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acts_of_gordGordon leaned his head against the elevator wall and let his eyes sag shut for a moment. I have to keep going, he told himself. I can't stop now. I'll die down here if I do.
A still-fresh dopplering scream rippled through his memory; someone else from Science Team. He'd never seen the man's face, just his flailing form as he lost his grip and plummeted to his doom. If he'd been able to lean out six inches more....
It wouldn't have done any good. They'd both be splattered all over the bottom of the elevator shaft.
Gordon slid one gauntleted hand under his glasses and rubbed uselessly at his eyes, trying to block out the memory of that scream. The elevator ground to a halt just then, doors sliding open. It was a welcome distraction. Pistol in hand (a dead security guard's last legacy to the living: gun, ammo, belt to carry them all), he peered into the corridor. It looked all right. Certainly he didn't see the kind of destruction he'd just left behind. More importantly, he didn't hear the faintly clucking noises that the leaping little horrors made just before they went for his head, and he definitely didn't hear the soulless gorbling of the zombie things. He stepped out of the elevator.
There were footsteps. He spun about- and relaxed; it was yet another Science Team member, running pell-mell for Gordon's position. The lab-coated man ignored Gordon entirely, though, racing past him to pound desperately on a guardroom window with both fists. "For God's sake, open the silo doors!" the man shouted. "They're coming for us, it's our only way out! Oh my God, we're doomed!"
On the other side of the glass, the wide-eyed guard stood up swiftly. And fell, just as swiftly, as something clawed lunged out of a ventilation duct and grabbed him. By the time Gordon had the crowbar out, it was already too late. The length of metal clanged uselessly off the thickest bulletproof glass he'd seen yet. He stared, sickened, at the widening red streak on the wall.
BRRRABOOM!
Gordon spun to face the source of the sound: a smoking, blackened corridor, one wall scorched, the other spattered. Even at this distance, in this light, he knew what that meant. Silently, he returned the crowbar to its loop on the belt and readied his gun. Where there were explosions, there were explosives, and this was an old part of the complex. Whatever had killed that poor doomed fool was probably some kind of security measure gone horribly wrong. Something was bound to turn up and investigate.
Sure enough, the by-now far-too-familiar sound of one of the fleshy things teleporting in- they looked like plucked chickens, for all that they kept trying to tear off parts of his face and scalp- rang out up ahead. He froze, watching it orient itself. It made an almost cooing sound as it crept towards him, but not for long. A faint pling! sound, like an opened door breaking an infrared beam, was all the warning Gordon had before automatic gunfire from a half-concealed, mounted chaingun tore it to pieces. Better you than me, he thought, and considered his options.
Well, that one guard had given him a couple of grenades and said to use them in good health...
Five seconds later the mounted gun lay scattered across the room in ruins. Gordon smiled (when did that kind of destruction become something to smile about, he wondered) and kept going... only to stop again.
There was a body.
( if you take a life, do you know what you'll give? )
Human, definitely, and not zombified. The dead man still had his face and his hands, and his chest was almost certainly intact beneath the fatigues he wore. They identified him as a Marine, a member of the Hazardous Environment Combat Unit. Gordon knew about them; the employee handbook said they were the ones most likely to show up if anything really disastrous really happened at Black Mesa. All employees were to cooperate with them wherever possible. The HEV suit did nothing at all to suppress the prickling dread that crawled over his skin. Had he just killed one of his own rescuers?
( odds are, you won't like what it is )
As Gordon crouched down to look for the fatal injury, the heavily modulated synthesized voice that'd been giving status updates since the cascade began rang out over the room's speakers: "ATTENTION: BLACK MESA ANNOUNCEMENT SYSTEM NOW UNDER MILITARY COMMAND."
You're a little late letting me know, he thought bitterly. He looked down at the Marine and a thought occurred to him: the HECU commander was going to need to know about this.
( when the storm arrives, would you be seen with me )
"Sorry about this," Gordon murmured to the dead man, digging the dog tags out from under his shirt. "I didn't even know you were there... Corporal Edward Paskey, huh?" He shook his head. "I don't know what to say. I'll make it up to your family somehow... I'm sorry."
( by the merciless eyes I've deceived )
There weren't any more words for it than that, or if there were, they eluded Gordon pretty well. With a sigh he drew the man's eyelids closed with his fingertips and went on his way, Paskey's dog tags wrapped around one wrist and his assault rifle jammed through part of the belt. They'd be wanting that back.
( I've seen angels fall from blinding heights )
There. Up ahead, on the catwalk- him again. The man in the dark blue suit. How the hell had he gotten this far? Gordon had had to fight his way past at least three more of those damned chainguns, and the red-eyed aliens that hurled lightning at him- and here was this bureaucrat breezing through from one place to another, neat as you please! He'd been back at Anomalous Materials, too, but he'd disappeared before Gordon could call out to him. At least here Gordon had a chance to catch up. As the man vanished into the shadows Gordon scrambled up the ladder, hand over hand. He couldn't possibly get away this time.
( But you yourself are nothing so divine )
Oh, hell, he could. There was no sign of him anywhere. Gordon swore inwardly and drew his pistol at the sound of nearby footfalls. They turned out, alas, to be yet another lab-coated scientist. The older man was practically flying down the stairs at the end of the raised platform, and with good reason: there was a Marine downstairs. Alive, this time. "Rescued at last!" the scientist cried. "Thank God you're here!"
( just next in line )
And the Marine shot him. No warning, no words, just BANG.
As the scientist's lifeless form toppled over, the Marine looked up. His eyes met Gordon's. It would've been poetic to say time stopped, or that the moment played out in slow motion somehow, but the truth was far more stark. In that moment, Gordon knew he was going to die at this man's hands. So he pulled the trigger first.
He didn't bother closing this one's eyes. He just swallowed, and watched him fall.
( arm yourself, because no one else here will save you... )
A still-fresh dopplering scream rippled through his memory; someone else from Science Team. He'd never seen the man's face, just his flailing form as he lost his grip and plummeted to his doom. If he'd been able to lean out six inches more....
It wouldn't have done any good. They'd both be splattered all over the bottom of the elevator shaft.
Gordon slid one gauntleted hand under his glasses and rubbed uselessly at his eyes, trying to block out the memory of that scream. The elevator ground to a halt just then, doors sliding open. It was a welcome distraction. Pistol in hand (a dead security guard's last legacy to the living: gun, ammo, belt to carry them all), he peered into the corridor. It looked all right. Certainly he didn't see the kind of destruction he'd just left behind. More importantly, he didn't hear the faintly clucking noises that the leaping little horrors made just before they went for his head, and he definitely didn't hear the soulless gorbling of the zombie things. He stepped out of the elevator.
There were footsteps. He spun about- and relaxed; it was yet another Science Team member, running pell-mell for Gordon's position. The lab-coated man ignored Gordon entirely, though, racing past him to pound desperately on a guardroom window with both fists. "For God's sake, open the silo doors!" the man shouted. "They're coming for us, it's our only way out! Oh my God, we're doomed!"
On the other side of the glass, the wide-eyed guard stood up swiftly. And fell, just as swiftly, as something clawed lunged out of a ventilation duct and grabbed him. By the time Gordon had the crowbar out, it was already too late. The length of metal clanged uselessly off the thickest bulletproof glass he'd seen yet. He stared, sickened, at the widening red streak on the wall.
BRRRABOOM!
Gordon spun to face the source of the sound: a smoking, blackened corridor, one wall scorched, the other spattered. Even at this distance, in this light, he knew what that meant. Silently, he returned the crowbar to its loop on the belt and readied his gun. Where there were explosions, there were explosives, and this was an old part of the complex. Whatever had killed that poor doomed fool was probably some kind of security measure gone horribly wrong. Something was bound to turn up and investigate.
Sure enough, the by-now far-too-familiar sound of one of the fleshy things teleporting in- they looked like plucked chickens, for all that they kept trying to tear off parts of his face and scalp- rang out up ahead. He froze, watching it orient itself. It made an almost cooing sound as it crept towards him, but not for long. A faint pling! sound, like an opened door breaking an infrared beam, was all the warning Gordon had before automatic gunfire from a half-concealed, mounted chaingun tore it to pieces. Better you than me, he thought, and considered his options.
Well, that one guard had given him a couple of grenades and said to use them in good health...
Five seconds later the mounted gun lay scattered across the room in ruins. Gordon smiled (when did that kind of destruction become something to smile about, he wondered) and kept going... only to stop again.
There was a body.
( if you take a life, do you know what you'll give? )
Human, definitely, and not zombified. The dead man still had his face and his hands, and his chest was almost certainly intact beneath the fatigues he wore. They identified him as a Marine, a member of the Hazardous Environment Combat Unit. Gordon knew about them; the employee handbook said they were the ones most likely to show up if anything really disastrous really happened at Black Mesa. All employees were to cooperate with them wherever possible. The HEV suit did nothing at all to suppress the prickling dread that crawled over his skin. Had he just killed one of his own rescuers?
( odds are, you won't like what it is )
As Gordon crouched down to look for the fatal injury, the heavily modulated synthesized voice that'd been giving status updates since the cascade began rang out over the room's speakers: "ATTENTION: BLACK MESA ANNOUNCEMENT SYSTEM NOW UNDER MILITARY COMMAND."
You're a little late letting me know, he thought bitterly. He looked down at the Marine and a thought occurred to him: the HECU commander was going to need to know about this.
( when the storm arrives, would you be seen with me )
"Sorry about this," Gordon murmured to the dead man, digging the dog tags out from under his shirt. "I didn't even know you were there... Corporal Edward Paskey, huh?" He shook his head. "I don't know what to say. I'll make it up to your family somehow... I'm sorry."
( by the merciless eyes I've deceived )
There weren't any more words for it than that, or if there were, they eluded Gordon pretty well. With a sigh he drew the man's eyelids closed with his fingertips and went on his way, Paskey's dog tags wrapped around one wrist and his assault rifle jammed through part of the belt. They'd be wanting that back.
( I've seen angels fall from blinding heights )
There. Up ahead, on the catwalk- him again. The man in the dark blue suit. How the hell had he gotten this far? Gordon had had to fight his way past at least three more of those damned chainguns, and the red-eyed aliens that hurled lightning at him- and here was this bureaucrat breezing through from one place to another, neat as you please! He'd been back at Anomalous Materials, too, but he'd disappeared before Gordon could call out to him. At least here Gordon had a chance to catch up. As the man vanished into the shadows Gordon scrambled up the ladder, hand over hand. He couldn't possibly get away this time.
( But you yourself are nothing so divine )
Oh, hell, he could. There was no sign of him anywhere. Gordon swore inwardly and drew his pistol at the sound of nearby footfalls. They turned out, alas, to be yet another lab-coated scientist. The older man was practically flying down the stairs at the end of the raised platform, and with good reason: there was a Marine downstairs. Alive, this time. "Rescued at last!" the scientist cried. "Thank God you're here!"
( just next in line )
And the Marine shot him. No warning, no words, just BANG.
As the scientist's lifeless form toppled over, the Marine looked up. His eyes met Gordon's. It would've been poetic to say time stopped, or that the moment played out in slow motion somehow, but the truth was far more stark. In that moment, Gordon knew he was going to die at this man's hands. So he pulled the trigger first.
He didn't bother closing this one's eyes. He just swallowed, and watched him fall.
( arm yourself, because no one else here will save you... )
