(no subject)

[acts_of_gord]

Gordon knows the sound of those rotors. It's doubtful he'll forget it as long as he lives. Those are gunship rotors, at least one, possibly two. So he's understandably skittish as he hedges up to the mine exit and peers out. The all-too-familiar shape of a Strider is lumbering along an elevated roadway in the distance, followed by tiny moving specks that might be Overwatch or might be Elites, and that not-quite-British woman's voice echoes from speakers somewhere out of sight:

"All autonomous units: Accept mandatory sector assimilation. Coordinated constriction underway. Debride and cauterize. Entering phase nine, enhanced compliance. Deploy advisory control and oversight. Submit and be subsumed."

... this can't end well.

Comments

[acts_of_gord]

"Minor fractures detected," the suit announces as Gordon lands face-first in one of the muddier and therefore not quite as crunch-inducing areas. Gordon's response is to stick up one arm and, well, one finger.

But it's not as if he hasn't done this before, so he's going to push himself up, wish like hell the suit still had some morphine for him, and grab the gun that he knows works. Because these freaking things are going back to Klendathu in a sandwich bag.

Shotgun. Both barrels. As many times as he has shells, and then he's running for the thumper again- he's pretty sure there was an ammo crate in among the rocks somewhere.

[smelltheashes]

There is. There's also a propane tank wedged under one of the barricades. Its impact brings down the Guardian, but the bull is still gunning for him, scattering debris in its wake.

[acts_of_gord]

"Have we got a medkit?" Gordon asks. His hands are trembling as he does his best to reload the shotgun. "Or any- that's good too." 'That' being the Vortigaunt holding out one hand to recharge his suit.

"The Alyx Vance and I will hold this ground against the lesser antlions as long as we can."

Gordon winces. The Vortigaunt is right; there are still other antlions to contend with. "Good luck," he says quietly, and streaks out again, shotgun at the ready. If he can just keep that thing away from the scattered mine carts and long-forgotten cars, he might stand a chance.

[vance_prime]

"You too," Alyx murmurs back as he leaves.

No time for further sentiment. There's bugs that need killing.

[acts_of_gord]

There are indeed. And the thing about that is, there is absolutely no resemblance to anything redeeming whatsoever (unlike, say, the possibility of a human face remaining beneath a Combine soldier's mask) that could possibly slow Gordon's trigger hand. He's emptying the shotgun into that thing two barrels at a time, as fast as he can manage running backwards and sideways over uneven ground.

It's faster than you'd think.

In the end, though, what settles the matter is a chunk of debris Gordon had failed to notice. There comes a moment- there always comes a moment- when the suit announces, "Ammunition depleted." In this particular case he's not so much swearing in terror as reaching over his shoulder for a more viable gun when he catches sight of something metallic. That car that got butted at Gordon appears to have lost its entire engine- because something's engine is lying discarded on the grass.

Hitting the bull in the head with the station wagon engine is even better than the radiator back in Ravenholm. Damn he loves that gravity gun.

[vance_prime]

The bull staggers, then slumps in a chitinous heap on the ground.

A few seconds later, the last antlion soldier drops, and Alyx and the Vortigaunt trail out of the shelter toward Gordon's position.

"Nice work, Gordon!"

[acts_of_gord]

"Thanks," says Gordon, panting. He's still not sure what the fracture the suit detected was, but there's a sharper pain in his side than usual. Might've been a rib. "You two all right?"

He slings the gravity gun back in its harness and draws the SMG again. There are still a few loose antlions and they haven't reached the elevator yet.

[vance_prime]

"Yeah. Sorry I couldn't be more help, I'm still a little weak..."

"Well done, Freeman," the Vortigaunt rumbles. "You dispatched those guards with great dispatch!"

[acts_of_gord]

"You're a couple of pints low at best," Gordon says. "You're entitled. I take it we're going up now?"

"The vehicle we seek is in the encampment up above," the Vortigaunt agrees.

Gordon nods, and wipes ineffectually at his face with one hand. Hopefully, when they find the car, it'll have a trunk full of medkits.

... and as long as he's dreaming, he'd like a pony.

[vance_prime]

No more antlions emerge from the ground or the tunnels as they approach the elevator. Thank heaven for small favors.

"This lift will carry us to where the vehicle awaits," says the Vortigaunt. It lays its claws on the nearby generator, which quickly rumbles to life again, opening the door to the elevator itself.

When Alyx steps in to push the call button, however, nothing happens.

"Looks like the elevator's stuck up there," she says, squinting upward.

[acts_of_gord]

Gordon suppresses a sigh at that, and holsters his gun. There's only one thing that a stuck elevator means any more: time for Dr. Freeman to play maintenance man.

Okay, maintenance man and killer of headcrabs. There's a ladder that leads up to a narrow path better suited to singletrack biking than human feet, and just before the hairpin turn that heralds the path growing narrower there's a recently-expended headcrab rocket that disgorges a hissing black headcrab at him. It gets smashed to a pulp with the crowbar for its pains. Gordon's still grumbling under his breath about it when he reaches the elevator and pulls the emergency hatch open.

Who the hell jams a pickaxe into an elevator's emergency drop control lever, anyway?

[vance_prime]

Somebody who doesn't want anybody coming in through that entry point.

"Puzzling," the Vortigaunt murmurs as the three of them ascend. "The sentries should have spotted us by now."

"You think the Combine found them?"

"Such a theory is hardly far-fetched."

[acts_of_gord]

A long, narrow passage wends its way from the elevator to a door jammed half-open. Gordon crouches down to look beyond and winces. The dead are all too numerous. That headcrab rocket on the slope must've been meant to soften this place up.

[vance_prime]

"Oh God," breathes Alyx when she catches sight of the carnage. "The Combine found them, all right..."

"But came to no good end themselves. Headcrabs have had their way with both parties."

At least they didn't use up all of their medical supplies before shuffling off the mortal coil. Alyx digs a couple of medvials out of the muck and hands them to Gordon.

[acts_of_gord]

"Thanks," Gordon murmurs gratefully. He starts prying the lids off and chugging them as fast as he can. The stuff's nasty, but it's not as bad if it goes down quickly. Eventually the background radiation of his nervous system subsides to a dull throb, so to speak, and he glances around. Not far away there's a mostly-intact fence overlooking a steep drop into some kind of industrial facility's working yard below. Beyond that, as he gets closer to the fence, there's a rusted, broken bridge still somehow balanced on its one remaining set of support pylons. The mist from the river below makes it hard to pick out more detail than that, at least for him.

[vance_prime]

Alyx has the benefit of 20/20 vision and no corrective lenses to get smeared with antlion guts.

"Hey, look! Out on that bridge--I think I see the car you were talking about." There's a Combine security console set up nearby; tapping into a camera feed confirms the car's presence on the far side of the canyon.

"It appears they attempted an escape," says the Vortigaunt, "but made it no farther than the abyss."

"Well," says Alyx thoughtfully, "If they got it over there, maybe we can jump it back to this side?"

The Vortigaunt nods. "We recommend the Freeman for this task."

"Hey!" Alyx protests. "I'm feeling a lot better..."

"That condition will not last long if you plunge into the toxins below. We would do well to lend our protection from above, while Freeman skirts the hazards in the pit."

[acts_of_gord]

Toxins? What? Gordon leans out as far as he dares through the hole in the fence, and looks down.

... oh. Industrial New Jersey. He should've known. At this rate, by the time he gets to White Forest he's going to have more weird chemicals in his blood than Hunter S. Thompson.

With a sigh he pulls back and heads towards the force-field blocking the door. "This mounted gun may prove useful," the Vortigaunt notes, indicating a sniper rifle overlooking the industrial yard. "Though it would appear to be powerless..."

[vance_prime]

We can't stop here, this is antlion country!

"That I can fix," says Alyx. "Just give me a few minutes."

She may not be able to fight alongside Gordon, but by God she can do something.

[acts_of_gord]

Gordon takes the opportunity to head back over to those corpses. Sure enough, several of the Combine dead were carrying pulse rifles- or at least pulse rifle ammo. That's likely to come in handy if there are zombies about, and given that rocket, there probably are.

[vance_prime]

"Go, Freeman," the Vortigaunt urges. "I will look after the Alyx Vance."

Alyx sighs and shrugs. "...well, Gordon, I guess it's all up to you. Here, I'll get this field down." A quick zap from her hacking probe and it's done.

"Good luck, Gordon. Careful, now..."

[acts_of_gord]

"Thank you," murmurs Gordon, and leans over to press his lips very briefly against her cheek. He'd do more, but... eh, not in front of the Vortigaunt.

Then it's off into the industrial complex, which is riddled with carts and crates left behind by those who used to work here. There don't appear to be any marked exit passages or emergency stairs, of course. That would be too easy.

[smelltheashes]

From below comes the sound of something breathing--short, hoarse, panting breaths, almost like laughter.

There's nothing funny about what's waiting down there, though.

[acts_of_gord]

Aw, hell. The pulse rifle is nice for most things, but Gordon knows that sound. That's a poison zombie coming for him, and that? Rates grenades. Because he does not want any of those hissing little nasties getting the jump on him, oh no he does not.

Two grenades. As he recalls, the poison zombies are harder to take down than most. Plus, sometimes their passengers jump ship before they die.

[smelltheashes]

The zombie bursts through the door just before the first grenade detonates, sending wood splinters flying everywhere. The second grenade sends it keeling over. There's at least one headcrab still alive, though, scuttling into a far corner of the room.

[acts_of_gord]

Not for long. Gordon didn't go looking for pulse rifle ammo just to have weight in his pockets. He's had more than his share of "Neurotoxin detected" messages from the suit and that thing's going to die before he goes any further.