By the time the last Strider topples to earth, Gordon is fairly vibrating with adrenaline- and he wasn't even driving. Probably for the best. Towards the end there it was pure chaos, Striders everywhere and Hunters darting in and out of every available bit of cover- not to mention the gunship and dropship parts that occasionally rained down from ( Read more... )

Beyond the door that Magnusson opened lay a short corridor; it opened out, inevitably, to a dimly lit garage. Gordon had just enough time to appreciate the rocket launcher and stacks of RPG crates next to it when a grease-stained rebel waves to him from the other side of the garage. "Dr. Freeman, that's for you," he said, "but I wanted to show you ( Read more... )

"So," said Aunt Agatha, one ever-so-carefully-plucked eyebrow raised. "Your mother tells me you're a scientist, Gordon ( Read more... )

The radio transmitter behind them, Gordon and Alyx continue on their way through the mountains. Whoever drove this road last did so a very long time ago, if the height of the grass is anything to go by. That's fine with Gordon. It means that there's a good possibility the Combine haven't gotten much farther than the ( Read more... )

Gordon knows the sound of those rotors. It's doubtful he'll forget it as long as he lives. Those are gunship rotors, at least one, possibly two. So he's understandably skittish as he hedges up to the mine exit and peers out. The all-too-familiar shape of a Strider is lumbering along an elevated roadway in the distance, followed by tiny moving ( Read more... )

The Vortigaunt paused as they headed down the side tunnel, turning one open hand to pulse power into Gordon's suit. "That will do, for now," it said. "What lies beyond yonder barrier is no danger to us." It nodded towards what looked not unlike an automatic garage door up ahead. There was no handle to open it manually, but the nearby generator ( Read more... )

The metal door sliding down behind them cut off most of the passageway's light, but it also cut off the sounds of antlions screeching. Gordon considered it an acceptable alternative. He followed the glimmer of light from around the corner up ahead, shoved open the chain-link gate at the end, and stepped into a small room that might once have been ( Read more... )

The Vortigaunt was messing with him. It had to be. Gordon had chalked its initial announcement of "This body is yours to command" up to some sort of alien hive-mind thing. Its "Grim piñata" comment upon finding the webbed-up skeleton clutching an ammo cache in its arms had just seemed weird. He'd probably earned its sardonic comment of "What did ( Read more... )

The tunnel's ceiling was a little higher than Gordon liked, seeing as he had to drop through it directly onto a set of mine-cart tracks just begging to snag his feet and twist his ankles, but it had this going for it: it was well-lit. And not by antlion grubs, either, but by the cold blue-white light of some kind of floodlamp. At least he could see ( Read more... )

Something just out of sight was twittering, a soft little trilling sound like someone who couldn't quite work out how to whistle encouragingly. Gordon did not find it encouraging in the slightest. Not down here, in the belly of some mine where the last few lights burned for the benefit of the dead. Not with Alyx unconscious and bleeding or worse, ( Read more... )