(no subject)

[acts_of_gord]

This place is not the first patch of Polish earth that has seen this many deaths. But the others were done by humans, and were driven by human hatred. The Combine have no such drive spurring them onward; quite simply, they do not care who learns about this place, or about what they've done here, only that the job of making this world their own gets done with as little interference from the local population as possible.

So there is nothing deliberately intimidating or sinister about the complex of plastic and steel and energy fields surrounding the European geneworm's spire. It's just one more blotch of alien architecture designed for funneling fuel into the alien monster's mouth, for inhaling everything Earth has to give and expelling the winds of an alien dimension in its stead. It could be anywhere. It has been anywhere, as ruins in North Dakota and Chapada dos Guimarães and Uluṟu-Kata Tjuṯa National Park and the forests of central Africa will attest.

But it still seems oddly appropriate, to Gordon, anyway, for the tiny scrambling band of humans to be flinging everything they have with all their might at a foe this far advanced here, of all countries. Maybe it's not mustering the cavalry for one screaming ride of explosive defiance straight into the teeth of the invading tanks, but... well, the battle here feels like something he thinks those men would approve of, even if it is only a distraction to allow their vermifuge-laden Combine scanner to slip through and poison the monster at the heart of it all.

He's pretty sure he'll be deaf for a good several hours by the time it's all over. But he'll accept that. Some prices, you pay.

Comments

[smelltheashes]

They encounter almost no opposition on their way to the inner wall. There's a pair of patrolling Overwatch that they opt to avoid rather than kill, but other than that, nothing. Almost before they know it, they're up against the far wall, and the man in the yellow suit is clambering up its irregular surface toward a small jutting platform a little more than halfway up.

[acts_of_gord]

This level of ease and quiet, especially when there's gunfire elsewhere, is never, ever a good thing. Gordon signals Arnold to take extra care and watch at ground level around them; he himself will be keeping one eye on the sky. There are still gunships out there, after all.

He needs the other eye to follow his impostor without getting hurt, or he'd be scanning even harder. There may be some distraction there.

[smelltheashes]

Prohaska is watching the skies as well, but makes no move to follow the two HEV-clad men. The platform would not have room for three, anyway.

The man in the yellow suit levers himself up onto the platform. He stands facing the crowd, looks up, and fires...

...okay, where the hell was he keeping a flare gun?

[acts_of_gord]

"What. The HELL. Are you DOING."

[smelltheashes]

"Working the crowd, buddy," says the man in the yellow suit without looking over at Gordon. "Try it sometime."

He unslings the pack from his back and extracts the drone, making a great show of turning on and releasing it into the air.

"See, was that so hard?"

[acts_of_gord]

"That kind of idiocy gets people killed," Gordon feels obliged to point out, even as the drone zips away, flying low along the ground to evade detection as it heads for the Gene Worm. "I don't know wh-"

He never gets as far as the vowel. There's a strange, wobbling distortion to the air that leaves a cold dank dread in his bones.

[smelltheashes]

The man in the yellow suit's smile has faded a little.

"...what was that?"

[acts_of_gord]

"Get down," Gordon says hoarsely. "Get down and start running now. There's an Advisor nearby."

Arnold doesn't need to be told twice. Unlike some people, he doesn't take orders from the Incarnation of Ham.

[smelltheashes]

Before any reaction can be had, a pulse of pain rockets through their nervous systems, making any movement impossible.

Apparently, the psychic blast has a limited range. At least, it hasn't stopped the people on the ground from shouting and screaming when the Advisor rises over the wall above them.

[acts_of_gord]

Gordon is not, and has not ever been, a man for 'I told you so'. Even if he were, he's currently trying to override every single nerve in his body at the same time.

Running's not in the cards; if he can at least draw a weapon-

[smelltheashes]

No such luck. The space maggot floats down until it is on level with their platform, its artificial gaze fixed on the two men. With agonizing slowness, a mechanical hand unfolds from its back and reaches toward Gordon...

[acts_of_gord]

Gordon's only half seeing the thing. Everything he's got is going into fighting through the monstrosity's pain-waves. The only chance he's got is to grab the gravity gun and rip the Advisor's mask off. Everything in the world has ceased to exist except the need to get that weapon off his back.

And for all that, he can only get his own arm a little higher than his face...

[smelltheashes]

"Spierdzielaj!"

Suddenly, the pain vanishes, as the creature flinches and screeches. It turns toward the ground, where Prohaska is still firing his AK-47 at the maggot's underbelly.

His attack doesn't last much longer, though; he lets out a cry of pain and doubles over on the ground as the Advisor focuses its attention on him.

Simon has barely moved. He's staring the stare of a man whose entire world has just been stood on its ear.

And now the Advisor has snatched Prohaska off the ground and carries him high up into the air, its proboscis sneaking its way out into the open air...

[hecu_marine]

Hey.

Hey, hear that?

No, not the gunfire, the thupthupthupthupthup sound? Helicopter rotors, getting louder?

Like, a lot louder?

No one's ever going to hear the words over the engine sound. Probably just as well...

"Turn on, I see red
Adrenaline crash and crack my head
Nitro junkie, paint me dead
And I see red-"

It'd be nice to say he's doing this with guns blazing, but- well, that'd give the Advisor too much warning. Because when you need to stop a psychic space maggot the size of a city bus, you only ever get one chance, and you'd better use that chance to hit it with everything you've got.

"A hundred plus through black and whites, ha, ha
War horse, warhead
Fuck 'em man, white knuckle tight-"

Like an entire helicopter at maximum possible speed.

[smelltheashes]

The mass of the hunter-chopper slams into the Advisor, and the two keep going in roughly the same direction as the chopper's initial trajectory.

Unfortunately, that trajectory is "right at the platform where Gordon and his doppelganger are standing."

[acts_of_gord]

Gordon isn't really thinking at the moment. He's not even sure his brain is involved in what follows at all.

Freed of the Advisor's agonizing grip, his hand flew back over his shoulder and whipped out the gravity gun just as the helicopter arrived on the scene. Now it's swinging around, almost without him willing it, to line up with something that looks like a Combine radio mast poking out of the translucent metal-and-plastic nightmare sprawling all around them. Now the zero point energy fiend is wrapping around the mast, wrenching it free, and now-

Now the mast is smashing into the side of the tumbling, flaming horror in the skies, not with enough force to destroy it, but with enough to shove it hard off course.

And now he's got his brain back, just in time to realize that he's panting and trembling with effort as the most horrible stench he's ever smelled in his life suddenly fills the air.

[smelltheashes]

Total time elapsed since the Advisor made its presence felt: roughly forty-five seconds.

The man in the yellow suit is still staring in blank bewilderment, but now he's staring at Gordon rather than at the empty air.

[acts_of_gord]

Gordon doesn't notice.

"Prohaska!" he yells. "Are you all right? Can you hear me?"

What just happened will sink in later. Right now all he can think of are small things, and one at a time.

[smelltheashes]

"Tak--yes, yes, I am fine," he calls back. He bats Arnold's hands away from him. "I am fine, go and see to the pilot!"

"The pilot--?" Arnold blanches. "Oh, God, Shephard--"

[acts_of_gord]

Gordon's breath hisses between his teeth. "Find him- I'll be down as soon as I can," he says. He's going to have to stash the gravity gun before trying to climb back down. Both hands are kind of important for this.

He's forgotten that there's anyone else on the platform with him.

[smelltheashes]

By the time Gordon gets down, Arnold is already at the Marine's side. Shephard managed to bail out just before the chopper reached its target, but he didn't have much time to pick a good landing spot. It's a minor miracle he didn't end up impaled on any of the Combine machinery he landed in the middle of.

"Sergeant-Major? Adrian? Can you hear me?"

[hecu_marine]

On the bright side, there won't be a risk of smoke inhalation; Shephard had his gas mask on when he started his run, and he's still wearing it now. Helmet, too. However, that is where the bright side ends. The stench on the wind is not just Advisor flesh burning.

Still, Shephard is doing his best to push himself up on one arm and lift the other- hey, it's still more or less in one piece!- okay, waving's not gonna happen, but still... "Over here," he calls, and grimaces behind the mask. "Aw, Jesus. Fuckin' mess..."

[smelltheashes]

"I'm right here, Sergeant-Major," says Arnold gently. "Can you wiggle your toes?"

[hecu_marine]

"... most of 'em?" Shephard hazards. "Ain't real sure 'bout the-" He closes his eyes a moment. "Think I've got 'em all still."

It's begun to sink in that he just deliberately caused an aircraft wreck. He may have to throw up in a bit.

[smelltheashes]

"We'll get you out of here, don't worry," says Arnold. "I could use a hand here, Dr. Freeman, could you--"

"I will." Prohaska steps forward to slide an arm underneath Shephard.