I've thought of working on a fanfic for a while, and I've started on one. I don't really have much of a plot set up, besides a basic idea. Here's the first part I've got.
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I guess, to be honest, I never really thought of fighting. There's always the hope and wishing that someone, anyone, would pop up out of nowhere and destroy the Combine. But I sit, and I wait, and I stare out the window, wondering why the **** a few guys don't just go out and blow something up, start something, rally a cause, or do anything. But it never happens.
There's a network, of course, for getting people out of the city. But only a few make it, and they end up in some arctic wasteland or something. We never actually attack the Combine. We try to stay underground. I work a station with John, who gave up on his evacuation and decided to work with us. I'm in the same boat.
We're too tired, all of us. So goddamn tired, all the time.
---
Me and John live in a relay station on the outskirts of the city. Someone sends us a message, we send everyone else the message. It's a dark, damp, tiny shithole in an old sewer system. It smells like death. And urine.
John comes up with an idea. "What if we just, you know, bash their heads in with something? A crowbar, maybe."
"Where the hell are we supposed to find a crowbar? Do people just leave crowbars lying around in case of emergency?" I'm lying on a matress, trying to sleep. John is sitting at a desk next to the radios. The only lighting comes from the drain above us (it's just ****ing great working here during rain).
"It was just an example!"
"Well, what do you suggest? A sharpened stick?"
We do this a lot. Sit around and think about how to kill them. We don't have much energy for traditional past-times, you know, board games or whatever. Though we do have a decaying copy of "Sorry!" that we haven't touched in years.
"Stop being such a co-"
The radio beeps on. We wait anxiously for the report. After a pause, we hear a man say "This is Station 5, reporting gunfire near the train tracks." Beep off. This happens often. A hobo will throw a can at a cop or whatever, and he'll get shot. It never ends up being anything. Alternatively, someone will stumble upon a supply cache on an evacuation route and just start firing.
"That poor sucker's probably dead," John says. I try to fall asleep, but John keeps on talking. He flicks a switch on one of the radios and says, "Station 5 is reporting gunfire at the train tracks near them." He turns to me. "Station 5 is the one with the Vort, right?"
"Yeah," I respond. Station 5 is a train car that somehow ended up next to a pond filled with random debris.
Suddenly, the radio clicks back on. "Station 5 again. We've got someone important. The vortigaunt says his name is Gordon Freeman."
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I guess, to be honest, I never really thought of fighting. There's always the hope and wishing that someone, anyone, would pop up out of nowhere and destroy the Combine. But I sit, and I wait, and I stare out the window, wondering why the **** a few guys don't just go out and blow something up, start something, rally a cause, or do anything. But it never happens.
There's a network, of course, for getting people out of the city. But only a few make it, and they end up in some arctic wasteland or something. We never actually attack the Combine. We try to stay underground. I work a station with John, who gave up on his evacuation and decided to work with us. I'm in the same boat.
We're too tired, all of us. So goddamn tired, all the time.
---
Me and John live in a relay station on the outskirts of the city. Someone sends us a message, we send everyone else the message. It's a dark, damp, tiny shithole in an old sewer system. It smells like death. And urine.
John comes up with an idea. "What if we just, you know, bash their heads in with something? A crowbar, maybe."
"Where the hell are we supposed to find a crowbar? Do people just leave crowbars lying around in case of emergency?" I'm lying on a matress, trying to sleep. John is sitting at a desk next to the radios. The only lighting comes from the drain above us (it's just ****ing great working here during rain).
"It was just an example!"
"Well, what do you suggest? A sharpened stick?"
We do this a lot. Sit around and think about how to kill them. We don't have much energy for traditional past-times, you know, board games or whatever. Though we do have a decaying copy of "Sorry!" that we haven't touched in years.
"Stop being such a co-"
The radio beeps on. We wait anxiously for the report. After a pause, we hear a man say "This is Station 5, reporting gunfire near the train tracks." Beep off. This happens often. A hobo will throw a can at a cop or whatever, and he'll get shot. It never ends up being anything. Alternatively, someone will stumble upon a supply cache on an evacuation route and just start firing.
"That poor sucker's probably dead," John says. I try to fall asleep, but John keeps on talking. He flicks a switch on one of the radios and says, "Station 5 is reporting gunfire at the train tracks near them." He turns to me. "Station 5 is the one with the Vort, right?"
"Yeah," I respond. Station 5 is a train car that somehow ended up next to a pond filled with random debris.
Suddenly, the radio clicks back on. "Station 5 again. We've got someone important. The vortigaunt says his name is Gordon Freeman."
