A newbie to the board, that is, not a newbie to the world of fan-fiction!
Some of my other stuff (not Half-Life related) can be found at www.fanfiction.net/~Talyn .
Urban Clearance
The team fanned through the abandoned house, weapons at the ready. The two men in front shouted a warning to the people behind them, and small arms fire exploded into life, riddling two headcrabs with bullets. The bare concrete walls were pocked with old bullet holes, and the rooms were filled with dusty boxes, the detritus of humanity left behind in the panicked flight from this district. Now, however, the Combine in City 17 were in full retreat, barely holding on to a handful of fortified enclaves by the harbor. When their citadel exploded and collapsed in on itself, less than a month before, the alien war machines ground to a shuddering halt, and their armies of collaborators and pawns were thrown into confusion.
Since then, the Resistance exploded from hiding all around the city, taking back what was once theirs and forcing the remnants of the Overwatch to retreat their shielded outposts along the coast. Under the guidance of Commanders Alyx Vance and Barney Calhoun, units of resistance fighters were cleaning the city of any remaining alien infestation.
“All floors are clear! No xenos left alive,” shouted a black-haired woman with an old-fashioned shotgun. She kicked open the last door and scanned the room, relaxing when she found it empty. No traps, no more aliens, no planted manhacks… though, she noted with revulsion, there were bloodstains leading to a trap door in the far corner.
“Uh, boss?” she called over her shoulder. “Found a basement, bloodstains leading down.”
“Alright, Roxy, let me radio it in.” The team’s leader, a middle-aged black man wearing scavenged Civil Protection armor, ran his fingers over his shaved head. He flicked a small piece of rubble from the gold lambda emblazoned on his armband, and pulled a small radio from his belt. “Black Mesa East, this is Urban Clearance Team Four, over.”
There was a crackle of static for a second, and then the radio came to life. “Team Four? This is Black Mesa East, we read you, over.”
“Mesa, we’re in City 17 Downtown, sector four. Building…” He paused to check the digital readout on his PDA. “…building one-four is clear, but we’ve found a basement with bloodstains. Possible headcrab and zombie infestation below ground, over.”
“Gotcha. Let me wire it up to the Commander.” There was a brief pause. “Ok, should get a reply in a minute. You know, there aren’t any more Combine in the area, far as we know, we can call this city Baki again, if we want, over.”
“Mesa, I don’t even know what country this used to be. I’m from Chicago – they shipped me over here right after the War. Guess I was lucky, Chicago wasn’t around long enough become a numbered city, Combine bastards just wiped it off the map. Over.”
“Sorry to hear about that. Yeah, City 17 used to be part of the Azerbaijan. Wasn’t too much of a big deal before the war, no nuclear weapons or big armies, which is why it was more or less intact at the end of it. Guess that’s why Breen set up shop here, over.”
“Wonder if we’ll ever get around to setting up those old countries, over.”
“Don’t know. Guess we should. Alright, here you go, message from the boss. ‘Investigate basement, clear out any xenofauna and infected humans, report back. Also, um, be reminded that the radio is not a cell phone, so shut the hell up and maintain radio discipline, Commander Vance.’ Eh-heh. Oops. Um, Black Mesa East out.”
“UCT4 out.” The team leader chuckled to himself as he turned off his radio. “Sorry, Mesa, didn’t mean to get you in trouble with the boss. Alright, team four, listen up!” he shouted. “Pierre, Roxanne, you head down into the basement, clear out any uglies, report back. The rest of you, stay up here with me, check the house for any supplies worth scavenging.”
The woman with the shotgun turned to the man standing next to her, a slim, black haired man with a pencil-thin mustache. “Ready to kick some butt, Frenchy?” she said with false cheerfulness.
“Absolument. We’ll report back in a little bit, boss,” he said, unlocking the safety on his Combine-manufactured submachine gun. The small touches of his native language were another rebellion against the Combine, which had mandated early in its reign that all of its cities’ citizens speak English for efficiency’s sake.
Roxanne and Pierre kicked in the basement’s trap door and peered down into the dim light. “Be careful down there,” James warned, checking his PDA again. “When Dr. Freeman kicked-started this whole revolution at Nova Prospekt, the Combine shelled the hell out of this sector, headcrabs everywhere. We never had a base here, though, and all the shelling did was turn a lot of innocent people into zombies. So far, we’ve seen a lot of headcrabs, but haven’t found any zombies, and that makes me nervous… so be careful down there.”
“Always am, boss,” Roxanne said with a nervous smile, and then she dropped out of sight into the darkness below.
Some of my other stuff (not Half-Life related) can be found at www.fanfiction.net/~Talyn .
Urban Clearance
The team fanned through the abandoned house, weapons at the ready. The two men in front shouted a warning to the people behind them, and small arms fire exploded into life, riddling two headcrabs with bullets. The bare concrete walls were pocked with old bullet holes, and the rooms were filled with dusty boxes, the detritus of humanity left behind in the panicked flight from this district. Now, however, the Combine in City 17 were in full retreat, barely holding on to a handful of fortified enclaves by the harbor. When their citadel exploded and collapsed in on itself, less than a month before, the alien war machines ground to a shuddering halt, and their armies of collaborators and pawns were thrown into confusion.
Since then, the Resistance exploded from hiding all around the city, taking back what was once theirs and forcing the remnants of the Overwatch to retreat their shielded outposts along the coast. Under the guidance of Commanders Alyx Vance and Barney Calhoun, units of resistance fighters were cleaning the city of any remaining alien infestation.
“All floors are clear! No xenos left alive,” shouted a black-haired woman with an old-fashioned shotgun. She kicked open the last door and scanned the room, relaxing when she found it empty. No traps, no more aliens, no planted manhacks… though, she noted with revulsion, there were bloodstains leading to a trap door in the far corner.
“Uh, boss?” she called over her shoulder. “Found a basement, bloodstains leading down.”
“Alright, Roxy, let me radio it in.” The team’s leader, a middle-aged black man wearing scavenged Civil Protection armor, ran his fingers over his shaved head. He flicked a small piece of rubble from the gold lambda emblazoned on his armband, and pulled a small radio from his belt. “Black Mesa East, this is Urban Clearance Team Four, over.”
There was a crackle of static for a second, and then the radio came to life. “Team Four? This is Black Mesa East, we read you, over.”
“Mesa, we’re in City 17 Downtown, sector four. Building…” He paused to check the digital readout on his PDA. “…building one-four is clear, but we’ve found a basement with bloodstains. Possible headcrab and zombie infestation below ground, over.”
“Gotcha. Let me wire it up to the Commander.” There was a brief pause. “Ok, should get a reply in a minute. You know, there aren’t any more Combine in the area, far as we know, we can call this city Baki again, if we want, over.”
“Mesa, I don’t even know what country this used to be. I’m from Chicago – they shipped me over here right after the War. Guess I was lucky, Chicago wasn’t around long enough become a numbered city, Combine bastards just wiped it off the map. Over.”
“Sorry to hear about that. Yeah, City 17 used to be part of the Azerbaijan. Wasn’t too much of a big deal before the war, no nuclear weapons or big armies, which is why it was more or less intact at the end of it. Guess that’s why Breen set up shop here, over.”
“Wonder if we’ll ever get around to setting up those old countries, over.”
“Don’t know. Guess we should. Alright, here you go, message from the boss. ‘Investigate basement, clear out any xenofauna and infected humans, report back. Also, um, be reminded that the radio is not a cell phone, so shut the hell up and maintain radio discipline, Commander Vance.’ Eh-heh. Oops. Um, Black Mesa East out.”
“UCT4 out.” The team leader chuckled to himself as he turned off his radio. “Sorry, Mesa, didn’t mean to get you in trouble with the boss. Alright, team four, listen up!” he shouted. “Pierre, Roxanne, you head down into the basement, clear out any uglies, report back. The rest of you, stay up here with me, check the house for any supplies worth scavenging.”
The woman with the shotgun turned to the man standing next to her, a slim, black haired man with a pencil-thin mustache. “Ready to kick some butt, Frenchy?” she said with false cheerfulness.
“Absolument. We’ll report back in a little bit, boss,” he said, unlocking the safety on his Combine-manufactured submachine gun. The small touches of his native language were another rebellion against the Combine, which had mandated early in its reign that all of its cities’ citizens speak English for efficiency’s sake.
Roxanne and Pierre kicked in the basement’s trap door and peered down into the dim light. “Be careful down there,” James warned, checking his PDA again. “When Dr. Freeman kicked-started this whole revolution at Nova Prospekt, the Combine shelled the hell out of this sector, headcrabs everywhere. We never had a base here, though, and all the shelling did was turn a lot of innocent people into zombies. So far, we’ve seen a lot of headcrabs, but haven’t found any zombies, and that makes me nervous… so be careful down there.”
“Always am, boss,” Roxanne said with a nervous smile, and then she dropped out of sight into the darkness below.
