Malign Contingency

Sweet. Keep at it, buddy, this is ****in stellar.
 
Thanks guys :D Glad to see no one's mad at me for abandoning this for so long...


Chapter 22: Fortress Delta​

Nuri was the only one of them who had ever driven an APC, and thus she drove the group across the horrifically bumpy road- it was rocky, uneven and unstable, but even the most hazardous cliff top route was preferable to risking the vast tracts of Antlion territory in the lower sand dunes of the coast.

Quarir was riding shotgun- quite literally. But since he still didn’t trust Earth’s technology- in particular their obsession with non-energy weapons and the associated limits of ammunition- he kept the Domarian-made plasma rifle close by.

The turret sat empty, because if they encountered another APC they didn’t want to arouse suspicions by manning it with an un-uniformed gunner. Besides, Pyotr was uncomfortable with Combine technology and, put bluntly, no one wanted to let Adelia anywhere near a hyper-velocity pulse cannon.

“So what happened back there?” Nuri asked above the grumble of the engine- which was, to Quarir’s alarm, surprisingly quiet. He couldn’t just pretend not to hear her.

He could, however, pretend to be an idiot, which didn’t take much effort on his part. “What happened back where?”

She sighed. “Quarir, ever since we met strange things have happened to Combine machines. I’ve accepted that you’re not, strictly speaking, actually human… but I want to know what’s going on. It’s weird even by your standards.”

He squirmed in the uncomfortable plastic chair. “I don’t know what you mean-”

“Golden sparks ring a bell? Weird golden sparks. The computer cabinet back when that Elite tried to interrogate us? It opened up and unlocked your shackles and all the doors. And the thumper just now? Cut out just when we needed it to and then came back on before the Antlions could eat us alive.”

“Pretty lucky, yeah?” he grinned nervously.

“Let me put it like this- tell me what’s going on or I’ll shoot you. With the plasma gun so there’s no threat of you surviving.”

Nalore examined the chrome rifle- it was resting between them, at the centre of the controls, within equal reach of them both. “Yeah, but… you don’t know how to operate it…”

“Making it all the more dangerous, surely? Just tell me what’s going on, Quarir. Please.”

“I don’t know!” Quarir flung himself back in the overly solid seat. It hurt. “Okay? I told you… Zyke knew everything that I didn’t know.” He winced at the memory of the man’s demise. Guilt was not something he wanted to deal with right now. “There’re huge great gaps in my mission objectives- I know that Maintonon has some kind of transmission network, so yeah, that cybernetic bastard is manipulating machines whenever he gets the chance- but I haven’t heard from him since.”

“But if he can somehow control all those devices how come he can’t communicate with you?”

“I don’t know, dammit! I’m floundering here- I’ve got no idea what to do. We might as well take Pyotr’s advice and keep on for that Prospekt place… it’s as good a plan as any. It’ll keep us away from all the trouble we’ve stirred up at City 17.”

With a sudden, scraping sound, the oversized hatch that separated the drivers from their passengers flopped open, revealing Pyotr’s countenance.

“Incorrect,” the Vort intoned, “we suggested that you head towards Nova Prospekt. Contrary to what you believe, the prison will be heavily guarded. Once we locate an outlying base, we can use the Combine’s machines against them- we can ascertain what they plan for us, and we can regroup accordingly.”

“I thought you wanted to help me rescue Mr. Vance?” Nuri said reproachfully.

“We all do. But we would be better served tapping into the Combine transmission network- Freeman and has righteous hordes will free Eli Vance.”

“This Freeman guy better be as good as you think, because if you’re not, you’re all beffed beyond belief,” Quarir shook his head, resorting to Domarian swearwords out of homesickness. “And what were you doing anyway, Pyotr? Listening at the door?”

“Yes,” the ‘Gaunt told him unashamedly. “I am already aware of your nature and that of your commander, Quarir Nalore. The Vortigaunt word for secret merely means ‘knowledge that non-Vortigaunts are ignorant of’.”

“What are you lot talking about?” Adelia called, suddenly appearing next to Pyotr.

“Nothing,” Quarir snapped, slamming the door shut in their faces.

“He’s right, anyway,” Nuri told him, trying very hard to drive safely while simultaneously consoling a depressed alien. “We can easily head to a base and tap into a comm panel-”

“How? Hmm? There’ll be guards. Probably a military presence too. How we meant to get past them without dying, huh?”

Nuri was taken aback by the sudden, seemingly arbitrary ferocity of Nalore’s response. “Well,” she quavered, and her driving suffered for it, “we’ve got all this weird technology we’ve salvaged and you’re pretty tough-”

“Not tough enough. I’m not a solider, Nuri, and I think I’ve exhausted my nanotech with all those bullet wounds- my leg still hasn’t healed. A plasma rifle and a psionic amplifier that none of us can use won’t do us any damn favours!”

“You’re not a solider? But I thought-”

“I’m not some magic secret operative! Okay? I’m a criminal, and not even a very good one! Where I come from you either force unrepentant perps to do some hopeless suicide mission, or you do the killing yourself and atomise them. I had no choice! The damn computer aids or obstructs me at random and expects me to get some crazy scheme of his done!”

“But…” Nuri trailed off. She’d known all along, if she admitted it to herself- she’d known that Quarir wouldn’t have some grand plan. He really was just a lone maniac dumped on a planet and given some ineffable, unachievable goal. And that was disheartening, because it was the truth she’d already realised but refused to face.

The door clanged open again. “You are mistaken, Quarir Nalore,” Pyotr scolded him. “Your past conduct-past failure and success- is entirely irrelevant. You have survived against all odds in the present, which is the only plane that matters now. One of our number perished during your journey. Dmitri gave his life. Zichekoam lost his. Do not mourn them or apportion blame- give them post-humus purpose.”

Quarir opened his mouth.

“We have prevailed against all comers,” Pyotr continued, giving him no chance to interrupt. “We survived Nihilanth and his masters. We survived the portal storms that stranded us on this world. We survived the ancient conflicts with the biozeminades and the Outsiders, and we shall survive the Combine, Quarir Nalore. With or without you. But losses- both in life and time- will be lessened with co-operation.”

“What are you-?” Adelia began.

Pyotr shut the door again, leaving Nuri and Nalore staring ahead silently.

“I am rather fond of the Vortigaunt mix of philosophy, logic, and common sense,” said Maintonon. “You could learn much from them, Nalore.”

---​

“I am aware that there are several hundred pressing issues you wish to run by me,” Maintonon continued calmly, “but they can wait.”

“What the hell?” said Nalore.

“Restrict yourself to mental projection, Nalore. Otherwise, your terrestrial friend will undoubtedly think you’ve lost your tentative grip on sanity.”

No thanks to you, Quarir projected scathingly. Sure enough, Nuri was looking at him concernedly, but as he spoke no further she reasonably assumed he was just muttering to himself.

“Your odd little party is en route to Fortress Delta- a midsized Combine outpost that was once a native military base. It is currently a resupply station and a garrison for the Civil Protection services.”

Quarir ignored the “advice” the cybernetic entity was spouting. What’s taken you so long? I’ve been out on a limb here-

“I have already explained your situation. Transmissions of this length expend vast amounts of power-”

With the whole damn Source plugged into your core I don’t see what the problem is!

“-and, most importantly, every transmission increases the chance of Combine interception. They are a very advanced foe, Nalore- every time I utilised my… talents to influence their technology there was a great chance that any form of follow-up would allow them to detect the signals. Hence the communicative silence.”

Yeah? Well I’ve had no idea what to do! I’ve just blundered around hoping like hell that you’d get off your fifty-thousand-ton ass and talk to me!

“You have acted exactly as I predicted you would. You are meeting your objectives perfectly. If you ever acted outside of them, I would have informed you, regardless of the risk.”

Zyke died, you bastard! That was a pretty big risk!

“Zichekoam is not dead.”

You what? I saw him-

“Take a hyper-energised munition to the chest and survive,” Maintonon finished for him. “His molecular structure, as a Rot, is vastly denser to anything on this world- and several million others, in fact. He suffered immense injury- fourth degree burns and a limited degree of molecular disruption- but even those horrific wounds will heal in time. He is not dead.”

Why didn’t you tell-?

“As important a fact as it was it was not essential to your mission. I had to reserve my transmission quotient for more essential actions.”

The Combine considered windows to be too fragile for a military vehicle, but Quarir’s passenger door still bore a video relay that was conveniently angled out to his right. He watched the dull scrubland scroll past and thought, all manner of emotion fighting for dominance. Eventually confusion tempered with relief and allied with anger, and they directed their joint attack at Maintonon.

Why the hell are you doing this, you artificial arrogant asshole?

“To save us all from the Combine. You underestimate the threat they pose, Nalore. Even a force of Security Mechs would fall against their might- and believe me, if I so much as positioned a teleport flare the Combine command would direct all manner of reinforcements here… and then not even all the Behemoth could prevail against them.”

We’ve got Ucelsia. That’s our trump card.

“And they have a billion planets in a thousand different dimensions and a million different absorbed species. They are an interdimensional empire, one of the most powerful groups in the known universe. You are correct in thinking that Ucelsia would survive even the most prolonged conflict against them- but as you also told your interrogator during your defection ruse, the rest of the Domarian nation would fall before them.”

Well, we’ve got the Grandcruisers…

“Which, powerful as they are, would not survive a sustained assault,” Maintonon was clearly tiring of labouring the point. “The Combine are vast, well-organised and massively manoeuvrable. They would merely phaseshift a fully-formed Citadel- filled with a colossal invasion force- through the crust of whatever world they chose to invade. Ucelsia would be our only bastion.”

I can’t see how I can help then!

“That is the plan, Nalore. Even the Combine will fail to realise your significance. Did you know that ‘Giganthorin’ was one of Ucelsia’s assigned names before your species found us both?”

No, I didn’t. Should I care?

“It means ‘Godeater’, Nalore. Do you know why the Uclasion’s enemies called it such?”

Quarir rolled his eyes and snorted, and beside him Nuri made a fresh attempt to determine his mental state. Pretty damn obvious, he thought, it’s an indestructible beffing planet-sized spaceship with more firepower than a sun! Why do you think?

“No, Nalore. They called it ‘Godeater’ because all who faced it allowed it to consume them- invariably allying with the Uclasions rather than facing its wrath. But originally the name was not given to Ucelsia. It was given to me, Nalore. Like your Vortigaunt friends I have prevailed against all comers, and that will not change. I will survive the Arcadimaarians and the Combine, Nalore, because if I do not you will all die with me.”
 
Exelentness (see, its so damn good that i'm making up words to describe just how good it is)
 
I'll try for a random word.
Awsomexelentive

Has a ring to it eh?..
Good update, kinda freaky with the Mantoon speech, but awsomexelentive.
 
Now this was a big chapter- but this is the last half. Number 23 will be quite a bit shorter... ;)





Fortress Delta didn’t appear all that imposing- a squat, concrete building topped with the trappings of its current masters- the strange, sail-roofed observation posts and jagged battlements the Combine seemed to favour.

It sat in the middle of the rocky expanses that seemed to infinitely stretch away from City 17- but there was a sizeable sprawl of moody urbanity on the horizon, a far larger, cliff bound complex that Pyotr claimed to be the infamous facility of Nova Prospekt.

Sirens wailed in the distance and search lights caressed the former prisons vast courtyards, and Quarir wondered if Pyotr had a point- this Freeman guy seemed to be a one man army.

He recalled Maintonon’s words, just before his life imploded on him and he found himself on a different world in a different dimension; “I am not the only force attempting to alter this planet’s destiny. There will be others there, others influenced by powers that are not dissimilar to myself. You are not to disrupt their missions.”

Quarir considered that, and thought of physicists in orange power armour.

They left the APC in a deserted square of unmarked tarmac- it probably acted both as a car park and helipad.

“It’s… very quiet,” Nuri said unnecessarily- but she was quite right. Despite the activity that kept the distant mass of Nova Prospekt buzzing with life, Fortress Delta- its apparent defender- seemed to be deserted.

“They have clearly been sent to reinforce Nova Prospekt,” Pyotr told her, gratefully stepping out from the cramped confines of the personnel carrier. “The Combine- for all their imperfections- will not make the mistake of underestimating the Freeman again.”

Fortress Delta had been adapted from a row of defensive bunkers that backed onto a small observation facility- from up close, it looked like Frankenstein’s first attempt at architecture- dull concrete blocks lashed together with the Combine’s strangely luminous alloys and cabling. Indeed, while the access ramp was undoubtedly human, the black, magseal-bearing hatchway was cleary of Combine origin-

It opened, and two men of mixed-origin- transhuman soldiers- stepped out.

Realising they couldn’t possibly pass themselves off as CPs, the four refugees shot the unfortunate Combine minions to pieces.

“So much for surprise,” Quarir sniffed, reloading the shotgun with what had become practised ease, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Pyotr.” And I hope Maintonon does too, he added privately. We’re risking life and limb here, and I’ve only got three which work properly.

“These have a different uniform,” Adelia mused, stepping over the perforated bodies with surprising nonchalance.

“They are of Nova Prospekt’s defence contingent,” Pyotr explained. “They possess marginally superior combat skills to their lesser Protectorate brethren.”

Adelia nodded breathlessly- and Nuri and Nalore were glad, if nonplussed, that her complaints where unusually absent. Perhaps she was bucking up- after all, they’d repeatedly threatened to leave her stranded in the Antlion territories if she didn’t pull herself together.

Promisingly, there was an armoury directly to the left of the entrance, no doubt to quickly supply scrambling troops. Less promisingly, its weapon racks and medical units were empty and depleted- the four made do with grabbing what little ammunition remained and then went on their way.

The corridor turned sharply, and they found themselves running up to a shimmering, electric-blue defensive field.

“Ah,” said Quarir, “I’d forgotten about them.”

Nuri gently nudged the Vortigaunt. “Do you know how to bypass it Pyotr?”

“Yes. We must short-circuit the Combine’s Machiavellian automations. Direct your fire towards the primary coupling beyond this most-obstructive field.”

Nalore blinked. “Uh,” he said at length, “what, exactly, do you mean by-?”

Clicking something unpronounceable, despairing at human incompetence, Pytor spread his hands wide- green arcs of lightning discharged, earthing themselves on the metal plates beneath his feet, and after a few energy-manipulating hand gestures the ‘Gaunt sent a thunderous bolt of bioelectricity into a fat, ribbed cable just visible beyond the field’s now-flickering barrier.

It sparked, twitching on the floor like a dying snake, and Quarir’s penny finally dropped. “Oh, you meant shoot the wire. Right.”

“Indeed, Quarir Nalore. You would do well to heed our words.”

“I did, I just didn’t understand them. ‘Shoot the wire’ would’ve been much easier to say, and you wouldn’t have had to exert yourself.”

“There was no exertion on our part,” Pyotr told him stiffly. “We have limitless access to such energies. The ties of Vortessence bind us all.” As if to demonstrate his apparently limitless physique, Pyotr bounded off with the lurching gait his kind seemed capable of maintaining for eternity.

“Ah,” the Vort exclaimed, suddenly stopping at another looming Combine hatchway- and the others, who had been straining themselves to follow, ground to a halt. “This,” Pyotr announced, “would appear to be a security door. The main control terminal for this building will be within.”

“That’s great,” Nuri nodded, “but how, exactly, are we going to get past the door?” She looked at Quarir questioningly, and, shrugging, heeding her unvoiced suggestion, he began rolling up his sleeves.

“No, Quarir Nalore,” Pyotr stopped him, “even with your greatly obtrusive implants this barrier is beyond your means.”

“Then what do we do?” he snapped, self-consciously readjusting the thrice-ruined citizenry garb he’d worn since his escapade began. “Shout at it until it gives in and opens?”

“Your humour knows no bounds,” Pyotr said solemnly, “if only that were the case. We are quite capable of opening this device with careful application of our immeasurable energy reserves, but it will take many minutes to match the magnetic sequence.”

Adelia piped up. “We could try shooting it open,” she suggested, holding the neglected Sentinel up for all to see.

Quarir backed off again. “Keep that thing down! God damn!” he shuddered at the over-sized pistol, which even now brought back strangely nostalgic memories of angry Security guards. “Hang on,” he clicked his fingers, “you might be onto something…”

He dropped the shotgun to the floor and arduously untangled himself from the Merc plasma rifle.

“I thought you didn’t know how to use that?” Nuri swallowed, the two women now backing off themselves.

“No, I said you didn’t. I wouldn’t trust that Sentinel further than I can throw it, but this… well, I’ve used one a hundred times.”

Adelia stopped hunching over. “Really?”

“Well, no,” Quarir admitted, “but I’ve used a Merc food processor, so the principle is the same. Where’s the power setting? I can’t see what it’s set to-”

Apparently it was set far too high, because, in a hellish flash of ruby light, the circular magseal lock- and much of its attached door- splattered into dripping black gunk.

“Hmm, that’s interesting. Usually the round button means ‘cancel’ or ‘default’,” Quarir examined it critically- the smoking rifle was powering down with a sated purr. “I mean, whenever I made the wrong order I could stop it and re-enter it if I pressed the round button. Must be different for guns.”

“You don’t say,” Nuri snarled, snatching the weapon off him in a most unladylike manner. “I’ll keep this, because if you feel like a snack and press the triangular button you’ll probably fry us all.”

“Nah,” he corrected her, “triangular button means medium-rare. Although,” he mused, “with a gun it probably does mean self-destruct or something-”

“Promise us you will train yourself in the necessary skills to operate such a tool,” Pyotr reprimanded him. “Such as distinguishing between a catering device and a weapon of mass destruction.” The Vort eyed the drooling doorway- which, mercifully, was already hardening into a sticky, tar-like material- and then cautiously stepped through the centre of Quarir’s own personal Manhattan Project.

There was a worryingly familiar ground-based turret beyond the hatch- but the rifle’s plasma bolt had sailed through it, ignoring its armoured housing and pulverising the fragile components within.

“That,” Nuri breathed, “is a powerful gun.”

“Nah,” he said again- although secretly even the Domarian had always harboured a strong feeling of national pride when it came to implements that superheated matter. “I’ve depleted the charge core, and now it’ll take a while to get back up to full.”

“How can you check it?” Adelia asked, trying to keep clear of the acrid, foul-smelling smoke spiralling from the ruined gun turret.

“Well, you could review your last order with the rectangle button, so for a gun you should-”

“Do not encourage Quarir Nalore,” Pyotr told Adelia, “it would be a most inadvisable action.”

To either side of the door and its floor-mounted defence cannon, yet more of the distinctive Combine apparatus lined the walls. Most of the screens were blank or a mess of static- but one lone terminal displayed a green-tinged diagnostic screen.

“This is what we have been seeking,” Pyotr called them towards it, a hint of excitement creeping into the morose Vort’s voice, “Nuri Daekkler, come assist us. You have had previous experience of such devices.”

She obligingly drew alongside Pyotr and brought up a spidery display window with a few careful key presses. “Ah,” she said disappointedly, “we can’t access the communication protocols from here. We’d have to use the module in the next room.”

She checked the displayed blueprint and pointed out a thick door just behind the still-cooling turret- it was well camouflaged against the walls, sharing their angular appearance, although the glowing red magseal lock was a slight give away.

“Well?” Quarir nudged his way to the front and squinted at the immensely detailed schematic. “Can you open it?”

Nuri’s fingers flowed over the controls, her face a mask of concentration. Eventually the wire frame door changed to green on the monitor, and she triumphantly hit the outsized “confirm” button- the door sighed open, vanishing into the ceiling.

Just as they all turned to face it, it slammed shut again.

Frowning, Nuri repeated the process- every time she did so, the door would reseal itself whenever her finger left the key.

“There’s some kind of security measure,” she mused. “Whenever I leave the terminal, it seals again.”

“Easily done,” Quarir beamed, “I’ll go inside the comm room while you keep the door open.”

“It’d make more sense if I went,” Nuri turned on him, “I’m the only one who can use these things…”

“Look, there’s bound to be another turret or something beyond there, and I’m the only one of you who can take more than one bullet before copping out and dying. Yeah?”

“He’s right,” said Adelia.

“You told me your nanotech was failing-” Nuri began.

“It maybe is,” he admitted, “but even then I’m full of bullet-proof metal lumps and none of you are. Okay?”

“Okay,” Nuri conceded.

“So I’ll go in, check it out, and then you can work your magic. All right?”

“All right.”

Nodding, glad to have won an argument through logic for a change, Quarir went up to the comm room door, which Nuri grudgingly opened for him. He stepped inside.

He didn’t react when, predictably, the door closed itself on him- he was fairly sure Nuri would let him back out if he started screaming for help, if only because she found his cries irritating.

The comm room wasn’t the mess of equipment he’d expected- just a small control terminal in the right corner, albeit with a very large monitor that dominated most of the wall. An odd metal object was mounted on a rail to his left- it was about man sized, and put him in mind of a futuristic sarcophagus. Opposite there was a small hatch- some sort of repair cabinet, presumably. But it wasn’t his job to be interested in all this junk.

“All right,” he bellowed through the door, “it’s all clear.”

It didn’t open.

“Nuri?”

No reply.

Could he have been stupid enough to try this plan with a sound-proofed door? It was quite possible- but even then Nuri would surely realise something was wrong and open the door again. Something was up.

The comm terminal flashed into life.

“Ah, Quarir Nalore, I believe,” Dr Breen smiled. “I don’t believe we’ve met- let me be the first sane human to welcome you to our little utopia.”
 
Blasted double posts... they need to remove the character limit for fanfiction threads! This is the end of No. 22, honest...




“Wallace Breen,” Quarir said flatly. This was the planet’s Combine-backed head.

“At least it appears your mechanised slave-driver has given you some information to work with,” Breen smiled again. “Such a pity that the Mainframe neglected to explain those details which actually matter.”

“Yeah, but I’m not really going to tell you my reasons for being here now, am I? Not just because you claim they’re flawed.” Quarir stalled for time- as was his talent- because he needed to know what the man actually knew. There was a horrible possibility that Breen possessed greater knowledge of his objectives than he did…

“Well, Mr Nalore, it’s not my place to do so,” Breen shrugged. “I’m Earth’s representative, certainly, but I cannot speak for the Union. Likewise, I imagine you cannot represent the Domarian Legion and all their associated trading neighbours.”

“Actually, I beg to differ: screw you.”

“Ah, you’re picking up the language quite well, it seems. But no, my point is that the Universal Union has ensured me that your loyalties are quite misplaced. I have not been told the specifics, but it is quite clear to me that you are being led astray.”

Quarir scowled, and absently tried the door’s control switch, to no avail.

“It’s sealed, Mr Nalore, as you should have noticed. I need to have a frank chat with you.”

“I think ‘screw you’ pretty much covers everything, you bastard.”

“Indeed, in your current frame of mind you believe the Resistance can do no wrong and that the… ‘Combine’, as you all put it, can do no right. I intend to change that.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, Mr Nalore. I am aware of your species’ history, and it makes for most engrossing reading.”

“I’m sure it does,” Quarir said cautiously.

“Particularly the part that this… ‘Maintonon’ played.”

“Your Combine Elite friend already tried that one,” Quarir sneered. “You can’t draw any parallels between what we do and what you do. Well, you could, but you’d have to be a twisted little turncoat like yourself.”

“Really? You turned to a machine in your time of need, relying on its knowledge of a vast alien relic to reverse your fortunes. You then went on to annihilate your enemies, and then- through hostile means, whether economic or military- forged alliances with the remnant of your galaxy.” Breen looked away, as if checking notes. “Currently your primary colony- onboard the relic in question, this ‘Ucelsia’- has several billion inhabitants, all of which are rendered sterile and are protected by a somewhat hard-line law enforcement service known simply as ‘Security’.” Breen’s eyes snapped back up. “Ring any bells, Mr Nalore?”

“Same flaw, Breen- Maintonon came to us, but we let him do all that. We needed it.”

“As does humanity, Quarir. I’m sure this Mainframe of yours kept you in the loop- our history is quite different to yours. Wars aplenty, we have that in common- but always amongst ourselves. Until the Union we had no interstellar connections… we were in technological stagnation since we split the atom- and, of course, we put those towards the war effort, and we soon racked up some impressive casualties. Earth was a mess, Nalore.”

“Maybe. Doesn’t excuse any of this.”

“It’s for their own good, you must realise that. Humanity cannot govern itself with its primitive means. Through crass incompetence we had bastardised Darwin’s theory of evolution- maintaining practises that have no place in modern society and doing our best to cater to the needs of a minority that is distinctly destructive. We were destroying ourselves.”

Quarir looked away.

“Yes, I’m sure it’s familiar now.” Breen actually looked pitying. “Your competitors refer to the Domarian Legion as fascist, do they not? Perhaps we both are, then. Executions for those that fight against rehabilitation- forced training programmes for those with no skills, forced sterilisation to prevent overcrowding and faulty progeny.”

“But we’re happy with that. We asked for it- we let it happen! For ever apathetic moron you’ve got here you’ve got three who hate you and two who are prepared to fight against what you’re bringing here.”

“Just because our less intelligent members refuse to acknowledge the import of the Union’s vision does not mean we should deny the species immortality.”

“So you know what’s best for them, eh?”

“Of course. You should understand that. After all, the Legion let themselves be ruled by an artificial dictator.”

“Maintonon’s about eighteen billion times smarter than a human- there’s a difference!”

“And I’m aided by an advisory network with access to similar levels of knowledge. My superiors are very clever beings, Mr Nalore.”

“What you’re doing is monstrous.”

“Then you are a monster, Quarir. Your species was so similar to ours that the differences between a human or Domarian were mere quibbles- but now, after generations of genetic manipulation and cybernetic augmentation, the average Domarian lifespan is approximately five hundred.” Breen shook his head in amazed admiration. “Almost ten times what it once was. That is our aim Quarir- to bring humanity past the confines of their backward shells- to let them form a chrysalis from their cultural ignorance and genetic stagnation and emerge as the pinnacle of evolution. Perfect examples of what we should be.”

“You’re mad. You believe it, don’t you? The Combine are using you- they’ll suck the world dry of all its resources and you’ll just become another smear on their genetic record. But who knows, maybe the odd human-based freak will appear alongside their Synth.”

“You think little of them, Quarir.”

“Damn right I do. What’s in it for them? What, they’re galactic philanthropists?”

Breen sighed, as if he was a long-abused teacher trying to educate an ungrateful child. “What’s in it for Maintonon, Mr Nalore? The Union- and your Mainframe- see things in the long term. In less than a decade the Union’s programme will be complete, and we will be what we’ve always meant to be. We will be shielded from more hostile powers- such as your Arcadimaarian neighbours- and the Universal Union will be just that bit more universal.”

“You’re mad,” Quarir repeated, “you’ll never get me round to your way of thinking.”

“Oh, I never intended to.”

“Then why are you flapping your lips, you senile bastard?”

Breen smiled again. “I was simply distracting you while my Elites got into position.”

The ‘cabinet’- an access door in reality- burst open, and before Nalore knew what was happening three of the white-clad operatives were upon him. Two grabbed his arms and the other stood buy with their pulse rifle unerringly trained on his forehead.

“It’s a pity you lied to Forty about your urge to join us- my superiors think your species has great potential,” Breen smiled sadly, “but since we won’t gain access to the Extinct’s long-lost technologies any time soon- well, we’ll settle for you.”

Quarir struggled, but whatever augmentations the Combine had forced upon their transhumans forces were far in advance of the failing devices nestled between his innards. He might as well have tried wrestling a pair of mountains.

The sarcophagus swung open, and a portion of wall at the end of its rail slid aside.

“What the hell are you going to do?!” Nalore screamed, hoping Nuri could hear him and come to his aid.

“I’m going to do very little, Mr Nalore,” Breen said menacingly. “I shall allow my labour saving devices- namely Fifty-five and Sixty-one- to do all the work, just as the Domarians allow their mechs to do all theirs. This cell will transport you to Nova Prospekt’s central hub in an appreciably rapid time.

Quarir thrashed around but the two Elites slammed him into the metallic coffin, clicking all manner of restraint into place. “It will be for all our betterments, Nalore,” Breen assured him. “If the Union considers your species- what with their pre-installed augmentations and genetic readiness- a viable addition to their happy family, it may well save you all from the Arcadimaarians. We might meet again- who knows, you may serve the Domarians in the same way I have served humanity- and we will all exist as we were meant to exist. In perfect unity.”

Their work done, the Elites ignored the discarded shotgun but treated the plasma rifle with reverence- no doubt it, too, would join Quarir under the inspection unit’s knife.

Quarir’s head was the only part of his body he could move- he twisted it violently, as if his neck alone could break his bonds. “God damn you Breen! You don’t know what you’re doing!”

“No, Mr Nalore,” Breen shook his head as the sarcophagus engaged, slowly starting its trip down its rail, “I know exactly what I’m doing- it’s just a pity that I’m the only one. Your contract is likely to be non-negotiable, as it were, but I’ve cut-out the middleman.” Breen laughed, and he didn’t sound half as sinister as a misdirected madman should. “Now I most prepare to deal with a far more dangerous individual- a rogue physicist, who is remarkably similar to you- just better at what he does- and, regrettably, what he does is aimlessly spread chaos. Talent tempered with ignorance and wilful destruction.”

“Good for him,” Quarir snarled, as his cramped cell finally approached the opening- although still slow, it was clear the sarcophagus was going to pick up speed quickly- but where it would end up, Quarir was not sure.

Breen’s image watched him go. “Compared to Freeman, you are not even a pin in the Union’s inner workings. Goodbye, Mr Nalore.”
 
It is better than God,maybe i won't go that far, but maybe i will.
 
i may have said it before but ill say it again,

j00 1337 4/-\x0|3 person
 
Thanks again guys :D I'm glad to see this worked out- I didn't think it'd last when I first drop-kicked Quarir onto Planet Earth :laugh:

This is going to be one giant of a chapter- which is a bit irritating, when it comes to posting. Meh!




Chapter 23: Our Malefactors​

“Quarir?”

She rapped her knuckles on the door.

“Quarir? What’s going on?”

Nuri ran over to the control panel and tried to re-enact the command sequence that had opened the comm room- perhaps she’d merely made a mistake with the protocols. Perhaps she was panicking for no reason. But no matter how much she steadied herself, forcing her racing mind into calmness, she couldn’t open the door. It had sealed itself and was refusing her commands- that was the only explanation. It had locked down.

“Quarir!” she bellowed through the hatch, “Are you all right?” She leant over and pulled Pyotr towards the doorway- for all his alien bulk, Nuri managed to drag him as if he was weightless. “You said you could open one of these given time,” she hissed urgently, “do it!”

Not deigning to comment on his manhandling- realising that she was emotional for a good reason- Pyotr spread his arms and prepared to focus his energies on the mocking red indicator light of the magseal.

The hatch slammed open, framing three Combine Elites against the light of the comm room- pulse rifles raised like some fascist firing squad, they took aim.

Without appearing to move, Adelia raised the Sentinel pistol and fired thrice.

Nuri and Pyotr stiffened as three searing beams of energy flashed past them. When she opened her eyes, Nuri expected to find herself close to death or on another plane of existence- but instead she found herself looking at three smoking corpses.

Adelia manipulated some tiny control on the colossal pistol and its exhaust fumes lessened considerably. She smiled.

“What the beffing hell?” said Nuri, later telling herself that some of Quarir’s mannerisms must’ve rubbed off on her- and that thus she’d need to bathe.

When Adelia spoke, her voice had lost the wheedling, irritating twinge that had been so distinctive. “Don’t worry about Quarir- this is all to plan. We can follow his route on foot.”

“What’s to plan? What route?” Nuri gaped. “What’s going on Adelia?”

“Actually, my name is not Adelia. I’m Corporal Yuza of the Domarian Enforcers- I’m Maintonon’s contingency.”

Putting all other questions out of her mind, Nuri faced the operative. “What’s happened to Quarir?”

“Breen has taken the bait- he is to be processed at Nova Prospekt.”

“Processed?!

“Relax, Nuri- they won’t turn him into a Stalker just yet. In fact, considering their research queue they’ll keep him in storage for hours to come. And then, as you can guess, we’ll rescue him- but not before he can use his position from inside the facility to cause a fair bit of disruption.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Nuri snarled.

Yuza shrugged, holstering her Sentinel on a magnetic belt clip that had previously gone unnoticed. “Because if you’d known about my true nature I highly doubt Quarir would have gone anywhere with me. He appears to dislike Enforcers intensely- he’s near-phobic.”

“I don’t blame him! You’re a bunch of lying, manipulating-”

“Life savers?” Yuza smiled disarmingly. “And I didn’t lie very much- I really was trapped in that bunker, albeit only for a couple of hours. I was the one who had beamed in via the transit booth- regrettably the bounty hunter with the rifle was a remnant of my previous assignment- he followed me down and started wreaking havoc.” She remembered something. “Hmm- they took the rifle with them. There must be some sort of cargo distributor nearby- well, that’s something else to retrieve. I should have taken it myself, but, of course, that would’ve broken my cover…”

By now even Pyotr was confused. “Please clarify- how did your organisation and the Uclasion Artefact know of our intentions and those of the Combine? We have been guided here by the tacticians of Grassy Knoll- Archibald has relayed schematics to us, and with the help of the Resistance’s analysts we devised the plan to undermine the Combine infrastructure-” he stopped abruptly.

Yuza sighed. “Yes- I see you’ve worked it out. There’s a traitor in your midst, feeding the Vort network data they can’t themselves verify. They set up Quarir’s capture, leading you to the closest arm of the cell network-”

“That is not why I have paused,” Pyotr interrupted bitterly. “I have confirmation of all our suspicions- Archibald has just been killed.”

---​

Grassy Knoll’s comm tower was a simple structure, despite the mishmash of radio antennas and transceivers that crowded it. Archibald would sit within, sifting through the transmitted reports with infinite patience, checking his survey maps to guide the Resistance home.

Currently Archibald’s body was slumped across his tiny desk, his blood soaking the papery strata of a hundred all-night research sessions. But much of the documents- ostensibly harvested from careful combing of the village hall’s filing cabinets- were fakes anyway- high quality maps, certainly, but revealing only what the master forger who created them wanted the Vort to see.

Reginald’s left arm creaked as it re-aligned, and he absently wiped the yellowish gunk off its three-pronged hand. His prosthetic looked simple, so the Resistance had always assumed it was an Earth-made replacement of little function, rather than one of the Combine’s minimalist masterpieces of micro technology.

It had been so very easy- the guileless Vortigaunts had bandied the information back and forth, never questioning its veracity.

A convenient communication command centre in a small military facility? Fools- no doubt they’d continue to refer to the schematic until Judgement Day or whatever they believed in, rather than admitting the obvious- it was a cell nexus, for quickly transporting fresh prisoners to Nova Prospekt- and they’d led the Domarian straight to it.

The gullible primitives had always believed their precious “Vortessence” was an impenetrable, uncrackable means of communicating- and it was. So the ever-resourceful Union had arranged for false data to be fed into it- and they’d arranged for Reginald to be the feeder, forcing the poison of misinformation down their throats.

He checked over his shoulder, as if expecting to be discovered- but no, Kim’s corpse was quite still, still bearing the horrified expression she’d borne on first seeing Reginald looming over Archibald’s broken body. Even now her face was still twisted in shock and terror- and having her neck snapped had made little difference. She’d never looked worse- except, perhaps, when she’d realised Maggie had been stolen.

Well, the arduous, month-long programme was finally over- he could stop prancing around, indulging in despicable acts of skulduggery, and get back to doing what he did best- brutally murdering people in the name of the Universal Union. He’d already sent his reports via radio and they had no doubt been archived in the Citadel’s endless catacombs- so, job done, he retrieved the keys that had been entrusted with Kim. She was a rotting mass of carbon now, but at the time the Aegis group’s drivers must’ve thought the head engineer was their best protector.

He took the ladder to the ground, and twirled the keys on his fingers, whistling cheerfully as he headed towards the Knoll’s famous garages. A pity that Maggie was absent- he’d grown used to driving Kim’s only contribution to the world-

A hand grabbed him by the neck and he found himself staring into luminous eyes. A tall man- white haired, in some garish mix of cloth and armour- was staring at him.

“Are those for a vehicle?” the apparition snarled.

Reginald nodded- it was all he could do, as even now he was suffocating.

“That vehicle?” the man indicated an improvised shelter- the shack that currently held the Aegis leader’s buggy.

Reginald nodded again.

“Excellent. I did not relish having to walk all the way here- those Antlions are quite persistent. I’d have psiwarped, of course, but having lost an arm to one of your Combine chums… well, it was all I could do to phaseshift to safety, I’ll tell you… and regenerating an entire limb really takes it out of you.”

“Gurk,” said Reginald.

“Fortunately, they seem to have mistook my little manoeuvre for an act of self-destruction- which suits me just fine,” the Zealot smiled indulgently. “You see, I- now, what are you doing?”

Reginald was thrashing his mechanical arm around in a spirited attempt to dismember his captor. It bounced off the Zealot’s breastplate with a pitiful clunking sound.

The Arcadimaarian assassin rolled his eyes. “Oh, good grief, that passes for technology?” He ripped the limb from the socket and dropped Reginald on the hard earth. “And to think you’re represented on… what? Fourteen billion planets, or something suitably ridiculous? Pathetic.”

Reginald groaned as blood dripped from his stump.

“Well, at least inhuming the Domarian may yet prove to be some exercise. Goodbye, little demihuman. I’ll make good use of your backwards chariot.”

The Zealot gracefully skewered the Combine spy with his own arm.

---​

“I agree we need to get after Quarir,” Nuri persisted, “but I really have to know what’s going on-”

“What would you want to know, Nuri?” Yuza looked her square in the eye. “Anything I tell you would jeopardise my mission- and your life, I suspect. At least if the Combine were to capture you now you’d know very little.”

“That’s true, but-” Nuri saw what Yuza was trying to do and shook her head. “What, open the door by hand? Quarir tried that-”

Yuza had grabbed the edge of the access door that Quarir had mistaken for a cupboard. With no sign of exertion, she peeled the tough plating from the wall and tossed it in the corner. “And Quarir was a bion with poor, over-priced civilian augmentations. I’m a military-grade operative.”

“My god,” said Nuri.

“Most impressive,” muttered Pyotr.

Spying Quarir’s dropped backpack, the Enforcer shouldered it. “Weight is no problem to me,” she explained modestly. “I suppose this is full of ammunition?”

“And a little food, yes,” Nuri nodded, scavenging ammunition clips from the weapons of the fried Elites- she’d already adopted Quarir’s fallen shotgun as a keepsake.

“Food? Hah, I can live off four nutricubes a week. We’ll save it for you.” Sentinel at the ready, Yuza stepped out.

A short stairway led to a titanic balcony that stretched out infinitely- it ran alongside a huge, gloomy chasm that was a mass of cables and thin rails. None of the ominous cells attached beneath them were moving or occupied- but one thing was clear from the corral of sarcophagi just beyond the prison nexus’s opening- the Combine were used to significantly more traffic. Nuri shuddered at the idea of all the men and women who had been shipped from here like boxed cattle.

“Nova Prospekt is approximately a mile from here,” Yuza announced- and Nuri found herself missing the brash Enforcer’s timid, useless persona. “We should be able to bypass its strongest security measures since we’re a good distance underground.”

“What about its other security measures?” Nuri asked, not liking the sound of the woman’s announcement.

“We probably won’t see anything other than scanners,” Yuza reassured her. “There might be the odd Manhack, but they’d break their saw blades on me.”

“We don’t all have chunks of metal in us, you know,” Nuri said disapprovingly. But, not for the first time, she felt she could cope with the intrusive nature of Domarian upgrades if it meant she could be similarly casual around implements of death.

Yuza had taken off at a leisurely pace- which meant Nuri, as she’d irritably predicated, found herself struggling to keep up. She was only grateful that the bion had shouldered their collective loads.

Pyotr, seemingly unfazed by the Adelia/Yuza revelation but still moping over the loss of Archibald, didn’t let his feelings get in the way- the Vortigaunt, always reliable, matched them step for step.

---​

“Your drop has not been authorised,” said the guard.

“The Dropship transported me- and thus that is authorisation enough.”

The prison’s guards were mostly just better-trained CPs, and like their urban equivalents they weren’t entirely without emotion. But the sergeant didn’t seem the least bit intimidated.

“The Dropships,” the guard told Forty, “were instructed to transport squads C-1 through to D-7 here. You are not a registered member of either.”

“I am an Elite- my presence here is necessary! Freeman has holed himself up within the teleportation facility and he intends to take Vance with him!”

“We are fully aware of the situation.”

“Then you will not question my authority! Orders or no, my presence is required to stop Freeman’s escape! I cannot be obstructed by lesser minds!”

“If you’re so sure of what command thinks you should do,” the sergeant sneered beneath his helmet, “why did you sneak round here instead of just disembarking at the drop pad? Guilty conscience?”

Forty’s lone eye contracted. “Enough of this.”

In one fluid motion the Benefited’s armoured fist smashed the guard backwards, taking the door with him. Forty walked over the numerous fragments of man and metal, and felt a giddy rush of exhilaration.

In a twisted alliance, his human remnant was gleefully cavorting with his implants- the inhuman drive to succeed harmonising with the thrill of pursuit- Forty knew his objective was tantalisingly close.

Eagerly, he strode towards the only challenge that was worthy of him- Freeman.
 
EDIT: Hmm, better hold this back until I decide to post the last of it, otherwise it won't make sense. Ignore this!
 
I was thinking how unlikely it was that someone in the Resistance would be that dim. :P
 
Last of the chapter- tune in next time when Quarir meets a prominent figure from the HL2 universe ;)




A defensive field marked the end of the tunnel- with some careful plasma blasts sent into the plating of a nearby wall Yuza managed to sever some essential power conduits, and the barrier quickly dissipated. They noisily stamped up the rickety metal stairway beyond the security checkpoint, aware that they were travelling several storeys upward- Nova Prospket was clearly made to a far grander scale than the diminutive Fortress Delta.

Again, they encountered an access door- not even stopping, Yuza smashed it aside without comment, and she shot the incredibly shocked CP behind it with similar aplomb.

“Right,” the Enforcer waved her free hand, “let’s head left- the cell rails must converge somewhere.”

“What will they do with Quarir?” Nuri asked, following the Domarian with significantly less composure.

“I’m not sure- but like I said, they won’t do anything irreversible, at least not anytime soon,” Yuza sniffed at the thought. “Mostly they’ll run tests on him, just to see how advanced we are. I think they expect us to be very developed, considering how we got hold of the Uclasion’s technology.”

“Well,” Nuri began, eying the Sentinel pistol, “you do see pretty advanced-”

“Not really,” Yuza waved her hand, critically examining the first door on their left. “The thing about plasma weaponry is that it’s very, very expensive to produce- ah, I think this might be the one.”

The door crumpled away after a carefully positioned kick, and, special ops style, she rolled through the opening.

Gunfire broke out before Nuri and Pyotr had even approached the doorway, and by the time they pulled alongside the Enforcer the fight was over. Nuri felt surplus to requirements- at least with Quarir she’d felt like the brains of the outfit- and now, without her aid, Yuza had seen to it that there was an orderly row of dead prison guards lying on the platform.

And it was a platform- contrary to Yuza’s logic, it appeared to be a razortrain station, as the nearby line was far thicker than that which had supported the rows of sarcophagi.

After her initial frustration, another course of action slowly crept to the fore of Yuza’s mind. “This might work, actually- theoretically we can board the next train and simply get off at a more promising platform.”

Nuri examined the platform in more detail and then slowly shook her head. “No, it’s not a personnel line- I’m sure this is just used for cargo. There’re no boarding ramps or anything.”

“Might lead us to the rifle then,” Yuza shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “Either way, there’s nothing stopping us hitching a ride. It won’t kill us to jump aboard.”

“It will if the vehicle does not stop,” Pyotr corrected.

“You Vorts really are optimistic, aren’t you?” Yuza sagged in defeat. “Fine- I don’t see why I’m tagging along with you people, but we’ll just follow the corridor. You know, it’s awfully quiet for a security breach-”

“Alert: teleportation protocol was successfully engaged,” the Overwatch announcer informed all and sundry, “Addition- intruder’s presence still confirmed. Reinforce. Eliminate. Secure.”

The platform door slammed shut, or rather tried to- instead the twisted remains twitched slightly and fell over.

“That’ll be Freeman,” Yuza grinned. “Glad to see the Resistance put their faith in someone competent for a change.”

“You’ve been watching us?” Nuri exploded incredulously.

“For a year or two. We’ve put all this off until Freeman arrived, because that man could distract the Combine from nuclear war. I don’t know how he does it.” Yuza poked her head through the doorway and glanced down the corridor. She pulled it out hurriedly.

“Change of plan,” she barked urgently, running back towards the platform, “there’s an entire squad of Elites heading our way.”

“I thought you were military-grade?”

“Yeah, I am, but just one of their dark-matter projectiles will turn me inside out, and I’ve had my insides rearranged quite enough for one lifetime!”

Nuri turned back to the noticeably empty railway. “Well, we can’t afford to wait for a train-”

“Quite right, so we won’t,” Yuza aimed at her feet and vaporised an access grille. “There must be miles of maintenance tunnels in this place- get down there now!”

Nuri needed no second bidding- she hopped down into the cramped repair shaft, and Pyotr followed. To the accompaniment of deafening pulse fire, Yuza dropped down after them- rebuffing their unspoken concerns, she shoved them ahead, desperately motioning for them to run.

“Any grenades in this thing?” she panted, trying to sprint and open her liberated rucksack at the same time.

Nuri nodded. “I’m pretty sure there are…”

Yuza eventually produced one of cylindrical detonators, and, on hearing the angry approach of static-warped chatter, she primed the grenade and flung it back down the passageway with all the incredible force her augmentations lent her.

The tunnel exploded, belching fire towards them, and numerous fragile components sprinkled from the floor above them- but it had the desired effect, as the Elites were no longer in pursuit.

“Great,” Yuza smiled humourlessly, “that’ll hold them off for a minute, just while they wonder if I’ve got any more. Let’s go!”

---​

“Ah,” Breen sighed with satisfaction, “so Judith pulled through. I knew she would.”

Fortunately for you.

“Indeed.”

Now ensure that Freeman is similarly ascertained.

“That is out of my hands, as I’ve told you,” Breen tried not to sound exasperated, but he knew it was useless- his Advisor would pick up on his every emotion. “The transhuman forces are trying their best to apprehend him, but-”

Then their “best” is not sufficient. You will be held accountable if he escapes. Eli Vance alone is not enough to quash your planet’s unease.

The Advisor- a true Combine, a bloated, maggot-like being covered in all manner of psionic amplifier and mind-to-machine uplink- dominated his office, its image projected from his desktop terminal.

“He’s recharging the Nova Prospekt teleporter as we speak, I can’t be sure of our success-”

It was under defended. You squandered your transhuman contingent.

“Perhaps they’re merely not suited for such prolonged combat,” Breen pleaded, “I told you, I needed more-”

Freeman is a human, a human equipped with native technologies. He should be long dead. He is being assisted.

“Yes, you’ve told me about your discoveries…”

But clearly you have not noted them. He must be brought to bear. Alive or dead, we must have him- with or without his employer’s knowledge.

“There have been complications…”

The Domarian is of little consequence- he is now in our custody.

“Surely that counts for something?” Breen hazarded. “While he is not Freeman, Nalore is certainly an interesting-”

The Domarian is a mere conciliation prize. Freeman is our goal.

“Of course…”

The Advisor’s shiny, creamy flesh shivered impatiently.

Project Forty is nearby. We are advising him directly.

“What? But you insisted that all instructions be filtered through me first-”

Project Forty is an exception. Freeman must be eliminated.

---​

“Ah, awake are we? That’s good to see- it is never advisable to teleport comatose lifeforms.”

Quarir stirred, and doing so caused him to scrape his limbs rather harshly across his restraints- the pain brought him round fully, and he stared at the speaker.

“What?” is all he could say- his lips, as usual, had kicked into life before the rest of him.

“Drowsy? Don’t worry- I merely sedated you while I performed a few tests. Plus, it stopped you from cursing. You have quite the vocabulary.”

It all came rushing back to him- the nausea-inducing race down the Fortress’s tunnel, the arrangement in the ever-scrolling cell depot, the chemicals this bastard had been pumping him full of- and, of course, his familiar arsenal of multi-lingual profanities, which he launched into again.

“I have no idea what ‘sweys’ means,” the labcoated scientist said afterwards, “but I highly doubt it’s complimentary.”

“Who the hell are you anyway?”

“I’m Doctor Howard Worborne. I’m a faculty member from the Black Mesa complex, although I doubt you’ve ever heard of it.” Worborne had a somewhat nondescript appearance- a tired, aging man whose greying hair was slicked back either with gel or natural grease. “My former colleagues assumed I died there, but I got out intact- and ended up back in my old Administrator’s employ.”

“I really don’t care,” Quarir snapped with every ounce of effort- speech was still hard, so the tranquillisers must have been immensely strong to affect a bion like himself. Unless, as he’d feared, his nanotech had well and truly failed him…

“Good, because I don’t feel like relating my life story to an interloper like yourself,” Worborne agreed brightly. “The teleporter will recharge soon, and then we can send you on your way.”

“On my way to where?”

“The Citadel, of course. I’ve performed as many tests as I can with the limited apparatus at my disposal. I’m a biochemist, not a miracle worker.” Worborne grinned at his own rather weak joke. “It’s been very hectic here- first Freeman barges in, then the Elites swarm over the place trying to locate him- a busy hour indeed. And that Forty? There’s an Elite that won’t take no for an answer…”

“Freeman was here?” Quarir looked about himself as the room finally came into focus- a vast chamber with several entrances, all covered with blue security fields. The centrepiece- the device his cell was suspended in front of- was a towering structure with an inbuilt elevator; assuredly the teleporter Worborne was babbling about.

“He certainly was- although we can’t quite determine his present location. Personally, I blame convergence theory- time dilation is a recognised flaw, but did they give us better facilities?” Worborne sighed, as if he was discussing a government budget. “Of course not- I’m just expected to ferry samples back and forth with Mossman’s damn pet project. I may, primarily, just be a geneticist, but I know shoddy work when I see it…”

Quarir tried, unsuccessfully, to look under his feet while ignoring the scientist- he couldn’t crane his neck far enough, but it seemed to him that something was glowing beneath the floor- no doubt something to do with the prepping teleporter, which even now was slowly moving its load-bearing elevator into position.

“So, Freeman escaped with Vance?” he asked the bitter teleport-technician casually.

“Well, I can’t exactly divulge that now can I? The truth is that I don’t know.” Either Worborne liked the sound of his own voice, Quarir decided, or he was starved of attention during his usual operations. “You and me, Mr Nalore- we’re just pawns in something far higher.”

“What’s new?” Quarir muttered to himself.

The buzzing teleporter was much louder now, and the elevator was almost touching ground level- evidently, it was almost reset.

“Don’t worry Mr Nalore,” Worborne went over to a vast bank of machinery near the device, “all I need do now is confirm your co-ordinates and you’ll be at the Citadel in a matter of minutes.” The scientist hit a key, and Quarir’s head swung back as the cell lurched into action. “By the way, I don’t suppose you’d like to explain how this rifle works?”

“No.”

“Fair enough,” Worborne shrugged, pushing the trolley that bore the rifle amidst an array of scanning units closer to the teleporter shaft. “Would’ve been nice to flesh out my report, that’s all.”

Quarir had no sympathy, as Worborne had clearly been trying to flesh out several of his body parts- numerous appendages throbbed painfully, and he knew they bore the pinpricks of diffusion injections- he couldn’t bear to think of all the gunk now circling his system. He took a look at the lower shelf of the trolley, and disgustedly realised that the vials were probably filled with samples taken directly from him…

Something started beeping, and Worborne whirled round in alarm. The control panel’s main terminal was glowing a bright, blinding gold, leaking sparks in all directions. “What on earth?”

Worborne hopped back over to the navigation unit and gawped at the displays. “This isn’t right- it’s removed my co-ordinates! It’d be slinging you past the Borderworld with no destination!” Worborne fiddled with the controls, clearly trying to cancel or tweak the current instructions, but to no avail.

Quarir’s cell shuddered as it swivelled round and locked into place, sitting in the centre of the teleporter. He began rising, as the elevator slowly shifted towards the point of synapse, whereby both the upper and lower generators would discharge simultaneously, launching him through the dimensions themselves, propelled by untold power. Slowly, Nalore wondered how he’d possibly known that would happen…

“Subconscious transmission,” said Maintonon, “do excuse me.”

Worborne was manically pounding the panel by now- panic stricken, aware of who would get the blame for any accidents, he begged the terminal to respond while his hands wrestled with unyielding controls.

Where are you sending me? Quarir demanded of the Supercomputer.

“I am granting you an intermission, Nalore,” Maintonon explained. “There is someone you must meet. A distant acquaintance of mine.”

In a burst of indescribable energies, Quarir’s cell vanished with him.
 
You are evil, good suspence. Very good chapter.
 
Bahahah. For a moment there I was thinking Maintonon had just chipped in randomly with that "do excuse me" and then disappeared again. :laugh:

TENSION!
 
Oooo!! I've fallen behind! :o So many updates....

*reads desperately to catch up*
 
...... waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa more!!!!!

....\i eats himself

;(

(more plz this is great)
 
Hey TinyXipe! Long time no see!

Thanks again guys! As I suggested, this is a very short, one entry chapter. And as I promised, Quarir meets someone familiar... ;)



Chapter 24: Intermission​
​
​

“Quarir Nalore, we meet at lassst.”

Quarir blinked, and stood up. He wasn’t sure how he’d got here- and that meant short term memory loss, which was a sure sign of recent dimensional transit. Although he wouldn’t remember that for two minutes.

“Please do not assume that I have been… ignoring you- I have worked closely with your… employer, and I can assure you that every step has been taken to… ensure successss.”

Quarir tried to locate the speaker, but he couldn’t- the teleportation, or possibly his continuing struggle against the sedatives, was warping his vision.

He blinked again and realised that it wasn’t an optical illusion- the scene before him really had shifted.

He would forever wonder what the original locale had been, but now the setting was a peaceful beach- a far cry from the Antlion-infested straits near City 17. Water lapped on the shores, and seabirds called each other in the distance.

Quarir glanced about himself in confusion- and he was surprised to realise his constricting cell had vanished- instead he was sitting up on the sands, palms acutely aware of the sun-warmed ground. It was pretty damn realistic- but all of ‘Ton’s simulations were realistic. But then he looked up, and decided this wasn’t a simulation.

The man- an incongruous sight on the almost paradisiacal beach- wore an immaculate blue suit, a shirt with a lightly starched collar and one of those reddish ties Quarir associated with government types the galaxy over. Indeed, Nalore would’ve called him a government employee, but circumstances proved that appearances were deceptive…

“It has been quite hectic for you, Mr Nalore… and you may have felt misssguided along the way. Do forgive me for acting over your… head, because I’m aware that while I may be asssisting your… employer, I’m nevertheless forcing choices upon you.”

“I’ve seen you before,” Quarir said suddenly, “when Maintonon short-circuited the computer cabinet-”

“Yesss, Mr Nalore- I was using the opportunity to obssserve your… progress. I have been following your actions for… quite some time now- although that was the only occasion you noticccced.”

The figure- who Nalore persistently thought of as a government agent- straightened his already faultless tie. He could’ve been been in anything from his late forties to his early sixties- and his eyes, piercing green orbs amongst harsh features, were as unhinging as his strange method of speech. Talking to the man reminded Quarir strongly of Maintonon, and he again recalled the Supercomputer’s warnings regarding those that wished to shape this planet’s destiny…

“Why the hell does Maintonon need someone else spying on me?”

“Maintonon needsss very little, Mr Nalore… I was sssimply expressing an interessst.”

“What, you’re an old friend of his?”

“Friend is such an… odd term when relating to machinery, Mr Nalore. He merely recognissess my talents and I… acknowledge his,” the government man smiled. “We come together on our… shared aimsss.”

“And that’s to undermine the Combine, yeah?”

“You are refreshingly talkative compared to my… usual charge, Mr Nalore. But I would be violating your… employer’s polite requessst if I were to explain.”

Quarir felt as if he’d blinked involuntarily, but he knew otherwise- the scene had shifted again. They were standing atop some sort of building- he could see City 17’s jagged skyline, still swarming with Hunter-Seeker rotorcraft and energetic Scanners.

“You see,” the agent continued, “so many thingsss… can be interpreted most inaccurately by those that are not… involved and are merely observersss. That is a core issue, Mr Nalore- what someone thinksss, what we want them… to think, and what they should, in fact, be thinking.”

Quarir snorted. “You interdimensional types get a big kick out of this crap, don’t you?”

The man smiled again. “Perhapsss. That, of course, is for you to find out- and for me to wonder what you are thinking. Maintonon is my contingency, Mr Nalore- and he has recommended you.”

“What does that mean?”

The smile returned again, fleetingly.

“I get it,” Quarir grimaced, “don’t ask, can’t tell. There’s no point to this, you get that? If I don’t know what I’m doing I can’t do anything!”

“That, Mr Nalore, isss the point. I am sure I will see you again in the fullness of… time.”

The scene shifted again, and this time Quarir did blink- and his eyes didn’t open for a long period.
 
ARRRGH!
You must be praised as a God of suspence... GOD, I tell you!
Very very good, you mananged to pull of the G-Man style of speech awsomexelentive.
Keep it up.
 
weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.... throught the timelines of interdimensional travel....

Sechsellent! ©®©®©©®ptyltd

:P

good work is all i can say.... i think that might actually be my vocabulary atm...
 
Here's the next chapter! A slight reminder of whereabouts they are on the HL2 timeline ;)



Chapter 25: Grassy Knoll Revisited​


Quarir was not a fan of teleportation. “True” teleportation- as the Domarians knew it- involved breaking any given body up into sub-atomic particles and flinging them down a digital transmission wave: unsurprisingly, a living creature could not survive the reduplication process once they reached their destination.

Although those that weren't technically minded tend to refer to all non-vehicular transit as "teleportation", the Legion generally resorted to matter transference- which basically involved shoving any given entity- organic or otherwise- into a bubble of energy, and throwing them through a series of carefully angled magnetic fields. Quarir had undergone this process a few times- once because he was rich enough to afford it and was in a hurry, and once because he'd been arrested and Security was eager to get him behind bars.

Phaseshifting, however, was the Uclasion propulsion method- and the Domarians had unashamedly stolen the technology to improve their own ships. Phaseshifting involved getting from A to B by tearing through several billion dimensions and, somehow, using a perfectly-calculated shortcut to pass through C, D, and E and eventually hit B.

But the Domarians had never phaseshifted a lone body- they’d always had gigantic ships, covered in flux suppressors and all manner of safety device. They weren’t prepared to risk lives when they still didn’t fully understand the process.

The Combine could purportedly do it- although they seemed to prefer phasing battle-ready Citadels onto the worlds they wished to conquer.

He stood up, staggering a little, and sent a shelf of paint tins crashing to the floor. Something clanged underfoot, and he wondered why part of the floor seemed to be metal.

Quarir felt woozy, but not nauseas- and matter transference was well known to shake up your insides. So that meant he hadn’t been beamed here.

So the suited man- with his briefcase and strange mannerisms- could apparently phaseshift individuals.

Quarir didn't know what that meant- but he didn't think it boded well.

Wooden crates, planks, rusty machine parts- his new location was certainly familiar. There was a humming of machinery, but he couldn’t quite place it. Big, drafty shack full of junk- it rang several bells in his slowly reforming memory.

“Quarir Nalore- it is good to see you after all this time.”

He looked up to see a Vortigaunt. If he was where he thought he was, that meant it’d be Archibald. Although wasn’t Archibald dead?

“We detected both your flux and your noisome movements, Quarir Nalore. We have long suspected you were in dimensional limbo- it has been three days since you left Nova Prospekt.”

Quarir brushed past a cog-covered table, upending it.

The Vort chirped disapprovingly. “Kindly cease your motions until you get your bearings.”

No, Quarir realised, it’s Pyotr- he’s the only Vort that could manage to sound so chastising.

He shook his head to clear it. “What do you mean, three days?”

“As we said,” Pyotr repeated, “it has been three days since you were teleported from the Nova Prospekt nexus.” The Vortigaunt pointed to the metal circle on the floor. “That is Grassy Knoll’s telepad. It has long been dormant- but something activated it. Something allowed you through.”

“How odd,” Quarir said dully.

“Nuri instructed us to ‘drag’ the Worborne back with us- and he told us your story. It appears the Uclasion Artefact disrupted the teleportation field, rerouting its primitive thread to a different place- Nuri also made that deduction.”

“Nuri? You guys came for me?”

“Yes Quarir Nalore, we did,” Pyotr bowed his head solemnly. “Regrettably Yuza was injured during our flight from Nova Prospekt.”

Quarir blinked. “Who the hell is Yuza?”

“Yuza is the true name of the being you knew as Adelia. Yuza is a Domarian Enforcer.”

“What?”

“She chose to behave so covertly because she predicted that reaction.”

“Pyotr,” Quarir breathed in deeply, “tell me what the hell is happening!”

“Slow teleportation, Quarir Nalore. That is what this world’s greatest minds have dubbed it. The Freeman and the Alyx Vance are trapped between planes as you were- the Worborne calls this a convergence anomaly, resulting in time dilation.”

“And is he right?”

“Something secret shapes all our destinies, Quarir Nalore. We will never name it.”

“Computers and suited bastards,” Quarir groaned quietly, scrolling his hand down his face. “Why the hell did Nuri rescue that Worborne guy anyway?”

“He is a scientist who survived the chaotic breach of Black Mesa. Like Eli Vance he was the leader of his field.”

“He’s a quantum physicist too?”

“He is known as a ‘biochemist’- but Nuri had told him that we would feed him to the Antlions if he did not aid with the reactivation of the telepad.”

“He managed it?”

“No, Quarir Nalore. As we said, the teleportation frame had long been dormant- and the Worborne played no part in its reactivation.” Pytor indicated the pad, which had long-since stopped humming. “He currently believes that the Knoll’s survivors will soon dispose of him.”

“Quarir?”

It was Nuri. She ran to him, and he’d secretly wondered at the possibility of a hug, but instead she drew to a halt, peered at him, and prodded him in the shoulder, as if checking his solidity.

“It’s you!” she exclaimed. “It worked!”

“Yes and no,” Quarir muttered, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

The pad sparked gold, and, atop the tall hill that gave the base its name, a suited man walked away.

---​

The reunion didn’t maintain its cheery feeling for long- Nuri explained everything that had happened, and there was very little to feel happy about.

“When we finally got to the teleporter, you were gone,” she began, “Worborne was there, gibbering about malfunctions and how he’d lose his job- we dragged him back with us, but we’d already guessed about…” she lowered her voice, “you know who.”

Quarir nodded. “First time the damn machine has done anything to help for ages.”

“Well, we ran like hell- because Elites were crawling over the place, since they’d been called in to get Freeman. We took the tunnel back to Delta, and we nearly made it-”

“I knew that was coming.”

“-and then we ran into our old friend. The really tall Elite with all the armour.”

“He’s still around?”

“And worse than ever. Yuza thought she could take him, but… he…”

“The Fortieth defeated Yuza with ease,” Pyotr finished for her. “She was gravely injured.”

Quarir looked at them questioningly and Nuri just shrugged. “He seems to know what it’s called. Forty or something. Anyway, we slam a door in Forty’s face, and Pyotr somehow manages to carry Yuza back to where we’d left the APC-”

Pyotr bowed. “We work out routinely.”

“-but it was gone. Dropships were converging on the Fort, but Zosia appears-”

“Thanks to Pyotr’s directions,” Zosia said modestly.

“-in Maggie the van, and we all get onboard and back here as soon as we can.”

“You fixed Maggie?” Quarir raised an eyebrow. “Zyke wasn’t too happy about stealing her and leaving her as a wreck and all that-”

“Ah, I’ve got over it.”

Quarir gaped.

“Why so surprised?” Zyke grinned. “That big bucket of circuits told you I’d survived- how else do you think Pytor could communicate with Zosia?”

Nalore stood up so fast that his chair toppled over- he grabbed Zyke’s hand and shook it warmly, oblivious to the big man’s bone-crunching grip.

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll catch something?” Zyke said slyly.

“Hey, it’d do me a world of good! I can’t believe you lived through that!” Quarir’s smile faded slightly as he recalled Zyke’s state immediately after his run-in with the Elite's firepower.

“It wasn’t pleasant- but I’m very, very hard to kill- and believe me, a lot of people have tried.” He pulled up a chair and sat in it- it creaked under his weight. “Zosia saw what had happened here and ran all the way to the Dead Pass- of course, I’d had time to fix Maggie by then, and the soldiers were long gone, chasing after Freeman.”

“ ‘What happened here’?” Quarir quoted, not understanding.

“We discovered that the Reginald was the betrayer,” Pyotr clicked darkly. “But the traitor was himself ambushed- soon after severing Archibald’s tie and murdering Kim, he came across the Arcadimaarian.”

Zyke nodded. “I can confirm that- the place reeked of psionic discharge. The bastard stabbed Reg with his own arm- the scumbag deserved it- stole one of our buggies and went after you- we don’t know where he is now.”

“We fed Reginald to the Antlions- literally- but we found space for some graves.” Nuri sighed. “I didn’t know about Xen customs, but we buried Archibald too-”

“We have little interest in the fate of our empty shells,” Pyotr explained, “but your sentiment was much welcomed.”

”There were more bodies to come,” Zyke growled. “Reginald had given our complete co-ordinates to the Combine- Gunships and Dropships came from nowhere and burnt us to the ground. These two shacks,” he gestured sadly, “are all we have left. We made them from the remains and filled them up with what survived.”

Quarir swallowed. “What about the Aegis vehicles?”

“All of their vehicles got hit. Maggie’s all we’ve got.”

Quarir held his head in his hands. “So who made it?”

“Zosia, as you know- and, incidentally, she knows all about us now-”

“It was hard not to notice how weird you were, certainly,” Zosia admitted.

“-and Charlie and three of the Aegis members. They still didn’t know- so I haven’t let them anywhere near Yuza. She’s in a regeneration coma, although I don’t know if her bionics will cope… not after what Forty did to her.”

Quarir shuddered. A regeneration coma was a well-documented recovery process for those with higher-grade augmentations- where the body shutdown all non-essential activities in a desperate attempt to undo the damage it had suffered. If Yuza really was an Enforcer, she had five times more nanodrones swirling around her components than Quarir did- and that meant Forty must be unstoppable now, to best her so easily.

“But now we know what to do,” Zyke said firmly.

Quarir goggled. “Uh, we do?”

“Maintonon’s contingency- he told me about it all those years ago. We’re to aid in the uprising.”

“You what?”

“Zyke’s been talking about this a lot,” Nuri grinned nervously- as if she agreed in principle, but not action. “Mr. Calhoun has been on the radios, trying to start up the revolution Dr. Vance talked about for so long…”

“He had the right idea! The Prospekt-sabotage plan was just a ploy- so I say we go to the Citadel. Freeman’s not coming back- at least not soon.” Zyke clenched his fists. “There’s a lot of work for men like us, Quarir.”

“What do you mean, ‘men like us’?”

“Men who don’t fall apart after one pulse round. Men who know there’re other worlds out there- other worlds the Combine has its avaricious eyes on. We have to stop them somehow- you’ve seen what they’re like!”

“Yeah, well…”

“Whether you go or not, I will. Barney Calhoun is the first sensible human I’ve heard from- we’ve got to take the battle to the Combine. Give me my amplifier back.”

“What?” Quarir looked down. The long-forgotten gauntlet was still tucked into his belt. He offered it to Zyke and the Rot snatched it off him.

“I remade myself from the ground up- with a few tweaks. Molecular self-manipulation makes us Rots freaks, but it makes us powerful freaks. I’m not much of a telepath anymore- but I’m a damn good transmuter.”

All eyes were on him- Zichekoam was back and in full form, effortlessly falling back into his leader’s role.

Zyke put the gauntlet on, and sparks crackled from his fingertips. “I say we put our own contingency plan into action.”
 
thats ****ing awesome. In three years i couldnt write something that long if i WANTED TO

awesome :cheers:
 
The phaseshifting part reminded me of The Hitchikers Guide to the Galaxy. ;D Good stuff.
 
Thanks guys! I'm glad to see you're enjoying it!

The return of faction number 3... or is that four? There's too much going on for me these days :bounce:



Chapter 26: Glory​


“Can the Combine detect us from here?”

“Of course not. If they could, we would not be here. You give the slugs too much credit.”

This was apparently a war room- but it felt more like a lounge. The Arcadimaarians were highly advanced- but they were a race of hedonistic elitists, an immensely arrogant empire that somehow prevailed despite the constant infighting between their families. They put luxury before all else.

The ACS Glorious was a Sunspear- one of their smallest warships. But, nevertheless, the sleek craft was a mile long and adorned with hideously efficient fusion weaponry- Nesthilius was fully aware that they could wipe every settlement off the Earth’s disgusting face.

But that would be a mistake, he knew- for all his conceit, for all his disdain of lesser beings, he knew that the Combine should not be trifled with. They possessed Synth that could exist in a vacuum- bio-mechanical titans that could put a Strider to shame. Conflict was not always a sport to be revelled in.

“But can they detect the Domarian?” he asked of his general.

“Oh, undoubtedly. We do not understand why the Traitor Mainframe would expose itself so brashly- it cannot possibly hope to liberate this pitiful world with one man.”

“The question is why it would bother in the first place,” Nesthilius rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

They looked at the schematic board- an incredibly ornate device that looked more like a crystal ornament than a tactics analyser. “The Zealot has searched repeatedly- and killed approximately fifty Combine lackeys during his travels- but cannot find the Domarian. He cannot even locate this ‘Freeman’.”

Either primate would make a superb trophy, they knew. If anyone could procure the corpses, their Zealot would do it. A Zealot was an incredibly efficient assassin- a nameless killing machine that succeeded in its objective or died trying. They were quite mindless, but good at what they did.

The ACS Glorious continued its encircling of the world- at a respectable distance, of course. No use tempting fate: the Combine rarely gave spatial defences to new worlds- and Earth was new, being their property for less than two decades- but the risk of long-ranged distortion arrays was not to be taken lightly.

“We must continue scanning- particularly for this ‘Freeman’. Killing that which has dogged the Combine so successfully would be quite the achievement,” Nesthilius waved a hand over the board and it dimmed.

“Yes,” the general sipped his beverage- he actually looked nervous. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance that the Combine would notice our scanning?”

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

---​

This was a source of some amusement to Breen’s advisor.

What a pathetic collection of pompous thieves.

“Thieves?” Breen blinked confusedly.

They, too, harvested the Extinct’s technology and called it their own.

“I meant, who are the pathetic collection of-?”

If you cannot be bothered to monitor your own equipment, you are not worthy of it. Concentrate on locating Freeman.

The connection was severed.

---​

“Will she make it?” Nuri asked quietly, already fearing that she knew the answer.

“Beats me. She sure is a mess, though. Looks like someone chiselled bits off her.”

“Quarir, that was in very bad taste.”

“Sorry.”

But Yuza did look like stonework- her limbs were twisted so far back it was amazing she still retained them, and most of her flesh was scorched- not the sickly scars of a burns victim, but scalds with a strangely pale hue. Her reparation protocols were responsible for her bizarre appearance: she looked like a horrible piece of modern sculpture. Forty’s pulse weapon must have been of insanely high velocity to do so much damage.

“Makes me glad I’m just a freak and not a bion,” Zyke said matter-of-factly, leaning over the poor woman’s mattress.

“Yeah, well my nanotech is already drained,” Quarir slapped his chest meaningfully. “I don’t seem to regenerate.”

“Bit of a drawback,” Zyke agreed.

“I’m not surprised,” Nuri smiled, “considering how many bullets you’ve taken.”

Zyke raised an eyebrow. “You better get them removed- if your bionics really have died on you, you don’t want lead clogging up your system. Besides, the others might notice- let me get them out for you...” Zyke, suddenly holding a huge pair of tweezers, advanced on him.

“Uh, without anaesthetic?” Quarir backed away.

“It’s either that or dying of lead poisoning,” Zyke warned him.

“I don’t think pulse rounds are made of lead.”

“Well, bizarre-Combine-alloy poisoning then.”

---​

Covered in bandages and none-to-pleased about it, Quarir watched as Zyke argued with the three Aegis members. But despite his painful surgeries, he felt better already- perhaps he should have bothered to remove the bullets sooner. It’s just that he’d had so little time to worry about things like ammunition lost in his body…

They were in the ruins of the village hall- everyone slept in the dormitory-cum-hospital, but just in case they woke Yuza they always sat around the ruins for their all-to-frequent squabbles. In truth Zyke had banned them from there merely because he feared how they’d react on seeing her injuries- but there just wasn’t enough room in the storage shack, and a shared bedroom just wasn’t the place for an argument.

Not that they’d admit they were arguments, as Nuri and Quarir were all too aware. Zyke- who was wearing gloves to disguise the gauntlet but had lost his cape after finally admitting it looked absurd- was having a hard time persuading the disheartened Aegis members to leave.

“You’re being difficult!” Zyke snarled. “I know you don’t have the squad anymore, but we don’t need vehicles to fight back!”

“Come on, there’s nothing for us here now.” Charlie was all for it- it was just a pity they thought so little of his opinion.

“Yeah, Aegis is gone,” Zosia said firmly. “We don’t have cars to service anymore.”

“Yeah? The cars are all we had,” said Gregory, the former head of Aegis. “Our only ace was burnt- but the Combine has a great hand.”

Quarir had decided he didn’t like Gregory- he was particularly awkward and used far too many allegories. “Well, we’ll just cheat then.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” Quarir snapped, “you’re the guy who keeps using bloody stupid metaphors. What’s your obsession with cards anyway?”

Pyotr nodded. “Your parables have become most tiring.”

Gregory stood up, grim faced, and raised his fists angrily.

“Oh, give it a rest,” Quarir shook his head. “Just quit with the whole moping thing and come with us- we could use a guy like you.” As a decoy, he added privately, something to distract the Combine.

“Nine of us? In one van?” Gregory rolled his eyes.

“Ten,” Nuri corrected, “Yuza will pull through.” She realised that the statement hadn’t helped their argument and went quiet again.

“Maggie’s a big van,” Zyke continued, “it’ll be a squeeze, but we’ll all fit in.”

“What do you say?” Charlie grinned in what he hoped was an endearing manner. He just looked ill.

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t,” said Aegis’s only female survivor.

Gregory whirled on her. “Ruth!”

“Oh, do what the weird guy says and give it a rest. We need to do something.”

Nuri decided she quite liked Ruth. “She’s right, you know,” she said kindly. “We do need to act.”

“Just so,” said Pyotr.

“What about you Struer?” Zyke looked to the last man.

“I go where Ruth goes,” Struer rumbled. She and him shared a smile- Quarir wondered why he was the only one who never seemed to get any action, despite being the heroic type.

Gregory threw his hands in the air despairingly. “Fine- but you’re all wasting your time-”

They heard a loud, urgent droning. A Gunship.

“Hey, you’re welcome to stay behind,” Quarir was already moving toward Maggie. “But I really wouldn’t recommend it…”
 
awsome,yet again, hopefull when i get back from my hike next week ( i leave tommorow) i'll have a few MC updates to keep me happy.
 
** I was thinking of compiling a 'E-book' of all the best HL2 fan-fics,i think i'll wait till MC is finished to start...**
 
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