Barney pulls the bridge shut almost as soon as Gordon touches down in the building across the road. They've just come from apartments in foul condition, but this building's suffered more; the holes in the walls are enormous, and the floor feels as if it might give way at any moment. Some previous Resistance member took the precaution of bridging ( Read more... )

The thing about electronically locked doors was that the vast majority of them were easily opened by the judicious application of a crowbar.

The thing was that the only crowbar Gordon knew of in the area was currently in D0G's keeping.

And the other thing was that his only possible alternative was the slim chance that the grating on the wall ( Read more... )

If things ever became normal again, and he was fully aware of just how unlikely that was going to be, Gordon would never, ever, ever set foot in a glass elevator as long as he lived. The Combine were far too fond of unwalled glass platforms for his liking, and the thought of riding one more elevator where he could see everything going on around him ( Read more... )

There was no strength left in his limbs; arms, legs, hands, feet, even the muscles that kept him breathing were trembling, not with exertion but with exhaustion. How much further did he have to go? How much more did he have to do? One Strider lay dead behind him among the heaped corpses of Elites, brought low by the Combine's own energy orbs torn ( Read more... )

A flicker of light on the wall in front of him as he waited for his suit to finish charging was all the warning Gordon had; behind him, two telescreens had come to life. He turned, gravity gun in hand, and found himself facing Dr. Breen.

"So, this is Dr. Freeman, at last," Breen said, in a tone that other men reserved for their first sighting of ( Read more... )

It might have been Gordon's imagination, but he was pretty sure he could hear Barney's final syllables over the inexorable clang of D0G dropping the Combine wall once more. But that was it; when the last echoes died away, the sounds of the world of men were gone. For all that there was no roof between him and the skies, Gordon was as cut off here, ( Read more... )

The harsh chill light of day in the latter half of the year greets the final team to arrive from Milliways as they step out of a shattered building's shadow and into the street. The cobbled courtyard underfoot is dusted with yellowed leaves, the walls with posters and graffiti. An old, tired wind wends its way between the buildings, carrying the ( Read more... )

In better times City 17 had many, many ways of crossing town. For the most part, the citizens of today travel on the surface, and mostly on foot. This is partly because they're easier to track down, and partly because the alternatives haven't been maintained lately. On the other hand, the Combine don't use the underpassages any more either. ( Read more... )

The group of fighters tasked with getting civilians out of the line of fire opens on an unremarkable side door of a thoroughly unremarkable building. The walls here are largely grey brick, scribbled here and there with graffiti in a mingle of languages- English, Spanish, something that might be Russian or Ukrainian. A tattered poster of a white- ( Read more... )

The group of Milliways patrons earmarked for the pincer movement is ushered into City 17 without much ceremony. The streets here are cobbled, the buildings grey with age; the handful of cars in the street are old, old things, worn down with time and lack of care. They have the look of machines that were abandoned where their owners fell. This was a ( Read more... )