Something thudded overhead, making the hanging bulb rattle. Adrian woke with a sharp intake of breath, the rack shaking slightly as he twisted over his side and stared into the dark. Another storm. That or they were being bombed … but given they were dwelling inside an old Commie missile site, somehow he suspected he would be hearing sirens as well as muffled booms if that were the case.
Adrian's hand fumbled in the dark, searching for the bottle of water. Instead, his knuckles grazed the smoothness of a journal. Fuck, not again. Another storm, another dream. The same in both cases. He withdrew his hand and sent it darting under his pillow, wrestling the headlamp from the confines of the cloth. With a small tick it turned on, and Adrian assembled pen and journal together. The same entry, four nights in a row.
Dreamt of mom. What more did the uglies want? Despite asking, they had refused to send him on another trip – apparently they "waited for some breakthrough." Or something. All he knew was that his brain remained fixated on one thing – all that he had lost.
If it wasn't flashes of firefights back in Black Mesa – reloading his weapon, staring one-eyed freaks in the face, beating the head in of some CIA goon with a pipe wrench while surrounded by a sea of marine corpses – it was mom. Most of the time he went to bed and hoped he would wake up back in base. All he had to deal with now just felt like some surreal nightmare. How could it get worse than Black Mesa?
Adrian's socks met the floor at the same time as the journal and pen. His light skittered across the ground until it found his water bottle – lidless and mostly empty. He scooted his feet forward and groaned at the wetness. Did you knock it over you Scottish fuck? Adrian glanced upward at the top rack, where the ornery bald bastard lay grunting. The flash of anger quickly went cold – not just because the Scot owned an actual claymore (currently under his rack, but Adrian was forbidden from touching it) but because if he had knocked it over, Adrian had no doubt the sound of his garbled swearing would have woken people from the next silo over. Thunder maybe. Bounced it over. Didn't explain what happened to the lid.
Nothing changed what needed to be done, however. Adrian rose from his rack and scooped his bottle off the floor. No sign of the lid, even as he took a surreptitious glance under the bunk, leaving one lingering look on the wrapped up package underneath. Wish I had been born Scottish. Aside from the inherit coolness of having a massive fuckoff sword, it sounded like they had also inherited the vast majority of the English language's best slang and swears. Of course, if I had been Scottish, I would not be a marine. And there were the kilts, too. He could do without those.
At this point, though, it seemed a worthwhile tradeoff. Adrian slunk out of the room, closing the metal door behind him with as soft a clunk as he could manage. Outside the room, all was thin light, rust, and the distant murmuring of people working on proofing the facility against inevitable attack. Adrian proceeded to the breakroom, relying more on memory and feel than the headlamp. The ground rumbled again. The hairs on the back of Adrian's neck began to rise.
He stopped, bottle in hand, eyes shifting downward. The hair continued to prickle. He had felt that shit in Black Mesa all too often – the sense of being watched, of impending ambush, or worse – his presence. This felt like all three. Drums … drums in the deep…
Adrian took a step forward. Another. Bizarrely enough, nothing terrible happened. Then, after a few seconds of sharp breathing, nothing continued to happen. Is this it? Is this what going crazy feels like? His breathing refused to slow. Green light flashed behind his eyes every time he shut them, and he legitimately could not tell if it was a memory of vortigaunts, or another damn trip. His heart continued to beat faster as his eyes watered with – sweat, naturally, just eye sweat. I'm not crazy. I'm banged up, but I'm not crazy. Adrian walked forward, staggering, one hand skirting the edge of the wall as his knees turned to rubber. Please let no one see me.
Yet flickering light played from the ajar break room door. Adrian fumbled his way to it, looking like a stroke victim all the while. His mouth moved without words, his brain fighting to decide whether to call for help or play it cool. The breaths came in and out, quickening with every boom overhead. I can't calm down. I can't calm down. I can't-
Adrian half stumbled, half fell into the break room. The TV blared static but no one sat on any of the moldy cushioned chairs. No one cried on the couch. No one manned the coffee machine. All was quiet and dark. Except…
It started quiet. At first Adrian thought he imagined it – perhaps a distant ringing in the airs. But then it continued, growing louder, clarifying itself. Horns. Far-off horns. Trumpets maybe. From the static of the TV, something flickered. Adrian's legs began to shake. A silhouette, slowly sharpening, standing in a ramshackle wooden boat. The trumpets continued to echo, strangely discordant and nibbled by the static of the TV. He stared at Adrian, expressionless, a crow seated on his shoulder. Then, from behind, someone flicked the light switch. The TV went dark with a snap.
"Adrian, is that you?" A flash of a water tower, marines bleeding out in the sand as mortar fire whistled overhead. Williams said that once, just before-
Adrian spun around, panting. Jane Kelly raised her hands as he brandished his bottle at her as if it were a knife.
"Easy. Easy." Jane kept her hands raised, and her eyes fixed on Adrian. She didn't seem too concerned about the water bottle. "It's okay." Even in the thin light, even through the sweat running through his eyes, even surrounded by furniture, even in recycled Combine armor, she looked lovely. Shame blackened inside him.
Adrian lowered the water bottle. No use playing this off. It wasn't like he was the only person in the place who was a bit twitchy. Adrian shut his eyes. For the first time in it felt like a while, he took in a deep breath. The green light faded, leaving only black.
"Sorry. I don't sleep well."
"Bad dreams?" asked Jane, with a concern that made Adrian feel warmth … and shame sharp as a bayonet.
"Yeah. And being awake isn't great either." Adrian shrugged and strode, unsteady, to fill his water bottle at the tap. He switched it off, took a sip. It tasted of metal.
"Did you get the TV working?" asked Jane. Adrian almost choked.
"Sorry?"
"The TV. We used to be able to run the VCR on it, but something went wrong a few weeks ago. Doesn't turn on anymore without a Vort." Jane gave it a sad look. "I thought I heard it on."
"Yeah. It was." Adrian glanced at the TV. "It was on when I got here."
"Weird." Jane glanced around the back. "It's not plugged in."
How am I supposed to explain this? To anyone? Is he still watching me? I thought he cut me loose…
"It must be one of the mysteries of the universe," mumbled Adrian, taking another shaking sip. Jane gave a sharp intake of breath that might have been of amusement. She looked Adrian up and down, then gave a furtive glance back to the door.
"Don't tell anyone." From deep within the chest plate came the glint of a flask. Jane gave it a little shake and proffered it to Adrian. "Just a sip. I don't have an awful lot of it left."
Geez, try a little harder to make me fall in love. Adrian nodded, took the flask and unscrewed it. The smell within came strong, almost a fume of alcohol. He took a quick swig, letting the liquid swish around in his mouth. It caught fire with a quick rush of air inwards, almost making him choke. But not in front of the lady. He swallowed, a spider web of warmth spreading inside.
"Thank you." Adrian handed back the flask, where it quickly disappeared into the recesses of Jane's gear. "You on guard duty?"
"Due for patrol in the lower tunnels. Sometimes headcrabs turn up in there." She rapped the side of her skull. "Still need to pick up my helmet from the armory. Wanna come with? Or are you going back to sleep?"
Adrian glanced back at the black screen of the unplugged television. Am I safe in dreams?
"Not sure I can go back to sleep in this," replied Adrian, pointing up at the ceiling. As if on cue, thunder boomed overhead. And I'm tired of seeing the same things, over and over. "Yeah, I'll come with."
"All right. Maybe we can find you something to do." Jane began walking out the door, not even looking behind to see if Adrian was following. Adrian, heart pounding for what he suspected was a different reason now, jogged after her to keep up.
"What's the time? Do you know?" asked Adrian, hoping he had at least gotten seven hours in.
"Five in the morning, more or less." Oh five hundred hours. This place isn't quite military. Of course, nowhere was military anymore, from what he understood. He and the Commander were all that were left. "It's dark, but people are supposed to wake up soon, and the few people who are up feel superior about it." Jane shrugged. "That's always been five in the morning, to me."
Yeah, I remember feeling like that. His dad, former Navy, also had a bad habit of making condescending remarks about "having been up since five," right up until the sleep apnea set in. Fat old man. But the old good-natured contempt came with no small amount of sadness. Promised I wouldn't go soft like him, once I was out. Except now, it looked like Adrian wouldn't have a chance to grow old.
"So Adrian," said Jane in a light tone, making his heart jump a little, "you look a little young to have been serving in the same unit as the Commander."
Fuck. How do I explain this? He didn't. There was no way to talk about it that didn't make him sound insane. And, somehow, he felt like saying anything would be a … transgression? Like there was a barrier between the normal and whatever the fuck was on the television, staring at him, and breaking that barrier would mean more visitations. Isn't that what I want, though? Maybe he could get me home…
"Black Mesa was full of weird shit," said Adrian, deciding to skirt as close to the truth as he could without saying anything remotely useful. "There's a big gap in my memory. I killed a big creature in a portal, and then…" The thrumming of the V-22's rotors. A raspy voice. Corporal Shephard … so we meet at last … "…then I'm carrying the Commander through the forest. There's a big gap in between."
"Huh."
The two of them continued in silence for a bit, nodding to people as they passed by. They nodded back, eyes shadowed and faces haggard. You can see the ribs on some of them underneath. Adrian had seen it in the showers. Sooner or later it would happen to him. Even now his belly rumbled … and he knew for a fact he wasn't getting enough protein. He could barely string together thirty consecutive push-ups these days.
After a while, Jane paused, cast a look back. "I asked the Commander about it and he got … weird. He doesn't usually get weird. Normally he just lays it out for you, no matter how bad the situation is. With you … he's protective." Jane cocked her head. "You don't seem like you need protecting."
"Damn right. I chew gravel and spit lead." Adrian tapped his head. "I power TVs with my mind and travel through time. Combine know not to fuck with me. That's why they kept me in that pod." Off the cuff. Maybe I still have it. Maybe I don't have to be banged up all the time.
"Right. So I gathered." Jane frowned. "If you ever need help, you should ask the Commander. I think you remind him of better times." She smiled. "You could always ask me, too. Or the rest of the guys. We're all in this together, you know?"
"Yeah." Adrian gulped. Stuck here. In this leaking Commie silo. Still, the silo had Jane and Bradford in it. Better than without. And I can think of a few things you could help me with…
Three figures waited for them in the armory. The Commander leaned over a table, glaring at the assembled piles of donated weapons and former Combine armor as if they had insulted his mother. Beside him, seated with a cup of tea clasped in each of their hands, sat the lab coat vortigaunt, who preferred to be called Uriah, and … Dr. Magnusson. Magnusson, who was all scowls and snide insinuations whenever Adrian was around. I don't know how to break it to you man, but I never killed any Black Mesa people. But I could always start somewhere…
"Ah, there you are, Miss Kelly. And…" Dr. Magnusson's face darkened, as it always did. "Corporal Shephard. Young man, is there a reason you are parading about my facility in your socks?"
"He's not on duty, doctor." The Commander gave Magnusson a stern look before giving a far softer gaze to Adrian. "Couldn't sleep, Shephard?"
"No, sir. And I needed a drink." Adrian gestured with his water bottle before taking a deep breath. "And the doctor has a point, I shouldn't be in the armory without shoes on."
"At least the young man has the good sense to acknowledge my wisdom," said the doctor. "What do you think, Uriah? Any hope for this one?"
"The Adrian Shephard shows great promise," said the vortigaunt, taking a ginger sip of tea – a truly surreal sight accompanied by a loud slurp that the alien clearly could not help. Adrian could not help but also notice the mug had "I hate Mondays" written in faded lettering between the vortigaunt's long fingers. "We believe this one may be capable of perceiving the all-in-one."
"And you're not alone in that assessment." The Commander glanced back at the kit on the table. "We're getting reports of increasing alien activity all around us. Little guys and thin men, keeping their distance but also keeping track of our own movements."
"Maybe they're hunting Combine, too?" asked Jane. The Commander shook his head.
"No Combine left in the Outlands. They're emptying out of the countryside to protect their cities – never seen anything like this. They're here for us." The Commander gave Adrian another meaningful glance. For us. We're special.
"You think they're going to make a move?" asked Jane. The doctor snorted.
"Miss Kelly, it's inevitable. These creatures may maintain a pretension of friendliness, but they are here to exploit our resources, the same as the Combine. We have turned them down, strongly. They are no longer here to ask nicely." Magnusson sniffed. "The least I can say is, at least they have had the good grace not to set fire to this base, like they did City 14."
"Such destruction would be pointless," murmured the vortigaunt, still clutching his Monday hating mug. Then his voice rose into a growl. "They have cut our communications."
"Sounds like an impending attack to me, then," said Adrian, almost welcoming it.
"Real question is what form it's gonna take," said Jane. "With the Combine, they'd have already swept through in force, or shelled the hell out of us; plenty of warning either way, but it would make us pick up sticks and never come back. I don't know what these other guys will do. Airstrike with UFOs?"
Anyone got a good view of the LZ yet? Adrian's head jerked at the memory. They could send in flying manta rays … but no, those were different aliens. The same cohort of the vortigaunt he now stared at, sipping tea from his Monday-hating mug. How did this happen?
Fortunately, no one noticed his sudden twitch. Well, perhaps Uriah did, but it was hard to tell what the aliens were thinking.
"…which is why it is critical we keep a close watch on both of our silos, Dr. Magnusson, regardless of how many times nesting crows set off those sensors," continued the Commander, giving Magnusson an annoyed look.
"Yes, yes, feel free to keep wasting your peoples' time on that," snapped Magnusson, slicing his hand through the air. "Speaking of, we have two of your people here, just gawking about…"
The Commander slapped his hand on a respirator. "All yours, Kelly. No trace of flesh or brain matter. Whatever surgical tools those xenos have, they're precise. No bugs or trace of weird psychic shit, either."
"We have verified the veritable non-presence of psionically resonant fecal matter," said Uriah. "The mask is safe to wear, if not consume."
"Damn. Just when I was getting hungry." Jane placed the mask carefully over her face. Through blue-tinted goggles she stared at them all, her ponytail peeking out the respirator's removed back. "Huh. Is this what they see all the time?"
"No trace of ocular implants. So you're short a rangefinder, a radial, and probably a whole host of biometrics." The Commander shrugged. "But it should slow down a headcrab. Maybe a pistol round or two." He glanced at Adrian. "What about you, Corporal? Fancy giving Kelly a hand? Or do you need another forty winks?"
"Four eyes are better than two," said Jane. Adrian knew an invitation when he heard one. He nodded.
"Don't suppose you've got an old PCV lying around?" asked Adrian, half-joking. He froze, halfway leaning down, as the Commander nodded. "Really?"
"My old one." The Commander sounded sad. "Give me a second." He retreated into the backroom. After a few seconds of shuffling, he emerged with a dusty vest. Adrian's heart thudded in his chest – either excitement or anxiety. Perhaps both.
"Why the hell aren't we using it?" asked Adrian, reaching out. The Commander grimaced.
"Put it on; you'll see why."
Adrian complied. It felt a bit snug around the neck, but otherwise felt fine. The lack of NVG and overlay was a bit of a bummer, but having that around was likely too much of an ask. There. Now I'm invincible.
"Any way to charge it up?" asked Adrian, turning in place, arms out. Full mobility. Yeah, I can kill people in this thing.
Dr. Magnusson sighed. "Uriah? If it is not too much hassle?"
The vortigaunt daintily placed his cup on the table. Standing, he sidled up to Adrian and looked him in the eyes.
"The Shephard will take heed of the process. One day, he will have to emulate us." So, it's a yes on shooting lightning, then?
The vortigaunt breathed once and then pressed his two palms together. His third arm from his chest stretched out its fingers, reaching for the main limbs. Then with a palm stretched outward, the vortigaunt unleashed a jet of blue energy. It surged into Adrian's chest, and he could not help but take a step backward. But it did not hurt. With a sense of warmth came the sensation of the vest stiffening, the reactive armor preparing itself for the worst. After a few moments, the vortigaunt stopped.
"That is all."
"So why aren't we using-" Adrian paused. The Commander gave him a knowing look. The sense of stiffness began to subside almost immediately, like air slowly being let out of a balloon. Within moments, all Adrian felt was the weight of the armor about his shoulders. "The battery. It's shot."
"And they don't exactly make them anymore." The Commander looked sad. "We'd use it if we could, Corporal. As it stands, you'd get more protection robbing a metrocop of his gear than you would wearing that thing." His tone suggested that this had already been done, many times.
Adrian shifted in place. And yet, I don't feel like taking it off. "You don't mind if I wear it for this patrol, do you sir?"
The Commander eyed Adrian up and down.
"I suppose not. On two conditions-" The Commander held up two fingers, only for Magnusson to cut in.
"Not in your socks, young man."
The Commander grimaced. "Yes. That. The other – you will have to wear one of these respirators. I'm not losing you to a damn headcrab."
"Yes, sir." Adrian pulled a respirator from the table. It felt lighter than he expected, and the material felt both rubbery and metallic – stiff but pliant. He placed it over his face, wondering if it would set him off. Instead, he instantly felt it – familiarity. Nostalgia, even. Through the lens, the world became a blue tint. He fastened the strap behind his head, pulled it tight. He felt … safe. I lived through Black Mesa in something like this.
"Get this man a shotgun," said Bradford quietly. To both of their surprise, Magnusson actually rose from his chair, yawning, and proceeded into the back. He returned, a SPAS cradled in his skinny arms.
"Now don't you go shooting this off at anything that moves," he said as he handed off the weapon. "I expect better trigger discipline than what you people had at Black Mesa!" He reached inside his bulging front lab pocket and pulled out a handful of shells. They rally around the family…
"Just need to head back to my room," said Adrian, pocketing the ammunition.
"I'll make sure you don't get lost." Jane nodded to the other three. "I'll sound the alarm if something goes wrong."
"Take care that you do." Bradford nodded to her, then at Adrian. "Keep that thing in one piece. It has sentimental value." Not just to you, sir. Adrian gave him a stiff nod back before following Jane out of the room. She kept a brisk pace, ponytail bouncing. From behind, she looked perfectly normal. Great, even. But he could not help but notice the way people averted their eyes as they were greeted now. We look scary. Good. Not that their enemies were likely capable of feeling fear. Still, it felt good to know he looked like a badass mofo … until of course he looked down and saw his threadbare pajama bottoms, weighed down by the shotgun shells. He hoped Jane didn't notice him periodically stopping to jerk his pants back up, not helped by the rather large gun in his arms.
They stopped at Adrian's door. He pressed a finger to his lips and gingerly pushed it open. Despite opening with nary a squeak, a large hand shot through and grabbed Adrian by the neck. With a jerk he almost fell, gun clattering on the floor, staggering on one foot as the Scot glowered at him. His bald head glistening with sweat in the half-light, the nostrils on his long angular nose flaring, his brown eyes bulging with rage. With a click, Jane disengaged her safety. The Scot glanced over at her, then down at Adrian.
"Shephard?" he asked after a moment. Adrian squeaked, despite himself. Little air was getting through in that moment. The hand around his windpipe relaxed. The Scot withdrew. "Recognized your socks. Shouldn't be jumping people in that mask, son."
"Last I checked you were fast asleep," rasped Adrian, feeling his throat. With a murmured apology, the Scot leaned over and picked up the shotgun, handing it to Adrian. "Jesus."
The Scot, who usually went by "Warbird," glanced around nervously. Adrian didn't know his name and was afraid to ask – there were badasses and there were crazy folk, and Warbird fell squarely in the latter. Despite his ribs showing whenever he removed his shirt, the man's arms were thick with corded muscle, and his alternating demeanor of uncanny alertness and enraged insanity reminded Adrian unpleasantly of some run-ins he'd had with Navy SEALs back in the day. Adrian knew a killer when he met one.
"Someone was in our room," said Warbird in a hushed tone. "Few minutes ago."
"Sure it wasn't a nightmare?" asked Adrian. "You're not the only one, man."
"I know a nightmare from reality when I have them, Shephard. I'm not cracked. You shut the door behind when you left, but it was ajar just now, aye?"
"How could you know? You were fast asleep!"
"What I wanted you to think, laddie," said Warbird, tapping his nose. "I was awake from the moment you dropped that little journal of yours and headed out the door, making sure all was right and proper." Adrian made a mental note of that. He's always watching. Great. Glad he's on my side, just not in my room.
Jane frowned at this, pushing pat Warbird and staring into the room.
"Well whoever they were, they're gone now. Should know better – people's rooms are off-limits during lights out. And just generally when the door's shut. You get a good look at them?"
"Didn't see their face. But they were groaning-like. Soft but gurgly, like a gutter pipe. Pawed at your sheets." Warbird pointed and, sure enough, Adrian's sheets looked like a mouse had got caught in them and started thrashing. "Didn't seem to know how to bend their fingers – just smacked at the blankets. Then they tottered out. I don't think they could shut the door properly, like."
"Do we have a security breach?" asked Adrian, a sense of unease growing inside. Doesn't sound like him. If he wanted to watch me sleep … fuck, he probably has already. I just don't know it.
"Not enough to call an alert. Definitely enough to call in." Jane pursed her lips. "You should report to the Commander in the armory; he'll want to hear this. We have a patrol to get to."
"Right. Well, keep an ear out." Warbird looked Adrian dead in the face. "Someone's looking for you, Shephard. Didn't pay me no mind, but they were digging through your bed like you'd stuffed a skin mag under it, like."
"Wrong spot; it's safe in my pillowcase," said Adrian. "I'll get changed."
"You keep an eye out, now. Watch for strangers." Warbird departed, leaving only the vague stench of sweat. Adrian ducked inside his room and emerged a minute later, boots on, jeans adjusted, a clean pair of underwear, and a PCV over it all, ready to tackle the day. Thunder rattled the dangling lightbulb once more as he rejoined Jane, tapping the grip of his knife in its forward sheath to make sure it was secure. It's no sword, but it'll do.
"Time for another riveting day of sweeping the pipes," sighed Jane. "Unless we run into this secret admirer of yours, I guess."
"Yeah," said Adrian, closing the door behind him, a weird dread building inside. "I guess."
The two carried on in silence, guns in hand, with only the sound of their footsteps echoing off the walls for company.
Eventually, they came before a single blast door, sealed. Red light shone underneath it.
"Gets a little dark down there. I brought two flashlights." Jane shouldered her gun and fumbled inside her armor, producing first one flashlight and then another.
Adrian glanced down at the rather heavy shotgun in his arms. "We got any duct tape?"
White Forest lacked many things, but thank Christ it did not lack for duct tape. Adrian's dad had always sworn by the stuff, and Adrian had to admit the old man had a point there. The applications were limitless, whether it was plugging a leak, silencing a torture victim, or crudely wrapping a flashlight above the barrel of his shotgun. Then, after a moment's thought, he wrapped his knife underneath. Jane grinned at him over her own gun.
"That's just overkill, Adrian. I've never found anything down here."
Tonight's the night. I'm telling you. Adrian shivered. He racked a round.
"I like to keep this. For close encounters." Her cocked head and questioning smile told him that his favorite film was either lost to the alien menace, or it was something he would have to educate her on. He gestured to the door. "Normally I wouldn't let a lady lead, but I don't know these tunnels. You're the boss, ma'am."
"And don't you forget it." Jane pulled the door open and led the way. Adrian followed her inward, another muffled boom permeating the emptiness. Almost immediately after crossing the threshold the air became noticeably cooler, the light a little hazier. White Forest Base was hardly cozy, but these tunnels felt distinctly … industrial. Power boxes hummed behind wire mesh fences with clear yellow warnings printed all over, while pipes hummed and hissed on either side of the wall. The lights alternated between bright and florescent and a dimmed red. Adrian felt his knuckles clench against his shotgun.
Fighting in the woods … he liked fighting in the woods. Clear air, the smell of pine, the wind in his air, and nothing remotely resembling Black Mesa. Tunnels … he remembered tunnels… the hum of his night vision goggles and the distant grunting and roars of…
"Ugh!" Something plopped from a grating above and on to Jane's shoulder. It slid off and landed against the ground with the sound of bare feet slapping wet concrete. Adrian turned his gun over and shone his light on the substance. It lay there, still, glistening wet.
"Gross." Jane prodded it with her foot. She pointed her light upward. Another chunk of it dripped from the grate, only to be nimbly dodged by the disgusted Kelly. It landed next to the other pile with another wet plop.
"We'll have to call maintenance on … whatever that is." Jane wrinkled her nose. "Probably some kind of xenofauna … Christ knows what lives in the walls around here these days." She glanced at Adrian. "Sure as hell ain't rats."
A third plop. Adrian prodded the goo with his own foot. Despite possessing the consistency of congealed vomit, none of it clung to his boot.
"Probably going to have to fumigate the vents again." Jane shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time. There's probably already a couple of barnacles hanging around somewhere; it's been a while."
Adrian said nothing, only prodded the goo again. For some reason, he could feel the hair begin to gently stand on end…
"I know it's gross but it's not our job to handle xenomold or whatever that is." Jane jerked her gun towards the rest of the tunnel, light skidding against the walls. "Come on. We need to get to the secondary silo and get this wrapped up."
Another chunk of anomalous goo joined the slowly growing pile. Adrian lifted his light up, slowly, to the grate. For a moment, he swore he saw something shift. The vent shook slightly. For a moment, the world gently shifted, and it was if Adrian looked down at himself, mask lens glowing, shotgun trained on the vent. And he felt it. Apprehension. But also … anticipation.
Adrian flicked the safety off and squeezed the trigger. Jane shrieked in surprise and confusion as sparks flew from the perforated vent. The grate fell in tatters, and the hollow tubing came partially loose from the blast, listing to one side. For a moment, all was still.
"Adrian," began Jane through gritted teeth, "that was-"
A blur of motion. Adrian swung around just in time to see a shape, slim and angular, propel itself from a nearby wall. It shimmered as its tendrils wrapped around Jane, knocking her wrist aside as she tried to level her weapon. With the sound of joints popping, the thing wrapped itself around her chest, sending a gasp of air from her mouth followed by a strangled gasp. Adrian pumped his shotgun and sidled around, trying to find the angle he wanted.
For a moment, the tunnel filled with the sound of Jane's frantic gasps as the thing strengthened its hold. Adrian, now adjacent to the pair of them, pressed the barrel as close as he could to the thing. All right, eat shit. He squeezed the trigger again, pumped immediately, slam-fired for a double tap. The tentacle bastard slammed against the wall in a haze of green and purple smoke, its body shattered, its tentacles flailing. Its lights went dim. Jane fell to her knees, and Adrian dove to meet her.
"Catch your breath, there could be more. You okay?"
Jane coughed once, looking up. "Adrian…"
"Yeah, I'm here, I got you." He held her forearm with one hand, his shotgun upraised and smoking in the other. "Any cracked ribs?"
Jane coughed again, shook his hand free, pointed. "Adrian, behind…"
Adrian rose and turned, more slowly than he would have liked. A great pool of goo had spilled from the vent while he had not been looking, and now coalesced into a shape, reminiscent of a man … but larger. A lot larger.
Arms formed. Thick legs like glistening tree trunks. Somewhere, two eyeballs floated to where the head was roughly located. It craned its neck, stooping a little in the low tunnel, all of the goo gradually joining the body, thickening it. A rancid odor filled the air, like ammonia mixed with rotten eggs. Adrian stared up at the beast's red eyes, his own watering from the stench. With a great gurgling groan, the creature took one step back and extended an arm, a finger as long as Adrian's leg pointed directly at his face. You.
"Run!" Jane, already bolting, still panting from the attack. Adrian took off after her, not even sure if his shotgun would do anything to a beast made of rancid gelatin. The thing let out a roaring moan from behind, but when Adrian cast a glance over his shoulder, it was barely shuffling forward, clearly struggling with a combination of the low ceiling and legs that bent just a tad too much. It made Adrian feel a little sick.
The tunnel gave way to the sound of rushing water, both above and below. As they crossed the open bulkhead, Adrian looked up to see multiple levels of platforms, rings of concrete and steel, and above it all, the dark blue of a stormy early morning. Rain licked his face. The silo is open.
"We're under attack! It's not supposed to be o- shit!"
Adrian jumped as Jane fired her own weapon. Another shimmering form collapsed against the wall in a steaming pile. The moaning behind them grew louder. Jane pointed upward.
"The control room! Get to the control room!" Almost as an afterthought, she turned to the bulkhead controls and raised the butt of her gun. With a crash, the glass gave way and alarms rang through the open silo. The bulkhead began to slide horizontally shut, too slow for Adrian's liking. But there was little time to dwell on that – Jane was already scaling a ladder and Adrian had to follow.
Slotting more shells into his gun as he went, Adrian quickly slung it over his shoulder as he reached the ladder. Jane's gun went off again, and something else broke into pieces. Bits of hot metal fell somewhere behind Adrian, clattering against the floor. Rain lashed their faces as they plunged onwards, gun barrels swinging every which way, looking for more cloaked hostiles.
The anxiety was gone, along with the fear and the doubt. Here was bloodshed, here was combat. Adrian felt at home. When Jane stumbled, wheezing, free hand clutching at her ribs, Adrian silently took point, only glancing back once to make sure she didn't fall over. She nodded at him wordlessly, straightening up with a grimace, letting him take the lead. They rounded a tunnel, through the bend.
"Hello?" boomed a loud and irritated voice over the intercom. The microphone crackled above the sound of the rain as Magnusson took a long-suffering breath. "I don't suppose any of you would care to explain the racket you're making down there?" Magnusson let out a deep sigh. "We are sending a team to investigate. So help me, if you two are in there pressing buttons for your own amusement, you'll be scrubbing out ducts for weeks!"
"Fuck you, Magnusson," breathed Adrian as he scaled the next ladder. Light flashed through the open silo door. Thunder boomed seconds later. Adrian caught a flash of something dropping from above.
"We've got hostiles!" Adrian aimed his gun low from over the third level's railing. Something skittered into view on all fours. Green light flashed past Adrian's head, and he swore he could smell his own nose hairs burning. He fired once and heard a scream. With a spray of green fluid, whatever it was fell hurtling down the rest of the silo shaft. Adrian trained his gun upward. More forms skittered at the edges.
"Move!"
Adrian pulled Jane from the lip of the ladder's top and through the nearby entrance and up the staircase. Green fire rained from the silo's top where they had just stood, sending chunks of burning concrete and metal in all directions. With a scream, the shelf they had stood on fell into the silo's depths, leaving only smoke and ruin. And still the plasma poured on.
"Kelly? Shephard? We are getting reports of power fluctuations. It could be the storm, but if you are indeed screwing around down there, kindly desist! Bradford – get me a damn report from your people!"
"We have any way to contact them?" asked Adrian, leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs. He glanced around the corner of the threshold. A flimsy string of sheet metal was all that would keep them from plunging into the abyss below Not twelve feet above them would be the aliens and their guns.
"Waste of time," grunted Jane, before sitting at the top stair, teeth bared. "Fuck, it hurts. Think it cracked like three ribs."
Adrian joined her, frowning, but she slapped away his hand.
"I'll be fine with a medkit, but I'm not doing any more fucking ladders or stairs. You get to the control room, I'll cover you."
Part of Adrian wanted to say something macho or honorable about not leaving her behind, but training took over. All that mattered was getting that door shut. The mission. He nodded.
"I'm gonna run real fucking fast. You make sure they keep their slimy heads glued to the ground, okay?"
"Okay." Jane breathed sharply, once, twice, then extended a hand. Adrian hoisted her up. She took up position on the left side, leaning hard on the wall, face red. She gave Adrian a nod, then swung around. The shotgun reported twice, and Adrian heard chittering screams of either fear or pain. Didn't matter. Adrian flew.
The metal pounded beneath his feet. He ran straight across the narrow bridge of sheet metal while Jane's gun boomed twice more behind him. By the time the first plasma blasts seared downwards, blowing the makeshift bridge to pieces, Adrian was already hurtling up the stairs.
Now, across the silo's gap, he could see the control room, its glass shattered, a shadowy form jumping out of sight as he glanced. More sparks rained from the ceiling as Jane continued her suppressive fire, sprinkling more concrete from the ceiling. The aliens returned fire, sending hissing green bolts of plasma that turned the rain to steam in their passage. One of the little egg-headed bastards scuttled into view of Adrian, clearly trying to get a better angle on Jane. Adrian brought up his sights and fired.
The alien went screaming out of view in a haze of snot-colored blood. Adrian nodded to himself and began running, feet sliding against the wet metal. He jumped shoulder first through the broken window, sending a chunk of glass skidding across his PCV. When he landed, a scared man, clad in Resistance armor, lambda emblazoned on his arm and his dark hair drenched with sweat, stared up at him. Adrian looked at the silo control switch. The man looked at the silo control switch. Adrian lifted his gun to his shoulder.
"Don't you dare, traitor!"
The man did not move an inch. Instead he burbled, once, twice, his entire torso convulsing. A rancid smell filled the air, and the man's face began to melt into greyish, glistening goo.
"Fuck me!" Within the tight confines of the silo control, Adrian had few options. He fired into the growing, twitching morass of slime. The creature shuddered, groaning in what might have been pain. Adrian pumped once, fired again. The creature, now fully slime and hunched over, bent backwards almost double, moaning like a whale. This time Adrian lunged forward, thrusting his bayonet as far as he could into the thing's orange eyes. The bulb popped in a spray of goo and blood, and Adrian's bayonet scraped against the wall behind the creature's cranium-equivalent. He pulled the trigger.
If the goo monsters had brains, this one didn't anymore. It folded bonelessly against the wall in a spreading pool of horrible-smelling viscera, and Adrian gagged at the mixture of sight and smell. After a moment of letting his stomach heave, he grabbed the switch, only to hear a muffled boom from below, and another gurgle.
"Adrian! It's here!" Adrian could barely hear Jane over the racket, but he caught enough. He tugged the switch shut, prompting a new series of alarms … and then heard a wet plop. A gooey translucent hand gripped the railing of his level of the silo, pulling something up behind it. Orange eyes linked with Adrian's.
"Fuck you!" Adrian clambered back out the window, slotting two more shells into his shotgun only to dart backwards behind a pillar as more plasma fire rained from the ceiling. The little bastards darted around the slowly closing entrance now, trying to keep an angle on him and Jane. Now, knowing where he was, they kept firing on either side of him, trying to keep him pinned. Meanwhile, the rubbery flesh monster clambered over the railing, now standing at its full ten feet, its talons almost reaching what might have been its knees. Fuck fuck fuck fuck-
With a few steps it lunged forward, its limb stretching further than looked probable. Adrian ducked and the claw went wide, tearing a huge chunk from the base of the pillar and filling the air with dust, some of which gathered on his lens. Breathing freely of the contaminants courtesy of his mask, Adrian fired once in the rough direction of the flailing figure beyond the cloud of debris.
The creature took a knee as some of its leg parted from its body in a puff of buckshot, but its other arm lashed out just as quickly. Adrian flew off his feet as the claws raked his side. If his suit had been powered, it might not have hurt. As much. As it stood, his side slammed against the edge of the control room and knocked the wind free of him.
Adrian rolled as he landed the rest of the way, miraculously keeping hold of his gun. When he lifted it to aim, however, the creature lashed out again. Adrian folded, partly ducking out of the way, partly giving in to the blazing pain in his left hip and lower ribcage. Heavy claws raked the side of the control room, leaving deep gouges. Adrian staggered to his feet and, head bowed, let the momentum of his own failing body carry him forward.
With a cry, he half-leapt, half-fell into the spongy creature's torso, bayonet plunging downward, knees planted on the creature's chest. It felt surprisingly light to him despite the force of his blows, and it thrashed as the blade ran straight through it. Adrian, clinging to the beast with gun and knees, twisted his gun as best as he was able before drawing it back, trying to force the barrel back and down, trying to shoot directly from its insides into the rest of its guts. The creature however, tottered backwards, its balance failing. Too late, Adrian saw the edges of the ruined railing.
"What the-"
With a final moan it fell backwards fully, surrendering to pain and gravity. Adrian, unfortunately, was in for the ride. As the first story flew by he figured he could survive it if he landed on the next level. As that level zipped by, he figured that would be that, and his brain gave in freely to the fear and the adrenaline, what sense of control and purpose he had in combat fully lost. He heard Jane cry out, and felt a moment of elation before it all went black.
Then purple. Then green.
He hadn't realized he had shut his eyes. When he opened them, he found himself floating, jerkily but still defying gravity, a haze of energy surrounding him. His belly facing upward, he stared at the silo doors, which now shuddered as something resisted their efforts to close. Then, gracefully, with the ease of an angel, he came.
"New One." The Ethereal, and Adrian knew it was an Ethereal, as Cubbage had foretold, lifted him up as he descended, his glowing hands outstretched. "Why do you struggle so? Why do you fight for those who cannot return what you have lost?"
Adrian drew level with the Ethereal. Through the mask, his eyes looked heavy and sad. Fingers brushed his cheek.
"They keep you but cannot offer you what we can offer you. They sustain you but hunger roils your belly. They dangle promises of power and knowledge but offer only questions. New One…"
Adrian did not recoil. It was true. Deep down he felt it – the frustration. The sense that after Black Mesa, this shit wasn't fair. The Ethereal's eyes burned with promise. Above, the silo doors finally slammed open, held in place despite the protests of the metal. Somewhere around him, Adrian vaguely heard a woman shouting, but she silenced with a mere gesture from the glowing purple figure.
His robes billowing in the wind and the rain, the Ethereal reached for Adrian's hand. Hesitantly, Adrian grasped it.
"Yes. The New One understands."
A flash deep down. An underpinning of fear. A gnawing hunger. Something isn't right. There was some urgency within the Ethereal. Something he didn't understand. Adrian pulled his hand away suddenly – and pressed it against the Ethereal's mask, feeling for the cord as the vortigaunt had once shown him.
Worlds consumed in our wake by the Beast and the New One is our only chance for-
The Ethereal gripped Adrian by the wrist, hard, and wrenched it downward. Adrian grunted in pain, and now they ascended without smoothness, the acquiescence draining away, turning an escape into a kidnapping. Adrian struggled against the unseen bonds, but he was as helpless as he had been back aboard the V-22, waiting for whatever fate had in store. They approached the edge of the fully open silos. Adrian gritted his teeth.
"No!" Someone called out from below. Gunfire ripped through the air and the Ethereal let out a shriek of pain. Green blood leaked from a tear in his robes and Adrian fell freely through the air once again. The silo doors slammed shut with force as he fell beneath him, obscuring his would-be captor from view. Guess I'm not denying beneath the Earth's skies.
This time, green. Green grabbed him, but softly. Cradling him, like a child. Uriah, arms spread wide, flanked on either side by Warbird and the Commander, whose guns remained trained on the silo doors. Uriah breathed deeply, and somehow, Adrian could feel his cords reaching out, binding him in place, swaddling him in Vortessence. And in doing so, he could hear the countless voices beyond Uriah.
"You're not taking him," rasped Bradford at the shut doors, before turning to John, his pulse rifle falling to his side. Bradford extended a gloved hand as Adrian floated slowly towards him. Reaching, Adrian clasped the Commander's eagerly, letting himself be pulled to safety.
Warbird spat on the ground. "Fuckin' twats. Figures they'd try something like this." He kicked a piece of steaming rubble into the pit below. "Ruined a perfectly good fucking silo."
"Jane needs help," said Adrian as Bradford laid him gently down. Then he shuddered, reaching for his side. He felt something hard and sharp poking through his waist. "Fuck … I need help."
"Told you that vest doesn't do much good these days," said Bradford sadly, more on automatic than anything. He turned to Warbird. "Get the medics, and get Dr. Vance on the line. We need to start coordinating our offensive."
Warbird's nose twitched. "Our offensive, sir?"
"I'll be damned if we let any hostile alien species have the run of the planet and try to subvert all the good work we've done for their own ends." Bradford wiped his mouth before glancing at Uriah. "You guys are all right. You've earned your stay here, with all we've been through."
"We stand together on this miserable rock," agreed Uriah, before shuffling forward. "We will administer assistance to the Shephard. Stand aside."
Bradford rose and stood back as Uriah leaned down, his hands caressing the space above Adrian's wound. The pain began to fade, along with his sight. The world was slowly becoming a tangled web of meaning and substance, becoming little more than an endless chanting of vortigaunts. Bradford's voice became the last thing he heard before consciousness dimmed entirely.
"Shen! It's time we get that bird operational. These aliens have fucked with the wrong marine. Lift the lockdown. We're going mobile."