Prologue: Desperation

C-17/3365's heartbeat smashed at his chest, a jackhammer pounding his skull. His lungs burned and his breath came in fast, ragged gasps. He had rolled his left ankle, but his feet kept pounding the concrete, faster even than his racing heartbeat. The home-made bag at his hip smashed against him painfully, and the coarse, poorly fitting blue overalls scraped and flapped around him. The long, dry concrete drainage tunnel echoed with the slap-slap-slap of his cheap, ragged trainers as he raced towards the light. There was no other sound to be heard, but he knew that he was only seconds ahead of - there. He could hear the CPs now, their synthesised radio chatter bouncing down the tunnel's walls, the rustling and clanking of the equipment on their belts. C17/3365 pulled up short as he reached the end of the tunnel. There was light at the end-but no escape. The tunnel led straight out of the face of a hydro power dam. There was nothing but a sheer drop to a shallow lake below, and the grimy polluted grey sky that hurt his eyes after the dim tunnel. But the sky-that was all that mattered now. Free of the concrete labyrinth, the reprogrammed man hack in his bag would be able to lock onto a Resistance beacon, and bring the vital information in its tiny computer brain where it was needed. He tore it from the bag and pressed hard on its little glass lens. Instead of glowing angry, scarlet red the eye flashed a comforting green as it confirmed the signal's faint presence. The wickedly sharp rotors spun, and C17/3365 heaved the little drone into the air like a falconer.

As the heavy boot steps thumped closer, he watched it soar away to the southeast. One more man hack in City 17 would attract no attention. But he had no time to congratulate himself. There was a harsh electrical buzzing at his back and he turned to see two charging Civil Protection Officers, stun sticks raised. But they were too far away to stop him now. From the baggy folds of his overalls he drew a cocked CP-issue USP pistol. The officers threw themselves to the floor of the tunnel to try and evade. But the pistol had no magazine-just a single chambered round. C17/3365 knew too much to fall into Combine hands, and the Resistance had made it clear what they expected of him in the face of imminent capture. He didn't mind much.The alternative of torture and eventually being turned to into a drooling, subservient Stalker wasn't too attractive either. Time seemed to slow as he brought the USP's barrel up under his chin. The officers were rising now in slow motion, desperate to stop their valued prisoner. But they were far too late. His finger clenched around the trigger. He had done his part.

Gunnerysarge Presents:

Dystopia

A Half-Life 2 Fan Fiction