Gordon Freeman (
acts_of_gord) wrote2008-09-07 11:47 am
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Assault on City 17: Team Ninja
In better times City 17 had many, many ways of crossing town. For the most part, the citizens of today travel on the surface, and mostly on foot. This is partly because they're easier to track down, and partly because the alternatives haven't been maintained lately. On the other hand, the Combine don't use the underpassages any more either. Clearing one of the tunnels that crosses half the City is a priority for the Resistance; it'll give them a much better crack at getting behind enemy lines. Thus the infiltration team finds themselves in a small courtyard at the back of what was once a highway maintenance building, facing a poorly lit flight of stairs leading down.
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[[Wondering if John would actually be able to unlock the Combine locks. He's done a lot of stuff, but the finer control is difficult for him. Plus, they're much different than magnetic locks.]]
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"A yard or two down. The lock's on the outside- you can't miss it."
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John runs down the hall, keeping low to the ground just in case, and he sees the lock. He raises his hand, and focuses on it, feeling with his mind the mechanisms controlling the lock. He drops the focus, and walks back to the group.
"I can unlock the door, but I can't permanently unlock it, only hold it open. One of you is going to have to open the door while I'm keeping it unlocked."
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John walks down the corridor and brings up his hand, focusing again on keeping the mechanism in the lock open. "Alright," he grunts from the focus of speech and TK at the same time, "Open it. Now."
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"Which way now?" he asks, quietly.
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His gun's at the ready as they head for the stairs.
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John goes back down the staircase quietly, and opens the door slowly, back to it, gun entended. No one in site, he steps through, holding the door open with his right hand to keep from creating excess noise because of a door opening and shutting.
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The dormitory must have been built by the least imaginative architects ever: a central hallway running the length of the building, with glass-fronted doors (some still intact, some not) on either side of the hallway about every twenty feet or so. Up ahead some distance, a few of the doors on the streetward side have sagged open a few inches.
Well. Sagged may not be the right word. not with the bloodstains and burn marks on the floor.
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Just because they're facing the street doesn't mean they're obvious.
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Mind you, the paff! of a single bullet being fired, and the low croaking of "Necrotic neutralized" being spoken through a Combine vocoder, make it pretty plain what's on the other side of the furniture barricade.
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whe-whe-whe go the darts as all three stike post-human flesh where the skull meets the next.
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(This is not an area normally prone to necrotics. This is an area of citizens and rebels. There is no guidance laser. People would notice.)
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He does the same thing for every other room with a sniper in it, smooth as clockwork, and then comes back to the rebel. "Floor's cleared. Don't know if there's anything you want from here: ammo, health."
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The Combine haven't been patrolling at street level here. Their foot soldiers are needed elsewhere, and anyway there were headcrab zombies wandering about. The snipers could take care of those when they became an issue. On the other hand, no one had much wanted to deal with zombies coming after the actual foot soldiers, so the last few ranks of Overwatch had taken a few steps. Dinah may find, as she makes her way down Linden Street, that there's a faint chirping noise coming from some oddly metallic lumps scattered about the place.
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Dinah had been making her way fairly energetically, determined to present a moving target to any sniper that might see her. Chirping little robot things, however are a different matter.
She crouches in the middle of the street, bringing her face closer to ground level, and screams.
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
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They're also set to leap into the air and detonate somewhere between one and two meters above the surface if proximity or concussion sets them off.
We're not sure what someone from England would consider appropriate music for what happens next, but any American who'd ever watched more than one or two fireworks displays would consider the ensuing demonstration of hopping and exploding and shattering in all directions to be well worth the final movement of the 1812 Overture.
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Though she's busy right now, curled up into a protective ball with her hands over her ears.
For the first ten seconds, anyway. After that she's running through, avoiding explosions and watching for any other dangers.
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But she's already tired, and she already has the energy from screaming, so she just takes another breath and pitches another note.
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
This is a shattering move. One she's honed and practiced so it will dismantle machinery.
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