#yeah in basic terms this au is. “What if the combine never invaded earth and Gordon had to live with what happened in Black Mesa"

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Aftermath

After waking up from a ten year stasis, Gordon finds himself back in the ruins of Black Mesa.

Notes: Hi half life fandom this is my first fic posted for HL. Also this is the first reveal of my HL au: Aftermath! So thats pretty neato, anyway hope you enjoy this short little prologue thing

Blackness was all he saw; darkness for miles, with pure nothingness filling the gaps. He couldn’t feel, see, or hear, and even trying to think of a single thing was proving to be a greater challenge than he’d expect. His thoughts blurred together into a sludge of meaningless ramblings, leaving him unable to process where he was, or how he got here. He had vague memories flashing in his mind, glimpses of concrete corridors and alien fauna. It was maddeningly barren, with the silence being enough to drive a man mad. How much time has passed since he arrived here? Has it been seconds? Days?  Time itself felt nonexistent at that very moment, simply a construct that meant nothing in this place. It felt as if he was in a dream, trapped in his own head as he traversed his own subconsciousness, floating in a vague void, unable to act or react to anything that could possibly be in there. He all but gave up hope of escaping this dark Hell he had found himself in, until he felt himself being pulled by an invisible force, and abruptly, there was light.

Gordon’s senses came back to him as fast as a train crash, the feeling of barely healed fractures and lacerations coming back to him as his nerves fired. Ringing flooded his hearing, with the HEV’s computer voice, an artificial voice he came to despise, sounding muffled and making it hard to process any of the words being said to him. He couldn’t move, his limbs feeling as if they were being pinned down by a massive weight, as if he was on the bottom of the ocean. The numbing pain shot up his legs and arms, though despite his wishes, there was no way he could even scream, with his throat tight and his vocal cords useless. He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, with the weakness draped across his body making even that menial action nearly impossible. He began to wonder if the infinite void he was in before would be better than reality, with the idea of feeling nothing rather than feeling everything to a painful degree seeming like a better option than what he was forced to bear.

As he laid on the rubble, he began to hear something new past the waning ringing; footsteps approaching him. Gordon desperately wanted to move, to protect himself from the new danger, yet as much as he tried, his limbs refused to budge. Soon he realized it was multiple sets of footfall coming near, and soon, he began to make out a voice.

The words slurred together in his mind, making the message hard to decipher, but a few words cut clearer than others:

“Breathing. Freeman. Alive. Help. Out.”

Gordon felt his limp body being moved, raised from the ground by someone, or something, being dragged across the concrete floor to somewhere else. Despite his foggy mind, Gordon couldn’t help but consider the worst; Xen creatures dragging him elsewhere to slaughter him as he did to them, and Military personnel taking him somewhere to question, torture, or even execute him were among the possibilities his short-circuting mind had come up with. However, before he could even do anything to try and prevent whatever fate might befall him, he felt himself drifting off, falling unconscious yet again.

He slowly stirred awake once again to hear the sound of an engine running and tires rolling across a gravel road. He was almost afraid to open his eyes, yet when he gained the strength to do so, his eyelids opened and he took a brief glimpse around. Through his blurred vision, he saw he was in the backseat of some sort of vehicle, laid across the seats. His metal HEV pressed against his body awkwardly, making any movement he could make uncomfortable. His head was supported with a wadded-up hoodie, and his body was covered by a thin blanket that had been thrown onto him. It was strange to see simple kindness extended to him, though he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a trick to make him let his guard down. He glanced towards the front seats, seeing the back of the drivers head, but not who was in the passenger seat. They were speaking to one another, but yet again the words fell out of Gordon’s grasp. He felt himself beginning to drift off again, and despite his wishes to stay awake, he grew limp as he fell unconscious yet again.

When Gordon next woke up, he was greeted with cold air around him. As he was pulled out of unconsciousness, he began to hear rhythmic beeping beside him; something he immediately recognized as a heart monitor. Gordon felt as if a weight was taken off of him, and when he gained the strength to open his eyes again, he saw the reason why. His HEV suit was missing, and he was instead wearing a pale blue hospital gown from what he could gather. He was laying in a bed, with its stiff mattress, albeit uncomfortable, feeling like heaven compared to laying on the cold concrete floors of Black Mesa. He saw bandages covering parts of his body, old blood seeping into them. Past his bed however, he could barely make out anything, with everything being blurry and hard to make out. He must have lost his glasses somewhere, but it was the least of his worries as the pain began to seep in. 

All his limbs felt sore, making it hard to move a single finger. His leg had a throbbing pain in his knee, and he felt as if he was being slashed with knives whenever he attempted to move his arms. His heart felt heavy and his lungs stinged with every breath. When was the last time he took a break to breathe? It felt like the days worth of fighting for his life hit him all at once, making him feel nearly paralyzed, and too tired to do anything to fight it. He began to wonder if it was best to be asleep; at least he wouldn’t have to think or feel. He began to wonder how he got here, racking his brain to try and bring up any clue of what had happened. The last thing he remembered before he woke up was being knee-deep in what he could assume was blood, staring up at something…he couldn’t even begin to describe. He killed the thing keeping the portal between earth and the border world open, so why did he feel so…empty? It felt as though his accomplishment meant nothing, as if he was missing something deep inside. He closed his eyes, attempting to fetch his blotted out memories for a shred of explanation, all before he shot his eyes open, a single image returning to his consciousness.

The man.

Gordon’s memories became clear as day when he remembered the man in the dull, navy blue suit. He remembered its unnaturally piercing eyes, staring deep into Gordon’s very being as if it was examining his very soul and regrets. He remembered its face, with it looking aged, yet it felt ageless at the same time. He remembered the unnatural way it stood, as if it was being held up with strings. He recalled the way it spoke to him as if it never spoke in its entire life before that very moment. He never got its name or its motivations, but something about remembering the man and its almost human facade caused his heart to skip a beat. Paranoia crept up in his mind, and the feeling of being watched began to be overwhelming. Something wasn’t right, as if something he didn’t see was coming after him. He needed to get out of here before it arrived.

Gordon forced his arms to move as he sat up in his bed, wincing before he turned to step out of bed, clasping the side of it with one of his shaking hands. As soon as he put weight on his leg, however, he collapsed onto the linoleum floor, ripping his IV out of his arm in the process. He let out a small squeak; the closest he physically could get to a scream, a pathetic noise that reminded him just how helpless he truly was at this moment. He pushed himself up as much as he could, arms shaking at the exertion, but he couldn’t get back onto his feet. As he tried to get off of the floor in vain, the door to the room opened, and a person appeared in the doorway. It was a nurse, coming into the room only to be greeted by Gordon unsuccessfully escaping his bed. She appeared surprised, immediately approaching him to help with getting him back onto the bed, despite his best tries to escape her grasp. She said a few things to try and comfort him, but Gordon couldn’t process the words before she quickly left the room, coming back with another doctor, presumably for help.

Gordon hated the fact he was back in the bed, with a new IV being attached and bandages being replaced. He wasn’t sure when the next threat would rear its head, and he needed to be prepared for when it did. Yet, he was all but incapable of doing anything of use, and he had to accept it. He could barely even move, less shoot a gun or swing a weapon at anything. 

“Dr. Freeman?”

Gordon was surprised to finally make out what someone was saying, looking up at the doctor who had just finished reattaching his IV. 

“You’re lucky to be alive,” He stated, almost smiling slightly. It was unclear if it was to try and make light of the situation or if it was relief. “Even more lucky to be awake right now. Though please, don’t try getting up again, alright? You might reopen stitches.”

Gordon stared at the doctor’s face blankly before leaning back and staring at the ceiling as the doctor continued talking.

“A couple of scavengers found you back at the ruins of Black Mesa, or, at least that's their story. You’ll have to speak with the police about the entire situation.” the doctor continued, “The Vortigaunt said you were lucky to be found in there, apparently had to drag you out of there.”

Gordon’s brows furrowed, not recognizing the word “Vortigaunt” despite the doctor bringing it up so casually. He looked back at the doctor with a puzzled look on his face. 

“I’m sure everyone will be happy to see you’re alive,” The doctor chuckled, trying to make light of the situation despite Gordon not reciprocating the cheerful atmosphere. “You’ve been gone for a long time, so a lot of us thought you would never return.”

Gordon’s puzzled expression turned to a look of borderline anger, wanting to ask so many questions but being unable to; he didn’t even know if the doctor knew sign language, and he didn’t have paper to write on, that is if he had the strength to hold a pencil.

“You look…upset,” The doctor said, his smile fading, “I can understand why, but if it brings you any comfort, you have hundreds of thousands of people who were wishing for your return. You’re a hero, you know.”

Gordon doubted that sentiment.

“We…believe you were in a coma, sir,” The doctor glanced at his nurse, as if he wanted help breaking the news, “...one that lasted ten years, so you're...lucky to be alive at all.”

The doctor continued to explain the situation, claiming that Gordon was lucky to have his brain still functioning despite being asleep for that long, but the words went through one ear and out the other. Gordon didn’t process the doctor trying to speak to him, only staring into the wall behind him as he leaned back in his bed. He didn’t even blink once as reality seemed to become meaningless, dissociating as his brain wouldn’t even allow him to process the time lost. To him, he was gone for a few mere moments, but an entire decade had passed in the time it took him to escape the void he was in for a brief, yet agonizing time. He wondered if his friends had forgotten about him, if they were even alive after the Resonance Cascade; they almost certainly believed he was dead at the very least. Gordon had been dead to the world for so long, he felt surprised anyone came to rescue him at all. After all, who would rescue the man who caused so much death in the span of a few days? Was he supposed to go back into normal society after everything? Was he supposed to be praised as a hero, despite the fact he was just a lowly scientist who just wanted to survive?

Gordon wished to go back to sleep. Being awake felt more agonizing than the temporary stasis ever did.