Black Mesa incident, his days at the University, and fresher ones of him with the Zoc't'vicians. Finally, he found a letter he had written in 4th grade to his teacher requesting a seat change. It was pathetically written, with many spelling mistakes and a barely readable handwriting. It was signed "Fredrick Georgio, 5th row, 3rd seat".
Yes, that was it. Fredrick. "Rick" was his nickname. He had not been called either name in over 40 years. No, it's been 50. That would make him…63? Age didn't matter once you've been genetically altered by a superior race so your cells would never deteriorate. Looking through, he came across his college diploma, along with his DUI certificate. If it's been 50 years since he was called Fredrick, it's been around 40 years since he had a beer.
Fredrick, or Rick, as he decided to think of himself as, continued to walk down the aisles of the warehouse. He came across the obituary of his dead grandmother, father, and mother. He had forgotten what his parents were like. He remembered he had parents, but he had completely forgotten what they were like. After seeing pictures of them, he began to recall. His father came first. His name was Jose. He died at the age of 76. His birthday was August 5th. He was intelligent, but never got his diploma. His family couldn't afford college, and his final high school GPA was one point below what was needed for the scholarship.
His mother's name was Andrea. She had graduated college, and went on to be a realtor. She was 30 when she had him, and died at the age of 80. She was terminally ill for less than six months, and ultimately died of lung cancer. Andrea came from a fairly rich family, and always had what she needed. Her parents were amazed when she announced her engagement to Jose. They couldn't believe their ears. They begged her to change her mind, and offered her many attractive men for her to change her mind. Nothing deterred her from marrying Jose, though. Her parents banished her, and acted as if Andrea was a miscarriage. Andrea was abashed at the harshness of her own parents, but soon grew used to it. They threw away all pictures or records of her birth, and would deny the fact that they had ever had any more children than three to anyone.
Rick didn't even realize that was crumpling the photo. He looked down at it, released his hand, and let it fall to the ground. Before it hit, though, it burst into flames and incinerated, leaving no trace of its existence behind. Rick began to walk down the aisles again, examining different objects and letters. He began to realize that the artifacts were arranged in chronological order, going from the beginning of his life to now. He passed by a body of a long-since-forgotten uncle. He continued walking, and then he reached the area marking the beginning of the Black Mesa incident. There was a pile of ripped-up headcrabs, zombies, dead scientists and guards, and numerous Xen bodies. Then came the Zoc't'vicians. There were few bodies of them, but mostly bodies of humans, ripped to pieces from the alien-induced massacres. Rick hadn't realized that he had killed this many people, but most of them were useless. Anyways, it was time to, if you'd excuse the expression, "take out the trash."
Rick felt no sympathy for the dead humans, but rather felt a pride that he'd issued the order that killed them. As he progressed down the rows and rows of memories, he noticed a change. He began to see things that he had never seen. He was beyond his current time. There was letters written in Xor'k, the Zoc't'vician language, which he was fluent in. They began very orderly, but began to lose the harshness, and began to seem as if a confused man was writing them. He noticed grammar mistakes and incorrect characters that should have had an extra line or one less line. He was watching his own senility. The pictures were of him marching troops of Zoc't'vicians around Earth, whipping slave humans. Gordon was in a few of the photos, and every time he was clearly unhappy. There were scars and cuts and bruises covering his body. Apparently, Rick had stopped giving Gordon new bodies as often as he began. Perhaps he had forgotten.
Then, he found some more images that made his heart stop. His blood ran cold. There was a sequence of pictures that included the torture device Rick, himself, had hooked up to Gordon many times before. Except there was one difference: he was hooked up. There was blood pouring out of throat, forehead, and many other areas of his body. He had had his skin peeled back on both arms. The skull was completely visible; the skin had also been peeled back.
This was his fate? Was he going to be killed slowly by his own army? Why would this happen?
Rick began to feel really weak. It seemed as if the world around him was melting. No, wait. It really was melting. The shelves around him melted and began to swirl. He fell to his knees. His head really hurt. Rick grabbed the sides of his head.
All of a sudden, Rick was outside of his body, staring at his gaunt face. No, that wasn't the face of Rick. That was the G-Man. He was no longer Rick. Sure, he could call himself whatever he wanted, but as far as the rest of the universe was concerned, Rick was dead. The G-Man was here to stay.
Rick watched as the G-Man's head split into two pieces, and fell lifelessly to the ground. They, too, incinerated before actually touching the ground. The body of the G-Man slumped over, and millions of tiny Zoc't'vicians poured out of his neck. They swarmed everywhere, chewing everything up. They reminded Rick of locusts.
Right before his eyes, the warehouse was chewed to pieces, leaving an inky blackness behind. Soon, there was no warehouse, only darkness. Darkness was everywhere. He couldn't see anything, but he had the slightest feeling that he had seen this blackness before…
--Okay, that's it for chapter 5! What'd you think? Please leave all comments! I know that the names for the G-Man and his family weren't the most original, but I think it fits. I wanted to give a little background story to the G-Man, and also add a little dementedness to Gordon's mind. Anyways, please reciew!
-HydraulicCheese--