False Dawn
Even in the days when he was applying to colleges, Gordon had never been to Pittsburgh. At most, he'd seen the city's sprawling bulk briefly from above, looking much the same as any other industrial city. There wasn't much of anything to look at or remark upon. It was just... it was a city. Nothing to see. From what he'd been told, Tim Hutchence and his band of Resistance fighters had made it even less of anything to see. Apparently there wasn't anything left standing of the Combine industrial complexes there much taller than a parking meter by the time they were done. At least that was what Ten Boom had told him, and Shephard had corroborated the story.
Which meant, when he thought about it, that Hutchence's folk had to have been pretty damned impressive. Pittsburgh had been a city before becoming the Scab. You had to go to a lot of trouble to take all of that down, even if you managed to turn the enemy's own strength and fighting forces against it. You had to seriously know what you were doing.
Which meant, now, that that smoke ahead on the horizon couldn't mean anything good.
Nor could the complete and utter silence coming over the helicopter's radio when Shephard tried to contact the base.
Or, for that matter, the utterly blackened and slagged metal fragments that were all that remained of the base when Shephard finally found a patch of flat ground big enough to put the helicopter down. That... yeah. That couldn't mean
( And this time we won't last seven minutes )
anything
( If you come at the king, you best not miss )
good.
"Shephard," said Gordon to the retching Marine, "finish what you're doing and help me find a fuel tank. There's no one left here."
And they had places to be. Now.
Which meant, when he thought about it, that Hutchence's folk had to have been pretty damned impressive. Pittsburgh had been a city before becoming the Scab. You had to go to a lot of trouble to take all of that down, even if you managed to turn the enemy's own strength and fighting forces against it. You had to seriously know what you were doing.
Which meant, now, that that smoke ahead on the horizon couldn't mean anything good.
Nor could the complete and utter silence coming over the helicopter's radio when Shephard tried to contact the base.
Or, for that matter, the utterly blackened and slagged metal fragments that were all that remained of the base when Shephard finally found a patch of flat ground big enough to put the helicopter down. That... yeah. That couldn't mean
( And this time we won't last seven minutes )
anything
( If you come at the king, you best not miss )
good.
"Shephard," said Gordon to the retching Marine, "finish what you're doing and help me find a fuel tank. There's no one left here."
And they had places to be. Now.