Disclaimer: I don't own Half-Life

Disclaimer: I don't own Half-Life.

Welcome to City 17

Chapter Three: Route Kanal

The harsh, pale blue light of the corridor let nothing go unnoticed. Papers strewn about, crushed into the floor from so many footsteps coming through. Other random objects caught Gordon's eye, like ancient milk cartons and a can of Breen's private reserve. Gordon was a little surprised that Breen hadn't enslaved some poor souls to pick up all the litter and debris scattered across the city.

"Help me!"

The cry rang through the corridor, surrounding him. It had come from the corridor up ahead that went off to the left. Squeezing the crowbar tighter, Gordon rushed around the corner as he heard the dull thud of something hard colliding with a human being's head. It disturbed Gordon that he knew what that sounded like. Midway down the corridor, two Civil Protection officers stood over a civilian, his body crumpled into a foetal position as he tried to protect himself from their blows. One of the officers had his gun brandished, while the other was happy with his fizzling, electric tipped nightstick.

A woman, the origin of the desperate cry from earlier, grabbed onto the CP with the gun, clutching his back gloved wrist. Gordon started running.

"Stop, we didn't do anything!"

Ghoulish mask whipping around in anger, the CP struck out with the back of his hand, knocking the woman back against the wall. Gordon's face hardened with the grip on his crowbar.

The CP with the nightstick brought his weapon up again, about to bring it down on the fallen man in front of him.

Gordon reached out and grabbed his wrist. Oh, how he had been waiting for this.

"No."

His victim barely had a chance to look up before Gordon thwacked the blunt side of the crowbar into the back of his knee. Out of the corner of his eye, Gordon could see the other CP turning to face him. He lashed out with the crowbar, hitting him in the stomach and unleashing a loud grunt of pain. Returning to the CP he held, Gordon smashed the crowbar around the back of his head, the momentum of the swung sending his head colliding face first into the wall. His mask cracked on impact, white plastic shattering to the floor. Releasing his grip on the now unconscious officer, Gordon wrapped both hands around the crowbar and, with a baseball swing that would have made any number of sports alumni proud, smashed it across the masked face of the other CP.

With a garbled yell, the CP whirled around from the blow, pieces of his mask spreading out down the corridor and across the floor. He landed with a dull thud, the sudden silence pierced by a flat-line tone coming from his radio. Gordon frowned. He didn't hit him that hard. The tone suddenly bleeped off, replaced by a mechanical female voice. Although it was scrambled, Gordon could make out that others would be on the way.

"They'll be looking for you now."

Gordon looked down to the woman, who crouched by her companion.

"You'd better run. There's nothing more you can do here."

He looked down at the unconscious man below him. For all he knew, that man could have a concussion, and this woman may not have any knowledge of medicine. "But-"

"Get going!"

The sudden outburst made Gordon blink, and, after a stunned little nod, he scooped up the handgun the CP had been using and went on his way. After a sharp left turn, Gordon was brought to a stairway that extended forward and then back above his head. Crowbar gripped in his left hand and pistol in the right, Gordon started making his way up. Clanking footsteps on the metal stairs above him made Gordon take a step back, and he watched as a CP hurriedly descended, his body visible through the gaps between the thin steps.

Gordon took aim with the handgun and fired off three shots, one connecting with the back of his enemies' legs. With a radio garbled grunt, the CP fell forward, tumbling down the stairs towards the platform between stairways. Without pause, Gordon raced up with crowbar raised as the CP hit the wall. Lashing out with a backhanded blow, Gordon managed to rip through the ghoulish white mask, sending a thin trail of blood flicking across the wall.

The same high pitched whine blasted out of his radio, quickly cut off by a few beeps and the female voice. Gordon was already up the stairs and coming to another corridor at the far right of the room ahead, sunlight shining inside from an upward angle. As he approached it, it became clear that it was another stairway heading up into the open air, and Gordon pressed his back to the wall beside the entrance. No sense in charging in without a plan.

Gordon thought about it. He didn't know anything about City 17. He didn't know anything about how Civil Protection operated, or the strategies they used.

He sighed. Shooting blindly and running a lot it was, then. He cricked his neck.

"Sounds like a plan," he murmured almost incoherently before whirling himself around the corner, handgun at the ready. A single CP officer was racing down the stairway, pistol already drawn. His first and only panicked shot went straight over Gordon's head. Gordon fired once, the bullet crashing through the mask and sending a spatter of blood out the other side.

With only a quick blow of relieved breath by way of recuperation, Gordon bounded up the stone stairway and past the body, squinting as the sun hit his bespectacled eyes. Holding up his gun hand to shelter his eyes, Gordon took stock of his position. He was overlooking two parallel train tracks about fifteen feet below, going into a force field protected tunnel on the right-hand side. Tall fences prevented anyone falling in, although a gap revealed a metal stairway that was probably only supposed to be used by staff. Gordon looked down at the HEV suit. With a shrug, he decided that it sort of made him qualified.

Following the train tracks down to the left with his eyes, Gordon saw that they led to another tunnel, although this one was lacking the force field. His gaze travelled up to the other side of the tracks and to the platform opposite him. There were tall stacks of shipping containers that would have been impressive to Gordon if he hadn't spent two days dodging between them. Further right from them, a completely destroyed and ramshackle single floor house didn't seem to invite many visitors.

Gordon frowned. The fence extended all the way to the tunnel on the left, so that stopped that option. Down the stairs it was. After a quick check to see that his glasses were on straight, Gordon stepped onto the metal deck and started making his way down. The loud horn of an oncoming train quickly made him back-pedal, the combination of which with the metal flooring made him slip and collide rather awkwardly with the stairs, rear end first. Although the pain was dulled significantly by the HEV suit, it still wasn't a pleasant experience, having one's own feet make a fool of him.

With a bitter grunt of disgust, Gordon heaved himself to his feet as a train carrying only fuel tankers trundled past. The thundering noise was beginning to dissipate, however, and watching the train, he understood why; it was slowing down. Which could only mean…

Gun suddenly at the ready, Gordon pressed his back to the wall and whipped his gaze up to the gap in the fence leading to the stairs. The train finally came to a screeching halt. Only allowing quick glances, Gordon surmised that there wasn't enough room for him to move quickly down the side of the train; it took up the entire 'corridor'. He did notice that there was a sizeable gap between the end of the train and the opening of the tunnel it had just come through.

A CP radio beeped angrily above him, the unintelligible voice that came after it even angrier. There were several of them. How many, he couldn't be sure, but it was definitely enough for at least one of them to be able to get a good shot off at him. Gordon frowned. Although… that CP on the stone stairway had seemed rather panicked. And from what he had seen these weren't particularly well trained people. They just weren't used to being challenged when they had nightsticks and guns on their side.

And, seriously, over the past two days Gordon had killed countless killer aliens, about twenty highly trained marines, a tentacle monster, a helicopter, a tank (he was still quite proud of that one) and a creature that could use the power of its' mind to create portals and launch an invasion against the entire planet.

Bring it on, Civil Protection.

Gordon clenched his eyes shut and smacked his head with the back of his hand. Why did he keep thinking these stupid things that he would only be punished for later?

A grunted sentence from above made Gordon spring back to the real world. It sounded suspiciously like 'Check the stairs'.

Clenching his hands around both of his weapons, Gordon took aim at the head of the stairs. With a speed belying the clumsiness of the earlier officers, a CP darted his head through the gateway and looked down the stairs. As Gordon squeezed the shot off, he ducked his head back inside. Gordon muttered his first curse of the day, and it was a doozy.

Leaping onto the rounded surface of the oil tanker beside him, Gordon started running to the tunnel. He heard the flare going up as the officers behind him shouted out some warnings. Bullets whizzed around him, the shots sounding like violent firecrackers going off from this distance. One bullet hit him firmly in the shoulder, knocking his pacing off and sending him tumbling precariously close to falling off the side and into an incredibly awkward wedged position against the wall. With a warning glare to his feet, Gordon regained his footing and reached the end of the train, leaping with his arms wind-milling madly. He landed feet first, his momentum turning it into a forward roll. Gordon paused for just a moment to catch his breath before the gunshots clapping through the air urged him on. A force field halfway down the tunnel stopped him from reaching the other side, but Gordon could see a lit walkway running along the roof, giving him another route.

A large indentation in the wall on the right revealed a light source, and Gordon headed towards that at a steady jogging pace. The metallic thunk that came from around the corner slowed his pace considerably, as did the crackling flame that echoed into the tunnel. As Gordon started backing up a barrel trundled into the tunnel, flames almost completely hiding the flammability label. He took a few more steps back before aiming his weapon at the flaming obstacle. Turning his head around with eyes tightly shut, he fired. It exploded with a resounding bang, the proximity leaving Gordon's ears ringing as he opened his eyes.

With only a few blinks to get himself back into the game, Gordon walked to the corner of the entrance built into the side of the tunnel. The steady treading of several pairs of boots grew closer, and Gordon lifted the crowbar up beside him with his left hand. As the first CP emerged, he swung the crowbar around, cracking it against the officer's shins and sending him tumbling to the ground. The second CP following behind him barely had a chance to grunt in surprise before Gordon had brought his handgun up and fired off a shot into his face.

The third and final CP dodged around his comrades collapsing body, grabbing Gordon's gun hand and hitting it against the wall. Gordon nailed him in the back of his knees with the crowbar, temporarily stunning his erstwhile opponent and freeing his gun hand. Whirling around, he took out the first CP - who had barely managed to get to his feet - with a single shot, and then did the same to the third.

The weapon in his hand exposed its' inner workings, the cocking mechanism pulled back to inform him it was empty. With a grimace, Gordon tossed it away and fished out the handgun of the third CP. The white mask was cracked, revealing the man underneath. Gordon tried not to think about how the eyes were wide open, staring blankly up at him. He continued on up some stairs beside him. They led through some corridors that took him through the bridge he had spied from below, eventually bringing him over the force field and to a balcony overlooking the other half of the tunnel.

"Huh," Gordon muttered.

That was actually quite a drop. On the other side of the tunnel, there was a small indentation in the wall, intended for maintenance workers and the like to get at the small power boxes housed there. It would be enough for him to take cover in, at least until he figured out just where the hell he was going. The distant grumblings of CP radio chatter spurred him on, and Gordon just dropped down without even pausing for his customary shrug. There were times when even silent witty asides had to wait.

Although the pain from the vertical drop was dulled by the suit somewhat, it still hurt like a motherbitch - that one was Barney's - and he had to hobble awkwardly into the indentation. Distant gunshots cracked through the air, taking chips out of the walls and the gritty floor. They were coming from the exit of the tunnel - Gordon's only way out at this point.

Taking the time to sigh this time, Gordon pressed himself into the corner of the indentation and peeked around the corner. Three CPs were coming at him along the train tracks. They had clearly stopped the traffic in this area, so there was no hope of a convenient train coming along and wiping them out. If he was in Black Mesa, he could have relied on some random bombing or alien appearance helping him out. Now all he had was… well, him.

He closed his eyes and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his crowbar hand. He was missing Black Mesa. This place must be bad.

Chancing another glance around the corner, Gordon noticed outside of the tunnel, there was the shadow cast of a rather large fence on the wall on the left hand side. Even more interesting, he could see a warped and broken gap in the corner of the fence closest to him. So that was his way out.

If not for the marksmen coming at him. Poorly trained marksmen, but they had guns nonetheless.

Checking his stats, Gordon figured he would just have to wing it. If he protected his head, then the HEV would be able to take the brunt of the bullets. It would hurt - a lot - but at least he would be alive by the end of it. That was all assuming that the gap in the fence would take him somewhere. For all he knew, it could take him into a closed off lake of sewage. That would be about his speed.

With a crick of his neck, Gordon whirled around the corner, firing off a few shots at the surprisingly close CPs. In fact, they were only a few running strides in front of him, and seemed to be pretty shocked that he was coming at them like this. Gordon whipped his crowbar around, catching the right CP on the head and taking him out instantly. Middle and Left brought up their guns. With a quick flick of the crowbar, Gordon managed to divert Middle's gunshot up into the air and respond with one of his own, shooting him in the leg.

Left's shot hit Gordon in the left shoulder, shoving him back with all the force of a well placed punch. As Left squeezed the trigger again, Gordon brought up his forearm to take the shot, charging forward at the unwitting CP as he fired. The bullet thumping against his arm almost made Gordon divert away, but he gritted his teeth and kept going forward, swinging the crowbar up in a wide arc, catching Left's wrist and sending the gun whirling across the train tracks.

For a brief moment, the two enemies stared at each other, both surprised at the ease at which Gordon had dismantled the group of enforcers. But with a sudden jerk of the crowbar, Gordon had knocked the CP to the floor, well and truly unconscious. He looked back to the only awake CP, who was foetal on the floor, clutching his bleeding thigh. The expressionless white mask stared up him, the officer's chest heaving from exertion. Gordon opened his mouth, trying to think of something to say.

"…sorry."

With a clueless shrug, Gordon was once again away, heading for the bent gap in the fence. And lo and behold, it led to a lake. Although this didn't look like sewage. In fact, it looked more like a… drained river? Gordon frowned. The rectangular area below him was cut off halfway by some tremendously large metal bars, but those too had been warped and bent open, just the right size for a person to fit through. A metal walkway that led to the buildings on the other side of the river had long since dropped away, only the very edges of it remaining and pointing downwards to the water like an annoyingly ironic road sign.

The water didn't look that deep, so it seemed that this fall was going to hurt as well. Gordon thought for a moment. So far today, he had been shot in the arm, the back, the shoulder and the arm again. He had jumped off trains and down several foot drops.

This was steadily becoming what he would classify as an average day. That scared him a lot. After a final look around for any other exits - none, since another tunnel further down the train tracks was also cordoned off by a force field - Gordon sighed and tossed the crowbar into the waters below. Keeping his now free hand on his glasses, Gordon leapt out and adopted a cannonball position.

With a muffled roar, Gordon was engulfed in water. And his rear end impacted suddenly and painfully with something rocky and pointy beneath him. Bursting up for air, Gordon let out an angry, loud 'ow' before letting himself even consider moving on. Slowly and with great consideration for the pain in his backside, Gordon tilted to the side and fished around for his crowbar. Thankfully he hadn't landed on that. He doubted that even the HEV suit could have stopped that poking through from that kind of drop.

Something sounding remotely like a van hurtled past, although Gordon couldn't tell where it was. The female voice was talking again, this time wittering on about 'off world assignment'. In another time and another place, that probably would have fascinated Gordon. Right now, he just wanted out of the water. Wading into the murky, dusty water, Gordon made his way around the floating crates and the broken metal bars and eventually coming up 'ashore' in front of a shipping container. It had somehow managed to wedge itself completely across Gordon's path, leaving no way around on either the left or right.

Scowling at the big metal box as though it were personally to blame for the way the water was stinging his eyes, Gordon looked around for a way up onto it. He found it on the left hand side in the form of a ladder on top. Unfortunately, the container also managed to block off the top of the tunnel in front of him. Muffled voices came from inside, although Gordon struggled to make them out.

People. Whether they were civilians or not, well… Gordon had his crowbar. A hatch in the top of the container gave Gordon some hope of moving forward on this twisted journey, and he wandered over to it, casting a weary glance around before dropping inside.

He was facing the wall.

"Good God!"

Gordon whipped around, crowbar at the ready. A haggard looking civilian was fumbling around for something beneath a small table, his short hair and stubble revealing quite a few old scars and some new ones. Getting up, he seemed oblivious to the fact Gordon was holding a weapon above his head. But then again, the tired man didn't really have Gordon's attention. The electricity alien sat at the far end of the container, however, did. It's clawed, spindly hand was hovering above an old television set, green energy transmitting into it. And for the briefest of moments, emerging from the static, His face emerged. But then, just like that, it was gone. Removing it's hand from above the set, the energy it was transmitting ceased, the television switching off. As the man in front of him continued on, Gordon's attention remained on the alien creature behind him, preparing himself for whatever it was going to throw at him.

"Guess those sirens are for you, huh? You're not the first to come through here, and you won't be the-"

"This is the Free Man," the alien said, it's voice low and guttural. "The Combine's reckoning has come."

Well. Gordon had been prepared for many things. Talking wasn't one of them. Looking slightly awkward stood between them, the citizen glanced between the two.

"…look," he managed, speaking to Gordon and tearing his attention away from the electricity alien. "We're just a lookout for the underground railroad. Main station's right around the corner." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to a sliding door behind him. "They'll get you started on the right foot."

Still seeming unsure of what exactly was going on between Gordon and the alien, he paused for a moment before continuing on. "Meanwhile, let my Vortigaunt friend here give you a jolt to get you going."

Gordon finally gave him his full attention. Vortigaunt? A green glow attracted Gordon's attention, and he watched as the creature raised a clawed hand, palm facing towards him. He whipped his gun around, aiming for the head.

"Whoa!" The man put his hand over Gordon's, forcing him to lower the weapon. "What're you doing?"

Frowning, he nodded to the Vortigaunt, who was staring back at him with naïve, blinking red eyes.

"But… alien…"

"What?"

The two both had the same clueless look on their faces. Looking at the creature, Gordon noticed that the green shackles that had been clasped around all of the electricity aliens he knew of were nowhere to be seen. His mind drifted back to the events of the previous day. Trapped in Xen, trying to make his way through some kind of factory… and the Vortigaunts helping him on his way.

Yet something else to learn about the future he was living in.

He looked to the man. "Nothing." Cautiously, he looked to the Vortigaunt, and nodded a sheepish apology.

With a facial gesture somewhat resembling a smile, the Vortigaunt shrugged its' shoulders and resumed its' previous action, putting its' palm out towards him. The green glow suddenly sprang out at him. Gordon couldn't help but flinch at the flash of light. But then the HEV suit beeped into life, informing him that it was charging from an external source. He felt the morphine administration units come back online, flooding his system and easing the pain from all the fights.

Then, suddenly, the Vortigaunt stopped, whipping its' head around like a wet dog as it spoke.

"That is all we can spare."

Gordon checked his stats. He was past half power. That was pretty good, considering. He nodded to the Vortigaunt, not quite ready to verbally communicate with them.

The man, now seeming a little more relaxed, tapped Gordon on the shoulder and nodded to the door. Gripping it slowly, he gave it a good yank and pulled it aside, the metal scraping against the side of the container noisily. Gordon could see the flickering amber of a fire splayed against the other side of the container, coming from outside.

"Be careful now," he said, his voice low. "We really can't afford to get noticed. Civil Protection catches you down here, it's bad news for the whole railroad." He paused, looking around as though he would find something more meaningful to say in the ground. Finally, he settled for a sheepish look back up at Gordon.

"We serve the same mystery," the Vortigaunt muttered, and Gordon's back stiffened.

The civilian looked to the Vortigaunt, mystified. Without looking at Gordon, he waved him away. "Get outta here."

Get outta here? Get outta here!? But I've got questions! Electricity aliens are our friends now!? And they watch an all powerful being of unknown origin that's been tormenting me on TV!? I'm not going anywhere!

Gordon solemnly nodded, and hopped out of the container. He was in a rather tall, square tunnel, although he was even more convinced at this point that it used to be a riverbank. The container was closed noisily behind him, and Gordon didn't even bother looking back to check as he moved on. He could hear the two talking as he went, and he struggled to make out what exactly was being said while still moving forward.

"What the heck was all that Free Man and mystery talk about?" There was a pause. "You're such a weirdo."

The same thick gravely voice responded. "We have a history with the Freeman. The Freeman is a sign of change. The Freeman-"

"All right, all right! Sorry I asked. God." There was another pause, and Gordon turned around as he kept on walking, hoping for some more information.

"Do you think we should have warned him about the Barnacles ahead?"

Gordon frowned. Barnacles?

A rope-like shape wiped itself over his shoulder, and proceeded to wrap itself underneath his armpit, hefting him up into the air. A helicopter thundered over as Gordon looked up, seeing the same barrel shaped, mouth-type organisms that had been strewn all across the Black Mesa facility. With a few shots of his handgun, the thing was dead, its' tongue dangling loosely from the mouth. He had only been lifted a few inches into the air, so his boots made contact with the thick, sticky ground soon enough.

He waited a few more moments, and even toyed with the idea of going back. An almost inaudible sigh escaped his lips as he turned around and continued on. Why didn't he just ask? Surely there wouldn't have been any harm in it. The Vortigaunt gave him a charge, why would it object to answering some questions?

The answer, truthfully, was pretty apparent to Gordon.

He was a moron.

A moron who was a graduate of MIT with a PhD in Theoretical Physics, but a moron nonetheless.

Shaking his head as he went, Gordon continued on through the tunnel. A complex array of oil tankers and containers were strewn about the tunnel around him, compressing the passage in front of him and making it very difficult to see just where the hell he was going. After bumping face first into a few walls, Gordon managed to stumble his way out into the daylight.

Oh, that does it. He was definitely in a river bed. The path in front of him gradually descended into a thick green-black goop, the depth of which was impossible to tell from where he was standing. A huge grate on the right led into a large tunnel of a drain pipe, emergency red lights casting a hellish hue from the inside. The green goop spread out in front of him and went off to the left and the right. Neither direction seemed too appealing. Both ways would seem to leave him vulnerable to whatever CP forces were waiting up top to pick him off.

"Wait… wait!"

Gordon ducked his head and brought his pistol up. That was coming from the tunnel on his far right. A frenzied citizen fell onto the grate, looking to Gordon desperately.

"Help!"

A single gunshot in the back of his neck silenced him. He flopped to the floor, his head hitting the floor of the pipe with a sickening looseness. Gordon's grip on his two weapons tightened. Moving around the rocks and crates that made up the shore of 'beach' he was on, Gordon made his way so he could stand just beside the grate, making sure to stay out of sight.

Tinny, echoing footsteps came from inside, and Gordon pressed his back to the wall. From where he stood, he could barely see the CP's black glove as he knelt beside the fallen citizen, checking his pulse. Gordon came around and took him out with one shot. A loud bark of a warning came from the far side of the tunnel, and Gordon whipped his gaze up to see another CP stood at the mouth, weapon at the ready. Gordon whirled around to the other side of the grate.

He was stood next to the corner of the wall. Slowly, he peeked his head around. The river - when it was a river - would have ended a few yards from where Gordon was hiding, where a sort of balcony area overlooked it. Atop it Gordon saw several CP officers, all of them more than aware of his presence. The one on the far left was stood behind some waist high black metal contraption, something thin and rectangular propped up atop it.

The high powered bullets that exploded against the wall beside him quickly educated Gordon as to its' use, and he yanked his head back around the corner. One of the bullets punctured through the brickwork just beside his head, making his ear burn and ring at the same time while showering him with dust. He hissed and put the back of his gun hand against his ear.

"Oh. Fun."

Poking his head back around to the tunnel, he noticed that the CP was nowhere to be seen. A little more confident, Gordon dared to stretch his neck around further, and found that there was an open hatch entrance just a little bit down the pipe. Of course, it was directly within the sights of the high powered machine gun thing they had going on up there, but still. It was another way in. The sunlight blazing inside cast the shadow of the once hidden CP, and Gordon realised where he had gone; he was waiting at the entrance for any smart aleck scientists to try and make a run for it.

Gordon cricked his neck. Well, he hated to disappoint. He looked down at the handgun and considered cocking it, but then realised that, even though he had been using them for two days straight, he still had little idea how guns actually worked. For all he knew cocking it too much could send all the bullets flying out of it, and not in a good way. So he left it as is.

Back pressed to the wall, Gordon rested his head back and stared up to the remarkably cloudless sky. All things considered, it was a lovely day to go on the run from an oppressive regime. He whirled around the corner, firing wildly as he ran for the entrance. His enemies above only paused for a moment before opening fire, the rain of bullets sending large globs of dark goo into the air around him. Charging around the corner, Gordon collided head on with the CP waiting there, knocking the CP on his back while Gordon somehow managed to stumble on and into the wall of the pipe.

The CP was on his feet in an instant, only to be greeted in the face by the blunt end of a crowbar. The force of the blow turned his upper body entirely around as he fell, ending up in an awkward twisted position on the floor. Gordon headed for the exit as he heard the now customary flat-line tone of the radio, followed by the robotic female voice.

He came out into an underground bunker of a room. Two semi-circular grates on the left let some light inside, but it was mostly impossible to see anything. The static of a radio echoed throughout the room, although Gordon struggled to make it out amidst the sound of traffic coming from outside. It was a female voice.

"Station Twelve, come in." No reply. Gordon saw a ladder at the far end of the room, light pouring in. He took a step forward, and immediately retracted the foot when he stepped on something less than floor-like. It was an arm. Crouching down, Gordon could suddenly make out the three dead bodies spread across the room.

"Station Twelve, do you read?"

Gordon somehow guessed that this was Station Twelve. Suddenly, the static was cut out, replaced by an frantic male voice.

"This is Station Eight! We heard Twelve go down and out! Surgical strike units are targeting railway stations. Repeat, Civil Protection is coming down on underground stations! We're already getting refugees from Nine and outlying! Looks like we're-"

Then nothing. His lips forming a thin line, Gordon closed his eyes for the dead for a few moments before pushing himself to his feet and heading for the ladder. He listened to the female citizen as he climbed up, cautiously remembering that there were three or so CP officers above.

"Station Eight, do you copy? Station Eight, are you there? We have confirmed reports of Manhacks. Repeat, they're filling the underground with Manhacks!"

He paused just as his head reached the exit. Manhacks? Well, they sounded lovely. He couldn't wait for his crowbar to meet them. Peeking up into the open air once again, Gordon squinted as his glasses happily amplified the sunlight. Something he could make out, however, was a gas canister beside him, a rather large flammable warning plastered on the side.

The CPs took that moment to notice him. Pointing his gun at the canister, Gordon fired, and released his grip on the ladder. He dropped as the explosion billowed outwards, only some of the heat managing to reach him. In a surprise move, several more explosion followed that one, starting a chain reaction that was sure to be heard and seen for miles. He may as well have climbed the Citadel and told them where he was.

When the ringing of his ears had subsided, Gordon could just barely make out an alarm echoing around the city. Believing himself to be one of those people who always knew when to leave, Gordon clambered up onto the platform above. Very little of the CPs was still there. The mounted machinegun, however, was more than intact; it was absolutely pristine. Not a scratch. Gordon ran two fingers across it with his crowbar hand, nodding. He was impressed.

A van screeched to a halt in the distance, and Gordon looked to the far side of the river. A bridge on an even higher level than the 'balcony' that he stood on overlooked him, holding a van completely bereft of markings. It certainly looked like it could do some damage if it collided with anything. Atop the vehicle, something Gordon could only describe as a cannon swivelled around to face him.

With a bang that echoed from across the emptied river, the cannon flashed, releasing a missile which seemed to swerve slowly in the air before rocketing down towards him. Gordon's eyes widened and he started moving. A pathway ran along the side of the river, leading to a wreckage-strewn passage underneath the bridge upon which the van was now perched. At first glance, that seemed to be the best option when faced with a missile heading for you. Gordon started running.

The first missile exploded against the mounted machinegun, tearing it to shreds. At least, Gordon assumed it was torn to shreds; he saw the barrel of the weapon whirl past him, smoking and falling apart as it fell into the goop below. The next three missiles nipped at his heels ever more insistently before the final one hit just behind him, knocking him from his feet and into the decidedly unhygienic passage beneath the bridge. Gordon put landed face first in the grey liquid, thankful that it was just dusty water and not some indescribably viscous green substance.

He had lost the gun in the blast, however. Adjusting his miraculously sturdy glasses, Gordon checked around for the weapon. It was simply too damn dark, and he was fairly sure he didn't have the time to feel around for it. Reaching for his belt, Gordon tapped the spot which would activate the flashlight. He noted with a weary frown that Dr Kleiner had neglected to move the position of the damn thing, so that if he ended up crawling through vents of any kind, he would be pretty damn stuck. And, being honest with himself, Gordon was pretty damn sure he was going to be crawling through some vents at some point today.

The flashlight didn't yield any more results, so, with a scowl down at his unassuming crowbar, Gordon continued forward, coming out at the other side of the bridge. Looking up, he noticed that there wasn't anybody checking for him on this side. They must have assumed he went up with the missile explosion. Still, discretion was probably the better part of valour at the moment, so he crept as slowly as he could to another tunnel opening on the left. A large, loose concrete tunnel was planted crossways beside the entrance.

"Over here!"

The loud voice from inside the pipe made him whirl around with his gun. If he had a gun, anyway. As it was, he whirled around and pointed his palm in the face of the small woman waiting inside for him.

Remarkably calm, she just blinked once before pushing his hand aside and smiling to him encouragingly. "Keep going, friend. That station was raided, but there's others up ahead."

"Oh." He looked to the tunnel ahead of him, and then back to her. "Thank you."

She nodded, smiling. "I'm going to stay here in case any others come through. Got to keep the railway alive."

Gordon's mouth opened, then closed again. "Right."

He guessed that sounded vaguely authoritative. Slipping through the tunnel beyond, Gordon found himself slowly entering a larger underground area, light seeping in from an exit in the top right hand corner of the room. A large pipe lay embedded in the ground, sunken in halfway so that only a stone semi-circle was visible. Atop it, a flat, long plank of wood balanced, the occasional breeze from outside making it bounce from one side to the other. Gordon dropped out of the tunnel and into the room, his wet boots crunching on the gravel floor.

On the right, a wall just taller than him prevented anyone from getting onto the level above and leaving the underground chamber. Adjusting his glasses, Gordon surveyed the area. Cinderblocks were littered around the makeshift see-saw. Nodding, he understood what needed to be done. Walking to the wall, he tossed his crowbar over first before latching onto the ledge and heaving himself over. As he got up he futilely dusted of the HEV suit, looking back to the rudimentary puzzle with disdain.

Seesaw. Probably Barney's idea.

With two cricks of his neck, Gordon proceeded out into the sunlight beyond the tunnel in front of him, the white stone dazzling him as he approached. He was still in what used to be a canal, he was sure. The river would have flowed through the tunnel he was emerging from, out in front of him and then off to the left, where it looked like the ground slanted downwards, presumably to a larger main current. Random scraps of paper scuttled across the ground in the breeze, some dancing in circles before settling on the ground again. Then, with the droning roar of helicopter blades, the papers were sent flying into the air. A black helicopter dove down in front of him, the blue one way windows of the cockpit seeming like dead eyes as it whirled around to face him.

There was enough room between the helicopter and the wall. Gordon went for it, his feet pounding against the sun-dried stone. The helicopter's 'gaze' followed him as he went, swinging around to watch him run down the ramp of a canal and into what remained of the main river. The river now being green sludge, random lumps of concrete and metal girders acting as miniature, twisted islands.

A whirring noise echoed out from behind him, merging with the drone. Gordon vaulted over a sturdy looking collection of metal and rock, crouching down wait deep in the goop beneath him. The whirring stopped, the sudden relative silence punctured by a hail of high powered bullets, each one colliding loudly with Gordon's hiding place. Glancing up to the metal girder poking out above his head, Gordon saw the surface denting outwards as the bullets hit it. This was obviously not a helicopter he could take cover from for long.

The bombardment stopped relatively quickly, and Gordon started looking around an escape exit as the heavy thumping of the helicopter blades came closer. Deciding to risk it, Gordon stood up. Some steps on the far side of the river lead up to a stone walkway that would have run alongside the river in days long gone, leading to a door beneath the archway ahead. It was beside a filtering system anyway, so the thick metal bars would have stopped him from making any progress through the flow of the river.

A whirlwind of air suddenly upon him, Gordon saw the shadow of the helicopter looming above him and made a run for the stairs. The green sludge beneath him seemed to laugh in the face of traction, and Gordon had to make big, lumbering steps to make his way over, finally reaching them as the steady whirring of the helicopter's guns pierced the air.

Finally on solid ground again, Gordon sprinted for all he was worth. The helicopter moved with him as much as it could, lowering itself so it had a clear shot into the tunnel Gordon ran to.

The whirring stopped as Gordon reached the door and slammed it open with his shoulder, falling inside into the narrow tunnel beyond. A cloud of dust billowed in from outside, the high-powered bullets from his would be hunter hitting the wall where he had once been with resounding thunks.

Blinking away the dust that stung his eyes, Gordon scrounged his way to his feet, stumbling onward into the dank blackness ahead. The roar of the helicopter blades followed him as he made his way through the tunnels, his flashlight providing only a single circle of light ahead. His gaze travelling down to his right, Gordon found a white metal ladder, the light bouncing off the slick sheen that… something had given it. He knew it was probably some slathering, alien beast that was waiting down below for him, but honestly, he was facing a big flying metal beast up here.

Either way, he had beasts to deal with. And as far as he was concerned, aliens would be a delightful and nostalgic change of pace. Letting the hooked end of the crowbar hang from his elbow, Gordon climbed down, going as quietly as he could as he heard the helicopter fade into the distance.

He reached the floor, and set foot on the surprisingly solid ground. It still made a slight squelch, however, and the brownish colour it sported didn't look particularly hygienic. Gordon decided to ignore it, instead focusing on the positives. For one, there was sufficient lighting down here to see where he was going. Two, there was no slathering alien beast. Three, he had his health. And four, he had his crowbar.

And, in the end, that was all Gordon needed to have a good day. Light, no aliens, health, and his crowbar.

"Why not?" he mumbled, cricking his neck and proceeding into the dimly lit tunnel, the light coming from a chain of barely active light bulbs above his head.

Finally reaching the end of the elongated, pale blue corridor, Gordon found himself in a small junction of sorts, the thick pipes welded to the wall taking him in the only direction available; left. Turning on his heel, Gordon came face to face with an entrance to what seemed a larger area, blocked by a hastily erected metal doorframe. Several planks of wood had been slapped across the middle, but Gordon was unsure as to who they were supposed to deter.

With a few swings and awkward pulls of his crowbar, Gordon had dealt with the lower planks, and crawled his way through.

"Get in here, hurry," a voice called, and Gordon looked up to see a dark-skinned citizen perched on a 'balcony' above him. Gordon wasn't sure what this room was for, but it was big enough to accommodate another floor being rather shabbily built above his head. The citizen dropped to the ground, landing with a dull splash as he hit the shallow stream of water beneath his feet.

"Civil Protection is onto us. We're tearing up the railroad, covering our tracks." He sighed, as though feeding that information to Gordon had taken too much of his energy. "Looks like you're going to be the last one through. Be glad you're not the guy they're looking for; poor bastard doesn't stand a chance."

Gordon simply offered an embarrassed 'yeah, what a moron' smile.

"Sounds like they're calling in every CP unit in City 17." Shaking his head, he turned to a metal door in the wall behind him, a small slit at eye level allowing a view into the room beyond. He spoke to Gordon over his shoulder as he opened the slit. "Now they're flooding the areas up ahead with Manhacks. You'd better get going before they sweep through here."

The question of Manhacks was on Gordon's lips when the citizen turned back to look through the door.

"Oh shit! Too late!"

With a start, he backed up and slammed the small viewport closed, scrambling towards Gordon as he fished a small pipe out of the water beneath his feet. A steady buzzing echoed from behind the door, muffled by the wooden layer.

Gordon chanced a quick look over at his new companion, who merely tightened his grip on the makeshift weapon in his visibly sweaty palms. The door exploded out towards, chunks of wood splintering out into the air. Red lights leading the way, three small, baseball-glove sized objects floated out, their continuous buzzing suddenly a lot more intimidating.

They looked like vicious little animals, rotating blades performing a double-act of keeping the devices aloft and providing some undoubtedly sharp blades to slice any opposition into pieces.

"Oh," Gordon said, nodding. "Manhacks." He looked over at his friend. "I get it."

He only managed one confused glance in Gordon's direction before the three whirring little monsters came at them. Naturally, two of them came at Gordon while his friend got to go mano-a-machine with the remainder.

Gordon ducked as the Manhacks sailed overhead. Springing back up to his feet, he swung the crowbar around in a one-handed swing, catching the latter Manhack in the back and sending it careening away. Smoke puffed out of out some unseen orifice on the device, the red light a now panicky yellow as it bleeped loudly, trying to steady itself.

Its' companion, undeterred by the act of violence, came at Gordon again, opening its' angry maw as it shot towards him. Doing his best impression of a baseball player, Gordon gripped the crowbar with both hands and swung it around, catching the Manhack as it approached and knocking it back to it's recovering neighbour. Upon collision, the latter Manhack burst apart in a flash; sparks toppling to the ground as shards of metal scuttled to the floor.

After taking a moment to gain it's bearings, the remaining Manhack seemed to take a moment to process that it had slain one of it's own before glaring angrily at Gordon with it's singular red eye. 'Claws' outstretched, it charged again, this time far quicker than before. Gordon barely managed to duck, let alone swing the crowbar. The blades sliced into his arm, and the HEV suit beeped in protest.

Gordon clenched his jaw. Yes, I know it hurt, thank you.

The Manhack banked and soared around, coming at him for another attack just as fast as it had before. Gordon ignored the instinct to duck and concentrated on a downward swing. He missed, and the Manhack darted past his head, the blades cutting him just above his ear. With a loud grunt, Gordon brought his gloved hand to his head and turned around to face his now quite troublesome enemy.

Going well so far.

Once more, his miniscule enemy whirled around for another pass, and paused, waiting for the moment to strike. After a few moments, it backed up, about to charge. Gordon gripped the crowbar tighter.

It darted forward as a grey blur sliced through it, shattering it into a brilliant display of cascading sparks and flying metal.

Gordon blinked. Did I do that?

He followed the source of the blur, and saw his erstwhile companion. Who, Gordon was ashamed to admit, he had forgotten about. Gordon looked him up and down. The man had no HEV suit, no crowbar… and yet he didn't have a scratch on him.

The filled Gordon with hope for the human race and severely annoyed him at the same time. The HEV suit gently beeped, reminding him that it was applying its' magic to the wound in his head. Tentatively removing his hand, he tried not to think about the blood that covered the workman-like grey of the glove.

His friend, meanwhile, had since dropped his makeshift weapon to the floor.

"That was a close call. Thanks for your help!" he breathed, and Gordon could only nod silently, looking to the wreckage of the manhacks around him.

A heavy sigh from his new friend drew Gordon's attention upwards. "Look… it isn't safe here. I'd give you some supplies to keep you going, but I've barely got enough to keep me going."

Gordon nodded, bringing the crowbar up so it rested on his shoulder. Bringing his hand to the pain at the back of his head, Gordon was impressed to find that the bleeding had already been stopped by the miracle of science that was his HEV suit.

"Thank you."

His thanks were modestly waved away.

"Hey," he said cheerfully, "everyone's gotta have a job, huh?"

A small smile was all Gordon could offer him before heading for the now non-existent door and out into the corridor beyond. The pale blue extended ahead quite a distance before the corridor was enveloped in the now familiar darkness of these tunnels. Gordon got walking.

"Good luck out there!"

Gordon threw a wave of thanks over his shoulder before flicking on his flashlight, allowing to illuminate at least a large circle in front of him. The turned sharply in front of him, the 'V' shape of the tunnel so severe it almost looked as though he were doubling back on himself. Going around the corner, the now identifiable whine of Manhacks whimpered through the air. The corridor in front of him, inconveniently packed to the gills with crates.

Like a wave approaching him, Gordon could see the crates being demolished as the Manhacks tore their way towards him. Gordon readied himself, still feeling somewhat dizzy from the head wound still steadily knitting itself back together. There were two Manhacks, one much closer than the other. His eyes darted around the area, looking for anything he could use. He noticed an open fence door, jammed against the wall by a crate. Gordon kicked the offending box away and grabbed the door with one hand, keeping an eye on the first Manhack as it approached.

Still not in full speed killer mode, the Manhack floated steadily towards him, the red light at it's centre illuminating the blades spinning around it as it approached. It came within a few feet of Gordon, and he pulled the door shut, trapping the Manhack between the wall and the door. It made quick work of the metal framework, but not fast enough for Gordon to smash the crowbar down through it, yanking it down to the ground where the sharp end of the tool impaled it to the ground.

The second Manhack approached, and Gordon picked up its' fallen comrade. Holding it up in front of him, he used it to block the blades of his opponent. With a shower of sparks and a loud negative buzz, the Manhack stuttered back, smoke pluming from its' red eye. Gordon dropped the Manhack corpse and brought his crowbar to bear, swinging it across and straight through the damaged little bastard.

And once again, silence descended in the tunnel. Gordon looked down at the pieces of Manhack strewn about him, cricked his neck, and strode on towards the light at the end of the tunnel.

From there on out, Gordon frequently found himself getting lost, coming to the same familiar looking tunnel walls and feeling as though he should double back on himself. Occasionally he would end up outside, but the numerous gunshots and Manhacks being launched at his head convinced him that underground would be the best course of action. A hole in the ground full of water seemed to yield results, and after spending far too much time underwater, Gordon finally managed to surface in a tunnel he hadn't seen before.

Hefting himself out of the water, Gordon took the barest of moments to rest in a kneeling position before getting to his feet with a grunt and continuing through an archway on his right.

Inside, a corridor arched around from his left and across to his right. Both ends were blocked off, although the right-hand venue offered a ladder leading to some rather unsteady makeshift bridges above his head. Crowbar tucked under his arm, Gordon clambered up and put a wary foot on the first plank of wood. They looked like they had been built out of spare parts and left to balance by themselves. Looking to the walls of the corridor, Gordon could see that the planks were resting on small metal poles that had been jammed into the walls and the ceiling.

Still didn't make him feel any better.

Following the 'bridge' along at a snail's pace, Gordon found himself travelling across the blocked off wall at the left end of the corridor and into another on the other side. The ground was close enough that Gordon could (gratefully) let himself drop off the side. He landed with only the slightest thump on the gritty, sandy ground beneath. Another archway took him outside, and for what seemed the first time in days, Gordon heard his Geiger counter crackle to life.

The brownish green of the floor didn't bode well, but Gordon lowered himself down anyway, figuring himself at a certain lack of options. A wide tunnel ahead of him seemed to be intended for boats and the like, although it had since been drained to the point where only mud remained. Where the toxic waste bubbling away in large puddles around him came from, Gordon had no idea. Perhaps it was a way of stopping people leaving by boat.

Luckily, not all of the ground was radioactive, and Gordon managed to keep himself safe by keeping away from the puddles and staying on the yellow-y grass.

Machine-gun fire reverberated down the tunnel, and Gordon ducked his head, tucking himself behind a large pipe on his left that extended down from the ceiling, blocking his view of whoever was firing. A brief spurt of laughter made him relax somewhat.

"Yeah! You like that?"

Gordon poked his head out and saw a pale-skinned citizen with his back to him, firing at several slow moving targets as they wandered towards him. Hitting the final little creature, the citizen took that moment to reload, reaching into a metal green case beside him and pulling out a box for the ammunition he needed.

"Damned headcrabs…"

Ah. So they were officially called headcrabs now. Somehow he knew that was Barney's doing.

The citizen only then seemed to notice him. Eyes wider than Gordon through humanly possible, he launched himself to his feet.

"Hey! You're Freeman, aren't you? We got word you were coming." His fixed gaze wandered somewhat, as though ashamed to look Gordon in the eye. "You got here at a bad time."

His words were only slightly drowned out by the sudden crackle of a radio beside him, resting on a beaten up old metal table along with some first aid supplies. Running his gloved hand across it, Gordon was reminded of the cold metal of some of the tables at Black Mesa.

A familiar voice from the radio brought Gordon back to the present.

Alyx sounded more professional as she spoke, every word measured so as not to betray any emotion other than urgency. "Black Mesa East to Station Six, do you read? Dr Freeman is on his way downriver."

Black Mesa East? That was interesting.

The citizen nudged Gordon's arm and smiled, as though letting him in on the secret that Alyx was talking about him. Gordon just smiled back and returned his attention to the radio.

"Lend him the airboat and give him all the help you can. Repeat, Gordon Freeman has returned, it is critical that he reaches Black Mesa East."

And with that, the radio finished it's transmission, returning to grumbling static. Looking up at the citizen, Gordon found his new companion suddenly a little more sombre.

"You'd better get going now."

He nodded. "Thank you."

With the barest hint of a smile, the simply watched Gordon as he went past, moving on through the tunnel and towards the daylight he could see at the other side. As he approached, Gordon saw what resembled some kind of camp opening up before him, built imaginatively around the small puddles and streams of toxic waste. White metal walls and fencing formed an intricate maze designed to circumvent the hazards, taking whoever went through towards the left, away from the tunnel.

As he reached the mouth of the tunnel, two citizens, a man and a taller woman, came from around a wall on the far side of the encampment, hurtling themselves towards him.

"They're shelling us!"

As though to prove the point, a blackened missile shape crashed into the ground between them, sending both hurtling through the air with a resounding bang. While the man hit the wall at such speeds to kill him instantly, his female companion wasn't so lucky, managing to be thrown into a rather deep looking pool of toxic waste. By the time Gordon had reached her, her helpless thrashing had ceased and she was gone, consumed by the bubbling yellow mess.

Gordon closed his eyes out of respect before heading for the wall from which they had emerged. He was wary of the sizzling rocket as he passed it. With a metallic clang, the three prongs on the top opened outwards, revealing a circular 'tunnel' leading down into the base unit of the rocket. Crowbar gripped intently, Gordon watched as the silhouette of a headcrab scuttled out of the tunnel. With a quick jab, Gordon hit it right between the eyes. If headcrabs had eyes, that is.

Two more headcrabs clambered up and were similarly dispatched. After waiting for any more, Gordon turned and headed into the camp, satisfied.

A zombie creature awaited him on the other side, incoherent moans accompanying every limping step as it lumbered towards him. Massive hands outstretched, it brought its' arms up before swinging them down in a mighty arc towards his head. Gordon slipped to the side and swung the crowbar up and around, embedding the pointed end in the head and knocking the zombie off-balance from the power of the blow. It stumbled slightly to the side, and Gordon followed it up with another large baseball swing. The monster whirled around on the spot before slumping to the floor.

Gordon hoped to God that whatever person underneath was dead.

Headcrab missiles rained down on him sporadically as he negotiated his way through the camp, and most of them were easily avoided or killed. Gordon found himself besides the opening to a large tunnel on his left. On the right, a lake of toxic waste spread out as though it were water, continuing around and onward past the large building in front of him. It looked like his theory for why the water was toxic wasn't far off. Edging his way around the rather thin deck that took him into the tunnel, Gordon found himself walking around the tunnel and to the right.

At the end of the tunnel, a closed gate blocking the bubbling river beside him signalled that not all was quite right with this area. Walking past it, Gordon stopped when he saw the female citizen kneeling on the deck at the far end of the 'room', pouring a tank of gasoline into some floating monstrosity in front of her. A plastic chair - looking like it would be more at home in a go-kart - sat comfortable in the centre of the mess of brown metal poles, linking it to two white floats flanking it on either side. An obscenely big fan was attached behind the chair, looking like it could make on hell of a noise. Motorcycle handles seemed to provide the steering for the vehicle (if one could call it a vehicle), with a small dial between them on the bar.

Noticing his presence, the woman placed down the tank in her hands and got to her feet, wiping some sweat from her grimy forehead.

"Hey, Dr Freeman. I've been hoping you'd show up. Got this airboat all gassed up and ready to go." She gestured to the vehicle in question, and Gordon felt compelled to just shake his head and walk away. Instead, through no choice of his own, he found himself wandering over to the airboat and clambering in, slotting the crowbar into a convenient hole beneath the chair.

The woman smiled. "Thought you'd like that. I figured if Gordon Freeman was going to be using this thing, he'd want somewhere to put his crowbar."

Gordon smiled politely and nodded, not really listening. He was more intent on inspecting the controls in front of him. At least, what little controls there were. All he had were some handles and a dial in the middle. He didn't even know how to turn the damn thing on.

"It's going to be tough dodging Civil Protection out there in the open, but drive hard and you'll make it. You'll find more help up at Station Seven, just a few bends up the river. It's the old red barn."

She reached over and turned some keys that, naturally, were hiding in plain sight beside Gordon's right knee. He frowned as he felt the boat thrum to life. How the hell had he missed them?

"You'd better get going now."

Gordon cocked an eyebrow, looking up at her. "What about-"

"I've gotta stay here," she said, scratching the back of her mousy hair. "There could always be more runaways coming along. Seriously, just… get going. You're the most important thing we've got right now."

The idea of being important didn't really appeal to Gordon, but the steady roar of the fan behind him prevented him from bringing forth any arguments to get her to change her mind. With the press of a button, she brought the gate up with a mighty creak.

She mouthed 'good luck', and jabbed her thumb up in the air.

Gordon mouthed 'thank you' back as the airboat forced itself forward, having finally built up enough momentum to do so. With a worrying state of acceleration, the airboat took Gordon out of the tunnel and into the open air. A part of him wanted to glance back to the encampment as he roared past, but the speed at which he was racing along the surface of the lake didn't give him much of a chance to do anything except cling on for dear life.

A haze of green drifted over him, and Gordon wondered if he should hold his breath. However, the suit didn't seem to object and his glasses didn't even acknowledge the green stuff's presence, so Gordon just kept on going. As he emerged from the cloud, Gordon found himself heading towards a gate in a huge white wall, only just raised high enough to allow him access beneath it. The damn thing looked like it could fall down at any minute. Gordon could just barely see into the tunnel beyond, but could at least see that it led somewhere.

As it was now, he had nowhere else to go except around in circles.

The boat's already deafening roar became completely unbearable as he entered the tunnel, the airboat easily demolishing all the floating obstacles as he flew along. Circumventing the curves of the tunnel steadily became easier as he rode along. He smiled.

Gordon Freeman, on his way to Black Mesa East. Almost like Gordon Freeman on his way to the Lambda Complex.

Except this time he knew what kind of crap he would have to deal with to get there.

And… oh, yes. He could kick a lot more ass.

--

(A/N: Props to Ghost Rider1 for some of the dialogue between Gordon and Larry the Vortigaunt. Hope you don't mind, buddy.

Anyway, this story's going to be taking a pause for a bit in order for another Half-Life story to unfold. It's a joint project between me and BlindAcquiescence (of 'Shephard's Epic fame), so hopefully you guys will be interested in that.

Anyway, review!)