This has been playing in my head for a long time, and has been on my computer for an equally long time. It's my first try at a half-life fanfic. Please note that whilst I consider my english to be very good, it's not my native language. So if I have made any grammatical errors, forgive me.

Disclaimer: I do not own Half-Life (would be nice though ^_^)

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Hell's own Backyard

You know, once in a while a man would like to stand on the doorstep of a house and see a nicely cut front lawn with daisy on the sides, a sprinkler giving the grass its much needed water, and a nice car standing on the driveway. Looking out from that doorstep and seeing not a cloud in the sky nor hearing any noise, aside from the sprinkler and some kids having fun at the neighbours'. Joe, the neighbour, would call out and say "Nice day to go out, huh?" and he would reply to him "Sure is." before moving to the car and driving off to a day with no worries.

No, today was not such a day; yesterday was neither. And neither will be tomorrow or any other day that will come. Because the view Gordon Freeman had from the doorstep of the house was one of pure apocalypse. No nicely cut front lawn, but asfalt with smoking pits. No daisies on the sides, but broken glass and a rebel's body. No car on the driveway, but an APC with screeching wheels, firing off its pulse fire at some rebels hiding behind a block of debris. He wasn't in suburbia; he was in what was called City 17 with the thump of striders firing at fleeing rebels and the whine of gunships spiralling down as the background noise.

It was almost deafening. And if it hadn't been for Joseph, a rebel, Gordon would have been a permanent part of what once surely had been a nicely cut front lawn.

He was cruelly forced out of his short daydream when someone grabbed him from behind and pulled him back into the safety of the hallway. Mere seconds later, all that was left of the doorstep was nothing but a piece of smoking rubble.

"You gotta look out, doc. Those striders mean business!" Joseph said to him as he dusted himself off. He offered Gordon a hand, and pulled him back up, small parts of the doorstep falling off of him in the process.

The infamous Doctor Freeman looked a bit shaken, his glasses askew from the shockwave of the impact. Without saying a word, he nodded, and looked Joseph in the eyes.

"Thank you," was the only thing he said before he turned around, gripped his Pulse Rifle a bit tighter, checked his ammo, took one final breath, and leaped over the still smouldering doorstep into hell's own backyard.

Joseph couldn't take his eyes off the good doctor as the latter made his way to the other side of the street, dodging random pulsefire. A smile began to appear and hope began to form in his heart. That was the man that would save them all! The man the Vorts had said would be coming to make an end to this entire ordeal. It was almost over; they just had to make sure that they lived to see the day in which humankind was once again free to do what they wanted, walk where they wanted, eat what and where they wanted. My god … I sound like this corny soap opera throwing clichés for grabs.

He cleared his head and unconsciously began imitating Gordon Freeman, as though the ritual would give him more protection: he gripped his pulserifle a bit tighter, checked his ammo, took one final breath and leaped over the still smoldering doorstep.

He zigzagged around the holes in the road to the other side, where he could see Freeman still hiding behind a big chunk of wall. As he looked at him, he saw Freeman shouting something over at him. What is he yelling? Joseph could only see Freeman's mouth moving, but didn't hear what was coming out of it. He was so focused on trying to hear what Freeman said that he had stopped zigzagging and was running straight at him. Now he could clearly see that Freeman was yelling, "nooooooo" at him. What the … he thought as he turned his head to see a strider firing a volley at him. It was the last thing that he would ever see.

As the force of the volley hit Joseph, he was catapulted away, leaving a shocked Freeman behind, hand outstretched as though he could grab Joseph's hand and save him. But he couldn't.

No, Joseph was yet another rebel fighter that had died trying to help the great Doctor Freeman fight the combine. He was yet another of so many already; too many.

Freeman clenched his teeth as he saw the limp body of Joseph lying on what once had been a street. He bowed his head and slowly shook it. Enough! Enough already! He was tired of these rebels coming to his fictional banner and trying to help him. All they ever did to help him was to serve as cannon fodder so that he would suffer fewer injuries. They didn't have a HEV suit that would protect them. All it took was a well-aimed bullet and it was all over for them. Hazardous. Environment. Suit. It's all in the name. Like a bulletproof vest absorbing the impacts.

Gordon shifted his weight from one knee to the other. He slowly looked over the piece of wall to see two striders walking along the burned down remains of an appartment building, shooting at rebels who dared to come out of their hiding spot to take aim at the damned things.

The striders were backed up by Overwatch soldiers who were shooting down on the rebels from higher up, hidden behind the many windows of the building's facades. Second floor, third window from the right: two soldiers. Third building, white exterior, second floor, first window from the left: one soldier. Undoubtedly, more were hiding out of sight until he or a rebel passed by.

As he was checking his ammo, an odd observation suddenly struck him; he had not yet encountered any anti-Freeman graffiti on the walls yet, like he had in Black Mesa. Maybe the fact that these Overwatch soldiers did not have any feelings left anymore had something to do with it… yeah, that must be it. They were not supposed to feel any hatred or resentment like the soldiers back then surely must have felt.

Gordon grabbed his crossbow that he kept slinged on his back. He charged it with a bolt and carefully aimed it as soldier #1. Remembering the advice he had received from a rebel upon shouldering the weapon, he inhaled, kept his breath, slowly exhaled, and pulled the trigger. A few seconds later the noise of an Overwatch soldier flatlining and falling out of the window prooved his hit.

Unfortunately, the two other ones had heard this as well and changed their aim from rebels hiding in an old grocery shop to Freeman. He quickly pulled his head and the rest of his exposed body back to safety behind the chunk of wall. This was going to be troublesome, and definitely not easy.

He checked the stats of his HEV suit and nodded to himself; still enough to survive this, but he would have to be careful. Judging from the amount of destruction in this particular part of town, he would almost have to be like a combination of spiderman and superman to escape unscathed.

He glanced back at the two soldiers and saw that they had shifted their aim back at the grocery shop. I can't stay here forever. Gordon sighed and by chance, he looked back at the entrance of the building he had come out of, only to see a team of 4 rebels standing inside it.

Just as he was looking at them, they were looking at him. And, as was always the case, he could see their eyes lighting up and the woman up front was mouthing "Follow Freeman!!" while pointing at him. (at least, that had to be it; what else would they say when seeing that Gordon Freeman was at the other side of the road, crouching behind a chunk of wall, with striders firing at everything that dared to move?)

That was it; his moment of solitude was over. A small grunt escaped his lips as he shouldered the crossbow and took out his AR2 pulserifle. There was no way that he was going to let another four rebels die in his wake. While the rebels were still crossing the street, he charged ahead, sprinting from cover to cover to avoid the deadly volleys from the striders and trying to attract the attention from the Overwatch soldiers in the appartments above him.

It worked amazingly well… too well. His orange suit was to the Combine what a red banner was to a spanish bull; it attracted them. He couldn't blame them; their primary order was to 'shoot Anticitizen One on sight'.

He sighed... That horse statue better not be too far away anymore.

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So, that was it. Let me know what you thought of it! I might add some more chapters as I've still got some other ideas.