Categories > Games > Half-Life > Epanastato Kata Syndyazo
Epanastato Kata Syndyazo
0 reviewsThe Combine have taken over the Earth, but the Lambda resistance aren't going to let them keep it for long. Told from the view of a rebel, and planned to follow the story of Half Life 2 to Episode ...
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Prologos (Prologue)
A/N and Disclaimer: Half Life and all its related games do not belong to me, a simple lover of the game.
Inspired by a passing thought of what happens while Gordon Freeman is away from resistance contact and civilization. My own take on the thoughts of someone involved with the Lambda. Because it is told from a person's point of view, it may seem like a train of thought. If I am off in any canon plot points, please let me know!
Thanks, and hope you enjoy.
The underground railroad was uncharacteristically quiet. No one has been through for days. Radio silence from our Civil Protection bug, and panicking about a transporting incident with Black Mesa East. Involving a certain scientist named Gordon Freeman.
Gordon Freeman. That name… is famous. More famous than George Washington, for gods sake. George Washington founded a country and a new way of government. Gordon Freeman unleashed an alien society upon the Earth, causing decades of oppression against humans, then going against them with little more than picked up weapons and a crowbar. S’pose we had it coming, with the way we were treating each other. God has a fucking black sense of humor. From moral George Washington, to the rule of the Combine.
The year is 2020. The Earth is being picked dry like carrion by a vulture. The scientists who survived the Resonance Cascade in Black Mesa are trying to undo the damage. And I was just a worn down rebel in the middle of sewage filled canals, trying to get the last refugees through.
The canals were always filled with sludge, even before the Combine. The city that used to be here… what was its name? Christ, I don’t remember. I don’t even know if I’m still in the United States anymore. All I know is life in City 17 must’ve sucked bad enough to cause people to flee. I wouldn’t know, I was a rebel from the beginning, never trapped in one of those hellish living centers. But… the scrapes and bullet wounds refugees came through here with was enough to tell me how horrible it was. They were risking their lives for a better way. Many sacrificed them if only to escape the Combine.
I was born in 1995. The Resonance Cascade happened when I was 5, and living in my native country of Greece. News from New Mexico reached all they way across Europe to intrigue my father, who was a journalist. My family was packed up and sent to New Mexico. By the time we reached there, Black Mesa was already destroyed, and only the name “Gordon Freeman” lingered from the incident, along with the portal storms.
I was 14 when things were getting progressively worse. We were still in New Mexico… living in protected living areas much kinder than the current Combine cities. Antlions stormed our camp from below, and killed my father. A year later, when the Seven Hour War began, my mother killed herself 4 hours into the battle. Our population concentration was destroyed 5 hours in. I managed to survive only because the human forces found me next to my mother, a gun in her mouth and a bullet hole through the top of her head.
It was then, after Breen surrendered us to those hideous aliens, I knew God didn’t exist. It wasn’t even humans who killed over half our population in seven hours. It had to be fucking aliens bent on genocide. The least God could’ve done for us was allow ourselves to end our world in our own stupid ways, rather than watch ourselves wither because of the Combine.
And to think, if only Black Mesa hadn’t done that damn experiment.
Everyone in the resistance knows what happened by now. The vortigaunts were only too happy to tell us heroic tales of the incident. The vorts claimed that though “The Freeman” had killed many of their own kind, he also released them from “The Nihilanth”, their former slaveholder. Gordon Freeman must’ve been… some guy… I had always thought.
The rebels taught, from when they found me 10 years ago, that their Lambda symbol came from Freeman’s iconic HEV suit he wore during the incident. That Freeman was a brave man, legendary even.
Now that his name crackled over the underground railroad’s intercom, I didn’t really know what to say when my partner in the underground railroad canal sector asked me that simple question:
“Hey, Forakis. How is that dude still alive?”
…….
“I don’t have a clue and a half, Lauhin.” Was the only thing I could think of off the top of my head. “But he’s on his way here. So get yer buttocks off that airboat. He’s attracted trouble.” I grumbled, glaring halfheartedly out of the window. The hunter-chopper was close, and my RPG never felt so good mounted on my shoulder.
My name is Eileen Forakis. I’m 25 years old, and my best friend is a grenade attached to a rocket.
----------------------------
Reviews are nice, Constructive Criticism is even nice. Next Chapter: "O Kanonas Ischyei Gia Sena (The Rule Applies to You)"
A/N and Disclaimer: Half Life and all its related games do not belong to me, a simple lover of the game.
Inspired by a passing thought of what happens while Gordon Freeman is away from resistance contact and civilization. My own take on the thoughts of someone involved with the Lambda. Because it is told from a person's point of view, it may seem like a train of thought. If I am off in any canon plot points, please let me know!
Thanks, and hope you enjoy.
The underground railroad was uncharacteristically quiet. No one has been through for days. Radio silence from our Civil Protection bug, and panicking about a transporting incident with Black Mesa East. Involving a certain scientist named Gordon Freeman.
Gordon Freeman. That name… is famous. More famous than George Washington, for gods sake. George Washington founded a country and a new way of government. Gordon Freeman unleashed an alien society upon the Earth, causing decades of oppression against humans, then going against them with little more than picked up weapons and a crowbar. S’pose we had it coming, with the way we were treating each other. God has a fucking black sense of humor. From moral George Washington, to the rule of the Combine.
The year is 2020. The Earth is being picked dry like carrion by a vulture. The scientists who survived the Resonance Cascade in Black Mesa are trying to undo the damage. And I was just a worn down rebel in the middle of sewage filled canals, trying to get the last refugees through.
The canals were always filled with sludge, even before the Combine. The city that used to be here… what was its name? Christ, I don’t remember. I don’t even know if I’m still in the United States anymore. All I know is life in City 17 must’ve sucked bad enough to cause people to flee. I wouldn’t know, I was a rebel from the beginning, never trapped in one of those hellish living centers. But… the scrapes and bullet wounds refugees came through here with was enough to tell me how horrible it was. They were risking their lives for a better way. Many sacrificed them if only to escape the Combine.
I was born in 1995. The Resonance Cascade happened when I was 5, and living in my native country of Greece. News from New Mexico reached all they way across Europe to intrigue my father, who was a journalist. My family was packed up and sent to New Mexico. By the time we reached there, Black Mesa was already destroyed, and only the name “Gordon Freeman” lingered from the incident, along with the portal storms.
I was 14 when things were getting progressively worse. We were still in New Mexico… living in protected living areas much kinder than the current Combine cities. Antlions stormed our camp from below, and killed my father. A year later, when the Seven Hour War began, my mother killed herself 4 hours into the battle. Our population concentration was destroyed 5 hours in. I managed to survive only because the human forces found me next to my mother, a gun in her mouth and a bullet hole through the top of her head.
It was then, after Breen surrendered us to those hideous aliens, I knew God didn’t exist. It wasn’t even humans who killed over half our population in seven hours. It had to be fucking aliens bent on genocide. The least God could’ve done for us was allow ourselves to end our world in our own stupid ways, rather than watch ourselves wither because of the Combine.
And to think, if only Black Mesa hadn’t done that damn experiment.
Everyone in the resistance knows what happened by now. The vortigaunts were only too happy to tell us heroic tales of the incident. The vorts claimed that though “The Freeman” had killed many of their own kind, he also released them from “The Nihilanth”, their former slaveholder. Gordon Freeman must’ve been… some guy… I had always thought.
The rebels taught, from when they found me 10 years ago, that their Lambda symbol came from Freeman’s iconic HEV suit he wore during the incident. That Freeman was a brave man, legendary even.
Now that his name crackled over the underground railroad’s intercom, I didn’t really know what to say when my partner in the underground railroad canal sector asked me that simple question:
“Hey, Forakis. How is that dude still alive?”
…….
“I don’t have a clue and a half, Lauhin.” Was the only thing I could think of off the top of my head. “But he’s on his way here. So get yer buttocks off that airboat. He’s attracted trouble.” I grumbled, glaring halfheartedly out of the window. The hunter-chopper was close, and my RPG never felt so good mounted on my shoulder.
My name is Eileen Forakis. I’m 25 years old, and my best friend is a grenade attached to a rocket.
----------------------------
Reviews are nice, Constructive Criticism is even nice. Next Chapter: "O Kanonas Ischyei Gia Sena (The Rule Applies to You)"
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