Christine blinked groggily, and looked around. She was in . . . a train station. On a bench. Blinking, she looked around - there were several humans standing around, most guarding the entrances and exits, and searching the trains. They all held weapons.
"Where am I?" she asked aloud. Nobody answered her, though an old man gave her a sidelong glance. Christine stood, and noticed a briefcase on the bench beside her. The handle had her name printed on it. Heaving the heavy object, she walked over and sat down next to the old man, who was reading a newspaper with the title Resistance Bugle. Beneath it, in much smaller type, was the message: "THE ONLY RESISTANCE NEWSPAPER, THE ONLY RELIABLE SOURCE". Beneath it, the cover story read: "CITY 13 OBLITERATED: Citizens Ruthlessly Slaughtered".
"I didn't see you get here," said the old man, barely moving his lips. Christine jumped.
"Oh, really? I don't remember getting here," she replied. "Where are we?"
"Ravenholm," he whispered, but did not elaborate.
"Where's Ravenholm?" she asked simply.
He set the newspaper down, frowning. "Listen, young lady, this may be a resistance town, but that doesn't mean you can just talk freely and loudly! The Combine could be listening!" The old man gave Christine an angry look, and went back to his newspaper. She stood up and walked through a turnstile, and entered a waiting room. A young woman was dispensing coffee and peanuts to a number of new arrivals. Christine sat down, and the lady gave her a happy grin. "Only found in Ravenholm!" she said cheerfully, offering a package of nuts and a Styrofoam cup of coffee. Christine accepted, nodding at the woman, who scurried away.
An Asian man in a blue jumpsuit sat down on the other side of the table. He also seemed happy, and he said, "Great to be in a town not oppressed by the Combine, eh? I just came from City 17, and you should see all of the CPs! Where are you from?"
"I don't know," Christine said truthfully. "I seemed to have just showed up here. What's a Combine?"
"Hmm," said the Asian man, sipping coffee. "Where have you been?"
"Like I said, I don't know."
"The Combine are a bunch of aliens that came in a few years ago and enslaved us humans," he explained happily.
A brief flash of images appeared in Christine's mind. "A 7 hours war, right?"
"Yup," nodded the Asian man.
"What has happened since then?" Christine asked, eyeing the peanuts suspiciously.
"A crap load," he said with glee. "The Combine established an Overwatch - a group of modified humans that the Combine uses to keep the humans in line. The CPs I mentioned are a big part of them."
"Where are they now?"
"Ravenholm is a resistance town. The only Overwatch you'll find around here are dead ones."
"The Combine don't know about Ravenholm?"
"Of course! If they did, this place wouldn't be a resistance town - it'd be a nest of zombies!"
Christine remembered the zombies. Before the 7 hours war, there had been portal storms that had released aliens onto Earth, including headcrabs. They latched themselves onto the heads of humanoids, and created zombies. "Are the Combine headcrabs or something?"
"Nope, they use shells that deploy headcrabs." He sipped his coffee again.
Christine nodded, thinking. Suddenly, she remembered the suitcase and pulled it onto the table. "This was by me when I woke up."
She opened it. Inside was, surprisingly, a .357 Desert Eagle and a stack of papers. Beneath the papers were several magazines of ammunition for the .357. The papers just had personal information. Where had this stuff come from?
Closing the briefcase, she reached out her hand to the Asian man. He shook it. "Christine," said Christine.
"Jeff Royle," said Jeff Royle. "We might as well head into town, right? We'll probably be here for a while."
The pair headed through the security station, where the resistance soldier simply poked the Desert Eagle and grinned. Finally, he said cryptically, "Black Ops, eh?"
"No," Christine raised her eyebrow at him, before Jeff hurried on. She followed him into a food court, and out into the bright sunshine. Ravenholm was a beautiful town; Christine could see a busy market, a warehouse, a water tower, and a church.
"The resistance are using this place almost exclusively as an HQ. There are also a few laboratories the resistance is using to construct a better means of travel - less dangerous, you know." Jeff led them through a maze of alleys and brick roads, until the reached the town square. They trotted down main street; resistance soldiers toting SMGs, some sort of large rifle, and shotguns leaned against walls and talked beside a café. There were also many weaponless citizens.
Jeff led Christine into a tenement block, and into an apartment building. There were several humans inside, all looking very cheerful. They ate and lounged in the lobby; the pair moved through and up to a desk. The aging woman in the seat behind it looked up with tired eyes and gave them an offer; the apartments were surprisingly low-priced, given the number of people Christine had seen. She inquired about this to Jeff; he told her that the resistance didn't need money, because they grew their own food in the neighboring farms and acquired their weapons from warehouses and dead Overwatch. "And those are the only important things in life," he joked, showing Christine to her room. There was a small, ancient television and a few recent newspapers on a dusty red recliner. A small bed with a smelly pillow and scratchy sheets was shoved up against a corner. There was a bathroom with a clean toilet, sink, and small shower. A note in scrawled writing was stuck to the mirror: Towels, sheets, blankets in closet. Breakfast at 7 AM. Need money? Talk to Monet. Christine blinked, and shoved the note in her pocket before stepping out of the bathroom.
There was a door beside the bathroom that led into the other apartment room next door. Jeff knocked a few minutes after Christine settled, and told her he was going into town to stock up on food for the both of them. Christine thanked him, and he headed out.
Inside the closet, Christine found several blue jumpsuits she had seen other citizens wear, and a stack of towels, sheets, and blankets, as the note has said. There was also an alarm clock, which now read 4:23 PM. There were two crates with "SUPPLY" printed on the sides, which held medical kits, ammunition, an SMG, and a USP Match pistol. Another crate held hand soap, shampoo, conditioner, and other bathroom necessities.
Closing the closet door, Christine knelt by the television and turned it on. The first channel had a white-haired man with a beard and mustache ranting on about the suppression of the reproductive cycle. Disgusted, Christine switched the dial. The next channel had resistance reports coming in from multiple cities, and Ravenholm newscaster showed clips of the Overwatch, their brutality, and in one case a heated battle between resistance and Combine soldiers. The reporter on the spot explained that the battle was occurring in the remnants of City 13.
Christine was surprised by the technology the Ravenholm newscasters had available to them. After showing a brief clip of resistance soldiers flushing Overwatch from a sealed bunker, a 3-D animation of a Combine soldier was shown. The reporter pointed out the bullet-proof vest taken from human sources, which could take significant Submachine Gun fire. It showed several bullets hit the vest with no or little effect. The reporter then commentated, "If we use the enemy's own pulse rifle against them, we get much more significant results . . ." The animation then showed several blue pulses slam into the vest, melting it. "Combined with SMG fire, we can easily take down the soldiers." Finally, it showed more bullets hit the partly-melted vest, and dig in deep. It showed the blue eyes on the black mask darken comically.
The next channel had a golden "W" in the bottom left corner. Like the animation before, it was now presenting a shotgun. A deep voice said, "Stay tuned to the weapons channel, after these messages from your local resistance sponsor . . ." Christine returned to the Ravenholm newscast, and turned the TV off. She stepped out into the hallway, and took the stairs two at a time to the lobby below. Many of the citizens were just leaving. Christine walked up to the desk lady, and asked, "Where are they going?"
"To church, it's Saturday, y'know."
"I thought church was Sunday morning."
"There's a Saturday afternoon service, hon. Most of the town attends." She didn't remove her eyes from another Resistance Bugle.
"Okay," Christine said, nodding, "Who's Monet?"
"I'm Monet, hon, and its Monay, not Monett."
Christine grinned and followed the citizens into the street. A few minutes later, she arrived at the church, and asked a black man named Leon who the pastor was. "Ah, that's Father Grigori. He's been here since before the war began. Very good man, him."
Father Grigori preached his sermon, mentioning several times the Combine and Overwatch, and to deliver those who had been modified from evil. Afterwards, Christine realized why so many people came: it was like a town meeting. Leon took the stage, and explained grimly that many of the other resistance settlements had been shelled recently. "More shotguns and ammunition are to be handed out to squad leaders, in case of a zombie incursion. If the Overwatch does shell Ravenholm, unarmed citizens should move to the town center, where everyone should be well protected."
A woman named Noriko then went over emergency procedures. While most of the citizens had now moved outside, a few of the newcomers, including Christine, remained inside. "If you cannot get to the town center, you should come to the church, where Father Grigori will lead refugees into the old mine shaft. Leon and I will meet up with the refugees at the old warehouse on the railroad.
"If Combine attack Ravenholm, meet up with your apartment squad leader and board up the doors and windows. Fire teams should hole up in the upper apartments, while remaining squad members stay below. If Overwatch penetrates your apartment, use the supplies and mines located at the rear of every hallway to block the stairwell . . ."
Christine stood and left, getting the idea. The sun was setting, now, and most of the resistance soldiers outside had set bonfires. Some citizens remained, talking with the squad leaders and so on, but the rest had returned to their apartments. Christine couldn't blame them, occasionally, the howl of some alien beast pierced the night. Walking past a bonfire, she overhead one man say, "Damned Overwatch have been modifying the headcrabs, as well. Heard they've created one that spits poison, and one that moves really fast. I hear the latter ones create really fast zombies, too."
There was a gasp from the assembled citizens. Even Christine felt dread in the pit of her stomach; the real weakness of zombies were their slowness. She returned to their apartment, and asked Monet who the squad leader was. "I am, hon. I suppose you read the notice?"
"Yep," Christine answered.
"Good. Report to me after brekkist, I'll give you a job. Now hit the sack, hon, I don't abide lateness."
Christine headed up the stairs, and knocked on Jeff's door. He poked his head out and grinned. "I assume you went to the sermon? I heard about it from a guy, back at the market, but I think I'll go tomorrow." He opened the door all the way and beckoned Christine in. He was watching the Weapons Channel, and had paper bags of food spread out along the bed. "Take your pick, most of it is just fruit and vegetables. The lady at the store did have some cola they'd nicked off a warehouse, but it was pretty old and really expensive."
Realizing her hunger and thirst, Christine began rooting through the bags. "What else did they have to drink?"
"Water, orange juice, and even some pineapple juice. It's all there."
Christine found two jugs of the pineapple juice and a stack of Styrofoam cups. "Did you get the note?"
"Yeah, and I checked out the emergency supplies at the end of the hallway. They have C4, grenades, Overwatch pulse rifles, hoppers, and a bunch of junk. Monet told me that the stairwell could be blown so the upstairs could be sealed off."
Christine downed two cups of the pineapple juice before returning to her room. Flicking on the TV, she caught a report coming in from a town called Old Large Odessa. The Overwatch had bombarded the town, and the last survivors were holding off a horde of zombies on the rooftops. The reporter, standing on the outskirts of the town, where a firefight could be seen, said, "Troops from Shorepoint, New Little Odessa, Lighthouse Point, and Ravenholm have been dispatched to help quell the infestation . . . With a little luck, OLO could survive the shelling. Sadly, reports of gunships en route to the town have just come in."
Suddenly, there was a crack from outside, and the television flickered. A woman's voice screamed, "We're being shelled!"