Lost In The Fight

A Quashed Rebellion

The bullet dug into the concrete wall just beside Carl's shoulder. The civilian that had just been beaten sprinted away, screaming. The Civil Protection soldiers looked up to see four civilians - rebels - carrying pistols. They began to shoot again.

The Civil Protection soldier nearest to Carl shouted "Resistance in City 15, Station 3 - please send immediate reinforcements, I repeat rebellious forces in Station 3!" but the receiver only buzzed in reply.

The Metro policeman whipped up his Stun-Stick then charged at the rebellious group. The rebels took aim and fired; the four bullets ripped into the Combine's armour, throwing him back, and blood spattered on the wall. A deafening high-pitched squeal emitted from the Combine's mouthpiece - he was definitely dead.

Another soldier yelled into the receiver:

"MAN DOWN, MAN DOWN! Where are those reinforcements? This is CP-876 reporting in!" she said furiously.

Suddenly Combine Elite started to pour into the station, carrying sub-machine guns. One shouted above the now echoing Alert announcement on the station speakers:

"Give up now!"

The rebels all showed rude hand gestures.

A Civil Protection Officer came up behind Carl, grabbed his arms and dragged him off to the room with the dead soldier in it.

"I had nothing to do with it," Carl gasped.

"We saw you, civilian!" shouted the soldier, and Carl cowered; he was going to be killed on the first day in this city, his new home.

A soldier wandered in. The officer made a confusing hand gesture and the soldier went away saying, "Have fun, sir!". Suddenly, the officer took off his mask; it was Barney Calhoun, one of the few people that survived Black Mesa with Gordon Freeman. Barney was about as unlucky as Carl, he was working as a security guard at the fabled Black Mesa Facility, when the Xen forces escaped Barney managed to survive the aliens, soldiers and black-ops to make out into the hell-hole which the Combine had made.

"I'm sorry about that argument, I just had to convince them," he said, smiling, and glanced at the CP on the ground "Good job, but you really should have thought about all the security. It took me ages to delete that file," he murmured. He glanced up again. "You're a bit quiet, aren't you?" he asked.

"Sorry, I'm just so shocked to see y - "

Carl's words were cut off as they heard several harsh knocks at the back entrance.

"Go, quickly!" Barney said, motioning towards the exit. Carl turned quickly and dashed out of the rusty doorway.

The station in front of him was a complete mess; four dead rebels had been left dead in the centre of the plaza, surrounded by Combine soldiers. One spat on him. Carl's anger boiled up inside him again, but this time he sat down on the bench, letting his anger drain away as two of the Combine soldiers half-carried, half-dragged the bodies away. The trail of blood that they left behind them was enough to indicate which way they were doing.

As the dead Combine soldier was carried off on a metal stretcher, Carl stood up again, astounded by what had happened. It was coming - he could sense it - but when?

A tall, dark man with short hair was crying softly into the tattered blue overalls he was wearing. Carl approached him; he already knew what this was about. The man turned around, ready to pour out his sadness to somebody else.

"They killed her! She wasn't even with the rebellion, she ran past and they shot her, in cold blood," he cried, as tears poured out on to his blue overalls.

"I know, I know," Carl mumbled. He knew it was harsh but, in this 'new' world, you had to be.

The man looked up and Carl saw his miserable, tear-stained face take on a slightly less unhappy expression.

"Thanks for that," he said sheepishly. "By the way, I'm Matthew."

Slowly, Matthew got back up and they walked down the yellowing, tiled corridor.

Matthew's story was even more unpleasant than Carl'sHe was just 18 and most of this had been forced on him. He had no living relatives or friends; he was completely alone in the world. Carl's blond hair swayed as he walked and it kept getting into his eyes as he walked through the food court

Three identical, evil-looking machines lined one of the food court's walls. The metal tables were set in rows and aisles that were littered with rubbish. There was also a metallic drinks dispenser on the wall; Carl approached it, wanting to drink the cool water, as he hadn't had a drink for ages. The cool trickling water was near his lips when -

"STOP!"

Matthew sprinted up to him and pulled Carl aside.

"What?" said Carl, confused.

"Do you want to become a mindless drone like most of these people?" Matthew asked him.

"Of course not!" Carl retorted with disgust.

"Well then, don't drink the water. It's filled with toxins that make you very 'compliant' to the Combine," Matthew told him, and Carl quickly backed away from the drinks dispenser.

The metallic city scanners floated overhead, automatically taking photos of passing civilians.

One of them floated overhead; the camera's flash blinded them briefly before it buzzed away again.

"Stubborn things, aren't they?" Matthew said scornfully, as he noticed Carl glaring up at one.

"Yeah," Carl replied.

They stepped out into the cold, frosty air. City 15 was a desolate wreck of a city, covered in bleak greyness and awash with a sense of overpowering doom. A large panel hung on the side of a building; Dr Breen's wrinkling face was plastered on it, rambling about 'How the Combine is our friend' and how it was 'There to protect us', unaware that essentially, he was little more than a pawn in the Combine's intergalactic chess game. Meanwhile, civilians were milling aimlessly around on the cobbled streets far below, seemingly unaware that anything was wrong with their city. It was plain to see, however, that all was not well; barricades had been set up at certain points of the intersection, and a statue in the centre of the plaza had been shattered. Three legs of what had probably been a stone animal were still visible amid the wreckage, but the rest of the statue was now just a pile of debris.

Matthew and Carl slowly descended the steps, and the marble underfoot made a feebly clicking noise with every step they took. In spite of the devastation, the Combine had tried to make this area as presentable as possible, but it hadn't worked; bullet holes were clearly visible in the marble steps, and the unsightly wreckage of the statue was no less obvious.

"Which apartment block are you in?" Matthew asked.

"I don't know - they basically said 'Find one'," Carl answered.

"Well, our apartment block isn't the grandest, but we're happy for you to come and stay there," Matthew said warmly.

Carl nodded gratefully, while crossing off another thing on his mental checklist - at least he now had somewhere to sleep in this bleak city. They continued to walk slowly towards one of the metallic barriers that surroundedeach building. A scanner was gliding above the door, idly scanning people.

Matthew and Carl passed through the massive bulk of the gate. As soon as they were through, they saw that the other side of the city had become a hell-hole. The Combine still hadn't taken this part of the city over completely, so there were APCs roaming the streets like ravenous hounds. Several apartment blocks towered above them; they were huge blue unmodernised buildings, with most of their windows either cracked, blown out or simply boarded up with large wooden boards.

They arrived at one particularly shabby apartment block. The door was splintered and the door-knob lay on the ground beside it. The hall turned out to be a tiled room containing a pot plant and two shabby sofas, both of which were occupied.

The stairs creaked as they went upstairs and into Matthew's apartment. There were two sofas in the room.

"You can take that one," said Matthew, gesturing towards the blue sofa. The rest of the room was dilapidated, fraying, and pink, carpet lined the floor, a small wooden television was perched on a small, creaking, table. Dr Breen's face was, yet again, plastered over it. A shabby kitchen was in the corner with cartons and rusting tins on the counter. The cooker looked as if it was a tomb to rotting food.

Suddenly, a crash erupted from downstairs and a man ran past the apartment, yelling at the top of his voice:

"It's an APC!"