-1Disclaimer: I don't own Half-Life.

Welcome to City 17

Chapter Six: "We Don't Go To Ravenholm…"

It was far too dark. Only the flashlight from his HEV suit allowed Gordon much of a view of anything, a single circle of light ahead of him as a guide. The corridors he walked were thin and closed off. Gordon wasn't really the claustrophobic type, but he soon found himself breathing just that little bit faster.

Turning a corner, he found himself walking out onto a grassy courtyard, the pale moon above giving enough illumination that he could switch off the flashlight. Wooden, dilapidated houses ran along either side of him, none extending above two floors. A metal sign clanked beneath his boot as he stepped on it, pointing the bent side up into the air. Looking down, he saw a green sign with the words 'Ravenholm' printed in big white letters. It seemed so… pedestrian.

It made him feel somewhat sad. The idea that this was once a normal, bland town with green signs and wooden houses and trees and playgrounds… reduced to this. Gordon's hand slipped to the revolver attached to his hip, the handle of the weapon comforting him a little.

He made his way forward, ducking beneath a bare, dying tree as he approached the only open house in the area. Gordon's eyes were drawn to another tree planted in front of the house, and the sickening 'ornament' that hung from it. A pair of legs dangled precariously from a branch, clothed in bloodstained denim. A rope tied knotted securely to the branch was wrapped around what remained of the waist.

Gordon didn't want to think about what kind of people would do such a thing deliberately.

He turned back to the house and bumped face first into a zombie, the headcrab nestled on it's head squirming from the contact. Gordon backed up, drawing the revolver as he went. He fired, sending the zombie reeling back and onto the deck in front of the house.

The echo from the weapon took a few seconds to dissipate before once again leaving Gordon in silence. The haunting call of a crow fluttered above his head. Revolver in hand, Gordon went to one of the two doorways leading into the house, which he guessed was a supply shed. Some quick swipes of the crowbar removed thee planks of wood nailed across the entrance.

Slipping the tool back into his belt, Gordon stopped at the doorway on the other side of the room, where a bloody torso now rest on a circular saw blade, impaled to the wall. The face had been almost torn apart, the flesh hanging from the bones like the peelings from a fruit. His face was frozen in a horrified scream, long, clawed fingers clutching at his head as though trying to forcibly tear something out. Or pull something off.

In the queasy, yellow light of the shed, Gordon could make out that there was blood everywhere. It streaked up the walls like a messy child's painting. Some was even splattered across the ceiling.

He hadn't felt the urge to vomit since three days ago at Black Mesa, but this place was bringing the old feelings back. Gordon closed his eyes and swallowed loudly, taking several deep breaths before continuing on into the room beyond. The nausea remained.

The next room was no better, zombified remains slumped in various corners of the room, blood smeared over the wood, never to be removed. Gordon wondered if anyone survived. A darkened corridor next to him yielded some light at the end, signalling the way. The weary planking creaked under his boots.

A grunt came from up ahead. Gordon whipped around to the source of the noise. The zombies were getting up. Zombies knew how to play dead? Weren't they technically dead already? Gordon pushed the debate aside.

They were slow enough that the revolver took care of them, taking him down to one bullet. His hand instantly rifled into the box wedged in his belt, producing the box of bullets he had snatched from Black Mesa East.

Gordon found three bullets inside. He thought the box had felt hollow, but the crashing explosions and gunfire at the time had been a little distracting, to say the least. So here he was in Ravenholm, which seemed to be every zombie's home away from home, with four bullets, a crowbar, and a Gravity Gun.

Gordon cocked a curious eyebrow and thought about the device. Potentially, it could be powerful weapon, providing the user didn't care what happened to the target.

Which, coincidentally, he didn't. Still, it was strictly a last resort. Gordon would prefer to be holding a gun in these kinds of situations any day. The realisation that he preferred a weapon to a tool of science depressed him, so Gordon cautiously began creeping into the corridor beyond.

A noise sounding like someone coming up for air after too long underwater sounded from around the corner. Flicking on his flashlight once more, Gordon was treated to the sight of another zombie lumbering around the corner, limping awkwardly as it slowly made it's way towards him. The vertical maw that made up the chest made it impossible to tell what gender it had been before.

Gordon didn't want to know. The more he thought about gender and identity, the harder it was to kill these things. Think like a scientist. Logical, unbiased.

More zombies were coming. He could hear them moaning, pleading for help in their own tortured, muffled way. Gordon didn't know if they were fully aware underneath or not. But he had seen the after-effects, impaled to a wall, clawing at yourself, screaming even in death…

He blinked, and shook his head.

The barrel conveniently placed beside the exit of the corridor appealed to the scientist in him; particularly the flammable label that had been hastily plastered on the side. Gordon hit it with his first try, ducking around the corner to avoid the flames. A chain reaction of explosions sounded around the corner, and he heard the zombies snarl half-heartedly as they died, their bodies thumping sickeningly against the walls from the force of the blasts.

A single, continuous moan carried on, however. Muffled screaming. Tightening his grip on his gun, Gordon whirled around the corner. Completely consumed by flame, a zombie lurched towards him at an even slower pace, arms outstretched and flailing as whatever was left of the person underneath burned.

Another shot, and the zombie was dead, the bullet knocking it forcefully into the wall of the corridor. Rather than wait for the flames to die down and for the smell to reach his nostrils, Gordon ran across the burning remains, covering his mouth and nose with his forearm. The smell of dried blood and whatever else was on his HEV suit wasn't much better.

He followed the corridor around, revolver drawn but knowing all too well that he only had two bullets left. Two bullets, and a zombie village.

This was going to be a good night.

The corridor led him outside into a courtyard, the left-hand side blanketed in thick, overgrown grass. A nightmare of a tree sprouted from the middle of the 'garden', looking as monstrous as the inhabitants of the town. Looking to his right, Gordon saw an odd, homemade contraption standing in the middle of the pathway to the next building.

It looked like a car engine or small turbine. Atop it, attached to the centre of whatever made up the base, were two rectangular, jagged fan blades. They were about as long as he was tall. Fresh blood glistened on them, merging with dried, old blood. A large handle poked out of the side of the device, ready for use.

As he made his way down the stone steps and into the courtyard, a loud bellow of a voice made him duck down instinctively, gun frantically waving around in an attempt to spot whoever it was. No-one.

"For it was said, they had become like these peculiar demons which dwell in matter, but in whom no light may be found."

The voice was deep, guttural. A thick accent, too, possibly Russian. Dialects weren't really his thing. Now, if the mysterious voice had been talking about the Curves of Quickest Descent…

A zombie moan attracted his attention, and Gordon looked to steps on the far side of the fan device, which seemed to be the only exit available to him. Two zombies stumbled down, looking almost identical thanks to the Combine denim.

He trained the revolver on them for a few moments before thoughtfully holstering the weapon. Moving quickly down to the device, he yanked down the lever, and, with a rusty clattering noise from inside, the fans started rotating. Gordon stayed down. Oblivious or uncaring to the danger, the zombies kept on limping his way.

As soon as the fan hit them, they became a red haze for the briefest of moments before their torsos tumbled backwards through the air before hitting he ground with dull thud. The legs remained standing for the briefest of moments before collapsing to the ground. Gordon crawled around the other side of the fan, feeling no need to slither his way across disembodied legs.

When he reached the far side of the blades, Gordon tried to stand when something thin and wiry wrapped itself around his ankle, sending him slamming chest first into the ground. His head bobbed up and down uncontrollably as he impacted with the solid cobblestone floor, his glasses getting knocked to a jaunty angle by the impact. Adjusting his glasses and turning over, Gordon looked down to see the torso of a zombie pulling him in, sounding more than slightly angry over the loss of his legs.

He pulled out his revolver and silenced the beast.

One bullet left.

Gordon clambered away and made his way up the stairs, keeping his gun by his side, even though it was steadily becoming a futile gesture. From what sounded like above him, the same deep, haunting voice echoed out.

"May they become like dust before the wind! May the angel of the Lord pursue them!"

Ah. A religious man. Gordon never really had much use for religion. Even as a child, it always seemed so pointless to him. Not that he tried to correct those who did follow religion; he wasn't one of those kind of people. But facts and logic and evidence had always been his 'religion'. As it were.

An open doorway on his right led into a small warehouse. Another of the fan devices stood ready on the right hand side, as well as numerous explosive containers dotted around the room. Zombies were slumped all around him, either dead or pretending to be so. His boot made the slightest of taps as it hit a loose piece of wood, and the room exploded with grunts and snarls. Gordon took aim at the explosive barrel closest to the centre of the room, and, backing up into the corridor from whence he came, fired.

The explosions went on for some time while Gordon waited outside, back pressed to the concrete wall. An occasional blast blew a hole in the thin wood of the warehouse. He thought he saw a clawed arm arc through the air before disappearing over the top of some shadowy houses in the distance.

And then the explosions were done. Gordon holstered the revolver and hefted the Gravity Gun around until it was in front of him.

Well. Here went nothing.

The warehouse was a mess, the walls blackened and charred, moonlight shining in through holes in the ceiling. The explosions were so sudden, the zombies didn't even get a chance to bleed. A hole in the warehouse wall ahead of him led into an alleyway below. Gordon hopped out, the floor only a few feet below him. Casting a wary eye around the tall enclosed space before proceeding, Gordon continued on before turning a corner to his right.

The inferno in front of him made him wince. It was enormous, standing guard in front of an even bigger building. Metal stakes and frames had been wedged into the bonfire, the bodies of zombies hanging limply from them as they roasted in silence. Three zombies lumbered around the rotting corpse of a car beside him, and he started to back up, looking desperately for something the Gravity Gun could fire at them. All he could see were cardboard boxes and some soda cans.

Oh yeah. Those zombies would be quaking in their boots when he unleashed a used can of Breen's Private Reserve on them.

With a thunderous crash, a door flew open on the building behind the towering pyre, light from behind the figure obscuring him from Gordon's view. A guttural laugh bordering on psychotic echoed throughout the courtyard, and Gordon watched as the figure took aim with a long object that he hoped was a rifle.

The head of the zombie closest to Gordon exploded, tossing the ex-person forward and tumbling past him. It's companion quickly followed, crashing against the side of the car before collapsing to the ground. The third ended the same way. Gordon ignored the blood that had sprayed against his boots and slowly made his way forward, his eyes attached to the figure stood above him.

"What, who is this? Another life to save?" The figure, who Gordon could surmise was bald and perhaps a little bit paunchy in the middle, thrust a commanding finger into the air.

"I'll keep my eye on you! More than that, I cannot promise!"

His piece said, Gordon's grandiose saviour turned and disappeared back into the light behind him. Somewhat at a loss for what to say, Gordon let the man go, fairly confident that he would cross paths with him again. The crazy ones always came back.

Shaking his head, Gordon took the only path available to him, every other junction blocked by the horrendous flames licking against the sky in front of him. The cobble pavement slanted upwards as it took him to another alleyway coming up on his left, this one, too, engulfed in flame. Around the corner from the alleyway, a tank of what Gordon assumed was gas was attached to the wall, the brackets holding it in place looking worryingly homemade.

A thin white pipe sprouted from the side, leading around the corner and into the alleyway. Gordon walked to the tank and turned the wheel that he assumed turned off the gas that he could hear hissing malignantly. After a few squeaky turns, the sound of gas vanished, the flames quickly dissipating into nothingness. Gordon frowned. That seemed… easy.

The thick red switch staring at him from the wall made him curious, but rather than risk turning it and finding out what other random trap it might set off, Gordon continued down the alleyway, holding the Gravity Gun in front of him. For all the good it would do.

From around the corner, a now familiar (and somewhat frustrating) grunt echoed to meet Gordon. Slowing to a cautious pace, Gordon crept around the corner. In the alleyway beyond, resting against the fence that blocked the path, half a dozen zombies were slowly dragging themselves to their feet, some of them merely torsos crawling their way towards him.

Seeing nothing he could use as an effective weapon, Gordon turned and ran, heading to the mouth of the alleyway where the gas tank was waiting. He turned the wheel, the gas angrily spurting out from the pipe running along. The zombies didn't seem to notice as they stumbled and limped towards him, their moans merging into a sea of noise as they approached.

He looked to the round, red switch that had attracted his attention earlier. With a shrug, he gave it a severe turn. Sparks flew down the alleyway walls. The burst of flame forced Gordon to throw himself back to avoid getting his glasses melted onto his face. As he slammed onto his back, he was both grateful that the Gravity Gun was so sturdy (Eli hated it when his things were broken) and cursing it for being so solid as his back bent around it, sending him tumbling backwards until he was on his front.

Gordon kept his face pressed to the floor as he allowed the pain to sink in.

"Ow."

The pained moans of the zombies ahead of him barely registered as he hefted himself to his feet, pressing his hand to his knee to push himself up. As he approached the tank to switch off the gas, he listened for more, waiting for the moans to die down before he turned the wheel and banished the pyre in front of him. After a few minutes of waiting, he was satisfied and switched it off.

All that remained were blackened, charred messes, some spread across the opposite wall of the alleyway, pressed into it by the force of the flames exploding into them. A ladder on the fence around the corner made traversing it simple. Instead of going for his Gravity Gun, Gordon instead slipped his crowbar from where it rest against his waist, ironically feeling more power from holding a metal stick than he did a device of immeasurable gravitational energy.

It was often the simple things in life that were the most satisfying. Who was it that said that? Gordon was sure he had heard someone at Black Mesa saying it. Or was it his mother?

A painful twang in his chest made him pause for a moment. His family. A part of him was glad that his parents had died before all of this. Another part… well, everyone would want a chance to see their parents again. But Richard, his brother, was still alive.

Had been.

Had been alive. Before the Black Mesa Incident. Before hell-on-Earth. He could very well be dead by now. Even though he and Gordon hadn't seen eye to eye on many things (which always amused Barney to no end - 'How could someone as quiet as you disagree with someone?'), Gordon had no desire to see the man dead. Mainly for the fact Richard had been raising a baby girl.

He hoped they were alive. He hoped they were alive so very much.

His grip tightened on his crowbar as he rounded the corner. As he went, a piercing, echoing howl filled the air, like a wolf in it's death throes. Framed by the moonlight in front of him, Gordon saw something leap from the rooftop of one warehouse to another, flailing wildly in midair as it went. It was skinny, it's frame even more slight than Gordon had been in his teenage years. But the bulbous shape of a headcrab was obvious, even from this distance. But, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.

Gordon took a step forward, and something else came to his ears. A snarl, nasal and vicious, getting louder and louder. He heard the light tapping of bony hands as he watched a zombie unlike any he had seen hurtle up some steps before him, galloping on all fours like an animal. All of the flesh from the host had been torn away, muscle and sinew and bone shining in the harsh moonlight as it roared it's way towards him.

He brought his crowbar up, preparing himself to move. The zombie leapt far faster than he could have imagined, bowling headlong into him and sending them both tumbling back down the alleyway. The Gravity Gun embedded itself in the small of his back as he impacted with the floor, and Gordon yelped out in pain as they rolled across the gritty, cobblestone path beneath them.

The headcrab atop the zombie, it's legs longer and thinner than usual, clawed at his face, almost deliberately trying to scrape his glasses from his face. Every time it leant forward to attack, Gordon could see the helpless host beneath, eyes white, the face contorted in a continual scream. There was definitely nothing human underneath anymore.

Feeling somewhat more resolved by the fact, Gordon had no problem with stabbing the long end of the crowbar into the belly of the creature. The incredibly thin body gave little resistance, and the crowbar went straight through, blood spurting out of the zombie's back like a fountain. It's deafening roars remaining constant, the creature was instantly on it's feet, backing away from Gordon as he got to his feet. It bounced up and down like a playful dog, and Gordon brought the Gravity Gun up towards him.

Aiming it at the crowbar, he waited for the zombie to leap at him again, ducked, and whirled around while the beast was still in midair, it's back to him. Gordon activated the secondary trigger. The hooked end of the crowbar ripped through the belly of the zombie as it tore through the air, coming to an abrupt stop in front of him. He deactivated the device and grabbed the crowbar before it could fall to the ground.

The zombie, meanwhile, ignoring the damage the injury had caused, stumbled around to look at him. Gordon sliced the crowbar upwards, stripping the headcrab from the host in one swift blow. It thudded against the wall, dead, the ex-human beneath dying instantly.

The eyes stayed open, and from what Gordon could see, there were no eyelids left for him to close. Gordon settled for turning and getting on with his job. And that job, right now, was to meet up with Alyx. After that… he would do whatever else needed to be done.

The next open doorway revealed a normal, chubby headcrab waiting for him. It leapt for his head, and Gordon slammed it into the ground with his crowbar. The room, oddly, was full of old washing machines and ovens, the power cords long since ripped apart. Gordon wondered what the purpose of the electronic utility gathering was. Shrugging, he made his way through and to a darkened stairway. All of the windows were either blanked out by dirt and grime or blocked by planks of wood, the darkness almost all consuming.

Gordon slowly crept up the stairs, painfully aware of how loudly the wood creaked underneath his boots. No-one (and nothing) attempted to bother him on his way up, and Gordon quickly found himself pushing his way through a door that led him to the roof of the building. There was nothing much there. Walking to the ledge (and mindful of any zombies who would like to push him off), Gordon looked down, spotting something that made him cock a curious eyebrow.

Wooden walkways, held up by metallic struts attached to the building he stood on and the (higher) building opposite. They led to another building, creating a trail of white, rotting wood to take him to the dingy attic area of the warehouse in front of him.

"Well done, brother!"

The boom of the man's voice made Gordon lurch back from the ledge and into a defensive posture. Finally, he recognised the familiar shape of his guardian angel, silhouetted by the light coming from behind him. He was still hidden in shadow, his features incomprehensible. A hole in the roof of the taller building opposite Gordon gave the man plenty of room to gesture wildly.

"Make free use of my traps! But, be careful not to fall in them yourself," he chuckled, because clearly, Gordon decapitating himself with a large rusty fan was amusing. The man's head flickered up to somewhere above Gordon.

"Behind you!"

He aimed and fired, the gunshot echoing starkly in the quiet town as Gordon whirled on his heel. From atop the door from which Gordon had emerged, one of the thin, wiry headcrabs thumped to the ground, a large bullet hole gaping in it's front. Gordon looked back to his companion, nodding his thanks.

The man returned the gesture. "In Ravenholm, you do well to be vigilant."

And with that helpful nugget of advice, the man turned and went back into his building, his footsteps creaking on floorboards as he retreated.

Gordon let the silence of Ravenholm surround him for a moment. Looking down, he saw that the white painted wood of the 'walkway' was thinner than he had first assumed. Sighing, he tucked his crowbar away, and leapt from the roof. His feet plunged straight through the wood, and Gordon scrambled to grab onto the metal girders holding them aloft.

His gaze instinctively travelling down, Gordon was somewhat impressed to find that he had traversed five floors in his little stairway jaunt. It also occurred to him that falling from that height would hurt a lot, HEV suit or no. Clenching his jaw, Gordon heaved himself up, and, after a few shaky mistrials (his arms were never exactly the stuff of body-builders), he managed to get back up on top. Very slowly, and very, very aware of how high up he was, Gordon traversed the rest of the walkway as though he were on a tightrope.

When he reached the building ahead, he collapsed inside, only now noticing that he had been holding his breath. His heart pounding in his ears, Gordon got to his feet and opened the door to get (hopefully) closer to the ground. A hole in the planking below gave him that opportunity, offering him a view into the room below. The lurching grunt of zombies came to his ears, and Gordon poked his head over the ledge to see two zombies and a whole nest of headcrabs waddling around.

Gordon looked around for something he could use.

Gordon assumed the explosive barrels and gas canisters were the strange man's way of setting traps. Hefting the Gravity Gun around from where it lay on his back, he aimed it at the nearest barrel and brought it to him. The Gun hummed as he brought the barrel around over the hole, and let it drop with a gentle nudge of the secondary trigger. Next, he scooped up a gas canister with the device and fired it at the nearest zombie beneath him.

It exploded into flames, screaming wildly as it stumbled about the room, eventually, settling on the explosive barrel as a means of relieving the pain. Gordon leapt back through the doorway as the explosion widened the hole in the floor.

After counting out ten seconds, Gordon pushed himself to his feet and wandered back inside, Gravity Gun in front of him. Peeking over the edge once more, he was treated to the sight of charred and crispy zombies with a side order of headcrabs.

Lord, he was sounding like Barney again. He had thought that he would stop thinking up Barney-isms now that he had found him alive and well. But no, his inner Calhoun was still alive and well.

Gordon cricked his neck and leapt down to the floor below. The wood beneath his feet creaked irritably at the sudden impact, no doubt under enough stress after the explosion. Gordon decided not to tempt fate and made his way through the open doorway, heading into the open space beyond and down the stairs. The place looked like a rudimentary infirmary; old wooden tables laid out in rows on either side of him. Two of the tables were taken up with bodies (and dead, ex-zombie bodies at that). The rest were reserved for large metal hooks and horrifically big razorblades, looking like nightmarish Frisbees.

From the stairs in the right-hand corner of the room, Gordon heard more zombies. Bringing the Gravity Gun around, he brought one of the razor blades to him, and walked to the top of the stairs. Literally a dozen zombies were lumbering up towards him. Gordon aimed and fired, sending the blade slicing through more than half of their number. The rest, all of them at the back and saved from the onslaught, struggled to stumble their way over their fallen comrades.

Gordon pointed the Gravity Gun at another saw blade and repeated the process, this volley removing all resistance. One of the zombies must have caught the blade in the neck, because a now homeless headcrab wandered around in the wooden corridor below, looking slightly confused. But then it saw Gordon and started waddling towards him, front claws brought up. Using the Gravity Gun again, Gordon flattened it with a metal hook.

"Oh, look," he said, grinning to nobody. "A new toy."

He headed down the stairs and around the corner, coming to another open doorway, this one taking him to an alleyway outside. Hopping down, the consistent thrumming of an engine attracted his attention to the mouth of the empty alleyway on his left. On a sturdy wooden table, an engine simply sat, trundling along as though busy inside the hood of a car. A lever connected to the engine brought his gaze to the metal rope attached to the other side. At the very top of the two buildings surrounding Gordon, the rope bent over a wheel, leading down and then splitting off into the four directions to hold the weight of an old, disused car.

Gordon's eyebrow was now well and truly cocked, and threatened to stay there forever until more zombie attracted his attention, wandering towards him from afar. Looking around, he found nothing the Gravity Gun could throw at them. However… he looked at the contraption in front of him.

He smiled.

Slowly as he pleased, he walked to the engine and wrapped his hand around the lever. He waited until the zombies were firmly situated inside the shadow of the car above them before he slammed it down. The car fell instantly, crushing the zombies in it's path into the cobblestone ground beneath them. Automatically, the lever started making it's way back up, the car doing the same. Gordon's amazed expression faded at the bloody mess beneath the car.

There was another car hung between two building ahead of him, a similar engine setup waiting for him. He also saw the walkways attached to the buildings around it, the car making a stepping stone of sorts between two buildings. The zombies attempting to wander through the alleyway towards him also got some of his attention.

Gordon ran to the engine and yanked the lever down, watching the car slam the first of the zombie group into the pavement. He clambered onto the car, settling into a perch on the top rather than the hood. With an uneasy jolt, the car started to lift, and Gordon wrapped a gloved hand around the point above his head where the ropes were conjoined. Finally, he reached the top of his journey, and with caution very unbefitting for the saviour of mankind (ha), he stumbled onto the walkway sticking out of the building on his right.

Ahead of him, he saw that the walkway led to the side of another building and a shattered hole of a window. A figure poked it's head up from the roof of the building, and Gordon brought up the Gravity Gun defensively. It was his friend again.

"Better and better! I am Father Grigori," he announced, his name accompanied by a grand wave of his arm. "You have already met-" he chortled, "-my congregation!"

He turned and left, the once small laugh breaking into a full-on wave of hysteria as his voice got further and further away.

Gordon sighed. A psychotic priest. He felt safe already.

He unsteadily followed the 'walkway' to the window and clambered inside. A dilapidated door led him into another corridor, and Gordon found himself travelling through another shadowy, pale building, the occasional grunt of a zombie the only warning he ever seemed to get before something leapt out of the darkness at him. The Gravity Gun came in rather handy, and Gordon quickly got used to the idea of ripping radiators from walls and firing them at top speed into his enemies.

And to think he had thought it would just get in his way.

Eventually he came to a tall stairway, murky blues and faded greens pasted across the walls and banisters. No blood spattered everywhere, though. Gordon always found that to be a good thing as far as building decoration went. The less of that 'someone died here recently' vibe, the better.

Moving as quietly as the creaky steps would allow, Gordon made his way up to the first floor, the dirty, blacked out windows making it very difficult to tell when the staircase itself was actually finished. As such, the tip of his boot caught on the top step, sending him fumbling for a good stance as he reached the first floor. A gloved hand shot out to steady himself against the wall, which instead ended up grabbing onto a wooden plank, one of many that had been erected to block off a doorway.

Shaking his head, Gordon hefted himself upright and looked to where his hand now rested. Several spindly finger snaked through the gap between planks, tapping down on his hand. Gordon looked into the face of a zombie. He lurched backwards and whirled the Gravity Gun to the radiator on the wall beside him. It came off with a loud wrenching noise just as the zombie demolished the planks of wood with a single downward swipe of both of it's arms, splinters and chunks of wood spraying over it and him.

Gordon pressed the trigger, vaulting the radiator into the zombie and crunching it against the wall of the small room beyond. With a final, dying snarl, Gordon was assured that the zombie was no longer a threat - headcrab included - and resumed his journey up the stairs. The dark, shadowy building eventually brought him up through a small hatch, hidden in the abandoned loft area, the only items stored in it open and crushed boxes, paper strewn everywhere.

Opening the hatch with a loud clang that he was sure every zombie in the town noticed, Gordon clambered up the ladder to stand on the roof of the building. In the distance, the not quite full moon blared down on Ravenholm, giving Gordon his first truly clarified look of the place. It wasn't pretty. Dark red brickwork and wooden buildings were now collapsing under their own weight. The town looked like it was dying.

In the distance, Gordon could see several hills behind what looked to be a church, the blank white stone and rounded architecture of the building contrasting heavily with the harsh, dark angles of the rest of the town.

"Here, brother!"

Drawing his attention to the building diagonally left of his own, Gordon saw Father Grigori emerge, the rifle in his hands seeming somewhat thicker than it was before. Light from the room behind him still obscured his features, although it wasn't as difficult to make out the messy stubble and worn clothing.

The priest beckoned him forth. "Come closer."

Gordon looked to the huge gap between buildings, but instead of pointing out this flaw he merely walked to the ledge, suddenly very wary of how high up he was.

"You've stirred up hell!" Grigori announced. "Man after my own heart. Here, I have a more suitable gun for you. You will need it. Catch!"

And so, with as little warning as that, the good Father tossed the weapon through the air. To no-one's surprise but his own, Gordon managed to catch it with his first try. True, it was with both arms and ended up looking like he was cradling the shotgun like a baby, but still… he caught it. For someone as lacking in hand-to-eye co-ordination as he was, that was a major accomplishment.

Inspecting the weapon, Gordon realised that it was the same type of shotgun he had used at Black Mesa. Good old Martha.

Grigori nodded emphatically. "Good. Now, keep it close. I have left ammunition all around the town; they do not seem to find much interest in anything without…" He grumbled a little, as though uncomfortable with the sentence. "…flesh."

Gordon looked the weapon up and down before finally giving the pump action a healthy yank. The shell casing popped out of the side and bounced hollowly against the ground. It felt good, having something so familiar and yet so powerful in his arms. Not that Black Mesa had ever made him feel safe.

"My advice to you is; aim for the head." The priest tapped a finger against his temple, as though Gordon would have trouble remembering what a head was.

Just as Gordon was nodding his understanding, something metallic fell over somewhere in the distance. Grigori put up a silencing hand.

"Hush… They come." Casting his gaze slowly about the town, Grigori suddenly settled on Gordon and brought up his rifle.

Eyes darting about like an animal, Gordon wasted no time dropping to the floor as his companion's rifle boomed throughout the town. Looking over his shoulder, he found one of the fast, skeletal zombies splayed inertly across the ground, a smattering of blood where the headcrab used to be. Gordon hefted himself to his feet.

"Thank you."

Grigori just nodded. "There is no rest in Ravenholm. Move on and I will meet you at the church."

With that, Grigori faded back into the building, becoming one with the light inside until he was gone. It certainly made him look holy, Gordon would give him that. Another zombified howl rang through the streets, and Gordon started looking for a way forward to the church in the distance. It was only a few streets over; he didn't estimate it would take him that long. As far as distance went, anyway.

Opposite and below his building - but not so far down that it would hurt him too much - an open water tower waited for him, half full. A ladder waited for him, extended down to the halfway point of the tank to allow easy exit. After one more look around for zombie activity, Gordon backed up several steps before sprinting to the ledge of the building and propelling himself off. As he tumbled through the air, wind whistling in his ears, Gordon only then remembered to grab onto is glasses. Blurry zombies he didn't need, thank you very much.

He landed with a resounding splash, the biting cold of the water shocking his face. Moving quickly, he managed to emerge from the water and latched onto the ladder, tugging himself up with the shotgun nestled firmly under his arm. It took him up to a metal walkway (one of the few in this town that didn't look like it had been put together with duct tape and old park benches), which he followed to the roof of another building, a door taking him inside.

A zombie howl assaulted his ears, and he didn't even need to turn to know how close they were. He slammed the door open shoulder first and whipped it shut behind him, pressing back against it. Two very solid zombies collided with the door, making it bounce slightly. They seemed to give up after just the one attempt, which made Gordon a little wary. Shotgun clenched in gloved hands, Gordon took in the room.

There was a lot of light coming in from the windows in the ceiling, and-

Gordon looked up to the windows in the ceiling.

The windows. In the ceiling.

"Damn it."

His previous two zombie playmates came crashing down through the glass, shards tumbling into the middle of the room. From where Gordon was stood he was spared any of the shower, although he wasn't too keen on the idea of falling over and getting his face pushed into it. He wasn't too sure if HEV suits could regenerate eyes with glass lodged in them.

Both zombies launched themselves at him with matching roars. Bringing the shotgun up, Gordon blasted the left zombie in the head, sending it flipping back into a heap against the wall opposite. The right zombie barrelled into him headfirst, sending them smashing through the thin wooden door and skidding onto the roof behind it. Gordon tried to bring the shotgun up, but found it awkwardly trapped, pointing at the creature's thin belly. He fired, the force of the blast ripping through the torso and throwing the zombie's two halves in different directions.

He was on his feet in an instant, heading for the door and having no desire to inspect his handiwork. Something sharp slashed at his ankle, and, with a echoing yell, Gordon fell face front to the wooden floor of the room ahead. Awkwardly rolling, he saw that the still alive torso of the zombie was scrambling for him, snarling and hissing all the way. Gordon brought up the shotgun again and blasted it again, this time propelling it off the roof. Dead or not, it wasn't getting at him any time soon.

Taking only a few moments to rest on his back and stare up at the ceiling, he hefted himself to his feet and looked around the room once more. Around a corner coming up on his left was the entrance to what looked like a cargo elevator, the view through the latticework gate and the bars of the elevator shaft indicating a way down to the ground. A car burned brightly in the courtyard below, lighting up a gap in a fence on the far side of the courtyard. Looked like a way to the church to Gordon.

He slapped his palm on the big red button that would summon the elevator, and started looking around the room. In the corner he saw a red, worn box of shotgun shells. Eyes darting around warily like a wild animal, Gordon crept over to where the box lay on the other side of the room and started loading.

By the time he was done, the elevator had arrived with a shaky ping, and he was away, albeit very slowly. The elevator creaked and moaned as he descended, occasionally jerking him around the metal grated floor before finally coming to a halt at the bottom. The gates crunched open, and Gordon took a cautious, wary step out, scanning the courtyard with his shotgun.

Something with a deep, throaty voice breathed heavily, the laboured noise punctuated by the occasional, animalistic grunt. Gordon hopped off the concrete ramp that led from the elevator and to the cobblestone ground below. An inhuman cry came from the flaming car on his right, and Gordon whipped his weapon around as something small, black and screeching launched at his face. Gordon tumbled back, lifting up the shotgun and put it between himself and whatever the hell it was trying to attach itself to his face. It seemed like a headcrab on (forced) closer inspection, a charred black replacing the yellow-y white of normal headcrabs.

Good lord, he was calling headcrabs normal now.

One of the long, slightly thicker than usual legs lashed out at his face. Gordon gasped in pain as his face burned. With a cry, he ejected the headcrab from his face and rolled away.

For the first time since he had put it on, the HEV suit piped up with its' usually helpful advice.

"Warning. Neurotoxin detected. Anti-toxin administered."

Well, that was something, anyway. Didn't stop it burning his face like a bitch. Not only that, but the pain was spreading, paralysing his cheek and moving up to his eye. Before losing half his visibility, Gordon heaved the shotgun up and blasted the slowly creeping headcrab into a green, bloody paste.

Beside him, a zombie unlike any Gordon had seen before lumbered from beside the flaming car. The fleshy clawed hands and standard issue denim pants were all that Gordon recognised, the rest of the zombie's body taken up with the blackened headcrabs. The weight of the creatures was obviously not something easy to bear, the hunched posture of the zombie a testament to that. It also seemed to affect it's speed, and the creature could only lumber unevenly towards him before hurtling it's clawed hand at him with one, cumbersome motion.

Gordon ducked the swipe and blasted a headcrab from the zombie's body. He pumped the shotgun as he rolled away, the feeling gradually coming back to his face with an uncomfortable pins-and-needles sensation. The zombie struggled to turn to face him, and Gordon shot off another headcrab. Only three remained; one on the zombie's head, one on the small of it's back and another perched like a parrot on the shoulder.

After another pull of the trigger, the shoulder headcrab was also gone. The headcrab from the back of the zombie wasn't going to be caught out so easily, however, and launched itself at him, snarling like a rattlesnake as it tumbled through the air. Gordon threw himself forward, avoiding the poisonous beast but with the unfortunate side-effect of coming to a halt directly in front of the zombie. With a low moan, it promptly brought up both arms in a downward smash. Gordon rolled to the right and away from the blazing car. The cobblestone floor cracked from the force of the zombie blow.

Scrambling to his feet, Gordon caught the separated headcrab taking another shot at him with a mighty baseball swing of the shotgun, hurtling it across the courtyard and into an ancient collection of trash cans. As they crashed and rolled from the impact, Gordon whirled to meet the still approaching zombie, and promptly unloaded a blast to the headcrab nestled on the head of the monster. It's head whipped back as the headcrab was ripped from it, and the zombie stumbled back before finally falling into the flaming wreck of the car.

All that remained was the crackling of the flames, and Gordon finally let his shoulders slump, one long breath removing at least some of the tension.

But then a deep rattle came from behind him, and Gordon sighed with his eyes closed. He looked to the sky irritably.

A few seconds. That's all I ask, honestly.

Then the headcrab let out a horrifically high pitched squeal and launched towards him from the overturned trash cans. Gordon turned and knelt at the same time, letting the creature sail over him and straight into the flames. Dropping the shotgun, Gordon slipped the crowbar from where it was nestled on his hip and brought it to bear. Keeping his eyes on the flame, he was only too ready when the screeching, flaming little bastard came for his face. With a single sideways swipe of the crowbar, the quickly very dead creature was sent tumbling limply to the ground, rolling along to a gradual, dusty stop.

Sheathing the crowbar, Gordon turned and scooped up the shotgun before proceeding on through the gap in the fence and into the darkened alleyway beyond. Following it around, he found himself coming out into another courtyard, one of the fan devices firmly planted in the centre. Grunts, howls, moans and squeals sounded from all around him as he walked to the middle of the courtyard and looked to the buildings that surrounded the area. Wooden planks supported by rusty metal poles made up walkways leading around the buildings, going to a building behind Gordon at the far end of the courtyard.

From where he was standing, he couldn't tell if it would take him closer to the church or further away.

Two zombies lumbered from out of the shadows of a nearby alleyway. The howls of fast zombies echoed from the rooftops. A poisonous headcrab rattled ominously, unseen.

Gordon decided he didn't care where he was going, as long as it was away from here. He cocked the shotgun and started running for the building in front of him, running around to where he could see the walkway slanting downwards. Long, dried grass crunched beneath his boots as he ran. A poisonous zombie emerged from the shadows, and Gordon managed to dart around it, avoiding the heavy arms as they swung around to remove his head from his shoulders.

Several old metal crates were stacked in a makeshift climbing frame, and Gordon clambered up, taking him to the walkway. Without pause, he kept on running, uncaring of the unstable nature of the wooden planking beneath him. Fast zombies leapt from the rooftops in the distance and poisonous zombies beneath him tossed their headcrabs like discuses.

He ducked, hopped and leapt his way around the flying monsters. The walkway ended abruptly in front of him, and Gordon saw that he was expected to leap from one side of the alleyway to the other, assisted by a dolly suspended from a cable leading from one building to the other.

Continuing his full on sprint, Gordon merely cricked his neck before leaping onto the dolly platform. Handily it went swinging along with him, taking him conveniently close to the building opposite. He dropped off onto the lower roof of the building below, his momentum forcing him down and into a forward roll. The end result was a rather ungracious spread eagle position, lying on his back and looking up to the cloudy, murky sky.

A fast zombie flew across his vision, and came to a skidding halt on the roof beside him, standing between him and the rest of the 'walkway'. It stood roaring in front of him, the noise sounding painfully jagged coming from human vocal chords, as Gordon knew it did. The thought made him sick, so he concentrated on ripping the damn thing to shreds with his shotgun.

The zombie made it easy for him by leaping straight at him. It was sent flying back and fell down a gap between buildings. Gordon walked across the tightrope of a bridge that had been erected between the buildings, and promptly found some shotgun ammunition sat comfortably beside an old wooden chair. It would seem that once upon a time, the good Father Grigori would sit in that chair and take pot-shots at zombies. As he loaded up the shotgun, Gordon hoped that Grigori wouldn't end up being too insane. He didn't need attacking by humans as well as aliens and zombies.

He remembered the crazed look in the security guard's eyes at Black Mesa, so long ago and yet so recent.

"You scientist shit. You think you can do my job better than me?"

Another Kaufman he definitely didn't need.

Getting to the end of the alleyway, Gordon found himself overlooking another jump, although this one only had a few feet to get to metal fire escape. After all the cliff jumping and inhuman leaps he had been making over the past few days, he figured he could do this one with his eyes closed.

He wasn't going to, but still. The potential was there, he was sure.

Gordon shook his head and made the jump, the approaching snarl of the fast zombies behind him prompting him into action. He landed feet first with a satisfying thud on the metal fire escape.

The back end of which promptly collapsed, ending in a deadly slant downwards to the alleyway quite a few feet below. Gordon fell face first on the metal gantry and started sliding. With a desperate upwards swing of his arm, Gordon managed to wedge his fingers between the latticework of the fire escape, coming to an abrupt halt.

The irony that wooden, improvised planks had supported his weight better than professionally designed metal fire escapes was not lost on Gordon.

Shotgun tucked underneath his arm, Gordon yanked himself up until he was horizontal again. Bizarrely, the zombies had had the good grace to wait until he had climbed back up and was making his way through the glassless window. Only once one foot was inside the building did they make the leap over the alleyway, aiming for his head. He caught one with the shotgun, sending it tumbling down to the ground below. A quick sidestep meant the other just barely skimmed past him, tumbling into the room behind him and colliding with the jumble of boxes on the other side of the room.

It was on it's feet in a few moments, the roar sounding oddly frustrated as it turned to face him. Gordon cocked the shotgun and fired again, missing with the first shot as the zombie leapt for the wall on his left, bouncing off it like a ball. Dropping to his back, Gordon blasted the creature in midair as it sailed ineffectively over his head, hitting it in the belly.

Gordon rolled over and was aiming again as the zombie crashed into wall just beside the open doorway, leaving a bloody mess there from the wound in it's midsection. One more blast to the head made it even messier.

Blowing out a grateful breath, Gordon heaved himself to his feet and wiped a mucky gloved hand over his equally grimy forehead. Wary, tired and yearning for a bed, Gordon walked onwards through the rotting doorway in front of him, one aching foot in front of the other.

Walking through the next room, full of old washing machines and dishwashers, a platoon of zombies were waiting for him, stumbling up a flight of stairs coming from the right of the room. He took aim with the shotgun, but, after a quick glance around the room, Gordon tossed it to the ground and brought the Gravity Gun around.

Firing washing machines and dishwashers as zombies was fun in a very troubling way.

The zombies quickly dispatched, Gordon continued on down the stairs, eventually making his way up several ladders and through different loft areas before emerging on a rooftop. He could see most of Ravenholm from his vantage point. It was a rather large roof, too, and - this was what caught Gordon's attention the most - with no discernable way down.

A loud, familiar voice rang out from his right, and Gordon looked over. Hidden behind a tall barbed wire fence, was the church. Down below, stood beside the pure white building like a holy guardian, Father Grigori waved to him, rifle still in hand.

"Ah, there you are! At last! I will send the cart for you brother, it will be but a moment." He gestured to a large cart that was no doubt once used for coal… and other things that people mined for. For a scientist, Gordon was finding that his knowledge was remarkably limited. The cart hung from a sturdy metal cable leading from the church to the rooftop on which Gordon stood. A yellow handbrake lever jutted out of edge of the roof.

Gordon watched as Grigori turned to a portable (well, portable in that it could be attached to the back of a car or something) generator and jabbed an elbow into a button there. With a metallic groan, the generator started up, rumbling along like an old car as it worked up the power to push the cart up the slanted angle the cable provided.

"Patience, brother."

Zombies howled, and Gordon couldn't hide his sigh. Grigori didn't seem to notice, although whether that was because Grigori was too far away to notice or just ignorant, Gordon couldn't tell.

"Guard yourself well!"

Well, he obviouslyhad a PhD in survival techniques. A red box of shotgun ammunition answered Gordon's silent prayers, and he loaded up.

A distant rattling attracted Gordon's attention, and at first he thought it was the cart rolling it's way towards him. Looking over, he saw it had yet to even start moving. Cautious eyes darting around the roof, Gordon's gaze was eventually drawn to the tip of a drainpipe poking up past the ledge of the roof in front of him.

It was jiggling from side to side, as though something were shaking it. Cocking the shotgun, Gordon crept to the side, aiming down. A fast zombie lurched up the pipe, clambering like a spider towards him. One shot from the rifle in his hands sent it tumbling down to the ground several stories below, knocking the zombies following up after it down with a cacophony of thuds and growls.

Rattling sounded from the other side of the roof, and Gordon could see another drainpipe jerking awkwardly. Eyes flicking downwards again, Gordon saw that those zombies were trying again as well. He took aim for a moment, but then thought better of it, instead shooting at the bracket nearest to him holding the pipe to the wall. The spray shot shattered the plastic of the bracket easily, and Gordon promptly tucked the rifle under his arm, bringing the Gravity Gun around.

Setting it at an angle, he aimed it at the pipe and pressed the primary trigger. With a flash, a bolt of yellow-white energy struck out. The pipe creaked as it struggled to move outwards. Gordon peeked over the side; the zombies were getting closer. His jaw set, Gordon aimed and fired again and again, the pipe's protesting creaks becoming ever louder until, finally, it was released from it's bonds to the wall. With a small measure of satisfaction, Gordon looked over the edge and watched as the pipe tumbled back, the zombies clinging to it like doomed monkeys as they crashed to the ground below.

The concept that the act of killing creatures that were once human satisfied him would have troubled Gordon at any other time.

But right now, zombies from the other side of the roof had since arrived, and were making a mad dash for him. Bringing the shotgun up again, Gordon chanced a quick glance to the cart. It was just passing over the barbed wire fence, and moving at a fair speed towards him. Gordon blasted two zombies and ducked another, the wailing monster flying over his head and off the ledge.

The pipe rattled. More were coming.

The cart arrived with a clang. As Gordon backed his way towards the cart, Father Grigori's voice rang out.

"Now brother, step into the cart!"

Gordon resisted the urge to shoot him a sarcastic 'well, duh' look.

"The handbrake, brother! Release it and come down!"

Slightly irritated by all the suggestions, Gordon turned and gave the yellow handbrake a sturdy kick, sending it creaking over to the other side. Without pause, the cart started moving again.

"No, brother! You must be in the cart before releasing the handbrake!"

"I know!" Gordon yelled. Father Grigori, unaccustomed to his new friend shouting in such a manner (or vocalising at all, when Gordon thought about it), simply nodded mutely.

Gordon saw the zombies pile onto the roof and take stock of their surroundings before charging towards him. Wasting no time, Gordon turned and ran for the metal ledge of the building, tossing his shotgun just before he pushed off with his legs. The gun landed in the cart without incident.

The gun's owner, however, landed rather ungraciously, slamming chest first into the side of the metal platform, sending it swinging back and forth precariously. Gordon managed to get a steady grip on the edges of the cart, and started pull himself inside as he passed over the barbed wire fence. Before he could finally yank himself inside, however, something spindly wrapped around his ankle. The weight of the zombie pulled Gordon down again, although by now he was within the confines of the church grounds.

Looking over, Gordon saw Father Grigori take aim. The priest fired before Gordon could say much to convince him otherwise. To his credit, he managed to hit the headcrab atop of the zombie with one shot, sending it tumbling silently to the grass below.

The cart stopped above a wooden platform that had obviously seen a lot of use, although it looked no weaker for it. Gordon's feet scraped against it as the cart came to a halt. He reached inside and pulled out the shotgun before tiredly proceeding down a small ladder to Father Grigori. He waited beside an old, beaten table with ammunition for all manner of weapons.

Shotguns and revolvers included, it seemed.

"Greetings, brother," Grigori said. "And so, we meet at last."

Gordon smiled and nodded. "Thank you."

"It was nothing," the priest replied, waving a dismissive hand. The skin was cracked and worn like old leather. Cuts and grazes peppered his knuckles, as well as a few badly healed scars on his bald head. It reminded Gordon of the scar on Barney's cheek.

He wondered if Barney was all right back in the city.

Blinking the thought away, Gordon nodded inquisitively to the ammunition splayed out on the table inquisitively.

"May I…?"

Grigori smiled. "Of course, of course." He continued speaking as Gordon loaded his weapons, starting with the shotgun and trying to look somewhat professional as he did so. One wouldn't want the crazy priest thinking one had no idea what he was doing, would one?

"You are to be commended for avoiding my traps," he said, smiling. The grin faltered somewhat as he went on. "The work of a man who once had too much time on his hands, and now finds time for nothing but the work of salvation." Grigori raised his fist to the heavens to accentuate the point, but it seemed like a half-hearted gesture.

Gordon finished loading the revolver and slipped it into it's holster.

Grigori nodded. "I suspect you have little wish to remain in Ravenholm, so I will show you to the mines."

A nod was Gordon's only reply at first, but then his gaze travelled to the rustic, decaying town on his right, dull even in the moonlight and hiding so many nightmares within.

He looked back to Grigori. "And you?"

Smiling and shrugging, the priest clutched his rifle just that little tighter. "A shepherd must tend to his flock. Especially when they have grown…" he chuckled, raising his fist to the skies once again, but with slightly more conviction, "…unruly."

Gordon just let that one pass, settling for a slow nod. Looking into the man's eyes, he saw something, but it didn't feel like insanity. In fairness, Gordon only had one frame of reference for what an insane person should look like. But still… Grigori seemed passionate, definitely. But crazy?

He couldn't decide.

Unaware of Gordon's conundrum, Grigori gestured behind him with his rifle, indicating a canyon splitting a large hill behind him in two. "Follow me brother, and tread lightly," he warned gently, "For this… is hallowed ground."

With that, the bald, slightly more than middle-aged man of God turned and shot off towards the darkness. Gordon followed, wondering how many more times he would have to follow someone of dubious mental capacity into unknown dangers.

The canyon took them around a left corner and to an old metal fence, the black paint peeling and bubbled from age and rust. Arrowheads on the bars of the fence were obviously meant to ward off errant visitors once upon a time. But since the fast zombies could leap over cars, the fence probably wasn't as much of a deterrent as it used to be. To that end, two planks formed a ramp up to the fence, which Grigori quickly jogged up and hopped down onto the muddy ground on the other side, his red sneakers catching Gordon's eye before they disappeared into the grass.

Gordon followed along, the Gravity Gun clanking against the fence as he jumped to the ground. The canyon was silent as they traversed it, the only noise their collective feet munching against the mud and grass. Moonlight shone down, giving just barely enough for them to see where they were going. He was tempted to switch on his flashlight, but Grigori seemed to know where he was going. And besides, anything that could attract zombie attention wasn't good.

His gaze wandered back to where they had just come from. He looked back to Grigori, increasing his pace so that he was somewhat closer to the priest.

"Um… Father?" he murmured, particularly aware of just how silent this place was.

"Hm?"

His mouth felt a little dry, so he swallowed. He wasn't quite sure how to put this. "How long… that is, you…"

Grigori smiled. "How long have I been carrying out the Lord's will? Freeing these cursed souls?"

Well, that wasn't exactly how Gordon would have put it. He just nodded his agreement.

"I am uncertain." The priest's gaze travelled up to the moon, the only pure thing that one could see in this Godforsaken place. He looked to Gordon with a wry smile. "No calendars. But… from what I have been able to ascertain… two years."

Gordon's voice was barely a whisper. "Two years?"

"Or more. It is, as I have said, hard to tell."

"But-" he stopped himself and cleared his troubled throat as quietly as he could. "How?"

"I am afraid I do not understand the question, brother."

"I mean… how do you go on? The… the violence and… and killing…"

A confident finger thrust itself towards the sky. "The Lord. He guides me in all things. Gives me hope. Reassures me that I am freeing imprisoned souls from these… hellish bonds." He grinned, and waved over at Gordon. "But you must know better than most, brother. Your prowess with a weapon and ease with the Lord's work… how long have you been carrying out His will?"

He opened his mouth and then closed it again. How could he count it?

Gordon sighed. "Three days."

Grigori stopped, and so did Gordon. The priest was studying his face. Finally, he lay a hand on Gordon's armoured shoulder.

"I am sorry, brother. I merely assumed…" He shook his head. "But now that I have seen your eyes… such suffering for one so undeserving. A great shame."

With a saddened smile and pat on the shoulder, Grigori continued moving. Gordon watched him go for a few moments before following along.

"And you do not believe in the Lord, my child?"

Gordon's head came up to look at the priest, pausing for a moment. "No."

"Or any God?"

His face flashed across Gordon's mind, with his neatly pressed suit and flawlessly polished shoes and dead eyes.

He shook his head again.

"Why is that, I wonder…?"

It was a rhetorical question, Gordon knew. But the reply just… spilled out of him. Words getting lost in the darkness.

"Because if I seriously believed that there was some all powerful, benevolent, kind being that was supposed to love us and care for us… and it let all of this happen…"

Gordon thought about Black Mesa. About the citizens in City 17. About his family. His friends.

His voice shook. "I honestly think I'd… go insane."

At first, Grigori didn't reply, and Gordon was afraid the priest was going to do something violent and sudden. His response was soft, careful. Deliberate.

"Then I would recommend, brother, that you find faith in someone or something. Quickly. For if you do not… I fear for your soul… as well as the sanity of which you speak."

Grigori turned and walked on. Gordon numbly watched him go for a moment before following. The priest pointed ahead of them to another fence, the same wooden ramps already in place for them. A cemetery rolled out behind it, the low metal fencing making a maze out of it.

"We are close to the mines. However, getting through the cemetery will be difficult. The cursed are here, often countless in number. I like to think that some aspect of their true selves is what draws them here; a desire to be welcomed into the arms of the Lord." He glanced over at Gordon and smiled. "If you believe in such things, of course."

Gordon shrugged apologetically, but Grigori waved it away, instead looking to the graveyard ahead.

"Are you ready?"

Cocking the shotgun, Gordon waited for the shell to hit the grass silently before nodding. Grigori went first, and Gordon couldn't help but admire his courage; leaping into what was probably a nest for zombies with nothing but a shotgun and old, worn clothes to protect him. Although he did seem to have spare shells poking out of every pocket he had, so… maybe it wasn't that crazy.

Oh yeah, and he had the Lord. That would protect him.

Gordon, however, didn't really put too much clout in unseen deities. They had a tendency to let him down.

Hopping over the fence behind his portly companion, Gordon crept along hunched over, copying Grigori's posture. He wasn't sure if it was going to do them any good, but still… it felt safer, at least.

And there was the familiar moan. From down the other end of their 'corridor', around the right turn, several zombies lurched into view. And then several more. And several more after that. Grigori hadn't been kidding. They really did like to congregate here.

The priest nodded to Gordon, who returned the gesture. Heading forwards, they started firing.

Countless in number was right. Within a few minutes of wading into the sea of moaning, growling zombies, Gordon had run out of ammunition for his shotgun, relying on the shells Grigori could take the time to toss over to him. Gordon tried not to think as he moved and killed with ease.

He ducked a slash and blasted the zombie in the chest, threw himself back to avoid another, blasted the headcrab off that zombie as he hauled himself to his feet, smashing the butt of the rifle into the belly of another beast. A fast zombie barrelled into his back, knocking him on his front and skidding along, almost colliding headfirst with a gravestone. He rolled and brought the shotgun around, firing off another round and tearing through the thin flesh of the creature.

"Woe to thee, child!"

His companion was doing uncomfortably better considering he didn't have a HEV suit. Grigori ducked underneath a fast zombie, pointing his crimson rifle straight up, blasting it out of the sky without even aiming. Whirling around, he clubbed two normal zombies around the headcrab with one swift motion, sending them stumbling into one another before he brought his rifle to bear and sent them sprawling.

Gordon scrambled to his feet as Grigori raced past him, and they made their way around the corner, ducking, swerving and occasionally hopping around the constant waves of clawed hands. The occasional headcrab came hissing for them, and in an impressive display, Grigori managed to catch one mid leap and impale it on the points of the metal fence behind him.

Another corner, and Gordon once more ran out of ammunition for his shotgun. Grigori was already leading on ahead, laughing and firing away. It almost seemed random, but every shot found it's mark, zombies sent hurtling back with nothing but a dying snarl. Gordon followed on, tossing aside the shotgun and pulling out his revolver and crowbar.

Zombies waited for him, growling in anticipation as he tried to bypass them to get to Grigori. He dodged a slash and responded with a heavy swing of the crowbar, ducking another attack and firing up with the revolver, blasting the headcrab clean off. A clearing temporarily made beside him, Gordon darted out and managed to weave his way through the crowd with the occasional shot and swing for good luck before he reached the end of the maze.

An ominous stone tomb nestled into the rock face on Gordon's right, two large propane tanks lodged beside it. A large fence of a gate was on his left, a building just up a hill behind it seemingly his only way forward. Walking to a lever, Grigori yanked it down and looked to Gordon frantically. With a steady whirr, the winch machine attached to the lever pulled the gate up, allowing just enough room for someone to crawl underneath.

"Hurry brother, while I hold the gate!"

Zombies coming from all sides, Gordon didn't need any more encouragement. He hurled himself underneath the gap. The gate hit the ground with a dusty thud behind him, the cloud permeating around him as he got to his feet.

Looking around, he watched as Grigori walked to the gate.

"Farewell, brother. I fear I deliver you to a darker place." He thrust his fist into the sky. "May the light of lights illuminate your path!"

"I…" Gordon clenched his fist around the fence. "Thank you."

Behind Grigori, a low groan heralded the approach of a poisonous zombie from behind the tomb. The stone entrance to the tomb crumbled almost on cue, several zombies struggling to force their way through at the same time. More approached from the graveyard itself, fast zombies impatiently snarling to get past their slower contemporaries. This did not go unnoticed by Grigori, who looked to the oncoming battle, and then glanced back to Gordon with a broad grin.

"Walk to your own… salvation!"

He loaded up his rifle, turned, and waded into battle, laughing all the way. Gordon didn't even try to stop him. It was a first for him, simply standing by without even attempting to help. But he saw something in Grigori's eyes, a determination and passion. Grigori knew that Gordon would be able to take care of himself; if he didn't he wouldn't have entrusted a shotgun to him.

Gordon knew that Grigori would die in this town. But even now, watching as the man laughed and backed up to the propane tanks, firing wildly into the horde that approached him, Gordon equally knew that he would never have been able to help him.

And Gordon had people waiting for him. Grigori didn't.

He turned and walked away, slipping his revolver and crowbar away as he trudged up the grassy hill to the entrance to the building ahead.

The propane tanks exploded. Gordon didn't turn back.

Pale yellow light from a lone light bulb above his head lit the graffiti scrawled on the wooden wall beside him. Opposite the crude outline of a citizen clutching something to his chest - possibly a baby, time had worn it away rather badly - a door offered a way onward. It opened without protest, taking Gordon into a bare warehouse of a room. There was next to nothing inside except a mineshaft heading straight downwards, embedded in the left-hand side of the room.

Acutely aware of how prone he was to falling from tall things, Gordon crept cautiously to the edge.

"Wow."

That was a long way down. And, looking around, he could see no conceivable way of safely getting himself to the sandy ground below. A thick wooden framework ran all around the perimeter of the vertical shaft. Gordon sighed and started lowering himself down, his tired arms trembling slightly as he tried to control his descent.

Gordon really didn't like heights. He had known it when he was five and had climbed that huge tree at his grandpa's house only to get stuck at the top, and he knew it back at Black Mesa when he had to scale a cliffside while fighting soldiers. So it came as no surprise to him when it took him about forty minutes to get down halfway. But then, of course, the hiss of a headcrab from below distracted him, causing him to lose his footing and tumble painfully out of the mouth of the mine shaft and onto the metal walkway just beneath it.

He may have landed with a noise, he couldn't tell. All he could hear was the ringing and his HEV suit going on about a fracture of some kind. Groaning, he blinked away the stars and pushed himself to his feet, thankfully finding his glasses just in front of his fumbling hands as he stood. There wasn't much noise. The occasional drip of something into a much larger pool of something echoed around the cavern now and again, but other than that… nothing.

Even the plethora of headcrabs below didn't make any noise as they scuttled around beneath the web of walkways on which Gordon now stood. He couldn't tell if they had noticed his presence or not, but they seemed to be pacing rather nervously. Making his way around the walkway, Gordon had to duck underneath collapsed wooden beams and chunks of rock that had begun to emerge from the long since abandoned ceiling of the cave. Left to rot, like so much in this brave new world.

The flickering of a small fire bounced across the walls, and Gordon looked around for the source. At the far end of the walkway, a very tall fence blocked off access to another tunnel, at the end of which the fire burned. The light it provided displayed a left turn beside it, and Gordon started making his way over. The fence would have been too tall to climb over if not for the walkway, which was just high enough for Gordon to take a running leap and clear it rather easily. Once over, there would be a rather large drop, but hey, what else was new around here?

Gordon made his way down the stairs and to the run of walkway that would allow him a straight run up. He cricked his neck, hopped from foot to foot for a moment, and then launched into a full on sprint. Easy, easy, it was going to be easy, it-

It wasn't easy.

His ankle caught on the top of the fence as he hurtled over it, tugging him down until he collided with a rattling thud against it. Spectacles tumbling from his face, Gordon didn't even have a chance to reach out for them before falling the rest of the way to the sandy ground below. Well, it would have been sandy if not for the mine cart rail there. As it was, his back collided with solid metal, and once again, his HEV suit beeped helpfully. It didn't try to tell him what he had done wrong this time, however, for which Gordon was more than a little grateful.

Groaning once more, he pulled himself up into a sitting position. Blinking, he started feeling around for his glasses. He frowned as he noticed his gloves seemed somewhat clearer. He held them up to his face for a few moments before shaking his head, dismissing the thought. The glasses were found with little trouble, and though they were a little cloudier than before, Gordon was willing to forgive them.

Following the tunnel around the corner, Gordon found his feet gradually drifting into water. Obviously the mines had flooded at some point or another. He looked down at the liquid. Damn, that was some murky water. Peeking over his shoulder, Gordon wondered how the Gravity Gun would react to being submerged.

With a shrug, he dove in. Seeing anything in the cloudy liquid wasn't particularly easy, with only vague shapes to guide him. He navigated his way around a corner and through some support beams before finding the ground gradually getting higher up beneath his feet. Eventually, he was walking out of the water, emerging like some monster out of an old B-movie.

God, he was tired. The water stung his eyes as he rounded another darkened corner. But something managed to give him hope, peeking down at him from above.

Sunlight.

He was close to sunlight.

A slanted tunnel ahead of him revealed sunlight coming from the top, putting everything ahead of him in silhouette. At the bottom of the tunnel, planted at the foot of the mine car track that ran the tunnels' length, was a mine car with something similar to Grigori's fan traps wedged inside, albeit a little smaller. A lever poked out of the ground in front of the cart.

Glancing up the tunnel, the silhouettes of zombies slowly emerged from either side, their moans echoing down to greet him. He yanked down the lever and stepped back as it cranked to life, the fan activating with a deadly buzz. And then it was away, hurtling up the diagonal tunnel, cutting down zombies as it went.

Gordon waited until it was at the top before making his way up. Then he noticed that the cart was getting bigger. It heading back down.

Glancing around in alarm, Gordon noticed that the cave walls curved inwards, allowing someone to stand inside and avoid the blades. It was a little ahead of him, however, and he had to sprint like never before to clamber through the uneven ground and lodge himself inside.

The cart shot past, a long cable attached tensing as it reached the bottom. After a brief pause, it launched back up to the top.

Another cursory glance around the tunnel confirmed that there were curved indentations all the way to the top, and Gordon managed (with some timing and more than a little of the 'Freeman Dumb Luck' syndrome) to dodge his way to the top, where the ground straightened out.

Light streamed in from the mouth of the tunnel that seemed so very far away, and Gordon squinted, raising his hand to block the pure white of it while his eyes adjusted. Cautiously pulling out his revolver, Gordon left Ravenholm and returned to City 17.

He was in a train yard, and a disused one at that. Old, abandoned trailers rested on the tracks, moss and rust spreading along them. Gordon stood on some kind of loading bay, no doubt for the coal that was regularly shipped up here from the Ravenholm mines.

The sky was a fresh blue, but Gordon could tell from the damp, crisp air that it had not been that way for long. Usually he enjoyed the peace that came with seeing the day begin.

Now it just unnerved him. He gripped the revolver tighter, his glove creaking as he hopped off the dilapidated stone platform and onto the tracks. Since the two tracks were both taken up with derelict carriages, Gordon assumed one of those Combine trains wasn't going to come slicing through the area anytime soon.

He slowly followed the curve of the tracks around to the right, taking occasional pauses beneath the corridor bridges that ran across above his head now and again. As much as he enjoyed the sun, he needed a break from the constant squinting. It was giving him a headache.

Headache. Ha. What an ordinary pain to be complaining about. It was somewhat comforting to be bitching and moaning about a headache instead of some compound fracture or bleeding organ.

The distant, bubbling snarl of a fast zombie grabbed his thoughts away, and Gordon brought up the revolver as he rounded the next turn.

Flanked by it's slower brothers, the fast zombie was making a beeline for him, although there was a fair amount of distance between them. More than enough for Gordon to take aim.

A thin, blue stream of light came from the bridge between Gordon and the zombie. It wasted no time in locking onto the zombie's head. A resounding crack filled the air, booming around the confined walls of the tracks on which Gordon stood. Something fast impacted against the fast zombie's head, sending it tumbling back along the ground, headcrab and all.

The process was quickly repeated for the slower zombies, leaving them in various forms of disarray over the rails. A chill ran up Gordon's spine as he recognised the signs.

Snipers.

He hated snipers.

Oh, the joys of returning to civilisation.

With a crick of the neck that was so loud he was worried he may have broken something, Gordon crept forward, moving slowly and quietly until he was underneath the shadow of the bridge. Looking up, he started to edge his way out onto the other side, keeping his gaze locked on the boarded over windows running along the corridor. One of the windows was bereft of cover, the familiar blue laser wiping back and forth on the landscape ahead.

Gordon brought up the revolver, unsure of just what the hell he was going to do against a sniper that far up. With a shrug he pushed himself out into the open, aiming the revolver at the open window and praying for any sign. All he could see was blackness. The blue laser found him rather quickly though, locking onto the Lambda symbol on his chest with ease.

Throwing himself forward, Gordon the high powered bullet blast past him and lodge itself into the ground. Panting from where he sat, encased in the shadow of the bridge, Gordon looked up to where his enemy was hidden. The laser was now firmly locked as low down as the soldier could go without exposing himself.

Which left Gordon pretty much screwed if he tried the 'run for it' option.

So he waited for a few minutes.

Quickly tiring of waiting, Gordon pushed himself to his feet and tilted his head upwards.

"I can wait, you know," he said loudly, hoping the sound didn't carry all the way down the tracks and to any other Combine forces that were waiting.

Silence.

Then, something akin to a muttered curse came over the distorted wavelength the Combine used. Gordon watched as something fell out of the bridge, plopping down onto the rocks beside him.

A grenade.

Slipping the revolver away and yanking the Gravity Gun around in one surprisingly swift motion, Gordon locked it down on the grenade and sucked it up towards him. Throwing himself forward and onto his back so that he was looking straight up at the open window, he aimed the Gravity Gun and fired, propelling the grenade back up to it's owner.

Silence.

"Shit."

An explosion burst out of the darkened window, propelling the man inside out into the harsh daylight. He hit the rails below quite a few feet away from Gordon, landing with a resounding and very final thud. Gordon let himself breathe. The fact that manoeuvre even worked was a miracle in itself.

After a few seconds of self-congratulatory relaxing, Gordon heaved himself up and continued on, walking over to the body of the CP and hoping to find something he could use.

Except it wasn't a CP. At least, not like Gordon had seen. The armour was thicker, giving the man a bulkier, stocky look. There was no white on the armour, the ghoulish masks of the CPs replaced by a dull, sturdy navy. Overall, they simply looked more fearsome and soldierly. Ready for combat. Although obviously not ready for some upstart scientist in a HEV suit firing their own grenades back at them.

Shaking his head for believing his own press, Gordon knelt beside the body and tugged the remaining (and surprisingly intact) grenade from the soldier's belt. In a manner he thought might appear knowing and professional to any onlookers, Gordon tested the heft of the explosive, nodding appreciatively. Then he blinked and realised what he was doing, and so decided to continue on and pretend it had never happened.

The rail on the left ahead was taken up by a carriage carrying half a dozen or so logs. Seeing as they were strapped to the trailer with heavy chains, it seemed a safe bet that he would be okay walking along the right rail instead.

If not for the blue laser that sprang out of the bridge ahead, whizzing straight over to him. Quickly backtracking, Gordon sprinted back until he was behind the trailer, avoiding one bullet and catching another in his side. The force of the impact sent him sprawling, although he was close enough that he would roll behind the trailer and avoid any more bullets.

He checked his stats. Predictably not good. Half power.

Another gunshot cracked out from around the corner, this one colliding with metal. A thunderous crash kicked up a huge cloud of dust over Gordon, the logs from the trailer rolling out onto the empty right-hand side of the rail. Waiting for the dust to settle, Gordon peeked around the trailer, only to find his view blocked by two logs which were teetering from the trailer and onto the ground. Seeing his way forward, Gordon got down on his belly and started shuffling.

As he made his way under the lip of the trailer, safely ensconced between it and the logs, Gordon had a not entirely welcome flashback to crawling through air vents in Black Mesa. There had been a merciful lack of air vents today, and for that Gordon was grateful. He wasn't so grateful for the zombies, soldiers and snipers constantly trying to kill him, but he thought it churlish to complain.

Crawling out the other side, Gordon had to scramble to his feet to avoid coming into the hidden sniper's vision again, slamming his back to the huge shipping container he found there. Moving slowly around it, he wormed his way through the maze of containers until he was beneath the bridge, a stone's throw from the sniper's bare window.

Or a grenade's throw, if you wanted to get pedantic. Gordon pulled the pin and tossed the grenade into the window. It went in first try, bouncing against the roof of the corridor with a tiny thud.

And with another resounding bang, one more sniper fell, tumbling to the ground behind Gordon. This one had nothing that was of any use to Gordon, so he continued on, pushing his way through the containers that blocked passage to the open area beyond.

Gordon passed a crackling campfire as he went, looking at the dead soldiers and zombies that were strewn about it with worrying indifference. Once sunlight started filtering in through gaps of the containers, he pulled out the revolver. Emerging from the dark tunnel, Gordon squinted as the sunlight once again assaulted his eyes.

The tracks stretched out in front of him, several train carriages and oil tankers parked at the far end, a tall wall on Gordon's right running along around the bend and preventing him from seeing much of anything in that direction. On his left, an expansive yet rather ordinary car park sat behind a tall, barbed wire fence. Most if not all of the vehicles were rusted and dying, the tyres gone and the insides stripped long ago.

Large foreign lettering above the building behind the car park gave Gordon the feeling it was a garage, this theory helped along somewhat by the presence of various car parts strewn about the place.

Something pinged behind Gordon's head, and he looked around curiously. Aside from the containers, he couldn't see anything. Bringing up the revolver, he looked around for the source of the noise. All he found were crows perched on the wall beside him, blinking and tilting their heads curiously.

"Did you see anything?" he asked.

Another ping, and Gordon ducked. Looking down the length of the tracks, Gordon noticed the incredibly distant figure of a soldier. Another ping.

Ah. It was someone shooting at him.

Edging his way forward, using the long trail of tankers on his side of the tracks, Gordon got close enough to get a decent aim and fired. With a dull, almost quiet grunt of protest, the soldier tumbled back onto his rear, literally dead to the world. Gordon hurried over, and was about to help himself to the rather small machine gun nestled in the soldier's hands when more gunfire rained down on him.

Looking to his left, Gordon found an opening in the fence and slipped through, ducking down behind a lime green car. The bullets of his still unseen enemies ricocheted noisily while he simply crouched behind the car, waiting for them to stop. He noted the car engine that sat happily on the ground next to him.

Heavy boots thumped against the floor as the soldiers approached, metal chains and zips tinkling like keys as they went. Gordon pulled out the Gravity Gun and pulled the car engine to him. A soldier rounded the corner in front of him. Gordon fired.

The soldier was slammed into the car behind him, the thin rusted metal almost completely collapsing from the impact. Gordon stood, and the two soldiers behind looked at him with surprisingly stunned expressions (considering they were wearing featureless gasmasks). With an experimental cocked eyebrow, Gordon pointed the Gravity Gun at the soldier's small machinegun and promptly yanked it from his grip. That done, he fired it into the soldier's face. He fell back onto his comrade, unconscious.

The gun, meanwhile, flipped up into the air, deflected by the impact. Gordon let the Gravity Gun drop behind his back and reached up for the gun, snatching it out of the air and pointing it at the third soldier, who had only just manage to remove himself from the awkward falling body of his comrade. A few bullets were all it required to blast him away.

A garbled yell of 'breaker' something hit Gordon's ears, and he spotted the single soldier two cars away waving in reinforcements from the building opposite. Gordon looked over as two more soldiers spilled out, weapons drawn. He ducked as the soldier on his left opened fire, the bullets thunking against the metal violently.

A grenade tapped to the ground in front of him, red light ticking anonymously atop it. Bringing the Gravity Gun around, he brought the grenade up as he peeked over the car. One of the soldiers was making his way towards him. Gordon waited for a moment before he stood and fired the grenade towards his face. It went off just in front of the soldier, blasting him back and bouncing off the car behind him.

Gordon brought the machinegun up and started scaling the cars, managing to clamber his way across three of them before a barrage bullets into his back forced him to ground in a painful heap. He was closer to the doorway of the building, but still no closer to getting there alive. As he made his way to look around the side of the car, his knee tapped against something. Looking down, Gordon found himself amidst two small propane canisters. Gordon brought them up with the Gravity Gun as he heard the steady thudding of the soldier's boots as they approached.

There was one coming from around the left, Gordon was sure. Propelling himself forward in a leap and landing on his side in front of the hapless soldier, Gordon already had the Gravity Gun aimed as he hit the ground. The propane tank exploded on impact. Gordon didn't wait for the smoke to clear and found out if he was alive or not, instead sucking the next canister to him and checking for the final soldier.

Peeking through the glassless windows of the dismantled car in front of him, Gordon could find no trace of him. Breathing delicate and controlled, Gordon slowly started backing his way to the doorway, the only noise the steady thrumming of the Gravity Gun as it held the canister in place. Just as he reached the empty doorway, and bullets pinged against the metal frame. Gordon saw the figure of the soldier duck back down. He angled the Gravity Gun upwards and fired. The soldier came up for another shot, only for the canister to hit him smack dab between the eyes.

Gordon turned as it exploded, unconcerned with the end results. The gunfire coming from the room behind the door in front of him had his attention now. Going through with machinegun drawn, Gordon found himself in a small office area. Smudged, thin windows looked out at a repair shop. Or at least, the remains of one. Crouching, Gordon moved to the windows. He couldn't make out much, but from what he could see the Combine were on his side of the warehouse, their enemies on the far left.

With a crick of his neck, Gordon crept towards the doorway on his left. Poking his head around, Gordon saw several citizens in their customary denim jumpsuits fighting for their lives, weaving in and out from behind barrels and old cars and covering one another while they reloaded.

Neither side noticed him.

There was a soldier just beside the doorway, back to him. Gordon felled him with a volley of bullets. The other soldiers didn't seem to notice their comrades' death, nor the flat line tone that accompanied it. A barrel sat beside Gordon, and he scooped it up with the Gravity Gun. Creeping forward, he moved to where another Combine soldier was ducking behind a support pillar. Gordon crushed him before he even knew he was there.

Something hard collided with the side of his head, and Gordon tumbled. Turning over, he looked up at a Combine soldier, machinegun looming down on him ominously. But then, with one final bang from the other side of the room, the soldier fell, crumpling to the ground beside Gordon from the bullet lodged in his forehead.

Gordon stared up at the white lights on the metal ceiling for awhile before a breathless voice brought him out of his restful trance.

"Who's hurt?"

A professional female voice came back. "Winston's been hit."

Someone was groaning - presumably Winston, but it sounded rather restrained. Hefting himself to his feet, Gordon walked around the support pillar and to the middle of the warehouse, where one citizen was tending to another lying on the floor. He was clutching his profusely bleeding stomach, legs writhing as his would-be medic attempted to do something about it.

A black man with thick, slightly greying hair all around his face nodded thoughtfully, his demeanour and the way the two behind him looked at him indicating a leadership role.

"Patch him up and get him to the back as soon as he's stable." Dark eyes glanced around the warehouse before finally settling on him.

Gordon waved tiredly, the motion making his neck ache.

"Gordon Freeman? It's incredible you made it."

"Not really," he grunted, rubbing his sore neck.

The man just nodded neutrally. "We've been getting communications from Alyx, I'll see if I can reach her again. Follow me."

He led Gordon through into another room in the corner of the warehouse, this one significantly better lit and maintained than the one Gordon had entered through. Going to a closed door, the man rapped a fist against it.

"It's Leon, we're all clear. And I've got Gordon Freeman."

Almost too quickly, the door opened. A haggard young black woman, wearing a pale cream denim top instead of the usual blue was waiting for him.

"Doctor Freeman, you're kidding." She glanced to Gordon for only a moment before returning her attention to Leon. "I've been on the line with Alyx. Her…" Her eyes flitted to Gordon. "…father's been captured."

Leon closed his eyes and bowed his head for a moment before continuing into the room beyond.

The room was split into two halves by a thick wall, the one on Gordon's immediate left filled with wounded, either sleeping or unconscious, he couldn't be sure. The other side seemed to be dedicated to supplies, crates in the right and left hand corners with a table full of communications equipment in the middle.

But none of it was really registering with Gordon. His only thoughts were of Eli. That frail, limping old man that only a few days ago had seemed so strong to him.

And now he was being held captive, being subjected to… Lord knows what.

Gordon knew what his next goal would be, and not because anyone would tell him so. This was something he would have to do with or without consent or orders. He had spent two days in hell at Black Mesa, praying to get back to the people who he valued most. And Gordon would be damned if they were going to be taken away just as he got them back.

A Vortigaunt standing beside some crates seemed to notice his distress.

"The Eli Vance is indispensable to the liberation," he noted sadly. "The Eli Vance was our first collaborator."

Leon's voice brought Gordon's attention away from the alien.

"Alyx, it's Leon. And I've got Gordon Freeman with me."

Walking to the table, Gordon noticed that Leon was stood before an old TV, the black and white picture fluctuating wildly as it struggled to pick up a signal. Beside the TV, Leon fiddled with a few dials and knobs on a tuner. Alyx's face barely made it through the static, but her voice came through loud and clear.

"Gordon. You made it through Ravenholm, thank God. I need your help, they've taken my father."

Gordon put the machine gun down on the table in front of him. "Where?"

"He's been taken to Nova Prospekt." Gordon had heard the name before from Barney and seen the name at the train station, but nothing more. So he just nodded.

"The Vortigaunts tracked the ship that made off with him and Judith Mossman. While the trains are still running, I'm going to hitch a ride. Here's where you come in, Gordon; I need you to make your way along the coast until you get to Nova Prospekt. It used to be a high security prison, it's something… much worse than that now."

A heavy breath left Gordon through his nose. That sounded like fun.

"But I think it's still easier to sneak in than to break out."

Oh, well. That makes all the difference.

Content to simply listen in so far, Leon leant his head over from the radio he was operating. "You want him to take the coast road? He won't last five minutes on foot. It's spawning season for the Antlions."

Gordon frowned. Spawning what for the what?

"That's why I called you, Leon. I was hoping you still had the scout car we left with you last summer; the one my dad rigged with the Tau cannon."

Tau cannon. Memories flooded back. Black Mesa. The questionable ethics of holding creatures in captivity for study. Kaufman.

Leon nodded. "Yeah, good idea. Hold on a sec. " He returned to the radio and pressed a button. "Norco? Bring the buggy out. Put it on the dock right now. Gordon Freeman will be driving it."

He said Gordon Freeman with such gusto, as though knowing it would have some kind of huge effect on the unseen Norco. And… a buggy? A buggy? Gordon had never really been into cars that much. They had been things with engines that made getting places easier. But even to his inexperienced ears, 'buggy' just sounded weak. A mental image of driving around the coast in a golf course buggy sprang to his mind.

A girl's perky voice crackled back a few moments later. "Will do. I just finished mounting an ammo crate on the back."

"Good timing," Leon said, nodding. "Okay Alyx, we're all set."

"Thanks Leon. Gordon, I haven't driven the coast in over a year, but I have got no reason to think it's gotten any safer. Meet me in the depot where the trains unload." She took a breath, and the sensitive nature of the equipment betrayed just how shaky it was. Gordon wished he was the kind of person who knew what to say in these situations.

He settled for a firm, "Okay."

"Take care of yourself, and I'll see you in Nova Prospekt." She was silent again for a moment. And then, almost inaudibly, "Bye for now."

Gordon wanted to say something. Anything, damn it. He took a breath to speak. With all the subtlety of a rhinoceros, Leon leant forward and reached for a switch on the TV.

"Bye, Alyx," he practically boomed, earning him a veiled glare from Gordon. "Okay, doc," he announced, oblivious to any wrongdoing, "before you hit the road you might want to grab some med kits, restock on ammo, maybe check the map, see where you're headed. There's an ammo supply crate for the MP7-" he nodded to the machinegun on the table for reference "-on the back of the car if that's any comfort."

He walked past Gordon as he spoke, heading for a door on the other side of the table. With a gentle tug of the handle, he opened it for Gordon. A small room awaited him on the other side, the closed door directly ahead of Gordon making him think of an airlock. He frowned as something scratched the side of his head, and he removed his glasses to investigate. Frowning, he noticed that the right temple had come loose from the blow the Combine soldier had dealt him earlier.

"Stay with the car-"

Gordon raised a hand. "Um-"

"-make use of the Thumpers-"

"I-"

"-and you'll stand a fair chance against the Antlions."

"I broke my glasses."

Silence filled the room. Someone snorted loudly in their sleep.

Leon took a breath. "Oh. I uh…" He frowned. "I didn't know you could do that."

Looking back down to the broken frame, Gordon ran his thumb across the jagged plastic thoughtfully. "Do you have any sticky tape?"

"Sticky tape."

"For the glasses."

"Um… no, I, uh… don't think so, no."

"Oh. Okay."

A gangly, brown hand reached for the glasses, scooping them up gently from Gordon's gloved hand.

"The adhesive strips of tape are not necessary." Both Gordon and Leon looked to the Vortigaunt curiously. The alien gestured to it's chest with it's middle arm. "This one will be sufficient for this task."

It held up the glasses and put the temple to the rest of the frame. Then, after the barest of blue sparks, handed it back to Gordon. He surmised the glasses as best he could with his impaired vision. Good as new.

He nodded to the Vortigaunt. "Thank you."

The Vortigaunt wrinkled it's face in a manner Gordon supposed resembled a smile. "Thanks are not necessary. The Freeman would experience much difficulty rescuing the Eli Vance and liberating us from the Combine with his vision impaired."

Gordon slipped the glasses on and blinked a few times to adjust to the clarity. They even seemed cleaner. "Very true."

Glasses now firmly on, he noticed the map on the other side of the room and made his way over. No doubt still slightly befuddled by the whole experience of Gordon Freeman's glasses breaking, Leon cautiously made his way over.

"That map is out of date, but you can still see more or less the route to Nova Prospekt. Can't vouch for the road, though, we've lost touch with some of the outposts."

Well, that didn't sound ominous at all. But Gordon could see the route to Nova Prospekt. It seemed like quite a winding path and took him quite close to the coast, but it was clear enough. Whether he'd remember it once he was halfway in the middle of nowhere was another matter entirely. He sighed and walked to the door, scooping up the machine gun and nodding his thanks to Leon as he went, who was busy radioing ahead.

"Shore Point to N.L.O. Shore Point to Newland Odessa. Come in Odessa, do you read?"

On a crate beside the door, Gordon found some ammunition for the Magnum revolver. Hoping there would be some room for the box in the buggy's ammo crate, Gordon clutched them in his fist and walked for the door. He nodded to the Vortigaunt as he went.

"The Eli Vance almost perceives the All-in-One."

Frowning, he looked back to the Vortigaunt. "What?"

"Doc," Leon called, "I can't get through to N.L.O. I don't know if it's just the usual static or if it's something worse. You'd better get going, and be quick about it."

Reluctant but understanding, Gordon slowly nodded, his gaze travelling from the waiting Leon and over the mysterious Vortigaunt before walking back to the door. He sighed as he reached for the door handle, machinegun wedged under his arm.

Why did everyone have to be so damned vague about everything?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(A/N: Sorry this took so damn long, folks. Been busy. Incidentally, been watching the cop show 'Life' recently. Damien Lewis? The perfect Gordon Freeman. Perfect.

Anyway, reviews please!

Next chapter: Highway 17)