Igor let loose with another green shockwave, sending the bugs sprawling. An antlion landed, screaming at John's feet, and he could not help but feel that, given the circumstances, his pulse rounds were best spent elsewhere. He grimaced, drew his revolver, and fired once at the soft underbelly. It ceased its squirming immediately. John reholstered his pistol and looked up in time to see Jane Kelly finishing her own bug off. She looked up, a sheen of sweat bordering the bridge of her nose and the beanie on her head.
"Keep pushing!" he barked, pointing to Igor, who already advanced in place, snarling.
"We close to the bottom, now, my friends!" growled the vortigaunt as they grunted after him. "Can the John Bradford not hear it? The singing of the extract?"
"The extract can lick my-" began John, but another purple crab bastard emerged from the dark, eyes and claws glinting in the low light, perhaps mercifully cutting him off. Igor's blast knocked it ass over talon, and he finished it with a triple tap to the noggin, hurriedly slotting in additional shells as he carried on.
The tunnels sloped downwards again, and now strings of still-light lamps ran through the tunnels. The screaming grew more distant and, despite himself, John thought he *could* hear the faint chiming of something, the same sound a glass might make after being blown into by one of those smug performers who always claimed the only instrument they could play was "the spoons." Christ, I'm feeling nostalgia at being irritated at people, now. When was the last time I saw someone like that?
As they rounded the final bend, John froze. Pools of water on the floor, barnacles waving their tongues lazily on the ceiling, and more webbing than he could shake a stick at on the walls – and a single Resistance medic, all thinning hair and crow's feet, sitting on a crate next to the mine's primary elevator, and pointing a SMG at them as they entered the tunnel.
"Holy shit!" he said as the three entered, John sarcastically raising one of his hands while the other kept a grip on his pulse rifle. "Sheckley! Sheckley! We got visitors!"
"About damn time," came a voice from behind the elevator. Another Resistance soldier emerged from behind the mine, hoisting armfuls of TNT. "Huh. Only one vort. They said there'd four of ya."
"Our sib wait above at the entrance," said Igor, making John turn to him in surprise. "The fight here is almost done. The exact phrasing used was – wait for four who wield the vortessence. Two stand before you." Igor gestured to himself and John, who sighed. "Two still remain."
The medic, Griggs if John remembered correctly, squinted at him. "Weird. He doesn't look like a vort."
"I'm not," growled John, cutting past his two soldiers and striding up to Griggs and Sheckley. "Status update – we blowing this mine? What happened here? We never got a response from the outpost topside."
Sheckley grunted. "Griggs, you lay it out for him while I finish up here. This stuff's old, lost most of its oomph. Hopefully this is enough of it."
"Make sure you wash yourself after! That stuff's leaking like crazy!" called Griggs as Sheckley staggered to the opposite entrance from where they entered – towards the source of that crystal song. The Nectarium. He gave John a nervous smile.
"Some lady dropped off topside – she wore crazy purple armor, bright white hair. Said we needed to join her on the coast. We told her we couldn't, but she insisted, said these new aliens were the way forward. Anyway, we weren't too happy to hear that, so we uh, said no."
"So she unleased a swarm of these things on to you and the mine?" asked John, grimacing. Christ, one of our own people did this?
"Sorta." Griggs's smile jerked like a caterpillar in a beak. "Uh, she only sent one. It dropped from the sky. Opened up Tilly before she knew what was going on. One became two, two became seven … you know." Griggs's hands trembled as he clutched his gun, the knuckles white. "The vorts clutched up, but only me and Sheckley are left. I wanted to leave but…"
"But Sheckley and the vorts said this place has to go," replied John quietly. Griggs nodded, eyes glassy with shock and remembered shock. John sighed, clasped a hand on the man's shoulder.
"We'll blow this place to hell and get you back to White Forest." John gave the man a squeeze, then turned his attention to the elevator. "This thing work?"
"Needs a vort!" called out Jane from the other side of the elevator. John joined her just in time to see her give the generator a final kick. She gave him a wink as he glowered at her.
"Yeah," said Griggs, sounding a little nervous again. "Another reason we were waiting. I, uh, don't think I'd have stuck around otherwise.
"Keep an eye on the tunnels," said John. Jane nodded. John took the time to stretch and scan his surroundings once more while he joined Igor in the center of the room. Small chirps echoed from the webbed tunnels on the ceiling and the walls. The faint green of the grubs emanated from within. Guess a few are still alive. This close to the Nectarium, there seemed to be very little alien presence. Guess the young don't interest them. Too small to parasitize. John used his free hand to pinch at the bridge of his respirator's nose, feeling the headache build. Jesus Christ. This is a nightmare.
"You gonna grab that damn extract, then?" snapped John as the vort just stood there, glaring at one of the empty tunnels. Igor extended a single talon.
"They come." John squinted into the blackness. Footsteps, soft and squishy.
Gordon Freeman emerged, his arm supporting a bloodied Adrian Shephard, a deep gash torn through his appropriated Combine armor. John swore and rushed forward to support his man, taking the weight from Freeman without bothering to acknowledge him.
"Took a cut," said Adrian, his voice low as they splashed through the water and to a dry spot. He left ribbons of crimson in the puddles as he trod. "Sir, I think they put something in me. One of their babies."
"God damn it." John glared back at Freeman, but couldn't bring himself to fully blame the man. He was covered head to toe in green gunge, carrying Adrian's shotgun in one hand with the gravity gun in the other. This isn't his doing. Need to save my guy.
"Igor?" he asked, looking up. Igor shook his head.
"We will retrieve the extract alongside the Freeman, and another, greater thing. The extract will reveal the solution." He traced a claw against the cheek of Adrian's respirator. "The Shepherd must be strong. The Shepherd must live." He looked up again to the orange and green menace. "Come."
Swearing under his breath, John looked to Griggs. "These things cut humans once, and they convert them?"
Griggs shrugged helplessly, looking miserable. "I could give him a medkit?"
"Kelly!" shouted John as he leaned down to inspect Adrian's wound, "kill a grub. Bring it here."
A shotgun rang out, followed by muffled squelching. Jane brought the mulched carcass to John, who laid it out flat, pulled out his knife, and cut it open lengthwise. Thankful for his own gloves, he reached inside and scooped out the choicest green bits.
"Old Bradford family recipe," he told Adrian, who wheezed out a laugh. "This will sting. And it's fucking gross. But it will help."
John wiped the worst of the goo off the blade and on to his pants, and did his best to pry open the gash in the armor and get a look at the wound. It bled readily, a thin crimson stream running out from what on first blush looked a rather shallow gash. Pushing open a bit of loose flesh at the edge of the wound revealed the worst of the damage. Dark purple splotches, almost moldlike, patterned the flesh within, thin hairs running back and forth from each cluster. The strange infection twitched and pulsed as John just looked at it. The fuck are we dealing with, here? John looked up at Adrian, could see the wide eyes behind the respirator.
"Hold Jane's hand." Whatever it would take to get Adrian's mind off of what was happening, and what would happen. John figured Jane wouldn't need any convincing, given the circumstances, and sure enough, the two soon gripped gloved hands.
"Look at me," said Jane softly, putting John in mind of those halcyon years, decades ago, when his mother took him to get shots at the doctor's office. In some ways, maybe you're a lucky man, Adrian. John readied the globs of antlion secretion in his right hand. In others, well, this is going to suck.
Wound packing was never a fun business, and in austere conditions, the choice of what to pack a wound with would raise a few eyebrows. Given the circumstances, John felt thankful one of his men was critically wounded in a mine infested with creatures known for the healing properties of their young. His eyes still watered as he pushed the gunge deep into Adrian's wound and spread it around, finding every square centimeter of empty space and filling it with what had not long ago been the contents of an alien larva.
Adrian grunted beneath his respirator, and his hand shook in Jane's. John paid them no mind, reaching back down to the grub and removing another handful of paste. This time Adrian groaned as John pushed inside the wound, this time feeling out the bottom, finding surprising depth. Still a lot of room down there. He sighed and reached for another grub squeezing.
"Sir," whispered Adrian, but whatever he said cut off with a scream. John gritted his teeth as Adrian kicked weakly with his legs, while Jane whispered to him and grabbed for his other hand. "It fucking burns!"
"I know, son." John pushed more of the antlion paste into the bottom of the wound, finally plugging it. Now instead of red, Adrian dribbled green from his chest, and a far smaller amount. Adrian hyperventilated within his respirator and did not relinquish his grip on Jane, who looked to John. John nodded.
"It'll do for now, should contain the damage. Hopefully that extract will do more than just contain whatever the fuck this is."
"I'll stay with him," said Jane, which John allowed with a nod. Sweet girl. If she had any intentions with the boy ultimately, John had no idea. But he knew this is what he needed at the moment. These damn vortigaunts better pull through for us.
Griggs paced anxiously back and forth in front of the elevator, his eyes darting nervously to each tunnel and then to the injured marine. John knew what he was thinking, and he didn't want to hear it. He cleared his throat to say something, only for a muffled thump overhead to give him pause. He lifted his pulse rifle to the ceiling, his flashlight finding only puffs of dust issuing from the ceiling. He did hear Griggs give a gulp, though.
"So uh, I know what that sound was." Griggs's voice came out all high-pitched, making John's frown deepen under his respirator. He knew panic when he heard it.
"More of those things?"
"No, no," replied Griggs, as another thump echoed through the cavern, louder this time. "I mean, that's good. They usually make, you know, scraping and screeching sound. A lot of armored rattling. But uh, you hear these noises a lot when you're closer to the nest."
"Stop babbling," said John. "What is it?"
Griggs gulped again. "Antlion guard. And we're close to its babies."
John swore and swung his gun to each entrance. Now he could hear it, the distant sound of pounding and shuffling. "Guard or guardian?! We can't kill a guardian, it'll fuck the extract!"
"Guardian should be tangling with the purple guys," said Griggs. "Vorts were positive. But they said, well, they said the males of the species like to make sweeps…" And I just gutted one of their grubs.
"Kelly!" shouted John, and Jane leapt to her feet, shotgun in hand. "Antlion guard!"
Even in the dark, and even given the whiteness of her skin, John still noticed how she paled. She hoisted Adrian to his feet and began guiding him to the elevator, resting him on the other side, where he slid to his ass with a groan. The three of them now scanned each tunnel, turning in place. All they could hear were one another's breathing, the drip drip dripping from above, and the muffled chirps of the grubs. More thumping from the tunnel Freeman and Adrian emerged from. John knelt and readied his pulse rifle. Deep breaths. Aim at the shoulders, around the head.
It cantered into view, about ten feet long and eight and a half feet tall. Its head was all hard carapace, shaped as a beak. Blue structures reminiscent of antennae stuck from its back and twitched in the cold cavern air. It lifted its head, seeming to sniff. Despite its lack of eyes, it still clearly fixed itself on the three humans standing defiant, one of whom smelled distinctly like freshly-slaughtered young.
"Yeah, come and get it," muttered John. "Let it rip, guys."
Their guns coughed together in unison. The guard lowered its head and charged, splinters of carapace flying from it as their bullets made their mark. They dove to the sides as it overcommitted, its head raising again as it cantered around like a horse, readying itself for another pass. John, through the adrenaline, noting wounds along its torso. Scratches. Claw marks. The beast bled from wounds it had received before John had ever shot at it. Does that mean…?
The guard fixed its gaze on John, which made sense given the circumstances. John lay down on the trigger until the gun clicked and began to reload itself. The guard charged. John faked a left and then rolled to the right, sending the antlion guard on another goose chase as it wheeled itself around again. Hope these things can't feel embarrassed.
It turned to face John again, who had his back to the cavern wall. This time, instead of lowering its head and charging, it made several wet hacking sounds. Green fluid ran from the mouth underneath the beak, which John now noticed speckled with weird black blotches, close to what he had seen in Adrian. Shit. Shit. Shit!
Patches of skin burst off of the beast's torso with every one of Jane's shotgun blasts, and the creature staggered in place. Almost as if drunk. Like the one before. And with all that mass…!
Griggs, sensing weakness, charged forward, hooting, his submachine gun chattering. It sent pockmarks all over the beast's neck which, having finally endured enough agony, crumpled in a crash chitin. Griggs, victorious, planted a foot on its beak and dumped the rest of his mag into it.
"Eat it, eat it, eat it you son of a b-"
John knew he was witnessing a moment of idiocy but spoke out too late. Something burst out from the antlion's head, something swift and sharp. Griggs screamed as its sliced through most of his ankle, sending blood spurting. Adrian yelled in confusion from behind the elevator while Jane screamed in dismay. The purple bastard began to push itself out from the antlion guard's cranium, its scythes pushing aside hardened chitin that John knew for a fact was stronger than steel, pound for pound. With its two legs now fully out of the beast, it leaned over the panicked Griggs for a kiss.
Sorry kid. John pursed his lips and felt for the alternate fire on his AR2. As Griggs's screams cut off into a bloody gargle, John let the orb loose. The purple bastard disintegrated into sparks at the impact, while Griggs's corpse caught fire from the close impact. For a moment, it flailed wordlessly, before collapsing into ashes, leaving nothing behind.
"Fuck," muttered John. His respirator lenses were fogging up now as began to pant. The antlion's corpse still shifted and twitched. Shapes bulged from inside its belly. From the Nectarium beyond, John heard hurried footsteps.
"Griggs! Bradford?" Sheckley stepped in, hat off, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Vort and Freeman are on their way, where's-"
"That corpse is filled with the fucking things!" snarled John. Sheckley mouthed a swearword. "They got Griggs. Infected him. Orbed him and the crab. We need to charge that elevator and fucking evac!"
"He had the remote for the fuse," replied Sheckley, face white. Oh that's just fucking great. "Figured he could still blow the place if something happened to me in the Nectarium."
The antlion guard's belly opened in a spray of green viscera. A head poked out. Jane Kelly promptly blasted it, forcing a retreat back into the corpse. How many in there?!
More blades poked and pushed out from the corpse. John kept his finger to the trigger and placed his back to the elevator.
"Sheckley, grab Shepard." John jerked his head towards where Adrian lay. Sheckley hurried to comply. "Get ready to board this damn elevator, one way or another."
More footsteps from the Nectarium. The doctor and the vort, something cradled in its alien arms. Gordon Freeman frowned at the fresh viscera in the room, his gaze held on the antlion guard. Another head poked out, this time from the creature's side. Gordon Freeman answered it with a distressingly accurate shotgun blast. The creature's head skidded from its body and rolled away and out of sight. Freeman's expression did not change as he cycled the shell.
"Corpse infected and we lost the remote for the TNT fuse," said John. Igor inclined his head. "Ideas?"
"Such affairs require a vortal component." Another shotgun blast as a creature tried to force its way from the body, only to meet Jane's waiting shotgun. John sighed, expecting more cryptic bullshit, only for Igor to extend what he cradled in his hands to John.
It is singing. It shone blue, whatever it was, and it made the vortigaunt's eyes seem so … alive. John reached out to touch it. Can the John Bradford hear it? Through all his doubts, yes, it does not change who he is. Reach out for them, John. Reach out as the Shepherd has.
John dropped his pulse rifle without even realizing it. He cupped the warmth in his palms, flashes of dinners with strangers he had never met flashing through his eyes, a basic training camp he had never attended … a test chamber. Memories. Not mine.
Igor placed his hands on the generator and, with a flash of green, it came roaring to life. Sheckley and Adrian staggered in, while Jane began to fall back, her shotgun echoing two more times in the cavern. From behind them, the corpse began to groan like a balcony about to collapse. It's gonna burst.
"I shall remain to blow the dynamite and destroy the hive," announced Igor calmly. "It is a vortal duty. Long have we shepherded the antlions, tended to their hives. It is no less than our task."
What is to you a sacrifice, is to us, an oscillation. The words came unbidden as their eyes met. We do not fear the interval of darkness … nor more than I fear what lies in that corpse.
"The task still carries with it some measure of pain," said Igor. For the first time John could recall, he did hear fear in the alien's voice. "I do not relish the responsibility. Nor do I shrink from it."
The corpse rumbled. John backed up past the elevator doors. He'd seen so many sacrifices like this, some time or another. He always wondered when it would be his turn. He cradled the extract in his gloved hands. So bright. So beautiful.
"Take it to the top. Confer with my kin. Then I will destroy this evil as it is meant to be destroyed – utterly." Igor bowed as the elevator doors shut. "Give my regards to the Moira Vahlen. My return must be postponed."
"You're making me feel bad for ever doubting you guys," said John. The elevator began to rumble. He freed one hand and placed it against the chainlink of the door. "Give 'em hell, Igor."
"They certainly deserve it." Igor turned to face the now-boiling corpse of the antlion. A head ripped free, then another. The last thing John saw from that room was blinding emerald light, and last thing he heard an echoing alien war cry. Then they ascended in almost-complete silence, Adrian panting in pain as he clutched his chest. Hold on kid.
"Sorry about Griggs, Sheckley," said John, patting the old man on the shoulder. He nodded, looking grayer than the cavern walls they had left.
"Was hoping he'd be the last man standing, if it came to that." Sheckley shook his head. "The young shouldn't go before the old. Especially these days."
John gave Adrian a quick glance. Too fucking right.
The elevator trundled past the silo and still upwards, to the old tunnels. The survivors limped through, John straining his ears for the sounds of a helicopter. Instead, all he heard were the distant screams and growls of countless bugs doing their best to kill each other. And somewhere, deep below, Igor readied himself for his "oscillation."
They emerged from the final mine tunnel at long last, coming upon the view of a great bridge stretching through the wastes before them. Below, a valley of thumpers and trees. Evac point should be here. It has to have been three hours already! Dawn was clearly beginning to break – the horizon was a spray of livid orange, and it was not nearly as dark as John might have expected.
"Sir," moaned Adrian from behind him. The marine suddenly collapsed fully against Sheckley, his chest visibly smoking. Goddammit! He kneeled to his fallen marine, letting the light of the extract illuminate the wound. It had not opened fully, but blood and various miscellaneous fluids now ran freely from it again. And I don't exactly have a grub handy.
"What exactly am I supposed to do with this extract?" asked John. Sheckley shook his head. "Force feed it to him?" He turned to Freeman. "Any ideas, doctor?"
"Gentlemen," said Jane, voice shaking. Adrian stood, following her pointed finger. Purple bastards sprinted across the sand, headed their way. As Adrian bled and the other two panicked, John stood. The extract pulsed and throbbed in his hands. Only six or so. They will make fine inserts for the John Bradford's armor.
Those were not his thoughts. As the purple bastards passed the final thumper below and began to ascend the slope, his brothers from the mine appeared. Four vortigaunts, their essence wielded in unison. The alien invaders realized too late they were flanked.
The ground shook and the aliens – the chryssalids, John somehow knew now – collapsed in pain from the vibration. Victory Mine is no more. Glory to the Igor, who held the line when called. Blasts of green erupted from the valley below.
Chryssalids burned. Their carapaces crackled with green lightning as their insides cooked. One of the vortigaunts, heedless of any risk, approached a chryssalid flipped on its back, and promptly fed a blast of vortessence from his palm directly down its throat, which promptly burst. By the time the final chryssalid righted itself and faced its new opposition, even it seemed dismayed. For the first time today, it did not advance, but instead backed up, growling.
Now, John could hear the helicopter. Smiling he pointed a finger at the chryssalid below. "Bang."
It caught four simultaneous blasts from the vortigaunts, each separating a leg from its torso. Its lifeless form rolled back down the hill and to the waiting foot of a vortigaunt, who promptly filleted it with a taloned hand. Its base components will be of use to us. From death, protection. The underbelly is soft.
"Can't believe we fought these guys at Black Mesa," said John, shaking his head. He gestured to Adrian. "Grab him, guys. See what we can do with this extract."
The helicopter crested the bloody horizon as the two groups joined. The vortigaunts took the still Adrian's body and laid it in the grass, beginning a chant. The final vortigaunt, having disassembled the chryssalid already, motioned to John and Freeman.
"The extract!" it croaked, and John could understand why he was so happy. Yeah, this little thing is like portable lembas bread. Or maybe heroin. Anyway, I like having it around. Nevertheless, he proffered it to the vortigaunt.
"Magnificent concoction," echoed the other vortigaunts behind him. Yet the blood-spattered primary vortigaunt pushed it back into John's hands.
"It is for the Adrian Shephard," he replied. "It will grant him the clarity necessary to force the poison from his veins."
John glanced at Gordon Freeman. The man was clearly all spectacles and skepticism. Yet he kept quiet. This isn't a great day for science, really. He'd punch the nose of anyone who tried to break down the chemical reaction his body was having for the extract. John sighed and returned to the circle of chanting vortigaunts. Sheckley and Jane maintained a wary distance, choosing instead to wave down the approaching helicopter, which turned its floodlight on what must have been a very confusing sight.
"The extract!"
"Magnificent concoction!"
"This will require a great weaving of the vortessence."
"Yes."
"Agreed."
"Bind them together, as we are bound!"
"Stand closer, Freeman!"
The skinner vortigaunt took John's wrist and guided it downward to the unconscious form of Adrian. With a push of a taloned finger, he nudged John's hand to Adrian's mouth, and tipped it.
John gasped. Gordon gasped. Adrian choked. It felt as if every nerve ending now reported in directly, his entire nervous system turning from fully autonomous to manual. He breathed and was aware of every particle. His heart pumped, and he could feel the rush of oxygen. The world turned purple and blue and strange and the vortigaunts multiplied in every direction – sky, ground, trees, all.
"You see as we do!"
John shook his head, trying to make sense of it all. The chryssalids around them were basically indistinguishable from the rocks around them, although the trees held some interest. John turned to what he thought once had been the dawn and saw it for what it was. Fire. Chaos! The Citadel did not burn, but everything around it did. Sickly, ancient, and powerful beings fled from the destruction. A small ship punches through the stabilization field.
They took the extract. They were taking the extract. They will take the extract! Time and space collapsed into one confusing mess, simultaneously a corridor, a cube, and an infinitesimal speck among infinitesimal specks.
John breathed. To his right, Adrian Shephard stood, a brilliant green, his smile a blinding white. He looked to John, hale and hearty and whole. John turned to Freeman. He glowed a violent purple, a great shadow tugging at his moments. Freeman did not smile. But he did extend a hand – ungloved, for the HEV suit was not his true face. John Bradford took it, his own hand a dazzling turquoise, and felt the spark of recognition.
From the far distance, a stranger on a plateau smirked and disappeared in a flash of barely-masked sarcasm. Behind them, a legion of vortigaunts readied themselves for the expansion of their family.
So many dead. He could feel them now, the cords the three of them had cut. They waited still, for the moment they could return, yet simultaneously reveling in the moment in which it came and living in the moments long past.
Jesus Christ, said a small part of John Bradford, the part of him that always sat out the worst of it when he drank too much. This is complete bullshit.
A million billion vortigaunt voices agreed with him in unison. A single cold voice in a distant dark room an incalculable distance away gave a throaty chuckle of affirmation.
The three of them came to in the helicopter, overseen by an anxious Alyx Vance and Jane Kelly. Gordon Freeman righted himself up first, glasses askew. John pushed himself upward, head pounding and yet feeling … better than alive. Haven't felt this way since the first time I went to confession. My soul has been scrubbed.
"They said you'd be up soon," said Alyx, her voice betraying that even she had doubted the vortigaunts this time. "Um, I was told antlion larval extract was more lethal than cyanide. Did something change?"
"Yeah. We did." John stared at the still unconscious form of Adrian. Not dying. Dreaming. The creature within dreamt with him, its consciousness similarly untethered. Interesting outcome. But the clarity faded. Reality nibbled at him with all its inconveniences. There was still one thing they needed to do.
"Lily!" said John, clambering his way to the cockpit. The small girl gave a thumbs up of acknowledgement.
"Glad to see you're up!"
John stared at the cockpit. The sky bled red and orange, and distant lightning strikes and blooms of emerald light heralded an untold amount of destruction in City 17. John glanced down at the blur of foliage below them.
"Take us down, there." John pointed, knowing the exact spot.
Lily bit her lip. "Uh, Bradford? We're headed back to White Forest. I saw Adrian eat the extract, mission accomplished, right?"
"I'm not missing this opportunity," said John, jerking his thumb behind him. "I know the exact spot. Trust me. Trust Igor. The vortigaunts will be right behind us."
Lily sighed as she wheeled the helicopter around, prompting Alyx to shout a question in confusion.
"You wanna explain to her exactly what this is about, Bradford?" asked Lily, clearly exasperated.
John returned to his seat, and motioned for Alyx to sit as well. He noted the freshly-mounted sniper rifle to the other helicopter door. Explains why they were late. He was glad they had it though, given what they were about to fight. Alyx spread her arms wide while Gordon Freeman quirked an eyebrow.
"We're gonna speak to some management," said John as the helicopter began to slowly lower itself. "I've got some complaints."