Dec. 2nd, 2012

acts_of_gord: (down for the count)
Time passes, and the medics do their work, and so does the bug juice. Gordon's dimly aware of all of that, at best. He's had a long day. He's not trying particularly hard to wake up.

It happens eventually, though. It always happens. When it does, he notices a few things in no particular order: that the bed under him feels unfamiliar, that he's got a whole new set of aches and pains on top of the ones he's carried since Black Mesa, that he can smell the medications and antiseptics of the infirmary. That he's got what feels like Ace bandages, or some kind of bandages, anyway, wrapped around several still-raw-and-painful place.

That attempting to blink and open both eyes doesn't seem to be working quite as well as one might expect.

Well, he's awake, at least. Even if moving around seems like an utter waste of time and effort, he can at least try to get a better look around, and see who else is here.

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Gordon Freeman

December 2012

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