These are the stories of Adrian Shepard in his battle for the combine, his fight to find out more about the G-man, and many other things. This chapter is just a Prelude.
Half-Life 2- Shepard’s Tale
Chap. 1
Adrian Shepard sat, hip-deep in water, and neck-deep in shit. He had dragged himself onto the roof of a car, which kept him out of any water that was above his neck. The water was murky, and had god knows what in it. Shepard looked to the right, and saw the floating body of what looked to be a person, only their fingers were elongated, and deadly sharp, and looked to be made of muscle, no skin. Also, there was a gash in its torso, lined with teeth, through which you could see all of the vile creatures internal organs. Its head resembled that of a persons, yet it was scraped clean of skin, its eyeballs sucked out. And floating next to it was what looked more or less like a blob, with two extremely sharp twigs for arms. This creature had a large hole protruding through its front, a testament of Adrian’s .50 through it. Adrian surveyed the scene, and what he saw didn’t please him. He was stuck in an underground tunnel, presumably a four-lane highway, before the revolution. There was a truck to the right of the car, up against the wall, its headlights glaring in his face, and casting an eerie lighting over the scene. But he was glad for it, as it would show him were his targets were, for the groaning alone would not help him find his target, the zombie. Though not a Zombie by normal standards, rising from the grave, ect. These were controlled by those blobs with sticks for arms, which were affectionately named “Head-Humpers”, or Headcrabs. They sat atop the head, controlled and mutilated the body, but yet kept their host alive, and in obvious pain, a testament he learned from the constant screaming a zombie would give off, or at least the human was. These kinds didn’t scare him much though, it was the Howlers that really chilled him. Those god-awful mutations haunted his sleep. They always preferred dark areas, or to come out hunting at night, which was a good thing, as their body was not a beauty-statement. Horribly mangled, its Head-Humper was its only recognizable feature. The body vaguely resembled a humans, if you cut off all the skin, buried it, and dug it up a week later. But its appearance was not what Adrian feared, it was its abilities. Able to sprint at the speed of a Cheetah, and able to propel itself 100, sometimes 150 ft. into the air, you often had little to no warning that the beasts were coming. And when you did hear the horrible howls that emanated from it, the fear paralyzed you long enough for it to make you its prey. Adrian turned his head to the left, to gaze at the opposite wall. Embedded in it was a door which led to the corridors which would lead him back up to the city, and back into the waging war between the Combine and Resistance. But to cross that 25 ft. of neck deep muck, which would most likely set the zombies he knew to be in there into a riot, in his condition would be foolish. His left leg had been left immobilized by the last Zombie frenzy, which meant he could not run from them. He had only one shot left in his now ancient Desert Eagle, so that would be little help. So how then was he to make it out of this alive? As he pondered this question, figures appeared in the window to the right of the door. He was saved!! “HEY!” he called frantically. The figures slowly advanced down the hallway, with an ominous feeling about them. Shepard ignored that feeling, and screamed at them. When the figures reached the door, Shepard saw the handle turn. I’m going to live!, Thought Shepard.
The door slowly swung open, draining the tunnel enough so that the car Shepard sat on was visible. That’s when one, then two, then four figures emerged from the water, howling their god-awful howl. He was right, there were Zombies in the Muck, and this movement had set them off. But a volley of fire from the figures in the doorway put the poor head-crabbed victims to rest. That’s when Shepard saw it, and his heart skipped a beat. His savior was not a Blue-fatigued figure wearing an old army helmet. This figure was dressed in all white armor, which seemed to flow over his body, making the armor seem as if it was this creatures second skin. And in the place of its face was a gasmask, with a single, red glowing eyepiece. Shepard fired his last shot into the white-clad figure, the “Combine Elite”. It staggered back, but unhurt by the shot. Another figure emerged behind that one, this one dressed in dark blue fatigues, over which a vest of alien material rested, presumably like Kevlar. Its face was covered by a gasmask, but this one was a more human looking gas mask, with two eyes, although they glowed yellow. In its was a rifle that was silver and had glowing strips of red upon it. Shepard knew the power of this rifle, know as a “Pulse Rifle”. “We have a live one.” Grunted the Elite in a distorted computerized sounding voice. “Affirmative, taking back to the transport for questioning.” Another soldier arrived, just like the second one, and each grabbed Adrian’s arm. Adrian was to shocked with fear to move. The combine were never known for their peaceful methods, and interrogation by combine would be known to put interrogation by Stalin to shame. In his horror, he was vaguely aware of being dragged out of the tunnel, up a flight of stairs, and into broad daylight. He was on a street, cobblestone, which was flanked by tall residential buildings on each side. In the middle of the street stood a vehicle, similar to a shiny box on wheels, with a tapered front end, and a heavy pulse rifle on the top, equivalent to a small cannon, albeit it was automatic. Despite its comical appearance, Shepard knew these were weapons to be feared. A door opened in the back, and a Combine soldier jumped out. A football sized machine flew out from around the street. It was composed of many fans which kept it aloft, and on its front side, there was a lens. Shepard looked at it wearily, and was instantly blinded. When he regained his vision, he could see in the back one of the Combine soldiers was typing something on a computer in the vehicles apartment, and faces were flashing by on a screen. Finally, after 5 minutes of being pinned by a Combine officer against the wall, he heard an audible, distorted laugh. “This one is the ‘Shepard’?” he heard the voice say. “Bring him here.” Shepard felt himself being lifted up off the ground, then being plunked down on a bench, inside the Vehicle, more commonly known as the feared soldiers APC. He was chained to the seat, and kept his eyes on the ground. He could feel fear welling up inside him, but tried to keep it from showing. A hand grabbed his chin, and he could feel his face being pulled up, until he was looking at the red of the Elite. I’m being questioned by an elite?! Shepard thought. He knew it was bad, but not this bad. Feared for their ferociousness in combat, and their ability to turn the tide of any battle, seeing them on the front line was bad enough. But they were also know for being the most horrendous of questionnaires, bar the scientists working deep within the confines of Nova Prospekt. “Are you Adrian Shepard?” asked the disembodied voice of the white clad elite. “Please…” Sighed Shepard. But then his ribs exploded with pain, and he felt cold metal collide with his head, and his vision blurred. “YES, YES!!” Exploded Shepard, lest he incur more than annoyance from this monster. He heard it laugh, then get up, and motion to the guards out back. “What’s happening?” Asked Shepard, “Where are you taking me?” He heard a laugh from the soldiers, and the white clad figure spoke up. “Dr. Breen would like to see you personally, and the interrogators at the Citadel have a special treatment for you…” This incurred a howl of laugh from the guards, and the door of the APC slammed shut. Shepard’s heart almost gave out. The Citadel? No, no. The Citadel was even worse than Nova Prospekt. He had heard rumors of the most horrible things happening there. To go there was worse than to be headcrabbed. He had even seen one of the stalkers that came out of that place. His breath became sharper and faster, and his chest began to ache. “NO, NOT THE CITADEL!!” But the only sounds that greeted him were the starting of the vehicles engines, and the squealing of tires on the Cobblestone pavement. He knew now what going to hell was.
Hope you guys like it.
Half-Life 2- Shepard’s Tale
Chap. 1
Adrian Shepard sat, hip-deep in water, and neck-deep in shit. He had dragged himself onto the roof of a car, which kept him out of any water that was above his neck. The water was murky, and had god knows what in it. Shepard looked to the right, and saw the floating body of what looked to be a person, only their fingers were elongated, and deadly sharp, and looked to be made of muscle, no skin. Also, there was a gash in its torso, lined with teeth, through which you could see all of the vile creatures internal organs. Its head resembled that of a persons, yet it was scraped clean of skin, its eyeballs sucked out. And floating next to it was what looked more or less like a blob, with two extremely sharp twigs for arms. This creature had a large hole protruding through its front, a testament of Adrian’s .50 through it. Adrian surveyed the scene, and what he saw didn’t please him. He was stuck in an underground tunnel, presumably a four-lane highway, before the revolution. There was a truck to the right of the car, up against the wall, its headlights glaring in his face, and casting an eerie lighting over the scene. But he was glad for it, as it would show him were his targets were, for the groaning alone would not help him find his target, the zombie. Though not a Zombie by normal standards, rising from the grave, ect. These were controlled by those blobs with sticks for arms, which were affectionately named “Head-Humpers”, or Headcrabs. They sat atop the head, controlled and mutilated the body, but yet kept their host alive, and in obvious pain, a testament he learned from the constant screaming a zombie would give off, or at least the human was. These kinds didn’t scare him much though, it was the Howlers that really chilled him. Those god-awful mutations haunted his sleep. They always preferred dark areas, or to come out hunting at night, which was a good thing, as their body was not a beauty-statement. Horribly mangled, its Head-Humper was its only recognizable feature. The body vaguely resembled a humans, if you cut off all the skin, buried it, and dug it up a week later. But its appearance was not what Adrian feared, it was its abilities. Able to sprint at the speed of a Cheetah, and able to propel itself 100, sometimes 150 ft. into the air, you often had little to no warning that the beasts were coming. And when you did hear the horrible howls that emanated from it, the fear paralyzed you long enough for it to make you its prey. Adrian turned his head to the left, to gaze at the opposite wall. Embedded in it was a door which led to the corridors which would lead him back up to the city, and back into the waging war between the Combine and Resistance. But to cross that 25 ft. of neck deep muck, which would most likely set the zombies he knew to be in there into a riot, in his condition would be foolish. His left leg had been left immobilized by the last Zombie frenzy, which meant he could not run from them. He had only one shot left in his now ancient Desert Eagle, so that would be little help. So how then was he to make it out of this alive? As he pondered this question, figures appeared in the window to the right of the door. He was saved!! “HEY!” he called frantically. The figures slowly advanced down the hallway, with an ominous feeling about them. Shepard ignored that feeling, and screamed at them. When the figures reached the door, Shepard saw the handle turn. I’m going to live!, Thought Shepard.
The door slowly swung open, draining the tunnel enough so that the car Shepard sat on was visible. That’s when one, then two, then four figures emerged from the water, howling their god-awful howl. He was right, there were Zombies in the Muck, and this movement had set them off. But a volley of fire from the figures in the doorway put the poor head-crabbed victims to rest. That’s when Shepard saw it, and his heart skipped a beat. His savior was not a Blue-fatigued figure wearing an old army helmet. This figure was dressed in all white armor, which seemed to flow over his body, making the armor seem as if it was this creatures second skin. And in the place of its face was a gasmask, with a single, red glowing eyepiece. Shepard fired his last shot into the white-clad figure, the “Combine Elite”. It staggered back, but unhurt by the shot. Another figure emerged behind that one, this one dressed in dark blue fatigues, over which a vest of alien material rested, presumably like Kevlar. Its face was covered by a gasmask, but this one was a more human looking gas mask, with two eyes, although they glowed yellow. In its was a rifle that was silver and had glowing strips of red upon it. Shepard knew the power of this rifle, know as a “Pulse Rifle”. “We have a live one.” Grunted the Elite in a distorted computerized sounding voice. “Affirmative, taking back to the transport for questioning.” Another soldier arrived, just like the second one, and each grabbed Adrian’s arm. Adrian was to shocked with fear to move. The combine were never known for their peaceful methods, and interrogation by combine would be known to put interrogation by Stalin to shame. In his horror, he was vaguely aware of being dragged out of the tunnel, up a flight of stairs, and into broad daylight. He was on a street, cobblestone, which was flanked by tall residential buildings on each side. In the middle of the street stood a vehicle, similar to a shiny box on wheels, with a tapered front end, and a heavy pulse rifle on the top, equivalent to a small cannon, albeit it was automatic. Despite its comical appearance, Shepard knew these were weapons to be feared. A door opened in the back, and a Combine soldier jumped out. A football sized machine flew out from around the street. It was composed of many fans which kept it aloft, and on its front side, there was a lens. Shepard looked at it wearily, and was instantly blinded. When he regained his vision, he could see in the back one of the Combine soldiers was typing something on a computer in the vehicles apartment, and faces were flashing by on a screen. Finally, after 5 minutes of being pinned by a Combine officer against the wall, he heard an audible, distorted laugh. “This one is the ‘Shepard’?” he heard the voice say. “Bring him here.” Shepard felt himself being lifted up off the ground, then being plunked down on a bench, inside the Vehicle, more commonly known as the feared soldiers APC. He was chained to the seat, and kept his eyes on the ground. He could feel fear welling up inside him, but tried to keep it from showing. A hand grabbed his chin, and he could feel his face being pulled up, until he was looking at the red of the Elite. I’m being questioned by an elite?! Shepard thought. He knew it was bad, but not this bad. Feared for their ferociousness in combat, and their ability to turn the tide of any battle, seeing them on the front line was bad enough. But they were also know for being the most horrendous of questionnaires, bar the scientists working deep within the confines of Nova Prospekt. “Are you Adrian Shepard?” asked the disembodied voice of the white clad elite. “Please…” Sighed Shepard. But then his ribs exploded with pain, and he felt cold metal collide with his head, and his vision blurred. “YES, YES!!” Exploded Shepard, lest he incur more than annoyance from this monster. He heard it laugh, then get up, and motion to the guards out back. “What’s happening?” Asked Shepard, “Where are you taking me?” He heard a laugh from the soldiers, and the white clad figure spoke up. “Dr. Breen would like to see you personally, and the interrogators at the Citadel have a special treatment for you…” This incurred a howl of laugh from the guards, and the door of the APC slammed shut. Shepard’s heart almost gave out. The Citadel? No, no. The Citadel was even worse than Nova Prospekt. He had heard rumors of the most horrible things happening there. To go there was worse than to be headcrabbed. He had even seen one of the stalkers that came out of that place. His breath became sharper and faster, and his chest began to ache. “NO, NOT THE CITADEL!!” But the only sounds that greeted him were the starting of the vehicles engines, and the squealing of tires on the Cobblestone pavement. He knew now what going to hell was.
Hope you guys like it.
