Subject:
Maya Bishop
Female, age 31
Training:
United States Ranger Corps.
Special Forces
Assignment:
Black Mesa Laboratories
Mission:
Classified
When I enlisted in the U.S. armed forces, I was hoping to make a difference. I was young and confused. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. I was lost. I had hoped that the army would give me something, some sort of purpose, a chance to perhaps do something meaningful. I did the best I could do. I pushed myself to impossible standards. I learned to shoot, run, crawl through mud, I ran their obstacle courses and performed their drills. I did everything I could.
And what did I get in return?
It seemed like a huge step up when I made it into special forces. Here I was among the best that the country had to offer. I wondered where they might deploy me, what I could to help our great nation.
But instead of being given a unit, or being sent to any particularly notable location, I was deployed to Santego Base in Arizona, given my own room, and told to wait for further instructions. The days consisted of long periods of boredom, rotating between staying in my room, training exercises, and the occasional meal. They tended to blur together quickly. I lost track of what day it was or how long I'd been there. I just got used to military time.
The base itself was used as a training ground for marines in the Hazardous Environment Combat Unit. That part confused me, as I was not a marine, nor was I expected to take part in their exercises. That was the duty of Sergeants Barnes and Sharpe. There were other Special Forces members present, but I was also told to avoid speaking with them as much as possible for reasons I only later started to work out.
I tried a few times to request a transfer but was always denied.
This was not what I signed up for. I wanted to make something of myself, to do something worthwhile, but all I was doing was sitting around. I desperately wanted an opportunity to show myself.
As the days wore on, I noticed a pale-skinned man frequently appearing around the base. He did not look military—more like a businessman. He always wore a blue suit and a red tie that he would often adjust with his left hand. In his right hand was always a briefcase. I never saw him open it or put it down—it just hung there from his arm. At this point, I only ever saw him from a distance, sometimes he spoke with an officer. On other occasions he seemed to be watching people.
A few times, I thought I saw him watching me.
I assumed he was a politician, but why he was so interested in this place was a mystery to me.
Then one day, it all changed.
I wanted a mission, and someone up in the chain of command decided to give me one. Nobody had ever been given a mission like it before and when it was over, I would never want another.
That day started off every bit as tedious and dull as the days before it. The only change was that the marines received orders. At the time, I envied them, and wondered if I had joined the wrong unit. Maybe I should have been a marine instead. From my window I watched as they mobilized and loaded up. The whole area was flooded with the noise of rotors. Helicopters took off and flew from the base, before it finally went quiet.
Just about every marine on the base was part of that group. Yet once again I was stuck back here, alone and frustrated.
A few more hours passed as I struggled to keep myself occupied. I passed the time running through obstacle courses and venting my frustrations at the shooting range, but eventually I found myself back in my room. with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling fan. It went around and around, almost felt hypnotic.
Suddenly, I heard the doorknob turning. Without even knocking or asking permission, two officers entered.
"Maya Bishop,"
"Yeah," I muttered, half-awake and not fully processing what was happening.
"Get up,"
That caught my attention. I sat up, putting the beer bottle down as I looked at one of the officers, a tall man wearing a black beret with the name "Adams" inscribed on his shirt.
My first thought was that I was in trouble. Maybe the top brass was sick of my attempts to transfer out, or I'd done something stupid after getting drunk somewhere in the last few days.
"What are the charges?" I asked.
"There's no charges, Bishop. We have your new assignment."
That seemed to change everything. Finally, I could get out of here and do something useful.
"What sort of job?"
"I'm afraid that information is on a need to know basis," said Adams. "All I can tell you is you were… personally recommended."
That phrase struck me as odd. Sure, I was a decent fighter, but I didn't recall doing anything that would warrant a personal recommendation from anyone of influence.
"Get dressed and meet us in the briefing room."
After putting on and crudely buttoning up my shirt, I followed Adams into a small metal room. A buzzer sounded as the door opened. I stepped inside, and he shut the door behind me.
"So what's so urgent?
"Let's just say that…" Adams paused as he tried to think of the right words. "There is a… crisis currently happening, that only a handful of people know about."
"What kind of crisis?" I asked.
"I'm afraid the precise nature of the crisis is classified at the highest level. All I can tell you is your mission parameters."
"Which are?"
"You will be deployed to the Black Mesa Research facility, alongside other operatives. You are not to speak to any other operators besides me, unless it pertains to the mission. You are not to reveal your name or position to anyone you encounter. Remember, this mission does not exist, nor will it ever exist."
That should have been my first red flag. The fact that they were keeping so much from me suggested there was more going on. If they really valued me, they would have revealed everything. But at the time I was more concerned with getting out of the base and seeing some action.
"Once our forces are on the ground, your task will be to infiltrate the facility by whatever means available and locate the office of Dr. Wallace Breen. There is a hard drive located in his office that we need to make sure is safely recovered. Once you have the hard drive you will return to the LZ for extraction."
"What's so important about this hard drive?" I asked.
"That information is classified. Knowing the contents of the drive is not part of your mission parameters, understand?"
"Yes sir," I said, with a bit of agitation in my voice. The secrecy surrounding this assignment was getting frustrating.
"One more thing," Adams said. "All occupants of the facility are to be considered hostile. Shoot on sight."
"All?"
"Yes. Like I said, we are in the middle of a crisis."
"Yes, sir."
"I want you geared up and at the LZ in an hour."
"Got it."
As I stepped out of the room, I was confronted by a man—a pale man in a blue suit with a red tie, holding a briefcase in his right hand.
This moment felt surreal. I had seen this man from a distance many times during my stay, but this was the first time we met face to face.
He seemed to faintly smile. "Ah, Maya Bishop. You are the one I have heard so much about."
I stood there, confused, and unsure what to think.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"Who I am is not important. Let us just say that I'm an… interested party. You on the other hand, I find quite interesting."
There was something about his voice that sounded… off. I can't explain it. I just couldn't shake the feeling that there something about him that didn't add up.
"Now, you had best be leaving. You have a job to do."
Suddenly I felt a hand grab my shoulder. I turned around to see an officer staring at me. "Come on, airfield's this way."
There were two operators waiting for me at the airfield. Both were dressed in black, with ballistic vests and balaclavas, and equipped with helmets that had night vision attached. From their eyes, it looked like one was male and one was female.
I will admit, I was confused, and it took me a moment to register that I was to dress in similar clothes. When I picked them up, one of the two black-clad figures motioned toward a small booth, indicating I was supposed to change in there.
After putting on the black clothes, I slipped on the balaclava, and the helmet, before stepping out. The female operator then signalled for me to follow her. She led me towards a V22-Osprey, whose engines were already revving up. Its rotors were spinning, and my ears were overtaken by the deafening sound of the engine.
As I stepped to the chopper, I saw Adams already waiting for me, dressed in black, but still wearing the same beret and smoking a cigarette. The female operator took a seat next to me.
"Bishop, you made it!" Adams yelled, though I could barely hear him over the engine.
The helicopter finally began to take off.