Gordon Freeman

The group of fighters tasked with getting civilians out of the line of fire opens on an unremarkable side door of a thoroughly unremarkable building. The walls here are largely grey brick, scribbled here and there with graffiti in a mingle of languages- English, Spanish, something that might be Russian or Ukrainian. A tattered poster of a white-bearded man in a business suit hangs limply from the wall next to a roll-up garage door.

Barney leans forward to rap swiftly on the smaller door, as there's no handle to open it from the outside. The first thing anyone sees of what lies beyond is the muzzle of a shotgun. Before any hostile reaction can happen, the wielder leans forward: a bald, bespectacled, lab-coated figure, blinking in the light of day. "Barney?" he says. "Alyx? My God, when did you get here? And who are these people?"