Malign Contingency

I was really quite glad to hear about Marc Laidlaw's latest email regarding Xen- it means this new plot development won't be as far from the canon plot as I might've feared :naughty:




Chapter 9: Interrogation


“If you had complied this would have been far easier for both of us,” Forty told Quarir flatly.

“What do you expect?” Nalore spat. “You just killed Nuri-”

“The female is not dead. She is unconscious. If you had not tried to overpower me I would not have had to incapacitate her. The fault lies with you.”

Even though relief poured through his veins, Quarir gave the thing the finger. Or rather, he at least attempted to- both of his hands were shackled to the arms of his remarkably uncomfortable chair. “You’re the guys that locked us up.”

“And you are the interloper who came to this planet without our permission.”

“It’s not yours,” Quarir snapped, his eyes briefly flicking to Nuri’s prone form. “You’ve got plenty of planets- what do you need this one for?”

“I gather you represent an empire represented on almost eight hundred worlds. I doubt that they all joined of their own accord.”

“Yeah? We never turned up uninvited, and we didn’t force our technology down anyone’s throat-”

Forty made a rare movement, mechanically tilting his head to one side, an oddly human motion that made Nalore shiver. “That is also a falsehood,” the Combine Elite continued. “You interfered in galactic events and colonised worlds that you ‘liberated’. Similarly, the Union beheld the plight of humanity and gathered them up for their own betterment.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure they just love the daily beatings…”

“They were a self-destructive society. Under the Union, murder is unheard of and theft is a rarity. Our methods will support mankind in the long run. You are blind to our similarities- your Security services are granted power to incarcerate anyone they consider to be disrespectful, and you have spread bionics and genetic manipulation to cultures that have barely mastered sanitation. And yet, you would argue that you have improved lives.”

“We have-”

“As have we. We control more worlds than you could imagine. We have armadas that could annihilate your own civilisation… but we do not see the need. Ucelsia is such an interesting construct-”

“How the hell do you know all this?!” Quarir demanded. The Combine weren’t even meant to be aware of the Domarians’ existence, and yet they knew how Security was ran for god’s sake...!

“Reconnaissance,” Forty intoned simply. “We have many agents- agents like yourself.”

“I-” Quarir began, and then he stopped himself. This guy thought he was a scout. That would be a helluva lot easier to explain his way out of- not like being a saboteur or an assassin or a spy…

“We do admit that we have little information on you compared to other residents of this universe, but you might be surprised by just how rare it is for a species like yours to colonise whole star systems without exterior intervention.”

Aha, Nalore thought gleefully, they don’t know about Maintonon-

“Of course, we soon found out about the Uclasion Mainframe that aids you.”

They do know about Maintonon. Damn damn damn damn damn…

“And we also know of the long lasting enmity between your kind and the Arcadimaarian species. A most interesting history.”

“I bet you know a lot about the Arcs, huh?”

“Yes. We do. We have even taken control of some of their outlying territories and brought their occupants closer to unity.”

Ooh, crap. Just what we need, killer psychics working for genius slugs…

“In retaliation they destroyed the planets in question. We saved very few of our Benefited subjects.”

…but maybe they’re a fair match for each other after all. Interesting.

“But enough of ancient history, Quarir Nalore. Now we must discuss… other topics. And I am authorised to take whatever means necessary to-”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll tell you why I’m here- the Domarians want to join the Union.”

For the first time in his new life, Forty was stunned.
 
Eek... something horrible's going to happen. Triple post, it means the end I tell you...!
Finally got the middle of No. 9 up, and I've followed my own advice- for once- regarding the ever-shifting POVs.


Quarir hadn’t expected such an immediate effect- the Elite was silent for a full minute, dumbstruck by the implications of his charge’s statement.

So am I, Nalore admitted to himself. I hope I haven’t got myself in too deep this time…

It was an old problem of his, making things up on the spot- acting on impulse or the vague inkling of some half-formed plan had got him into plenty of undesirable situations. But he’d talked his way out… hadn’t he survived the scrutiny of Security’s Enforcer droids, the most persistent cops and interrogators ever known?

Well… admittedly the last time the two nine foot mechs had roughed him up and imprisoned him- pending his recruitment by a neurotic computer- but it was likely the Combine would do worse if they doubted his story. All things considered, he fancied his chances.

“The Domarians want to join the Union,” Forty stated suddenly, more to check his own aural feedback than anything else.

“Yeah,” Quarir shrugged nonchalantly, “it’s our best option.”

“This is a deception,” came the slightly querulous response.

“Well, to be accurate, we’re considering it. There’s probably all sorts of high up negotiation- dunno if the Union itself has been approached yet. Although I guess they must have, right? Because you don’t seem shocked by the idea of a scout telling you this instead of a diplomat,” Quarir amended with innocent abandon.

He revelled at the idea of the thing’s inner discomfort- it didn’t know what to do. Even though Nalore was practically welded to the galaxy’s most awful chair it was as if he was doing the interrogation… it was like that time a few years back, when that snotty journalist guy really shook up what’s-his-face the politician. That was really memorable.

“The Mainframe would not want to undermine its own authority,” Forty continued, his voice once again emotionless, although a shadow of uncertainty still haunted his inhuman brain.

“Look, the ‘Computer doesn’t think we can manage ourselves. You know that.”

“Correct…”

“And it doesn’t think we can face off against the Arcadimaarians. They outnumber us and they’ve got a whole lot of firepower at their disposal.”

“But you have Ucelsia.”

Uh oh, thought Quarir. How do I explain my way around an indestructible artificial planet…? “Won’t do us much good when the rest of our empire crumbles around it,” he hazarded, trying to act as casual as possible.

“Correct…”

“The way the Domarian public sees it, joining the Union is our best bet. I mean, I was kind of against the idea but I look at how you’ve imposed rule on this planet- no offence- and then think what it was like before and I-” Nalore trailed to a halt, as if remembering something, but he was secretly trying to gauge the Elite’s reaction.

Heh, you can just see the hope in his eyes. Despite the lens. And the fact he’s only got one eye.

“Hold on,” Quarir said, in bogus incensement, “why you asking me all this? You guys already know all about it! What, you think I’m an Arc spy or something? C’mon, since when have those bastards tried anything covert? They just kill any Domarians they see!”

“Excuse me for a moment,” said Forty, who promptly left the room.

Well, not a bad start, Quarir reasoned. Damn sight better than having the bastard stick electric prods in my favourite places.


~~~


Forty’s mind was in turmoil- at least by his standards. Like all members of the Beneficium, Forty was… altered. Improved upon, through various tried and tested methods; some involving psychological exposure, some genetic manipulation, others the bonding between organic matter and the silicon-based biotech of the Synth.

Forty was subtly different to most of the other personnel in his unit- he was, to all intents and purposes, a prototype, amongst the best that humanity had to offer the Universal Union. He was Benefited, both in title and in incentive, but the Beneficium was merely an association of representatives of perfected species, not a council or commune. They shared no convenient hive mentality, no galaxy-spanning communication devices… they were merely the elite of the Union, acting on the orders of their superiors.

But he knew that he was not socially adept- this species’ finest would not turn out to be diplomats. He was having difficulty judging whether the Domarian subject was telling the truth. Damn his human remnant and how it affected his logic! Damn the fragments of his lesser incarnation that still lingered in this otherwise faultless form!

And yet he revelled in the excitement, a feeling all the stronger for its taboo rarity. Although Forty would not, could not think ill of his beloved Union, the Combine did not always warrant its violent reputation, as they made genuine efforts to avoid conflict when possible- after all, it was such a waste of time and resources. They’d welcomed humanity’s surrender, as it meant less for them to clear up in the aftermath of the 7 Hour War.

But for a space faring race with access to vast stockpiles of weaponry and produce belonging to one of the Extinct- for such a race to come to them, willingly, and beg to become a part of them…

…that was perfect. It would seal his purpose, prove that humanity’s Benefited were worthy. Prove that Dr. Breen could run this world adequately; prove that the planet’s tactically defunct position did not prevent its use as an ambassadorial outpost or a centre for general excellence.

And then something happened that smothered all of Forty’s elation. The siren went off. It was subtlety different to the normal alarm- to the untrained eye, it sounded exactly the same, and the flashing lights that accompanied the wail seemed an identical red.

But Forty and his kind knew that it meant conformation- conformation that Freeman was back, a human considered so dangerous that he ranked alongside world-eating nanotech plagues and war machines that could obliterate armies.

Compared to Freeman, the galaxy suddenly seemed mundane.
 
Well, the end is nigh... or at least closer. Although I think this "facet" of the Combine universe- past just Earth and Freeman, that is- has scope, albeit beardy non-canon scope, I'm not sure how far I want to take this particular fanfic.

Which isn't a good sign, considering that previously I'd planned exactly when and how it was going to end :x I just find Quarir and co. strangely interesting to write about.
 
I like the way you make 40 seem to be "happy" of the Domarian ppl joining the Union, kinda as if they need the help??
 
Heheh, thanks. Having difficulty deciding just how human Forty is, mind- I see him as a Combine Elite +, more of a Combine Commando than anything else ;)

Short ending to the chapter: should've split it a bit more evenly really...



Quarir waited. Even though he appeared outwardly calm at the delay, he was not a patient man. Just as he could be friendly to an individual he despised, so could he make himself out to be the very picture of serenity- when in truth he was beginning to panic.

That’s when the siren went off- and it startled him, even though it wasn’t particularly loud. A small ruby light above the door began flashing, and moments later- even through the thick metal of the door and over the screaming of the alarm- he could hear heavy footsteps, as if a veritable stampede was passing the interrogation chamber.

There was grunt, laced with fatigue and pain, and with a great deal of effort Nalore managed to incline his head towards the sound. Nuri grimaced and pulled herself upright, clutching her skull in a futile attempt to shield her headache from the aggravating siren.

Quarir was immensely glad to see that the Elite hadn’t lied- she was alive. He was even gladder when he realised that their captor had neglected to restrain her, having left her comatose form in the corner. That meant they could escape…

Rather abruptly, the siren stopped, leaving them stranded in eerie silence once more.

“I’m alive? That’s a good start,” Nuri murmured, as if reading Quarir’s thoughts.

“Either that or I’m doing some really wishful thinking,” Nalore grinned. “Want to get me out of here?”

“What about the Combine Elite? What happened?”

“The guy ran off when the siren started,” Quarir told her, and that was at least partially true.

Nuri nodded, and began examining the heavy shackles around Nalore’s ankles and wrists. “Can’t you break out yourself?”

“You kidding? I’m a bion, not a damn mech. No way could I break this Combine stuff. Never seen an alloy like it before. Thank god.”

“I can’t see any locks or controls on your chair,” she began falteringly, approaching the monolithic terminal on the far wall, “it’s probably controlled by the computer console…”

“The Elite sealed its cabinet and all the storage cylinders in here,” Quarir sighed. “No convenient batons that we can fry the lock with.”

Nuri began kicking the nearest of the three containers, but although it rattled and rocked slightly it never came close to opening. She gave up despairingly. “You managed it,” she said bitterly.

“It was worth a try. Besides, I’m a bion. I’m like 80% stronger than normal.”

“At least you didn’t say ‘besides, I’m a man’.”

“Hey, I could if you wanted. Looks like you could use some cheering up, and you seem happiest when you’re berating me.”

Despite herself, Nuri smiled.

Her smile vanished when the cabinet juddered open, glancing her across her shoulders and causing her to fall, more from the shock than the force of the blow.

Golden sparks began pouring from the computer banks’ numerous panels, random images interposing with static and scrolling across the three vidscreens. Even from her position on the ground Nuri could’ve sworn that she’d seen Breen’s face amongst the interference.

Nalore turned to watch the scene in confused awe, even though the neck brace was threatening to strangle him. He could also make out the vaguely memorable visage of Dr. Breen, but also other faces he didn’t recognise- mostly masked Metrocops and the odd world-weary citizen. One guy who did crop up a lot was some middle-aged, dark-haired character with heavy bags under his eyes- and his eyes, slightly greener than they should’ve been, were hauntingly familiar.

Suddenly the screens flashed blinding white, and the keyboards beneath them began shaking, buttons and switches moving of their own accord.

The last image that cropped up before the terminal shorted out was a silver sphere, bordered with three golden cuboids and bearing a lightning blue centre. The Supercomputer’s avatar.

As the restraints biting into Quarir’s joints vanished into the chair, allowing him to ungraciously flop onto the cold tiled floor, he realised that Maintonon could obviously transmit to- and manipulate- his fellow machines as well as standard neurological minds. He also considered that, as well as having to explain things to Nuri, he was going to have to live with the idea that some interdimensional smartass was going to be screwing around with his destiny.

Since when did heroic types have to deal with that? It wasn’t fair.
 
mmhmm, Supercomputers...
I'd love to have one of those, but then again who wouldn't
And a G-man sighting, you've got it all!
 
I was unsure whether or not to include a G-man sighting- but then again I wasn't sure whether to have Nuri realise Quarir wasn't entirely human, and that worked out fairly well :D Here's the first half of numero ten- really can't believe I've got this far...


Chapter 10: Control and Escape


“What the hell just happened?” Nuri gaped.

“Who knows? Malfunction. Yeah,” Quarir gabbled hastily, delaying an explanation for as long as physically possible. “Obviously. Come on!”

“But the door is still sealed!”

“Not for long. It’ll probably go too. Yeah.”

“What? It doesn’t look like it’s about to-”

“There we go,” Nalore interrupted, gratefully diving out the room as the door jolted open with a shower of golden sparks. “Told you so. Luck. Coincidence. Things. Haha.” He sounded near-hysterical.

Nuri, nevertheless, followed him. “Look, Quarir, what’s going- ?”

“Who knows? I damn well don’t. I never do. Let’s just go in here, shall we?”

Nuri examined the door- which had, strangely, opened for Quarir as if he’d been a Combine officer and not an extraterrestrial trespasser. Rather than being a native door with an added magseal, it was yet another of the hulking alloy hatches that the Combine used to seal off their most important property- and the markings above it reminded her of the storeroom back at the City 11 Town Hall.

“This is an armoury?” she asked aloud, already knowing the answer- which was just as well, as Quarir gave no indication that he’d even heard her.

The walls were lined with the skeletal weapon racks that the Overwatch favoured- and each and every one of them was stocked with a pulse rifle. Ammunition practically overflowed from sizeable wall sconces, and the mounted medical units that the CPs interfaced with in case of injury were in abundance. The place is a goldmine, she thought hungrily. I just wish we’d found somewhere like this before they broke up the cell back home…

But Nalore ignored the amassed equipment, heading straight for a small table surrounded by freakish machinery and serpentine cables. A dim ceiling light illuminated a shining object, about a cubit long. And there was good reason for that, because as she approached, Nuri realised it was a cubit.

“That’s… that’s the guys arm!” she exclaimed in disgust.

“Nah, there’s nothing inside the gauntlet,” Quarir assured her, although he still peered inside it to check. “Either it vaporised along with him or he rot real quick or the Combine scraped all the flesh out-”

“Stop that! Urrgh. What could you possibly want it for?”

“Because,” Nalore said, circling around the complex examination table in an effort to find an opening, “it’s a psionic amplifier. You saw what he did with it!”

“Yes,” Nuri acknowledged, shuddering at the memory. “But it’s an amplifier, so doesn’t that mea- what the hell are you doing?”

“What?” Nalore said irritably, tentatively poking the gauntlet and its attached bracer.

“Isn’t there a security system or something?” Nuri asked, baffled at how easily Quarir had removed the only Arcadimaarian test sample on Earth.

“The amplifier’s got no self defence mechanism- it would’ve died with the Zealot- they’re linked, you know,” he explained sagely.

“I meant that Combine scanner,” Nuri continued tiredly. “How come it doesn’t care that you’ve removed it?”

“Oh,” Quarir stopped in his tracks, conceding that she had a point, “Well…”

The alarm went off again, the siren returning to its wailing with its usual gusto. Nuri looked on in abject horror as the alluring racks, every single one of them, locked down- vanishing into the impenetrable walls alongside the recharger units and the medical stations.

“Oh, thanks a lot!” she bellowed. “Those would’ve been really- what the…?”

Wondering what could have possibly distracted her from her favourite hobby of Quarir-baiting, the Domarian swivelled round. She was staring, in surprised delight, at a second examination counter.

“My .357! What the hell is that doing here?”

“They must’ve though it was special since he had it,” Nalore sniffed. He wasn’t entirely sure why the antiquated revolver was so precious to her.

Nuri eagerly grabbed the firearm and cradled it emotionally.

Nalore rolled his eyes. “Oh for the love of- marry it later, we’re in a hurry… Let’s go!”

Flushing, Nuri hurriedly holstered the gun. “You wanted to stop here,” she said accusingly.

“Hey, I just grabbed this amplifier,” Quarir said, steadily jogging alongside her as they made their way through the former-government-owned office block, “I’m not planning to sleep with it. We’re not that attached, but man, maybe with some work, this glove and me might have an enduring relationship-”

Nuri ground her teeth. “If you don’t learn how to blow up buildings with that thing,” she said warningly, “I swear I’m going to shoot you.”

“You already did.”

“Next time I’ll keep trying until I find somewhere fragile.”

“Touché.”
 
A perfect follow - on, is that all of the chapter?
 
Not quite- the last half of the chapter involves them actually getting out of the building (progress for once!)- I should be able to post it tonight once I get home. Although, come to think of it, it'd be sensible if I just copied it to a CD (or even a floppy) and walked around with it...

EDIT: As promised, last half of the chapter:




“How come all the doors are still open?” Nuri asked Quarir, knowing full well that he’d either rebuff her or claim ignorance.

“Must’ve blown a fuse,” he said vaguely.

“It’s just that the racks back at the armoury sealed up when the alarm started, but none of the doors have shut.”

“Maybe the Combine just have shit security systems,” Nalore muttered, waving a dismissive hand over his shoulder as he moved forward. “How should I know?”

“Wait,” Nuri shouted suddenly, dashing forward to stop him, “I think that’s a-”

“What?” he asked irritably, negligently passing his foot through a low-lying beam of light.

A different alarm sounded briefly, and two suspiciously large tiles on either side of the exit shot upward, exposing the mounted guns beneath them. For a millisecond they did little more than project a cone of pale light towards the two escapees, but they suddenly leapt to action, pouring pulse rounds towards the pair.

Fortunately Nuri had some experience with Combine defensive systems, and thus she’d managed to pull Quarir to safety behind the baroque outcropping that bordered two tall windows.

The sentry guns let loose another deafening salvo- almost as if they were making doubly sure that their target had been eliminated- and then went deathly silent.

Holding the miffed Quarir back- because she was absolutely convinced he would do something as stupid as triggering the turrets again- Nuri slowly leant around the edge of their shelter, prepared, at any time, to dive backwards to avoid another burst of fire.

Although the turrets hadn’t retreated back into their departments beneath the floor, they still appeared to be active; their sensor beams patiently combed the tiles ahead of them, waiting for something to kill.

“Damn,” she swore under her breath, “I don’t know how we’re going to get past-”

There was a jarringly loud smashing sound, followed by the unmistakable tingling of falling glass. She turned round, and was horrified- but not surprised- to find that Quarir had smashed the delicate window to pieces, resourcefully using the Arcadimaarian gauntlet to cushion his hand from the impact.

“We’ve got to get out of here sometime,” he said by way of explanation, “won’t be long before those Elites get back.” With that, he threw himself through the jagged opening, conveniently clearing away the remaining fragments of razor-sharp glass.

After a small intermission, there was a thud, and a shocked grunt.

“We’re on the first floor,” Nuri called down.

“Yeah, I just realised,” Quarir replied hazily, “but this rib was already broken, no problem…”

“Are you really alright?”

“Yeah, of course. C’mon down, I’ll catch you!”

“If you’re sure…”

“Hey, I’ve already broken everything else, breaking your fall won’t be any trouble.”

Nuri did not suffer from vertigo- indeed, she wasn’t usually the phobic sort, but she decided, there and then, that she’d just diagnosed herself with the first recorded case of being-caught-by-Quarir-phobia. But it was either that or waiting for the Combine to kill her, and so she steadied herself and jumped-

-and landed heavily, managing to twist her ankle.

She gritted her teeth as she tried to concentrate on anything other than the wrenched joint- like, to take her principal thought, why Nalore hadn’t lived up to his promise. There was an acid remark on her lips when she looked up from her foot… and found Quarir wrestling with a headcrab.

If the creature in question hadn’t been a brain-dissolving body-controlling parasite, it might have been a comical sight. The small creature- who possessed four sharp, clawed feet and a flesh tone not dissimilar to a roast chicken- was doing an admirable job of grappling with Quarir, who was uttering a constant stream of profanity while the ‘crab squeaked and chirruped urgently.

Eventually Nalore managed to disentangle himself from the Xenian, and he flung it as far as he could. It landed on its back, but righted itself quickly, and then slowly- but frantically- began crawling back towards him, front claws waving in the air as it dragged itself along on its back legs.

“Shoot the thing!” he urged Nuri. “Urrgh.”

She needed no second bidding- as cute as the creature might’ve seemed- at least to some- she knew all to well what they were capable of. She took aim with her revolver, and her first shot hit home, flipping the parasite’s pitiful corpse skyward with a spray of oily blood.

Quarir shuddered again. “Urrgh. Sorry about your landing.”

“It’s okay. It’s barely sprained, I can still walk.”

“Good, because there’re more of the things,” Quarir informed her.

“I can see that.”

The allotment to the rear of the ex-government facility was a vast expanse of concrete, although it was difficult to tell whether it was a parking lot, a reclaimed town green or the site of a now-demolished building. Refuse of all kinds- from burnt out cars to piles of plastic gunk- filled the area, and it didn’t need a person of great perception to detect the headcrabs sedately making their way between the heaps of garbage.

“I’ve only got five rounds left now,” Nuri announced depressingly, “and it’d be a waste to spend them on headcrabs-”

“Agreed,” Quarir nodded, opening the unresisting boot of an immolated car. “Need to improvise- ah, perfect!”

The boot contained- as well as a lump of ash and malformed rubber that might’ve once been documentation and a flashlight- a rusty, but intact, tyre iron.

“What about that glove of yours?”

“It’s damn uncomfortable, and this isn’t the best time to try it out,” Quarir confessed, bundling the jangling mess up and hanging it off his belt.

“You’ll be attracting ‘crabs for miles with all that noise.”

“Hey, better that they jump out than lurk around waiting for us to turn our ba-”

“Gragaaahhh!”

Quarir’s heart leapt into his throat and he quickly dispatched the zombie, fear lending weight to his already formidable blows. It sunk to the floor, several dents in the ‘crab clamped across its rotting skull.

“We have got to get out of here-”

“There are scanners, keep down!” Nuri hissed.

They lay beneath a corroded van for a minute, waiting for the three humming sentries to move on, gaining height to soar above the office block.

Quarir brushed himself off and snorted. “Why would they be scanning a shithole like this-?”

“This was a Resistance base,” Nuri murmured. She bent down to the odorous corpse of the former human- there was a brightly-painted lambda on a band over the late citizen’s arm. “That’s why they’ve set up that headquarters, and why there’re headcrabs everywhere. They infested this place and then forgot about it.”

“The Combine does that…?”

“They use the ‘crabs as biological weapons. Zombies are a lot less dangerous than armed, loyal rebels, but even then they declare a cull every month or so. Keeps the ‘crab population down, and eventually all the zombies- and Resistance members- will get killed off.”

“Pretty damn good siege weapon, then.”

“It’s sickening,” she scolded him.

“That too. So there’s an old base somewhere amongst all this crap?”

“Somewhere, yes,” Nuri scanned the acre-or-so of debris. “But it’ll either be stripped bare or packed full of zombies.”

“Likely to be a lot of ammo inside, right?” Quarir said, licking his lips. “Lots of unneeded supplies and probably a tunnel network…”

“Have you got a plan?”

“Well, no. But checking out this base- even if it’s empty and full of our mutant chum’s family- is probably better than trying to go round the front. I reckon the Elites’ll be back by now.”

“You’ve got a point, but the entrance is likely to be hidden.”

“Gra-gaaah! Hurrghh!” cried some distant monstrosity.

“We just follow the screams- more zombies closer to the entrance, right?”

“Maybe you’re right…”

“Plus, it’ll get us away from the one behind me. Let’s walk.”
 
LOL, he's such a dry hero isn't he
End of chapter please sir?
 
Although, come to think of it, it'd be sensible if I just copied it to a CD (or even a floppy) and walked around with it...
Click to expand...
Oh dear, Edcrab! Should we be worried about you? And I though I had an unhealthy obsession with my story. :laugh:

Seriously though, excellent chapter. I really like the way your characters interact and the action was great too. I loved the scene where Quarir was attacked by the "cute" headcrab. Poor Quarir, it's getting pretty rough for him out there.

Keep up the good work!
 
That's some pretty sweet-ass storytelling right there
 
Thanks everyone! And tinyxipe, do you mean to say you weren't already fearing for our collective sanities? :P

Here's 33% of chapter 11... and is it me, or are my chapters getting smaller?



Chapter 11: Forbidden District

Quarir was relieved when they found the trapdoor; because, for all his bravado, he’d actually suspected that Nuri would be proved right, and that they’d have wandered the labyrinthine junk yard for days in a futile effort to find the abandoned Resistance base. They’d encountered a few more zombies and headcrabs- and his tyre iron was now positively slick with yellow blood- but his hunch seemed to have paid off. Of course, he still had a few misgivings…

“This door isn’t necessarily anything to do with the Resistance,” Nuri mused, echoing the concerns that Quarir had secretly harboured. “It might just be an underground storeroom, or a plumbing access point.”

“I doubt it,” Nalore declared smugly, “because right here, there’s that Resistance symbol.”

“Right where?”

“Here.”

“Oh, you mean on the pickup truck that’s sat on top of the trapdoor.”

Nalore shrugged sheepishly; it genuinely hadn’t occurred to him that the automobile- which had so motivationally sported the lambda on its door- was in fact blocking the best part of the theoretical entrance.

But he soon perked up. “You’re forgetting who you’ve got with you,” he declared smoulderingly. He began to limber up, and cracked his knuckles theatrically.

“You love the whole macho thing, don’t you?”

“Ah, you love it too, don’t deny it.” Quarir positioned himself behind the truck, winked at her, and then pushed.

The muscles on his arms bulged out of his skin, and one of his eyes started to twitch. “Guh,” he ventured. He carried on, even though he could literally hear the fibre-bundle implants in his biceps creak. “Urgh,” he added.

“I hate to interrupt your intensive hernia-farming,” Nuri grinned nastily, “but look at the gearstick.”

“What… urgh… about it?” Quarir panted.

“This is an old, scorched truck, but the gearstick looks brand new by comparison.”

“And that’s… gah… important why?”

Nuri rolled her eyes, leant through the glassless window, and pulled the lever all the way back.

The truck lurched forward and Quarir fell flat on his face. He looked up from the asphalt and saw the vehicle’s wheels turning rapidly- some sort of clanking chain-based mechanism was forcibly towing it across a stretch of tarmac that was, now he bothered to look at it, marked with streaks of rubber and suspiciously free of obstruction.

“Okay. I’ll let you have that one.” He picked the grit off his nose and made a face. “Hey,” he blurted in sudden realisation, a thought striking him almost as hard as the ground had, “this is tar. The outskirts were concrete.”

“You’ve certainly had a close inspection to confirm that.”

“You know what I mean! This little patch in the centre is tarmac- why?”

“The Resistance- if this is their base,” she added speedily, “probably had something to do with that.”

“Maybe, although I don’t know why the Combine haven’t found this yet,” Quarir murmured, getting onto his hands and knees and effortlessly lifting the exposed trapdoor open. “Why was that truck back in place? Man, now you’ve got me as paranoid as you-”

A spindle-legged headcrab chose that tactful moment to leap out of the shaft in a spirited attempt to latch onto Quarir’s skull. It missed- but only through its own misfortune rather than Nalore’s reactions- and flew past his head and into the bonnet of a crumpled sports car.

“What the hell was that?!” Quarir let out an unmanly whimper, spinning to face the creature, his bloodied bludgeon raised.

The long-limbed parasite- that moved far faster then its chubbier cousin- emerged from the engine in an explosion of bolts and rust. Like some sort of bizarre batsman, Quarir caught the flying beast a heavy blow in mid air, and it hurtled backwards, wetly striking the side of a sludge-filled skip. It slid to the floor, convulsing, and then went still.

“Thanks for the help,” Nalore snapped, looking at the vanquished alien with distaste. “What was it?”

“We call it a ‘fast headcrab’, and you seemed to handle it just fine by yourself. I need to save our ammo, and like you said, I just love watching you in action.”

“Funny. And ‘fast headcrab’… you guys are imaginative.” Quarir stiffened. “Hang on, there aren’t ‘fast zombie’ varieties, are there?”

Nuri sighed. “Yes. But they make such a racket there’s no chance of them creeping up on you unawares.”

The ladder leading down from the trapdoor began rattling violently, and a bloodcurdling howl split the air. And more followed.

“Oh, god,” Nuri breathed. “Seal it! There must be dozens down there!”

Quarir ran to the truck-

-and one shot rang out. A massive bullet hole appeared in the metal of its chassis, mere inches from his torso, and he stopped in his tracks.

Laser sights, too many to count, were emanating from the looming Combine HQ and covering the surrounding area in flickering dots of blue light.

The two of them dove for cover, just as the first two zombies emerged from the trapdoor, clawing at the air and screaming horribly.
 
“You love the whole macho thing, don’t you?”

“Ah, you love it too, don’t deny it.” Quarir positioned himself behind the truck, winked at her, and then pushed.

The muscles on his arms bulged out of his skin, and one of his eyes started to twitch. “Guh,” he ventured. He carried on, even though he could literally hear the fibre-bundle implants in his biceps creak. “Urgh,” he added.

“I hate to interrupt your intensive hernia-farming,” Nuri grinned nastily, “but look at the gearstick.”
Click to expand...
:laugh: :laugh: :laugh:
That had me chuckling and when I got to "intensive hernia-farming" I just had to look away. *wipes tears of mirth from eyes* You're very good.

I know the status of my sanity has long since gone beyond questionable, but I had hoped that you were... No, sorry, it's pretty obvious that you're at least a bit unhinged. Just don't go walking the streets, clutching a CD to your chest, mumbling and trying to insert it into random slots.
 
I've been walking around with a CD recently- but I think I got away with it, people must've thought I'd just bought an album! Didn't explain why I kept licking it and giggling quietly, but still... ;)

Regrettably I'm a bit behind in the writing stakes due to a few semantic issues (but no plot holes thus far, fortunately)- however, I've at least produced the zipped Word document as promised. Might be slightly easier for people to manage- and I've corrected the more blatant spelling mistakes. I'll try and get the end of the chapter up sometime in the next two days, and update the .zip as well, of course.
 

Attachments

Thanks for the .zip, ah well, was a nice read even if it was like 60 pages :)

I like how you slowly developed the main relationship, not instantly accepting or caring about each other, and making them seem surprised when they found they did care. Also, the humor you throw in is nice, it makes the characters seem more real.

Maybe you said it somewhere up there, but how much further are you going to take this story?
 
The horrible truth is that I'm not really sure myself- but it's definitely past the 60% mark (not that that means much). Certainly longer than I expected it to be- and even when it does finish, I'll probably find some way of milking the characters for all that they're worth- I just kept finding that, when I hit the "endpoint", I had another idea I just had to put into practise...
 
Drawing number eleven to a close... I'll update the .zip when I post the next chapter.



The resulting pandemonium was expected- robbed of their main objectives, the accumulated snipers turned their attentions to the gibbering zombies, and the rotting, scrawny creatures were ripped to shreds by an ear-splitting barrage of high-calibre pulse rounds.

But, not so predictably- or at least not as therapeutically to Quarir’s undead-loathing soul- their place was taken by two more. And then another pair. And another.

A single on-target shot from one of the sniper’s rifles literally tore one of the abominations in half, but they appeared too quickly for the slow firing gunmen to deal with.

Not that organised after all, Quarir thought, because half-decent riflemen would’ve conserved their rounds, instead of pouring massed fire at lone targets that didn’t warrant it.

Of course that left him with a problem- he and Nuri were separated by a throng of at least ten (intact) monstrosities, their only means of escape was probably filled with more of them, and an entire squadron of elite (or not so elite) snipers were on hand to ventilate them.

So if they moved, they’d either be eaten alive, shot to pieces, or both.

Quarir decided that that’d be an interesting prospect, because presumably they’d have to be eaten alive before being shot to pieces-

“I’m going to make a run for it!” Nuri screeched over the mêlée, rousing Nalore from his macabre reverie.

To Quarir’s horror, Nuri sprinted from behind the rundown sports car, heading straight for the potential safety of the trapdoor. One of the zombies noticed Nuri’s dash and leapt towards her, but a white-hot pulse round intended for her forehead flashed down and split the headcrab atop the animated corpse. It went limp, tumbling into the shaft like some farcical rag doll.

There was a resounding clang as Nuri- who had ignored the access ladder- leapt feet first through the opening and hit the metal floor below. Spurred on by her success, Quarir tensed himself, squatting like a professional athlete, and prepared to follow her…

Nuri was waiting at the bottom of the ladder with a mixture of trepidation and elation when Quarir fell at her feet, a “fast” zombie scratching at his throat.

The creature was straddling him and trying to tear his face off, and although he was fighting it Nalore had no desire to reverse their positions, because the thought of lying on top of the thing made him feel physically sick…

Deciding that Quarir was having difficulties, Nuri took aim and fired twice in quick succession.

Nalore pushed the lifeless body away and got up. Neither said anything.

Then, staring at his shoulder as one might examine an unexpected grass stain, Quarir announced; “you shot me again.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but it was either that or-”

“Graahh!”

“Garrhh!”

A zombie dropped down from the square of light above them just as another darted towards their position from the gloomy corridor. Nuri took aim and fired, sending the aggressive freak spiralling back from the shadows it had heralded from, and Quarir caught the second creature a hefty smack in the belly moments after it landed. It doubled over with a ghastly screech, and before it recovered he brained it forcibly with the other end of the tyre iron. It didn’t get back up.

“I’m starting to like this thing,” Quarir grinned, watching the blood drip off the implement with morbid fascination.

“I’m starting to wish we’d brought a torch,” Nalore grimaced. “And stop doing that.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s really dark, and the last thing I want is for you to start watching blood trickle off your murder weapon. It’s just creepy.”

“I said sorry. Look, there’s a light switch here…” Quarir slapped it with the palm of his hand.

There was a familiar clanging and rattling, and everything went dark. The carnage above them no doubt continued unabated, but they could no longer hear the guttural bawling of the aliens or the Combine's gunfire. Somehow, that was worse.

“That was the mechanism reset button,” Nuri said flatly.

“Yeah, I guessed. Look, I can just open it again.” Nalore hit the switch again. Nothing happened. He punched it so hard that the surrounding plaster splintered and fell away, and yet still nothing happened.

“We’re sealed in the dark. Great.”

“Ah-ha, no,” Nalore declared exultantly, fiddling with something on his belt.

“Yes, we are.”

“Well, yeah, but I can fix that,” something jangled noisily as he gnawed his lower lip. “Hang on. Wait, it’s not my size.” More jangling. “Wait no, it’s just on backwards. Right. There!”

“Do I want to know what you’re doing?”

“It’s damn hard to get it on in the dark, that’s all. Bit of a tight fit… but I’m sure it’ll work.”

“Seriously, do I want to?”

Quarir held his hand up and flexed his fingers- he was wearing the Arcadimaarian’s gilded amplifying gauntlet. “Right. Now…”

He held his hand out and concentrated. He promptly went cross-eyed.

“What are you trying to do?” Nuri asked him.

“Shhh,” he hissed, and he went back to crossing his eyes. He winced and gritted his teeth, and his hand began shaking, rattling the shining device.

“Battling constipation? Trying to retract the hernia you gave yourself a while back?”

“Urggh… there!”

“What?”

“The light! My fingers glowing! Look at that!”

“It is,” Nuri admitted, “but it’s not what I’d call bright.”

“It’s getting a bit stronger,” Nalore said sulkily. “I don’t see you focusing your psychic energies to lighting our way.”

“Huhh-huhh-VRAWL!”

A .357 round downed the zombie before it even had time to burst from the shadows.

Nuri gave him a look. “You do see me saving our lives continuously though.”

“Ah,” Nalore declared boldly, waving the index finger that was tipped with the flickering orb, “but you couldn’t if you couldn’t see anything!”

“True. Let’s carry on; you can be a big boy and hold the light, and I’ll have to settle for killing all the horrible mutants that try and eat us.”

“You’ll run out of ammo soon enough,” Quarir informed her, although it wasn’t a thought he found very comforting.

“And I’m sure you’ll run out of brains soon enough. Come on.”
 
I've created an account on fanfiction.net, so in a few days I'll put the story so far up for browsing. Might be easier on people's eyes ;)

I have no idea why I said that last post was the end of Chapter Eleven, especially because this is probably the longest I've written- here's a bit more of it...




The tiny sphere of light grew in intensity as they cautiously made their way down the dank corridor- and as it brightened, Quarir’s headache worsened. It had started out being so mild that he was barely aware of its presence, but it was gradually reaching such a level of severity that he felt as if a porcupine had burrowed into his brain before starting to have an epileptic fit.

He wondered if it was always this bad, even for Arcadimaarians- it would explain why every Arc was a screwed-up bastard, for one thing. Perhaps the amplifiers merely lessened the pain of their natural abilities, rather than lending them any extra clout. Either way they were undoubtedly the Arc equivalent of an army knife; their staple weapon and survival kit. Only Zealots had the gauntlet-forms in Quarir’s experience- most of the fascist psychics favoured globular or staff-like devices.

And as for the Combine… well, the Combine had no real need for amplifiers. Despite their feeble appearance they were immensely potent telepaths but tended to use those abilities in a purely communicative capacity. Of course, their sheer willpower made them massively resistant to the psionic attacks favoured by the Arcadimaarians, and their Synth cohorts had almost complete immunity, having very little in common with most other life forms.

Couple this with the Combine’s disturbing habit of teleporting fully-formed attack bases onto planets, and you had a superpower that was feared by- or at least immensely disliked- by the ancient Arc society.

Neither had truly faced the other yet, and that Combine Elite had proved it. They’d clashed over neutral worlds- or more accurately, worlds that they were both trying to enslave- but they’d never actually faced each other in their respective home territories…

Quarir gritted his teeth, but it was no good. He could no longer ignore the fiery meteor rocketing around his skull. Accepting defeat, he tore the strangely-warm gauntlet off his hand, and the relief was so rapid that he let out a contented sigh.

Nuri looked over her shoulder to see what he was up to. “Oh,” she said, sounding impressed, “you can take it off and it still keeps going?”

Nalore held the gauntlet up. The light- which was now emanating from all five fingers- was still present, and showed no sign of fading. “Uh, yes,” he said weakly, “you just need to concentrate to turn it on. What did you think I had to do? Fry my own brain just to keep it going? Ha. Ha.”

The ever-sloping passageway finally reached something of interest- wire-fronted rooms stretched its length for as far as they could see. Each was, unsurprisingly, derelict- they passed one full of unmarked crates, one with an upturned desk, one with shelves brimming with weapons, one with barrels of…

Quarir performed a text-book double take. He hadn’t been mistaken- the room held a vast shelving unit populated with all manner of firearm. He may have been unfamiliar with this planet’s technology, but the long-barrelled guns certainly looked potent.

“Nuri,” he called after her, “come and look at this.” Not waiting for his comrade to arrive, Nalore brought his filched tyre iron down hard on the armoury’s door. To his amazement it simply swung open- but then again, what kind of rebel would lock a door during a rapid evacuation?

He swaggered in and grabbed a polished armament. “Brilliant. What kind of gun is this?”

“A shotgun,” Nuri said without giving it a second glance. “It’s pellet based, and they spread out.”

“Right, so it’s like a combusting scatter rifle. Okay.”

Quarir fiddled with the shotgun for a moment, trying to figure out just how it was reloaded. He began grabbing as many 9mm clips and boxes of shells as he could carry- as he really wasn’t sure what the weapon fired- secretly hoping that Nuri would intervene and explain things.

But she had been wondering why the room seemed so well illuminated by Quarir’s bizarre torch, and she soon located the reason- there was a colossal hole in the roof, allowing sunlight to play on the various implements of death. A hideous, pointed missile- all angled black metal and interlocking bars- was buried in the floor, and it had taken away much of the adjoining wall as well as gouging a chunk out of the ceiling.

“I’ve found one of those ‘biological siege weapons’ you were so impressed by,” Nuri announced disdainfully. “The Combine fills these with headcrabs and fires them into populated there’s a ‘crab on that shelf!”

Quarir reacted quickly, and the parasite’s leap did little more than noisily dislodge the carefully arranged shotguns. It landed behind him, and began to ponderously turn around, but he trod on it, took aim… and pulled the trigger with nothing more harmful than a click racing out of his gun.

“Dammit,” Quarir swore, and instead he had to settle for bashing the squirming critter to death with the stock of the weapon. “Hate guns without charge cores.”

“If that had been loaded you’d have blown your foot off,” Nuri snapped. “It fires lots of pellets, it’s not a damn air gun.”

Quarir let the remark pass, because he also wasn’t sure whether an air gun was real or some sort of Earth pantomime, like an air guitar. “What kind of headcrab was this?” he asked, using his boot to flip the dead alien onto its back.

Nuri knelt beside the corpse, and her eyebrows shot skyward. “This is a toxic variant- something we think the Combine might have created themselves, like the fast headcrabs.” Quarir, who had been about to touch the black, slightly disc-shaped parasite, recoiled away from the cadaver.

“Euch. Do these ones also make zombies out of people, or do they just kill them?”

Nuri shook her head. “I haven’t seen many of these, but I’m fairly certain they just bite people and let their venom do all the work.”

“Right. Show me how to load this thing and we’ll go on- I’ll bet there’s more of these things deeper inside.”

“Probably,” Nuri agreed unhappily. “I think this used to be an underground parking lot,” she said conversationally, selecting a box of red 12 gauge shells, “and somehow the Resistance cell here found time enough to tar up all the car ramps, so they could hide easier. Now, watch…”

Quarir took note of how Nuri loaded the weapon, and after her instruction he felt he could do it competently, if not as well as Nuri with her fluid, accustomed motions.

“There’re no .357 rounds in here,” she sighed, after a brief inspection of the shelves. “I really need a reload.”

Nuri was about to leave via the door when Quarir stopped her. “Let’s try the hole in the wall,” he suggested. But, again, he went through without even waiting for her response. She had half a mind to shoot the twerp in the arm again, but she didn’t want to waste her precious ammunition.

Quarir came back at high speed. Nuri thought, for a short moment, that he’d remembered himself and came back with an apology and a request for her opinion on the matter, but it was because he’d been hurled backward. He smashed through the disintegrating wall and into the shelf, which toppled over, spilling the last of its contents onto the floor.

There were shuffling footsteps, and eager, breathy noises.

A massive, bloated freak covered in the squeaking, beetle-like poison headcrabs staggered into view.

On sensing Nuri, it made a noise that she could only describe as laughter.
 
Glad to see you like it :D This is the end of Chapter 11, honest.



Quarir retrieved the shotgun, took aim, and fired. Nothing happened. “Wrong beffing one!” he swore, selecting a choice sample from his multilingual arsenal of profanities. He threw the weapon away and began scrabbling amongst its fellows, desperately trying to find the gun that Nuri had loaded earlier.

Nuri was only dimly aware of Quarir’s frantic search; she had more pressing matters on her mind, like the inflated monster shuffling towards her. She squeezed her revolver’s trigger, firing again and again- and suddenly recalled, just as she sent her last bullet speeding into the zombie, that there was no more ammunition available for it. She cast the .357 aside and, taking a more proactive stance than Quarir, she grabbed a dry shotgun and hurriedly began to load it.

But she’d perforated one of the many headcrabs latched onto the former human, and the thing silently fell from its tumescent host. Apparently unfazed, the ex-rebel reached down with its swollen arms and plucked a ‘crab from off its own body, then reared back and threw it towards them.

The shotgun was sent spinning out of Nuri’s hands, the toxic, living projectile clamping onto the firearm in a futile attempt to infest it. She backed away, and her foot got caught between two of the fallen shelves- she stumbled, hitting her head on one of the unit’s hard wooden ridges.

The impact dizzied her, and as the zombie approached, forever gurgling and chuckling, she became acutely aware of its purplish, tumid flesh, its grossly distended stomach, its outreaching hands…

Quarir gave up trying to find the right shotgun, and instead smashed his tyre iron over the headcrab sitting on the obese abomination’s head. The zombie batted him aside effortlessly.

Nuri’s empty .357 was the only weapon within her reach. Her hand clamped around it instinctively, sending the firing chamber flopping open, and then, inexplicably, it wasn’t empty. With a flash of light, six fresh rounds sat within the gun, which closed up of its own accord.

Her drive for survival overcame her shocked disbelief, spurring her into action. Three bullets all found their target, and with a piteous moan the zombie buckled, its skin slick with dark blood.

The four remaining headcrabs disconnected from the falling mutant, and they acted quickly, forever driven to find fresh hosts. But so did their would-be victims.

Quarir took one down, leaping to his feet and smashing his iron upwards in a single fluid motion. Another splattered as a .357 round found its mark, and a third met a similar fate in midair.

But the third smacked into Nalore’s leg with a wet, squelching sound. Shrugging off the impact, Quarir battered the organism to death.

Nuri spied the last headcrab- it was still on the shotgun, biting it in total disregard of its inanimate nature. Toying with the notion of a zombie shotgun, she blasted the surprised parasite away.

Holding the Magnum at arms length, she flipped it open. For a moment nothing happened, and she wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing- despite the stinking corpse to the contrary. But then the sidearm vibrated slightly, an inner glow radiating from the six chambers, and, in yet another audacious example of reality-defiance, the pistol reloaded itself from out of nothing.

“Did you see…?” she began in astonishment.

“Yeah. Looks like our Arc buddy changed it to suit his needs.” Nalore confirmed, as if it was the most mundane thing he’d ever seen happen. “That’s one of a kind. An infinity projectile-launcher- could be the next big thing.”

“You don’t think he might have-” Nuri stopped, all worries regarding her unique pistol swamped by another issue. “Is your leg all right?”

Quarir looked down. The limb was noticeably fatter than before. “Well,” he hazarded, “it does feel kind of hot. And throbby.” And with those words, he collapsed.

Nuri dashed forward to support him, gently lowering the surprisingly heavy man to the ground. She rolled up his trouser leg, tearing it in her haste, and the site that greeted her made her retch.

Quarir groggily looked at his own leg, which he could no longer feel. The calf was ballooning before their eyes, taking on the same purple tone that distinguished the zombie.

“Oh crap,” he slurred, toxin-driven fatigue numbing his brain.

Nuri had some knowledge of medicine, but even in this day and age she wasn’t sure what to do to combat the venom of a poisonous headcrab, and she said as much. “I don’t know what we’re meant to do, but I could maybe try and find something for it…” she offered, in an attempt to be supportive.

“You got a knife?”

“Yes… I’ve got a penknife…”

“Good,” Nalore nodded. “Give it to me, and then try to find a medkit. Anything. If they’ve… ack… got an armoury they’ll have a medbay.”

Nuri obligingly pulled the tiny blade from out of her boot, and, despite being disturbingly aware of Quarir’s intentions, she handed it to him.

Nuri vanished through the door and Quarir braced himself- he knew what he had to do, and if he didn’t do it the consequences would be far worse. He was a bion, he knew that, but even if he was twice as resilient as a “normal” man it still might not save him- who was to say that this poison couldn’t kill someone ten times over?

And so, with fingers that trembled more from the onset of the dead headcrab’s venomous payload than fear, he flicked the blade out, and stabbed it deep into his leg.

He felt nothing, which was somehow worse than the agony he’d been expecting. He slowly slit the swelling, watching the putrescent mixture of liquids seep out of the wound.

The gunk smelt horribly similar to the dead zombie, but as it poured out of the lanced abscess his leg began to hurt- which was, in all probability, a good sign.

Nuri came back into the room, looking anxious.

“That was quick,” Quarir said, immensely cheered by her arrival.

But he noticed that she didn’t have a Combine medkit or medicinal alcohol or even a roll of gauze, and he was about to ask her why.

However, a mad eyed man with an assault rifle stepped in after her, which was self explanatory.
 
very very good.

if only if you could put as much effort to the newspaper.......
 
Oooo! Great action! Quarir seemed to be showing a bit more competence there. And those cliff-hanger endings...

Is it just me or is your style (in this story) changing a little?
 
Quarir's steadily coming to terms with this "new" world, and I think it's forcing him to get his act together. As for the style... yes, I'm angling it in a direction that I'm more comfortable with. Don't know whether it's a good thing or a bad thing that you noticed :O
 
No, it's definitely a good thing. It feels more like what you were saying about my story. I like it.

Unless you meant I wasn't supposed to notice...
 
Well, I wouldn't go that far :p I just didn't think the change would be so obvious so soon, but I'm glad to see you like it.

New chapter! Regrettably there's not much Combine activity in this one, and that's my favourite content...


Chapter 12: Janitor

“Y’ trespassing, y’ know?” Kief informed them, “’n’ I can’t allow that.”

Quarir blinked. The guy was short and elderly- he looked about sixty, but that didn’t mean much. Nalore considered this, and realised that, since this wasn’t Ucelsia, it meant that people who looked sixty would be sixty- here, at least, they didn’t have implanted octogenarians walking around and managing to pass themselves off as teenagers.

“I’ve been ‘ere since day one,” Kief continued conversationally, “Always work like clockwork. Even those kids didn’t git in my way. Junkies di’n’t e’er.”

Keif blabbered on and Quarir lay back and sighed. The man had, at first, been overtly suspicious and threatening- but he’d gradually convinced himself that Nalore and Nuri weren’t hostile. He’d introduced himself as Kief, Grounds Supervisor of the Fruotech Plaza Parking Facility, and then after that he’d calmly told them- in his unidentifiable, near-impenetrable accent- that they were trespassing on private property.

“We’d be quite happy to leave,” Nuri said for the fourth time. “Maybe you could point out the exit?”

Kief chuckled. “Wha’? C’mon, y’ got in, y’ must know how yeh ken get out.”

“I meant if there were other exits,” she explained slowly and patiently. “It’s a bit… hectic, up top.”

“Oh, aye, there plenty o’ o’er ways out,” Kief responded in an equally patronising manner, “But they be in ‘igh sec’rity areas. Can’t let you in ‘em.”

Nuri held her head in her hands. “Give me strength…”

Quarir shuffled forward a bit in an attempt to make himself a bit more comfortable. “Look Kief. We’re both tired, I’m poisoned, and we’re on the run from the Combine. You can’t tell me that-”

“Oh, righ’, t’ Combine! ‘Ey still tryin’ t’ takeover the place?”

“What?”

“They put a bid in y’ know,” Kief continued angrily, “but the manager, ‘ee said ‘ee wouldn’t sell to no for-in company. But the Combine wouldn’t take t’ hint! Next thing I know, wham, ‘ostile takeover, place goes bankrupt, and all these kids start squatting, but ‘ey’re nice enough. Junkies turned up later and ‘ey were right barstids.”

Quarir realised he was in the presence of someone who was even less informed than he was. “Uh, Kief, you do know that-”

“Here’s a hint, Quarir,” Nuri told him quickly, “don’t try and explain things to a madman with an M16, okay?” She turned back to the grimacing janitor. “Yes, that’s quite right sir,” she continued more audibly, “we’re just lost our own corner shop to the Combine. Evicted us, after they bought the place off the landowner.”

“Oh, poor ol’ you,” Kief said with genuine sympathy. “Barstids, like I tells yeh.”

“And then my partner here got sick and we couldn’t afford to go to the private clinic,” Nuri said, her bottom lip quivering histrionically, “and now we just go from place to place trying to find somewhere to spend the night…”

“Oh, I know the feeling gel. Bunch of idjits in offices sayin’ this ‘n’ that and ruinin’ lives.” Kief rubbed his chin. “Tells y’ two what, I’ll let you into the gen’rator room- you can reach t’ subway from there. Nice shortcut.”

“That’d be very kind of you,” Nuri said sweetly.

“Heh. Follow me now. Y’ better be able t’ keep up.”

Kief tottered off in the peculiar shamble that only old men seemed able to master, muttering all the while about bureaucrats and insensitive corporations.

“He’s very, um, interesting, isn’t he?” Nuri giggled. “Do you need a hand, by the way…?”

“No, I’m fine,” Quarir grunted, hauling himself up and using his shotgun as an improvised crutch. “But I don’t think he is. Foreign companies and junkies? Doesn’t even know there’s a damn alien invasion-”

“That’s probably for the best. ‘He who is already mad can’t go mad twice’.” Nuri quoted. “Or someone said something similar; I never really paid attention in class…”

“Hey, y’ two lovebirds! C’mon!”

They ran- or at least hobbled quickly- over to a massive door that Kief was struggling to hold open. Once they were past it, the caretaker let it slam shut, and Nalore took one look at the vault-like gate and realised why the crazy fool had managed to live for so long- the security hatch was made of inches-thick steel, and even the most corpulent poison zombie couldn’t have made a dent in it.

“Tis jus’ a door y’ know lad,” Kief offered, as if communing with an idiot, “quit starin’ at it.”

Quarir muttered something that neither Kief or Nuri caught, but it certainly wasn’t complimentary.

Whatever Fruotech had dealt with, they must have been rich and influential. Quarir knew extravagance when he saw it- all the heavily labelled pipes and cables, the emergency lights on every surface, the massive security door… it was easy to see why the Resistance had claimed it as a base.

The corridor opened out into a large, but confined engine room. From the mixture of valves and wires, Quarir decided it was probably some sort of boiler-cum-power plant.

“He’s kept it working all this time,” Nuri said, “so he can’t be that crazy.”

Nalore just sniffed. He could hear the hiss of steam, the hum of electricity, the trundling of… well, some sort of rotating thingy. Everything might have been functional, but, based on the ramshackle appearance of the equipment, Kief must have long since resorted to salvaging parts from the surface to keep his precious machines going. The idea of pressurised water and high-voltage lines in one room made Quarir shudder.

“I’d love t’ offer you tea or coffee or summit,” Kief lied happily, “but I git to keep an eye on t’ ol’ boilers. ‘Elp yerselves to t’ cupboards on y’ way out.”

“Thank you!” Nuri called out loudly. Kief nodded in recognition, then sat down on an overstuffed mattress and proceeded to read a decades-old newspaper.

“Right, let’s get out of here,” Quarir muttered once they were out of earshot. “All the burbling is getting to me. And I mean him, not the pipes.”

“He’s probably been here since the Combine invaded,” Nuri said, disapproving of Nalore’s attitude towards the elderly, “I bet you couldn’t keep your sanity for that long. In fact, you seem to misplace yours regularly.”

A bold red line was painted on the floor, with “EXIT” written across it in block capitals. They followed the fading guideline through the maze of shuddering and hissing apparatus, occasionally backtracking once or twice before realising that Kief had renewed it wrongly at some point. Eventually, they reached a thin door with “OUT” scrawled over its splintering wood. Quarir gently pushed it open.

The room beyond was a courtyard, of sorts- a massive skylight being its centrepiece. It was difficult to tell, however, whether the opening had always been so large or whether it had been unintentionally expanded as a side effect of warfare. Nuri tended towards the latter- the Combine would have found the base much earlier if they could have looked inside through such a colossal window.

“He’s growing crops,” Nalore clicked his tongue. “I’ll admit that that's fairly resourceful.”

“We don’t know if it was him or the Resistance,” Nuri pointed out. “Although if they’re still here he must have kept them going. I guess he needs to eat something.”

The four raised plots had once been flowerbeds, but over the years they’d been converted into vegetable patches. Yellowing lettuce, malformed carrots, bulbous things that were probably meant to be potatoes- but as amateurish as the developing harvest might have looked, it was no doubt edible enough to keep Kief going.

“Now, where are those cupboards?” Nuri asked herself.

“Oh, come on. They’ll be filled with tentacled radishes or something. Let’s just find the subway- oh.”

“Why oh?” Nuri turned, and saw what Quarir had seen. “Oh.”

The large passageway leading away from the makeshift farm was, indeed, labelled “Subway”, so Kief had got that right. However, it was completely blocked by tons of fallen rock; girders criss-crossed the heap, adding further impediments to an already insurmountable obstruction.

“Well, damn,” said Nalore, who lacked anything better to say.

“I guess the Combine shelling must have collapsed it,” Nuri said, sighing dejectedly.

“Actually it always been like that. I think old demolition work.”

Quarir and Nuri spun round. A tall, bearded man, a scrawny youngster and a Vortigaunt were all looking at them quizzically.

“I’m Dmitri,” said Dmitri. “What can we do for you?”
 
Awsome, that Kier guy is quite insane i must say
 
Fanfiction account is up. The big problem is that it's not designed for the format I've used here, so if anything it'll be even more confusing, as I can't double-space or use symbols between paragraphs. Gah.

I'll have to re-upload all the damn chapters at some point, making sure they've got a layout more suited for the site. Bah, I say.
 
Okay, since you asked nicely. End of number 12- it was undoubtedly short. Much lauded return of the Vortigaunt species here- and I'm glad to see someone's glad to see Dmitri return :P



The introductions were made quickly and smoothly (if one discounted the problematic decision Quarir had to make when shakings hands with the three-armed Vortigaunt: they eventually settled for a friendly exchange of nods).

Dmitri was a tall, muscular man, and it was blatantly obvious from his mannerisms and stance that he was ex-army material. His beard made his age indeterminable, but he possessed an incredible presence. And enough body hair to keep a small bear warm.

His gangly colleague, however, was another story. Charlie put Nuri in mind of Quarir, except shorter, younger, and tortured by the lingering invasion force of acne. His hair was auburn, greasy, and of a style and length that was part hippy, part tramp. There was something about him that she found indescribably annoying- so he’s very like Quarir, she decided.

“So you come here all the time, even after the infestation?” Nuri asked the hulking Russian conversationally.

“Kief is still here, and he’s a good man,” Dmitri said charitably, “But he’s old, and needs help. He’s been here since company started up.”

“Explains a lot,” Quarir accepted, taking a bite out of a soil-sheathed carrot and sitting on the wall of the adapted flowerbed.

“I never really met the guy,” said Charlie. “Didn’t this place get closed down or something?”

“That is correct,” the ‘Gaunt croaked suddenly. “He defends this place with great skill and passion, for he still believes it to be his lifelong supplier of sustenance.”

“Well, he did seem convinced that the Combine was just a big conglomerate mounting a takeover…” Nuri nodded.

“Yes. Before 7-Hour War, this place was in process of being bought by much bigger company,” Dmitri recounted, sadly indicating their aging surroundings, “I think Kief was already… going. So when the Combine invaded he got confused.”

“He saw the resistance as friendly squatters,” Charlie grinned. “God knows what the mad idiot thought the zombies were.”

“Drug addicts,” said Dmitri. “And shut up. He does good job. Although I don’t know where he found all his weapons.”

“Thinking of weapons,” Quarir said, scoffing the last of his earthy carrot, “do you think he’d mind if we took a few supplies? It’s just that-”

“Quarir!” Nuri interrupted, shocked. “I think taking the carrot was a step too far as it is-”

“Oh, no, Kief always welcomes us helping selves to the cupboard.” Dmitri assured her. “We drop off spares here, pick up things for emergency, we do all sorts. It is a useful cache.”

“Ah, I wondered why you’d taken us this way,” said Charlie. “Thought you’d got lost.”

Dmitri gave Charlie a look that passed all language barriers, and beckoned for Quarir to follow him. The Vortigaunt slowly paced after them.

Nuri watched them go. Charlie ignored them, and moved further up the wall so that he was sitting uncomfortably close to her.

“Sooo,” he began, “where you from?”

“City 11,” Nuri said stiffly.

“What was that like?”

“It was yet another fascist hell-hole, and a day ago the Combine blew it up.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Plenty of Combine died too- quite horribly. I watched.”

“Uh… I’m just going to stand over there.” Charlie scurried away, much to Nuri’s secret relief.

Oblivious to the soil, she lay back, removed her bobble hat and shook her hair out. She was starting to smell like Quarir. Not that she’d ever intentionally smelled him.

At the far wall of the colossal lobby, Dmitri was rummaging through the three small cupboards that were the courtyard’s only non-agricultural adornment. It was no doubt a search that was performed systematically, but from Quarir’s viewpoint it seemed as if he was just emptying them, randomly throwing objects over his shoulder or piling them up next to him.

“What do you want?” Dmitri asked offhandedly.

“Oh, we’d just like to see what food or weapons you’ve got-” Nalore began casually.

“I meant you. Your race. Pyotr told me about you.”

Nalore gaped. “What? Who is Pyotr and how did he-”

“Pyotr is Dmitri’s name for me,” the Vort said softly. “We do not see the same need for audible names as you do, as we are innately aware of each others location and identity. And their pains.”

“Uh, yeah,” Quarir said uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his head, “sorry about your friend…”

“Tell me- did the killer meet a justified end? We would have closure.”

“Well, I guess so… this Combine guy vaporised him with a pulse rifle…”

“A quick and intensely painful experience. A deserved fate.”

“Not to interrupt,” Dmitri rumbled, “but you have not answered question.”

“Did, uh, Pyotr tell you about my people? And about the Supercomputer?”

“A bit, yes.”

“Then this should be easier enough to understand- the Combine threaten us too, and I’m here to disrupt them and engage in reconnaissance.” Quarir winced inwardly- that wasn’t entirely true. But even he didn’t totally understand- or even recall- Maintonon’s plan.

“Who was this ‘killer’?” Dmitri asked, still suspicious.

“A Zealot,” Quarir began, aware that Dmitri- despite being unaugmented- could probably have torn him in half if he felt the need. “An assassin belonging to yet another species that wants to kill us.”

“Quarir speaks true,” Pyotr nodded solemnly. “Our brethren at Colony 351 report that the Arcadimaarian humanoids are very hostile.”

“Yeah, about that, how the hell can you guys be on Colony 351-?”

“Your two species look human? And speak it?” Dmitri stopped his pretence of looking for supplies and faced Quarir. “Convenient. Why?”

“We’re not sure,” Quarir admitted, “we just think we have a common ancestor. Both evolving from monkeys, or whatever. Same as why we look like your species.”

“Identical? I do not think so.”

“We’re from a different dimension, okay?” Quarir said exasperatedly. “I don’t get it either- maybe our planets are really, really alike and evolution took the same path. I don’t know. But I can speak- what is it? English?- because of my bionetwork chip.”

Dmitri nodded, as if he could accept this one fact. “Yes, Pyotr told me about your implants. Can you understand all languages?”

“Um, I don’t think so,” Quarir began awkwardly. He hated discussing his bionics- it always made him feel queasily aware of his artificial innards. “If two people with bionetwork chips talk, they can translate anything. But because you guys don’t have them, I’m locked to one language. I think I’m speaking Domarian, but it’s actually coming out as English. Same when I hear you two speak.”

“Is it reversible?”

“I damn well hope so,” Nalore declared uneasily. The thought had never crossed his mind before…

Dmitri nodded, apparently satisfied at long last. “Right,” he said, closing the cupboard and gathering up the sizeable heap that he’d accumulated, “bread, water, lot of vegetables, dried fish, dried animal, and a little vodka. And mushrooms.”

“Mushrooms?” Quarir raised an eyebrow. “Why mushrooms in particu-?”

“Many of my kind are partial to them. Do not question the presence of the mushrooms,” Pyotr warned, his voice deepened with fungal meance.

“You take some of these,” Dmitri ordered, offering Quarir two unmarked boxes. “And don’t let Charlie know. It would confuse him. This Nuri knows what you are?”

“Who I am,” Nalore corrected with just a smidgeon of anger. “And yes, she does. But I take it you’d find it easier if she didn’t know that you knew that she knows from what Pyotr knew about me?”

“Put simple, yes.” Dmitri gathered the sizeable leftovers of the supplies and forcibly shoved them into his rucksack. “Now let’s move before we disturb Kief. He get grouchy.”

“I thought you had weapons here…?”

“Kief have weapons here, and he doesn’t share. There are none left here- we will have to search elsewhere.”

“Agreed,” Pyotr bowed his head in concurrence. “I will escort you on your journey. My post no longer requires guarding- the Free Man has returned. The Combine’s reckoning, has come.”

It occurred to Quarir that both Dmitri and Pyotr talked remarkably similarly- both having to work with foreign tongues. No wonder they got along so well. “Who is this Freeman guy?” he asked, realising that he’d heard that name before.

“He is legend,” Dmitri said, awe seeping into his words. “But unlike legend, he really exist. And there no gods in togas bossing him around.”
 
Hehehe, mushrooms...

I would have cheered for Charlie too, but I didn't realize it was him. I didn't picture him as a youngster. Loved his attempt to flirt with Nuri...
 
Holy crap, it just keeps coming!
and it's better everytime!
 
Trading ideas with Tinyxipe, eh?

mmhmm, mushrooms.

(double post, oops!)
 
Well, I just ripped it off because I loved the "mushroom scene" in Desperate Measures :D And I hadn't really given my Vort's much character, so I decided to include an in-joke and kill two birds with one mushroom ;)

And Charlie isn't too young- I see him being in his early twenties. It's just that Quarir, as a Domarian, is probably a wee bit older than you think; he classifies just about every human as a youngster...
 
First segment of the next chapter. It's an unlucky number, somethings bound to go wrong...


Chapter 13: Freeman

When Dmitri had told him they’d be heading towards the canals, Quarir hadn’t been sure what to expect. Canals in Ucelsia were one of two things; subterranean sewer passages riddled with all manner of aging purification system, or majestic stretches of sparkling water for the upper-class to mess about on.

But City 17’s canals were garbage-filled ruts trickling through the artificial canyons that crisscrossed the metropolis. The water itself was a dirty, mostly shallow liquid, dominated by silt and dark materials that Quarir tried not to think about. Mounds of earth, rusted cars (of which the City seemed to possess an unlimited supply) and even freight containers littered the bed of the disused channels.

Fortunately their guides seemed quite content to circumvent the dirty waters- although the dried mud on their clothing was testament to their earlier expedition, as they detailed…

“I wasn’t much of a Resistance member,” Charlie explained en route, “until this one day I got left behind by my team. Next thing I knew I was on the run, some CPs capture me, then Dmitri rescues me, and then next thing we’re breaking this Cerrekk guy out of their jail…”

“He an old friend,” Dmitri added.

“And just when I think I was headed back for the quiet life, the Combine stepped up their attacks, and yesterday a damn Strider came along and blew the hell out of my home base. Bumped into Dmitri again, and he leads me through the canals, we meet Pyotr, and then we go see Kief. And that’s about it.”

“Similar thing happened to us,” Nuri shrugged in sympathy. “Had to move on from City 11- it was either that or die- and we reached here by stowing away onboard a train. Wasn’t too eventful a journey.”

“Um, yeah,” Quarir agreed, deciding that the abridged version of their tale- which conveniently dropped all mention of stolen APCs, scuffles with mutant freaks and the fact he was from another dimension- would be their best option. Although the smiling look in Dmitri’s eyes betrayed that Pyotr had probably told them all he knew about their “uneventful” expedition…

Another batch of ominous shadows swept over them- two Hunter-Seeker helicopters and their droning entourage of scanners, speeding low over the sprawling suburbs beyond the abandoned industrial heartland of City 17.

“I hate those things,” Nuri muttered.

“Not a big fan of them myself,” Nalore concurred. Never mind the fact that they’d tried to kill them both in a variety of ways; they were tasteless designs, prime examples of the Combine’s penchant for angular black metal and exposed parts.

“You sure they’re not going to come our way?” Charlie asked Dmitri in a low voice.

“Freeman is here,” Dmitri answered sharply. “Breen has been dismissing story, so since Freeman arrived Breen will be desperate to find him before Resistance. Those won’t be interested in us.”

“The Free Man is a figure who inspires us all,” Pyotr said with his usual seriousness, “We can not forget his actions before the Nihilanth’s fall- but he was forced to sever the ties of many of his own kind to secure our freedoms. Sacrifice defines purpose, and our purpose defines our very existences.”

No one said anything in reply. Pyotr presumed- as did three other Vorts he happened to transmit the dialogue to- that the humans were subdued his philosophical truths. In reality they’d understood little of what he’d said, and no one was sure who or what the Nihilanth was.

Quarir had a vague inkling that the creature had been some sort of telepathic dictator, but truth be told the Domarians had little understanding of Xen- the so-called “Border World”-beyond its approximate location and anomalous nature. It was yet another thing the Supercomputer had covered up, something to be hidden from the public like the Arcadimaarians or Combine- something for secret agents and undeclared research authorities to probe and analyse and generally obsess over so Maintonon could eventually announce some sort of technological breakthrough. Damn thing thought that just because it was an eleven million year old genius it was some how better than them.

But if the Nihilanth had fallen- well, wouldn’t that threaten the very fabric of Xen? It was one big dimensional anomaly, after all, and surely something powerful enough to enslave the Vortigaunt race had enough psychic energy to cause real problems if he was suddenly removed from the scene.

Nalore got the impression that Freeman was somehow responsible for the thing’s downfall- and if it really was a being so psychically potent that even the Arcadimaarian’s hadn’t accidently psiwarped to it then Freeman must have been a right killing machine.

Nalore looked at Pyotr, who was slowly and silently following the apparently tireless Dmitri. Perhaps, Nalore realised, the Nihilanth’s death was why there are Vorts here on Earth…

“Outpost four, do you copy? Outpost four, do you copy?”

Dmitri abruptly stopped, quickly staring around for the origin of the urgent request. His move almost caused a pile up, but Nuri managed to stop herself falling onto Charlie after Quarir absently walked into her.

“Outpost four, we require-” the next four words were lost in a storm of static- “please respond.”

Dmitri approached an outflow pipe of truly massive girth, raised about three feet from the ledge they walked upon. It was only on closer examination that he realised the grating had a square hole, about a metre across- and it was blatantly cut rather than broken. “Someone made an entrance,” the Russian thought aloud.

“This is outpost four, we can confirm, the Combine have deployed-” further garbling of the transmission- “we’ve lost contact with-” more white noise- “recommend immediate evacuation of all bases.”

Dmitri hauled himself up through the opening, oblivious to the tiny stream of water that trickled over his fingers.

Quarir and the rest of the party watched the pipe expectantly as their esteemed leader splashed around inside it.

“Catch!”

Nalore managed to grab the heavy object as it plummeted downward. Dmitri soon followed the chunky machine, but fortunately Quarir had the presence of mind to back away before the 13-stone soldier landed.

“Well caught,” Dmitri grinned, taking the radio from the Domarian’s unresisting hands and tactfully ignoring his indignant expression. “Let’s see what we get.”

The communicator looked bulky and outmoded to Nalore, but most of this planet’s technology did. It was just a big, metal, dial-covered box with a telescopic aerial and a thickset leather strap. But Dmitri seemed perfectly at home with it, crouching down behind it and altering its numerous settings by means of several sliders and switches.

“Repeat, we did not-” further static, punctuated by a handful of Russian curse words, “-reply. Please repeat last transmission…”

The signal abruptly died, swallowed by the monotonous growl of interference. Despite his best efforts, Dmitri couldn’t relocate the correct frequency. “That does not bode well,” he said ominously, roughly shouldering the radio as if it was weightless.

“Hey, shouldn’t we check that out?” Charlie scrabbled back to his feet, lingering next to the gurgling pipe.

“There was no lambda,” Dmitri said gruffly. “It is not a base- I found nothing but radio and a corpse.”

“Oh,” Charlie quickly hurried away from the outflow pipe, fully aware that the water trickling forth from it would likely be contaminated by the decaying body within…

“Guns?” Quarir asked hopefully, running to keep up with the indefatigable Dmitri. “Sure you didn’t see anything…?”

“You have shotgun,” Dmitri said unequivocally. “You do not need other. Why you want?”

“Because they’re guns! This place has got zombies, fascist cops, flying death machines…”

“Oh, you not used to it?” Dmitri ribbed him.

“You’ve obviously never been to the Ucelsian Catacombs, mack.”

“What?” Charlie appeared over Nalore’s shoulder, all greasy tresses and elbows.

“Uh,” Quarir played for time, “um… the Undersea Catacombs. What we used to call the caves near City 11’s coast.”

“Ah,” Charlie nodded, and moved on.

“Smooth,” Nuri whispered in Quarir’s reddening ear.

“A most credible falsehood,” Pyotr agreed. “Fortunately Charlie will not know that City 11 is landlocked.”

Quarir limped off, mortified. “You’re a bunch of gits.”
 
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