Disclaimer: I don't own Half-Life.

Welcome to City 17

Chapter Ten: Nova Prospekt

A cold chill ran up Gordon's spine as he entered Nova Prospekt. Since his HEV suit regulated his temperature (for the most part), he guessed that it was just nerves. Cool blue light shone through thin, reinforced windows in the upper corner of the ceiling on his right. Gunshots crackled for off in the distance, both outside and from the corridors around Gordon.

He was on an upper level of a cell block, an entire wall of small, cramped cubicles on his left, the doors long since left hanging open, rusting with age. Weakened, crusty metal guardrails ran alongside him, only a bare few flecks of pure white paint even surviving. He could see down to the floor below over the guardrail. It looked like there were only two floors to his block.

Gordon went to the stairs, which shook as he walked down them. A few tugs of the large exit gate at the end of the corridor told Gordon that, while old, it was still too sturdy for him to move forcibly. Given it's age, he seriously doubted the keys even existed anymore.

Cells ran along both walls on either side of Gordon. Most were locked, and didn't have anything of much use to him anyway. Some were open, but only one of them held anything interesting.

Well, Gordon classified a tremendous hole in the back wall as 'interesting', anyway. Peering through, his glasses were almost knocked from his face by a flying headcrab, which collided uncomfortably with the side of the small tunnel next to Gordon's head. He whacked the crowbar on it for good measure. Satisfied that it was either dead or out cold, Gordon crawled inside the tunnel wondering just what could have made such a hole. It could have been the headcrab, or equally the previous occupant of this cell could have been a genuine Andy Dufresne.

It always disturbed Gordon just how much Barney would cry at that movie.

Something screamed from far inside the prison. Or at least, it sounded like a scream to Gordon. It could have easily been screeching metal.

Barely here for five minutes, and he was already spooked beyond reason.

The tunnel brought him out in a small office. Probably not the warden, but… someone important enough to warrant an office, obviously. A few toppled filing cabinets had broken the desk that sat beneath another very thick window. Dust and smudges prevented Gordon from seeing much of anything through the windows.

An open doorway stood where Gordon guessed there was once a door, judging by the splintered patches where the hinges would have been.

He was in another cell block. Following the stairs and the sounds of gunfire (something he never thought he would find himself doing in his entire life), Gordon wandered the prison until he found a corridor on his left, blocked off by thick bars. Behind them, two Combine turrets had been set up, both pointing away from him and down into another cell block. They looked like tall, thin cameras, set up on tripods. The only thing that distinguished them as halfway working was how they scanned from left to right, pinging ominously as they went.

A squad of Antlions tried their utmost to reach the machines and knock them from their tripod bases, but any that got close were torn to shreds. Gordon pulled out the Gravity Gun. With a press of a button, one turret was sent tumbling into the air, beeping wildly as it fired in all directions. It looked almost like a panic attack. Gordon did the same to the other. Like animals freed from a pen, the Antlions happily scurried up the stairs and past Gordon, heading for whatever the hell they were going for in the first place.

Gordon tapped a finger against the Pheropod in his hand, grateful for its presence.

In a rare piece of luck for Gordon, he had managed to break in to an abandoned section of the prison. The only trouble he came across were hastily erected turrets, and the majority of them were facing away from him at clueless Antlions.

After taking out two more that were placed on a balcony two floors above him (radiators made such good cover when you had a Gravity Gun), Gordon noticed a distinct change in the air. It felt cooler, moist. Almost like stepping into the bathroom after someone had had a shower, only without the humidity.

Treading carefully down a corridor he quickly realised was an observation point for guards, Gordon looked to his right and found himself overlooking what must have been the showers. Communal, obviously. They looked positively rank. Whether that was due to them being left in disrepair for years or something altogether more unpleasant, Gordon couldn't tell.

There didn't seem to be much more he could do from where he stood, so Gordon clambered over the guardrail and hopped down to the ground floor, some of the tiles cracking under his boots. Gordon frowned down at them. Someone could cut their feet open on that. He rolled his eyes at the fact the thought had occurred to him.

Two doors in the middle of the wall on his right would probably take him out of here, he reasoned. He headed for the door.

Something grunted loudly in protest. Something alien. And something big. Gordon just knew it had to be big. In fact, that particular grunt sounded familiar-

The wall beside the doors exploded outward in a shower of dust and tiles. An Antlion mother twitched and snorted irritably. Or furiously, Gordon wasn't very good at reading the emotions of alien monsters from other dimensions. Which he thought was very odd, considering his references.

Its long, horse-like head whipped over to look at him like a surprised Tom glaring at Jerry.

Gordon looked for a mouse hole. He found one in the form of a literal hole in a wall behind him, albeit blocked by barrels. Hefting the Gravity Gun around as he ran, Gordon spared only the quickest glance over his shoulder at the approaching Antlion beast before blasting away, knocking over two barrels before sliding like a baseball player reaching for home.

Was that right? Reaching for home? Maybe it was stealing home. No, why would they steal home?

He decided to put aside the mental discussion about his (limited) knowledge of baseball when the Antlion crashed through that wall as well.

Slipping on the wet tiles a few times, Gordon started running, charging through two doors into another large washing area, this one with a long line of sinks running down the middle. And there, in the wall behind them, were two more doors.

These had been blocked by laundry trolleys, barrels, benches… basically, everything except (ha) the kitchen sink. Sometimes, Gordon hated Barney for putting such a dire sense of humour into his head.

The Antlion mother was coming for him again, so Gordon vaulted dramatically (and painfully) over the sinks, coming to a kneeling stop before the door. He blasted away with the Gravity Gun, some of the barrels almost ricocheting back down on his head. Gordon glanced over as the Antlion mother bore down on him, and Gordon sprang back so he was laying on the floor, facing up at the monster.

After smashing into the last few objects that were blocking Gordon's way, it looked down at him. Gordon blasted it in the face with the Gravity Gun.

With a noise halfway between an indignant snort and a cry, it stumbled back a few paces and shook its head. Almost like it was sneezing. Well, that was good. He had a weapon that could give Antlion mother congestion with one blast.

He went for the doors, happy to once again see the murky corridors of Nova Prospekt proper again. Turning back, he saw the Antlion mother come for him again, only to slam headfirst into the top of the door. Squatting down, it tried to squeeze its way through. No luck there, either.

Not really wanting to run the risk of being in the area when it finally crashed through the walls, Gordon turned and ran, grateful for the narrow corridors that would no doubt slow the creature down quite a bit.

When he eventually slowed down to a more reasonable pace, Gordon's eye was drawn to the black and white tiled floor. Patches of uncovered floor were dotted around the corridor in front of him, the tiles splayed about as though something had pushed up from underneath. As Gordon approached, a tiny puff of dust came up from the patch beside him.

Hand resting on crowbar, Gordon took another step forward. With an explosion of dust and a familiar low buzzing, a squad of Antlions clambered out, coming to an awkwardly sudden halt in front of him. They purred and rattled fondly in front of him, and Gordon ran a grateful thumb over the Pheropod in his hand.

He continued on down the corridor, the oddly comforting sound of the Antlions' foot-falls (well, claw-falls technically) tapping along behind him. As he passed the other patch of ground, more Antlions burst up to join his team. He crept around a corner and towards an open foyer area. A cell block on his left was blocked by thick metal bars. Above his head was an office overlooking the foyer. A wide doorway at the end of the room was blocked by a bright blue force field, just transparent enough to allow him a view of the other side.

It was a long corridor turning left at the end. Two turrets had been set up at the end of the corridor, and beeped urgently as they noticed his presence. Gordon shrugged. There was a force field, what could they do?

Three bullets zipped out and cracked into his belly and chest, and Gordon tumbled off to the left behind some barrels. Okay, so bullets can come through force fields. You learn something new every day.

The gate to the cell block opened, and the familiar mumble and crackle of Combine radios forced Gordon to shimmy out of the way. His Antlions got to work, hissing and snarling as they threw themselves into the fray with reckless abandon. All Gordon had to do was press his back to the wall and listen to them work. Which, considering all the screams and cracks and squelches, wasn't a particularly pleasant task.

When all was silent, Gordon slowly clambered to his feet and made his way into the cell block. A room at the far end of the block contained a Vortigaunt strapped to a chair. A very dead Vortigaunt. Burnt holes littered the body, including the eyes. Gordon looked up at the contraption attached to the ceiling. Lasers. A sigh escaped him, and he realised that not a few days ago he would have thought nothing of killing Vortigaunts in the exact same way.

He shook it off and made his way to some stairs beside the cramped interrogation room, Alyx's words seeping in.

"It used to be an high security prison, it's something… much worse than that now."

Gordon took a deep breath that surprised him with its shakiness as he made his way into the office that overlooked the foyer. A red button beneath the window seemed to be the way to go, and Gordon gently pressed it. He felt like he hadn't done anything gently for a long time now. Except when he was sneaking up on someone to kill them. That was always gentle.

The force field deactivated, and Combine radios squawked. Someone mentioned 'Anticitizen Freeman', which Gordon found very apt. It was sure as hell better than 'Opener of the Way'.

The Antlions didn't even need prompting. Before Gordon had even reached the bottom of the stairs, several Combine flat lines had already echoed around the cell block. With a glance back to the interrogation room, Gordon thought for the first time that perhaps the flat lines were justified.

Scooping up an MP7 from one of the fallen soldiers, Gordon lightly moved out into the foyer, slipping to the side of the entrance to the corridor. After poking an experimental leg out to check for the force field, Gordon stepped out, darting wildly back and forth as he went for the turret. Two Antlions sat where the turret had once been, and Gordon suddenly felt a bit strange zigzagging all over the corridor.

Humbled, Gordon rounded the corner. At the end of the corridor were two more turrets, stood neatly behind another force field. They squealed in protest as they spotted him, and Gordon's eyes darted around. An air vent at the bottom of the wall across the corridor. Gordon dove for it, Gravity Gun at the front as he blasted it from the screws nailing it to the wall.

He kept on crawling, bullets chipping at the tiles around his feet as he finally got his entire body inside. Antlions hissed and buzzed as they tried their utmost to get to the turrets. Gordon continued on. A large fan blocked his way, and Gordon could see another vent on the other side. After putting the MP7 on the ground, Gordon used the Gravity Gun to manoeuvre it into the fan blades. It became wedged between the blades and the thick metal frame, and something inside creaked loudly before sparks flew from the engine at the middle of the fan.

Gordon shrugged. It wasn't like this place was going to notice the lack of fine air circulation. He clambered into the vent on the other side, MP7 left behind in a single dented piece.

He blasted another vent cover off, sending it slamming into the back of an otherwise occupied Combine soldier. As he tumbled over with a grunt, Gordon shot to his feet as quickly as he could, boots losing traction on the chunks of debris scatted around the floor. He slipped the crowbar from his leg as the soldier managed to get back up. The crowbar cracked his helmet and sent him spinning back into the wall, where he collapsed to the floor in a heap. Gordon picked up his MP7 and tucked it under his arm.

Gravity Gun back in hand, Gordon went for the turrets, blasting them from their positions and sending them ricocheting wildly off the walls as they beeped in protest. A thick power cable led back to a rather large power socket plugged into the wall. Gordon disposed of it with the Gravity Gun, and was quickly joined by his old Antlion team. He smiled. He could learn to enjoy this.

Gordon wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his gloved hand. A rather grimy glove, at that. He frowned at the offending limb before continuing on through more ominously gloomy corridors.

Some stairs led up to an open doorway, thick bullet-proof glass framing either side of the entrance. Whatever door had once been there had long since been removed. Going to the window, Gordon saw a large sign reading B4. He guessed it was a cell block number.

One of his Antlion entourage must have noticed something he didn't, because with little more than a snarl it scurried off into the massive room. This cell block was certainly bigger and taller than the others Gordon had visited. At least four floors going up, maybe five, dozens of cells on each one.

It was only as the Antlion stepped over the threshold that Gordon noticed the red laser at ankle level. He threw himself down the stairs and over the other Antlions behind him, landing on two of them and sending them all rolling awkwardly around the floor. Gordon looked up. The windows were still intact. The doorway barely singed. Gordon moved back up to the window as the other Antlions burst into action.

Peering through the thick glass, Gordon could see the soldiers emerging from their hiding places, tipped off by the explosion. He watched the carnage from relative safety as a crackling, familiar voice echoed around the complex.

"I have been asked to say a few words to the Trans-human arm of the Sector 17 Overwatch concerning recent successes in containing members of the Resistance science team. Let me say up front that I regret having to temper my heartfelt congratulations with a strong measure of disappointment. But I wouldn't be doing my duty as Administrator if I didn't pass on the message I have received from our benefactors."

The good Doctor Breen. Gordon listened curiously, keeping an eye on the fight happening around him.More Antlions scampered in from down the stairs to replace those that fell in battle. Curiously, Gordon didn't feel much when he saw them die. He wondered why that was. He hoped it didn't make him heartless. He wanted to feel sad. That made it kind of okay, right?

"The capture of Eli Vance is an event of major significance, make no mistake. And while it's true that conceivably we could have taken him at almost any time in the last several years, the manner of his capture may prove to have unexpected benefits."

They could have taken him at any time? Gordon felt some relief that it wasn't his fault that the Combine found Black Mesa East. But if it wasn't because of him, that would mean someone else told the Combine where it was.

"It cannot have gone unnoticed by all Resistance members that Dr Vance's capture coincided with the act of giving shelter to Gordon Freeman. This might cause other Resistance members to think twice before harbouring Dr Freeman. It might cause them to question his allegiance, even prompt some to turn him out or turn him over to our cause."

That was something that hadn't even occurred to him. He had become so used to just drifting from place to place… usually he was greeted with either praise or antipathy. But someone bitter, angry at what had happened… and looking for someone to blame. He would be the perfect target for any of those feelings. Yet another reason he wasn't keen on being 'The One Free Man'.

"However, we cannot count on such developments. Dr Freeman's reputation is such that other desperate renegades are likely to grant him a great deal of licence in the spirit of spreading general chaos and terror."

Gordon was sure that was true. There were probably plenty of people all too willing to use his appearance as an excuse to start a Combine bloodbath. A grenade rolled perilously close to the doorway, and Gordon punted it away with the Gravity Gun. He spied two soldiers heading for a mounted machinegun at the far end of the first floor. Some stairs just around the corner from his doorway led up to the second floor. He darted out, high powered bullets thudding against the wall and ground as he ran.

He rolled behind the wall, stopping to take a breath as Breen droned on.

"This brings me to the one note of disappointment I must echo from our benefactors. Obviously, I am not on the ground to closely command or second guess the dedicated forces of the Overwatch."

Gordon was sure he heard a Combine soldier scoff somewhere.

"But this does not mean I can shirk responsibility for recent lapses, and even outright failures on their part. I have been severely questioned about these shortcomings, and now I must put the question to you: How could one man have slipped through your forces' fingers time and time again? How is it possible? This is not some… Agent Provocateur or highly trained assassin we are discussing! Gordon Freeman is a theoretical physicist who had hardly earned the distinction of his PhD at the time of the Black Mesa Incident. I have good reason to believe that in the intervening years he was in a state that precluded further development of covert skills."

Gordon's head whipped up.

"What?"

He barely realised that he had said that out loud. Breen knew about him, and his… state? How did…

"What?!"

Breen continued.

"The man you have consistently failed to slow, let alone capture, is by all standards simply that; an ordinary man. How can you have failed to apprehend him?"

Gordon lay a hand on the wall behind him, as though that would steady him. Breen knew? Breen knew.

Breen. Knew.

His hand clenched tighter around the gun. All the more reason to find the bastard and beat it out of him. Gordon thundered up the stairs, heading for the walkway that ran along the first floor of cells. As he approached the corner, a soldier ran around. Gordon ducked his head down and ran headlong into him, shoving the soldier over the guardrail and to the floor below. Gordon snatched a grenade from his belt. The soldier grunted loudly on the floor, something cracked, and he flatlined.

The scientist kept on running, Breen's echoing words hollow in his ears as he ducked in and out of open cells, gradually edging his way towards the mounted machinegun. There was only one soldier manning the gun now.

"Well. I will leave the upbraiding for another time to the extent it proves necessary. Now is the moment to redeem yourselves. If the Trans-human forces are to prove themselves an indispensable augmentation to the Combine Overwatch, they will have to earn the privilege. I'm sure I don't have to remind you that the alternative, if you can call it that, is total extinction, in union with all the other unworthy branches of the species."

Satisfied he was close enough, Gordon tugged the ring from the grenade and darted out of the cell, tossing the grenade behind the soldier at the gun. Instincts taking over, the soldier leapt away. The grenade went off, and Gordon moved out as the smoke wafted up into the air, tearing through the soldier with the MP7.

Their work done on the other floors, the Antlions joined him. Stairs behind the machine gun led up to another floor. More soldiers awaited them. Taking cover behind a pillar, Gordon let the Antlions take care of the rest.

"Let's not allow it to come to that. I have done my best to convince our benefactors that you are the finest the species has to offer. So far they have accepted my argument. But without concrete evidence to back it up, my words sound increasingly hollow even to me. The burden of proof is on you. As is the consequence of failure. I'll just leave it at that."

God, Gordon hated Doctor Breen. More floors awaited them, and more soldiers. Pheropod in hand, they weren't much of a problem for Gordon. Much of his time was spent crouched in a corner while the Antlions ran kamikaze missions for him, charging headlong into gunfire and explosions without a second thought.

Gordon decided he would feel guilty about it later.

After a particularly long fight in a laundry room (which Gordon found himself getting involved in when some soldiers snuck up behind him and tossed him inside), Gordon and his team found themselves creeping beneath two rather large windows in a darkened corridor. Although really, they were all darkened corridors. Gordon hadn't come across a well lit interior for some time.

There was an open door in the wall beside the windows, and Gordon poked his head around to get a better look inside. It was a kitchen, a long stainless steel table in the middle of the large room, drawers and cabinets lined up underneath. Large fridge-freezers and further counters were on the left side, while on the right, gas cookers and ovens ran along the wall.

And something was hissing. Sniffing the air, Gordon smelt gas. Oh good. And it looked like the door on the other side of the kitchen was the only way forward.

Gordon tried to sneak inside and behind the middle counter. The turret at the far end of the room spotted him. As did another that had previous gone unseen beside the cookers.

Gordon sighed and jumped for the windows, hoping they were as thin as they looked. The explosion behind him took care of the rest, slamming him through the glass and into the wall in the corridor on the other side. Several more explosions sounded in the kitchen as further gas canisters blew. Antlions crowded around him concernedly. He groaned as he heaved himself up into a sitting position. Amazingly, his glasses were only slightly askew. Readjusting them as he got to his feet, Gordon considered the possibility that maybe he wasn't going to be a scientist ever again.

It was a rather depressing thought, so Gordon squashed it by walking into a flaming kitchen, loyal alien death creatures following him.

Flames consumed the kitchen. The explosion had left a decent sized hole in the wall opposite, but Gordon wasn't going to bother trying to navigate his way through flames. Toxic waste? Yeah. Monsters? Easy. Fire? No. Just no.

He headed for the door, when something caught his eye. Something in the flames. Something… moving through the flames?

A dark hand launched out of the inferno, grasping onto the thick collar of his suit and yanking him around violently. Gordon felt himself get tossed through the air, smashing through what was left of the crumbling wall and through some charred shelves on the other side. He landed on an old canteen table which collapsed beneath him, dust billowing out around him.

Gordon adjusted his glasses and reached for the Pheropod. It was gone.

Lovely.

Eyes on the fire, Gordon clambered to his feet, one hand on the Gravity Gun behind him and another on the crowbar.

Victor strode evenly out of the flames, dark armour making it impossible to tell if he had burns. But Gordon could see the stitches where he had been repaired. Not that it looked like the injuries from St Olga's had had any effect.

Two Antlions sprang from the flames, knocking Victor around in an awkward stumble. He turned on them, crushing one into the ground with his fist, and grabbing the other by the front claws. A black boot pressed down on the front of creature, and Victor stamped down as he pulled on the claws, severing them from the crushed body. More Antlions emerged from the flames and went for him. Using the claws as knifes, Victor fought them off, moving as viciously as the creatures attacking him.

Gordon scrambled for the thin stairway behind him, bars blocking his way. The sound of a train's horn echoed from the blue light outside. He couldn't see much, just that everything was crumbling and destroyed on the outside. There was another stairway going up on his right.

Crowbar in hand, he sprinted up, the sound of Victor's battle with the Antlions moving him faster.

A soldier waited for him in the office above, whirling around the corner with MP7 at the ready. Gordon swiped the gun from his hand with the crowbar. The soldier replied with a right hook which Gordon ducked, countering with a crowbar assisted uppercut, smashing through the gasmask and leaving his opponent unconscious on his back.

Another soldier was behind him, gun at the ready. Gordon turned and leapt behind a metal table there. He slipped the crowbar away as the bullets thudded angrily against his cover. He brought the Gravity Gun around and picked up a small filing cabinet with it. Leaping up to his feet, Gordon blasted it into the soldier, hitting him dead in the face and sending him tumbling out of a cracked window to the floor below the office. Gordon peered out of the semi-circular observation window that ran along his left side. It looked like the canteen, except that the wall on the left-hand side of the room had completely caved in, rubble and dust long since settled there.

What could have made an entire wall crumble like that?

Victor interrupted his thoughts, grabbing the head of the Gravity Gun and throwing Gordon around towards the opening in the bullet-proof glass. Scrambling to his feet, Gordon didn't even have time to reach for the crowbar before Victor threw a fist at him. Gordon darted to the side, and the soldier grabbed the strap of the Gravity Gun, turning it into a garrotte that sent Gordon's legs flying out from underneath him and to the ground.

His singular red eye looking down at him, Victor slowly stepped around Gordon until he was standing over him, his back to the opening in the window. Gordon brought the Gravity Gun around, and blasted it in Victor's face. It didn't do much, but it did enough to make him take a step back. Gordon launched forward in a tackle, sending them both plummeting from the office and down the several floors to the canteen below.

They both landed solidly on their backs. A cloud of dust slowly sifted into the air as Gordon stared up at the ceiling in abject pain. He looked up at where Victor lay, the soldier's head lying close to his. He seemed to be out.

"Good," Gordon grunted, feeling around for his glasses. After a few moments of searching, he realised they were on his forehead, and he slipped them down with a clumsy swipe of his hand.

His body ached, and the back of his head ached from where it had hit the tiled floor. The HEV suit blithered on as it always did about impacts and medical attention, and Gordon did his best to ignore it. He just concentrated on the power levels. Under half.

He sighed as he sat up, looking around the silent room. No gunshots in the distance, no screaming or snarling, just… silence. It was nice.

Something shifted behind him, and Gordon turned around. Victor was sat bolt upright.

Gordon scrambled backwards, finally getting to his throbbing feet and bringing the Gravity Gun around. He considered going for some closed doors on the far side of the room, but they were closed. If they were locked, he would have his back to Victor, which in no way would be a good thing.

Victor was on his feet, and took only a moment to register his presence. He started for him.

The doors on the far side of the room sprang open, a soldier flying through and between Gordon and Victor. They both looked to the body sprawled out before them, and then back to the doorway. Another soldier flew out. Then another.

Finally, a familiar looking Antlion mother crashed through the doorway, leaving it to collapse wildly behind it, blocking the corridor off.

This time, it seemed, it wasn't pissed at Gordon. It was just pissed.

It went straight for Victor, throwing him across the room and into the debris filled wall. Not satisfied with that, it charged at him again, ignoring Gordon for time being. Maybe because of the leftover pheromones?

Gordon physically slapped himself for theorising at a moment like this. He could see an opening in the corner, old bars left open and partially blocked by a dumpster. It was beside the debris wall, but, after looking around the room, Gordon couldn't see many other options.

More soldiers poured into the room as he ran for it, blasting away at the Antlion mother. None of them noticed him slipping out into the debris filled corridor beyond. Well, maybe Victor, but he had his hands tied.

Gordon wasn't going to depend on that, though. He continued on, despite having no idea where he actually was. Fresh air in his lungs and pure light showing him the way, Gordon stumbled through the debris ridden walkway he found himself on, stumbling down some creaky metal stairs and over a zombie. It snarled to life as he walked over it. Gordon didn't even think twice as he impaled the headcrab to the wall with his crowbar, and yanked the weapon out with equal speed.

He lowered himself down from the floor at the bottom of the stairs into an immense, debris filled canyon. A metal wall extended up on the right hand side, towering above him like a skyscraper. It was jagged and uneven, like hideous overlong teeth. The wall on the left looked like the remains of an old building. He could see the flicker of flames coming from a hole in the wall, and started for it. As he went, something creaked loudly in the metal wall.

One of the teeth slowly rose up, looking more like a mighty hydraulic finger as it went. Gordon scrambled faster, gathering no traction in the crushed rocks and debris. Metal spokes from what were once walls tripped him up at every opportunity. Finally, using the remains of a table poking out of the ground, Gordon managed to clamber his way into the hole in the wall.

The finger came down like a hammer, smashing into the wall just a few feet down from Gordon, an immense cloud of dust churning out and over him. Gordon put his arm over his face to prevent most of it getting to him, but some still managed to tickle his throat.

What the hell was that thing? With the amount of 'teeth' it had, it was almost like it was… eating everything surrounding it.

Coughing from the dust, Gordon continued into the hole, looking for a way forward. He got it when his foot landed on nothing, and he went tumbling down into a pit beneath him.

Oh, this was going to hurt.


(A/N: Hey everybody, thought I'd squeeze in a quick Christmas present for you all in the middle of all the festivities. Anyway, I hope you all have a happy holiday, and I'll see you in 2010!

Oh yeah, and reviews would be great, too. :P)