He knelt down and rubbed his fingers in the glowing liquid, then on the moss-covered walls. He picked up the crowbar and looked about him. When he turned around, he was struck in the chest by a tremendous force, knocking him to ground some 15 feet from where he had stood, not to mention, dropping the crowbar. Gordon gasped, sucking in the icy, stale air. He stumbled to his feet and began to run. Heavy footsteps galloped behind him. Gordon stopped and turned to get a glimpse of his monstrous attacker. The green light glistened in the beasts eyes. It hunched forward and charged Gordon. He realized the creature was most likely tracking the light in he held in his hand, and not actually chasing him. With seconds to spare, Gordon tossed the light aside. The beast collided with the wall with a booming crash. Gordon was out of flares and it was pitch-black again, his only hope was to find the ladder and get the hell out there. Or was it? The beast slowed its rampage and began to, what Gordon assumed, was lick the goop off the wall where he smeared it.
“If only I could see the damn thing,” he said. Suddenly, an idea struck him. Gordon ran over to the other broken flare and picked up a hand full of the liquid. He stretched his arm back and flung it in the direction of the sound. It splattered into tiny specks of light. The constellation of neon chemicals shuttered and then stood on end. They fell down again with a loud thump. The liquid had outlined a much larger creature than Gordon had hoped for.
“Uh, oh.” He looked around for something to defend himself with. To his surprise, about ten feet in front of him was his smeared crowbar. The beast reared its head and let out a thunderous roar, which echoed off the walls and probably out into city 17. It charged towards Gordon’s bright green gloves, which he happened to be frantically waving. Gordon dove for the crowbar and rolled back onto his feet. In an act of sheer adrenaline, Gordon leapt forward and stabbed his crowbar down through the air. It struck the beast on the top of its head and sunk in nearly 6 inches, causing it to collapse to ground in a sliding fashion. The beast gargled and groaned, finally letting out a deep exhale which stirred the dust. Cheers echoed from above.
“Was that a bug?” called the Vortigaun. He quickly hoped down to the floor and held up another flare. He examined the creature with great interest. Trent and Javin reluctantly worked their way down as well. Gordon ripped the bar out of the ant-lions head and collapsed to the ground in an attempt to catch his breath.
“He killed it,” noted the Vortigaun. ”The Freeman has done well.” Gordon rose to his feet and stood next to the Vortigaun. “Now listen,” he continued, “this is our last flare, don’t smash it on the ground like the last five.” The Vortigaun handed Gordon the light and then picked up the crowbar.
“I thought you said it was dead,” added Javin.
“Indeed, but what lies inside is of great importance to our mission.”
“You mean you knew about this thing the whole time?” cried Gordon.
“Of course not, but in order to get out of hear alive, we will need those theropods.”
“So what if we didn’t kill one of these bastards? What was the plan?” Gordon pried. The Vortigaun ignored him and stabbed the creature in the chest, reaching inside the dead ant-lion. Trent nearly threw up.
He pulled his arm out and pulled out three small pods. “Theropods,” he said again. “They produce a very strong scent. To other bugs, the smell is so familiar; they will mistake you for a bug. How remarkable, indeed.” Trent grabbed one of the pods with his bare hands and smeared it all over himself frantically. Apparently he was more afraid of being eaten, then getting a little messy. The warmth felt good, and would surely hold him over for another few minutes. “There will be more bugs,” the Vortigaun said, giving a pod to Gordon and taking back the flare. “Never the less, fear not, for we are now bugs as well.” With that, the Vortigaun rose to his feet and walked briskly into the main tunnel of the coal mine, flare in hand. Gordon followed behind gripping his blood-spattered crowbar.
Seven hours later, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Their pace quickened but was soon overrun by the steep grade of the air shaft. Javin and Trent clawed up the steep rail tracks like a flight of stairs. Gordon grabbed onto the cable once used to pull the coal carts up to the surface. The sound of waves and the smell of salt-water wooed them out of the hole. Gordon fell upon his face onto the warm ocean sand. Trent and Javin collapsed and soaked up the suns warmth. They had made it through the longest night any of them had ever experienced. They had escaped from City 17.
Gordon sat up looked around. They seemed to have ended up in a cove of some sort. He studied the buildings that lined the coastal inlet. Power lines rose high above the deserted warehouses and power plants. The Citadel finally sat low on the horizon. However, Gordon nearly died at the sight that followed. High up one of the buildings brick chimneys stood an enormous, orange, spray-painted Lambda.
“Black Mesa East,” he uttered.
“If only I could see the damn thing,” he said. Suddenly, an idea struck him. Gordon ran over to the other broken flare and picked up a hand full of the liquid. He stretched his arm back and flung it in the direction of the sound. It splattered into tiny specks of light. The constellation of neon chemicals shuttered and then stood on end. They fell down again with a loud thump. The liquid had outlined a much larger creature than Gordon had hoped for.
“Uh, oh.” He looked around for something to defend himself with. To his surprise, about ten feet in front of him was his smeared crowbar. The beast reared its head and let out a thunderous roar, which echoed off the walls and probably out into city 17. It charged towards Gordon’s bright green gloves, which he happened to be frantically waving. Gordon dove for the crowbar and rolled back onto his feet. In an act of sheer adrenaline, Gordon leapt forward and stabbed his crowbar down through the air. It struck the beast on the top of its head and sunk in nearly 6 inches, causing it to collapse to ground in a sliding fashion. The beast gargled and groaned, finally letting out a deep exhale which stirred the dust. Cheers echoed from above.
“Was that a bug?” called the Vortigaun. He quickly hoped down to the floor and held up another flare. He examined the creature with great interest. Trent and Javin reluctantly worked their way down as well. Gordon ripped the bar out of the ant-lions head and collapsed to the ground in an attempt to catch his breath.
“He killed it,” noted the Vortigaun. ”The Freeman has done well.” Gordon rose to his feet and stood next to the Vortigaun. “Now listen,” he continued, “this is our last flare, don’t smash it on the ground like the last five.” The Vortigaun handed Gordon the light and then picked up the crowbar.
“I thought you said it was dead,” added Javin.
“Indeed, but what lies inside is of great importance to our mission.”
“You mean you knew about this thing the whole time?” cried Gordon.
“Of course not, but in order to get out of hear alive, we will need those theropods.”
“So what if we didn’t kill one of these bastards? What was the plan?” Gordon pried. The Vortigaun ignored him and stabbed the creature in the chest, reaching inside the dead ant-lion. Trent nearly threw up.
He pulled his arm out and pulled out three small pods. “Theropods,” he said again. “They produce a very strong scent. To other bugs, the smell is so familiar; they will mistake you for a bug. How remarkable, indeed.” Trent grabbed one of the pods with his bare hands and smeared it all over himself frantically. Apparently he was more afraid of being eaten, then getting a little messy. The warmth felt good, and would surely hold him over for another few minutes. “There will be more bugs,” the Vortigaun said, giving a pod to Gordon and taking back the flare. “Never the less, fear not, for we are now bugs as well.” With that, the Vortigaun rose to his feet and walked briskly into the main tunnel of the coal mine, flare in hand. Gordon followed behind gripping his blood-spattered crowbar.
Seven hours later, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Their pace quickened but was soon overrun by the steep grade of the air shaft. Javin and Trent clawed up the steep rail tracks like a flight of stairs. Gordon grabbed onto the cable once used to pull the coal carts up to the surface. The sound of waves and the smell of salt-water wooed them out of the hole. Gordon fell upon his face onto the warm ocean sand. Trent and Javin collapsed and soaked up the suns warmth. They had made it through the longest night any of them had ever experienced. They had escaped from City 17.
Gordon sat up looked around. They seemed to have ended up in a cove of some sort. He studied the buildings that lined the coastal inlet. Power lines rose high above the deserted warehouses and power plants. The Citadel finally sat low on the horizon. However, Gordon nearly died at the sight that followed. High up one of the buildings brick chimneys stood an enormous, orange, spray-painted Lambda.
“Black Mesa East,” he uttered.
