Beyond the Sea

[acts_of_gord]

There's going to be a lot of swimming very soon. Gordon's good with that. Maybe not all that enthusiastic about it, though. He's read about Irukandji syndrome. It's almost enough to make him wish for Xen leeches instead.

Almost.

It's a night swim, is the thing. The only way they could reach the Combine desalination plant undetected during the day would involve Pi portaling the Borealis directly alongside the rig and dropping them off faster than the Combine could shoot them all down. Alyx has the machine up and running again, but nobody wants to take a chance on Pi's current stability. And for all that people in the Resistance occasionally seem to think he's the Messiah, walking on water is not in his portfolio. So... they have to get to the rig under cover of darkness, through jellyfish-infested waters, and creep aboard undetected. And then pretty much put an end to the existence of anything on board with a pulse. Alyx won't be there, and the stalkers won't have any other way out.

He'll handle that part himself, if he can.

For now they've driven here from the Borealis They've got a dark equipment shed near the shoreline ready so that the handful of them who'll be going can get their eyes used to what lies ahead. They're all in their dive gear, as far as he knows. He's got his HEV suit and his helmet on. Hopefully it'll stand up to the jellyfish like it's done to the Combine. This is going to be a very short trip otherwise.

Comments

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo pauses before hitting the transmit button again.

"All teams - execute, execute, execute."

[acts_of_gord]

FA-THOOOM!

There goes the door. And a considerable chunk of the wall, too. Gordon is suddenly hit by a wave of nostalgia for the satchel charges he used at Black Mesa. And then there is a completely different sort of recognition of battles past, because you just don't forget that croaking, mechanized voice....

"Overwatch. Sector is not secure."

There are four of them, mask-eyes gleaming an unholy gold through the smoke- no, five. One Cyclopean red optic turns in Voodoo's direction, even as Gordon takes aim at the nearest of the other soldiers. "Elite!" Gordon snaps as he starts firing. "Take it down!"

[boston_bruiser]

Don't need to tell him twice, Gordon. Voodoo's already got his weapon up and ready and is snapping off shots as fast as he can pull the trigger. The first shots do little more than stun the Elite, but that buys Voodoo enough time to put four rounds right through his helmet.

The Elite crumples to the floor, his flatline ringing throughout the room. Voodoo turns and sets his sights on one of the others, a shotgun-toting guard leveling the barrel at Gordon's head. Two shots to the soldier's chest and two to his head fixes that quickly enough.

"Clear left!"

[acts_of_gord]

The whole place is ringing with the echoes of MP7 submachine gun fire and the crack of a shotgun. Has Voodoo ever heard Gordon practicing behind Milliways with his pulse rifle? It's a different kind of noise altogether, a weirdly flat pud pud pud sound. It leaves the air tinged with an odd ozone-like smell. And every time two or three rounds go off another Combine gun goes silent.

Which means Voodoo doesn't really have much time at all to hear it before Gordon calmly announces, "Clear right. I'm claiming the shotgun rounds."

[boston_bruiser]

"Knock yourself out," Voodoo says, hopping over one of the corpses to get to the comms relay. It's foreign, but easy enough to pick up - flip a switch here, turn a dial there, and soon enough the relay's offline.

And once Voodoo empties the rest of his magazine into it, it's offline for good.

"All teams, this is Voodoo. Comms relay is offline, moving upstairs for linkup. Jan, how're the barracks?"

[acts_of_gord]

When Jan finally speaks, the big Dutchman's voice is distinctly disturbed. "It is not so much the barracks, Voodoo," he says. "It is the slave quarters."

Gordon's breath hisses, and he activates his own radio. "Stalkers?" he says tersely.

"And nothing but. We are going to have to look for the guard quarters elsewhere."

"Put them down. All of them. It's a mercy kill," says Gordon. "I'll finish it myself if I have to."

"Yes sir."

Gordon looks as if he would like to rub at his face with both hands, but refrains from doing so. "At least that'll slow things down," he murmurs. "I doubt the soldiers can run this place by themselves."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo shrugs. "Whatever works." He keys his radio. "Do what you gotta do, Jan, but make it quick. We just kicked a fuckin' hornet's nest."

He reloads, tossing the empty magazine to the ground. "Upstairs. Let's move."

They'd better hurry - if the clomping of combat boots on steel is any indication, reinforcements should be arriving any second now.

[acts_of_gord]

"It won't take long. Stalkers can barely defend themselves," Gordon says as he readies his rifle. "Hard to think of a worse Combine crime against humanity."

And then it really doesn't matter any more, because the Combine troopers are rushing in after them and Gordon is in the unenviable position of having to run backwards and fire like a maniac at the same time. Good thing he's good at it.

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo's no slouch, either - a few rapid-fire bursts take care of two particularly persistent troopers, and a well-placed flashbang manages to stun most of the rest. Voodoo pulls out his pistol and takes out another two before the rest are cut down in a hail of gunfire.

"Stairs right behind us," he says, his tone clear and clipped, his eyes never leaving the weapon's sights. "Got your six."

[acts_of_gord]

"Thanks," Gordon says tersely. "Jan? Where the hell are you?"

There's a burst of weapons fire that takes Gordon a moment to sort out- he's hearing it both over the radio and down the corridor. A moment later the muzzle of an SMG rounds the corner, followed by the majority of an Australian, and then by Jan and his own weapon. "Do we have to answer that?" asks Ten Boom.

Gordon just eyes him briefly. "Status, then."

"Weren't that many Stalkers in the quarters," says Jimbo. "Don't imagine they keep a day/night schedule anyway. We put 'em down. Looked like a quarter, maybe a third the number you'd need to run this place."

"And we think we found where the soldiers are kept after all," says Jan. "It isn't far."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo nods. "Show us."

[acts_of_gord]

Jimbo nods grimly and darts back the way he came. For someone who had been a snorkeling instructor before the Combine came, he's not bad at this. Ten Boom moves to cover the group's rear, but it's not really necessary; the thundering footfalls they're hearing are headed in other directions.

And shortly after, Jimbo stops, and indicates a sliding panel on one wall for Voodoo to look through.

The room on the other side must have been some kind of central facility for the original crew of this station to meet and do massive maintenance, judging by its size. Most of it is taken up with... equipment. Jointed, black metal rigs hang from the ceiling at regular intervals, looking like some kind of nightmarish control chair; there are tubes and wires and massive cables running from the ceiling down to each of the chairs, and the unoccupied ones give off a sickly pale glow....

Oh, yes. Yes, there is that. Many of them are currently occupied by what must have surely once been humans; what they are now is debatable at best. Every last one of them is pale as a week-dead corpse, where they have flesh at all. The abdominal region is almost entirely mechanized, by the look of things. Fat, pulsating cables are connected to ports on the immobile figures' necks and the sides of their torsos. Their faces, mercifully, are blocked entirely by the uppermost parts of the rigs.

Every so often one of them twitches.

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo's silent for a long while.

Then:

"Jeeezus H. Christ."

Part of him says that nobody, nobody, deserves this, but another part says that if someone was stupid enough to volunteer for all this, then yes, they deserve exactly what they get.

The fact some of them might not be volunteers - or might have just been that desperate - never enters into the equation.

"Are they a threat? Any chance of them...waking up anytime soon?"

[acts_of_gord]

"He's a long way from here, mate," mutters Jimbo.

Ten Boom shakes his head. "We still have some time. Many of them were activated when we looked in before. This bunch are in reserve."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo nods. He's quiet for a bit, then looks to Jan.

"We can't take any chances. Any way we could kill 'em all at once?"

[acts_of_gord]

Jan glances to Jimbo; Jimbo looks to Gordon. Gordon's got his face pressed up against the viewing slot. "The feeding tubes all pass into a single spot in the wall," he reports. "Looks like it runs parallel to the HVAC system. Get me into a vent and hold the area against reinforcements." He looks to Voodoo. "I've been doing vent runs against the clock for years."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo nods and holds his hands out palm-up for a boost. "Hope you have, 'cause we need to make this quick."

[acts_of_gord]

The corners of Gordon's mouth twitch in something not unlike a smile. He says nothing further, only steps up.

Side note: while Gordon is 6'2" and weighs around 180 pounds, the HEV suit is... significantly heavier. Fortunately, Gordon's been wearing it a long time now, and carrying far too many weapons at once, and swinging a crowbar for all he's worth on a regular basis- which is to say that he's got the upper body strength to pull himself (suit and all) up quickly once Voodoo lifts him up high enough to pop the vent open with his crowbar.

"All right, now," says Ten Boom, "who wants the left and who the right? I hear our hosts coming."

[boston_bruiser]

"I got the left," Voodoo replies, moving to cover one of the approaches. He reloads, tucking the half-empty magazine in one of his back pouches and flicking the safety to automatic.

Who knows - he might get to use that grenade after all.

[acts_of_gord]

"Right," says Jimbo, settling in for his go. "Let's get busy, shall we?"

There are no Elites in the squad that rounds the corner and immediately opens fire. That may or may not be a mercy. This bunch knows what they're doing regardless.

[boston_bruiser]

That they do - one round misses Voodoo's head by the barest of margins, fortunately for him. Unfortunately for the one who shot at him.

Voodoo doesn't rush his shots - all he does is put three rounds dead-center into each guard. He gets four before the rest are cut down. Still, there's no time to relax.

"Ammo check - everyone good?"

[acts_of_gord]

"I'm good," says Jan, who's been unloading his shotgun into the Combine troopers.

Jimbo grunts. "Running a little-"

There's a sudden FOOMP! from the other side of the wall- the side with the Combine soldiers in their machines.

"Sounds like Freeman's done his work."

And indeed, checking on the viewing port will reveal... well. There's a lot of smoke in there. That's probably for the best.

[boston_bruiser]

That is probably is.

Voodoo opens the door, waving away the smoke with his free hand. "Clear out here, Freeman. Four and Five are in the breeze upstairs - we need to haul ass."

[acts_of_gord]

No argument from Gordon. He's just going to sprint out of there as fast as his legs and the suit will carry him. There's people depending on him to not die of smoke inhalation, thank you very much.

[boston_bruiser]

It's a short route up to the second floor, about 30 seconds if you're running (and they are running). Judging from the gunfire and explosions, the other teams are in one hell of a tussle.

"Four, this is Voodoo, One and Two are on the second floor and moving fast. Give me a sitrep, over."