The rain beat on and on. Sodden citizens sulked beneath the depot's skylight, the ration line lengthening even despite the peals of thunder that boomed overhead, making the ground tremble. The striders would be tucked away tonight – lightning strikes fell well outside what they could survive. If only barely. Mother Nature occasionally made her honest attempt to kill the damn things, and she was only marginally more successful than all of Earth's armies had been.
Attrition probably still means she's ahead. Barney Calhoun folded his arms, letting the stun baton rest against his shoulder. He watched the citizens with what they would surely call an intense suspicion, but beneath the respirator, he only felt tired. Another day, another wretched meal, no end to the misery in sight. The packet of rations fell out of the spindly metal machine at the front of the line with a clunk and the citizen, a pale, balding man, scooped it up with trembling hands and hurried away, likely afraid someone would take it from him if he did not keep it close. And he's quite correct. The next citizen stepped forward, a trembling woman with her hair done up in a filthy ponytail. Thunder boomed overhead.
Barney glanced over at his comrades, his fellow officers of the Combine's law. Two of them waited by the currently open sliding gate that let citizens in and out of the plaza, stun batons gripped hard in their gloves. One of them lifted a hand as the ponytail lady stepped by, almost dropping her rations as she skidded to a halt.
Come on, guys. Barney bit his lip underneath the mask. He was on thin ice as it was. There was more on the line than his itching sensibilities. Or this woman's safety. He watched, the light glinting off the respirator's lenses, just another masked goon watching an innocent get victimized. Hopefully not brutalized.
The one on the left, "Jerry", as Barney liked to call him, sauntered forward, one hand on his belt while the other waggled the baton. Barney could hear the low tones of what men's voices sounded like through the vocoder, but between the constant tap-tap-tapping of the rain up above, the muttering of hungry citizens, and the frequent bouts of honest-to-God thunder, he could only guess at what they were saying.
The woman shook her head, sharply. Jerry chuckled, and the other one, "Bruce," took a step forward. The woman stepped back, almost slipping again, her damp hands sliding over the ration packet and leaving a glistening streak. Something low and ominous slipped from Bruce's vocoder, and the woman shook her head again. The bile rose up in Barney's throat, sick and burning. Despite himself, he began tapping his foot rapidly, a symptom of the rising anxiety. Want to do something. He glanced down at his own baton, felt at his holster for the butt of his pistol. A moment of glory. Could you imagine it?
It wouldn't be so bad. A fleeting spark of justice under the Combine's tyranny, a reminder that humanity's heart still pulsed beneath the constricting metal. It would be beautiful, to die looking up at the stars … unless of course, they took him in. And the woman, too. Patched them up, took them to the trains. That path ended in total darkness.
There are worse fates than this, ma'am. He wished he could reach out and even offer her that much, but he had to wait. The next person in the line walked past the lady, keeping his head down, and the two officers didn't even look at him. Their shoulders were forward, predatory, their voices low and threatening. The woman's voice reached a high pitch. Barney glanced at his baton again, fingers growing numb from gripping it so hard. Screw this. Barney stepped forward, his boot squeaking against the tile of the floor.
"Unit 647-E, confirm standby status?" Overwatch dispatch cut in through Barney's ear, making his heart skip a beat. For a moment he just stood there, mouth gaping beneath the respirator, before placing his hand up to the side of his head, roughly cupping the ear.
"Status confirmed. Apply." Barney licked his lips.
"Unconfirmed necrotic outbreak in Sector 9. All comm lines silent. Local protections teams nonresponsive. Hostile atmospheric conditions prevent Airwatch reconnaissance. Conscript local units for patrol of region."
"Confirmed. Officer en route." Barney lowered his hand. Now, when he stepped forward, it was with purpose alongside the anger.
"You two, possible necrotic outbreak in Sector 9." The two of them turned toward him, the lenses glinting dangerously in the dull light of the depot. The woman whipped around to face him, backing up instinctively. Barney deliberately paid her no mind. "Conscripted. We're taking the pounder to that sector and doing a clean sweep."
"Ten-four," replied Jerry dully, his eyes still fixed on the lady. His baton tapped against his thigh. He waved a hand at Bruce. "Can finish this later. Move."
You'll never know I was going to bat for you. Barney did not turn to look at the poor woman as he left. He hoped she got home safely.
The three of them trudged towards the plaza entrance, none of them enthused about what waited for them outside. Barney let the two of them go first, wanting to keep an eye on them at all times. When Bruce pushed the doors open, rain and wind greeted them, the water streaking across the respirator's lenses.
"Think it's an actual containment breach?" asked Jerry, tone casual. The three of them shouldered on into the rain, Barney shutting the door behind them. "Tackling necrotics can be tricky."
Thanks to the dark, Barney couldn't even see the Citadel in the distance. Normally it would have been dead ahead. Now there was only black. Dr. Breen's face still flickered atop the massive post before them, but his words were masked by the fury of the storm. Like he had anything worthwhile to say anyway.
"Just keep your distance," replied Bruce gruffly, pointing up ahead. The APC waited for them next to Breen's post, a single Civil Protection officer's head peeking out from the inside. He waved them over as they got close.
"Conscripted for possible outbreak?" he asked, looking around as they approached. It might have been a quirk of the vocoder, but he sounded a bit younger than most officers Barney had worked with. "Overwatch patched in. Said local units would likely converge for containment procedures in Sector 9."
"Yeah, you're conscripted," said Barney, clambering into the vehicle. "Shotgun."
The APC bounced slightly as Bruce and Jerry hustled inside, grunting at the mild exertion and cramped quarters. They huddled in the back with the weapons, Jerry sliding the door shut behind them. The interior of the APC looked as dark and blue as any other piece of Combine tech, casting the whole interior in a weird half-light that made Barney sometimes feel like he was on another planet. He suspected the effect was intentional.
The rookie, Barney decided his name was Junior, slid into the driver's seat. The interface lit up at his touch, cold metal replaced by the actual view of the plaza in front of them. The view was not much of an improvement. The APC hummed to life without much fanfare; whatever technology made the damn thing go vroom was at least silent. Junior blared the horn once before proceeding, the first checkpoint barrier deactivating as he drove up to it. Citizens flattened themselves against nearby walls as they drove past.
"Plenty of verdicts in back," said Junior. "Take your pick."
Barney craned his head backwards. Jerry and Bruce had already grabbed submachine guns from the weapon racks and were stocking their pouches full of spare magazines. Great. I'm sure this won't lead to more dick waving. Nevertheless, he grunted and extended a hand. Bruce shoved another MP7 into his grip, following it up with three magazines.
"Thanks." After checking the safety was on, Barney cradled it in his lap, his pouches bulging with "verdicts." Lightning flashed overhead, temporarily filling the APC's HUD with static. The thunder came disconcertingly quickly afterward.
For a few minutes, none of them spoke. There was only the rattle of rain against the APC's chassis, the storm's ongoing drama, and the occasional vocoded cough likely born of Jerry smoking too many cigarettes in his off-hours. Junior did keep glancing at Barney, though, something Barney did his best to ignore.
"Any of you guys undergone memory replacement?" Junior likely intended it to be casual, but it came out as a squeak. Barney gritted his teeth. Don't do it. Don't let them do it to you.
"Yeah," replied Bruce, voice flat. "Needed the food. Only way was to hand my mind over. I don't think they took much."
How would you remember. Barney kept his vision straight ahead, trying not to think too hard about what was happening in front of him.
"Yeah," came Jerry's unsurprising reply. "It's the only way forward. Combine are here to stay. Might as well be on the winning side. No reason to hold on to some of the darker memories." Oh, so you just let the Seven Hour War go? Maybe the deaths of some family members?
"Cool," said Junior, the word sounding so wrong through a Civil Protection vocoder. "I, uh, I'm thinking about doing it. I want to get ahead."
"Smart," replied Jerry. Barney could see him nodding out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah, it doesn't hurt. They put you under, and when you come out, it's like … like your head doesn't weigh as much. You feel lighter and stronger."
"Less baggage dragging you back," agreed Bruce. Barney flushed as he realized they were all looking at him.
"Nah," he said, trying to wave a hand airily, as if the admission was no big deal. "There's people I don't want to forget."
"Right." Oddly enough, Bruce sounded like he understood. "Sooner or later you'll have to let go. The dead aren't coming back."
Jerry was not quite as sympathetic. He stepped forward, leaning up near Barney's face.
"You ask me, it's best to make that decision before it's made for you," he whispered, vocoder crackling. Barney looked him in the face, two CP officers squaring off. "How long you been on the force?"
"Longer than you." Barney hand tightened on the grip of his SMG. "Back up."
Jerry snorted but complied, sliding back into his seat, leering at Barney the whole time. Barney looked away, trying to ignore the prickling on the back of his neck. Jerry might have an accident tonight. It was dark and there were probably zombies. It could be arranged. Wouldn't even be the first time.
"Do what you feel is best for you, kid," said Barney, not looking at Junior. "So long as you still shoot straight, you'll be okay."
The final checkpoint loomed ahead. The camera at the gate entrance flashed at them three times as they approached, and the forcefield dissipated. No one manned either side of the checkpoint. No lights shone from beyond it.
"Sector cut off from local grid. Checking with Overwatch." Barney put his hand on his head again. "Overwatch?"
"Apply."
"Checkpoint is unmanned. Proceeding into possible breached containment zone. Grid is offline. Will check in at regular intervals."
"Confirmed. Secondary protection team is on standby. Cauterize necrotics as necessary."
"Have necrotics been confirmed?" asked Bruce, shifting a little in place.
"Negative." Barney kept his eyes peeled on the streets ahead as the APC trundled through the checkpoint. How would they have cut the power? Could be something else. Rogue vortigaunt activity? But no, he would have heard if the Railroad were going to try something ballsy like a mass-blackout followed by hasty evacuation. They would have had to clear it with him first. Still … this would be a nice night for it.
"Uh." Junior hit the brakes, the APC stopping with disconcerting swiftness. Barney jerked forward, almost slamming his head into the dashboard. He almost swore at Junior before his breath caught in his throat. Directly ahead, something had punched into the hard concrete. Deep. It was still smoking. "Uh, what the hell is that?"
"Out, out." Barney waved Jerry and Bruce towards the door. They slid it open with a grunt before leaping into the rain, SMGs clutched to their chests. They scanned the streets, eyes down their sights. Barney followed them in a far less dynamic fashion, his own weapon held idly down by his waist. If there were any airborne contaminants, his suit was doing a good job keeping them out. He moved forward up the street, hoping his two bastard comrades were covering him.
A thick squat piece of steel sat in a small crater of what Barney could only assume was of its own making. It was roughly cylindrical, although it was wider at its base. Green smoke curled upwards into the night, and the entire thing, whatever it was, had a sickly green hue. Around the crater's edge, people lay prone, their bodies coated in … green. Barney could not quite place it. He stepped up to one and leaned down, nudging it with his gun. It was like nudging a plaster cast over a foot; stiff yet hollow feeling. If they were alive or dead, Barney could not tell.
"Overwatch," said Barney, not sure what to say. He paused too long.
"Apply." Great. Now I have to say something.
"Overwatch, anomalous activity in area." Barney licked his lips. "Uh, enemy skydrop has been detected in this sector. Local citizens unresponsive, either sedated or deserviced by skydrop payload. Continuing sector sweep."
"Confirmed, Unit 647-E. Relaying information to administrator." That made Barney's heart beat faster. "Continue sector sweep. Autonomous action permitted. Judgement waiver is in effect."
Oh, I'm sure no one here will abuse that mandate. Behind him, Jerry and Bruce sidled forward, guns trained on the prone citizen. Barney hoped they were of sound enough judgement not to shoot on the poor bastard, whoever they were. But the two of them just crouched down and stared at the victim, apparently just as baffled as Barney was. The APC clunked from behind them, and Junior joined their side, pistol trained on the device.
"Uhh," said Junior, sidearm swinging from the glowing hell device, to the citizens, and finally further down the street and into the dark. "Uhh, any idea what this is?"
"Negative." Barney shrugged his shoulder and pointed up ahead, to a rusted old bus stop. "Assume exogen breach, unknown pathogens. Possible outbreak. Officer 542-D, take point. Let's sweep the depot first."
Officer 542-D, better known to Barney as Jerry, hustled around the edge of the crater and pressed himself flat against the bus stop. He peaked around the corner and motioned someone else to come forward. Barney went next, moving with what he hoped was a happy medium between quiet and quick. He jogged past the bus stop and crouched behind the thick base of a lamp post, training his gun around the corner. Another crater loomed on the road ahead. All else was blackness.
"Officer 371-D, move up!"
Junior was next, jogging past Barney and doing his best to duck behind a low hanging wall in front of one of the many locked tenements lining either side of the street. Hopefully we won't have to sweep those as well. Barney wasn't sure what time it was, but he knew his shift had to end soon. Wonder what the hell the doc will make of this.
"Movement up ahead, possible 10-108." Junior actually sounded relatively calm as he reported this, his pistol poking up over the edge of the wall. "Middle of the street. Six-four-seven E, confirm? I'll cover you."
"Five-four-two D, pull up and over my advance. Going to check it out." Barney straightened up and trotted forward, weapon ready, holographic sight zigzagging crazily at every hurried step taken. Sure enough, someone moaned and grunted up ahead. Barney caught the familiar pattern of black and white that marked a Civil Protection officer.
"Officer down!" Barney leaned over, inspecting the body for wounds. A bloody gaping hole decorated the officer's torso, the flesh still smoking. Acid? It looked like his body had been cooked through. No amount of xenian healing juice was going to fix that.
"Displace," he croaked. "Displace, displace."
"Overwatch, confirmed exogen presence. Pathogens unknown." Barney stared down helplessly at the CP officer, who stared back, hands grasping weakly at the hole in his chest. Whoever you were … maybe you deserved this. I dunno. But maybe not. I'm sorry. "Recommend immediate Airwatch deployment when atmospheric conditions permit."
"Confirmed, relaying information to local administrator." Again, that thrill. A direct line to Breen. If I could just meet him in person … that'd be worth dying for. "Redirecting local Overwatch garrison to initiate containment procedures. Citadel status upgraded to code gray. Continue sector sweep."
No sooner had the dispatch's voice faded, something else croaked over the radio.
"Overwaaaaatch. Sector … not secure."
"Live officer." Bruce sounded nervous. "There! By the depot."
A jerky silhouette stood by the open depot, his body hanging strangely, as if strings. From what Barney could see (which was admittedly little,) he seemed to be staring right at them. Then he turned, moving more like a zombie than a CP, staggering back inside the shelter of the building.
Barney glanced down at the CP below him. The man had already fallen still. Hope your loved ones are waiting for you, pal. Hope you can remember them. Barney moved up, gun trained on the entrance, trusting his "buddies" to cover his flanks. After circling around the next crater's edge, stepping gingerly over the prone forms of frozen citizens, they arrived without incident to the foot of the steps.
"Does anyone else smell … burning?" Bruce looked around. It was hard to tell in the dark, but now that Bruce mentioned it, the air smelled of acid smoke. Scorch marks decked the walls of the depot, massive chunks of masonry blown out of it. Now that Barney looked, he could actually see similar scorch marks and chunks of missing brick and concrete all over the damn streets, not just at the crater's edges. Same acid that burnt a hole through that guy's chest?
They stood at the foot of the steps, none of them willing to go first. Junior eventually took the first shaky step forward, pistol at the ready. The others followed silently, Barney feeling no small stab of shame at letting someone probably half his age take point like that. You made it through Black Mesa, man. This isn't shit. Still, if Black Mesa had taught him anything, it was that the unknown gave you very little warning when it was about to show up and tear you a new asshole. He kept his head down.
"Ooooooverwaaaaatch." The officer moaned like a man possessed from deeper inside the building. The four officers filed up past the vending machines and up to where the sliding iron gate would have been, had it not been melted into green slag. They stepped gingerly over it. Rain poured on them from above, the roof punched through by another green cylinder. It smoked in the food line, surrounded by countless frozen citizens.
The officer stood next to it. An MP7 hung loosely from a sling by his side. The officer stared at them, now stiff as a drawing board. Barney's stomach began to feel distinctly uneasy.
"Officer, report status!" squeaked Junior, pointing his pistol at the ground before the fellow officer. The survivor did not reply. "Officer, requesting update on containment status of Sector 9! What happened here?"
"Who … are you?" The officer cocked his head. "This is not … familiar."
Something's not right. Of course, that went for most of the evening. But now Barney could feel the sweat forming beneath his mask, running into the folds of his clothing. Part of him desperately wanted to just empty half a mag into the officer, just in case. Is he feverish? What is going on? An electricity hung in the air. Junior took a step forward, pointing his pistol into the air. His left hand held up, palm forward, in what was obviously a placating gesture.
"Officer 214-A, you are compromised. I must relinquish you of all verdicts." Junior took another step forward. "No harm will come to you. Hand me your weapon."
"This isn't a good idea." Jerry stepped forward, but Bruce tugged him back. "Hey? Officer? Maybe back away. Wait for that Overwatch garrison."
Junior took another step forward. The survivor did not move. They were now at most only about four feet from each other.
"Overwatch…? Combine?" The survivor twitched, head lolling. "We are … supplanted? Undone? The work must continue. Who are you?"
"My name is Officer Trent Shaw, and I'm here to help!" Junior took one final step forward. "Please … give me your weapon."
Bruce, Jerry, and Barney hung back, none of them breathing. The survivor looked at Junior, er, Trent without any apparent movement. Trent stretched out his hand.
"Give … give me your hand."
The survivor looked at Trent and cocked his head stiffly. Then he glanced back at the two of them.
"Who are you? Combine. We will give … we will give…" With a scream, the survivor's right hand jerked up, gun firing wildly. Trent fell back, blood spraying in all directions as a veritable cone of bullets slammed into him. Barney did not even hesitate, joining the others in shouting and shooting, the survivor falling in a hail of retaliatory gunfire. In the dust, two officers lay choking in their own blood, their movements weakening as the flow of blood slowed. Barney breathed, heart hammering. Shit shit shit!
"Officer down, Overwatch, requesting backup!" Bruce surged forward, hands reaching for Trent. Jerry however, began screaming.
"Movement! Movement! We've got host-"
Something fast and green flew from out of the shadows. It struck the wall behind Barney with ridiculous force, scattering wood and brick everywhere. Barney shouted and threw himself down while Bruce returned fire, shell casings flying from their weapons.
"Sector 9 local protection teams report status." But no one could answer dispatch. More green blasts flew from the shadows, and Barney could see something scuttling in the shadows from across the room, something on all fours. Over the chaos, he did catch the sounds of two officer flatlining. "Two officers deserviced, remaining units contain. Unit 647-E, requesting status."
Barney did not answer. He rolled in place towards the entrance, positioning himself behind the wall and adjacent to the vending machines.
"Out of verdicts, displacing!" Bruce, who had ducked behind the fallen cylinder, now backed up, changing his magazines with all speed. "Requesting covering fire."
Jerry complied, laying down a suppressing fire at the scuttling bastard across the room. Barney thought he heard a shrill cry of pain. It was swiftly followed by another hail of green from across the depot, which struck Bruce square in the chest.
The smell of burnt flesh erupted from where he had been hit. Bruce fell as if kicked by a mule, his scream even through the vocoder sounding horrible to hear. Just as suddenly, he gave a wet cough and flatlined, leaving just Barney and Jerry.
"Outbreak outbreak outbreak!" Jerry backed up, firing wildly. Barney followed his lead, laying down a few smart bursts before rising and backing up out the open door. "To the pounder, go!"
The two of them beat feet out the door, turning tail and abandoning the depot altogether. Guns, it's got guns and armor. As they reached the bus station, more green bolts shoot overhead. Where they struck the streets and tenements, concrete blew to pieces, showering the area with molten rubble.
"Outbreak!" screamed Jerry. "Outbreak outb-"
Something green lit up from behind Barney, and he didn't wait to hear the flatline. The APC loomed in his vision, just a few more seconds…
Barney Calhoun leaped inside the APC and slammed the door shut behind him. He did not climb into the driver's seat; he didn't exactly have escape in mind just yet. He instead rapped the button on the APC's sealing, lighting up the second interface on the side of the vehicle opposite the driver's door, two small handles emerging from the metal folds.
APC PULSE RIFLE: ACTIVE
GUN STATUS: GREEN
Barney grabbed the handles and swiveled the gun to face directly ahead. Through the APC's nightvision, he could see movement.
"Eat it, you sons of bitches!" Barney let out the war cry he had perfected in Black Mesa, that mix of panic and triumph solidified into a singular scream. The pulse rifle let fly, kicking up dust and chunks of street as Barney fired it at where he knew the enemy was, then where he thought where the enemy was, and then finally just kept firing because his blood was still running hot. The blue bullets soared into the night, the lightning flashing and thunder booming as the gun cried out, Barney with it.
It took a long time for him to stop firing. When he did, panting, he sat back into his seat, heart hammering, unsure of what to do next. Nothing moved outside. The wind howled, the lightning flashed, the rain fell, but nothing scuttled. He waited, breathing hard. Shit … takes me back to Black Mesa. Been a long time since I've felt like … well … like I was up against the unknown. The Seven Hour War didn't count, all he could do then was run. This was more like the old days.
The minutes sneaked on by. Nothing fired burning acid from out of the black. Barney's breathing gradually slowed. He reached for his gun, let the half-spent magazine clatter to the floor. He slotted another in with barely-shaking hands. Then he slid the door open, uncertain of what exactly to look for.
Barney stepped out into the rain-slicked streets, gun trained on the darkness. Up ahead, he could see … something. A silhouette, something boxy in its right hand. That looks human, at least. Whoever it was, they stepped behind the bus stop and out of Barney's sight. He thought about calling out, but instead settled for crouching and sneaking forward, gun fixed on where he had last saw the man. Thing. Probably man.
Barney pressed himself against the other side of the bus stop and then swung around. Nothing. Not a trace. Vanished into thin air, and Barney sure as shit hadn't seen him go anywhere else. Barney kept his gun level, turning in place, wondering what the hell was going on. As he took a cautionary step forward, something both crunched and squished underfoot, making him hastily backpedal.
"What the…?" He had trodden on an arm. That was not unusual, given the circumstances. What was unusual was what the arm was attached to. Small, maybe barely three feet in length, color hard to tell in the dark. Its eyes were large and multifaceted, half-open in its death grimace. Several wounds in its chest and head leaked green, courtesy of Barney's panicked barrage. Its head was massive relative to the rest of its body. Its arms and legs were spindly almost to the point of grotesqueness, and its trunk looked like a human toddler's.
It looked, in short, like what Barney would have described as Roswell aliens before everything went to hell. Before he knew better. Except now, apparently, here they were. Back with a vengeance.
"Of course they'd be worse than the fucking Combine." Barney stood there, feeling the blood raise to his cheeks. The creature did not answer. The green had already stopped running from its wounds. "Right? There's always something worse right around the corner."
"Unit 647-E, Overwatch inbound to your location, requesting status update."
Barney froze, remember just who and where he was. He looked down at the little Gray bastard, not even sure who to be angry at anymore. Or what to do. The doc should see this. But there was only one real way to go about that.
"Hated this job anyway." Barney pulled his mask off from his face, letting the rain roll down his cheeks, washing the sweat away. He pulled the EKG monitor from his chest, the flatline echoing through the dead streets, and then threw it to the ground. He crushed it with a muffled crunch underfoot.
"Always wondered how I'd go out," he grunted, hurling his mask into the darkness. Then he leaned down and pulled the Gray bastard upright, pulling him over his shoulder. He weared more than Barney expected. "C'mon, E.T. I'm taking you home."
As Barney slipped into the nearest alley and made the long trip back to Kleiner's, the Citadel lit up in the distance. For the first time in living memory, the panels slid back on the mammoth monument to the Combine's dominion.
And the sirens began to sound.
A/N: Shouldn't I be writing Sudden Terminus or Smoke, Sorcery, and Steel?
Shut up. The answer is yes, but all these Hunt Down the Freeman reviews make me want to write some fucking Half Life. So here's some fucking Half Life. Next chapter for both stories is in progress, but Smoke, Sorcery, and Steel will probably update before ST. This will probably update tomorrow. Maybe. Anyway, look forward to some hot Combine vs. Advent goodness.