Freeman. Freeman lives. Freeman. Sockets crammed with wiring twitched and stirred. Ragged lungs heaved beneath the heavy armor at the memory of the man's face pressed so close to hers. Freeman. There could be no doubt about it – both mind and machine were joined in this conclusion.

So too were the others.

"There can be no doubt about it," said the Administrator, pacing back and forth in his office, hands upraised. "Gordon Freeman. Alive and looking more or less as he did twenty years ago."

"Yes," replied Dr. Tygan, stroking his chin. "Underneath all that grime he did look rather … youthful."

"Gordon Freeman," beamed Dr. Shen. "Alive and well."

"The former is unlikely and the latter a complete fabrication," snapped the Administrator. "We hounded him through Ravenholm and he was clearly wounded before he was thrown. For all we know he could have a headcrab fastened atop his cranium as we speak – we hardly left him in the best of shape."

"We already wrote him off once…" started Dr. Tygan, only for the Administrator to begin sputtering.

"I know where you are going so let me cut you off, Dr. Tygan. And you, Dr. Shen, can wipe that grin from your face!" Dr. Shen's smirk turned to that a frown that barely concealed his obvious amusement. "I've written him off more than once. When I left Black Mesa and saw the mushroom cloud from Albuquerque – I assumed all were lost. When I heard what had transpired and what his final mission had been – I bumped up the timetable of his death. And now, with this-"

"Once on the coast," finished Dr. Shen, a smile breaking out on his face once more, "and again in Ravenholm. The way is opening."

The Administrator's jaw clenched hard. He stopped at his desk, glaring at Dr. Shen's screen before sitting down. He directed his attention back to the center monitor.

"Scythe 2, status report."

"Sixty-seven percent movement capability," boomed Scythe 2, mind and machine leaving the drama of her bosses and returning to the dark field she lay in, the updraft of the dropship making the grass and weeds sway and buckle. Everything looked so beautiful in the green of night vision. "Lower left chassis compacted; possible weakness in integrity. Principal damage on left leg. Right leg minimal damage. Minor cranial damage." But that is no concern, no concern at all. There was a noticeable lag time between that thought and the machine clamping down. Something is misfiring…

The stalker above her croaked and wheezed, its lipless mouth gasping for every breath. Its tin plated face turned slightly, scanning for where else the damage might be addressed. After a moment, Scythe 2's night vision flared from the light of the stalker's eye lasers, and a fresh searing pain erupted in the remnants of her left thigh.

"Still undergoing repairs," reported Scythe 2, the vocoder booming even as the throat within tightened from the pain. "Sixty-seven point five percent mobility. Sixty-eight point two." It felt like someone had planted a red-hot nickel on the side of her knee and then let it melt, the molten metal pouring down either side of her leg and searing her flesh. The flesh within trembled and shook.

The skies overhead flashed with light, the color impossible to tell through the night vision. The Administrator's face paled.

"We do not have time," he said, leaning forward in his seat, face pinched with concern. "Damn that alien – damn the lot of them! This is the moment of truth for humanity, and our best hope has been hobbled."

It burns! Gums pressed down hard on where there used to be teeth. Then the mouth opened in what once could have been a scream … but her vocal cords did not have such permission. The stomach equivalent heaved and the amputated limbs shook, but Scythe 2's chassis did not so much as stir. Not a peep from mankind's best hope.

"Sixty-nine point seven percent mobility." Let it end! Please! "Nearing maximum impact of field repairs. Additional facilities requested for complete repairs." Listen, you bastards!

The machine heard that one. The clamp came down hard, squelching the defiance and the pain, leaving only the hollow sensation of loss. The Administrator, the engineer, and the doctor paid no heed to any of this. Not that any of it mattered. Only the continuation of the X-COM directive mattered.

"All right. Cease the repairs." The stalker's laser shut off with a snap. After a moment of leering at Scythe 2's prone form, it tottered off on its leg-stilts, wheezing all the way. "Roughly 70% mobility will have to suffice. Scythe 2, stand up."

The left knee still smoked from where the rents and crumpled metal had been hotly sewn back together, yet both legs folded all the same. Scythe 2 rose unsteadily, the left leg noticeably stiffer and slightly shorter than the right. Armor readouts began to blare, indicating that, yes, Scythe 2's left side presented a large, if perhaps not immediately obvious, weakness. Scythe 2 shifted in place, presenting its right side as if to a hidden foe. Face the barrel in this direction. Monitor skies for aerial threats. Do not permit flanks.

The tactical computer made these notes, wired them directly into the motor sections of the brain. Muscle memory set in without Scythe 2 even needing to practice the motions. Scythe 2 turned now to the horizon. It flashed once more as it turned. A city in flames. The city walls remained unbreached and unblemished, yet smoke and flames crowned the buildings behind them. The reeds and weeds swayed in the breeze. The city burned.

"Surely local protection teams and the City 14 Citadel should be able to contain this?" asked the engineer. "You've already sent everyone we had at Ravenholm…" The engineer stopped as the Administrator swiped his hand through the air before pressing a button on his desk.

"…Code 5 Civil Disunity in Blocs A14, B12, and C1-8. Local Civil Protection Units overwhelmed. Auto-immune response insufficient. Multiple malignant staph infections detected. Antibiotics required. Local antibiotics depleted. Ground teams unresponsive. Air teams unresponsive. Code 7 Civil Disunity detect-" The Administrator pressed the button again. He let the silence linger for a moment. Then he steepled his fingers and gave the engineer an unblinking stare.

"Does that sound handled to you, Dr. Shen?" The Administrator's lip curled into a sneer. "Did today's earlier events slip your mind, when an entire bloc full of CPs were routed by a single woman using nothing but her brain?"

"Will one injured prototype and a handful of elites really be able to turn the tide, Wallace?" asked the doctor, a single eyebrow arcing like a grenade. "Perhaps we should cut our losses before we fall truly behind?"

For a moment, again the Administrator said nothing. He simply sat there, face purpling.

"Scythe 2," he said through gritted teeth, "proceed to Sundown 4 and get clamped. Identify where the fighting is thickest and begin skydrop. Engage all hostiles and secure MELD. Prioritize the safety of all City 14 citizens and bid them board Sundown 5. Sundown 5, unload your chalk next to Scythe 2 and provide covering fire from your troop container. Remain in place unless the zone becomes unsustainably hot. Proceed now!"

The dropships let out a roar of assent while Scythe 2 limped into action. The steps came easily enough on flat ground, but the readouts remained clear on what would happen in a full-out run, and Scythe 2 was not designed with rolling in mind.

Sundown 4 lifted up at Scythe 2's approach, the legs unfolding. Scythe 2 stood beneath the dropship on uneven legs. Something suppressed shivered with revulsion as the legs took hold of Scythe 2 and bore them up and up over the fields, unsteady legs dangling. To their left, Sundown 5 shook a bit at some unexpected chop, the troop canister swaying with the dropship's unexpected movement. Meanwhile, in the monitor, the Administrator rose, face in palms, breathing deeply.

"Perhaps, much as we did in Black Mesa, much as a certain Mr. Johnson did back in Aperture, we have lost sight of the bigger picture," said the Administrator, each word coming out harsh, the spit barely contained. "Perhaps we are focusing too much on the what of our endeavor and marveling a tad too much at the how of our cleverness to remember the why of it all!"

"Dr. Breen-"

"Quiet, Tygan!" bellowed the Administrator, pointing at his monitor. "Truly, of the three of us, I am the only one who remembers that the purpose of these instruments of death, of these … transhumans … is to protect humanity's future, both in concept and in actuality?" His nostrils flared. "What purpose is Scythe 2 if not to act as both a demonstration of mankind's future potential and current prowess, as well as a guardian to those who need guarding?"

"Buried beneath that medical jargon, and yes I know it is clinical for a reason but buried beneath it is real suffering. Do you think those citizens started those fires themselves? For the first time in years they called out to Civil Protection because they needed protecting and this is the result. We're going in, not just because leaving an entire city to burn would send Our Benefactors the message that we cannot protect ourselves, but because these people need to be protected … more than Scythe 2 needs a fully functioning leg."

For a few seconds, only the distant sounds of sirens and the wind whipping by permeated Scythe 2's cranium. The doctor looked away, embarrassed. The engineer held firm, pursed his lips.

"So, Dr. Breen," began the engineer, "between what we did to Scythe 2, the elites, and of course the stalkers-"

"Of all the days to push me, Raymond, do you believe today is the day?" The Administrator's voice came low and dangerous, almost a hypnotic purr. A light died in the engineer's eyes as he shook his head. "No. No, of course not. Today we are on the same side. Today we not only preserve the future of our species, but we will be able to put a face and names to those who owe us their lives. Understand?"

"He understands," cut in the doctor. "We should focus on the mission at hand. Scythe 2 is about to cross over the City 14 wall."

The river of creaking blue passed quickly beneath Scythe 2's swaying feet. The green and orange of far too many flames lit the streets below. Scythe 2's motion sensors took hold, looking for where the movement seemed thickest.

"Continue sector sweep," boomed the vocoder. "Identifying priority containment zone."

"I am receiving reports that out striders at least are outperforming themselves," said the Administrator with a glance at something on his desk. "But there are only so many on the streets and they have the skies locked down…" The Administrator frowned. "…the skies are locked down. Scythe 2, you should-"

Scythe 2 did not know where the emerald light shone from. Only that it blazed once like a star being born. Then it fell upon them with merciless speed.

Sundown 4 buckled at the blast, three legs immediately burned to the point of severing, cast away by its own speed. The dropship bellowed in pain, immediately tilting towards the side of its burned away legs. The clamps, previously holding, began to dim and slip. Scythe 2 jerked once, vision bouncing before angling downward into the deadly streets. Alarms rang in Scythe 2's ear equivalents. The combat protocols took over. Boots engaged.

Scythe 2's handlers gasped as the clamps gave way, the bleeding and smoking dropship disappearing from view. Scythe 2 dropped with barely a sound, its boots blazing as it fought the pull of gravity. The silhouettes of the buildings swiftly turned from outlines below to jutting pillars above. The body within gritted its gums as the ground came up fast, too fast for anyone to feel-

The MEC hit the ground with a boom, the crumbling concrete cracking open on its landing. Scythe 2's knees buckled, the left leg trembling at the impact … then they stood upright, gauss rifle snapping to hand.

"Landed fine," mumbled the engineer, but the Administrator cut him off before he could say more.

"Sundown 5, unload your people as close to Scythe 2 as possible and provide covering fire. Scythe 2, you should prioritize-" He stopped. "Oh. Oh no."

A fourth screen crackled into view on Scythe 2's HUD. A green-masked, fleshy face. A single tongue snaking out of a jawless, toothless mouth. Their Benefactor made no noise that Scythe 2 could hear, yet somehow they understood. Show us. Show us your worth. A threat lay underneath, barely concealed by the creature's mild sense of intrigue. They would offer no demands and make no critiques. But there would be a judgment at the end, yes. Their hands are reaching for that big red button…

The machine did not clamp down on that thought. In this respect, machine and mind remained in complete agreement. The body within clenched her jaw tight. For once, horror and resignation turned to determination. Even as the scientists opened and shut their mouths, trying to figure out what to say, Scythe 2 turned about on her heel. Major street. Checkpoint ahead. Movement.

"I was not aware you would take such a personal interest in our troop deployments," began the Administrator. The Benefactor made no sound, nor did it move. Yet the Administrator cringed and wilted in place, suddenly looking far smaller and older than he had a moment ago. He sat down at his desk, shaking, hands reaching for either side of his head, elbows planted on the wood of the desk. The doctor and the engineer remained quiet, looking away from their own screens, yet not walking away. Scythe 2 thundered towards the checkpoint, heedless.

Quadriped figures lunged at the checkpoint entrance. Their claws bouncing off the forcefield. Inside, crammed in a corner, three citizens huddled, screaming, the snot running from their noses, the tears down their faces. Scythe 2 leveled the gauss rifle. The weapon began to whir.

One of the creatures stopped, mandibles clacking. It turned, yellow eyes glowing, long arms outstretched from either side of its spindly torso. The four legs it strode upon gleamed with a deadly sharpness, more talon than flesh, the front two already slick with crimson. It gave a deep roar and charged forwards, its two fellows turning in mild confusion. Scythe 2 released the trigger.

The creature leapt to the side at the last instant, stopping the gauss rifle from striking true. The round meant for the creature's head instead sheared through both of its rightmost legs. The creature's roar turned into a scream as the now lopsided being fell on its side, remaining legs thrashing. Scythe 2 wasted no more time on it, charging up another round as the beasts began their own charge.

The second gauss blast caught its target square in the torso, leaving an orange hole at its passing. The beast tumbled forward, legs tangling, the scream dying in its throat. The third, however, crossed the intervening gap with a quickness. The talons lashed out as Scythe 2 raised its own forearms to weather the blow.

"Major laceration detected," boomed the vocoder within, the HUD flashing red as the steel rent open at the blow. "Unknown toxin detected!"

The suit detected something new. Something unwelcome. The creature's talon left the stink of some pathogen behind – some acid or poison, it remained unclear. The flesh within Scythe 2 trembled. The metal without raised the butt of the gauss rifle and brought it in an arcing blow.

The butt connected with the creature's side, only denting the surprisingly hard carapace, but slamming the creature aside like a golf ball. It careened into a wall, leaving a jagged imprint as the concrete gave way. The beast shook its head and reoriented itself, legs clacking, before offering another roar. Scythe 2 dropped the (also dented) rifle and brought out the hose. The face underneath offered something that might once have been a smirk. The creature began to scuttle forward. The hose let out an almighty bellow.

If the alien made a sound as the gluon gun made contact, Scythe 2 could not pick it up. The beam licked the alien's carapace, and where it touched, the flesh parted. The alien's foremost leg disconnected in a spray of viscera before dissolving entirely. The head parted from the torso and similarly vanished into a sparkling formlessness. The rest of the entity followed suit. The gluon gun wheezed into silence. Outbreak contained.

"Those were new," muttered the doctor. The Administrator opened his mouth, perhaps to tell the doctor to be silent, but apparently thought better of it. The Benefactor made a rumble that might have been a chuckle … all Scythe 2 knew was that, what it had just seen? It liked. Scythe 2 returned the hose to its magnet with a clack, then retrieved their rifle from the dust.

Put on a show. Make some noise.

Scythe 2 returned to the checkpoint, forearm sparking, leg dragging slightly. The citizens watched it approach, eyes wide.

"Remain in place until further notice," boomed the vocoder. "Overwatch is sterilizing this zone."

"Is there a human in there?" asked the first, a man, stepping forward to the edge of the forcefield. He began shaking his head, slowly at first, then faster. "Don't let those things touch you! Don't – don't let those things near you!"

"One makes two," murmured a woman in the back, accent flavored with the British Isles. "Two make four. Four make eight … you have to burn the bodies."

Something bright and curious burned within Scythe 2 … but the nerves to ask pertinent questions remained long severed. Scythe 2 looked up to the top of the checkpoint and, after a moment's hesitation, vaulted atop it. The narrow and dark street gave way to a plaza, the trees and bushes aflame, the streets piled with bodies. As Scythe 2 dropped to the other side of the checkpoint, a series of figures ran from another checkpoint, backpedaling frantically, guns and vocoders chattering.

"Ten ninety-nine, I am ten ninety-"

The checkpoint burst apart in a flash of green. Hulking shadows emerged from the twisted smoke and metal. A Civil Protection officer burst into flame, his limbs flailing in a slow motion dance as he fell. Scythe 2 made their presence known, advancing and firing.

"Scythe 1 to all units, LZ secure atop depot." Gunshots from behind, from some elevated position. Scythe 2 paid it no mind, only paid attention to the jumping gun in their giant hands. The CPs scattered and died but Scythe 2 advanced, the gauss rifle capacitors spinning, each blast sending certain death into the faces of their foes. Eighty-three percent chance. Hit. Ninety-two percent chance. Hit. Ninety-eight percent chance. …miss?

Yet the ape alien fell at the second shot, and Scythe 2 stood among a handful of shaking CPs, none of whom seemed clear on what to make of her.

"Uhh, possible Overwatch unit, unclear designation."

"Scythe 2, Extraterrestial Combat arm of the Combine Overwatch," boomed Scythe 2. "Advise next zone for sterilization."

The CPs looked to one another. One pointed to the slag of the recently destroyed checkpoint with a single shaking finger.

"Airborne pathogens. Loose anomalous viromes." The CP coughed. "Uhh, CQC inadvisable. Viromes replicate on successful contact with organic tissue."

The Administrator let out a low moan. The Benefactor merely flicked out its tongue in interest. It wants to see what that looks like. It senses a possible new candidate for … but the machine did not like that line of thinking. Scythe 2 felt a pinch and the machine was alone again. Scythe 2 turned to see the rest of the Scythe 2 rappelling off the building behind while Sundown 5 alighted off the roof, rapidly disappearing out of sight.

"Stay alert, ready weapons," said Scythe 6, joining their comrades. "Scythe 2, advise."

"Amputate, cauterize, sterilize." Scythe 2 shouldered the gauss rifle. "Advancing."

Scythe 2 advanced without fear or hesitation. The rest of Scythe team followed suit. The CPs did not quite match their enthusiasm, but nonetheless kept pace with their better-armed compatriots.

"Viscon! Floaters. Bearing eighty-seven degrees." The call came from Scythe 3. Scythe 2 swiftly followed their teammate's radial and found a trio of them, chortling, gurgling, trying their damndest to shake off a small swarm of cherry red manhacks. As Scythe 2 observed, one reared back a hand at punched at the blades, only to retract its metal hand in confusion as one of the fingers sheared off in a shower of sparks. To the alien's credit, the manhack did go flying out of sight, smashing into a streetlight and more or less shattering.

Check fire. Citizen presence. Their noses squashed against windows, even in all the violence. Scythe 2 left the gauss rifle still as their compatriots opened fire, pulse slugs peppering the floaters. Against the sheer volume of fire, they did not last long, their jet pack adorned bodies falling to earth with one last angry gurgle of defiance.

"Verdict administered." The Benefactor chortled again.

Down the street, this time to a four-way major intersection. A highway loomed above, figures skittering by on all fours atop it.

"Visc-"

With a sudden whirr and roar, the highway burst open in a spray of dust and concrete, sending the aliens flying. The strider stood proud and tall from the rubble it made, letting loose a triumphant electronic whoop.

"Strider!" called out an overexcited CP, likely wholly unmodified and utterly heedless of protocol. "Follow the strider!"

Scythe 2 felt this was a sound tactical decision. The strider's plodding thunderous footsteps felt reassuring, its long limbs and well-armed body looked more or less free of wounds. When a four-legged alien leapt out from an alley. The strider turned its gun to regard it as it bound towards the infantry escort. The strider lifted a single leg and brought it down hard.

"Oh my," said the engineer. The Benefactor chortled again. Really enjoying this. The strider, its leg now festooned with another creature with deadly feet, lifted its speartip toe once and shook it. The alien fell to the ground with a clatter.

They pressed onwards, the Citadel looming in the background, the sounds of plasma fire, gunshots, and the occasional strider call an omnipresence. It did not take long for trouble to find them.

The strider noticed something off first, as they meandered past a multi-story car park. It paused, limbs bowing, lowering its head to look at the second story. What the strider saw, Scythe 2 could not say. But whatever hid in that car park felt quite seen, and took offense.

Plasma fire erupted from all levels, green bursts leveled at the strider. The synth twitched and bellowed as its brown carapace glowed first luminescent green and then cherry red. It swiftly strafed to the side, legs still bent, snarling at the onslaught. After a short pause, the green fire redirected itself. Downwards, specifically, at Scythe Team and their escorts.

"Viscon, target my radial," called out Scythe 1, but they were all scattering, taking cover behind burning cars and mailboxes. One CP screamed as plasma burst took off his leg at the knee, falling to the ground clutching the bubbling stump. After a moment he slumped, his flatline cutting through the gunfire with a shrillness.

Scythe 2 did not know retreat. She leapt atop the first level of the car park, rifle clamping to her side as she retrieved the gluon gun. Sector sweep. Continue sector sweep. The strider whooped in approval as she stormed forward. The twin thin men gaped as she approached the van they hid behind. She didn't even bother to aim, just hit the van shoulder first.

The van tipped over with an almighty crunch. Green smoke erupted from under the vehicle, spraying in all directions. To her right, a small purple alien gaped at the mess. Scythe 2 focused the gluon gun for only half a second, and the being became atoms on the wind. Scythe 2 turned, a plasma bolt slapping into her rear rightmost shoulder.

"Body pack holding." The ape pounded his chest from the ramp to the second level before backpedaling, still firing. Scythe 2 focused the gluon gun at the alien's chest. Its armor held for a moment, smoking. Then the creature fell, bellow drowned out by the roar of the gluon gun, disintegrating in a shower of ashes.

Scythe 2 swept up the ramp. Another ape alien rounded the corner at the wrong time. Its eyes had just enough time to widen before the uppercut split its head in twain from the chin up, brains and gas from the respirator spitting in all directions. Do you like that, oh Benefactor of mine?

The remaining aliens faced away from Scythe 2, still firing on the soldiers below, at the strider who danced between the plasma bolts, autocannon chugging. Thin men. Apes. Little purples. They all hid behind car wrecks, difficult for people below to hit at such an 2 advanced on all of them, feet thundering. She adjusted the nozzle on the gluon gun before pausing. Left to right. The juiced elerium sprayed forth in a slurry of death.

It did not matter their origin nor their intent. They felt a second of agonizing heat and became yet another confirmed kill. Flank executed. Yet the gunfire continued below. The screams … why were there so many screams?

Scythe 2 advanced to the lip of the car park level and looked down. At first, she thought antlions were swarming. Then she recognized those glowing orange eyes. The long arms. The talons.

Scythe team fired on the waves of beasts, dozens of them, but where one fell (at no small cost in ammunition) two more clambered over its twitching corpse. The strider's autocannon felled three in one burst, the larger rounds ripping the beasts to pieces … but there was no stopping their advance. The first reached a metrocop.

The talon lashed out with surgical precision. The lower section of the respirator came off in a mist of red, but the alien did not let the CP crumple. It caught the cop like a dancer would catch his partner before bringing the freshly-made hole in the throat close to its own mandibles. From Scythe 2's perch, it was not clear what happened next, but moments later the alien thrust the body aside before sprinting for its next victim.

"What the hell did that thing do?" asked the Administrator, sounding winded. Scythe 2 joined the others in their hail of lead, bringing the gauss rifle to bear. They were thinning out, but Scythe 3 nevertheless find himself at the mercy of an alien's claws.

Slash. Scythe 3 grunted as his throat came away in a gush. The alien drew him close, head lowering to the wound. Then Scythe 3 fell to the floor, twitching. Scythe 2 took care to make sure his killer did not make it far.

"Cauterizers out."

The aliens disintegrated as the elites finally resorted to their AR2's underslung launcher. Seven lay stiff and dead in their wake, the streets choked with insectoid corpses. And yet, underneath it all, something stirred.

The CPs twitched to life, their backs hunched, something moving inside their bellies. They slouched forward, head swaying this way and that. Don't let them get close. Don't let them touch you.

Requisition a flamethrower.

"Parasitics detected." There was not much question of leaving the things alive, for lack of a better word. Scythe 2 saved her uranium while the remaining Scythe teammates put down the beasts. She instead kept her sights trained on the body of Scythe 3, which twitched where it lay … yet otherwise did not move. Gradually, the twitching fell still, and Scythe 3 did not budge.

"Organic material," noted the doctor, making a note. "Did everyone else see that? Overwatch units are scarcely immune to the claws, but … whatever those things are doing, it does not reanimate our transhuman units."

The Benefactor burbled in agreement and posited a solution to the mess that made the Administrator go grey.

"We – surely we don't need to upgrade all members of Civil Protection?" he asked, voice low and pleading. The Benefactor made its reply. The Administrator shrank back into his chair. "I … this isn't necessary."

And yet, their Benefactors felt it clearly was.

The strider let out a low whoop, head lowering. Then, without warning, it lowered itself, locking down its lower legs. The warp cannon let out a low hum.

The hopefully-unoccupied apartment complex flew apart in a convulsion of dust. The strider strode through, and Scythe 2 moved to follow, dropping from the carpark with a thud, heedless of the other survivors. Through the rubble and ruin they went up, and up … and looked down at another plaza.

The UFO hung low, ramp extended. Citizens hurried up it, without cajoling, looking behind themselves as if … as if afraid someone will stop them.

I am that someone. They are trying to escape.

Nope. Bzzt. The eye sockets watered as the machine took control again. Their Benefactors reigned supreme. Through the fire and the smoke they would stride and reclaim what was rightfully theirs.

"They're … of their own accord?" The Administrator sounded incredulous. But the others just exchanged knowing glances. And their Benefactor … their Benefactor merely made a note of it. The others would know. The others would hear. The others would judge.

From across the plaza, from behind the UFO, it emerged. Two strong legs. A thick chassis rimmed with glowing orange eyes. Two ape aliens decked in crimson armor flanked it, massive plasma weapons gripped tightly in their armored gauntlets.

"This … may be beyond you, Scythe 2," began the Administrator, but the Benefactor silenced him. The strider let out a long howl. The aliens looked up. The robot looked up. With a pounding of chests and a low hum of energy, the aliens elected to join battle.

"Up the ramp!" cried a voice, thick and British. "The enemy is here, but we will hold them! Up the ramp now, while we still have our opening!"

"Cubbage," spat the Administrator.

The strider strode forward, faster than Scythe 2 could keep up. The robot's chassis opened, revealing the gaping barrel of some monstrous cannon. It took aim and fired, a massive orange beam igniting from deep within. The strider, stepped nimbly aside, its narrow legs and swaying torso presenting an uneven and frustrating target.

Scythe 2, meanwhile, charged up the gauss cannon. Her teammates darted nimbly to either side of her, Scythe 5 reporting their bodypack holding, Scythe 4 going down in a spray of green as the elite apes unleashed a dizzying amount of fire.

Impact center torso. First layer of ablative armor gone. It fell away in a heap of slag. Fifty-two percent chance of hitting. Scythe 2 took the shot. The elite ape huddled behind a block of concrete. Scythe 2 aimed as true as their sensors would permit. A chunk of concrete went spinning into the air. The alien remained unharmed.

The strider let loose with its auto cannon, still dancing nimbly around the UFO, never quite breaking line of sight. The robot buckled as its chassis compacted at the volley of rounds, but this did not stop it from unfolding a plasma cannon from beneath the chassis. Another volley, this time striking at one of the strider's knees. The synth buckled from the pain, its rightmost leg now smoking, some of the carapace and hair torn away. It moved closer, autocannon roaring.

An emerald grenade arced through the air, expertly cooked. It landed at Scythe 6's feet.

"Bouncer, bounc-" His cry cut off in a burst of static and viridian. Scythe 2 advanced, the plasma flying free. Second layer of ablative armor gone. One of the elite apes poked his head off only to roar as a pulse round from Scythe 1 struck true. Scythe 2 advanced, gauss rifle whirring with energy.

Not much ammo left. Nevertheless, she unleashed the shot. Seventy-two percent chance to hit.

It went wide at the last second, aim jounced by the ground shaking at the strider's passing. Something deep inside began to rage against probability, against all of science and math. Now, now of all hours?!

The strider passed over the robot, stepping over it nimbly. The great machine turned in place, chassis opening again. Now the strider stood against a lit backdrop of burning buildings, legs locked in place, warp cannon beginning to blaze-

The robot's blast took it full in the face. The autocannon went flying in a spray of viscous brown fluid, staining the streets and the side of the UFO as it came out in a fierce spray. The strider buckled as the elite apes shouted in victory. The robot's chassis closed as the plasma gun unfolded beneath, but the strider…

The strider, hatred in its iridescent eyes, merely ducked its head back down, the fluid running freely from the gaping wound where its autocannon used to be. The warp cannon, still functioning, began to whine. The air distorted with azure energy as something in space time wound back and then snapped into place.

The alien's robot burst apart, leaving nothing but a metal-strewn crater. One of the elite apes had stood just a tad too close and similarly disintegrated, leaving his partner shouting in dismay. Scythe 2 advanced with a sigh of relief. Eighty percent chance to hit. We can-

"Enough of this!" A man in purple armor, skin slightly wrinkled, a beanie atop his head, a greying mustache plastered to his lips, strode down the ramp. He gestured at the strider, heedless of the bullets of the Overwatch. The strider twitched and swayed as strange purple tendrils, barely visible, caressed its form. It buckled once, twice, and then finally stood strange still. It looked up, eyes devoid of anything, anymore. The warp cannon began to whine.

"Overwatch, possible malignancy detected in-"

Time seemed to slow. The warp cannon burst behind Scythe 2. All her teammates flatlined instantly. Chunks of rubble went flying. Scythe 2's footing, more uncertain with each injury, upended. Her weapons flew from her grip and her sides. She fell backwards, cranium slamming against the twisted metal inside her suit, light and life suddenly growing dangerously dim. For a moment, as the dust and smoke cleared, it seemed as if the city would fall silent. Then, he stood over her, a smile playing at his lips. The strider loomed over them both, the man's pet now, the warp cannon leveled at Scythe 2's face.

"Good effort," said Colonel Odessa Cubbage before turning away. "Captain! Get as many people from Bloc A-11 as you can! Hurry, we don't have much time left!" He left Scythe 2's field of vision. The strider remained. Scythe 2, breathing heavily beneath the weight of her armor, felt something that might have been despair … might have been relief. Immobilized. Disarmed. At the enemy's mercy.

The engineer and doctor exchanged looks. Without saying anything, they pressed three of their fingers against their monitors. The Administrator, for his part, looked away.

A purple alien, head longer than Scythe 2 was used to seeing, scampered into view. It mounted her chassis, looking deep into her camera. It chirruped once.

"Human? Underneath all of that?" Colonel Cubbage could clearly barely contain his disbelief. "Thought that thing was as lifeless as that bloody sectopod. Well, there's not much left to control, but if you think you might learn something…"

The alien's eyes glowed from within. Scythe 2, what was left of her, braced for the final vestiges of self to be snatched away. Perhaps these are kinder masters. Perhaps those citizens knew what they were doing.

There was not enough of the machine left to clamp. A sad time for such a reversal.

The tendrils reached out and in. Scythe 2 felt herself being tugged away, the neurons no longer firing because she ordered them to. Her arms twitched beneath it all. Her vision shut away. This alien, this gray, this being who recognized the being beneath, peeled away all of the layers to see what lay below. The sounds of the scientists faded.

The alien brushed against Scythe 2's mind, all the memories locked away. It felt what she felt … and it-

Light came flooding back. The alien still crouched atop her chest but now it clutched its head in naked agony, eyes shut, a high-pitched whine emanating from its mouthless skull.

"What is it doing?" asked the Administrator, some of the color returning to his face.

"It's-" began Dr. Shen.

"It's screaming." Tygan did not say that. Nor did Shen. Not Breen. Not even the Benefactor.

Scythe 2's vocoded tones broadcast that message, apropos of nothing. The color fled Breen's face. Dr. Shen looked away, eyes moistening. And Tygan, Tygan grabbed at his throat, pulling at his tie, as if trying to choke himself. And the alien…

The alien screamed. And screamed.

"My God man, what has gotten into you?" Colonel Cubbage took one look down at the wreck of Scythe 2. "Bloody hell – get a grip on yourself! This is hardly the worst thing the Combine has done. We need to get moving!"

The colonel turned to his strider and motioned with two of his fingers. The strider stepped back unsteadily, the blood still dribbling from its fresh wound. Cubbage unshouldered his rifle and took aim. The strider buckled with each blast of plasma but did not otherwise react. With one final squeeze, it fell without a sound, crumpling in a heap. Colonel Cubbage tugged the still-screaming alien off of Scythe 2's chest by the elbow and then, without so much of a raising of the eyebrow, unloaded the rest of the mag into Scythe 2's chest.

The first blast melted the rest of the armor. The second produced a sensation of heat, the first real sensation in such a long time.

The third sent everything spiraling away into a sea as green as Gordon Freeman's eyes.