(no subject)
Jul. 24th, 2008 06:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
In all his life, Gordon thought, he'd never heard any two sweeter words than: "Morphine administered." Where Dr. Kleiner had found the opiates Gordon didn't know, but he owed the man every favor he could possibly render him and then some.
He watched the flames devour what remained of the hunter-chopper, doing his best not to move. The suit's automatic medical system was extremely limited without wall injectors or a medikit; the best it could do was suppress fatal levels of bleeding, or correct for the worst effects of fractures. And that was when the suit was fully charged. The hunter-chopper's guns had drained nearly all the suit's power- or the mines it'd dropped like a box of marbles had, one of the two. Either way, the suit was only barely functional. As for Gordon himself, he strongly suspected there was more morphine in his veins than actual blood.
He had to move eventually, of course. Eli Vance wasn't exactly going to come trotting out of the building overlooking the deep end of the swamp and walk him the rest of the way to the lab. It was just a case of mustering the will to do so, especially since it was going to involve unlocking a couple of access gates and (oh God) turning the wheels to open them. Worst of all, he'd have to fire the engine up again. In his current condition it'd probably vibrate his teeth right out of his head.
Well, there was still a little morphine left. Pain is temporary, Gordon told himself, and kept telling himself that as he coaxed the limping, battered airboat forward.
The water was a little shallower on the other side of the opened, rusty gate, an arc of open water bounded by steep hills to the left and concrete to the right. A pair of drainage pipes emerged from the rockface almost directly across from the little central island- storm drains, probably, given their grated coverings. They were big enough to empty entire sewer systems in times of extreme weather. There were none of the barrels or boxes here that had washed into the deep end of the swamp, save for a forlorn pair of rusty cylinders off by the drainpipes. The only real signs of human presence were the building on the central island- it had the look of a maintenance facility- and the barbed-wire fencing that ran along the top of the concrete barricade. That was probably security for the dam beyond.
Gordon's stomach clenched at the thought of having to deal with anything else sharp; he looked up at the maintenance building. It occurred to him that where there was maintenance equipment, there were people to do the maintenance work, and where there were such people there were probably first aid kits to keep them from having to leave their posts for long because of an injury. If he was very, very lucky, he could patch himself up a little further- and find some way of bridging the gap between the island building and the dam that didn't involve getting shredded again. If not, well, at least he could get himself out of the line of sight of anybody who might be coming to check on the hunter-chopper's fate.
Not relishing the idea of having to wade through the water to retrieve it, Gordon persuaded the airboat up onto the shore. Another moment to gather up his willpower, and he managed to step out of it- even maintain his balance without grabbing for the thing. Good. That would do nicely. Now to make his way up to the door.
It occurred to him that dams were important elements to low-lying cities' infrastructure- were, in fact, the sort of places likely to be guarded by more than a lone (if vicious) helicopter.
That, and that alone, warned Gordon to spin to one side as he threw open the door. Combine bullets tore through the space where his head had been; he flailed, stumbled, fell backward. His suit shrilled a protest at him, but it went unheard over the sound of the CPs who'd been waiting inside. One of them hung back, firing from the partial cover offered by dimly glimpsed tables and shelves, but two charged the door instead. Gordon made a desperate grab for his pistol. As the first of the CPs took aim, Gordon fired, shattering the lower part of the man's mask and setting off the standard high-pitched squeal. It was a good sound. It was a magnificent sound.
It was followed shortly by a horrifying sound: the airboat's engine grumbling into life at the hands of the other CP. . . and the recollection that, for all its faults, the airboat tended to accelerate faster in a straight line than an armored man could take down the driver.
Morphine had its uses. So did adrenaline. Gordon pushed himself to his feet and ran. The dam rose vertically to the right- no help there- but if he could just find a sandbar and make it across the arc of water to the hillsides he should have a chance. There was enough cover there to fire from-
The sound of helicopter guns rang out to his left, slugs blazing across his intended course to shelter. Gordon remembered what the man at the last station had said: that the gun had been taken from the same model of helicopter. Hot on the heels of that recollection came the realization that at this point, a couple of hits from that thing would probably kill him. The water to his right was too deep to cross on foot, and he was in no condition to swim; ahead of him the rockface roseā¦
The protective grating that covered the pipe on the left squeaked a little, swaying in a brief, trickling breeze.
Gordon never really managed to sort out afterwards just how he managed it, except for a vague recollection of somehow gaining enough purchase on one of the rusted barrels to pull himself up, and then to haul himself into the pipe before the gun could fire on him again. He backed up as far as he could manage while still keeping a view of the approach to the pipe. Foul-smelling stuff sucking at his feet; he ignored it, and readied the SMG. The instant- the instant- that boat came into view. . .
"Warning," his suit called out. "Hazardous chemicals detected."
". . . what?"
Then the airboat's engine whine spun up to his ears and drowned out everything else. Well. Everything except the gunfire, anyway.
There was blood on the wall when the smoke cleared. Quite a lot of it. The CP in the airboat had been a much better shot than Gordon had imagined, and his companion had been willing to wade out enough to make a stab at climbing into the tunnel himself. If it hadn't been for the lone grenade left in the automatic's secondary firing chamber, Gordon was pretty sure it all would've been over then and there. As it stood, the air was quiet and still as he stared numbly at the splattered mess of his own blood trickling down the tunnel wall where he'd stood a moment before.
"Hazardous chemicals detected," the suit softly warned him again. "Seek medical attention."
Gordon turned to look towards the mouth of the tunnel, the motion leaving him swaying. He wasn't sure he had the wherewithal left to tell the suit to shut up. For certain, he didn't have it in him to make it back into the daylight.
One hand reached for the nearest wall, only to find it sloping away under his fingers...
He watched the flames devour what remained of the hunter-chopper, doing his best not to move. The suit's automatic medical system was extremely limited without wall injectors or a medikit; the best it could do was suppress fatal levels of bleeding, or correct for the worst effects of fractures. And that was when the suit was fully charged. The hunter-chopper's guns had drained nearly all the suit's power- or the mines it'd dropped like a box of marbles had, one of the two. Either way, the suit was only barely functional. As for Gordon himself, he strongly suspected there was more morphine in his veins than actual blood.
He had to move eventually, of course. Eli Vance wasn't exactly going to come trotting out of the building overlooking the deep end of the swamp and walk him the rest of the way to the lab. It was just a case of mustering the will to do so, especially since it was going to involve unlocking a couple of access gates and (oh God) turning the wheels to open them. Worst of all, he'd have to fire the engine up again. In his current condition it'd probably vibrate his teeth right out of his head.
Well, there was still a little morphine left. Pain is temporary, Gordon told himself, and kept telling himself that as he coaxed the limping, battered airboat forward.
The water was a little shallower on the other side of the opened, rusty gate, an arc of open water bounded by steep hills to the left and concrete to the right. A pair of drainage pipes emerged from the rockface almost directly across from the little central island- storm drains, probably, given their grated coverings. They were big enough to empty entire sewer systems in times of extreme weather. There were none of the barrels or boxes here that had washed into the deep end of the swamp, save for a forlorn pair of rusty cylinders off by the drainpipes. The only real signs of human presence were the building on the central island- it had the look of a maintenance facility- and the barbed-wire fencing that ran along the top of the concrete barricade. That was probably security for the dam beyond.
Gordon's stomach clenched at the thought of having to deal with anything else sharp; he looked up at the maintenance building. It occurred to him that where there was maintenance equipment, there were people to do the maintenance work, and where there were such people there were probably first aid kits to keep them from having to leave their posts for long because of an injury. If he was very, very lucky, he could patch himself up a little further- and find some way of bridging the gap between the island building and the dam that didn't involve getting shredded again. If not, well, at least he could get himself out of the line of sight of anybody who might be coming to check on the hunter-chopper's fate.
Not relishing the idea of having to wade through the water to retrieve it, Gordon persuaded the airboat up onto the shore. Another moment to gather up his willpower, and he managed to step out of it- even maintain his balance without grabbing for the thing. Good. That would do nicely. Now to make his way up to the door.
It occurred to him that dams were important elements to low-lying cities' infrastructure- were, in fact, the sort of places likely to be guarded by more than a lone (if vicious) helicopter.
That, and that alone, warned Gordon to spin to one side as he threw open the door. Combine bullets tore through the space where his head had been; he flailed, stumbled, fell backward. His suit shrilled a protest at him, but it went unheard over the sound of the CPs who'd been waiting inside. One of them hung back, firing from the partial cover offered by dimly glimpsed tables and shelves, but two charged the door instead. Gordon made a desperate grab for his pistol. As the first of the CPs took aim, Gordon fired, shattering the lower part of the man's mask and setting off the standard high-pitched squeal. It was a good sound. It was a magnificent sound.
It was followed shortly by a horrifying sound: the airboat's engine grumbling into life at the hands of the other CP. . . and the recollection that, for all its faults, the airboat tended to accelerate faster in a straight line than an armored man could take down the driver.
Morphine had its uses. So did adrenaline. Gordon pushed himself to his feet and ran. The dam rose vertically to the right- no help there- but if he could just find a sandbar and make it across the arc of water to the hillsides he should have a chance. There was enough cover there to fire from-
The sound of helicopter guns rang out to his left, slugs blazing across his intended course to shelter. Gordon remembered what the man at the last station had said: that the gun had been taken from the same model of helicopter. Hot on the heels of that recollection came the realization that at this point, a couple of hits from that thing would probably kill him. The water to his right was too deep to cross on foot, and he was in no condition to swim; ahead of him the rockface roseā¦
The protective grating that covered the pipe on the left squeaked a little, swaying in a brief, trickling breeze.
Gordon never really managed to sort out afterwards just how he managed it, except for a vague recollection of somehow gaining enough purchase on one of the rusted barrels to pull himself up, and then to haul himself into the pipe before the gun could fire on him again. He backed up as far as he could manage while still keeping a view of the approach to the pipe. Foul-smelling stuff sucking at his feet; he ignored it, and readied the SMG. The instant- the instant- that boat came into view. . .
"Warning," his suit called out. "Hazardous chemicals detected."
". . . what?"
Then the airboat's engine whine spun up to his ears and drowned out everything else. Well. Everything except the gunfire, anyway.
There was blood on the wall when the smoke cleared. Quite a lot of it. The CP in the airboat had been a much better shot than Gordon had imagined, and his companion had been willing to wade out enough to make a stab at climbing into the tunnel himself. If it hadn't been for the lone grenade left in the automatic's secondary firing chamber, Gordon was pretty sure it all would've been over then and there. As it stood, the air was quiet and still as he stared numbly at the splattered mess of his own blood trickling down the tunnel wall where he'd stood a moment before.
"Hazardous chemicals detected," the suit softly warned him again. "Seek medical attention."
Gordon turned to look towards the mouth of the tunnel, the motion leaving him swaying. He wasn't sure he had the wherewithal left to tell the suit to shut up. For certain, he didn't have it in him to make it back into the daylight.
One hand reached for the nearest wall, only to find it sloping away under his fingers...
no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 12:52 am (UTC)( across the vein of night there cuts a path of searing light )
There's another, more identifiable noise as well: the crackle of a campfire.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 01:02 am (UTC)( Burning like a beacon on the edges of our sight )
( a terrible green flash, and then a circle of red-eyed beings in the darkness, their heads and hands ringed about by metal as their voices droned in incomprehensible alien harmonies )
( At the point of total darkness and the lights divine divide )
... oh. Oh.
( A soul can let its shadow stretch and land on either side, either side )
The realization that something might be alive in here- and that it might be something he knows- is enough to get him moving again in the direction of the sound.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 01:09 am (UTC)( And balanced on the precipice the moment must reveal )
As the human approaches, it breaks off in a hacking cough and turns to look Gordon straight in the eye.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 01:22 am (UTC)( Naked in the face of time, our race within the wheel )
The light of the fire flickers off the cave walls- and other things as well, gleaming white and green in the shadows. Medkits.
( As we hang beneath the heavens, and we hover over hell )
Greetings are just going to have to wait. Gordon's a little busy right now, thanks.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 01:30 am (UTC)( Our hearts become the instruments we learn to play so well )
For a seeming eternity, it just watches Gordon gulp down the contents of the medkits.
( So wealthy the spirit that knows its own flight )
Then, finally, it speaks.
( Stealthy the hunter who slays his own fright )
"We remember the Freeman. We are coterminous."
no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 01:34 am (UTC)( Blessed the traveler who journeys the length of the light )
"Ex... cuse me?"
no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 01:55 am (UTC)( Outside the pull of gravity, beyond the spectral veil )
It seems to be looking not so much at Gordon as through him. Or into him. Hard to say.
( Within our careful reasoning, we search to no avail )
"We see you still in Black Mesa. Clearly we see you in the Nihilanth's chamber. We bear witness to the bright eternity of the Nihilanth's demise. You leap, you fall, we see you flash between the barriers.
( For the constant in the chaos, for the fulcrum in the void )
"For a brief time you joined us. You are one. Between the worlds. Communion of the Vortessence. And that other: a deeper mystery. No deeper than the void itself."
no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 02:08 am (UTC)( Following a destiny our steps cannot avoid )
Then it stops and looks at him, and the words come to the surface of themselves:
( Across the vein of night there cuts a path of searing light )
"But... your people, at Black Mesa. What I did..."
no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 02:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 02:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 02:24 am (UTC)( Burning like a beacon on the edges of our sight )
"Unity of purpose," the Vortigaunt continues, "the shattering of common shackles, a single road we tread. Your song we sing and shall sing for eternity, no matter the consequences of this struggle. You have brought us grief and jubilation beyond measure.
( At the point of total darkness and the lights divine divide )
"We are there still, in observance of your final stroke. While our own lay scattered at your feet, you severed the vortal cord that bound the Nihilanth to life, and to us. That sharp spur of hope has not dulled to this day. For once the lesser master lay defeated, we knew the greater must also fall in time. With you beside us, a talisman of victory, the day of freedom draws nigh."
no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 02:55 am (UTC)( A soul can let its shadow stretch and land on either side )
The Vortigaunt in front of him isn't speaking from faith. Not that Gordon's ever been a man of faith himself, but he would recognize it if he saw it. What he sees, what he hears, is a being speaking from fact. This being doesn't believe. It knows. And what it knows... it knows about him. It's terrifying. It can't all depend on him this way, not the way the Vortigaunt seems to think it does- can it?
( Wealthy the spirit that knows its own flight )
"I'm only one man. I'm only me."
no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 03:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 03:18 am (UTC)( Stealthy the hunter who slays his own fright )
Fear, like pain, is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. It's quitting that's forever; and if he's not enough now... well, maybe he will be. In time.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 03:26 am (UTC)( Blessed the traveler who journeys the length of the light )
"We have endured these chafing bonds for eons, yet a single moment of further servitude seems intolerable! How often have we slipped our yoke, only to find it choking us again." It rubs a clawed hand over its wrist--bare of metal, but perhaps not always so.
( In a spiral never-ending are we drawn toward the source )
"Let this war end in either total victory or our extinction. No further compromise shall we allow. We take our stand beside you, here, upon this miserable rock."
no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 03:36 am (UTC)( Spinning at the mercy of an unrelenting force )
Do or do not- there is no try. So he swallows and says, "Whatever I can do, I will. You have my word." And then, because the Vortigaunt is speaking from a position of much greater confidence than Gordon is capable of, he adds, "I just don't want you to be the ones to pay the price if it's not enough."
no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 03:45 am (UTC)( So we stare into the emptiness and fall beneath the weight )
The Vortigaunt steps forward; it's inches from Gordon's face now.
( Circling the Nexus in a fevered dance with fate )
"How many are there in you? Whose hopes and dreams do you encompass? Could you but see the eyes inside your own, the minds in your mind, you would see how much we share. We are you, Freeman. And you are us."
no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 03:58 am (UTC)( Wealthy the spirit that knows its own flight )
He suspects it'll understand.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 04:00 am (UTC)( Stealthy the hunter who slays his own fright )
"This is more than anyone can bear, but we shall persevere."
no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 04:10 am (UTC)( Blessed the traveler who journeys the length of the light )
Looking up he realizes the light in the outer tunnel, what little there is of it, is growing dim. He's still got to reach Eli's lab, test or no. "I have to go now," he says, "but I'll remember. Thank you."
And then, with a splash of water and the faint hiss of his suit's sprint function activating, he's gone.