Point Intersection
The train screeched to a halt as it entered City 17’s central rail station. Doctor Freeman awoke with a state of overwhelming confusion. The other passengers gave a startled look as he stumbled towards the train’s air locked doors.
“I didn’t see you get on,” a young man said. He scratched at an encoded patch sewn to his blue citizen uniform. Doctor Freeman looked about and noticed that everyone on the train, including himself, was dressed in the same manner.
“Damn, civvies…” the man uttered. Questions flooded Gordon’s mind, and a faint voice echoed in his mind. The words were lost as the train doors opened with a tremendous hiss of air. An automated voice crackled over the train’s intercom.
“Welcome to City 17, Precinct 12,” it said. ‘Please report to a civil protection officer for necessary registration and relocation.”
Doctor Freeman adjusted his black frame glass and stepped out onto the concrete station deck. He gave a glance to end of the train and watched the tracks disappear out of sight into the dark tunnel. Above the tunnel there were old apartment buildings with broken windows and bullet strewn walls. One thing in particular, however, nearly knocked Gordon off his feet.
The massive structure reached high into the sky with large cables, like tentacles, stretching out in every direction, spanning miles, eventually meeting the ground. It was a rather odd shaped building, he though. It shined in the sun like a shimmering sword that had been thrust into the ground. Gordon’s gaze was rudely interrupted by a bright flash of light and a slight humming noise. He stumbled, nearly falling off the stations platform once again. When he looked up, the remote protocol droid had hovered off. Up ahead in the distance, a Combine soldier stood guard outside of the stations central hall. He wore a dark blue uniform with various patches on his chest and shoulders. A large stick was clipped to his belt, along with what appeared to be a pistol and a radio of some sort. Strangely enough, on his head he wore a very large and very white gas mask.
“What the hell is going on around hear?” Gordon thought to himself. The guard opened the gate and pointed toward the stations front desk, as if trying to lure him into some strange trap.
“GET MOVING,” he yelled. The voice was low and gargled. He some how felt he had once heard it before. The guard reached for the stick on his side as Gordon hesitated to continue. The end of it lit up bright blue with a continuous crackle. Gordon quickly walked through the rusty, iron gate and into the station.
Inside the next hall, shouting echoed off cold, marble walls.
“Please, it’s all I have,” the voice cried. The guard struck the man with the end of his pistol and he collapsed to the floor. Another solider stepped out from behind a heavy metal door.
“CITIZEN, COME WITH ME,” he ordered. Gordon reluctantly followed him down the hallway into another small room. Gordon’s heart raced in a panic. Puddles of what appeared to be blood splattered the floor beneath a rusty folding chair. “I’M GONNA NEED SOME PRIVACY FOR THIS…” the officer said as he turned off the room’s communication unit. The guard reached behind his head and pulled off his mask. A flood of relief came over Gordon.
“It’s me, Doctor Freeman, Barney, from Black Mesa!”
“Damn it, Barney,” Gordon uttered.” I thought I you I was going to have to kill you!” He laughed. Black Mesa was an experimental facility some where in Western Europe. Barney was one of his assistants there. The chain of events was still not clear to Gordon, but finding Barney sure was a pleasant surprise.
“Where am I?” Gordon asked, still feeling the adrenaline in his veins. Barney informed Gordon that after the disaster at Black Mesa, Gordon had disappeared for a number of years. They had been hoping Gordon would get deported to City 17 just like the rest of them, but Gordon knew he had not been “deported.” He had no idea what did happen; in fact, he had no memory after Black Mesa. “So what’s everyone doing here?” Gordon had so many questions he could barely control himself.
“Well that’s just the thing, Gordon. We’ve been undercover here for month’s trying to figure out the agenda of the Combine. They’ve clearly suppressed the entire city and constructed that huge tin piece of shit they call the Citadel”
“I noticed the tower. I haven’t seen anything like this before. This place is high security. Who are they trying to keep out?”
“It’s not who they’re keeping out, it’s who there keeping in.” Gordon thought about the idea for a moment. “It’s rather strange that you showed up now.” Barney said. “The Combine forced martial law on the entire city just last week. The rebel force has been ambushing Combine soldiers for weeks, but they just keep hitting us back where we can’t touch them.” Barney paused to collect his thoughts. “Over the past few months, we’ve have collected quite a bit of information on the Citadel. It’s clearly the head of the operations, but the place is a fortress. It must be destroyed, but it would be a suicide mission to get inside there.” Barney suddenly leapt to his feet. A loud rapping on the door broke Gordon’s concentration. “Quick, into the back room!” Barney threw on his gas mask. “Get out of here as fast as you can. Try to stay away from check points. Just make you way to Doctor Kliener’s Lab!”
The door burst open but Gordon was gone. He scrambled up the ladder and up into the loft. Gordon grabbed a crowbar from the dusty floor are threw it up at the window. It shattered into pieces letting the sun light flood the darkness. He kicked the edges out with heel and stepped out onto the roof’s ledge. A distant siren droned in distance. He could see the Citadel much clearer now. Hundreds of droids were pouring out from a large open in its side. Gordon snaked his way down a drainage pipe into the back ally behind the rail station. He weaved his way into the station and eventually outside into the city square. Gordon wandered aimlessly down the street trying to blend in, not having the slightest idea where he was going.
In a distant ally, he heard the screams of someone being beaten to, what he assumed, was death. Gordon quickened his pace. The more he walked, the more he felt like he was being hunted. Another droid snapped a bright flash into his eyes. It beeped obnoxiously and then let out a long whining screech.
“Not good,” Gordon said to himself. He looked down another ally only to see an enormous machine that seemed to have nothing else to do but scare the crap out of people. It stood high abode on three long, slender legs like a giant bug. It let out a low and thundering sound as if in distress. It chilled Gordon to the point of absolute fear. Gordon ran to the nearest building which happened to be an apartment building. Kicking in the old wooden door, he then dashed up the stairs, clawing his way up each and every step, until he could hardly breathe. A few stories below, foot steps of what sounded like a dozen soldiers echoed upward.
Above him, a radio blared, “SUSPECT SPOTTED IN PRECINCT 386. ALL UNITS RESPOND.” Gordon froze in his tracks and listened a minute longer catching his breathe. There was a long pause which fell to silence.
“SUSPECT… DOCTOR GORDON FREEMAN.”
“Holy shit.” Gordon leapt to his feet and ran down the hall of the 7th floor. Many of the doors were barred or boarded up. Frantically, he kicked in one of the doors and slammed it shut behind him. Inside, a man comforted his wife, who was hysterically crying.
“When will it ever end?” she cried. Her husband knew she was right. There was no stopping them. He looked up, finally realizing someone had come through the door.
“You’ve got to get out of here,” the man warned, “They’ve been coming around to every building, barging in like they own us and – hey, you’re Doctor Freeman!” Gordon ran through to the other end of the apartment, knocking over a chair in the process. The only exit was through the window. He stuck his head out and examined the gap between the two buildings, which was roughly six feet.
“You can do this,” he said rubbing his hands together in a strange type of plead. Gordon thrust himself from the windowsill with outstretched arms. He snagged the rail of the fire-escape with his right hand and dangled, like rag doll, nearly a 70 feet above the ground. He pulled himself up onto the scaffolding and climbed onto the roof.
Gordon ran for his life across the red shingle, leaping across the spanning gaps. Gordon knew it was only a matter of time before he was spotted, or he would surely get himself killed. He leapt from the high roof top onto a surprising low building. The weak boards of the unfinished warehouse gave way. Gordon fell 15 feet through the roof, landing in a pile of construction trash.Suddenly, the sound of foot-steps filled the warehouse’s silent and empty 5th floor.
“SUSPECT SPOTTED,” a soldier shouted.
“Oh, no you don’t!” a voice replied. The sound of gun shots roared off the metal walls. Bodies hit the floor, followed by the occasional grunt or groan. More gun shots. Silence soon returned with the sound of a single pair of footsteps.
Shock came over him. Was he injured? Had he been shot? Had he broken a bone? He kicked his legs and flailed his arms. Hoping for the best, he reached out for something to pull himself up with. Out of no where, something touched his hand; something strikingly..soft. He opened his eyes but could only see a silhouette against the flooded windows.
The train screeched to a halt as it entered City 17’s central rail station. Doctor Freeman awoke with a state of overwhelming confusion. The other passengers gave a startled look as he stumbled towards the train’s air locked doors.
“I didn’t see you get on,” a young man said. He scratched at an encoded patch sewn to his blue citizen uniform. Doctor Freeman looked about and noticed that everyone on the train, including himself, was dressed in the same manner.
“Damn, civvies…” the man uttered. Questions flooded Gordon’s mind, and a faint voice echoed in his mind. The words were lost as the train doors opened with a tremendous hiss of air. An automated voice crackled over the train’s intercom.
“Welcome to City 17, Precinct 12,” it said. ‘Please report to a civil protection officer for necessary registration and relocation.”
Doctor Freeman adjusted his black frame glass and stepped out onto the concrete station deck. He gave a glance to end of the train and watched the tracks disappear out of sight into the dark tunnel. Above the tunnel there were old apartment buildings with broken windows and bullet strewn walls. One thing in particular, however, nearly knocked Gordon off his feet.
The massive structure reached high into the sky with large cables, like tentacles, stretching out in every direction, spanning miles, eventually meeting the ground. It was a rather odd shaped building, he though. It shined in the sun like a shimmering sword that had been thrust into the ground. Gordon’s gaze was rudely interrupted by a bright flash of light and a slight humming noise. He stumbled, nearly falling off the stations platform once again. When he looked up, the remote protocol droid had hovered off. Up ahead in the distance, a Combine soldier stood guard outside of the stations central hall. He wore a dark blue uniform with various patches on his chest and shoulders. A large stick was clipped to his belt, along with what appeared to be a pistol and a radio of some sort. Strangely enough, on his head he wore a very large and very white gas mask.
“What the hell is going on around hear?” Gordon thought to himself. The guard opened the gate and pointed toward the stations front desk, as if trying to lure him into some strange trap.
“GET MOVING,” he yelled. The voice was low and gargled. He some how felt he had once heard it before. The guard reached for the stick on his side as Gordon hesitated to continue. The end of it lit up bright blue with a continuous crackle. Gordon quickly walked through the rusty, iron gate and into the station.
Inside the next hall, shouting echoed off cold, marble walls.
“Please, it’s all I have,” the voice cried. The guard struck the man with the end of his pistol and he collapsed to the floor. Another solider stepped out from behind a heavy metal door.
“CITIZEN, COME WITH ME,” he ordered. Gordon reluctantly followed him down the hallway into another small room. Gordon’s heart raced in a panic. Puddles of what appeared to be blood splattered the floor beneath a rusty folding chair. “I’M GONNA NEED SOME PRIVACY FOR THIS…” the officer said as he turned off the room’s communication unit. The guard reached behind his head and pulled off his mask. A flood of relief came over Gordon.
“It’s me, Doctor Freeman, Barney, from Black Mesa!”
“Damn it, Barney,” Gordon uttered.” I thought I you I was going to have to kill you!” He laughed. Black Mesa was an experimental facility some where in Western Europe. Barney was one of his assistants there. The chain of events was still not clear to Gordon, but finding Barney sure was a pleasant surprise.
“Where am I?” Gordon asked, still feeling the adrenaline in his veins. Barney informed Gordon that after the disaster at Black Mesa, Gordon had disappeared for a number of years. They had been hoping Gordon would get deported to City 17 just like the rest of them, but Gordon knew he had not been “deported.” He had no idea what did happen; in fact, he had no memory after Black Mesa. “So what’s everyone doing here?” Gordon had so many questions he could barely control himself.
“Well that’s just the thing, Gordon. We’ve been undercover here for month’s trying to figure out the agenda of the Combine. They’ve clearly suppressed the entire city and constructed that huge tin piece of shit they call the Citadel”
“I noticed the tower. I haven’t seen anything like this before. This place is high security. Who are they trying to keep out?”
“It’s not who they’re keeping out, it’s who there keeping in.” Gordon thought about the idea for a moment. “It’s rather strange that you showed up now.” Barney said. “The Combine forced martial law on the entire city just last week. The rebel force has been ambushing Combine soldiers for weeks, but they just keep hitting us back where we can’t touch them.” Barney paused to collect his thoughts. “Over the past few months, we’ve have collected quite a bit of information on the Citadel. It’s clearly the head of the operations, but the place is a fortress. It must be destroyed, but it would be a suicide mission to get inside there.” Barney suddenly leapt to his feet. A loud rapping on the door broke Gordon’s concentration. “Quick, into the back room!” Barney threw on his gas mask. “Get out of here as fast as you can. Try to stay away from check points. Just make you way to Doctor Kliener’s Lab!”
The door burst open but Gordon was gone. He scrambled up the ladder and up into the loft. Gordon grabbed a crowbar from the dusty floor are threw it up at the window. It shattered into pieces letting the sun light flood the darkness. He kicked the edges out with heel and stepped out onto the roof’s ledge. A distant siren droned in distance. He could see the Citadel much clearer now. Hundreds of droids were pouring out from a large open in its side. Gordon snaked his way down a drainage pipe into the back ally behind the rail station. He weaved his way into the station and eventually outside into the city square. Gordon wandered aimlessly down the street trying to blend in, not having the slightest idea where he was going.
In a distant ally, he heard the screams of someone being beaten to, what he assumed, was death. Gordon quickened his pace. The more he walked, the more he felt like he was being hunted. Another droid snapped a bright flash into his eyes. It beeped obnoxiously and then let out a long whining screech.
“Not good,” Gordon said to himself. He looked down another ally only to see an enormous machine that seemed to have nothing else to do but scare the crap out of people. It stood high abode on three long, slender legs like a giant bug. It let out a low and thundering sound as if in distress. It chilled Gordon to the point of absolute fear. Gordon ran to the nearest building which happened to be an apartment building. Kicking in the old wooden door, he then dashed up the stairs, clawing his way up each and every step, until he could hardly breathe. A few stories below, foot steps of what sounded like a dozen soldiers echoed upward.
Above him, a radio blared, “SUSPECT SPOTTED IN PRECINCT 386. ALL UNITS RESPOND.” Gordon froze in his tracks and listened a minute longer catching his breathe. There was a long pause which fell to silence.
“SUSPECT… DOCTOR GORDON FREEMAN.”
“Holy shit.” Gordon leapt to his feet and ran down the hall of the 7th floor. Many of the doors were barred or boarded up. Frantically, he kicked in one of the doors and slammed it shut behind him. Inside, a man comforted his wife, who was hysterically crying.
“When will it ever end?” she cried. Her husband knew she was right. There was no stopping them. He looked up, finally realizing someone had come through the door.
“You’ve got to get out of here,” the man warned, “They’ve been coming around to every building, barging in like they own us and – hey, you’re Doctor Freeman!” Gordon ran through to the other end of the apartment, knocking over a chair in the process. The only exit was through the window. He stuck his head out and examined the gap between the two buildings, which was roughly six feet.
“You can do this,” he said rubbing his hands together in a strange type of plead. Gordon thrust himself from the windowsill with outstretched arms. He snagged the rail of the fire-escape with his right hand and dangled, like rag doll, nearly a 70 feet above the ground. He pulled himself up onto the scaffolding and climbed onto the roof.
Gordon ran for his life across the red shingle, leaping across the spanning gaps. Gordon knew it was only a matter of time before he was spotted, or he would surely get himself killed. He leapt from the high roof top onto a surprising low building. The weak boards of the unfinished warehouse gave way. Gordon fell 15 feet through the roof, landing in a pile of construction trash.Suddenly, the sound of foot-steps filled the warehouse’s silent and empty 5th floor.
“SUSPECT SPOTTED,” a soldier shouted.
“Oh, no you don’t!” a voice replied. The sound of gun shots roared off the metal walls. Bodies hit the floor, followed by the occasional grunt or groan. More gun shots. Silence soon returned with the sound of a single pair of footsteps.
Shock came over him. Was he injured? Had he been shot? Had he broken a bone? He kicked his legs and flailed his arms. Hoping for the best, he reached out for something to pull himself up with. Out of no where, something touched his hand; something strikingly..soft. He opened his eyes but could only see a silhouette against the flooded windows.
