"…burns across upper torso and chassis…"
Lights flickered by. A cool wind sent chills down flesh that had not felt the air in years. Voices faded in and out, sometimes loud, sometimes quiet, sometimes plaintive. Occasionally, the air caught flame, and something sick and broken twisted and groaned in a cradle of steel. A dryness set in. Movement sent cracks across the skin and bones, rattling the foundations. Falling apart…
Time ceased to have meaning. Each breath became a rattling gasp, forced in through one tube and sucked out of another. Images flashed of lambdas, spindly creatures of flesh and metal striding across ashen landscapes, a flying manta ray crashing to earth. All of this and more – the face of a mother as she held tight, a diploma being handed over while robes fluttered in the breeze, the Pacific ocean glittering across the horizon as they looked for that fabled green flash.
In that steel cradle of wires and tubing, something slowly died. Something else began to awaken.
"…is this truly worth the effort? We can make…"
"…combat results speak for itself…"
Gradually, gently, and inexorably, the neurons darkened. The synapses ceased to fire. The words and gesticulations became more frantic – distantly there was some sensation of pounding on the chest, of yet more wiring and tubing being shoved up the veins. And yet, like a child failing to climb up a slide, that wretched and burned torso of former humanity began to slip. Blessedly, it began to fall.
On some primal level, still left unburied by the Combine's machinations, came a surge of fear. But, more than anything, a sense of balance and peace. It was not so difficult, to die in the arms of one's mother. The noises began to fade. All became a cool stillness, like a cellar unburdened by the storm raging above. Whatever life, warmth, and humanity that remained in that tortured carcass ebbed…
And now stood, panting, in that stillness. The eyes adjusted. The lungs filled with air. The human – the human! – breathed in deeply, unassisted by any machine, automated or otherwise. She placed her hands – her hands! – before her eyes. The nails, trimmed but still feminine, the palms worn with creases. They reached up for her head.
Her hair came down to her shoulders. For a few moments she simply stood there, running those nails through her hair, feeling the silkiness, remembering the care she put into it in high school, at CalTech, even in Black Mesa, where her colleagues were known to step out of restrooms with toilet paper still clinging to their shoes.
Black Mesa … it came back, all of it. She was free. Free. Free to remember, free to rejoice … and free to mourn.
She fell to her knees, body heaving, her entire being wracked by sobs. In that emptiness, all that could be heard was the sound of a woman crying.
I have hair … I have hands … I have eyes. She lifted her hands from her tear-streaked face, stared in wonder at them. This is what it was like to be human. This is what it was like to be alive.
But even through this, the literal and emotional climax of every human's existence, the scientist in her lived on. She looked around, eyes still focusing, wanting to take in every detail, to write a paper on the experience of death, even if no one would ever be able to read it.
So far, it's like a factory reset to when you were at your best. It's not so bad. Sniveling and wiping away the tears, she stood. Someone politely coughed from behind her.
"I'm afraid this is not death. Not yet, at least."
She did not turn, yet he appeared in front of her without ever moving his legs. A gaunt businessman, hair dark, eyes a luminous green, hands clasped in front of him. He spoke in a halting and gravelly voice, and something about him immediately put her in mind of the thin men, those facsimiles of humans used by the aliens to infiltrate. This … this is not a man.
"Where am I?" she asked, praying that this was not heaven partially because A: it would be disappointing and B: as an atheist she would have some explaining to do. The man spread his arms wide.
"Outside the scope of the present. Outside … everything. Most pertinently, time." The way he inflected time made her shiver. The man smiled, and that made her shiver more.
"We did not pay each other much mind at Black Mesa, but I assure you, I was aware of your presence all the same."
"Black Mesa…"
"Yes." The man smiled again, and spread his arms wide. "I am afraid you did not hold my employer's interest, either now or then, despite my … insistence … that some value might be gained by your continued existence."
"Am I dead?" she asked, a little nervous about the implications of that last sentence. The man shook his head. His body became translucent, and they were taken to a place of blue and gray, floating over it. A pathetic, limbless torso, burned and white beyond all paleness, lay in that crib of steel, what little blood it had left spattered all over Dr. Tygan's front. He stood there, frozen, gesticulating in the face of Dr. Breen while Shen looked on.
"You are not dead," said the man quietly, "but that is how you are living."
She raised her hands before her face. For a moment, they flashed into metal stubs, the kind jabbed into a stalker, before returning to her well-cared for nails. She grabbed at her hair. It flashed in and out of existence – one minute silkiness, the next a smooth texture of scalp. She fell again to her knees, somehow floating above that mockery of life, on some unseen floor. The image faded from view.
The man waited patiently. For how long, she could not say. Eventually she raised her head, wiping her eyes, her chest still heaving with the occasional hiccup. The man, with stiff awkwardness, handed her a tissue from – somewhere, it did not matter. The way he did so indicated he had also seen the gesture from a distance, possibly by someone new to tissues. Regardless, she wiped her face with it before tossing it aside with one last hiccup. It faded into the lightly hissing emptiness.
"In four and a half seconds, you will die," said the man.
She counted. Four and a half seconds later, she was still there. The man gave a sharp intake of breath, possibly irritated.
"Not in here. Here, we are … away. The four and a half seconds hang, like a … squirrel. On. A. Branch." He gave another sharp intake of breath. "But, even with all the powers they have at their disposal, all of their … technology, you will die."
The image of her own ruined flesh was gone. Yet the sensation of her own scarred scalp lingered. She flexed her fingers, relishing the sensation of her knuckles. Will it still be there, when I die? She looked at the man, waiting for an explanation.
"Unless." The man's face barely flickered. He lingered, either relishing the moment or perhaps, anxious over it.
"Unless what?"
"Unless … you wish to live." The man narrowed his eyes. "But, you do not see a reason to live, do you?"
She took a long and shuddering breath.
"No."
The man straightened his tie and cleared his throat.
"What if I told you that, your existence, reduced though it is, may still be worth living?"
"You going to preach to me, now?" The anger came quickly, surging like the river rapids, the sadness swiftly mutating into rage. She pointed fiercely at the blackness of the floor. "Did you see what that looked like? Do you know what that felt like?" Her voice quavered. "That's not living. That's not. That's not human."
"No. It is not." The man inclined his head. "I wish I could do more for you, but please … hear me out, if only for a moment."
"What good would living do?" she snapped, stabbing at the floor again with her new index finger. "Would I kill more people for them? More aliens? For what?"
"For a chance to save everything." The man's eyes flickered.
"The only way I am going back is … like this." She ran her fingers through her hair, down her jeans, wiggled her toes. She stretched her arms out, flexed the digits. It felt good. And, like a birthday, she knew it had to end soon.
"I am afraid that is beyond my power," said the man, a tinge of sadness in his tone. "My … employers, have no interest in such things. They did not even want me to come here, feeling my … intuition, such as it is, was being wasted in your case."
"You could save me," she said, voice stony.
"No. Only my employers could do that. And they do not wish to." The man's tone remained firm, only slightly apologetic. "I am sorry."
"Then what can you offer me?" she snapped.
"A chance." The man spread his arms wide. Behind him, the Citadel loomed, towering into the heavens. Strange alien ships hung in the early evening skies, some rocked by frozen explosions. They ascended now, her and the man, up and up to the apex of the Citadel. Gorilla aliens and Combine soldiers alike battled here, at the top of everything. And there she stood, form massive, a gauss rifle in hand.
"There will come a moment…" Everything faded. "…when everything hinges on you. Perhaps. It is still uncertain."
"Uncertain?"
"As my employers constantly admonish me, it is not a firm likelihood." This time the man's smile almost looked genuine. "But if, for no other reason, I do adore defying their … expectations. Being proven right in the most unlikely of ways. One would need only look at Adrian Shephard to … well. I am not really at liberty to say more."
"What do I have a chance to do?" she asked.
"To be human just long enough for it to count." The man shrugged. "Perhaps. If you choose. It is not a certainty." He stepped closer, his face filling her vision. "You have a chance to matter."
"If I go back to … that." A cocoon of metal. Death flying from her hands in every direction. Living, thinking creatures crushed beneath her enormous boots at the behest of a far-flung and malevolent empire. It made her sick to even contemplate it. But…
What had she been trying to do, struggling from the inside? So much of her brain was gone. There was so little left to resist with. And yet she had. She had resisted, from the inside, from an angle no one had expected. Had it done any good? No. But did it matter?
She paused. What good is there left to do, now? Four and a half seconds…
"I could still do good…"
"From a certain perspective." The man straightened his tie again. "But from your perspective … yes. You could still do good."
"And if I die? What happens?"
To her surprise, he actually looked uncomfortable.
"I am really not at liberty to say. But your … time … to do good, will have drawn to a close."
What would she leave behind now, if all was finished? Black Mesa was long gone, her work there burnt to ashes or scattered across the planet. Her colleagues were beyond her reach now, the few that were left. My colleagues…
Freeman. Green. Bennett. Vance. Kleiner. Rosenburg. Keller. She remembered them all as they were, in their labcoats, bickering, smiling, telling jokes. What happened to all of them … those memories were lost. Freeman. Vance. Kleiner. She could still help them. She did not know what form it would take, but…
A Combine prison transport clanged into existence, its rib-like cage opening to face her. She took in a deep breath.
"You are ready to make your decision." It was not a question. He knew.
"Yes." She glanced at him. "Step into…"
"That. Yes. If you wish to live." He sucked in a deep breath. "You will … persist … for a few moments longer, long enough for Shen and Tygan to … stabilize you? Hm? And preserve the fruits of all of their hard labor."
"And if not?"
"Then both of us need do nothing." He inclined his head. "Time to choose."
She took a step forward. Then another. The cage grew larger in her vision. She gripped her arms, feeling the goosebumps even despite the lack of cold. Do I really want to do this? All I have to do is sleep … what do I owe anyone, anymore?
"Will I remember this?" she asked, sensing the answer.
"No." The reply came gently, but firmly, again. "We would not want you to remember it. There are … other parties … who would make poor use of such a memory."
Thinking back to the Advisors, somehow, she agreed. She took another step forward, swallowing. She need only reach for the cage now, pull herself inside. Instead she turned, one final time.
"If it happens … if I make a difference … will anyone know? Will anyone realize?"
For a moment, he paused.
"I will know. I will remember."
"You promise?"
The man seemed quite caught off guard by the question, even taking a step back. He cleared his throat and straightened his tie even more firmly.
"I can give you a few more seconds … and a promise."
"Good." She nodded to herself, slowly at first, then quickly. Then, with a small grunt of exertion, she hoisted herself upward, into the cage. It slammed shut and then began to rock back and forth, climbing upward despite there being no rail. The man somehow kept pace with her without moving his feet or growing wings. He simply stood there, in air, stiff and still.
"I do feel my employers have badly underestimated you, Dr. Cross," he whispered. The darkness gave way to harsh white. The man's image turned to speckles of black and white. Only his eyes retained their color. He reached out, long fingers splayed. "Now…"
"You're not supposed to be here." He shut his eyes. "Forget about all this."
Scythe 2 came to with a rattling gasp through what was left of her mouth.
"…if nothing else, we cannot afford to lose our investment in MELD!" Dr. Tygan's hands held firmly on to the tubing on her exposed brain. "Shen! She's going tacky!"
"Almost done…" Shen bit his lip, fingers rock steady, embedded inside the mixture of grey matter and circuitry.
"What a waste," said Dr. Breen, shaking his head. "What a waste."
With a long low beep, Scythe 2 flatlined. Dr. Tygan, lips trembling, withdrew his bloody hands from her torso. Dr. Shen shut his mouth and opened it, while Dr. Breen let out a long sigh.
"Patient died at-"
Beep. The monitors flickered. Another beep. The heart, no muscle left, only machine now, thudded in the ragged remnants of chest. The lungs heaved with air, groping for the oxygen. The doctors took a step back, agape, before rushing back in.
"It's a miracle!" shouted Dr. Shen, hands running down his face. "She's alive! A miracle!"
Yet Dr. Breen turned, his face reflecting against the flickering monitor, the hair on his neck standing on end.
"No," he murmured, low enough the other two could not hear. "No it's not."
Between the bursts of static interrupting the monitor's display, it was almost like the figure of a man stared back at him.