D-9 holstered his pistol, still running hard through the dark corridors. His radio could listen in on Resistance frequencies, and he had heard the earlier explosion from outside. Now he was truly isolated, with little hope of resupply, reinforcement or extraction.
What now?
He stopped, leaning against a metal bulkhead. The humans were planning to leave with a submarine, but there was little chance of him sneaking aboard or taking the vessel by force. The Overwatch had pulled back a considerable distance from the Borealis and were unlikely to try and retake the ship soon.
He looked down at the silver case still clenched in his hand. Some dark purple liquid had splashed onto the arming console, and was now dripping onto the floor. He turned his arm over, seeing more of the liquid spilling down his white body armour. D-9 felt his shoulder, then up to the back of his helmet – and felt something loose.
The Elite dropped the case, suddenly panicked. His combat computer ran a diagnostic program, and the results came back almost instantly. His Stim bladder had been ruptured.
All Overwatch soldiers come with a built – in Stimulant dispenser, that injects adrenaline and other boosters into the soldier's bloodstream during stressful situations. As a by product, all Overwatch personnel were in some way addicted to it, and deprival could lead to insanity or death.
D-9's heart began to pound. The corridor began to swim in and out of his vision, and he sank to the floor, his helmet filled with flashing lights and wailing alarms. After a while, everything floated away.
When D-9 awoke, he felt strange. He observed the purple streaks that ran down his uniform, but felt nothing. He flexed his fingers, feeling them move under the gloves. Feeling faint, he began to slide back into unconsciousness, but at the last instant he rammed his collapsible stun baton into his chest, jolting himself awake. There were things to be done.
A group of Resistance members, dressed in thick parkas and snow camouflage, emerged over the side railing of the icebreaker. Gordon emerged from the bridge, cradling Alyx in his arms. Blood sheeted down the front of his HEV suit. He waved frantically to the rebels, and they ran towards him. They stretched out a tarpaulin on the deck, and set to work with bandages and painkillers. Gordon stood some distance away, chewing his lip in fear and frustration.
One of the rebels clapped him on the shoulder. "Gordon. You hurt anywhere?"
"No, Barney, I'm fine."
"Really? You've got some blood...wait, no some weird purple stuff on your face."
The scientist turned, and stared out at the horizon. He ran his hands over the butt of the .357 Magnum in his belt. "The Combine are still on board. We should probably go look for them."
"Combine? Nah, they've been gone for ages now. There's been no radio chatter, and the transports...c'mon Gordon. Right now, Alyx doesn't need you to run off and avenge her. She needs you with her."
Gordon turned back, and gave Barney a thin smile. "You're probably right."
D-9 hunkered down next to a shattered window on the bridge, and gazed down on the scene below him. One subject, possibly the Vance sub-prime, was wounded and lying on a tarpaulin on the centre of the deck. Two humans were giving her medical attention. Two more humans had returned to their submarine, taking with them armfuls of recovered Combine weapons. As he watched, a human wearing a suit of orange and grey steel strode over and knelt beside Vance. This was Freeman, and a quick scan of the purple residue on his face and torso confirmed that it was he that D-9 had run in to below decks.
Somehow, and for some unknown reason, D-9 felt as though he should leave the ship. But how? He was unarmed, save for his pistol. Glancing down, he remembered the charge, and a plan began to piece together in his mind...