Gordon Freeman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
acts_of_gord) wrote2008-07-21 09:56 pm
acts_of_gord) wrote2008-07-21 09:56 pm
(no subject)
There had been a time when Gordon would never have considered the world an especially hostile place. Oh, sure, there were dangers- what was life without danger, after all?- but they came and went and life went on. But now-
( There's a lot of tension in this town- I know it's building up inside of me )
Radioactive rivers. Acidic, toxic slime everywhere underfoot. Helicopters rising over the city's buildings, guns madly ablaze. Shadows full of barnacle tongues, CPs frantically struggling in their grasp before the life was choked out of them. Flying robots that whizzed up out of the darkness and shredded anything in their path to bits. Zombie half-corpses, dragging themselves along by hands and hatred alone for one last chance at killing. Rockets full of headcrabs plunging out of the sky. . . it all added up, and what it added up to was a horrible feeling that things were only going to get worse from here. How, Gordon didn't know, but...
( I've got all the symptoms and the side effects of city life anxiety )
Steady, Freeman, he told himself, adjusting his grasp on the airboat's handlebars. The engine roared behind him, speeding the vehicle along over the surface of the scummy, off-smelling waters. You're not going to get anywhere thinking like that. Just make it to Eli's lab. You can think about it then.
( I could never understand why the urban attitude is so superior )
There'd been a map in the train car, back in the city, with 'Black Mesa East' marked on it. That was his only real clue about where he had to go. He did his best to call the image up without losing control of the boat; he was on the right course-
( In a world of high rise ambition most people's motives are ulterior )
"This is the Freeman. The Combine's reckoning has come."
( Sometimes I feel as though I'm running on ice, paying the price too long )
Gah! What the hell was that supposed to mean? He wasn't a 'the'. He was just- he was him, that's all, Gordon Freeman... Come to think of it, Dr. Kleiner had sounded awfully strange when he'd first said Gordon's name, and Eli too. And not just in an 'I haven't seen you in decades' way, either. He-
( Kind of get the feeling that I'm running on ice- )
-wait. Wait. What the hell. What the freaking hell. Up ahead on the river's right bank, out in front of that old red barn- HIM. The son of a bitch in the suit! The bastard was here!
( where did my life go wrong? )
All thoughts of titles and the definite article were shoved aside as Gordon pulled the airboat over, hard.
Funny thing about the squeal the CPs' helmets made when they died: you couldn't hear it over the roar of the airboat's engine.
Given how bad they were at getting out of the airboat's way in time, that was something of a relief.
( I'm a cosmopolitan sophisticate of culture and intelligence )
What little he'd seen of City 17 was pretty flat and low-lying. Given how extensive the canal system appeared to be, Gordon really should've expected to run into flood control gates long before this. He stared up at the gates in frustration a moment, wishing for a couple of his old satchel charges. Then he sighed and steered for the right bank. Looked like he was going to have to deal with that CP on the platform after all, if he was going to get through those gates.
( The culmination of technology and civilized experience )
It helped- it always helped- that the masked man was shooting at him. It was damned hard to think of him as anything but a threat while the bullets were flying. Only the tone-shifting squeal of the death alarm reminded Gordon that he was dealing with a human being under the mask. The thought struck him: there was no one else around and no sign of other guards coming. He could take a moment to pry the mask off and see...
( But I'm carrying the weight of all the useless junk a modern man accumulates )
He almost did; but then he thought of the long road ahead of him, and of how many more of them he was likely to see as he tried to flee the city, and what he would have to do to get past them.
( And I'm a statistic in a system that a civil servant dominates )
He couldn't afford for them to have human faces. Wordlessly, he turned away.
( And all that means is that I'm running on ice, caught in the vise so strong )
The door behind him opened onto a dimly-lit room, blue-tinged light spilling weakly from a fluorescent fixture overhead and from an inactive computer terminal as big as the one Barney had used at the train station. Gordon eyed the terminal a moment, but it wasn't doing anything. There was a box of what looked like ammo for the dead CP's submachine gun on the shelves along the far wall-
( I'm slipping and sliding, cause I'm running on ice, where did my life go wrong )
"We now have direct confirmation of a disruptor in our midst."
( You've got to run, run, run... )
Crap! Gordon spun to face the terminal, gun at the ready. The screen had come to life with Dr. Breen's image. For one heartstopping moment he was sure Breen could see him- but no, the white-bearded man spoke blandly on. "-one who has acquired an almost messianic reputation in the minds of certain citizens."
( As fast as I can climb a new disaster every time I turn around )
No.
( As soon as I get one fire put out there's another building burning down )
"His figure is synonymous with the darkest urges of instinct, ignorance and decay. Some of the worst excesses of the Black Mesa Incident have been laid directly at his feet."
( They say this highway's going my way but I don't know where it's taking me )
Oh, no.
( It's a bad waste, a sad case, a rat race- it's breaking me )
"And yet unsophisticated minds continue to imbue him with romantic power, giving him such dangerous poetic labels as the One Free Man, the Opener of the Way-"
( And I get no traction 'cause I'm running on ice )
"WHAT?" Gordon bellowed at the screen.
( It's taking me twice as long )
Whatever else Breen said, he didn't hear it.He was too busy staring in horrified disbelief; people were calling him what?? Were they insane? How the hell did they- what did- where did they get that kind of idea from, anyway? What in the name of everything that had ever made sense made anyone think that one scientist in a fancy orange suit rated that kind of title?
( I get a bad reaction 'cause I'm running on ice )
... how did the people calling him these things even know who he was?
( where did my life go wrong? )
"I am not the goddamn Kwisatz Haderach," he muttered, and stormed away in search of the floodgate switch. It was a positive relief when the CP's around the corner started firing on him. At least their actions made sense.
( You've got to run, run, run... )
( There's a lot of tension in this town- I know it's building up inside of me )
Radioactive rivers. Acidic, toxic slime everywhere underfoot. Helicopters rising over the city's buildings, guns madly ablaze. Shadows full of barnacle tongues, CPs frantically struggling in their grasp before the life was choked out of them. Flying robots that whizzed up out of the darkness and shredded anything in their path to bits. Zombie half-corpses, dragging themselves along by hands and hatred alone for one last chance at killing. Rockets full of headcrabs plunging out of the sky. . . it all added up, and what it added up to was a horrible feeling that things were only going to get worse from here. How, Gordon didn't know, but...
( I've got all the symptoms and the side effects of city life anxiety )
Steady, Freeman, he told himself, adjusting his grasp on the airboat's handlebars. The engine roared behind him, speeding the vehicle along over the surface of the scummy, off-smelling waters. You're not going to get anywhere thinking like that. Just make it to Eli's lab. You can think about it then.
( I could never understand why the urban attitude is so superior )
There'd been a map in the train car, back in the city, with 'Black Mesa East' marked on it. That was his only real clue about where he had to go. He did his best to call the image up without losing control of the boat; he was on the right course-
( In a world of high rise ambition most people's motives are ulterior )
"This is the Freeman. The Combine's reckoning has come."
( Sometimes I feel as though I'm running on ice, paying the price too long )
Gah! What the hell was that supposed to mean? He wasn't a 'the'. He was just- he was him, that's all, Gordon Freeman... Come to think of it, Dr. Kleiner had sounded awfully strange when he'd first said Gordon's name, and Eli too. And not just in an 'I haven't seen you in decades' way, either. He-
( Kind of get the feeling that I'm running on ice- )
-wait. Wait. What the hell. What the freaking hell. Up ahead on the river's right bank, out in front of that old red barn- HIM. The son of a bitch in the suit! The bastard was here!
( where did my life go wrong? )
All thoughts of titles and the definite article were shoved aside as Gordon pulled the airboat over, hard.
Funny thing about the squeal the CPs' helmets made when they died: you couldn't hear it over the roar of the airboat's engine.
Given how bad they were at getting out of the airboat's way in time, that was something of a relief.
( I'm a cosmopolitan sophisticate of culture and intelligence )
What little he'd seen of City 17 was pretty flat and low-lying. Given how extensive the canal system appeared to be, Gordon really should've expected to run into flood control gates long before this. He stared up at the gates in frustration a moment, wishing for a couple of his old satchel charges. Then he sighed and steered for the right bank. Looked like he was going to have to deal with that CP on the platform after all, if he was going to get through those gates.
( The culmination of technology and civilized experience )
It helped- it always helped- that the masked man was shooting at him. It was damned hard to think of him as anything but a threat while the bullets were flying. Only the tone-shifting squeal of the death alarm reminded Gordon that he was dealing with a human being under the mask. The thought struck him: there was no one else around and no sign of other guards coming. He could take a moment to pry the mask off and see...
( But I'm carrying the weight of all the useless junk a modern man accumulates )
He almost did; but then he thought of the long road ahead of him, and of how many more of them he was likely to see as he tried to flee the city, and what he would have to do to get past them.
( And I'm a statistic in a system that a civil servant dominates )
He couldn't afford for them to have human faces. Wordlessly, he turned away.
( And all that means is that I'm running on ice, caught in the vise so strong )
The door behind him opened onto a dimly-lit room, blue-tinged light spilling weakly from a fluorescent fixture overhead and from an inactive computer terminal as big as the one Barney had used at the train station. Gordon eyed the terminal a moment, but it wasn't doing anything. There was a box of what looked like ammo for the dead CP's submachine gun on the shelves along the far wall-
( I'm slipping and sliding, cause I'm running on ice, where did my life go wrong )
"We now have direct confirmation of a disruptor in our midst."
( You've got to run, run, run... )
Crap! Gordon spun to face the terminal, gun at the ready. The screen had come to life with Dr. Breen's image. For one heartstopping moment he was sure Breen could see him- but no, the white-bearded man spoke blandly on. "-one who has acquired an almost messianic reputation in the minds of certain citizens."
( As fast as I can climb a new disaster every time I turn around )
No.
( As soon as I get one fire put out there's another building burning down )
"His figure is synonymous with the darkest urges of instinct, ignorance and decay. Some of the worst excesses of the Black Mesa Incident have been laid directly at his feet."
( They say this highway's going my way but I don't know where it's taking me )
Oh, no.
( It's a bad waste, a sad case, a rat race- it's breaking me )
"And yet unsophisticated minds continue to imbue him with romantic power, giving him such dangerous poetic labels as the One Free Man, the Opener of the Way-"
( And I get no traction 'cause I'm running on ice )
"WHAT?" Gordon bellowed at the screen.
( It's taking me twice as long )
Whatever else Breen said, he didn't hear it.He was too busy staring in horrified disbelief; people were calling him what?? Were they insane? How the hell did they- what did- where did they get that kind of idea from, anyway? What in the name of everything that had ever made sense made anyone think that one scientist in a fancy orange suit rated that kind of title?
( I get a bad reaction 'cause I'm running on ice )
... how did the people calling him these things even know who he was?
( where did my life go wrong? )
"I am not the goddamn Kwisatz Haderach," he muttered, and stormed away in search of the floodgate switch. It was a positive relief when the CP's around the corner started firing on him. At least their actions made sense.
( You've got to run, run, run... )