"Look at that," murmured Adam, his neck craning. Gordon followed the reptile man's gaze to a pair of massive smokestacks, behind which the sun now set. It was like watching the beams from some golden God cast on the earth. As a theoretical physicist, Gordon shrugged and chalked it up to a small if fortuitous coincidence that they got to witness something relatively beautiful before likely being horribly killed. Adam appeared to be taking it differently.
"I suppose there is little use in pretending," he said, with a single shy glance towards Gordon. "This is not my world." Gordon shrugged. The poison spitting had been the first tip off, but the standing twenty-foot vertical leaps had been when he became really suspicious.
"Our own world is far from here. What is left of it, I mean." The snake man sighed, his nostrils flaring unusually wide as he did so. "Our own sun was not as luminous as yours, even before the dark times. I cannot help but look ahead at your sunset and find it … marvelous." The snake man cocked his head towards Gordon, yellowed eyes just visible over the rims of his shadowed glasses. "Perhaps it is merely a product of seeing in different spectra, but … I am not being irrational, am I? Friend?"
Gordon shook his head and shrugged his shoulders irritably. If it weren't for the pounding in his head and the burning in his legs, he might have protested that Adam's ruminations on the beauty of nature were hindering their chances of survival, but to be blunt, he dreaded when the creature would urge him to press on. Gordon's tongue felt swollen and sticky in his mouth; the sun's rays had already left a lurid splay against the inside of his eyelids, and his stomach now took to growling in protest at regular intervals.
Most of all, though, he needed coffee. God, he needed coffee.
The snake man took one last lingering glance at the setting sun before sighing again. He turned to Gordon, posture bent at just too slightly concave of an angle – just enough for the hair on the back of Gordon's neck to prickle. Adam extended a hand, which Gordon took, the other on his weird rifle. Gordon tried not to dwell on how simultaneously rough and cool Adam's hand felt – like tree bark left in shade. Gordon stood unsteadily.
"We are still being pursued," said Adam, voice low. Gordon nodded. He hadn't heard anything for a while now, but each time Adam had said something (and Gordon could guess what) was following, inevitably something boomed in the distance. A massive figure, all in armor, carrying weapons that struck Gordon as both familiar and formidable. And something … out of place. He could not shake that awful feeling of recognition, just a step beyond the phantom sensation of déjà vu. That iron giant knew him, somehow. He felt it.
Adam licked his lips with a tongue just a shade too long for a human mouth. He looked back through the hole in the building they occupied, to the town beyond.
"This is not a good place. Yet we must press on."
Gordon had been to many strange places far from his native Seattle. Innsbruck. Sydney. Detroit. He knew when he stood on foreign shores. Looking down at this gothic town, the light dying as he adjusted himself, he knew he no longer stood in the U.S. The doors featured handles instead of knobs. Someone had spray painted Cyrillic letters on the wall and a picture of an AK-47. And the architecture arrayed before him resembled nothing he had ever heard of being on the North American continent.
Gordon breathed in deep through his nose, the sickly-sweet smell of decay wafting in from God-knew-where and from God-knew-what, overridden only slightly by the stench of damp mold emanating from the remnants of a red couch to his right. Below them, a single tire swing dangled from a dead tree, boughs cracked and dry. And there was something, something that looked altogether too much like a rocket, embedded in the earth.
"We must reach a high place," said Adam, gesturing to the smokestacks at first, then downwards. "That factory, perhaps. The Elders will come. I know this. Because you are important."
Gordon still did not know how to feel about that. His new friends had access to UFOs which was … cool, he supposed. Barney would have loved to have seen it. He just felt confused. The U.S. marines no longer seemed to be after him and there were no signs of any of the alien slaves or grunts he fought at Black Mesa, but now both his adversaries and allies felt all the more inexplicable and strange. On one side, the Combine, or the Harvesters, Gordon was not sure which, beating people and sending power armor after him.
On the other, Adam. Adam, who blinked only when he knew Gordon was watching. Adam, who spat acid and could clear the roofs of buildings. Adam, who called down a UFO for evac, and clearly intended to do so again. Gordon shut his eyes and breathed deeply again, feeling what was left of the sunlight on his face. Then he gestured to the ground below.
"I will keep my eye out for anything you might use." Adam gave Gordon a stiff nod and dropped to the ground, body elongating unnaturally as gravity took hold. He nailed an effortless three point landing and surveyed the buildings in the courtyard around them with a wary eye. Then he looked back to Gordon.
"Safe."
Gordon tossed his rifle down, which Adam caught with a snap. Gordon lowered himself to his knees with a wince before gripping the floor of the apartment and lowering himself. He dropped with far less grace and landed with a twinge of the knees. He brushed his hands on his pants leg before rising, dutifully accepting the gun from Adam. How many rounds left? How do I even reload this thing?
"I can see fine in the dark," said Adam. "Can you?" Gordon shook his head. Adam gave a tut.
"Well. Only chryssalids emerge from their eggs ready to kill. You just need more time, surely." Gordon shrugged. Adam stared at him for a moment, as if to say something further, before finally giving a lopsided heave of his own shoulders, neither of which looked particularly happy making such a movement. Gordon might have laughed if he did not find the faint skeletal contortions so disturbing.
The unlikely duo proceeded forward, creeping past the embedded rocket and the ancient tire swing and down into the paved stone path that led between the buildings. The sun continued to die above them, the faint orange steadily turning to an angry red. Gordon could barely hear Adam's footsteps as they crept together; his own sneakers on pavestone felt ponderous and ungainly in comparison. As they passed between two wooden buildings, the alley took a right turn. The air filled with the sound of whizzing, and Gordon caught a whiff of gasoline.
Now, this is impressive. A set of blades rotated at impressive speeds, mounted on what appeared to be an orange diesel engine. The blades moved fast enough that Gordon could not tell whether it were two or three separate edges making their dizzying way through the air, and the contraption appeared at no risk of either loosing its makeshift weapons through centrifugal force nor exploding from poor design. All in all, a trap worthy of a theoretical physicist. And judging by its height off the ground, noise, and obvious placement, humans are not the intended prey.
"This is supposed to be a derelict zone," said Adam, a hint of irritation creeping into his normal monotone. "Friend, who could be responsible for this?"
Gordon gave no response, but instead merely handed off his rifle and sunk to his hands and knees. With a wince he began to scoot himself forward underneath the blades, trying to pay no mind to how the air itself felt cut apart by their constant motion. Then, halfway under, Gordon heard a moan. Just out of sight, to his left, up a flight of stairs and out of sight, something shuffled into view.
A bloodied shirt. A gaping maw full of broken teeth, just barely visible beneath the quivering lump of tan flesh latched on to the cranium. Intestines partially spilling out from the stomach. Fingers elongated and stretched into mangled claws. Three of the poor souls shambled forward, urged onward by the headcrabs fastened on their skulls. For a moment, the sweat beaded on Gordon's face. His head did an odd little jump as he almost forgot what he lay under, but he held firm, chin bouncing against the stone. Then, he realized just why the trap had been set.
All I have to do is wait. He held up a finger to Adam and hoped the obvious alien had been taught what it meant. He had already complained about using too much poison on these things, and he had no idea how much ammunition was left in his gun. The zombies stumbled towards Gordon, looking for all the world like stroke victims. Gordon placed his forearm over his glasses as the first one closed the distance.
Sphlkt. The zombie gave a snarl as steel sliced neatly through rotted flesh and cloth, spraying a mix of red and yellow blood in all directions. The bile rose in Gordon's throat as he tried not to gag, knowing he was not even halfway done. The jeaned leggings of the zombie fell to the floor while the torso, headcrab now detached and flung in an altogether different direction, landed neatly about fifteen feet back. The second zombie plowed on, heedless.
Sphlkt.
"I have a growing respect for human ingenuity," said Adam, a tone of wonder setting in. "The Elders will hear of this contraption. It is good to see that not all of your species has the mentality of prey."
Wonderful. Blood now dripped from Gordon's sleeve. The third zombie finished its own unhappy journey.
Sphlkt.
"The contraption will gum up eventually," continued Adam, sentence punctuated by the thud of the zombie's torso landing in a neat pile with the other two. "But I suppose it served its purpose admirably." Gordon didn't bother to respond, instead concluding his own crawl through the now-bloodied device and looking back to Adam. The snake man's nose wrinkled.
"Very well." Adam strode up to the device and tossed the rifle over the top of it. Gordon caught it and backed up, uncertain whether Adam would be going over or under the windmill of death. Adam's lips pursed. Then his torso lowered, almost independently of his knees … or knee equivalents.
Adam folded, torso first, into the earth. Then, arms at his sides, he inched forward on his belly, limbs entirely unutilized, suspiciously like a certain cold-blooded reptile with biblical significance. Adam reached the other side of the death windmill and rose, torso first, legs sliding up from under him like a reverse worm. His legs finally locked out as he stood. Gordon gave him a long and level look. If anything, Adam looked embarrassed, glancing away from Gordon and staring at his own bloody shoes.
"We must-"
Something boomed in the distance. A plume of smoke rose over the buildings from where Gordon and Adam had just come, thick and black, still quite visible beneath the darkening night sky. Something quite large let off an electronic whoop, sounding like nothing less than an electric guitar from hell tossed into a blender that was also from hell. I know that sound.
"We must run."
Gordon did not need telling twice. The two of them trotted up the steps, the smell of decay growing stronger as they emerged into a shed full of tools – a disassembled diesel engine on top of a wooden table, saw blades hung on pegs on the wall, gasoline cans strewn about the floors. Grunts and moans reverberated from Gordon's left in some darkened corner but he pressed on, squinting through his glasses at the single exit, criss-crossed with nailed barricades. He lifted his rifle to his shoulder and let out a short burst before hurtling forward. The rotten wood gave way with a crack, sending splinters in all directions. Gordon landed with a thud on the cobblestones beyond, wincing at the twinge in his knees. Adam landed far more gingerly.
"Mine," said Adam, unfolding like a dented accordion, a single crooked finger pointing down the alleyway they found themselves in, where three more victims began struggling to unsteady life. Gordon nodded.
Adam let forth a hiss and a choking scream, a dark green substance erupting from his thin lips. The zombies raised their claws as one, their moans turning to snarling gasps, emerging from the thick cloud of toxins only to collapse in a twitching heap. Adam raised his hand for a few moments.
"Proceed. But hold your breath."
Gordon did as he was told, taking the lead again and rounding the corner. A blast of heat met him as did so, making his eyes water at the lurid display before him.
A great blazing fire – the smell of smoke and far too much gasoline. Darkened figures struggled and burned amidst the great conflagration while others simply twitched where they had been hooked and impaled by some unseen madman. The smoky scent of cooked meat, all too reminiscent of pork, wafted through the late evening breeze, leaving Gordon with the unpleasant sensation of both a heaving stomach and gnawing hunger. For Adam's part, he simply gaped at the display from Gordon's side, uncertain what to make of it.
From above, high in the distance and beyond the raging bonfire, a door burst open. A figure hurried forth on to the balcony, hunched and brooding, a long rifle cradled in thick arms. Harsh, grating laughter echoed from his silhouette, and Gordon jumped as his gun barked once, twice, sending a headcrab flying off the cranium of its unfortunate host. The headcrab landed lifeless at Gordon's scuffed feet, a glistening green hole marking where their host had made its mark. The laughter halted as the figure turned to them, his brow glowing orange amidst the hungry flames.
"What manner of man is this?" he asked, his voice flavored with an accent somewhere between Eastern European and exhaustion. "Another life to save … with not one, not two, but three devils on his shoulder?"
Gordon dropped his gun and raised his hands. Adam, after a moment's craning of his neck, lifted his own arms, fingers splayed. Three devils? Gordon counted one at his side, although the devil seemed useful enough for the moment. The second … well, the second had indeed brought him to this hell. The third…
The madman laughed again, a spray of spit erupting from his cracked lips. A flash of white teeth. Knuckles whitening on the gun.
"Perhaps it is not too late to reclaim your dignity then, devil? To bow your head in atonement at heaven's gate?" The madman laughed again, before inclining his head to Gordon. "As for you, brother, well I understand the measures one must take to survive in times such as these." He gestured with his rifle to his right. "You must press on! Seek me at the church, if there is still time to repent. But perhaps…" The madman's head cocked. An electronic whoop echoed in the distance.
"A fresh hell…" Gordon barely caught the man's utterance underneath the crackling of the flames. "I will do what I can to slow them, brother. Be mindful of the traps. And you, devil," the madman pointed directly at Adam, "mind your ways. The end is nigh, and when the Lord is come, woe betide those whose souls are stained with sin."
And with that he vanished back into the cavernous recesses of the building beyond, leaving only a few wafts of gun smoke. Adam and Gordon looked to one another. Gordon shrugged, and slowly retrieved his gun.
"That one makes me nervous." No sooner had the words left his mouth, however, then Adam jerked backward. Another crash. Another whoop. Closer. Something howled in the distance, low and gurgling. "But there are worse things on this world." Adam pointed to their right, past the cooling body of the madman's latest victim. "Onward, friend!"
So they sprinted onwards, past the heat, past the bodies, down the cobblestones. A wall of flame greeted them, fed by a gas canister. Gordon turned the red valve with a grunt, rifle raised upwards in one hand as he struggled with the rusty wheel. The flames died with a sputtering hiss. Charred bones crunched underfoot as they continued their nervous exodus, Gordon panting, Adam giving the odd alien wheeze.
An electrified fence, burnt bodies ensnared upon it, jerking with every blast of energy. Gordon grunted, aiming for the transformer. He fired two careful shots, the gun jumping on his hands. It feels a lot emptier than it did an hour ago. The fence died and Gordon clambered over the attached ladder. Adam simply vaulted over it, spine again contorting in a way that made Gordon wince.
Another ladder beckoned. Adam watched Gordon scamper up it with obvious interest, almost as if to imitate, only to leap atop the fire escape in a single bound, landing atop the railing with the grace of a cat, eyes glinting in the day's dying light. They proceeded along the planks laid out across the rooftop – the madman had clearly been here for a while, perched out of the reach of the creatures below, reclaiming their humanity one bullet at a time. The air felt cleaner and cooler up there, out of the smoke.
"Higher ground," said Adam, pointing again to the distant smokestacks. "We will be safe upon-"
"Your attention please." A voice, feminine but robotic echoing above the rooftops, above the flames, above the smoke. "Unidentified person of interest. You are charged with potential socio-endangerment level one and collaboration with exogen elements. Ground units have been dispatched to your location. X-COM units have been dispatched to your location. Airwatch has been dispatched to your location."
The power lines began to wave in a new breeze. A deep-throated hum made Gordon's teeth vibrate. Adam hissed something in some alien tongue. The darkening horizon filled with movement.
"Lower ground!" shouted Adam suddenly, and the two of them sprinted across the rooftops, heedless of the rickety nature of the planks of wood. Gordon vaulted through a window. The building shuddered as something airborne and fast flew overhead. In the plaza they had left below, something large began making a noise halfway between a truck backing up and the kinds of whoops they had heard from earlier.
"Overwatch, we have necrotics in this zone."
Keep moving. Gordon kicked down the door. A headcrab flew at his face only to be swatted to the side by Adam, so fast that Gordon did not process what had just happened until Adam ground his heel into the alien, upper lip raised into a snarl.
"Go, friend!"
Gordon kept onward, breathing heavy, gun almost empty, not fully processing how close he had come to a fate worse than death. The adrenaline was really up now, the aches and pains fading away as his higher thoughts let the animal take the body for a spin. Do or die, so it must be do do do.
A door opened into an array of windows. The roof shook a little as something flew overhead. Through the window, thick ropes fell from above.
"Beginning descent. Cauterize this zone."
More figures in gas masks, rappelling below. Gordon pressed himself against a wall adjacent to the window, heart hammering as the chatter of machinegun fire ripped through the night. Gordon looked to Adam, similarly pressed against the wall. Gordon slowly lifted a finger to his lips. Adam's face flickered in what might have been confusion before mirroring the motion without a sound. A start.
"Hark! What demons are these, that have brought cursed fire to this blighted land?"
Gordon winced but remained where he was. The chatter from the soldiers stopped, even if the gunfire did not.
"Despoilers – I know the faces behind your darkened visages! You are not beyond salvation, even as you are beyond saving. Come, my children, and know my sword of mercy."
Crack. Crack. The madman's gun echoed from some hidden window. A soldier let out a muffled cry.
"Overwatch, we have a confirmed anticitizen in this zone. Requesting scalpel."
The gunfire turned upward. Bullets bounced off the tiled roof. One shot through the window and past Gordon's left ear, kicking up a puff of dust as it embedded itself in the wall. The madman's laughter now echoed from everywhere and nowhere, somehow amplified by the chaos below. This is just getting ridic-
The building shook once, twice. Gordon's footing faltered, and he staggered into view of the window for a moment. Something floating outside the glass whirred and clicked. Gordon raised his palm too late to prevent the flash from blinding him. A loud electronic scream rent through the air.
The floor burst into splinters as a great metal hand punched through, lighting the room with orange and blue. Gordon fell backwards, gun flying from his grip, hand scraping against the plaster as he tumbled. Adam let out another loud curse as he leapt backwards. The hand reached out with three stiff digits, searching, finding nothing, retreating. For a moment, all was still. Then, from some deep corner of his mind came a commanding roar.
ROLL NOW. ROLL NOW. ROLL.
Gordon did as he was bid, rolling and ignoring the splinters and the shards of glass opening his already damaged jeans, rolling as the hand punched through wood and plaster yet again, filling the air with rot.
"FREEMAN." The voice, harsh and robotic, no trace of humanity. The floor trembled once as the fingers grasped for Gordon's huddled form … then it all gave way.
Gordon fell with Adam, hitting the moldy carpet with a grunt. A great figure stood above him, a single camera mounted on wires atop its chassis, blue and orange lights emanating from its chest, a massive gun in one hand, the other turning, hungrily outstretched…
With a crack, the figure shifted, its right leg suddenly lowering. Then, with another crack of protest, the floor gave way again, leaving all three of them hurting this time.
The pursuer crashed in a shriek of metal, upended by the unexpected impact of its massive hulk. Gordon landed in a sprawl but leapt up just as quick. His eyes found a window. His hands found a cinder block. The physicist inside made the connection.
The glass gave way and the two fugitives careened through it. The pursuer behind struggled to its feet, bellowing. Above, figures called out muffled reports occasionally broken up by grunts of pain and bursts of gunfire.
"Target my radial, ninety-two degrees. Belay that, necrotics bearing in, thirty-five degrees. Administer verdict. Whitelight Nine-Six, move to intercept. Airwatch, confirm status."
But Gordon barely took any of this in however. He weaved between floundering zombies, too inundated with sensation and anger at this fresh invasion to pay him much mind, the flames of fresh fires, and the occasional soldier huddled into a corner by the two above to catch up to him.
A fence, vaulted. A tire tied to a tree, aflame, surrounded by decomposing bodies. Graffiti sprayed against rotting wood, saw blades and hooks mounted on walls. And the endless, mocking laughter from above, delighting in it all. Behind, crashes. Splintering wood. Tiles shattering against the cobblestones as they shook loose from the buildings.
"Where are they?" demanded Adam angrily as they paused momentarily, eyeing the next exit. "They should be here. The Elders must have…"
Gordon pointed to a ladder leading up to another fire escape and began nimbly ascending. Adam, to his surprise, actually followed suit, although he forgot to use his legs for the first few rungs, instead pulling himself up entirely by his arms. They stood together on the flimsy railing for a moment, the town's horizon open to them. Night had truly fallen now, yet the skyline now shone from the flame. And, deep in the distance…
Adam extended a trembling finger. Deep in the distance, far off, green and purple flashes of light speckled the angry horizon. The faintest hint of smoke.
"It is begun. It is begun and we are here and not…" Adam's face contorted before falling still. "The plans move apace and we are not a part of it all." Adam let out a low hiss. "We can run and hide, but we cannot win… we cannot…"
WIN? The question almost came to Gordon's lips, unbidden. But he remained silent. It was never a question of winning. Only surviving long enough for a miracle…
Gordon turned behind him to the open window and stepped through it. He turned and waited for his companion.
"No help is coming!" Adam's face contorted again, mouth opening far too wide as he yelled. But Gordon only cocked his head and gestured for him to follow. Adam cocked his own head, neck bending just a smidge too far for Gordon's liking. Then he awkwardly raised one leg over the lip of the window. Then the other. And then he stood there, looking at Gordon, head still tilted, considering. The building shook as something else flew overhead. Then Gordon turned around and kept moving, down the stairs, back into the streets.
A stretch of moonlit road greeted them. A water reservoir standing tall against the backdrop of stars and flames, above a long-rusted rail line. Gunfire ripped through the rooftops overhead. Figures jumped across the roofs on all fours, howling like demons. Gordon took all of this in before breaking left into a nearby open door, passing a row of disconnected laundry machines. Adam padded behind him, silent in all the madness.
They found themselves at a stairway winding up and up. Gordon could hear muffled moans from the rooms they passed, but with no gun and a demoralized alien in tow, all he could do was keep pressing onward, hoping the sounds of battle outside would do more to occupy their attention then his own panicked footsteps.
The stairway terminated in an attic which they swiftly breached, emerging into the cool breeze of the rooftop. Gordon could see the church now, somewhere ahead, a great Orthodox thing with a cross standing stiff and proud against the extending devastation of the streets below. Gordon breathed deep, something telling him to pause here. There…
Across the stretch of alley between them, the madman took careful aim with his rifle from atop his own perch on a balcony. He fired once before levering another round, letting out a dry cackle. Something cried out and fell silent below. He raised a finger to Gordon without looking at him. He fired again. This time Gordon peered down into the depths of the streets below. A squad of soldiers, freshly stiffened atop a pile of zombie corpses. The madman looked up from the desolation below, a sheen of sweat glistening on his face.
"You've stirred up hell," he croaked, before chuckling. "A man after my own heart." He glanced at Adam. "And you seem freshly chastened, Devil. Have you yet learned the wages of sin?"
"You are clearly mad." Adam's words sounded as limp as his body. "I have nothing to say."
"You are pursued by the hounds of Hell, brother." The madman tutted. "I can grant you a sword, but a shield must wait. Here."
The madman reached down. Gordon recognized a shotgun when he saw it. Recognized a chance when it was flung to him. He caught the weapon's barrel with one hand and soon it rested snugly against his shoulder. The madman nodded.
"Good. Now, keep it close." The madman sniffed. "Brother, the end is nigh."
"I already knew that," said Adam. Something rumbled below. He looked to Gordon, a pale tongue skating across pale lips. "This is to be it, then?"
Smoke rose from the town. Gunfire ripped through the streets. And below, swiftly climbing, came the pursuer. Cornered.
Below, a precipitous drop. Below, the sound of plaster walls being torn about, heavy footsteps plunging heedless through wooden steps. Below, the moans of those who wished they were dead and the soldiers granting that wish. The automated camera, drifting through the breeze, flashing one final photo of the two of them atop that roof … just the cherry on top. Gordon turned and smiled for his mugshot.
The pursuer burst from below, chassis covered in the yellow-green-red of zombie blood. The camera mounted atop the torso contorted and shuddered as it fixed upon Gordon's face. Gordon, still smiling wide, leveled his shotgun and pulled the trigger.
"Yes, brother!" cried the madman, his own gun blazing. "Meet their sword with your own!"
"We cannot-"
WIN.
Gordon dove to the side and kept firing, pumping, ejected shell after ejected shell clattering atop the rooftop. A box of ammunition skidded across the roof, flung by the elated madman. The pursuer let out an electronic moan as the chest plate received pellets after pellets, metallic arm and elbow briefly raised to block the onslaught of steel. Gordon went full prone as he skidded across his belly to the box, the shells spilling in all directions.
Sparks leapt from the great machine as the madman's own rounds bounced off it. With a groan it took a step forward. Gordon, rising, adrenaline burning, face grimacing, sprinted towards it, a single shell being slotted into his weapon with shaking fingers. He slid, diving beneath the swinging arms of the monstrosity, aiming up at an angle, at where the head might be. He fired once.
The metal dented slightly. The pursuer paused. Then, without any apparent difficulty, it reached down and grabbed Gordon by the front of his disintegrating shirt. It lifted him up, and up.
Time slowed. Gordon looked into the camera lens eyes rolling, the fear and adrenaline ebbing.
"Freeman." Softer this time, somehow. Then, with a slowness that nevertheless betrayed a truly terrible strength, the machine drew Gordon closer … then thrust him forward, up and out, the cobbled streets and towering buildings disappearing in a flurry of motion. Gordon flew and then he fell, down, down…
The water greeted him like a slap to the face. He gasped, sodden, shaking the hair from his face, swallowing some water before spitting out more. He looked up to see the night sky, the ladder he had no chance of ascending, and the menace glaring down at the man it had just failed to kill. It took a step forward, then another, standing at the edge of infinity, heedless of the sparks flying from its armor at the madman's rounds. Then the gun leveled at Gordon's face with a horrible certainty.
"No!"
Adam leapt forward, legs first in a perfect drop kick. The alien collided full force with the pursuer's own right leg, the one closest to the edge of the building. Adam might not have weighed much, but Gordon knew the power of those legs well enough. They could clear twenty feet with a single bound … and one unsteady machine?
The pursuer howled as its leg buckled and then, like a tree doomed for the shredder, it toppled with a surety and a swiftness. The crash below did not sound healthy. Gordon's heart beat on. WIN…
Gordon clambered out of the water sopping wet, clothes dragging him down with every step. Twice he skidded on the slick rungs of the tower's ladder, but his hands maintained a vice grip. Slowly, he pulled himself atop the lip of the water tower, to the planks the madman had placed there for some absurd eventuality, to the cool stone of the rooftop beyond.
Gordon did not know when Adam joined him there, or when he propped him up with such unnatural strength. Together they faced the Eastern skies, too tired to continue or even speak. The madman's shouts faded away. And the horizon only grew angrier.
"They are … retreating?"
Green and purple light licked the sky's edge. Gordon knew, deep down, that he was witnessing the beginnings of something strange and terrible, something he could only now begin to glimpse. Yet here, with Adam, all was peaceful. When he heard pistons below, he knew it was time. He turned to Adam and smiled.
"We cannot win." Adam shrugged. "It was pleasurable enough. I suppose we are not so important then, in the scheme of things." He pointed at the neon hell in the distance. "But that … that is reason enough not to grieve, friend. To know the fight continues."
The madman shouted once. From the ruin of the rooftop where the pursuer had met its end, several figures emerged, skirting the wreckage as best as they were able. They wore masks and carried guns. The first pointed. Adam, as Gordon had showed him, raised his hands, fingers twitching.
"There, brothers!" shouted the madman, emerging from behind the three. "He is the one you seek!"
"Wait a minute." The foremost soldier, a broad-shouldered fellow in gas mask and steel helmet, stepped forward. "Gordon? Gordon, is that you?"
Gordon returned his gaze steadily, wondering if his ears played tricks on him. The man held up a finger and lowered his gun to the floor. Then, with sure fingers, he removed the helmet and mask, letting them clatter to the floor.
"Do you remember me?" The man held up his hands. "Barney? From Black Mesa? And look buddy, I know you're enjoying that side hug, but that thing is not human."
"This devil is the reason our brother draws breath!" cried out the madman. He pointed below. "Behold the fruits of his labors! There lies the crater I described, where the great machine fell and was dragged away, wounds still fresh!"
"Jesus – that thing must have been heavy." A woman's voice. She craned her neck over the edge of the building. She glanced back over the rooftops. "Dr. Mossman did say she wanted a live specimen."
"Yeah, and I got a way to bring it in alive," said Barney reaching for his utility belt. He brandished a device reminiscent of the top of a wine cork opener, humming with electricity, "and a way of bringing it in dead." He nudged his gun with his toe. He raised his voice. "You wanna make a choice, buddy?"
"I…" Adam looked to Gordon and to the three figures across the way. "I…"
Gordon shook free from Adam and stepped forward between his friend and his supposed allies. He shook his head once. Barney tutted.
"Come on man, don't be like that." Gordon stood firm. "Look, Gordon, this guy, this thing – he isn't our pal. He isn't coming back with us in any state of consciousness." Gordon did not budge.
"Barney," began the woman softly.
"Come on Alyx," said Barney, pleading. "Bamboozle me once, shame on me. Bamboozle me twice…"
"I will vouch for the safe passage of this creature!" bellowed the madman, stepping forward with the others. "He has taken his first faltering footsteps on the path of redemption! Woe betide those who would force him astray!"
"Look, Grigori," started Barney, only to find a single dirty finger pressed against his lips.
"Father Grigori!" bellowed Father Grigori, spraying Barney's unshielded face with spittle. "And I have lived in Ravenholm long enough to know what must be killed and what must be protected!" His eyes narrowed. "I am becoming fuzzy on the subject of you."
"Jesus, all right, take it easy!" Barney backed away, chuckling out of something that was not amusement. "Fine, okay, just let me put the respirator back on, 'cuz I don't need whatever you guys got." Barney sighed, looking back over to Gordon. "Figures you'd be in the middle of this shitstorm, pal. Man, they were tearing up those streets looking for you."
"What drew them away?" asked Adam. Barney threw him a dark look.
"City 14." He left it at that. "Let's get you home, doc. Alyx?"
Alyx nodded and whistled. Something hooted and whooped from below.
"Dog! Come!"
Great metal hands took hold of Gordon as a single camera peered closely at his face. This time, they did not throw him. The hands lifted Gordon up and up and up into a warm place.