#Пустыня Аномалия Человек в синем

[nvcl347]

Пустыня Аномалия, Человек в синем

The United States has fallen, but not every man in it has. Some have knelt before the Combine, others have knelt before sickness, many have knelt before themselves. The bomb of Black Mesa detonated the entirety of the facility leaving no ounce nor piece of metal to stay underneath the dishes of sand. However, site zero brought considerable interest to the space empire. The energy of the cascade is something they have yet to replicate, rummaging for each and any essence of it left from the extraordinary impact. 

Twelve miles, no closer. It was a warning they’d always heard, furthermore heeded. Ionizing radiation levels scatter the vacancy like tumors lingering within the desert. Years passing has brought these levels down to a certainty, however, in patches they remain lethal nonetheless.

A step in dust brought small gusts of particles every pace forward. They knew their safe distance from their father’s word, and they kept to it well for their own dignity. It wasn’t enough to prevent protection, however. The demron-mask paired with the makeshift suit proved conditions to turn terribly hot in short periods of time they strayed into the desert. Nonetheless, they’d rather die of heatstroke rather than cancer.

Their metal detector was the only thing that sparked their currency. A job of substantiation weighed on the luck of findings. Days of wandering the desert could bring riches just as much as they could bring nothing. It was the only way the small family could go under the radar of nearby Combine facilities.

Swift heaves of sand raced into their face as they swayed the tool left and right in front of them. Screeching spikes and sharp rests spotted the instrument as it picked up scattered signals of material always of no noteworthiness or significant value. It was a noise engraved into their brain so often they could spot patterns in places they went.

A huff, clenching grip nearly ceased them into place as a trickle of sweat traced down the side of their forehead. The heat was already getting to them where it would best, but that didn’t hinder them from their search. They had faced worse conditions previously.

With furrowed brows, they walked forward in shuffled feet. The detector did its job without resistance, as had they. A discovery for something was dire. They had found nothing but nails made of aluminum and a few copper gears as worthful as they sound. It was barely enough to suffice a few days’ merits of harrowingly-tasting food. A meal one could consider satisfying felt like all but a fever dream to them.

Then, that high pitched tone appeared.

They stopped dead in their tracks, almost as if they made sure they weren’t hallucinating. Their gaze snapped to the depth meter on the screen, turning it slightly to angle out the sun’s beaming glare. Steel, just a few feet below. They laughed to themselves out of shock, pulling their shovel off the cross of their back. It was one of the few tools they hadn’t sold in exchange for currency to supply their family.

They gently rested the metal detector over the spiking point to get a range of their digging space, preserving whatever valuable object may have been concealed underneath. Resting the tool far off to the side, they positioned their shovel into the sand ever so slightly. They pressed their foot against one side of the metal plate, digging the spade deep within the tiny tan particles underneath with ease. The deeper in range, the denser the pockets sand became. 

Hurling winds rushed more clouds of sand into their face, their eyes protected by the mask, however hindering their progress of discovery for the object which had been found. Gritted teeth resisted their provoked sight, continuing to haul the pounds of sand away from the site.

A clash of two metals ceased them in their tracks. The clanking noise nearly made their heart stop, pausing in place. Rough, tough, and most importantly, valuable.

They tossed their shovel to the side in pure ambition in seeking what the detector had identified. Brushing thin layers of sand with their hands, they came across a streak of, red? They dug further across, finding this object to be quite long until they reached a hooked end. Gripping the object by its round curvature, they hoisted it from the ground. Sand spilled from its ends like brief gushing waterfalls.

No less than a foot and a half worth of steel, admittedly quite heavy. Panting from the daunting temperatures and draining endeavors, they studied the metal device in question. They had found plates and sprockets before, but an in-tact tool and possible weapon? In days such as then, it was precious like a pot of gold. Winds halted their rushing gusts ever so suddenly.

“That is, government property, you are holding my dear.”

They shot up with overwhelming haste, skimming the area with jumped adrenaline they had not felt for quite some time.

“W-what?” They stuttered over sheer surprise. Had they been caught? What was a unit doing out this far from the facility?

“The… crowbar, Mx. (Y/N).” The entity made himself visible meters afar from their position. Tucked in blue, he was dressed in attire in no way suitable for an environment such as this. Their mind scurried in confusion, trying to understand who it was which they were looking at.

“How do you know my name?” They gripped the crowbar with their two hands in defense, standing still and stiff in place.

“I know many names, as I know many, things.” His cryptic, strangely paced speech toyed with their head. They took a step back away from the man, breathing a long take of air through their mask.

“Are you telling me you’re supposed to be God or something?” They swallowed harshly, feeling more questions spark from the man’s replies than he had answered. The heavy effects of warm temperature from the desert swayed from their train of thought entirely as they were encapsulated by the presence of this abnormal, foreign being.

“I am not.” His head bowed into place, fixing the cuffs of his suit. Patience with talk was nothing to a man who had no bother with the tolls of time to begin with.

“Then what the hell are you?” They raised the heavy crowbar closer to their chest, hanging their head to the side.

“What I am is not of your... concern.” They nearly groaned out loud in agitation at the lack of information the man provided to them. His aura felt as if it was a mystery in and of itself.

“The mask is not necessary.” He bent the content of their discussion with haste, leaning back with relaxed shoulders. His words took them by surprise, feeling a sense of manipulation, however deciding to go along with the conversation he brought nevertheless.

“I’m sorry? Do you have any idea what will happen if I take this off?”

"You will endure no short of what you are, anticipated, to do as such.”  The man brought forth a device from nothing into the palm of his hand, raising it forth and levitating it across to where they stood. Watching in raving awe at his actions, they nearly fell at their knees towards what they viewed before themselves.

Taking the device into their own hands, they brushed at the dust formed over their mask to see clearly what they were staring at: A roentgen meter.

1.4? That’s not possible… the blast-

“You confide to your father’s word quite emph-atically.” The man cut off their internal collectivity as if he had eavesdropped into their own mind.

“However, I would... advise you to take other such sources into consideration, hm?”

Feeling a strong sense of being outsmarted, they lowered the crowbar to their side with a strong clutch as they seated the roentgen meter into the sand below . They clicked the snares away from their neck, releasing the demron mask from its tight, secure grip on their throat. The air of the desert was quick in its way to rush into the pockets which formulated the instant the mask was opened. Tearing the protective gear away from their face with one hand, they gasped slowly as the fresh oxygen around them flowed across their face. They patted away at the streams of sweat that had drained through their eyebrows and down their cheeks. The man was granted a clear view of the profile of their frizzy hair and red face, grinning only somewhat to their presentation.

Rushed with the energy of intimidation from the man’s anomalous grasp of knowledge, they strained the subject to a stronger matter that continued to linger within their mind.

“You look like a guy who has money in his pocket. What is it with you and this?” They leaned the crowbar carefully forward, presenting the bulk of metal before themselves as the mask was carelessly tossed away.

“Any man can forge a rod of alloy. Not many can forge a symbol of resistance.” The man slightly hissed at his words, trailing unusual intervals in his speech as he crossing his arms at his back in insouciance. His words took them back, staring at the metal tool for a few moments in awe.

“A symbol? I don’t understand. If this is so important I don’t see why it should be out in the middle of the desert in the first place.” Their gaze tightened together, peering back to the man in blue.

“You stand correct.” He provided himself to a tender step forward in his sleek Oxfords, to which they were quick to jump back.

“Hey! Don’t get any closer!” They shouted in a twisted toil of defense and dread, weighing the crowbar to their shoulder alike to a baseball bat preparing to swing the round of their life. Another foot back carried a major fraction of mass on their body as they held fast to their stance.

The man nearly laughed to himself at the sensitive action they displayed before him, fixing the lapels of his suit without a hint of threat coursing through him by any means. Primitive, to say the least.

“I’m afraid, you are not one to dictate such... matters.” 

They froze up in place. The man they looked to did not say that, no, not in front of them he did. Their jaw clenched into place, stiffening every muscle in their limbs. From frozen solid, they swung the round of their life towards behind themselves.

Seized short mid-swing.

The bar had made perfect contact with the man’s palm, standing presently behind them without forewarning. He held his grip sternly onto the metal without a budge sensing it could be released. Not a flinch, nor a recoil manifested in his carriage. His eyes blistered a dreadful glow straight through their own. It was a gaze so intent their guts melted away into water. Their grip on the crimson crowbar naturally released itself as they finally became self-aware to their ludicrously small frame in contrast to his overarching, slim build.

“I have already comp-ensated interest in regards to your family.” His resonance became astonishingly low in comparison to how he spoke once before.

“Run along, Mx. (Y/N). We have things to be.” From those words, an entirely distinct impression came to their head. Not from them, not from their instincts- it was something else. It was not out of fear alone; rather it was of command.

Their grip slipped from the metal handle like a knife through butter, darting across the desert in the direction of their home. Without a hint of consideration, they abandoned their metal detector and their demron mask to the possession of the wistful sands. Their heart raced faster than they could pant, paying no hindrance to the swelling heat of the air around them. From a distance, the man turned and observed their track from afar until they were all but an evident speck in the horizon of spinning dust. He would have taken them for detainment had they understood what they briefly possessed in their hands.

For a moment, he turned to study the crowbar for himself as a white gateway slid open before him. He hummed in consideration, stepping through the door to another plane of time. There was much work to be done.

[nvcl347]

Any man can forge a rod of alloy. Not many can forge a symbol of resistance.

The G-man, Пустыня Аномалия, Человек в синем