cleckmoon
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For some odd reason, I am inspired to write shitty fan fiction. Enjoy.-
Once again, I am summoned from the depths of my oblivion. A happy oblivion, or at least a content one. I have learned from long experience that even contentment is a commodity well earned. My benefactors are calling.
It is an ethereal place, without words or description, at least description that I can present to you. Imagine, if you can, a place where time and space are ignored. Where infinity is grasped and seen, and moments are captured with absolute perfection in clarity. If one were to give it a name, it would be ‘Time’.
Before I continue, please, let me explain myself. I exist within the full view of the entirety of Time it’s self. Meaning, I exist in past, present, and future, and can see all of it. I dwell in the very depths of the threads of time. This may confuse some of you with my ‘timeless’ references. I refer to all things as if they occur concurrently, even though they may exist quite a time distance apart.
If I were to apply one of your terms to my being, it would be a ‘God’. A lesser god, to be precise, seeing as I am the servant of more powerful entities then myself. I have the power to manipulate the greater process of things, including the threads of time in which I dwell. My benefactors allow me to bathe in this infinite loop of threads, in return for services rendered unto them.
Returning to my benefactors. I have entered the realm of Time, and one may expect me to bow upon bended knee, or approach the benefactors with reverence, but there is no need. All the information I require is given to me, in a small packet of thought. This information I will paraphrase for you.
Circling around the minor star ‘Sonne’, is a set of ten planets, most of insignificant worth. Only two have managed to raise sentient life, both of which are doomed to extinction through their own idiocy. But oddly enough, there are many bright threads of fate running through the one planet. I am directed towards an earlier stage in this planet’s cycle, where three threads in particular are in need of attention. All three are single entities, which must be modified to fit my benefactor’s needs.
I immerse myself into the specific point of time, and find my location. The middle of a continent, a sandy wasteland area, in the absolute apex of fate.
--
I attire myself to fit in with the surroundings. I have already crafted an avatar for myself. I have become what they will call ‘The Government Man’, or, the G-Man. From my overview of the present, I create a physical form out of the averages of the area. Male, tall, black hair, and in what I consider to be quite a snappy blue suit. All finished with an appropriate briefcase.
Inside my briefcase, I store useful physical avatars of my information from Time. It has the glamour of useless papers, personal identification, etcetera. Even a quite useless weapon (at least for myself). But it completes the effect.
The place is Earth. To be more specific, it is a research lab called ‘Black Mesa’. Even without my interference, it is precariously close to disaster. Plauged by seemingly minor technical problems, incompetent administration, and loose security, it’s a wonder that the place is not shut down for overhauls.
Black Mesa was constructed in the 1970s, as a top secret, self supporting research environment. Able to support an active staff of nearly eight thousand employees, it is a marvel of design, even in it’s current stage of decay. Each full employee is provided with on-sight dormitories, full dining facilities, and even a set of family ‘apartments’ for higher ranking scientists and administrators with children. The facility has an air strip, several Helipads scattered throughout the facility, and sports it’s own monorail system.
I will do my work well here. Very few things need to be set in motion here, for the full tides of fate to roll in.
--
“Living Quarters Outbound Stop. Security Checkpoint Number Nine.”
Barney Calhoun groaned as he forced himself up from the molded plastic seat. It hadn’t been comfortable, but it was better then standing. It was better then moving. It was better then being awake.
Barney Calhoun, Black Mesa Security Officer Clearance Level 3, had a massive hangover. And the Tylenol and half gallon of water he had drunk had not yet his his dehydrated brain. And it was going to be a loooong shift.
Barney slid out the tram doors, making sure to re-tuck his shirt. The administrators had it out for security, some tightasses had been complaining of ‘dress code violations’, whatever that might be. So, management had taken the entire security force into an auditorium, where the force received a two hour lecture on protocol, and a new tie.
Barney’s tie was hanging loose around his neck, not yet tied. Of his many faults, Barney could not figure out how the damn thing worked. He asked for a clip on, but it was against ‘protocol’.
Barney had been contemplating all this for a moment, before he noticed that the security door had not yet opened. Grumbling, he pounded on it.
“Heeey! Let me the hell in.” He shouted (much to his personal agony), pounding on the door.
On the other side of the bullet (and who knows what else) proof glass, the officer on duty shrugged dismissively, and pointed to the console, saying “Fubar”. The officer then left the box, probably to get a technician.
Barney sighed, and leaned against the concrete pillar next to the door. This was gonna take awhile. And he would be late.
His tram had already departed, but Barney could hear another one coming up. He lazily watched it pull in.
Inside the tram, Gordon Freeman was standing motionless in the center aisle of the tram, staring off into space.
“Hey, Gordon!” Barney called out. Gordon, snapping out of his trance, looked over and waved.
“Your late, Freeman.” Barney chuckled. “Hell of a night last night, eh?”
Gordon grinned, and pantomimed putting a gun to his head.
“Yeah, whatever. Catch up with me later and I’ll buy you a beer.”
Gordon shook his head, and waved again as his tram pulled out of sight. He was heading for Anomalous Materials, to do god knows what with glowy, shiny, physicky things.
Finaly, the door slid open, letting Barney in. Inside, the guard on duty rolled his eyes.
“Do your tie up, man.”
“Do I look like I’m on duty yet? Give it a rest.” Barney replied.
The guard shrugged. “Whatever. Sorry about the door. It's amazing they haven't shut the whole place down yet.”
“Eh. If they did, where the hell would we get another job? It looks pretty suspicious on your CV when it says you’ve done two years in a ‘Classified Area’.” Barney said, walking on.
It was a quick walk across the security lobby to reach the head guard. The lobby it’s self was a decent enough area. Nicely tiled floors, recessed lighting, and kept decently clean. Even had a few benches and potted plants.
“Calhoun, when are you gonna figure how to tie that thing?”
Barney looked over to see the head guard, and old friend, Max Johns. “Hey boss. Do a favor for a knot-impared boy?” He said meekly, flipping a loose end of the tie at Max.
Max sighed, and stood up. “Now I know why you sucked in boy scouts.” Barney laughed at that, and stepped behind the counter, letting Max do up his tie.
“It’s a wonder you get your shoes tide in the morning, Barn. And when you take it off, you only have to loosen it, not untie it the whole way.”
“But what about protocol? Book says it must be hung on a wooden hangar, and sent to Laundry once every five uses.” Barney joked.
Max sat back down in his chair, and threw a wadded up paper ball at Barney. “Get outta here, man. Hope you're ready for a looonnnnng shift".
-
Once again, I am summoned from the depths of my oblivion. A happy oblivion, or at least a content one. I have learned from long experience that even contentment is a commodity well earned. My benefactors are calling.
It is an ethereal place, without words or description, at least description that I can present to you. Imagine, if you can, a place where time and space are ignored. Where infinity is grasped and seen, and moments are captured with absolute perfection in clarity. If one were to give it a name, it would be ‘Time’.
Before I continue, please, let me explain myself. I exist within the full view of the entirety of Time it’s self. Meaning, I exist in past, present, and future, and can see all of it. I dwell in the very depths of the threads of time. This may confuse some of you with my ‘timeless’ references. I refer to all things as if they occur concurrently, even though they may exist quite a time distance apart.
If I were to apply one of your terms to my being, it would be a ‘God’. A lesser god, to be precise, seeing as I am the servant of more powerful entities then myself. I have the power to manipulate the greater process of things, including the threads of time in which I dwell. My benefactors allow me to bathe in this infinite loop of threads, in return for services rendered unto them.
Returning to my benefactors. I have entered the realm of Time, and one may expect me to bow upon bended knee, or approach the benefactors with reverence, but there is no need. All the information I require is given to me, in a small packet of thought. This information I will paraphrase for you.
Circling around the minor star ‘Sonne’, is a set of ten planets, most of insignificant worth. Only two have managed to raise sentient life, both of which are doomed to extinction through their own idiocy. But oddly enough, there are many bright threads of fate running through the one planet. I am directed towards an earlier stage in this planet’s cycle, where three threads in particular are in need of attention. All three are single entities, which must be modified to fit my benefactor’s needs.
I immerse myself into the specific point of time, and find my location. The middle of a continent, a sandy wasteland area, in the absolute apex of fate.
--
I attire myself to fit in with the surroundings. I have already crafted an avatar for myself. I have become what they will call ‘The Government Man’, or, the G-Man. From my overview of the present, I create a physical form out of the averages of the area. Male, tall, black hair, and in what I consider to be quite a snappy blue suit. All finished with an appropriate briefcase.
Inside my briefcase, I store useful physical avatars of my information from Time. It has the glamour of useless papers, personal identification, etcetera. Even a quite useless weapon (at least for myself). But it completes the effect.
The place is Earth. To be more specific, it is a research lab called ‘Black Mesa’. Even without my interference, it is precariously close to disaster. Plauged by seemingly minor technical problems, incompetent administration, and loose security, it’s a wonder that the place is not shut down for overhauls.
Black Mesa was constructed in the 1970s, as a top secret, self supporting research environment. Able to support an active staff of nearly eight thousand employees, it is a marvel of design, even in it’s current stage of decay. Each full employee is provided with on-sight dormitories, full dining facilities, and even a set of family ‘apartments’ for higher ranking scientists and administrators with children. The facility has an air strip, several Helipads scattered throughout the facility, and sports it’s own monorail system.
I will do my work well here. Very few things need to be set in motion here, for the full tides of fate to roll in.
--
“Living Quarters Outbound Stop. Security Checkpoint Number Nine.”
Barney Calhoun groaned as he forced himself up from the molded plastic seat. It hadn’t been comfortable, but it was better then standing. It was better then moving. It was better then being awake.
Barney Calhoun, Black Mesa Security Officer Clearance Level 3, had a massive hangover. And the Tylenol and half gallon of water he had drunk had not yet his his dehydrated brain. And it was going to be a loooong shift.
Barney slid out the tram doors, making sure to re-tuck his shirt. The administrators had it out for security, some tightasses had been complaining of ‘dress code violations’, whatever that might be. So, management had taken the entire security force into an auditorium, where the force received a two hour lecture on protocol, and a new tie.
Barney’s tie was hanging loose around his neck, not yet tied. Of his many faults, Barney could not figure out how the damn thing worked. He asked for a clip on, but it was against ‘protocol’.
Barney had been contemplating all this for a moment, before he noticed that the security door had not yet opened. Grumbling, he pounded on it.
“Heeey! Let me the hell in.” He shouted (much to his personal agony), pounding on the door.
On the other side of the bullet (and who knows what else) proof glass, the officer on duty shrugged dismissively, and pointed to the console, saying “Fubar”. The officer then left the box, probably to get a technician.
Barney sighed, and leaned against the concrete pillar next to the door. This was gonna take awhile. And he would be late.
His tram had already departed, but Barney could hear another one coming up. He lazily watched it pull in.
Inside the tram, Gordon Freeman was standing motionless in the center aisle of the tram, staring off into space.
“Hey, Gordon!” Barney called out. Gordon, snapping out of his trance, looked over and waved.
“Your late, Freeman.” Barney chuckled. “Hell of a night last night, eh?”
Gordon grinned, and pantomimed putting a gun to his head.
“Yeah, whatever. Catch up with me later and I’ll buy you a beer.”
Gordon shook his head, and waved again as his tram pulled out of sight. He was heading for Anomalous Materials, to do god knows what with glowy, shiny, physicky things.
Finaly, the door slid open, letting Barney in. Inside, the guard on duty rolled his eyes.
“Do your tie up, man.”
“Do I look like I’m on duty yet? Give it a rest.” Barney replied.
The guard shrugged. “Whatever. Sorry about the door. It's amazing they haven't shut the whole place down yet.”
“Eh. If they did, where the hell would we get another job? It looks pretty suspicious on your CV when it says you’ve done two years in a ‘Classified Area’.” Barney said, walking on.
It was a quick walk across the security lobby to reach the head guard. The lobby it’s self was a decent enough area. Nicely tiled floors, recessed lighting, and kept decently clean. Even had a few benches and potted plants.
“Calhoun, when are you gonna figure how to tie that thing?”
Barney looked over to see the head guard, and old friend, Max Johns. “Hey boss. Do a favor for a knot-impared boy?” He said meekly, flipping a loose end of the tie at Max.
Max sighed, and stood up. “Now I know why you sucked in boy scouts.” Barney laughed at that, and stepped behind the counter, letting Max do up his tie.
“It’s a wonder you get your shoes tide in the morning, Barn. And when you take it off, you only have to loosen it, not untie it the whole way.”
“But what about protocol? Book says it must be hung on a wooden hangar, and sent to Laundry once every five uses.” Barney joked.
Max sat back down in his chair, and threw a wadded up paper ball at Barney. “Get outta here, man. Hope you're ready for a looonnnnng shift".
-
