Carrying the old man made sense. Adrian had thrown a few comrades over his shoulders in field exercises back in Arizona and dragged a few more in Black Mesa. In a way, it was like he had never left the desert.
Adrian didn't recognize the old man's face, but his voice sounded familiar. Plus, he was armed and American, which meant he was most likely a friendly. The sound of his voice, the weight on his back and shoulders, and the sun on his face all felt right. Away from the dark. From Black Mesa.
Little else made sense. The trees, evergreens by the look of them, made him guess he was either up in Oregon or Washington or on the East Coast, which Adrian had never visited but the greenery reminded him of that TV series with the clown that ate children – wasn't that in Maine?
Adrian adjusted the man on his back and kept his eyes planted firmly on the sword lady ahead of him. We're putting ladies on the front line now? With swords? He'd heard drill instructors rant about this kind of shit. The ladies part, not the swords. Adrian could think of quite a few marines who would carry swords into combat if they could get away with it. Eh, I'll stick with the KA-BAR.
So yeah, the lady did not make sense, the horrible screeching tripods were a bit worrying, and the guy on his back got heavier with every step Adrian took. Still, he could breathe in the free air and listen to the bird song. He knew he was closer to home. Probably don't have reception out here. Once we get to wherever they're based, I'll see about getting my hands on a satellite phone. He wasn't sure if the CIA were still trying to wax him or not, but if the tripods were running around and impaling people, chances were good the word about Black Mesa was out. And mom will be worried sick.
The lady, Jane Kelly, who had gasped her name through gritted teeth while clutching her broken arm, whistled loudly as they cleared the eighth wooded hill (Adrian had counted), and Adrian adjusted the old man's body with a grunt. Three boys in the same "uniform" as Jane Kelly, some kind of green or blue Kevlar vest, beanie, and a pair of jeans, emerged from behind several trees in front of them. Some kind of guerilla organization? How long have I been gone? Did the aliens win? It would explain the lady part and the sword part. One of them carried an RPG launcher in his arms, and he planted the laser sight planted firmly on Adrian's chest. Adrian just shrugged at him.
"I'm carrying your wounded. Point that somewhere else."
"He's fine!" snarled Kelly, waving off her friends' protests and questions. "My fucking arm's broke, half the team is dead, and there are more packs out there. Do you think I've got time for this? Bradford needs medical attention!"
Bradford. Right. The old man's name. It sounded familiar to Adrian, but so did Jane Kelly, to start with. He just bit his lip and followed the procession of guerilla fighters past the latest thicket of trees, bending his knees a little so Bradford did not drag against quite so many low-hanging pine needles. Pointed leaves still fell to the forest floor like emerald rain as he passed under.
As he came free of the thicket and emerged into a clearing, his heart jolted. A grey silo stretched up from the green terrain like a boil on the surface of the earth. Faded Acrylic lettering dotted bent metal signs erected next to rusted chain link fences. More guerillas emerged from a wooden hut to their immediate left, carrying medical kits which were most certainly not IFAKs.
A single creature, familiar in its posture and gait, looked up at him from behind them all, its red eyes centered on his exposed face. Its three arms met in the center of its torso, and it inclined its oddly shaped head. Adrian alone stared at it, the sweat forming between his knuckles and under his shirt. Shit. They won.
That had been his first thought. His second?
This isn't the United States.
Adrian offered the old man up without a sound and did not resist as a soldier took him by either arm. He had marched their wounded into their camp only to be taken prisoner. Out of Black Mesa and into … what? What was the deal with the tripods? Were the CIA still after him? Did anyone else make it out of Black Mesa?
They took Adrian inside the perimeter of the silo and down, down into the dark. As the elevator descended, Adrian stared dumbly at what was unmistakably a Soviet era missile looming above him. Another three-armed alien padded by on one of the catwalks surrounding the missile. Inexplicably, this one wore a lab coat.
The men on either side of Adrian said nothing as they descended. They pulled him, gently but in a way that suggested resistance would be unwise, forward and into a hallway with a series of concrete rooms on either side. Musty cots hung from the walls on chains. Most had blankets. None had pillows.
"Here," said one, and Adrian could not help but note the way the man spat out the "r." This guy isn't American. Kelly had sounded American enough, and Bradford was definitely from the U.S., but this guy sounded … different. Hard to tell with just one word.
Adrian expected to get shoved inside, but instead, they held open the door and gestured him to get in, as if they were a chauffeur and he some VIP. He had stared at them dully, back aching from Bradford's weight. Neither man reached his height – hell, neither looked like they even reached 5'10. Adrian noted the bagginess of the clothes and the gauntness of the faces. Whoever these people were, whatever they were experiencing, it had not been on a full stomach. I could take them. Only … Each carried an MP7 in their arms. The way they carried them, pointed at the ground but definitely in Adrian's general direction, did not suggest they were unfamiliar in their handling. If I just had my PCV…
Adrian dutifully shuffled inside, shoulders bowed, and sat down atop the cot. The barred door squeaked shut, and the lock clicked. The two soldiers departed, talking under their breath. Shephard. 86752056. Technically, that was all he was required to report. Only thing was, he had questions. Who are you? Did the aliens win? …can I call my mom? If they were going to kill him, the last question was the only one that mattered. Adrian hoped they would understand.
Adrian folded his legs over the cot and let himself lie down. Even though the dusty green mattress did little to hide the hard metal beneath it, it still felt mercifully comfortable compared to hauling the unconscious Bradford on a wilderness hike. And, even stuck in a hostile secret military/science base in the middle of nowhere, it still felt better than Bl … shit, no it really didn't.
Nevertheless, Adrian shut his eyes and fell asleep easily, perhaps without meaning to. When he woke, it was to find someone tapping on his door. He wiped the sweat from his brow, the dreams fading already. It involved a crash. He could remember the sound of gunfire. But now, a strange woman, brown hair done up in a ponytail, watched him from the other side of the door. It looked like Jane Kelly, but her arm looked fine. She even waved it in a stiffly cheerful fashion at him.
"Sorry about this, Corporal. It is Corporal, right? Corporal Shephard?"
"Shephard," said Adrian, tongue feeling large and fuzzy in his mouth. "Eight-six-seven-five-two-zero-five-six."
The Jane Kelly doppelganger tilted her head slightly and pursed her lips.
"Um, okay. Bradford wants to see you. He has some questions. He says you were at Black Mesa."
"Yeah," replied Adrian, before his brain could catch up to his mouth. He coughed and pushed himself up from the cot, dusting off his olive green shirt as he rose. "I mean-" He paused. Fuck it. Aliens invaded. "Yes, I served at Black Mesa. Where am I?"
Jane Kelly (had to be her, based on the voice – Adrian added "what the hell happened to your broke-ass arm" to the list of questions) pursed her lips again. Her brow furrowed. Adrian's heart jolted again when he realized what that look meant. Bad news. She doesn't want to be the one to break it. Something's wrong.
"I'll talk to Bradford," offered Adrian, trying to bail her out. "He's American, right? Military?" At least let him be USMC or, fuck it, Navy.
"Yes," said Jane Kelly, drawing out the "s." Adrian sensed a "but," but Kelly was not forthcoming. She opened the door with a squeak and waited for him. Adrian shuffled to the door, quickly scanning the woman. Unlike the men before, she didn't carry a gun. She too, possessed a gauntness of the face, the flesh clinging too sharply to the cheek bones. She could barely be 5'4. Adrian didn't like to brag, but he felt confident about taking on a woman he had nine inches and a good hundred and twenty pounds on, regardless of whatever crazy-ass paramilitary CQB she might have been taught. Still, he couldn't bring himself to do anything more than watch her and think. She killed that thing with a sword. She brought me here. She's been polite.
Adrian needed something solid before wasting somebody. Doesn't mean I'm a bad marine. I just need to have a plan to kill everyone I meet. And I do.
A quick blow to the side of the neck from behind would do it. Make sure she didn't make any more sound once she fell down, either by stepping on her throat or getting up close and personal and using his hands … Adrian felt better as he followed Jane Kelly back down the corridor of cells, idly contemplating how best to murder her if the need arose.
"My arm healed okay once they got me a medkit," said Kelly, making Adrian snap out of his violent reverie, "but Bradford took some internal damage. He's only just got out of bed. I don't think his age is helping much; probably best if he stayed out of the field for a bit. He acted like he knew you."
"His name does sound familiar," said Adrian carefully. "Your arm's all better?"
"A little stiff," said Kelly, shaking her right arm out and grimacing. "But yeah, fine. Got really lucky. Taking out hunters in close combat is supposed to be suicide. Wouldn't have tried it if the alternative hadn't been worse."
I know how that feels. Adrian looked Kelly up and down. The thinness extended to her waist and hips as well. She might not even be a hundred pounds. Part of Adrian felt bad for thinking about how best to kill the woman if she turned out to be a bad guy. The other parts simply added her relatively low weight, even for her size, to a list of potential weaknesses.
The elevator went up this time, even past where Adrian had stepped on it originally. He leaned against the side of it and eyes Jane Kelly, who took up the opposite end and smiled nervously at him. Could shove her over the edge of the elevator. Adrian returned the smile with his own mild version.
They reached the top, and the elevator shutter doors opened. Angry voices bounced off the close steel walls of the silo as they stepped off. Jane motioned him to follow and proceeded down the closest open blast door, passing several closed ones in the process. The voices grew louder as they reached the end of the hallway to another sealed door. Jane hastily tapped a few keys on a numpad to the left of it, and then stepped back.
"…two men dead, the rest of you injured, the Combine enraged, and all for a hunch?" bellowed a man as they stepped inside, the air suddenly growing warmer. This room featured a warm brown color palette, complete with a couch to Adrian's right, and a series of empty screens directly ahead of him. Bradford, face ashen, sat atop the couch with his arms folded, a man in a light blue labcoat standing above him and gesticulating fiercely. The labcoat man turned sharply as they entered.
"Ah, and here's the prize we have been so desperately seeking since the last twelve hours!" said the doctor, his worn face pinching in disgust. "Corporal Adrian Shephard, was it? Please – sit down!" He gestured to the couch. "Long have we awaited your presence! Please, sit and regale us of your exploits! After all, we have all just been dying to meet you – for the last twelve hours."
"Dr. Magnusson," said Bradford through clenched teeth, "the Combine clearly valued him, and would you pass on a Black Mesa survivor?"
"Oh, God forbid I pass on a Black Mesa survivor," barked Magnusson, holding his hand to his chest in mock shock. "I would do anything for a fellow victim of that tragic incident … only, I do not recall the Hazardous Environment Combat Unit being among the victims, when all was said and done, but rather a catalyst for the next stage of misery for the facility. I reserve my sympathies, sir, for the staff of that research institute, and no one else!"
"You've made your point." Bradford stood, one of his legs trembling. He nonetheless stood just above Magnusson, his scarred face contorting with irritation. "What's done is done. I consider the Combine's rage a point in my favor. Why don't you let me talk to Corporal Shephard and determine if all your outrage is going to waste or not?"
"Yes, yes, of course." Magnusson made a dismissive gesture and tried to shoulder his way past Adrian, only to glance off Adrian's unyielding form. "Excuse me."
Dr. Magnusson's footsteps faded quickly, leaving the three of them standing awkwardly. Bradford slowly leaned back down to the couch with a grimace, eyes on Adrian all the while. Adrian stared back. Hardly need a plan for killing this guy. I have to be at least half his age, and the aliens did most of my job already.
"Jane, could you go get us some water?" asked Bradford.
"You got it, John."
"Adrian," said Bradford, watching Adrian. He nodded. "Yeah. It is you. Not just you, but as you were, way back when. Sit down, Corporal." He gestured to a chair in the corner. Adrian rolled it up, not turning his back to the old man all the while. He sat down gingerly. The rusted piece of crap felt like it might fold under his weight.
"Do you remember me? Adrian?" Adrian shook his head. Bradford sighed. "Captain John Bradford, recent transfer to your unit. We waited for your Osprey for an hour. It never arrived. Do you remember?"
"Bradford…" replied Adrian, remembering. He'd stopped by our fire team while we were in the mess. Said scuttlebutt was we'd be working together. "You were at Black Mesa?"
"First wave," replied Bradford, smiling grimly. "That was before we lost control of the air. Hell, it was before the invasion had really begun in earnest. When we first starting cleaning the facility out, it felt more like shooting wild animals than anything." The smile twisted back into a grimace. "That changed fast."
"But … you're so old."
Bradford let out a bark of laughter, but there was an edge of hysteria to it that Adrian did not like at all. When Bradford next looked at Adrian, he saw the same look in his eye that he saw in marines stepping off the plane that had taken them home from the sandbox. A look that said "here we are…" and not quite believing it. Too much hurt for things to go back to normal.
"Do you know what the date is, Adrian?"
Adrian shook his head, a cold fist gripping his heart, poised to squeeze.
"You've been gone, haven't you?"
Adrian nodded. "There was this huge green fucker. I killed it. Then…" Then what? Do you really think he'd buy it? He probably thinks you're crazy already. "Then I woke up in the forest."
"Hardly the strangest story to come out of Black Mesa. I look forward to hearing the rest of it. But … that's not as important as debriefing you on what has happened since then. Adrian."
"Corporal," snapped Adrian, not sure why. "Corporal Shephard."
"Corporal," agreed Bradford, smiling sadly. He took one long, lingering look at Adrian. "The date is … well, the month and day are indeterminate at this stage, but we have the year, more or less. The year is 2027. Twenty years into the Combine occupation of Earth. Twenty years since the Resonance Cascade, AKA, the Black Mesa incident. By my count, Corporal, you should be forty-two years old. But that is clearly not the case."
Adrian shut his eyes. His heart pounded. His fists clenched, fingers sliding a little against the sweat. That can't be right. That can't be right. He's lying. He's wrong. He's crazy. But he knew the sound of Bradford's voice. He could recognize the face, now. He had seen it, once. It had looked twenty years younger, then.
"You're twenty years late, Corporal," said Bradford, sadness etched into his voice. "The last man to stagger out of Black Mesa. Welcome back to the living."
"No," grunted Adrian, lips suddenly trembling. "No, no this can't be right."
"After the Resonance Cascade, the initial invasion was halted, some say by one Gordon Freeman." Bradford's face twitched momentarily. "This is unconfirmed, but some reliable sources claim that whatever superorganism was orchestrating the initial invasion was killed by the scientist. How, I have no idea."
Gordon Freeman. The others had kept mentioning the man. Looked like an orange popsicle. Killed entire fire teams with just a crowbar. The whole facility by that point had felt like, not so much that it had gone insane, but rather that the insanity had become ingrained and ordinary, so that a crazed scientist killing people with a device designed to leverage open crates seemed relatively humdrum. Did I see him? A flash of orange before some kind of portal. Adrian could just barely remember. The others wanted a shot at Freeman, but I was the only one to make it that far…
"The facility was nuked several hours later," continued Bradford, no longer meeting Adrian's gaze. "By then, I was back in medical in Santego. We were only nineteen percent combat effective by that point. Then … the air shook. The ground trembled." Bradford shut his eyes tight.
"A new invasion. One we were not prepared for. The entire world fell under a shadow, and was consumed. All our militaries, all our weapons, all our technology … it bought us seven hours of time. Then we surrendered."
So all of that was for nothing? Adrian fought the urge to giggle. Did I really kill all of those aliens and CIA … only for some totally unrelated alien invasion to take the planet out while I was gone?
"This might be a bit much to take in," continued John, looking to Adrian with concern, "and I am sure you will need evidence. We have plenty to pick from. You saw the hunters, those tripods. There's plenty others. Some creatures we first saw at Black Mesa have spread far and wide. Headcrabs. Bullsquid. Barnacles. Vortigaunts, which we now call our allies – those would be the three-armed aliens that can shoot electricity."
"So, they're not the ones in charge?" asked Adrian, suddenly desperately hoping that were the case. They die easy enough.
"No." John Bradford's fingers drummed against his pale forearm. "No, Adrian, they're in the same boat as the rest of us. Resisting the Combine Empire."
"Corporal, damn it!" Adrian stood up sharply, the piece of shit chair flung backwards behind him with a clang. "Corporal Shephard, 86752056, Hazardous Environment Combat Unit, United States Marine Corps! I … I…"
"Captain John Bradford, Hazardous Environment Combat Unit, United States Marine Corps." John stood up and stared levelly at Adrian. "Stand down, Corporal. Stand down."
Adrian breathed out sharply. Don't cry, damn it, pull yourself the fuck together, you're out of Black Mesa, you're a goddamn marine, you eat danger and shit victory. You've killed things the size of this silo. His breathing slowed. But…
"Captain," said Adrian, staring at a point past John's shoulder, "I want to go home."
"Yeah." Bradford nodded once, then twice. He wiped his eyes sharply, unexpectedly. "Me too."
The door opened again behind them. Jane Kelly stood awkwardly at the entrance, a mug in each hand. "I brought you guys water."
"Thank you, Jane." Bradford reached out without looking to her. She handed off one mug. Jane approached Adrian gingerly. He breathed heavily, in and out, but still accepted the mug. She backed away sharply.
"Do you need a moment alone, Adrian?" asked John. Adrian nodded, staring down at the slightly murky cup of water. "All right, we can continue this in a minute. I know it's a lot to take in. I know it's … a lot to go over, even for me." He reached forward and gingerly squeezed Adrian's shoulder. Adrian flinched slightly. "There is hope, okay? We wouldn't be here if there wasn't. Besides, being out here, free and away from the Combine? It's a lot better than the alternative."
"Sure." It came out flat, like a slab of stone hitting the ground. I want to call my mom. But if they were to be believed, that most likely hadn't been an option for…
The door shut again. Adrian stared into the water. I asked if this was Black Mesa. He said no. I thought things had to be improving. Adrian lifted the mug to his lips … and then hurled it full force against the wall.
It shattered into a hundred pieces, each jagged and gleaming in the light. And they hung there, frozen, the water inside a miniaturized aquatic bomb about to detonate all over the gleaming steel floor. And it hung there, frozen. The air become still. Adrian's breath became the loudest thing in the room.
"Corporal Shephard."
Adrian turned towards the screens. Static danced across all nine of them. He stood on the other side of them, face pinched, hair and suit impeccable. Nevertheless, he straightened his red tie, and smiled thinly.
"You…"
"I do apologize for the lateness of my arrival, Corporal, but recent events have forced an … adjustment, to the terms of one of my contracts." The man's words came haltingly, elongating some syllables and dancing quickly over others. The G-Man sucked in a deep breath, his green eyes glimmering in the monitors. "And I am deeply afraid I must follow this first apology with another: after much discussion with my employers, we are afraid your services will be quite unnecessary."
"What?" Adrian took a step closer to the monitors. He and they were the only thing in the room that still moved. "I remember you. I remember you and I said nothing. Please – you have to get me home!"
"It was only after much discussion and deliberation that we were able to negotiate a satisfying solution to your … predicament," continued the G-Man, heedless of Adrian's words. "Once again, they insisted on your, ah, "guaranteed silence," which I believed then, as I do now, to be entirely unnecessary. I was unfortunately unable to convince them of your uses, of which I know are many, as they believed your talents to be … redundant, given another one of our assets."
"Nevertheless, I persevered and explained that any potential security breaches were long negated by the current state of the planet, and the worst excesses of the Black Mesa Incident had been exposed for over a decade. Even if you gave in to that human temptation of telling all … there are few left to tell it to. And none who care."
"Please…" Adrian crawled on the floor, knees scraping against the tile. "I don't know who the fuck you are, but please. Take back time, teleport me, whatever. I'll do whatever you want. Please."
The G-Man looked down at Adrian with something that might have been pity. His lips twisted in what might have been a smirk.
"I am sorry, Corporal, but that has never been an option. It is too late, in any case. Your services are not required, and neither is your silence. You are freed from any and all obligation. Your odds of survival … well." The G-Man adjusted his tie. "I cannot comment. However, I am sure you will adapt and overcome, as your pedigree demands. After all, you do so remind me of myself."
The G-Man began to fade away.
"Be well, Corporal Shephard. We will not meet again. Your fate is yours, wholly."
"Come back!" screamed Adrian, launching himself at the screen. "Come-"
The mug exploded. Water showered the floor. Rough hands seized Adrian from behind, pulling him away from the screens. For a time, Adrian struggled, insensate, but could not pull free from the multitude of limbs that bound him.
It took him a long time to come to, through the haze of crimson tears. John Bradford stared at him sadly from the other side of the door. Adrian sat up on his cot.
"Captain, can I get a sat phone?" Adrian stared up at the man, who in the shadows looked twenty years older than he should have. "I need to call mom and let her know I'm okay."