The Very Short Story Thread

[Sulkdodds]

Okay. The idea of this thread is that you just write something, spontaneously, on the spur of the moment, without any forethought, and post it.

Everyone else then comments and gives constructive criticism on the (very) short stories that are posted.

Since this is HL2.net, and to make it easier, it has to be part of the HL universe. HL1 or 2, doesn't matter. So, here's mine, with no forethought at all:

They're coming over the rubble now, advancing between the burnt-out car skeletons and scrambling over the wreckage. Behind them, machineguns open up, covering the assault, clattering buzzsaws biting chunks out of the walls.

Sutton squints. The prayer hums in his ears.

They're dangerously close. Taking hits but still coming, down the long street, over barbed wire and tank traps.

He keeps on mumbling, the litany rising.

A head aligns with the centre of his scope, one red cyclops eye staring, for a moment, into death.

The litany reaches its peak and Sutton pulls the trigger. The head jolts backwards, a trail of red, and the long, toneless beep sounds. Flatline.

Fingers scrabble at the catch, twist, yank it backwards with a clank. The rifle cocked, he aims again, fires again, hears the beep stretch itself across the barren concrete canyon, echoing off the blasted walls.

And now they're spilling into the trenches, and the rebels are dying, and suddenly Sutton is up and racing right at that line of chattering death, ducking the MG fire and vaulting over a sandbag wall. Vision blurs, and he tumbles, into the trench and slams against the wall. Takes out his pistol. Starts breathing again.

"Counterattack!" shouts someone. "They're in the trench!"

Dirty faces rush grimly past him and he follows them. Round a corner and the first man falls with a crack. Everybody backs up agains the dirt walls, huddling below the line of fire.

A grenade is passed along the line of rebels; the last man in the chain primes it and sends it spinning around the trench corner. Sutton counts one, two, three, and a fountain of mud thrusts upwards. The rebels charge round the corner, firing.

Now he follows, and sees the Combine troops scrambling back out of the trench. They can't outrun the bullets, and they fall, their flak vests suddenly pockmarked. The rebels space out along the trench, reclaiming it, retaking their firing positions. Sutton slumps backwards against the mud wall, his throat sore, and realise he's been screaming the whole time.

Peeking over the lip of the trench; looking down the street at the distant Combine position. Thump of a strider in the distance.

For now, all is quiet.

Then the machineguns open up again. Sutton grabs a dead man's rifle and jams the butt to his shoulder.

Post your comments and your writing!

 

[Sloth]

You wanted spur of the moment?

Awsome work Sulk, we should try to get ALOT of ppl writing short stories. then select the awsome ones, send em to Valve, maybe
Here's mine:



My eyes slowly fluttered open, my heart’s rhythmic pumping sounded as if it was coming from all around me. I slowly lifted to my feet, the beating slowed to a soft, normal sound. As my eyes became used to the rather dim light, I looked around the room. A large Lambda symbol hung on a picture frame just above my head. The mattress I laid on was stained by splatters of blood. The small bar fridge lay on it’s side, a strange lump lay crammed into the small space, ice covering what I swore to look like skin.

I walked into the adjacent room; White tiles lay shattered, as if the room had been ripped apart. A small mound of dust and soil lumped the middle of the tiled floor. I bent over and brushed the dirt away. A glint of metal protruded above the tiled floor.

“I didn’t think I’d need that anymore.” I span around seeing a man stand in front of me. A lab coat that was once a brilliant white hung draped over his figure, now the chest was stained with blood but my look of his worried face, the blood was not his. Unlike the usual Science team this man was young and without glasses. He hauled up a automatic rifle, and patted it like it was his best friend.
“Seeing that I ‘found’,” he used the word as if I was a crime, “this rifle I thought I had no need for a knife.” The Scientist wandered back into the main bedroom, sat down on the bed and sighed heavily. He stared at the Lambda symbol as if it would solve all his problems.

“We better get going, one of the security guards, Barney has just contacted me via the Facility’s Communication system. He urged me to get out of the Dorms, saying something about something in Freeman’s wake but the signal cut out. He should be ok,” his eyes held a glint of hope for this Barney, but also a glint of sorrow, “Follow me.”

 

[knut]

Sulkdodds, although short, that was awesome. (PS. Anymore on that jurassic park style story? I was enjoying it)

Uh, anyway. I'll write something up in a bit, I have no inspiration right now, even for something as short as 3/4 paragraphs.

 

[Sulkdodds]

Thanks. I updated that story today; been finished for ages but I've finally decided I can't be arsed to wait for my lazy beta reader any longer.

Nice work, Evilsloth. Comments:

The small bar fridge lay on it’s side

'It's' is only ever used when abbreviating 'it is'...never for 'belonged to it'. So that would be 'lay on its side'. Annoying, huh? It's and its. I only recently stopped getting them confuzzled.

It also seems a little of that the narrator, the character, doesn't ask the scientist anything about who he is or where he is or how the scientist dude rescued him from whatever had happened.

But overall good.

 

[Dinkleberry]

6chara

 

[Sulkdodds]

And your point is, Dinklebery? :flame:

 

[AJ Rimmer]

Cool idea. I'm game.


"Shhh, be quiet! They'll hear us!"

I catch my breath as the group re-assembles. Tightly hugging the wall behind us we move towards the edge and the man in the front peaks around. For a whole second he stares, and it feels like an hour. It could be clear, we could be safe. But we could be screwed. It's all up to chance.

"It's clear, move!"

Huddled together we make our way across the hill, ducking, as if fifteen ducking silouettes look less suspicious than standing up. We all know it's dangerous, but we don't have a choice. It's now or never...
We finally stop and we all dive down in a muddy ditch, only a hundred metres from the barn. Someone gets up and runs away, I can't see him after a few seconds. A whispered "Ready!" is the only sign he's still here.

John crawls up and scouts the piece of ground from here to the ground, then his hand moves to his belt and unhooks a grenade. Fiddling with the pin between his fingers he feels the weight of the cylinder. He leans back and throws.

That's it! It's now or never. With a bang the grenade goes off, and between the shouting and rumbling debris a high-pitched beep is heard. We rush forward while the man in in the other ditch covers us with his machinegun.

"GO GO GO!"

I crash against the wall and throw in a grenade through the window, they still haven't gotten out. I feel the explosion through the wall. Someone kicks a door out of its hinges behind me, but all I hear are shotgun blasts and another beeping. I join the stream of men as we rush into the barn. Two, three bodies lie on the floor already, and soon there are more. Six combine and one of us.
Together we carry out the two wounded. Shotgun shrapnel and pistol wounds. I lean back against the wall outside and enjoy the sunset while I can. The others can search the house all they want. I don't care for anything they may find. I lean back and let my eyes close. I drift to sleep.

"Incoming! Run! Take cover!"

Someone tugs my shirt and throws me down to the ground. I can't make out the others's shouts, I'm confused and suddenly a loud, pitching noise penetrates my ears and grows closer and closer. The missile impacts and I get buried in dirt. I get up and feel the claws of a headcrab slice into my back. I fall down and can only hear the faint gunshots against the whining of another incoming shell... I close my eyes and drift away just as another man is ripped apart by a piece of metal from the second shell.

 

[Edcrab]

Brilliant idea! Should stir up some more fanfic interest... some great posts thus far!


They were everywhere.

At least, that’s what Daryl thought. That’s what he pictured as his flashlight flittered from shadow to shadow, dispelling the darkness and, for a few brief moments, his fear- until he heard something else gurgle in the black depths of the tunnel network, sending his heart back into his throat and his trembling hands reaching for his pistol.

Not that what it was actually his pistol- he’d found it on a corpse. He didn’t even know what make it was, whether it was loaded, empty, or jammed- but he knew that it was a firearm, and it beat trying to take on whatever was out there with nothing more than a screwdriver.

He would’ve taken the dead security guard’s body armour as well, but the black breastplate had been so slick with blood that Daryl had time to do little more than grab the discarded pistol before he staggered off, retching from the stench.

There was a clang, and Daryl froze, pointing the 9mm sidearm forward with trembling hands. He was a technician- a glorified janitor- and he knew all about Black Mesa’s aging infrastructure. The pipes gurgled with pressure, clanked with the heat, hissed with leaking steam- but he knew something wasn’t right. When the power had cut out- even the ever-reliable emergency lighting- he knew something had gone wrong up top. Black Mesa was packed with miles upon miles of tunnels, vents, conduits and shafts- yet if the lifts were out and the blast doors had sealed, it was merely a very, very large tomb.

No one knew he was here, and his standard-issue walkie-talkie was as useful as his garish screwdriver- the battery had died. And that guard hadn’t been killed by a lethal pressure burst. Not unless the pipes transported blenders around.

There was another clank, much closer. But this time it was accompanied by a hiss. Daryl’s torch illuminated a shuddering pipeline, leaking steam and boiling water. It was just the machines, the machines Daryl had maintained for years-

And then something seven-foot tall and splattered with gore loomed out of the shadows. The bulky horror bulged with muscles and straining tendons, gigantic, blood-stained talons sprouting from twisted growths that were once hands. A damp, fang-lined maw sat in its chest, twitching and gurgling in anticipation of its next kill.

Daryl levelled his pistol. He was going to have to learn all about it very soon.

 

[Dinkleberry]

And your point is, Dinklebery? :flame:

sorry couldn't resist - a very! short story. Consider me apologetic
No more exams whooooooooooooo! No more spamming (unless its a really worthy cause )

 

[knut]

The masked soldier kicked the weeping man in the stomach, sending him frailing backwards across the dusty floor. The soldier looked down upon the cowering man and turned towards the window, his hands behind his back.

''Several... un-registered citizens were tracked into this sector earlier today. Tell me, what do you know of it.''

Carl wiped the thin trail of blood from his mouth and looked up through blood red eyes.

''I... I don't k-know what you t-talking about.''

The soldier turned, his masked face boring into Carls watering eyes. He didn't beleive him, he could that easily enough as the unit reached for his holstered pistol and lazily held it pointing dead on at Carls forehead.

''Ok, ok! I know... I know where they were headed, just put the gun down, please! Christ.''

He lowered the weapon and put it to his side. Crouching down, he picked Carl up from his slump on the floor and pushed him into one of the moulding sofas. Carl immediately stood up as his lungs felt like they'd collapse if he aplied much more pressure to them. He was welcomed by more pain as the soldier pushed out with a gloved hand against Carls chest.

''No, sit, and we will talk.''

Carl fell back down and bounced as he hit the stale red sofa again. He wiped his brow with the sleeve of his ragged shirt.

''What do you want from me?'' He asked.

''Information.'' The soldier replied bluntly.

''Then what?''

The soldier stepped forward and put one finger to the side of his light grey re-breather. A faint hiss and click was heard and the mask slided away. The man moved the mask down slighty, revealing only a pair of blank grey eyes with several wires inter-looping into scabbed holes in his skin.

''Then, you will come with me, and you will kill them yourself.''

---

I don't know, I'm tired. I was trying to get the feel that, like... um, the metro cop was selecting him specifically to become one of them. Although I didn't really describe that well. And I overused some words quite a bit. Oh well.

EDIT: Oh, Sulkdodds, I read the update on the story. Good stuff. ;D

 

[tinyxipe]

I love this idea!

Great posts so far. No one has used my current pet peeve, not separating dialogue. Yay!

Evilsloth - I was a little confused as to what the narrator found on the floor and what the scientist was refering to "not needing anymore".

Here's my attempt. I'm not very good a spontaneous writing so there was a little bit of forethought involved here. Overall though, it was very spur of the moment writing, for me at least.
_________________________________________________________________

Whup whup whup whup…

The sound of the chopper was coming closer, which always worried me. I leaned out of the shelter of the drainage pipe and tried to figure out where it was coming from. The echoes off the cement walls made it impossible to determine its location. Most likely it was a routine patrol, but we had been seeing more of the special scanning units lately and that would mean trouble.

I ducked back into the shadows and looked over at Monty. He sat there, placid as ever, staring at the wall of the pipe. For the most part, I enjoyed working with the quiet Vortigaunts but you never knew when they would blurt out some heart-stopping bits of information with the same tone they would use to inform you that your shoe-lace was untied.

Two days ago, Monty had walked up to me as I was eating and calmly stated that there were a pair of Elites fifty meters from our position. With a bio-scanner. Headed our way. Personally, I sometimes wonder if the Vorts don’t have some passive-aggressive thing going on where they enjoy watching humans choking on ramen in panic.

The chopper seemed to be moving away, so I leaned back against the wall in relief. “Just another patrol, I guess.”

Monty looked up at me and cocked his head, “No. It was not.”

“Wha…?” I scowled at his inscrutable expression. He unfolded himself from the floor of the pipe and waved a hand in front of his face.

“We have been scanned, but they moved on. It is best if we do so as well.”

I hated how obvious my fear must have been to him as I fumbled with my gear. “Why didn’t they come back? They just kept going.”

“It is unknown, but surely not to our advantage,” he said and then paused, listening. “Ah, they are returning even now. We must go.”

Despite my alarm, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. I’ve never met a Vort that didn’t deserve the title Master of the Obvious. “Yeah Monty, good plan,” I mumbled and bolted after him as the whine of the choppers charging weapons echoed down the pipe.

 

[Sulkdodds]

Wow, these are all really good.
Except yours Dinkelbery. No plot, rubbish description and zero character development. :E

Through the shimmering folds of the noonday heat haze, under the bowl of a bright-blue desert sky, a cloud of dust rolled forwards along the canyon. Something glinted at the head of the cloud: sunlight flashing off the front windscreen of a battered white land rover.

The jeep bounced and skittered along the road, engine throbbing, scabbed with ragged bullet holes, one door dented by some enormous impact. Poking out the top of the open sunroof, Hooper held the rifle in one hand, adjusted his sunglasses. It was unvervingly peaceful. Beyond the throaty cough and splutter of the jeep as Graham gunned it down the open road, there was just silence. But it was a stifling, choking silence; the silence of the desert baking under the boiling sun.

Hooper wiped his brow. Two miles since the last checkpoint, and they'd seen nothing. Which was worrying, because all the way here there'd been aliens, soldiers, tanks; anything and everything that could be thrown had been thrown at them. Hooper kept on gripping the assault rifle. It was comforting, having the thing in his hands; it appealled to some base instinct way down deep in his scientist's heart.

The silence was broken. Somewhere overhead, the slow, predatory thudding of a helicopter. It got louder, and louder, and Graham, in the driver's seat, began to pull the jeep over to the shadowy side of the road, where big rock walls blocked the sunlight. But the helicopter came into view, and Hooper saw it was some way away, scudding across the azure sky. He followed it until it passed out of sight behind the canyon wall.

"Think they were looking for us?" shouted Graham.

Hooper squinted into the distance behind him, where black smoke plumes hovered, sometimes disturbed by muted orange flashes. "No way," he yelled over the engine's roar. "They got bigger fish to fry."

A resonant thump of munitions, somewhere in the far distance. Behind them, the black smoke filled the air: Black Mesa's giant funeral pyre burning.

 

[Edcrab]

That's pretty damn short Sulk... but awesome

And I'm glad to see tinyxipe's human/Xen encounters again. Go Vorts!

Yet to be a poor entry as of yet- 'cept for Dinkleberry's of course. Very amateurish!

Would people prefer it if we posted stories in quote boxes like Sulkdodds, by the way? I'm just lazy, but I can change... see?

The tannoy garbled something incoherent, and Sheila frowned at the speaker mounted between the tram's lights. Currently the automated announcement system was experiencing a few difficulties in zones 5B through to 7G, although most gallingly her supervisor had never witnessed them, making her look like a liar and a fool whenever she reported the malfunctions.

Sure, it might sound funny when the damn thing started spouting French- and backwards, at that- but one of these days there'd be an emergency and valuable information would be missed, leading to catastrophe.

Although at this point in time she could barely hear it, since the electrified track up ahead was noisily extending, plugging itself into one of several other available routes.

"The arsehole of Black Mesa," Cellars quipped cheerfully.

"Yes," Sheila replied, "you are."

"Funny," he ruffled his newspaper. "You know I was referring to this pit. 5D needs an overhaul and they know it."

Sheila sniffed and stood up, leaning out the tram's window. That was breaking two regulations- standing on a moving vehicle and sticking her extremities outside- but she really didn't care. Cellars certainly wasn't the kind of man to report her.

"You're always going on about how this place is falling apart," she snapped, although he had a point- the track really was taking it's time in connecting. She watched the elongating rail with mild interest- thanks to the sparks leaping from its contacts, it was the only thing visible in the tunnel.

"And you're always saying how the announcement system is glitched," Cellars grinned roguishly, "no matter how many times Yenel tells you to drop it."

"Yes, well, Yenel's too busy sucking up to Breen. When I worked at AM, Dr. Vance was always very open-"

"Ooh, Dr. Vance again. Why don't you call him Eli? I know you want him."

Sheila flicked his paper. "He's spoken for, and so am I, you dirty old man."

"Heheh."

The tram lurched.

"God damn, you hear that?" Cellars angrily threw his copy of the Mesa Times aside. "The track's jammed again. I knew it. I told you we should've-"

There was a flash of eerie green light, and a huge dent manifested itself on the roof- something had fallen on top of them.

"Factor fifteen encountered," the announcing system barked. "Repeat- factor fifteen encountered. Spacial anomalies detected."

That ended up longer than I thought- and it's made me want to write something set in the first game :O

 

[Sloth]

Awsome,all of you
Love the HL:1 stories

But i am saddened, noone has looked at my Fan-Fic, i know it's not good atm, but still


EDIT: Tinyxipe: It was meant to be a knife, that the SCI didn't need anymore, as he had a better gun and the fact that he hated having to kill something close to him. Also, can you guys have a look at the Writers' Courner?

 

[Skaadi]

But i am saddened, noone has looked at my Fan-Fic, i know it's not good atm, but still

I looked at your fan fic, well, if it was that one where that guy had 'a glint of hope in his eye for this Barney.' I read that one at least, and I thought it was a kick-ass story, I really liked it. And I noticed that not many fan fic stories on this website feature Barney very much, we need more of those.

Good work by the way.

 

[AJ Rimmer]

I really love those HL1 fanfics, maybe I'll write one in this thread.

 

[tinyxipe]

Great new additions! Sulkdodds, as always, you excell at details and description. And Edcrab, I'm still reeling from my two-week wait on an MC update, so two great shorts along with the update has made me very happy.:E

Skaadi - If you want a fanfic with Barney, check out mine. He's my favorite too. Link below.

 

[Jintor]

Hmm, apparently stuff in quote tags don't count towards your word count. Hmmm...

There was nothing left. Not even a body. Blood was splattered all over the shattered tiles on the floor, over the cheap plaster of the walls, over the dingy matresses and dirty chairs.

But of Jim there was no sign.

Karl threw up his hands in fustration, wondering why, why, WHY? But he already knew. Food was rationed strictly, even though apparently most Combine didn't eat. The Xen storms had completely obliterated the landscape, and nowadays the staple food was no longer grain, it was headcrab. And to feed two illegally harboured orphans, you would need more than a single man's ration. You would need more. And to support those kids that he had found, huddling and alone within the rubble of a obliterated building, Jim had stolen.

Stolen from the Combine.

If ever there was a more unforgivable crime, the human populace of City17 never knew it. Deaths? Deaths were easy. Civil Protection was currently in the process of attracting every possible applicant in the city - and who wouldn't resist it? Food, Shelter, a quiet spot out of the rain... the only thing to to fear was promotion, and everyone and everything.

Civil Protection was a front, nothing more. Everyone knew it. But when you're starving, and wet, and tired, you had no family anymore and you just want to live the way everyone else was 10 years ago, then it was an attractive front. It offered you your past, in exchange for your future.

And Jim had stolen from them, to feed the two orphans. They were gone now - the CP's had probably taken them, there was no blood on their matress. But Karl knew Jim was dead - there was just so much blood, so much blood. There, was his wallet - he never went anywhere without it, it was always on him, even if he had been dragged kicking and screaming out of the 'flats he always had it on him, because it had a picture of his family, faded and cracked, but his family. It was important to him.

And now he didn't have it.

And now he was... dead.

 

[Sloth]

/me cries

so awsome

 

[Sulkdodds]

Yay, more EXTREME stories. Must bump thread!

The helicopter was back again.

As it thundered overhead, Hooper tracked it, squeezed fire from the rifle, heard a high clang above the clamour of rotor blades. Brown dust leapt up around the jeep, brownout blocking the sky. The chopper raced ahead, as if trying to outpace them, and then wheeled gracefully around to settle on its haunches in middair. Hooper imagined he could hear that big 20mm cannon spinning up to speed.

There was a big steel canister in his hand. Grenade. He fumbled the pin, pulled it, held the thing high above his head. Graham screamed, a long, drawn-out curse, and then the jeep was roaring off the track, and big pillars of dust blossomed on the left, and, christ, the noise of it was like nothing he'd ever heard before. Hot dust everywhere; a straight line of craters burned along the road.

The grenade convulsed in his hand, a wash of thick grey smoke engulfed him, and the cannon spoke again. One round pinged off the metal roof.

"I can't ****ing see anything!" shouted Graham. Hooper shouted back, and there was a confusing moment where they were just shouting and swearing at each other. "Get off the road!" Hooper kept screaming.

The jeep swerved under its smokescreen; another roar from the minigun and the helicopter was overhead, brownout mixing with the smoke, and gone behind the canyon wall.

They raced through total greyness. Suddenly Hooper saw a sign flash past; a skull and crossbones symbol on rotten wood.

Six seconds later, he saw the first of the anti-tank mines.

Man I really want to keep continuing this now. :E

 

[Sloth]

same
but i'm trying to write a fan-fic, or maybe i'll just do a good short story?

 

[Sulkdodds]

Hey, just write something here. That's what this thread is for, after all: experimentation. Write what you want and people will comment on it!

 

[Sloth]

i know
but it's 10:30pm, and i have work at 9 am
so sleepis for me.
(me = AUSSIE)

 

[Phat-t]

here's one i made

Ethan slowly opened his eyes. The pain in his head was overwhelming. Softly he moaned as he looked around the car for his brother, his vision ebbing in and out. Suddenly he realized that he was hanging upside-down by his seat belt.

He couldn’t breath. The smoke lethargically creeping into the car was choking his lungs. Ethan angled his eyes towards the muffled scraping sound outside his window.

Something was being dragged past, grating through the shattered fragments of glass. It was a hazy blob. And then a silhouette. And then a stained leg.

Ethan finally came to his senses. He and his brother had been driving on the backwater road to flee the vicious storm, to seek any shelter. Then something has smashed dead-on into the side of his station wagon. Now there was smoke flooding in, his brother missing, and the world was inverted.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and dropped painfully to the top of the totaled vehicle. Everything turned right side up again. Wearily, Ethan began his sluggish crawl out the distorted window. Splintered granules of glass scratched and bloodied his forearms, crunching under them. He managed to clamber out enough to expose his throbbing head into the space outside the car.

Ethan gasped as fresh air poured into his body. A cold, harsh flurry caused his hair to whip with the wind. As he stared across the horizon, Ethan saw the angry dark-grey tempest clouds receding. Silent lightening flashed among them. A sickening odor betrayed and overwhelmed his senses. Ethan looked up enough to gaze upon the gaping maw of a tentacled monstrosity.

Adrenaline surged through Ethan’s body as his instincts took over. He flung himself back into the murky hell to escape the thing’s knife-lined jaws as they snapped closed where he had been a millisecond before. The abomination’s tentacles snaked though the choking cloud at Ethan. Momentarily, the writhing mandibles retreated. Ethan heard an infuriated creaking. The door was violently ripped off its hinges.

Again the tentacles came through the fog, twitching frenziedly. There was no avoiding them this time. The slimy things whipped around Ethan’s bedraggled wrist.

Ethan strained against the pull of the beast as mucus-covered mandibles flitted all around him. He couldn’t fight the glutton’s animal might; it yanked him out of the smog and onto the road. He try to grab something, anything, but all Ethan accomplished was the further bloodying of his palms against the shattered glass. He was dragged passed the ravaged corpse of his brother.

In the distance the storm imploded upon itself. A tear opened in the sky where the eye of the storm had been, and thousands of flying alien objects poured out. The previous squall had been nothing compared to the storm to come.

 

[Sulkdodds]

That's pretty nice. Also refreshing to see an alternative to HL1 AND HL2.

Come on, post, people!

"Mines!" Hooper screamed.

"What?"

"****ing mines!"

Another one went past, then another and another, a crisscross pattern of high-explosive death. Graham wrenched the wheel left and Hooper felt the vehicle tip drunkenly as they swerved across the sand, listed lazily before clunking backwards onto four wheels again. Too much smoke; couldn't see anything. The jeep swung right, then left again, skidding through a net of death originally intended for slow and clumsy tanks.

A small green lump raced towards the front right wheel. Hooper banged on the metal roof with his fist, then with the butt of his gun. Graham got the message. The jeep span right around, jacknifing, a full one-eighty and Hooper closed his eyes, but there was no explosion. Thank god for high ground clearance.

Rotor blades thudding overhead and suddenly the green belly of the chopper was on them, the sound a defeaning bellow and the smoke billowing out and away in great curls, the brownout rising to sting Hooper's eyes. He could see, right there, close enough to touch, the chaingun spinning. Couldn't hear the jeep engine, couldn't hear anything. He ducked below the sunroof, screaming silently in Graham's ear and they span right, the terminal roar of the gun above them and making holes in the desert. The smoke grenade was still in his hand; it was filling the car. He chucked it.

Sunlight shone again and Graham pulled the jeep out of its spin. Ahead, suddenly, were these huge towers just sitting there; or tanks, rather. Four of those massive oil tanks, with pipelines twisting between them. Hooper leaned over the front passenger seat. Graham was babbling.

"No way we gonna outrun that thing, man, we gotta get in cover, gotta get under cover..."

Ahead, the apache strafed out from behind one of the oil tanks. It quivered, and a missile detached itself from the wing pylon, streaking towards them.

They both screamed, and then the jeep was swerving, tipping on two wheels. The missile missed by mere feet. White light. Then the jeep was sliding on its roof, and the interior was a cacophany of noise and the two-tone upside-down desert landscape was rushing past in clouds of dust outside.

Hooper's knees on the metal roof. Blood in his mouth and some of the seats were on fire and ahead-

A mine rushed towards them.

"Graham!" he screamed, but Graham was hanging dead in the driver's seat, broken glass studding his face, held in there still by the seatbelt.

Hooper kicked at the glass over and over again. Twisting his head over his shoulder, he saw the mine crouching there as he and the jeep slid, ever so slowly it seemed, towards death. He jabbed the glass again with his foot. Splintering. Finally, his hand found the rifle; a three-round burst and the glass cracked; five blows with the butt and it shattered. Suddenly Hooper was rolling on the dusty ground - and as he came to a final halt, face-down in the middle of the brownout, he felt a sudden pressure and heat on his back.

 

[knut]

''Welcome to B Wing, E to H labatorys. Change her for Red Line transit system. Please, mind your step and have a nice day.''

The monorails silver door slided open with no sound, the blue stripe painted on its interior and exterior disapearing between the thin steel that was the side of the sleek transport system. Clutching his waist, Jordan stepped of the train, his firearm at his side, just barely clutched between his bloody fingers.

It had been an hour or two since Jordan, along with his fellow scientists Inston and Clark, had been released from the security lockdown in B Labs, leaving the... the things, roaming the destroyed corridors behind them. After much choas, death and destruction of valuable equipment, him, Inston and Clark escaped the fire only to land back into the frying pan when they ran head first into a blockade of military soldiers. He had been so confused, he ran at them with practically open arms, as did Clark, only to be met with a hail of machine gun fire. Clark fell instantly, two rounds to the head, another few in his gut. Inston and Jordan escaped, although Jordan, too, had taken a shot as they turned heel. It wasn't long before Inston was cut down too by the maraduring bastards. At the checkpoint to the Yellow Line transit system he fell, the soldiers where in one of the monorails transport cars across the line, waiting there for anyone trying to escape through the lines. Their plan had worked, and Jordan was forced to stagger on into the maintenance corridors deep below the tracks and facilitys. Eventually emerging at the next station, which happened to be Yellow Lines termination point and Red Lines starting area.

He had rode the tram past every station, hoping to other survivors. All of them had been empty, bar the massacre that was left at the third station. Fire, blood and bodies were all that were left. There was no bullet holes, either. Something else had gotten to whoever had been there. There was no more riding it out now, he had to leave on foot. He was going to leave alive, bullet to the waist or not.

The station, like the rest, was empty. A couple of vending machines, cushy chairs and recyling bins. He staggered across the cold tarmac towards the stations security booth, his footsteps echoing off the cavournous walls. He pushed the door open revealing a operators chair, control desk and a gun cabinet. He slumped himself into the chair and looked at the screen; he didn't regognise any of the places the cameras showed, nor did he regognise any of the bodies on almost nearly every camera. The only camera showing signs of life was the one perched in the corner of one of the labs. 'E Lab', the monitor said. A man sat in the corner of the room, or a women, Jordan couldn't tell. A pistol was in one hand, pointing off camera. The figure fired a few shots at something then lowered the weapon. Nothing else happened for a few seconds until the figure raised the weapon and fired off three or four bursts. Something in the bottom left hand corner came into view, then another as whatever it was fell over its body from the gunshots. Jordan couldn't make out much from the bodies, he could neither tell if they were military or some creature that had appeared in the strange green electricity in that area. The gunman lowered his weapon and again and put its head in its hands, weeping to itself.

Jordan sat back in the chair and looked at his wound, at least it had stopped bleeding. A mug of beverage sat on the desk, Jordan reached for it and dipped his finger in it; still warm. He didn't care anymore, whether someone who had been here before was out fighting or not, he just wanted to rest. Slowly, he tilted his head on to his shoulder and closed his eyes. Maybe... maybe everything would be better when he woke up.

 

[Sloth]

Hope

Well it's my try didn't get what i wanted, by it's still good.

My eyes were locked on her eyes. Time seemed to slow; I could see the changes in colour between her pupil and the whites of her eyes. Her breathing was slow but constant. Hair hung over her face slowly swaying in the wind. Her arms stretched out as she began to get up. Her lips strained into a smile.
“Hope I wasn’t interrupting something.” She laughed as her hand reached mine and as they met she gave it a firm squeeze she muttered.
“I’m not going to lose you any time soon, Mister.” Again her comment was followed by a smile.

We lay there smiling snoozing for what seemed hours, feeding off each other’s company. Finally she sat up and motioned for me to do the same. Somehow, I don’t know how myself, we managed to both sit up without breaking hands.

Now my eyes left her and wandered around the tent. It was small but it was a home. We sat on the centre piece of the canvas home, an old mattress spread across the floor. In whatever could be called the corner sat a small radio, a microphone hanging loosely, barely touching the floor. Leaning against the radio box stood two rifles, one an Automatic army looking rifle, the other only a hunting rifle.

I glanced at the roof of the tent. A symbol covered the ceiling, an orange spray-paint stencil that would have meant nothing to those many years ago, but now it was all they had left.

My ears pricked up as the radio crackled to life.

“Outpost 7, Scanners and Manhacks on route.”

:imu: :bounce: :imu:

 

[tinyxipe]

First let me apologize for the length of my not-so-short story. I really didn't mean for it to be this long but it got away from me.

I also apologize for ignoring a certain characteristic of a well-known HL creature, as it always seemed a little silly and impractical to me anyway.

I hope this thread hasn't been abandoned. Let's get some more stories going.

“You burned the eggs again.”

“No, they’re fine,” May replied patiently as she washed the morning dishes.

“They’re brown on the bottom. That’s burned, as far as I’m conc…”

The sound of a shattering plate stopped Edgar’s complaint. He swiveled in his chair to look at his wife. She stood stiffly, her hands limp over the sink as she stared out the window. Oh dear god, not her heart… He leapt to his feet and rushed to her side. “Honey?”

“Did you see that?” She was staring fixedly at the corner of the old barn. “There was a flash of green light by the silo and something ran behind the barn.”

Edgar scowled slightly. May wasn’t prone to flights of fancy, but her mind wandered on occasion lately and he didn’t like to think of the possible causes. “Green light…? Are you sure?”

“Yes! I saw… There it is again!” There was an electric crackle and a flash of emerald light, just as she had said.

“What the hell is going on here?” Edgar mumbled, his scowl deepening. He stomped across the kitchen and grabbed his light jacket off the hook near the door.

May continued to stare out the window. “It was big, Ed. I think we should just leave it alone…” she said distractedly. He disregarded her concern and continued out the door.

Edgar strode across the dry grass of the yard. He heard the screen door slam behind him and looked over his shoulder to see May following with his old shotgun, her housecoat flapping around her skinny legs. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“I don’t know what that thing was, but it just didn’t look right.” She held the weapon to her chest like a protective shield. Edgar reached out and checked the safety, but allowed her to keep the gun. He turned and continued towards the old barn.

“It’s probably just some wild dogs or something. Hear that?” There were strange yipping and grunting noises coming from the back of the building. As they approached, the sounds increased in intensity, interspersed with snarls and yelps of pain.

Edgar was a practical man and rather proud of his lack of imagination, but the noises and odd smell now wafting across the yard defied his hope for a logical explanation. His confidence in his interpretation was lowered further by a strange resonating thump echoing out of the barn.

They rounded the corner of the barn and Edgar stopped in his tracks. May bumped into his broad back, the shotgun jarring against his spine. A miasma of dust and acrid odor filled the air. Globs of viscous goo ran down the side of the barn and spattered across pieces of neatly parked farm equipment. “Well, it sure ain’t dogs,” May commented with a faint note of triumph in her voice.

The noises inside the building had diminished to labored gasps and an occasional quiet whimper. The couple moved together to the open door and peered inside. The dim interior of the dusty barn was in disarray with equipment and tools scattered wildly about. Several pigeons lay stunned on the ground, flapping weakly. An eye-watering odor rolled out of the doorway and in the center of the mess, two creamy white bodies lay unmoving. Edgar noted a superficial resemblance to the canine family, but his wife was correct. These were certainly not dogs.

He walk cautiously towards the bodies with May firmly attached to his elbow. As they reached the oddly formed creatures, a whuffling bark from the behind the old tractor startled them both. Edgar grabbed at the shotgun as his wife thrust it towards him. Their hands tangled and the weapon fell to the ground.

A large, squat animal waddled awkwardly out of the shadows. It walked on two powerful legs and had a tentacle covered face. Although it seemed injured and disoriented, it still managed to aim itself in their direction.

Edgar froze in horror. He had spent his entire life around animals and despite the creature’s alien appearance, it was clearly aggressive and about to attack. May tugged at his arm as a small form bounded in front of them. One of the dog-like creatures hopped between the couple and the tentacle-faced beast. A large gash gaped on one of its shoulders and a slime-covered burn marred the opposite hip.

It bounced in front of the larger animal, yipping frantically in a strangely metallic tone. To Edgar’s surprise, the other creature drew back, cowering against the wall. The new aggressor suddenly stopped leaping and charged closer, shaking in what appeared to be anger. A rising dissonance shivered through the air, emanating from the vibrating animal.

Edgar wrapped his arms around May and started backing hastily towards the door when the tone reached a crescendo, tearing into his head with a deafening WHUMP. The sound wave threw him backwards and he landed in a tangled heap with May. They lay stunned for a moment, rolling helplessly on the ground.

May sat up first and pulled him upright, a small trickle of blood draining from her nose. Edgar shook his head and looked towards the old tractor, where the green-skinned beast had collapsed against the wall and lay unmoving. The dog-like animal had turned towards them and lay collapsed on the ground, its flanks heaving. A single large eye took up most of its round head. It blinked at them a few times and whined pitifully.

May overcame her shock and stumbled to her feet. “Oh dear. Look, it’s hurt.” To his dismay, Edgar could sense her shifting into mother hen mode. She had always had a knack for helping those in need.

“Stay away from it!” he barked at her, but she waved her hand dismissively at him.

“Don’t worry, dear. It needs help.” She walked confidently up to it and patted it gently. It squirmed a bit under her touch, but didn’t make any aggressive moves. “It saved us, after all.”

Edgar rubbed his still-ringing head and watched his wife tend to the bizarre alien creature. Good lord, what have we gotten ourselves into now?

 

[Sulkdodds]

That's cool. Normally I want to stab thread necromancers, but in this case, yay for thread reserrection! Hopefully now we can get more stories posted.

By the way, The Hunters has updated.

 

[Edcrab]

I think the fan-fiction forum is the one place where dabbling with thread necromancy is acceptable

The Bleeding- that was pretty good, but in all honesty, you need to spell/grammar check it a bit more extensively. I had to re-read it once or twice to get the gist

evilsloth- very short, but I liked it. Insight into the non-combat moments of HL2- although it's going to be interrupted pretty damn soon I'd bet

tinyxipe- I was getting withdrawl symptoms because of your lack of writing and I'm glad to see you've emerged triumphant As always the character interaction is brilliant and I love the decision to make houndeyes friendlies (after all, if it wasn't for trigger happy play testers, Valve would have had them as allies in the actual game). Besides, who's to say that there aren't more docile individuals populating their species? It's not as if all earth canines are psychotic...

Sulkdodds- I like the Hunters! I was of course surprised to see it nestled between all the HL fiction all those ages ago, but in a weird way it sort of fits...

Urgh! Smilies! I thought I'd kicked the habit...

 

[Sulkdodds]

Sulkdodds- I like the Hunters!

It wasn't updated on here, by the way, but on:

www.fanfiction.net/~sulkdodds

[/review_fishing]

 

[knut]

Edcrab - Yeah, on both (or was it three storys?) storys I've wrote I did within the early hours of morning, out of sheer boredom I write, my spelling ain't great. Next time I write one up I'll do it in Word so I can check it accuratly, I wrote these last however-many in this here reply box.

Sulk - The latest chapter of Hunters made me cringe, but it was damned good. It reminded me of a Vietnam film which I can't seem to remember. Poor Dearing.

 

[BetaMaster]

I decided to go a slightly different route for a short story. It's just one paragraph, but this is what I came up with. I'll probably post something later, again. This was more of a way to put off doing my Language Arts report..

I began as an idea. It was uncertain how I would work, but I was considered a formidable opponent. You saw me. You imagined how it might be to do battle with me. The thought made your mind weary. I grew stronger, larger. I became capable. I could function. I skulked about in the sewers, killing anything that moved. You lived in fear of me. I would have killed you. I had outgrown my boundaries. I had become too strong. I had became unstoppable. Not even my creators knew how to control me. Then, all at once, an iron fist came smashing down on me, obliterating my being entirely. I am now only a memory. You trek through the sewage lines no longer with fear. You are safe. I am gone. Who was I? I was the Hydra. Now I am nothing.

 

[Sloth]

awsome stuff tinyxipe!!
BetaMaster: nice new niew lol.
Edcrab: It will continue next week, i've got too much on my plate atm
Sulk: YAY hunters!

 

[Hybro]

Double post. Please delete. Sry!

 

[Hybro]

Nice thead! Well here goes:

Civil Protection Constable #12097 contemplated the moral reprocussions of what he was about to do. He looked again at the two citizens facing the wall infront of him, hand held begind their heads, trembling. He had complete contol here; his own minature universe. In his raised hands he held his standard-issue USP Match, trained steadily on the righthand prisoner. Outside the door, slightly ajar, stood his partner, constable #05502, preventing any reckless intervention from other citizens. Sporadic lines of grubby blue filed past outside, mere shadows flitting compared to their overlords.
His thoughts turned aside to the beginning of his CP carrer. Seven years earlier he had realised entered one of the increasingly numerous training camps and emerged a new man, clearly focused on aiding humanity's benefactors on their noble crusade to usher his own impoverised species into a new age of enlightenment and prosperity. Thoughts of life before civil protection were vague at best, and he disregarded them as flawed. Still, doubts lay not-quite-dormant within him, and each day they grew more restless. Surely this brutality was unecessary? No! These were mutinous thoughts! They must be banished or nirvana would never be reached...
Realising that his thoughts had strayed, his mind returned to the situation at hand. The two prisoners - he seemed to struggle to find a description for them: most of his mind said 'traitorous primitives', but a little part said 'innocent victims' - remained pressed against the wall by fear. Their lives, in his hands: symbolic of the postion of Administrator Breen. Leading humanity to a golden epiphany, his training said. Leading them, no us to a dark, dark future filled with despair, said the ever-growing part of his mind, his old mind. The facemask began to feel uncomfortable, his hands trembled ever so slightly, his vision clouding as sweat condensed on the inner surfaced of the eye-holes. His grip faltered. His arms began to lower, the trembling growing stronger as slowly he realised what the consequences of his actions were. He had been wrong. There prisioners were already dead; it was his own life that he held in his hands. His life hung on the pull of a trigger, his own trigger...

 

[rae]

Well some really good writing so far, hope mine is up to standard.

Here goes:

He floated there in the jelly like substance that kept him in stasis. Wires and tubes connected all over his body snaked and tangled around the tube in which he resided. The mask of dulled silver that was strapped around his face led to the air of the outside world. His pale skin rippled and his muscles contorted with the flow and ebb of the tank.

A distant and muffled voice broke through the wall of jelly ‘Humph… should be … out soon, he’s… st recovered’
Another deeper voice said ‘… ready physically… sure… mental… bilities are! … Dementor… unstable… escape… kill…’
The rest trailed off as the man in the tank of liquid thought to himself,
‘Dementor… I like’
A quick smirk graced the Dementor’s face as

The scientists screamed as the glass shattered and the shockwave threw them into the control panels. The sound of hundreds of ripped wires and tubes flopping on the now-soaked metal floor forced one of the scientists to turn around.

He saw a hunched figure with pallid skin, coated in slobs of turquoise jelly and splatters of blood was crouched in the tube. Glass, tubing, wires and jelly sprayed everywhere. Then a wire twitched and started to slither its way across the floor. The scientist followed the wire and found its end implanted in the Dementor’s side. The wire twitched, and along with its hundred brethren rose into the air, like a twisted child’s drawing of the sun, wriggled around the Dementor. The largest tubes short forward and constricted around the other scientist and the wires bit at him like angry cobras.

As his co-worker fell to the floor, the remaining scientist scrambled up and towards the door. He felt his coat tail snag and turned around to see one of the larger tubes curled around his leg, and the wires slowly advancing. The last words he would ever hear where:
‘Dementor… Unstable… Escape… Kill… Enjoy’

 

[Sloth]

BUMP, i found it somehow...
Now how to get rid of the other thread...

/me runs

I'll have one in tommorw,still patching it up.

 

[Sloth]

-Come on I was bored last night, who cares. Sorry about the name Sulk, I needed one quick.

The gun spurted gunfire spasmodically in his hands as he ran back. Tripping and tumbling it was a surprise that he even made it to the barricade. Sweat steamed off his body as he ran past the dark alleyway, quickly he scrambled into a tattered old housing block.
“Jamm the door behind me, use that bench. They commies are close behind me.”
After jamming the door behind the shady character the Resistance member looked at her with wide a wide eyed amazement. Not only had she never seen this man before but he was most definite that he wasn’t a rebel. His gun, un-familiar to the rebel, hung from his side but that wasn’t what stuck her. Swinging around his beltline was something she hadn’t seen in quite a while. Cameras. How they survived the ‘Seven Hour’ she didn’t know but that didn’t stop his amazement.
“You look worried. Hi, my name’s Eoin Dodds, reporter for the Golden Crest. I was embedded within the British forces until last year when the Reds destroyed over base. I’ve been wandering the town ever since I sneaked out of that Russian ‘Prisoner of War’ Camp.” The rebel woman looked shocked, one even might have said offended.
“I don’t know what type of water you’ve been drinking, but we’re fighting the Combine, the Universal Union. Not the ‘Commies.’ To tell you the truth you are in Russia at the moment.” The rebel got uptight, he had offened her former country after all.
“Don’t look so sad. Happy Snap?” The Camera clicked. “With a face like that it’ll be easy to get you on the front page.

 

[Jintor]

They ran.

They ran, and they ran, and they ran.

But they didn't run fast enough.

He looked over the corpses, still cooling in the rain. What were they, before all of this? Beggars? Kings? Who knew? Who cared? Not him. They weren't his problem, this wasn't his shift. This was somebody elses' problem.

He stubbed his cigarette on the ground, and walked away.

Just a paragraph.

Hope this thread revives, it's a good one.