It's been a month since the prologue for the redone version of this FanFiction was published, and I decided that this FanFiction needed something added to it. For people who've read this already, sorry, but it isn't extra content. It's a hub for the machinima.

Deremix, a loyal reader who found the original Fanfic and has been reading ever since, asked me if he could make a machinima for the fic. I quickly answered the affirmative. His Youtube account is Deremixproductions and he's made some excellent GTA IV machinima including the Hospital Shootout series and the hilarious - albeit short - Actions Flicks.

At the time of writing, only the trailer is up, but I'll be updating this every time a video is added.

Trailer link: http://www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=p-v-3QyauN8

Um, there's also another thing: ArtisticLemur, another reader, has also offered to make a mod out of this game. Yeah, a machinima and a mod. However, this was only an offer - that I accepted, yes - but he also clearly stated he didn't intend on making Gordon talk, so we'll have to see how things work out.

And now, onto the story!

-=Half Life 2: Episode 3: Possibilities=-

-=Prologue: T-Minus One=-

T-Minus One.

At the time, I had no idea it was talking about the minutes until Dr. Eli Vance's death.

At the time, all I was concerned with was pressing down the button under my gloved hand.

At the time, all I wanted was the end.

The end of the Combine's iron fist.

—

I had heard the stories from witnesses of the Seven Hour War. People who had been in Eastern Europe when it happened.

They remember running. Explosions, gunfire, garbled grunts from Combine respirators. They also recall the sound of human voices, yelling over the screams of their fellow man.

At the end of it all, they remember the burning cities, lighting up the twilight that was the final few hours of the war.

Then the UN surrendered, the decision made by Wallace Breen, and he was elected leader of the Combine forces on Earth.

I wasn't there to stop it.

But I'm sure someone was. And he didn't.

Why?

I have no idea.

And all the effort in the world would have gone to waste...

Maybe I should be thankful I am able to do what I can.

—

These are the things I thought as I watched the resistance rocket launch and heard the personnel cheering from across the complex.

White Forest was filled with the joy of salvation.

That salvation was the rocket.

I have no idea what was inside it, whether it was nuclear or something else. All I know is that it cut off the Combine.

So many things people think I know.

So many things they themselves do not.

—

Nobody was expecting an Advisor to turn up.

Alyx wasn't. Eli wasn't. Kleiner wasn't. Magnusson wasn't.

And I wasn't.

But then it happened.

In it came, suddenly, without warning.

I didn't even have time to reach for a weapon, whether it was my crowbar, or my 357, or even my RPG.

I can't even remember if I had my crowbar in my hand.

All I do remember is the vivid image of Eli swinging a rusty pipe at the Advisor's head.

Alyx's choking sobs.

My vain attempts to wrestle free of invisible forces holding Alyx and I to the wall.

Eli's calm, soothing voice.

"I love you, Alyx."

The sickening noise of Eli's head being impaled.

Dog.

Shattering the glass.

A whole lot of insanity.

—

Dog saved Alyx and I that day.

Nobody blames him for coming too late. Everyone is thankful for him being there to save us.

But I know.

Alyx wishes he had been there.

To save her father.

—

I remember when Dr. Kleiner came in, expecting to see us off as we headed for the Borealis.

When he saw Eli's body, Alyx bent over him, crying, and myself, with my arm wrapped around her, he almost had a heart attack.

Help came quickly. About two minutes between Eli's death and their arrival.

But it was too late. About two minutes too late.

The Advisor got what it deserved. I saw it later, lying on the ground, ripped the shreds. I almost felt sorry for it.

But I didn't. I hated it. I still do.

It and the Combine.

—

I try to see things from their point of view. But I can't.

They have no reasons.

They enslaved the Nihilanth and its kind. The Vortigaunts.

Everything on Xen was a refugee, seeking refuge from the Combine.

And us.

They enslaved us.

We did nothing to provoke them. We didn't even know they existed.

We did nothing.

And yet they came and took over.

Why? Because they believe they are superior to all of us?
I would like to see them make such a claim back on their hellhole homeworld when they hear about our rocket.

Superior my ass.

—

We had a funeral inside the complex. There was no music.

I said a few words.

I noticed people watching me, their eyes desperate for a leader.

As if I was making a presidential candidate speech.

They wanted Gordon Freeman.

—

Why am I so special in their minds? Why do they see me as a saviour?

Wallace Breen shared my confusion.

I remember him saying so in Nova Prospekt, to the Overwatch as I blew them away with my array of slugthrowers.

How could one man have slipped through your forces fingers? Time and time again? How is it possible?

I asked myself that question. How was I doing all this?
This is not some... agent provocateur or highly trained assassin we are discussing. Gordon Freeman is a theoretical physicist who had hardly earned the distinction of his PhD at the time of the Black Mesa Incident.

This was true. I had only had my PhD for a few months when everything went down, and it wasn't some sort of militant doctorate.

I have good reason to believe that in the intervening years, he was in a state that precluded further development of covert skills.

Again, the truth. I had been in stasis for twenty years.

The man you have consistently failed to slow, let alone capture, is by all standards simply that, an ordinary man. How can you have failed to apprehend him?

An ordinary man. That is all I am.

So now I have two questions:

Why then do I have such a reputation, one verging on messianic?

—

This question I can answer myself, I guess.

I single-handedly crushed both alien and United States Marine Corps shock troops at Black Mesa.

I destroyed Nova Prospekt.

I fought my way into the Overwatch Nexus.

I killed Dr. Breen and destroyed the Citadel Dark Energy Reactor.

I halted the Citadel's implosion and allowed more citizens to escape.

I stole Dr. Mossman's transmission from the heart of the Combine forces.

I brought Alyx back to life.

I protected White Forest twice against both soldiers and ten or so Striders and more than double the Hunters.

I launched the killing blow rocket.

While most of these things were done with other people's help, I usually played the critical part that was the epicentre of these endeavours.

Now I know why I am viewed as a hero.

But one question remains.

How?

As Wallace Breen clearly reminded everyone, myself included, I am a theoretical physicist. Before the Black Mesa Incident, I had only ever fired guns at my cousin's place, and that was only pistols and an AR-15.

And yet I can kill trained marines, alien soldiers, metrocops and their elites.

I've never had military training. All I'm trying to do, every time, is stay alive.

Is that all one needs? Survival instincts? Or is a genius brain part of the equation?

I don't understand.

—

I told Alyx my thoughts the night before the funeral.

The sorrow was still fresh, so all I got was a weak smile and a brief answer that I found most unsatisfactory.

It's because you're different, Gordon. You're an amazing person and you can do amazing things.

Then she left with a simple goodnight.

I stood there, even after she'd left, alone in the hallway.

My brain asking more questions than had been answered.

How am I different? How do I do amazing things? Am I a bad different?

I may never get the answers I desire.

—

Gordon Freeman, The One Free Man.

The only thing I lack freedom from is my questions.

Gordon Freeman, The One Enigmatic Man.

...

Rest in peace, Eli.

OK, the prologue hasn't changed at all. This is because Mr. Deremix has already recorded Gordon's voice over and it didn't really need changing. It still lays everything out and sets up Gordon's thoughts about himself.

From here on out, you will be getting extra chapters, chapter rearrangements and lengthening of existing chapters. I've already written the first seven chapters (half of which are extensions and fix ups) so updates should come quickly.

Chapter 2 and 3 are going up straight away to give you something slightly new.