>>4438115
(cont.)
05/17/200_: OPERATION IS OFFICIALLY DECLARED CRITICAL TO UNITED STATES SOVEREIGNTY. BLACK MESA INCIDENT IS INCLUDED IN PRESIDENTIAL BRIEFING. FOR COPY OF BRIEFING, CONTACT THE CIA DIRECTOR.

-Throughout the night, other agents are found, grouping into a full team. For full summary of the contact campaign with undercover spies, see attached documents.

-Agent “Gabriella Oppenheimer” and “Marietta Poskanzer” are declared dead. This is later redacted after regaining contact. Warning: Due to the nature of operation, the possibility of impersonation should not be discarded, however the subjects have yet to provide reason for ample suspicion.

-The undercover spies, not including Agent “Gabriella Oppenheimer” and “Marietta Poskanzer,” lead an ambush team led by, Agent “Mata Boyd,” attempts a capture and contaminant operation on Dr. Gordon Freeman. No further contact is made with any member other than Agent “Kim Reilly,” of the team.

-The ambush team is found to be mainly deceased, with only one surviving casualty, “Kim Reilly,” found with damage indicative of crowbar wounds.

-Agent “Gabriella Oppenheimer” provides evidence that extraterrestrial forces have an organized intelligence service acting through psychological manipulation.

-Military Command requests further aid, citing increased organization and combat intelligence among the aliens.

-The ISA is illegally deployed to aid in the Black Mesa incident. DoD internal affairs with the help of the ISA discovers twenty-two acts of friendly fire, five “danger-close” artillery strikes, and poor morale amongst special forces.

-Agent “Gabriella Oppenheimer,” is engaged by both alien and DoD intelligence simultaneously, managing to maintain contact with a now defected ISA agent “Kirchoff.”

-Citing the expertise of Dr. Isaac Kleiner, Agent “Gabriella Oppenheimer,” reports the possibility of a resonance cascade being extended by intelligent interference.

-Plans drafted for retreating protocol of the marines from Black Mesa facility. Early drafts are slow, confusing, or dangerous.

-Pilot “Heisenberg” along with ISA pilot put under pressure of law performs simultaneous extraction of Administrator Wallace Breen, drop off of Black Ops evacuation team, and paradropped radiation supplies.

-Agent “Gabriella Oppenheimer” requests Classified Permissions for Dr. Richard Guttman, who reportedly provided ample assistance throughout the Black Mesa incident. Agent also requests the retrieval of Colonel Adrian Shepherd's personal diary from Santego Base.

-In accordance with recon assignment, Agent “Gabriella Oppenehimer” enters the anomalous materials labs sometime after the most recent contact.
(cont.)

>>4438116
(cont.)
-Marine Corps pilots perform GPS guided bombing runs. Only minutes later, the attacks were reported as “Right up the [expletive] of whoever ordered them.” Later runs using ultra-high magnification mounted on ISA equipment noted that a “caucasian male, orange suit, carrying an incumbent amount of weapons,” was maneuvering across “a blown to [expletive] radio tower like it’s a balance beam.”

-Agent “Gabriella Oppenheimer,” in a discussion with Dr. Eli Vance makes the claim that temporal anomalies have appeared near ground zero. In the same call, “Oppenheimer” requests a background check on “Mark Shaffner.” The request was denied, as that individual did not exist on any known records.

-Frustrated with the slow action of field command, multiple majors shout over unsecured comms, and on multiple frequencies, “If you are still down there, you are now [expletive]!”

THIS DOCUMENT IS SUBJECT TO FURTHER AMENDMENT. IN THE EVENT THAT A MORE RECENT ITERATION IS AVAILABLE TO AN AUTHORIZED READER, THE READER IS TO SHRED THEN BURN THIS COPY, BEFORE ACQUIRING THE MORE RECENT ITERATION.

AUTHORIZATION EX-03BB-PU87.7

Previous Threads: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Black%20Mesa%20Black%20Ops%20Quest
(cont.)

>>4438119
(cont.)
With your squad discussing the possibility of being seen as some sort of alien sleeper agent, especially given that you’re now travelling with a freed vortigaunt in tow. “Honestly Reilly, I seriously doubt that the marine’s care anymore.” You explain, ignoring what the man you knew as “Shaffner,” Holland just said about being a fugitive.

“Why not?” She asks in response.


You saw marines avoiding their orders earlier while less than a few hundred meters from combat. Granted, you had specifically done everything you can to avoid the heavy fighting, but it takes a special kind of indifference to the war at hand to make a marine not want to kill something as morally unimpaired as invading non-humans that may or may not have their own free will. “Morale is in the toilet.” You explain. “With that comes cynicism and apathy. Most of the marine’s aren’t here on expeditionary missions. They’ll only be throwing conspiracy theories around if they want to, and these marine’s seem like all they want is to get out of here.”

“Well that was ISA.” Kirchoff, your resident marine responds. “Standard HECU kit doesn't include thermals. The PCV suits already take up enough of the budget as it is.”

“I still don’t think they were an expeditionary team.” You respond, as you begin to move quietly down the hall, looking for one of the office's labeled “Dr. Vance.” “We met a group of scouts earlier, they seemed like the forward team.”

When you see an office labeled, “Dr. Eli Vance- Vice Head of Spectrometry,” you quickly look around, look around, looking for the second key holder with an office. Partially covered by Xenian fungi, you’re able to make out the name “Kleiner, Spectrometry and Theoretical Properties.”

You turn back to your team, explaining, “If we want to power Magnusson’s device, we need to grab some exotic matter from Vance’s lab. That stuff’s locked up behind a dual custody lock, so you guys check on Kleiner’s office, I’ll check Vance’s.”

You know Vance trusts you with any personal items you find in there, so you decide to place yourself in there alone, while the rest of your team turns Kleiner’s office upside down. You already know where Vance’s key is, so it should be easy to do alone.

Your team nods affirmatively, and Guttman, Reilly, and Holland move into Kleiner’s office, while Kirchoff and Marietta stay outside, keeping watch and not crowding the small space. Ignoring your order, Vorty follows behind you as you turn your back to him. You can clearly hear the alien’s hoofsteps, entering the room with you. Turning around with a quick glance, the creature seems oddly curious about the office of Dr. Vance.
(cont.)

>>4438121
(cont.)
Quickly you scan over the key rack, seeing nothing of importance. Checking the personal coat of Dr. Vance hanging on his coat rack, you stuff your hand in the pockets, needing to pry apart the xenian mold that grew inside. With every movement of the coat, the things living inside of it’s organic material begin to scurry and twitch, occasionally releasing small chitters. Thankful that you aren’t squeamish, you manage to fish out a small metal key ring from the pocket, finding a set of car keys, an unlabeled key you would assume goes to his apartment, and finally, an unlabeled disk detainer key with far more disks to be manipulated than any civilian lock. This has to be the one, as it's a significantly more secure key than anything similar.

You continue to search Dr. Vance’s overgrown office, and Vorty pears around with you. Occasionally listening in to the work of your team as you do, you hear what sounds like little progress being made, the sound of objects being moved around, Reilly ordering those in the room with her to search in other, less conventional places, etc.

Searching through the rest of Vance’s rather nicely organized room, you quickly find a set of documents regarding the many equations required to run the Anti-Mass-Spectrometer. You pocket them, knowing that the CIA will find them useful. Also placed around are personal items of Dr. Vance, many of which now suffer from the pervasive xenian fungus that has overgrown the place. A drawing from his daughter, pinned on a whiteboard on one wall with a magnet, has been eaten away by insects, then infested and covered with unearthly fluids. If you look closely, you can still just barely make out the word “Daddy,” and an arrow pointing to some stick figures.

On his desk in another piece of biomatter eaten away by xenian biology, and one that Vorty seems to have taken great interest in, now infested and moldy book labeled, “Eternalism: A theory of infinite justice.” Looking at the text blurbs scattered across both of its covers, it seems like more of a philosophical work than a scientific one. It seems likely that Vance was simply entertaining the concept rather than taking it as the god’s honest truth. Speaking of which, Dr. Vance keeps a copy of the Christian Bible in his desk, alongside a few more pieces of personal reading, one of which includes the work “Idle Hands: An Emphasis on Active Faith,” which is only credited with last names, author “Grigori,” and translator “Wolpaw.” The longer you look at the religious and philosophical texts that Dr. Vance keeps in his office, the more the migraine begins to pulse, the same way it does when it attempts to “punish” you for learning what you shouldn’t.

As that pain pushes you away from looking at Vance’s personal reading, you feel a secondary pain building, a constricting tightness in your temple, another anomaly is coming.
(cont.)

>>4438122
(cont.)
As you finish up your search of Dr. Vance’s room, deciding if you should take any of his more random personal items like books and pictures, and having found his key and documents, you hear Reilly call out to you. “Gabby!” She says, just loud enough for you to notice from the other room. “The key isn’t in here.”

“Are you sure?” You ask right off the bat.

“The doctor misplaced his keys. That or he has him on him and they’re currently on their way out of Black Mesa.” Reilly responds. “Either way, they’re not in here.”


“Well that’s just dandy.” Kirchoff says, looking like he’s ready to throw the heavy LIGA to the ground. “Change timelines, fight aliens and US marines, all just to be stopped by an old man losing his keys.”

“Can’t you pick it?” Holland says.

“It depends on the lock, but it seems more secure than the other locks.” You explain.

“And knowing this place, there’s a gun turret in there to catch people who are picking it.” Kirchoff responds.

>Head to Dr. Rosenberg’s office, search for Dr. Breen’s letter as Vance requested, and decide between keeping it, destroying it, or perhaps even modifying it.
>Go over the findings of your team. What did they find out from the document’s from Dr. Magnusson’s small labspace, and the creature?
>Take a look inside Kleiner’s room yourself, is there anything else that might be in there? Any alternate routes in or out of the room that may lead you somewhere?
>Go into Kleiner’s room and wait for the new anomaly to start. Perhaps it will show you something.
>Write in anything you’d like to take from Dr. Vance’s room.
>Write in.
(Optionally, choose a dialogue option.)
>”Don’t be so pessimistic Kirchoff. There’s no such thing as a locked door with high explosives.”
>”We’re in a place where time has become non-linear, anything can happen, let’s figure out how to make it happen.”
>”It’s always the little things that screw you over. Now I know how it feels when undercover cops in the mafia get exposed because they’re wearing a cheap pair of socks.”
>”We’ll have to improvise. There’s gotta be something in these labs that can open up that lock.”
>“Maybe we could try Freeman’s personal locker? Vance said he had one. If the guy was in a rush, maybe he left it behind?”
>“This is why I hate unmanned security. I can’t use my lovely CIA charms on a lock.”
>Write in.

>>4438115
I'm a moron, there's a typo in the subject. This is actually thread #9.

>>4438125
>>Go into Kleiner’s room and wait for the new anomaly to start. Perhaps it will show you something.
>”We’re in a place where time has become non-linear, anything can happen, let’s figure out how to make it happen.”

>>4438128
DELETE THE THREAD AND REMAKE A NEW ONE!

DO IT QUICKLY BEFORE THE LAST THREAD FALLS OFF AND YOU CAN LINK IT TO THE NEW NU ONE!
REEEEEEEEEEEE
CAPS LOCK!

>>4438460
>>4438462
Should I? I didn't think it was that large of an issue, and since it was six total posts I didn't want to, but if you guys really want me to make a new thread I will.

>>4438473
Its not, I'm just being autistic, but if you want to, this would be the best time to do so before your in too deep with more posts.

>>4438497
Thanks for clearing that up. You're definitely right about that, but I'm already writing the next update. I'm also not sure how I'd go about handling a vote (.>>4438137) from a deleted post. I think it might be easier to just continue on. People will also probably forget about it when I do something even stupider later in the thread, so it's not too huge in the long term.

>>4438515
could just count it and maybe take a screen shot and post it in a separate post in a new thread explaining what your doing.

>>4438137
Supporting this.

>>4438569
That's fair enough. I still think I'm just gonna stick with this thread, since it's probably more trouble than it's worth being only a single digit typo, but thanks for the advice.
>>4438137
>>4438570
“Kirchoff, we’re in the one place in the universe where time is non-linear. Anything can happen down here. Aliens are appearing out of thin air.” You say, with an optimistic tone and a smile under your balaclava. It’s a good way to keep morale up in a place like this, even if it does sound somewhat childish. “Let’s figure out how to make what we need to happen, happen.”

As you say this, you slide past your compatriots as they filter out of the office. With the effects of the diazepam taking its toll on your coordination, you do bump into them a few times as you slip through the small office door. “I’m going to wait here for another anomaly, let’s see what it shows us.”

“You really wanna keep messing with time?” Guttman says. “One of these times you’re gonna screw something up forever. That or this will all get so confusing not even the CIA will know what’s going on.”

“For now I’m just gonna see what options it opens up.” You say, as you feel the tension of the migraine growing stronger. “I’ll decide whether or not it’s worth messing with time when I know what appears.” You look around Kleiner’s office. While it’s certainly been upturned by your own team, the office was likely already a mess. The deskspace, drawers, and cabinets are absolutely covered in every idea, theory, and scientific shower thought that Kleiner has ever had. The man is most certainly dedicated to the sciences, and it's almost as if the physicist simply cannot contain himself, compulsively writing down new theories or equations as they come to his mind, then scribbling them out as he disproves them. Many of the papers have more crossed out than they do confirmed. His bookcase is also packed with scientific textbooks. While his office shows his dedication to physics, he still does have a few pictures scattered about the room, a group photo with the science team that, thanks to a sturdy but rather ascetic picture frame, has avoided the overgrowth of xenian fungi that’s ruined every other picture. Another frame, placed on his desk, shows him and Dr. Freeman, the latter of which is holding a PhD from the Massachusetts institute of technology.

Still in Dr. Vance’s office, Vorty grabs a few small things from Dr. Vance’s desk. From what you can see in the lowlight of the labs, they were salvageable papers from some of Dr. Vance’s books. Perhaps the creature intends to study human language with them, although it would be a strange time to do so.
(cont.)

>>4438589
(cont.)
As the migraine increases, you stand there, waiting for it to plateau, and the ghostly figures of another temporal repeat to materialize. The pain builds in your head, and you begin to wince. Slowly, the ambient red emergency light, and the glow of your own goggles, begins to smear through space. A figure, dressed in a white lab coat stained with blood both red and yellow, begins to materialize. His blurred facial features make him difficult to recognize at first, but you can still tell who he is by the glock held in his pocket. One hand rests on the back of the gun, ready to pull it out at any moment, and the other is currently analyzing a key ring. Only one of the keys is for a disk detainer, like the one in Vance’s room, the rest are all for other doors, and possible routes to safety throughout the anomalous materials labs. Odds are, those other keys on the ring are this man’s salvation, but you definitely won’t be able to manipulate the anomaly finely enough to pull a key off a key ring.

Alongside the man, and his key, an anomaly of the door has phased into reality, alongside a ghost of Kleiner’s chair, both having apparently moved a decent among from their position at some point, and when you touch it, it is considerably more solid than the other ghosts of Magnusson’s team. It seems that this event happened some time after Magnusson grabbed the LIGA. This means that you have an opportunity to do some more fine manipulation than you usually would. It also means that, at some point in time, most of Magnusson’s team was wiped out, or killed.

With the door and the chair, you could possibly jam the man inside. If he were to live until this moment, you may be able to talk to him, find out what happened to his team, and get the keys. Of course, that means leaving him locked in a room connected to the hallway where a team of marine’s just walked through. You’d be risking his life doing something like that.

Alternatively, you could just prevent him from grabbing the keys. He seems desperate though, so you may have to push him around a little, and that may risk injuring him. As well, those keys may be saving his life somehow. Of course, if you were to find out what got him into this situation of being traumatized and alone, you could prevent it and possibly save him.

Finally, you could always just leave him alone, let him go with the keys. There are other ways to get into a place, and with the amount of anomaly manipulation you’ve been doing so far, changing time would be pushing Vorty rather hard.

>Jam the scientist in the room. You want those keys, and you want to talk to the scientist.
>Just take the keys, and let him go. You don’t want to risk the scientists life by locking him up, and you need the keys more than he does.
>Leave the scientist alone. You don’t want to tire out Vorty any further, and you think the man needs the keys more than you.
>Write in any clever ideas.

>>4438592
>Write in any clever ideas.
Have vorty teleport him through time and space to us and grab him!

>>4438592
>>Leave the scientist alone. You don’t want to tire out Vorty any further, and you think the man needs the keys more than you.
OK now is the time to restrain ourselves a bit.

>>4438639
The voritigaunts definitely do have certain influences here, but unfortunately that is something Vorty would not be able to do, at least not while alone, or with the resources he has available to him at the moment.

>>4438661
>>4438643
What if we try and put a note in his pocket to meet or hide somewhere for us to find and extract him?

>>4438675
We can't send things to the past, we would have to find a way to finesse a message through anomalies with very little time.

>>4438675
>>4438680
Kleiner’s room is filled with pens and pieces of notepaper that are slightly dissolved by xen flora scattered around that would have also appeared in the anomaly. You could write a rather sloppy and short note with those, but he’s got little reason to trust a nameless pen being nudged around by temporal anomalies, so you’d have to think of a very short message, like at most four to five syllable phrase that would convince him to stay in the labs rather than run to safety. It would need to be rather convincing, but it would be far less dangerous than blocking him in with a chair.

>>4438712
And just to be clear, you guys would have to write in what you say on the note, and the scientist will judge whether it’s trustworthy.

>>4438712
I have two suggestions.
“Sci team stat? will aid.”
Five syllables. Implies we will aid his team but we need to know their status. For if we want to Prevent some of the team’s death and get the key that way.
The second is
“Lock, quiet. Will save you.”
Implies that if he locks the door and is quiet either the action or we will save him.
Either one is pretty good.

>>4438808
Alyx: hi. We extract you.

>>4438808
This. The objective is to meet them in person after saving them.

>>4438808
support.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>4438639
>>4438643
>>4438675
>>4438680
>>4438808
>>4439071
>>4439205
>>4439343
I was originally gonna just take the first one, but it seems the most fair to you guys to consider this a tie, since there doesn't seem to be any specific preference between the two here. Apologies for the delay.

>“Lock, quiet. Will save you.” (1)
>“Sci team stat? will aid.” (2)

>>4439769
“Sci team stat” sounds like the one where he doesn’t have to wait in the room.

>>4439792
Apologies if this sounds like a stupid question, but I just want to confirm, you are supporting "sci team stat", right? That's perfectly fine, but I just wanna be clear.

>>4438639
>>4438643
>>4438675
>>4438680
>>4438808
>>4439071
>>4439205
>>4439343
>>4439792
You need to talk to him, you think. You can’t do anything to prevent this, without knowing what happened. You feel the migraine contorting, almost to a breaking point, causing you to wince. You push aside the pain for a moment. You need to know what happened to the rest of Magusson’s team. Knowing how little time you have to write, you know you need to abbreviate somewhat.

The tension of the migraine begins to release, and the man begins to move. Quickly, you watch as he moves to pocket Kleiner’s key ring. Rather than trying to stop him, you grab one of the plastic pens, ignored by the biomater seeking xenian life, and a notepad lucky enough to not have been chewed into dust by alien mold spores.

Quickly, you start to write down, “Sci team stat?” He hears the sound of writing, and quickly twists his body around, grabbing his pistol from his pocket, allowing the key to drop for a moment. Wanting him to know you're friendly, you add the words, “Will aid,” to the end of your message. Writing as quickly as you are, the effects of the diazepam are clearly coming through. They occasionally stutter, you have trouble holding the already fuzzy pen, but you can manage five words. You would’ve been able to fit in far more had it not been for the dose diazepam taking away some of your important hand eye coordination.

“Who’s there!?” The scientist, who was referred to as “Dr. Saulson” by Dr. Magnusson earlier shouts. “I’m armed!”

You hold up the paper, ensuring the man can see it. He seems confused for a moment, before something clicks in the man’s head. You’re thankful you’re trying to save some of the most intelligent, and more importantly, curious people the country has to offer. Many in his situation would have just ran away when they realized someone in the future was watching him.

“Sc- sci team stat?” He asks. “What stat? Statistics… statim, status… status?” He gathers his thoughts for a moment. As he does, you take advantage of it, and start writing instructions that will likely save his life. The paper is slightly moldy, and you know the quicker you write, the more likely you are to rip it and waste precious time. “Th-th-they hunted us… just like the lambda teams. The red eyed ones... Don’t let them see you down here. They’ll start bringing more. They appeared in droves in the lobby, and after they got Magnusson I started running.”
(cont.)

>>4439872
(cont.)
Your heart drops as he says that. The first time, “those red eyed ones,” likely referring to the vortigaunts, saw him, was when you prevented him from destroying the LIGA. This may have very well been your doing. Still, you keep writing your next message, he needs to secure himself in here.

“I-I have to go. I’m gonna try my luck in the office complex. I just can’t stay here. Kleiner’s keys can get me a few floors down. Maybe the old bunkers will be safe.” He says as you write. You try to speed up, hopefully getting out a second message before he leaves, but your wrist spasms, an effect of the Diazepam earlier. The fragile paper, having been partially dissolved by the xenian mold, is flung away, slipping into the space between Kleiner’s desk. You try to grab it, but as you do, the pen slips out of your hand, as though it were melting, while simultaneously holding its shape perfectly. The anomaly is beginning to fade, and as it does, you notice the tension of the migraine doesn’t begin to increase like it usually does. With the last fading moments of the scientists repeat, he grabs the key, and begins to run to safety. He begins to head further down the hall. Your questions haven't caused him to stay, where you can save him personally, nor did he leave the keys, but now you have multiple options to get the keys. You know now what killed the science team, and where. That lets you prevent it. They were apparently attacked by alien intelligence in the anomalous materials lobby.

You follow the fading repeat, as the scientist, keeping his head down, pears out of the hallway, then begins to move towards the office complex. The repeat is fresh. If he were to have gotten to the office complex alive, he’s not gotten far, especially not on his own. He also said he’s going from there into “old bunkers,” with Kleiner’s keys. Black Mesa is riddled with old cold war bunkers, from the facility’s past life as nuclear weapon’s storage. You’re not exactly sure why Kleiner has keys to those bunkers, but considering the science team probably knows there fellow scientist better than you do, you wouldn’t doubt it.

As the repeat fades fully, you notice, and find it strange that the pain and tension of the migraine hasn’t returned anywhere near as much as it usually would when you tamper with time. Perhaps you haven’t changed time enough for it to affect the migraine. When you first saw the anomalies, one of the first things you did was trip up a scientist, and when that happened, the migraine didn’t nearly kill you.
(cont.)

>>4439875
(cont.)
>Head to Dr. Rosenberg’s office, search for Dr. Breen’s letter as Vance requested, and decide between keeping it, destroying it, or perhaps even modifying it.
>Go over the findings of your team. What did they find out from the document’s from Dr. Magnusson’s small labspace, and the creature?
>Take a look inside Kleiner’s room yourself, is there anything else that might be in there? Any alternate routes in or out of the room that may lead you somewhere?
>Head down towards the office complex. The scientist you just saw can’t be more than a few rooms away, and you want that key.
>Head further into the anomalous materials labs. You need to save Magnusson’s team, or attempt to access the lab’s exotic matter storage with only one key. .
>Write in anything you’d like to take from Dr. Vance’s room.
>Write in.

>>4439878
>>Go over the findings of your team. What did they find out from the document’s from Dr. Magnusson’s small labspace, and the creature?

>>4439878
>Head further into the anomalous materials labs. You need to save Magnusson’s team, or attempt to access the lab’s exotic matter storage with only one key. .
The fresher the repeats, the more effective our actions will be.

>>4439981
Oh that's true
>>4439878
>Head further into the anomalous materials labs. You need to save Magnusson’s team, or attempt to access the lab’s exotic matter storage with only one key. .

>>4439878
>Head further into the anomalous materials labs. You need to save Magnusson’s team, or attempt to access the lab’s exotic matter storage with only one key.

>>4439809
Sorry, I wasn’t sure if you’d called the vote.

Putting out one a day sucks, but unfortunately I won't be able to slip in another update today. I'll try to make up for it more with an extra few tomorrow.
>>4440017
Don't worry about it, I'll try and be more specific with those things in the future. I hate tiebreakers, so I'm usually open to someone throwing in a vote to break the tie in question.

File: computerzombie.jpg (74 KB, 1280x720)

74 KB JPG

>>4439882
>>4439981
>>4439988
>>4440017
As the scientist makes a run to safety, it comes to mind that the events he mentioned, the ones that killed Magnusson’s team and left him as the only remaining survivor, never have to have happened. Down here, things can be nudged in the right direction. Acknowledging that the age of an event directly correlates with how much influence you have over the event, you take a quick listen for the sounds of combat that constantly echo through the anomalous materials labs. The marines you were fighting earlier have likely moved back.

“Anything else we want to get done here is going to have to wait.” You order to your team. “Magnusson’s team was hunted down. I’m not about to let them stay dead when we can fix it. We need to get a move on.”

“And you intend to bring a man back from the dead with this time stuff right?” Holland asks, clearly avoiding the word “time travel,” on account of it sounding incredibly absurd. He has the stressed expression of a man who’s spent his entire life surrounded by similar thinking, feeling like the only one in the room who sees it as a dangerous idea.

“Maybe.” You respond noncommittally. Even small promises are given out sparingly in your line of work, this place is too unpredictable for them. You ought to see what’s there first. “Let’s get a move on.” You say, signalling the team forwards. “Keep an eye around us, we can’t have any surprises out here.” You flick your goggles to night vision, and begin to move forward. With the heavy sound produced by each breath, you take care not to make too much noise with your gas mask.

“It’s insane the kind of shit that’s in this place.” Holland says following the group, and temporarily dismissing what he perceives as an insane willingness to mess with things beyond your understanding. “I thought I was in deep shit getting blueprints of an unmanned tank.” He then mutters, imperceptibly to all but those with spectacular eavesdropping skills, “What kinda crap does my boss have in his basement, ahh?”

As you move down the hall, you hear a blast of electricity behind you. You look back, and Vorty is moving quickly forward and hasn’t done anything to cause the sound.

“Breen might’ve left those there for you to find.” Kirchoff mutters as your team grows close to your most recent engagement. “Plant some trees in front of you, so you miss the forest.”

As the team talks amongst themselves, you step over the body of a marine, the “Manwich,” your team gunned down in a hail of suppressing fire. Looking into the labs to your right, you see a large, bulletproof glass door. Deliberately kept meters away from each other, the electric door is closed with two separate locks.

“It’s not an unheard of tactic.” Marietta responds. “British military intelligence likes it.”

“Did it in the gulf war plenty.” Kirchoff remarks. “CIA requests usually.”
(cont.)

>>4441174
(cont.)
Flanked on either side by lab spaces, you begin to hear voices. They sound distant, but better safe than walking into an ambush. “Keep quiet.” You say quickly. “Someone’s up ahead.”

They all immediately shut up, and you begin to approach, hoping to get closer to the sounds. Up ahead, rubble has been mined out with explosives. A large, but traversable pile of what was at one point ventilation shafts having fallen down from the ceiling is now scattered where the corridor bends. Just above the pile is what looks to be a ventilation shaft. If you remember this area correctly, that may very well take you directly into Black Mesa’s server room, and possibly an alternate route into the lobby.

You listen up ahead, hearing the sounds of medical assistance. A medic, the same voice as the one from earlier, is counting down chest compressions, “seventeen, sixteen, fifteen,” as he attempts to revive a marine, likely the same one you hit with a grenade. As he does, you hear a new authoritative voice. “Keep it fast boys, we could have them down on us at any time, and any direction” He pauses for a moment, and you’re able to once again make out the sound of CPR, and more interestingly, the sound of an intensely heavy gun being lugged around. “Horton if you close up that bulkhead, how quickly could you open it if we needed to dash?”

It seems that the marine’s have retreated to their breaking point; the lobby. Likely, they’ve made use of the transport system as you saw them working on it earlier, and are ready to board a tram to safety if need be.

Turning to your right, Kirchoff is scanning the area with his scope, and then says, “At least seven… probably more. Really hard to tell through the walls around this area.”

As you keep track of the marines, you suddenly hear the sound of hooves. Quickly you turn your head to see Vorty taking a close look at the exposed vent into the server room of the anomalous materials labs. It’s clear he wants to head in there.
(cont.)

>>4441175
(cont.)
>Have Reilly scout out the marine’s position, making use of the insulation to conceal herself, and with the help of her cloak. (-12/38 cloak. 3d6+2, pass on a 9)
>Kirchoff still has his thermal cover, and this is a low light situation. Have him move into somewhere dark, where he can take an opening shot on an important target. (Roll 3d6+2 for kirchoff, pass on a 15, on a success, you will get a description of the marine’s forces, and a free opening shot.)
>Try climbing into that exposed vent, take a look inside, and perhaps consider pulling Vorty in there with you as he seems interested.
>The marine’s may be on defense, but perhaps you can convince them there’s an easy target ahead, and pick some off in an ambush. Shout out for help, mimicking a scientist's distress. (Roll 3d6+2, at least one marine will be sent to investigate on a 9, the amount increasing depending on how high the roll is. Failing the roll, the marine's will be even more defensive.)
>On second thought, take a look at the stabilized exotic matter storage, perhaps you may find a way to get in there with only one key.
>Write in any clever ideas.
(Optionally, choose a dialogue option while you’re still out of earshot from the marines. )
>”They had you doing CIA requests in the gulf war Kirchoff? Is that why you came with us, to get a taste of being the top dog?”
>”Holland, have you considered that maybe the reason you never found out about any of this stuff because you’re not the best corporate spy? You’ve spent most of this incident in a locker.”
>”Breen doesn’t seem like the type to leave too much false information around, more just pull any possible moles aside and give him a philosophy lecture.”
>”Breen’s a conniving man, it’s not exactly beyond his skill set to hide the truth from people. It’s probably why he was made administrator. ”
>”All I can legally tell you Holland is that this is only a fraction of the insanity Black Mesa has put on my plate.”
>Say nothing, make no comment.
>Write in.

>>4441177
>>Try climbing into that exposed vent, take a look inside, and perhaps consider pulling Vorty in there with you as he seems interested.
>Say nothing, make no comment.

>>4441177
>Try climbing into that exposed vent, take a look inside, and perhaps consider pulling Vorty in there with you as he seems interested.
>I’ll be honest, Breen strikes me as the kind of person who thinks he’s smarter than he actually is. This facility was a disaster even without all the alien nonsense. You know how many radioactive material leaks there’s been this year?

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>4441286(1)
>>4441310(2)
Gonna do a quick tiebreaker for the dialogue before writing. If anyone would like to throw in a last minute vote that would break the tie, feel free, and I'll throw out the roll.

>>4441310
+1

>>4441286
>>4441310
>>4441465
“I’ll be honest with you. Breen strikes me as the kind of person who thinks he’s a lot smarter than he actually is.” You mention as you consider your options. “This facility was a disaster before the aliens.”

“I mean, you have to be a little screwed in the head to be in these kinds of positions.” Guttman says. “We’re in the endgame of the military industrial complex.”

Hearing the marines speak up ahead, and hearing Kirchoff’s count of “At least seven, probably more,” you immediately decide that you’d like to know more about the area, and your possibilities before moving through here. Your first thought is to simply jump and then pull yourself up to the vent, but upon feeling the small, slight tremors being caused by the diazepam that could easily throw you off, and how much noise dropping down onto metal floors, or worse, broken servers, would make, you decide not to make it hard on yourself.

“Marietta, can you give me a boost up there?” You say quietly. “Vorts seem to think it’s important, and I wanna check it out. Might open up a few new options for us.” Marietta nods as you turn your head back to Guttman. “It’s more than that. You know how many radioactive material leaks there’s been this year?”

You suddenly grab Holland’s interests with that statement.You’re not surprised. Modern nuclear accidents generally require a heavy degree of incompetence somewhere along the line and make an incredibly valuable piece of blackmail for the people that would employ corporate spies. If you weren’t currently stepping onto Marietta’s hand, he’d be asking for more information.

You grunt as you pull yourself up to the vent, crawling into the short duct. Only a meter or two through the duct is the server room. Carefully poking your head through the duct exit, you immediately see that the room is devoid of life, all life in fact. The xenian fungus that has permeated all of the anomalous materials lab has failed to infest this one area. The little bit of flora that has crept through the door, like the murderer of a horror movie reaching its fingers under the door to feel for his victim, appears to have been charred away, and you’re not sure by what.

A long dead scientist sits at the end of a server that fell, now leaning against the wall. His body is covered in dead electrical burns, but he also seems long decayed. Shrapnel from the exploding servers sent plastic into his chest, and blood seeped out, now blackening his already burnt coat from the exposure.

The now charred body of a headcrab also appears to have made it into this room at some point, however it seems to have been killed before being cooked. It’s pose is awkward, indicative of rigor mortis, and blunt force trauma, likely from a maintenance tool or office object.
(cont.)

>>4441652
(cont.)
You begin to slide down one of the servers, having fallen over and leaned conveniently against the air-vent. That anomalous muscle in your temple, right where the migraine pounds away idly, begins to twist and contort. You feel a sudden snap of electricity arcing its way into you as you continue down the server. It’s not enough to do any lasting damage, but you certainly notice the crack from the twitch it incites in your wrist. Occasionally you see small green sparks within the server itself.

Immediately holding your attention is the air-vent. You could probably get a decent look at the marine’s from there without them noticing, and it would grant good cover from the marines if one wanted to say, snipe from there. It would be best to do it as quickly as possible in that case, you may be able to catch a glimpse of a repeat showing the death of Magnusson’s team, and the marines could do a thermal scan at any moment.

However, as you get closer, you notice green sparks coming from the other servers at an increasing frequency, and slowly starting to creep in to the metal of the air-ducts.

As you look around at the growing electrical anomaly, noticing that it ramps up with the same pattern of intensity as the contorting pain of the migraine, you notice another feature of the room. Having hidden under the server you slid down is the body of a female doctor. Her burns are still fresh, and the closer you move in to analyze her from afar, the more you wonder if she really is dead. Deciding you ought to make sure quickly if there is a chance to revive her, you quickly move in, looking for any sign of life. The woman, who you now recognize as “Dr. Forbes” from Magnusson’s group. You quickly handle her unconscious body, checking over her wounds. While you don’t feel a pulse through heavy radioprotective gloves, you do notice that some of her wounds are still bleeding, meaning a heartbeat is present. It would require a hell of a lot of work from Dr. Guttman, but she might be able to be revived. Of course, if you were to change the events that got her in this position in the first place, it would have the same effect.

You also know that, connected to one of these server blocks, is a small CIA dongle, the one you used to take the data from the anomalous materials labs, and grab that picture off of your email, the one your handler told you to “forget about.” You could recover it. You don’t have any idea how the strange conditions of the labs may have affected it. You remember in Vorty’s alien “presentation” earlier in the infirmary, he placed quite the emphasis on the device.
(cont.)

>>4441669
(cont.)
The electricity is slowly growing in this room, hitting you with more and more electrical shocks as it builds. You wonder what it might do if it grows uncontrolled. The more time you spend in here, the more you’ll find out. You doubt that it would be instantly deadly, looking at Dr. Forbes, she’s obviously been in here for at least an hour or two, and hasn’t been killed by the burns yet.

>Vorty was the one interested in this place, and the electricity currently arcing around it looks like the kind that belongs to his kin, perhaps he can do something with it, pull him into here.
>Get as good of a look as you can through that air-vent before anyone spots you on thermals. You need to take the advantages you can get against those marines.
>Drag the dying Dr. Forbes is out of here to Guttman, so he can revive her. He’d have to pull away from the rest of the team for quite a while to have a chance at reviving her. While you’d be leaving the room, dragging her will take a while.
>Track down that backdoor dongle you left down here. Perhaps it's why Vorts is interested in the place, and it’s also not something that should be allowed in civilian, alien, or rank and file hands.
>Get out of here immediately. Don’t mess with whatever this electricity is, you don’t want to risk it if it’s dangerous. (When picking this prompt, feel free to write in anything you’d like to do upon leaving the server room back the way you came, including writing in the prompts from the previous update.)
>Write in.

>>4441673
>>Vorty was the one interested in this place, and the electricity currently arcing around it looks like the kind that belongs to his kin, perhaps he can do something with it, pull him into here.

>>4441673
>Vorty was the one interested in this place, and the electricity currently arcing around it looks like the kind that belongs to his kin, perhaps he can do something with it, pull him into here.

>>4441681
>>4441788
Seeing the green energy build up around you within the server room, the same green energy that the vortigaunts and their kin use as a tool and weapon, you return back up the fallen server, poking yourself out of the short ventilation shaft, you look down at Vorty, then say to Marietta, “I need you to boost him up here with me.” You explain. “There’s some strange electricity in here, just like the vortigaunts use.”

She nods, but says, “Just don’t get fried in there.” She kneels down, signals vorty closer, and holds out a hand for him to stand on. “Hop up.” She says quietly to the alien. Vorty stares at her, then at her hand, then at you, then finally processing what he’s expected to do, places his hoof on Marietta’s hand. Being a malnourished former slave, your fellow spy has little trouble boosting the thin creature up to you, where you grab his taloned hand and grunt as you pull him in.

The vortigaunt almost seems to slither inhumanly through the vent, before crawling down the server alongside you. “What are you going to do?” You whisper. The migraine is still twisting, right in tune with the charging of electricity in the server room.

“Secure message. Adjust containment.” He responds with his grumbling voice. “Explanation negates.” As the energy begins to crackle and spark towards your radioprotective suit, he motions for you to stay back, using the hand signal you taught his kind.

Hearing Vorty’s “explanation,” you immediately have more questions than you did a moment ago. A message to who? Containing what? The resonance cascade? The anomalies? You still don’t know exactly why the anomalies are happening. Does Vorty know something he’s not telling you?

You reascend the fallen server, keeping away from the arcing electricity as you keep an eye on Vorty. As though he were about to fire a beam of lightning at an enemy, he begins to draw the energy up. The migraine continues to twist and contort, and at the same time the electricity grows. Scanning the area, despite the migraine plateauing, no anomalies have appeared in here. You don’t doubt they’re elsewhere, but within this room they’re simply not present.

As the energy grows, crackling, and causing your night vision to glare out your vision around Vorty, you begin to hear occasional blips of sound over the intercom. Slowly, they begin to grow more common, more loud, and you can just barely make out a marine saying, “You hear that?”
(cont.)

>>4442032
(cont.)
If it keeps up, they’re likely to do a thermal check, and see you and your team clearly through it. However, as you consider this, you begin to notice something else. Vorty said that he was somehow “adjusting” things. Whatever adjustments he’s making are allowing the anomalies to show something new. Black and orange smears of light begin to appear among the electricity, seemingly twitching as they materialize. You can’t help but be curious as you wonder what the anomaly would be able to show you, if it were to fully materialize.

As well, as the electricity grows, you begin to think that stopping Vorty may be painful. Electricity is currently crackling around him.

>Stop Vorty from “adjusting” things. You’d rather he not mess with time more than your team has to, it may very well come with disastrous unforeseen consequences. Of course, this means stepping into his electrical field.
>Allow Vorty to “adjust” things. You don’t know how he’s doing this, but somehow what he briefly described as “Secure communication” is allowing him to get you more information from the anomalies, which is something you need. Of course, this means the noise will likely set the marines in the lobby on high alert.
>Write in any ideas.

>>4442033
>>Allow Vorty to “adjust” things. You don’t know how he’s doing this, but somehow what he briefly described as “Secure communication” is allowing him to get you more information from the anomalies, which is something you need. Of course, this means the noise will likely set the marines in the lobby on high alert.

>>4442033
Is the server room isolated? Who would the marines encounter first, Vorty or the rest?

>>4442033
>Allow Vorty to “adjust” things. You don’t know how he’s doing this, but somehow what he briefly described as “Secure communication” is allowing him to get you more information from the anomalies, which is something you need. Of course, this means the noise will likely set the marines in the lobby on high alert.

>>4442201
At the moment, the two access points to the server room are two ventilation shafts, one of which exits into a lobby. There's a door entering in the connecting hallway, but its blocked off by a server you'd need explosives to clear. They'd most likey encounter the rest first, simply being the most easy to access, but depending on what they prioritize, they might send some through the vents to investigate your position.

>>4442453
Okay, thanks. That makes things clearer.

>Allow Vorty to “adjust” things. You don’t know how he’s doing this, but somehow what he briefly described as “Secure communication” is allowing him to get you more information from the anomalies, which is something you need. Of course, this means the noise will likely set the marines in the lobby on high alert.

>>4442043
>>4442201
>>4442402
>>4442472
Apologies for the delay, had class.

As much as you wish Vorty would tell you what he intends to do when messing with time and space, you trust his judgement with these things, he’s the “expert” in these strange anomalies and his kins energy. He seems to believe it’s safe, or at least worth the cost, and these anomalies have been invaluable so far in gathering information, if he believes he can somehow squeeze more out of it, then so be it.

Vorty continues to harness the green energy, pulsing brighter just as the anomalous muscle in your temple continues to plateau in its pain, pulsing and stretching in a twisted knot. You try to keep an eye of the ever changing black and orange smears of light. However, as the migraine becomes more painful, you wince, and your eyes are forced shut.

“ATTEN- DOCTOR- SEVEN- ATENTIO- MILITARY CONTRO-” The laboratory intercom begins to spit out random words occasionally, things likely stuck in the server logs, or perhaps it’s part of the anomalies, and nothing to do with Vorty’s interference with the remains of the laboratory’s servers. You can’t tell.

The marines in the lobby begin begin to jump at the strange sounds, already kept on high alert. “The hell is that? ‘Nother anomaly?” One of the marines shouts.

The pain of the migraine begins to release, as though the anomalous muscle in your head was cut free, and the pressure was able to vent. With your eyelids no longer locked up in a painful cringe, you start to watch Vorty’s strange actions once again. This time with close observation. One of the phrases he used to explain himself was “Secure communication,” and as you watch the bolts of electricity, you think you can understand what he means. The crackling sparks he fires downward, back into the ground seem oddly deliberate, as if there’s some unseen language being used here. While it's muffled by the blaring machine voice of the intercom stuttering over its own words, and the snapping sound of electricity arcing through the air, you also notice that Vorts mouth is moving.

“What the hell is going on?” You hear over the sudden blare of noise. You recognize the voice as belonging to the sergeant you heard earlier.

Focusing on the anomalous smears of black and orange that flicker throughout the room, you notice that they begin to solidify, each time they appear and are annihilated an instant later like virtual particles, you’re able to make out more of their appearance, clouded and blurred like the rest of the anomalies, but not static, or playing out a set action like the rest.

“Stay calm.” The authoritative, older military voice shouts. “This might be a distraction. Have your boys give us a thermal scan. Keep your eyes off the eggheads boys, we’ve seen that story a million times before, we may have incoming.”
(cont.)

>>4442918
(cont.)
As you watch the flickering anomalies dart around the room, you begin to make out the orange one first, or at least their suit, the blur of the image, and the quickly changing movement make the details hard to make out. The migraine kicks you right in the side of the head as you stare at it, but the effects of the diazepam prevent it from debilitating you. The orange anomaly is the repeat of an HEV suit wearer’s actions, and there’s only one you remember with an orange HEV suit in particular. For some reason, perhaps because of the advanced suit, the anomalies are unable to show Freeman’s actions in any concrete sense as he moves through the server room, it’s as though you’re watching a thousand different possibilities.

As you begin to get a grasp on the situation, and your own head, you attempt to track the flickering black anomaly with your eyes. Slowly, you start to recognize it, black, angular with a teardrop silhouette and a single red eye. The probe that Vorts showed you earlier, he’s showing it to you again. As you trace its positions, you begin to notice a pattern. Everywhere Freeman appears, the black probe appears, watching the anomaly.

“Yes sir.” The sergeant shouts again. “You heard the man. Scan the area.”

If the “bouncing” anomaly that shows Dr. Freeman didn’t appear until vorty “adjusted containment,” how is the probe tracking it? The anomalies only ever show the past, so how would the probe see it if it’s a repeat of something that happened before Vorties actions?

“Wall behind the desk is red hot. Even more than before.” The marine shouts. “That might have som- hold on.” The marine is quiet for a second. “We got contacts coming from the upper labs.”

“Alright, you six come with me, let’s go take them out. Thermal’s on, no surprises.” The most senior and authoritative marine shouts. “Lesnitsky, keep that thing back here for now, but be ready to lug it forward or start firing on my command, you hear?” A distant marine responded affirmatively. “Good, sergeant, you keep your men back with Les, keep Peter’s safe, and don’t let anything come up on our ass.”

“Yes sir!” The sergeant from earlier responds.

You’re currently partially separated from your team, but this room is currently sweltering from the electrical arcing, making you and Vorty the only one’s not spotted by the thermal check. It might be possible to make use of that fact, especially now that the electricity from vorty himself is dying away.
(cont.)

>>4442921
(cont.)
>Return to your team quickly, have them pull back and get in a defensive position.
>Return to your team quickly, but order someone to take your place in the server room. Reilly with her cloak, or Kirchoff with his rifle would both do well in an unseen flanking position.
>Return quickly to your team, and tell them to start sapping out the hall where the marines will come from with grenades to do some major damage. (-2 HEDP grenades out of Marietta’s three, -3 frags out of a party total of 8.)
>Move to the opposite vent, heading into the lobby, pull out your rifle, and take a shot at important targets. (Roll 3d6, kill on a 12, -1/20 ammo. You will be given a choice of targets alongside your roll.)
>Move to the opposite vent and fling your last grenade from a direction they won’t expect, causing some chaos. (-1/1 grenades.)
>Throw a smoke grenade through the vent and breach, staying against the backdrop of the heat to cover your thermals. Harass and provide a distraction for your team to take advantage of with the SMG.
>Write in any clever ideas.

Also, the inventory pastebin is finally up, let me know if there's anything missing, or anything you'd like to see changed about it: https://pastebin.com/Lte0sgmY

>>4442925
>Move to the opposite vent and fire some of the homing bees from the hivehand out of it. You don't have to leave cover thanks to the autonomous nature of its living 'bullets', and being stung is sure to be a hell of a distraction - especially if they're prioritizing alien targets.
Time for the exact cheese I used in the majority of Half Life.

>>4442925
>>Move to the opposite vent and fling your last grenade from a direction they won’t expect, causing some chaos. (-1/1 grenades.)

>>4442969
An explosion that loops? Lawdie lawd. How they dodging that? Especially if we wait until the loop to throw it.

>>4442963
>>4442969
>>4443132
Recognizing your advantage, you immediately start to move forward, quietly pushing and phasing through the flickering anomalies of the probe and Dr. Freeman, knowing that anything you could learn from them will have to be put aside for now. You quietly creep up to the busted open vent, seeing the gradual shift from the ever growing xenian fungi, to the charred remains left by exposure to the constant, searing electrical sparks of the server room, to the forcefully sterilized server room.

“Whoever is around the corner, if you are a member of the united states marine corps, HECU division, report now, otherwise any friendly fire will be on your own ass.” The authoritative voice shouts, before waiting a short moment. There’s no response, but without your orders, you do hear a few murmurs from behind you.

Starting to crawl into the ventilation shaft, you reach onto your belt, feeling for a grenade and removing it. With your last fragmentation grenade in hand, you pull the pin out, then slowly release the lever until the explosive is active.

As you crawl forward, you begin to see more through the end of the corridor. Your old desk sits just where it did before in the lobby, now infested and overgrown with xenian wildlife searching for any possible biomatter to eat away, feeding off of the papers in the desk, and the padding of the seat cushion.

“Move in,” you hear the authoritative voice shout. Tracking the voice with your eyes, you see a group of seven marines, at the center rear of which is a man in a red beret, with older skin than any of his fellow soldiers. If you saw his face below the gas mask, you wouldn’t doubt that you’d be able to make out the man lines and creases in the face of a middle aged man. Considering you heard the sergeant from earlier taking orders from him, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’s a much higher rank, such as captain or major. “Corporal, you take point, keep that shotgun up.” The captain takes a quick look behind him. “Watch our backs over there.”

Right as you begin to toss the grenade, you take a quick glance to where the captain just spoke. At the other end of the room, with the gunner’s back against a corridor, is a soldier holding an M60, kneeling down and keeping an eye on the corridor. Just ahead of him, and to his right, is the rest of the squad from earlier, the medic trying to heal and revive the one unconscious marine from earlier, and the sergeant. In total, the marines have ten among them.
(cont.)

>>4443914
(cont.)
You flick the grenade away from yourself, towards the group of seven as they move down the corridor. The explosive bounces once off the floor, and as they hear it, one of the marines shouts “GRENADE!” instinctively. Immediately they all scatter, some moving away from the hall, diving to the desk as you pull back through the ventilation shaft, some moving further down the corridor. Thrown at the last second of the explosive’s fuse, they have barely an instant to escape. Two marines are instantly splattered with shrapnel, reacting too slowly or carrying too much equipment to get out of the way. Two of them dive forward into the hallway, one of them taking a chunk of subsonic material right in the leg. You don’t hear any gunshots towards the men. Another three dive back, including the captain of this group of marines. Two of them are wounded by chunks of shrapnel, one hitting a private in the shoulder blade, another cutting right past the ear and jaw of the captain from behind, before bouncing away once it hits the kevlar reinforced gas mask .

“Where’d that come from!” A marine shouts. “Medic!”

The migraine begins to twist again, and after Vorty did whatever strange or alien thing he did with the server room, the pain seems to be growing faster, the anomalies coming more frequently.

“Shit!” The medic shouts from the other side of the wound. “Sarge,” he shouts to his sergeant, waving him over, “Can you continue chest compressions?” he asks, before moving on to attend to some of the soldiers hit by your grenade.

The captain, pulling himself off the ground and checking the severity of his own bleeding shakes his head to regain his focus. “Did anyone see where it might have come from?” He looks around a bit. “Where the hell is the corporal? Leibgott? Is he moving in?”

You still haven’t heard any gunfire from your team, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it never happened in your line of work.

It’s at that moment where you see a marine stare straight down your vent. With the darkness, and the heat of the room, he doesn’t see you right away.
(cont.)

>>4443917
Inventory:
https://pastebin.com/Lte0sgmY
(cont.)
>Silence the marine looking at the vent before he can say anything, or investigate further. (3d6, wound on an 8, kill silently on a 13. -1/12+20 AP rounds.)
>While they’re confused, go for a headshot on the captain with your magnum, take out the chain of command first.(Roll 3d6, kill loudly on a 10, -1/6+10 .357 rounds.)
>Make good use of the confusion, drop a smoke grenade, and against the thermal backdrop of the server room try and grab the captain, knock him out, and pull him in for later interrogation. (Roll 3d6-1, snag the captain silently on an 11, you will be heard and attacked on 10.)
>Flash the marines out, and use the few seconds they’ll be pulled away to awkwardly pull out your rifle in the vent, then take a shot at the gunner at the other end of the room. (Roll 3d6, kill the gunner on a 12, -1/1+19 AP rifle rounds, -1/4 flashbangs.)
>Play it safe, pull back, and if anyone comes through to investigate, have your knife out to stab them.
>Pull back, climb out of the server room, and try to meet up with your team.
>Write in any clever ideas, or alternate plans.

>>4443919
>Play it safe, pull back, and if anyone comes through to investigate, have your knife out to stab them.

>>4443924
Inventory:
https://pastebin.com/Lte0sgmY
Music:
https://youtu.be/QJLvM0WgpFI

Quickly you start to slip back out of the ventilation shaft as the marine staring down the pitch black hole calls out “Captain!”

By the time you hear the captain respond with, “What do you want?” Sounding disoriented and pained from the headwound you inflicted, you’ve already slithered back, signalled to Vorty to keep it down, and stay out of sight. Staying up against the wall, and crouched down you pull out your knife, listening for anything incoming.

“I know where the grenade came from sir. Vent into the servers is open. Investigating.” The marine shouts in response. Over the manic commotion of the lobby trying to locate two of their men, and the medic running around desperately dragging away the critically wounded, you hear gear shifting, then banging against the side panels of a ventilation shaft.

“No, stop you idiot-” The captain attempts to tell the marine, coming to your trap like a desert insect approaching the nest of a trapdoor spider, but another voice cuts him off.

“Captain, are you alright?” The voice of the medic asks quickly. “Took a head wound, let me take a look.”

“No, shut up, I’ve got someone...” The chaos continues, and the captain's voice is drowned out once again. That headwound the grenade gave him did do a number on him, he was thinking faster just before the blast, and now he’s talking slowly.

For a moment, you focus, tuning out every sound other than the sound of a marine and his equipment bumping against the sides of a ventilation shaft. You stay completely silent as the front of a machine gun pushes through the vent. If the captain didn’t take that hit from the grenade, you doubt he would have allowed the marine to do this, it’s a terrible move, but eager to get a revenge kill, the marine pushed headfirst into the server room.

“Grenade’s back.” You hear the sergeant shout in the distance. “Get to cover!”

The moment after the sergeant shouts that, the marine continues to crawl in, dragging his body foot by foot, and now finally showing his kevlar helmet, but more importantly to you, he shows the back of his neck. The marine is an unaware, confined target, slowly crawling away, you have every advantage in this fight, even with your physical training being compromised slightly by the effects of the diazepam. As you begin to hear the captain shout “Johnson! Johnson! Get the hell back over here!” you place your body weight on the marine, slamming your elbow against his head, then with the free arm, stab the knife into the soldier’s neck. It quickly slices through the bottom end of the brain stem, slices open muscle, and then pierces the trachea.
(cont.)

>>4444404
(cont.)
Finally allowing your focus to stray from the now dead marine as you pull his body out of the vent, you notice that the migraine’s rapidly advancing twisting pain is reaching a plateau once again, and the anomalous repeats of Freeman and the probe have returned to the room, not moving themselves, but seeming to flicker between a million different possible events.

“Idiot.” The captain says in a cold, angry voice. A moment later, you hear something bouncing through the vents.

“Incoming!” A marine shouts. “Five contacts!” As he says it, you hear the hallway into the lobby erupt with gunfire, MP5s, desert eagles, and shotguns, all pushing down towards the lobby. Your team has probably dealt with the two missing marines silently, and is now trying to make use of the very loud confusion they just heard you provide.

As you hear this, a grenade rolls out of the ventilation shaft. It baffles you for a moment, with the captain knowing one of his squadmates is possibly still alive down here. For all that cold bastard of a captain knows, he just threw a grenade at his own man.

Four players roll 2d6. The top three of the first d6 will be added into a 3d6, and will be your and Vorty’s roll to avoid the grenade. If the roll is an 11+ Vorty escapes the grenade, if the roll is a 13+, you both avoid the grenade. The top three of the second d6 will be used to determine the success of the rest of your team’s push into the lobby. If rolling takes longer than 45 minutes, feel free to roll twice.

(Also, feel free to choose your next action alongside the grenade roll.)

>Keep playing it safe, start firing homing hivehand shots out of the ventilation shaft to cause confusion among the enemies.
>Take out your rifle, and return to the ventilation shaft, start taking potshots at important marines.(Roll 3d6, killing on a 12, you’ll be given a list of targets alongside your roll. -1 rifle ammo.)
>Drop a smoke grenade, push out of the vent, and pick off some of the wounded marines with your shotgun in the smoke, making use of the confusion. (-1 smoke grenade. -4 buckshot, the marines will get multiple inaccurate shots off on you.)
>Give that captain a taste of his own medicine, crawl back into the vents, and hit him with another grenade from your m203. (-1 SMG grenade.)
>You need to be with the rest of your team, leave back through the rear vent shaft with vorty, and loop back through the hallway to take command of the push into the lobby.
>There’s another anomaly coming, you don’t want it messing with the fight, ask Vorty to make the anomalies intangible.
>Write in any clever ideas.

Rolled 6, 3 = 9 (2d6)

>>4444406
If we survive the grenade, we can push it back out of the vent when the repeat happens. Or tap ourself on the shoulder when we go to pull the body out of the vent. Either option would prevent us some pain, but the former might deal the marines some extra pain.

>>4444428
Forgot my option even though i copied it
>Keep playing it safe, start firing homing hivehand shots out of the ventilation shaft to cause confusion among the enemies.

Rolled 2, 5 = 7 (2d6)

>>4444406
>Keep playing it safe, start firing homing hivehand shots out of the ventilation shaft to cause confusion among the enemies.

Rolled 2, 1 = 3 (2d6)

>>4444406
>Keep playing it safe, start firing homing hivehand shots out of the ventilation shaft to cause confusion among the enemies.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!

Rolled 2, 1 = 3 (2d6)

>>4444406

It's a bit iffy at the moment as to whether or not there will be another update today. If I can get one out, it'll probably be pretty late. I've got some assignments to catch up on, so I don't know how much free time I'll have today, apologies.

In the meantime, I always love to hear any feedback people have, especially with how combat is being handled now, since that was one of the biggest complaints in the past. Any other comments, especially possible improvements or criticisms, are welcome as well.

As always, thanks for making the quest so exciting to write.

>>4444428
>>4444431
>>4444537
>>4444542
>>4444574
Inventory/ Health & Armor:
https://pastebin.com/Lte0sgmY

Immediately you shout to Vorts, “Hit the deck!” as the grenade bounces out of the vent, past a pile of ruined computer parts, and lading among a still standing server’s nest of shredded wires. Vorts quickly begins to book it, over one of the fallen computers, moving to all fours for a short moment to quickly dive down.

In the same instant, you try to dive out of the way, and avoid the blast. As you move however, you really feel the effects of the diazepam, your legs seeming to lag behind the instructions of your mind. Still, you do manage to throw yourself to the ground.

The room is flooded by the heavy sound of explosives detonating for only an instant, before suddenly all you can hear is the high pitched scream of your own eardrums ringing like a bell. A scrap of shrapnel, flying at supersonic speeds bounces off the steel and concrete walls of the server room just above Vorty as he lays down in cover. The chunk flies and grazes a long gash over his back. The creature releases a guttural moan of pain, and viscous yellow blood scatters onto the servers around him, but his xenian biology keeps him alive. His thick yellow blood doesn’t bleed like a human, and the shrapnel doesn’t break any of his malnourished bones.

On the other hand, you’re slow to hit the deck. A chunk of shrapnel flies right towards you, driven by inertia towards your chest. Smacking you just above the soft organs of your digestive tract, the full force of the shrapnel goes into your ribcage. While the PCV of your suit hardens to prevent it from penetrating your body, and the rupturing of your radioprotective lining, the energy still brings a massive spike of pain in your body, and a crack in the rib it just smacked against.

Laid out against the ground and in pain, you take a second to regain your focus, the loud ringing in your ears dying, to be replaced with the sound of warfare. “Macky’s hit the ground!” You just barely hear over the ringing. Another voice shouts “Medic is down!” It’s not unlikely that more shouted out for help during the fighting, taking wounds.

At first, it makes you optimistic, but you also begin to make out the pained sound of Guttman wearing among the gunfire. Reilly then shouts out in pain in time with a shotgun shot. Just as it’s likely you missed the shouting of marines while you were deafened by the grenade, you probably missed some of the sounds of your own team shouting. Still, from the sample you heard, while your team is making progress, they’re also paying for it.
(cont.)

>>4446966
(cont.)
Wanting to assist them, you pull the living weapon of a hivehand off of your back. Placing your hand against the rear orifice, you begin to manipulate the creature, coaxing out hornets from its strange alien maw. The small insects quickly zip down into the vent, leaving an orange trail behind them as they take sharp, angular turns towards their targets. Their buzzing noise reverberates through the vents further, and then zips out towards the marines. Immediately, you hear the captain from earlier shout, “Fucker!” along with pained grunts from his men. “Xeno contact, in the vents!”

One of the marines, likely getting swarmed with the insects you’re sending blindly out, starts to scream out in pain, and a moment later you hear a body hit the ground.

Now having moved far enough away from your original position to allow room for your own repeat to materialize, you see, joining the constantly flickering anomalies of Freeman and the probe, is a still image of you, moments after you threw a grenade down the vent.

As though the last few seconds weren’t chaotic enough, the migraine’s contortion finally snaps, with you realizing how close it was at only the last minute, your focus having been on surviving the incoming frag grenade. The moment the pain releases, you hear another boom through the ventilation shaft, this one muddled and warbled, just like the anomalies. Once again, you hear Guttman grunt in pain, then along with it, a marine screams out, but you hear no body drop. By now, you’d bet most of the marines are at least wounded.

“Get some!” A marine shouts among the chaos, and echoing through the vents, you hear heavy shots flooding the lobby. The belt fed m60 you saw earlier has finally added its shots into the cacophony of rounds flying around. Those kinds of large weapons can turn the tide of the fight, and if nothing is done about it, it may prevent your team from being able to do anything about marines nearby them.
(cont.)

>>4446968
(cont.)
>Before the repeat of the marine crawls into the vent, scramble through, join your team and relieve them with some return SMG fire to hopefully convince that gunner to put his head down, he’ll be aiming for your team, so he may not expect you. (-30 SMG ammo, you may be hit by stray machine gun fire, but not a direct attack.)
>You really want that gunner dead. Scramble through the still open vent, and take him right out with an SMG grenade. No counter suppression needed if he’s pulped by high explosives. (-1/1 HEDP grenades, you may be hit by stray machine gun fire, but not a direct attack.)
>While the vent is still open, scramble through with a smoke grenade in hand. Pop it up front, and give your team some breathing room, letting you and your team deal with some of the marines near them without having to worry about the gunner. (-1 smoke grenade. -1 shotgun rounds. Some shots from the closest few marines may affect your team.)
>Wait for the repeat of the marine to crawl through the vent, then shoot him with your revolver. His body will block the very short vent, and the grenade from just a moment ago will never have reached you. You’re not entirely sure however if the wall between the server room and the lobby could withstand an explosive detonating inside of it. (-1 revolver round.)
>Wait for the repeat of the grenade to be sent through. Since you know where it will appear, you can catch it, and throw it back through. You don’t know the exact position of the marines and your team, so you may hit both.
>Quickly scramble out through the back exit vent, and then join your team from the rear, assisting them with your rifle to pick off a key target from back in the hall. (Roll 3d6, pass on a 12, you will be given a list of possible targets with your roll.)
>Write in any other ideas.

>>4446970
>Before the marine's repeat crawls into the vent, quickly scramble through the vent and shoot the Captain's repeat with your revolver. He can't throw the grenade if his past self is dead.
If we become unsure of which one the captain is (given the blurriness of the repeats), we can easily determine it by which one moves towards the vents after the dude crawls through.

>>4446970
>>While the vent is still open, scramble through with a smoke grenade in hand. Pop it up front, and give your team some breathing room, letting you and your team deal with some of the marines near them without having to worry about the gunner. (-1 smoke grenade. -1 shotgun rounds. Some shots from the closest few marines may affect your team.)

>>4446970
>>Wait for the repeat of the marine to crawl through the vent, then shoot him with your revolver. His body will block the very short vent, and the grenade from just a moment ago will never have reached you. You’re not entirely sure however if the wall between the server room and the lobby could withstand an explosive detonating inside of it. (-1 revolver round.)

Rolled 3 (1d3)

>>4446978(1)
>>4447212(2)
>>4447706(3)

Tiebreaker roll before I get to writing.

>>4446978
>>4447212
>>4447706
Holding your chest in a silent agony, the possibility of reversing a grenade attack is incredibly tempting. Glancing at the ghostly visage of yourself, an idea pops into your head. As much as you make the hazmat suit look good, your gaze moves to the dark ventilation shaft, where you know in a short time the repeat of a marine will be crawling through the vents.

Putting your hivehand back with the rest of your gear, you pull your Colt Python out of its holster. Thankful for the small amount of glowing material conveniently placed on the iron sights, you line it up where you know the marines head was the first time around. Through your night vision sights, and from the flashes of marines firing shots off from the other end of the vent, you can see the repeat of the marine from earlier crawling into the vent. Knowing you need to time the shot well, so the past captain doesn’t see the body, nor can your past self be allowed to remove the body, you wait until the marine is halfway through the vent. With your shot lined up, and with no possible way the marine can react, or duck for cover, you slowly depress the magnum’s heavy, double action trigger until the hammer drops.

In an instant, the .357 caliber bullet zips through the air, its report echoing and reverbing through the ventilation shaft. The powerful round burrows through even through the translucent, blurry marines kevlar reinforced gasmask at close range. The marines face turning into a blurry mess of broken black plastic and red blood, his body quickly goes limp, then twitches slightly as something apparently smacks into it from behind. A second later, there’s a deafening, warbled blast..

Almost immediately, the temporal contortion from the anomalies begins to ramp up. Your eyes are slammed shut as you wince in pain, but having noticed what was going to happen, Vorty steps in and instant later with his strange alien ritual. The sound of gunfire and combat suddenly stops, and the only noise left is Vorty’s tired, inhuman grumble chanting some sort of words. The tightening contortion continues growing, and expanding in pain, making you feel as though it's going to reach a breaking point where your entire mind caves in. Thankfully, a moment before that happens, it’s as though a clawed talon cuts the contorted, anomalous muscle, allowing the tension to release.

With the excruciating pain dying away, you're able to open your eyes, trying to return your focus to the conventional world. The pain in your rib is gone, and so is the entire wall. Among a massive amount of dust, there’s now a hole in the wall separating the lobby and server room. From above, you can hear the groaning of Black Mesa’s structure losing load bearing material.
(cont.)

>>4448277
(cont.)
The dust of pulverized insulation, wiring, and xenian flora has filled the air, and you can hear Guttman coughing heavily within it. With the dust occasionally being lit up by flashes of light, and gunfire, you can occasionally see the silhouettes of your team, and the marines around you, but it's difficult to tell them all apart.

The captain from earlier, still disoriented by his head wound, is now dazed and confused by the sudden temporal shift, the sudden apparition of smoke as the timeline changed, but every combatant’s mind was preserved by Vorty. “The fuck was that?!” The captain shouts. “Det charges?! Lesnitsky get on it!” While it may be hard to see the captain in this environment, his loud shouting means you can definitely hear him, and that means you can attack him.

Among the dust, you start to notice the river of machine gun fire starts to slowly shift over to your position. Perhaps the machine gunner’s thermals are inactive, or perhaps he wasn’t given them, but he doesn't seem to know your exact location in the dust.

You’re about to move to cover but behind you, you begin to make out the sound of Vorty panting, and grunting. The exhausted vortigaunt, having to pull you out of the temporal fire, almost seems to be on the verge of falling unconscious, and is kneeling in the middle of the new breach trying to catch his breath. His gash is gone, but now exhausted, he’s left exposed to gunfire, and probably on the verge of passing out.

>You need to protect Vorty while he recovers, and the best defense is sometimes a good offense. Pop out of the edge of the large dust cloud the wall produced, and fire off an SMG grenade at the machine gunner. (-1 HEDP grenade. The gunner will take shots at you.)
>While everyone is still confused and disoriented, get close into the wounded captain, and try to go for a kick to knock him out, that way you can interrogate him later. You’re a bit slow from the diazepam, so he may have time to get his own attack in while you wind up. If you can take out the chain of command, the odds of retreat, or surrender will also increase.
>Kirchoff has thermals on his rifle. Shout for him to take a shot at the gunner with his rifle. (Roll 3d6+3, kill the gunner on a 12.)
>Don’t take chances with your vortal friend here, grab him and pull him out of the way. If he does pass out from exhaustion, call Guttman over.
>Most of the marines are wounded and confused, now is your chance to do some real damage with an automatic weapon. Start firing, just be wary of friendly fire in an environment where you can barely see anything. (-40 SMG ammo.)
>Write in any clever ideas.

File: 13258875_1547439188895497(...).jpg (31 KB, 480x480)

31 KB JPG

>>4448288
>You need to protect Vorty while he recovers, and the best defense is sometimes a good offense. Pop out of the edge of the large dust cloud the wall produced, and fire off an SMG grenade at the machine gunner. (-1 HEDP grenade. The gunner will take shots at you.)

Before I get to writing the next update, I wanna ask you guys something, because I've been considering doing it myself. For combat, would you prefer I do less detailed but usually quicker updates? I remember someone mentioned it a while ago when I first swapped to slower but longer updates, and I think it might be good to make combat feel a little faster paced, and move a little quicker, especially on weekends when my schedule is free. What do you guys think?

>>4448514
>You need to protect Vorty while he recovers, and the best defense is sometimes a good offense. Pop out of the edge of the large dust cloud the wall produced, and fire off an SMG grenade at the machine gunner. (-1 HEDP grenade. The gunner will take shots at you.)

>>4448704
I like the more detailed updates but if you want to pick up the pace then I'm all for it.

>>4448891
In that case, I'll look for a good balance.
>>4448514
>>4448740
Making full use of the heavy cloud of smoke, and in the short window of time before the marines figure out what the hell is even happening, you quickly and quietly begin to push forward. WIth the marines wearing gas masks, they aren’t affected by the dust cloud like your team is, so you know how short your window of time here is in the confusion. You slip past the captain, staying low and slinging the MP5 off of your back, and opening up the m203 to load in another 40 millimeter grenade. By the time you’re just out of the fog, a round is in the launcher’s chamber. The fog begins to thin as you approach the dust clouds edge, and you see the gunner, “Lesnitsky.”

He quickly sees you as well, and quickly reshifts his fire towards what he can see of your dark silhouette as you duck behind a set of sandbags the marines have placed. Bullets start to patter towards you as you pop back out of cover to fling a forty millimeter grenade out of the tube with a heavy thunk. For the brief second or two you’re out of cover, you’re exposed to six hundred-fifty seven-six-two rounds per minute. Still, that fails to stop the HEDP grenade from connecting with the metal panel behind him, and turning the wall into a storm of deadly shrapnel.

(The marine’s shots each hit on a 3+, each doing 7 damage, or 11 damage on a 6.)

As the booming sound of one of the lobby’s walls being turned into shrapnel and shredding a marine by superplastics rings through everyone’s ears, you begin to make out the sounds of many of your teammates coughing louder and louder. Suddenly, overriding that noise is the sound of the intercom, this time not random and chaotic, just like when Vorty toyed with it a moment ago.

“UN-UN-UN-UN-UNKNOWN CHEMICAL AGENT AEROSOLIZED. ACTIVATING- ACTIVA-AT-AT-AT” The machine shutters for a second, before an incredibly loud error sound tears through the labs halls, and you begin to hear the sound of fans in the air-conditioning system kicking on. The fog and dust around you is quickly beginning to thin, and although vision is partially obscured you can see Guttman and Reilly are currently on the ground, hacking their lungs out from whatever unforeseen chemicals or spores wormed its way between the walls. Holland, however, has stuck to the back of the lines, attempting to pick marines off with shots from his desert eagle, but as he does, the gun jams. Marietta, on the other hand, is providing suppressive fire for the two, to keep the marines away while they clear their lungs. You’re not sure what was in that dust, but seeing the way they hack out their breaths, you’re glad you had a gas mask on.

Behind you, Vorty is taking a while to recover, but he does slink back into safety, away from any stray gunfire.
(cont.)

Rolled 5, 1, 4 = 10 (3d6)

>>4448933
Inventory/Health Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/Lte0sgmY
(cont.)
The captain, swapping out his MP5 for a spas-12, and tries to make a quick rush to shut down Marietta’s cone of fire, after shouting “Sergeant! Keep that gun up! Cover me boys!” The man is heavily wounded along with most of his four remaining rangers and sergeant, and you don’t know what possible medal he could be going for, but he’s still trying to push to take your team out.

At the same time as all of this, you begin to feel the rapid return of the contorting, painful migraine.

>Try and take out the captain with a well placed kick so Marietta can continue focus fire. Be wary, he does have a shotgun on hand, and you’re a bit slow from the diazepam, but being able to interrogate the man would be rather helpful.
>Blast the rushing captain down with a shotgun blast of your own. Killing him of course means you can’t interrogate him, but it’s significantly safer. (-2 Shotgun rounds.)
>You’re not going to allow them to retake that m60, it’s too powerful in these close quarters, besides, you want it. Of course, you’re probably going to have to fight that sergeant for it.
>Buy Marietta some breathing room, she’s trying to suppress four marines, a sergeant, and a captain. Fling a flashbang over to the marines, so she can shift her attention to the other threats. (-1 flashbang.)
>Guttman and Reilly are moving too slow, help pick them up, and get them out of the dust before they get hit by stray fire.
>Write in any clever ideas.
(Feel free to pick multiple of these options, as they’re actions done by your team rather than you.)
>When Guttman starts to recover, tell him to get to cover next to Vorty, he’s a human doctor, but perhaps he can figure it out. He’ll be staying back for a while, keeping him out of the fight, to figure out a bit of Vortal biology.
>Order Kirchoff to take a shot at a target of your choosing. (Roll 3d6+5, killing on a 12.)
>Write in any special orders to your team.

>>4448936
>>Try and take out the captain with a well placed kick so Marietta can continue focus fire. Be wary, he does have a shotgun on hand, and you’re a bit slow from the diazepam, but being able to interrogate the man would be rather helpful.
>When Guttman starts to recover, tell him to get to cover next to Vorty, he’s a human doctor, but perhaps he can figure it out. He’ll be staying back for a while, keeping him out of the fight, to figure out a bit of Vortal biology.
>Order Kirchoff to take a shot at a target of your choosing. (Roll 3d6+5, killing on a 12.)(the guy with the M60)

>>4448945
Just to be 100% clear, no living marines are currently holding the m60, but the sergeant was just ordered to retake it. Do you just want Kirchoff to shoot at anyone who tries to make a move to grab the m60?

>>4448994
Yeah that.

>>4448945
>>4448997
“Kirchoff,” you shout over the gunfire immediately. “Don’t let ‘em have it!” You say, quickly and concisely, rapidly pointing towards the past location of the m60, where the gunner, having just been peppered with shrapnel, is laid out on the floor.

At the same time as Kirchoff is responding to you with a quick thumbs up, he kneels down and slings his rifle over his shoulder to replace the appropriated cockroach, then tracking a bead on the path between the majority mass of the squad as they duck in cover, away from Marietta’s suppression, and the position of the now left behind machine gun. Seeing that he’s prepared to cover the light machine gun, you look over to Guttman. Having no protection from even something as simple as a balaclava, and being right in the thick of it, he's having the worst reaction to the dust. Knowing you don’t have time to wait for him to get up, you turn to Holland, who’s currently trying to unjam his desert eagle, falling prey to the unreliable three-fifty-seven chambering.

“Holland!” You shout, grabbing his attention, “When Guttman gets up, send him to the server room, Vorty’s out!” The corporate spy nods in acknowledgement, and as you turn away, Guttman hacks out a large chunk of aerosolized material and mucus, and slowly begins to get his head together.

Across the room, the sergeant shouts to one of his men, “Gurney, on three we’re giving you cover! Run over to Lesnitsky, and grab his gun! You hear?”

Stuck behind the box as nine millimeter rounds patter the walls behind them, causing overgrown xenian life to splatter out before the rounds burrow into thin steel panels, the marine asks, shouting over the boxes, “What about Les?”

“Don’t worry about Les!” The sergeant shouts. “One!”

As the migraine continues to contort, you see the blurry, smeared rays of light begin to formulate in the center of the room, one of them almost seeming to glow orange. They’re not yet easy to make out, but it’s clearly also surrounded by brownish-green figures.

Guttman starts to get up, just after Reilly begins to get back up, and get into cover. With Guttman now able to breathe freely once more, you hear your residing corporate spy shout out, “Doc! You're needed in the server, somethin' wrong with the damn cyclops!”

Guttman doesn’t say anything, but he nods, and starts to move towards the server room, keeping away from the lines of fire and keeping his helmeted head down.

“Two!” The sergeant continues, slapping down the bolt on his smg after loading a fresh, full magazine ready to be dumped down range.
(cont.)

Rolled 5, 6, 2 + 1 = 14 (3d6 + 1)

>>4449672
(cont.)
You take your attention away from the anomalies, knowing there isn’t anything you can do about it for the moment. Instead, having moved past the captain while the fog still obscures your vision, you’re behind him, and able to get at least somewhat of a drop. You quickly start to move up, weary of the shotgun in his hand. For the first second or so, you’re undetected tracing after him, but you can’t afford to move slowly out here. At the last second, your quick and careful movements are thrown about by the diazepam, your ankle spasming, and slamming loudly against the concrete and alien mycelium covered floor.

With your attention away from the marines at the other end of the room, you didn’t hear the sergeant say “three,” but the other end of the fight continues without you, and the once suppressed marines erupt into a hail of machine gun fire. While Marietta is able to smack one of the marines with a nine-millimeter round and knock him to the ground, but the one known as “Gurney,” still makes his dash under the cover of MP5 suppression, as Marietta is forced to get down behind cover. Reiilly, still dashing for adequate cover, takes a single grazing, but Guttman is smacked in the back by nine-millimeter as he runs for the server room. With quick reactions from your sniper, a loud shot rings out through the room.

Hearing you behind him, and not being distracted by the heavy, ringing sound of the rifle shot, the captain quickly turns his attention around, and then more importantly, his shotgun follows, being raised up to his hip. While you’re still slowed by the diazepam, you do still have quick reaction times. You quickly reorient your legs from running to being raised up in the air, coiling up for a moment to unleash a spur of energy in a kick.

Most martial arts teachers tell you to run when your opponent has a knife, and this guy has a shotgun. You have precious few seconds to get a kick off as the marine raises his shotgun, moving his hand to the trigger. He’s already wounded, so it’s almost certainly lights out for the captain, but you’ll have to be pretty lucky to kick him out before he can pull the trigger on his shotgun and do some major damage.

Four players roll a 2d6. The first d6 will be used for Kirchoff’s shot, and the top three will be added into a 3d6+5, passing on a 12+. The top three of the second d6 will be added into a 3d6-1, and will be used to determine if you take a hit from the shotgun, being compared with the marine’s above shooting roll. If it’s less than the above roll, you will take a hit from the shotgun.

Inventory/Health: https://pastebin.com/Lte0sgmY

Rolled 6, 5 = 11 (2d6)

>>4449678

Rolled 2, 6 = 8 (2d6)

>>4449678

Rolled 5, 3 = 8 (2d6)

>>4449678

Rolled 6, 3 = 9 (2d6)

>>4449678
Pressing X to not die

>13
so close

>>4449785
Maybe the closeness determines how severe the shot is

>>4449931
Thus far, I think checks have been a binary pass or fail with no degrees of success or failure.

>>4449699
>>4449706
>>4449715
>>4449780
Health/Inventory: https://pastebin.com/Lte0sgmY
Even in spite of your lack of agility from the diazepam, you manage to push out a solid kick. The light spasms and numb nerve endings doesn’t prevent seven years of muscle memory from doing its work. Still the captain is fast, and a shotgun is a shotgun. One doesn’t need to wind up, get close, or have the edge of surprise with a shotgun.

As you lift your leg up, the HECU captain flicks his weapon around, not even taking time to aim at this range. The heavy trigger pull of the spas-12 grants you some saving grace, but before your foot connects with the side of the taller marine’s wounded head, a plume of twelve gauge is sent barrelling out towards you, just barely grazing across the skin of your thigh. Despite the added protection of the PCV’s hardening fibers, the pellets do draw blood, slicing muscle and sinew, and the pain blooms throughout your entire thigh.

Still being carried by now heavily stinging muscle and inertia, your boot slams into the marines face, smacking both the kevlar gas mask, and the bruised skull of the marine. Under the mask, his entire face contorts limply as the energy ripples through his skin. He immediately goes out from a massive pulse of pain. Despite the marine’s full body barely moving, the precise kick to the head knocks him out, and he and his heavy equipment drops to the ground.

However, having taken a shotgun blast to the leg, even though it’s only a grazing attack, you're thrown off your balance with only one foot on the ground and the other flying through the air. You fall to the ground, but catch yourself to avoid slamming your head on a concrete floor. Pulling yourself quickly off the floor, you return your attention to the wider fight.

You didn’t have time to watch as you focused on knocking the captain out, but right now, the marine named “Gurney” is dead after trying to make a run for the m60. A clean, concise five-five-six round from Kirchoff tore through his chest.

Rapidly becoming comparable to the pain in your leg is the pain in your temple, an anomalous muscle continues to tighten and constrict as you see in front of you the anomaly has picked up. Before you is a translucent and cloudy alien intelligence team, and below them is the anomalous, unconscious bodies of the science team, missing Dr. Forbes, and Dr. Saulson, the two you saw separated from the group earlier. A xen controller sits in the middle, apparently overseeing his enslaved vortigaunts as they work with the unconscious bodies of the science team. The Vorts are blurry, so you have a hard time even making out there collars. If there are freed vortigaunts among them, you can’t tell.
(cont.)

>>4449931
>>4449964
I don't have any specifically outlined system to determine degrees of success or failure, but I will usually judge how punishing or rewarding I will be depending on the roll, and what you were rolling for. This is one of those rolls, you won't be taking too much damage.
>>4449976
(cont.)
As you pull yourself back up, you hear from the sergeant, “Shit! Xeno contact!” shouting throughout the room, despite his only other remaining trooper being only a crate away from him.

You quickly glance behind you, and for some reason, Vorty is standing back up, getting out of cover, and charging a shot. Of course, its turned him into a beacon of a potential target for the marines, who both take advantage of Vorts time it takes to charge, and begin firing shots at the creature.

Watching the way Vorty moves as he charges the heavy electrical bolt, you can see easily that he’s still exhausted. His muscles tremble as he draws up electricity like a sedentary man on their first day of military PT. You can’t help but wonder why exactly Vorts would try to take a shot when so fatigued.

Guttman is nearby him, and apparently his medical opinion is to throw down a smoke grenade to provide cover. Of course, Guttman is a civilian doctor, not a combat medic. The marines still have there thermals equipped from when the room was filled with fog just a minute ago. The m-18 isn’t stopping much now that the server room has cooled off.

>You’re gonna have to have a talk with Guttman about military ordinance and combat fatigue after this, but right now Vorty needs suppressing fire. Convince those marines to stay down with a mag dump from your SMG. (-50 SMG ammo.)
>Get everyone to stand down, these are two final wounded marines, they ought to surrender to you, and if they’re smart, they’ll agree. You’ll have to be well spoken for a moment to convince them to stand down, but in they’re situation, it shouldn’t take too much. Of course, if Vorty’s shot is rather important, you’d be denying it from him. (Write in what you want to say to convince the marines to stand down.)
>The marines are gonna be focusing on Vorty for a second. Use the opportunity to flank around, and line up a shot on whoever Vorty doesn’t attack. The marines will be shooting at Vorty. (-1 revolver ammo.)
>You came here to save Magnusson’s team, and you have that opportunity right in front of you. Drop two concussion grenades into the center of the repeat of the vortigaunts, to prevent the alien intelligence team from finishing their job. Of course, if Vorts really is still exhausted, he may not be able to take it at the moment. (-2 concussion grenades.)
>Write in any clever ideas.
(Feel free to pick multiple of these options, as they’re actions done by your team rather than you.)
>Order Kirchoff to take a shot at a target of your choosing. (Roll 3d6+5, killing on a 12.)
>Write in any special orders to your team.

>>4449981
>>You came here to save Magnusson’s team, and you have that opportunity right in front of you. Drop two concussion grenades into the center of the repeat of the vortigaunts, to prevent the alien intelligence team from finishing their job. Of course, if Vorts really is still exhausted, he may not be able to take it at the moment. (-2 concussion grenades.)
>Order Kirchoff to take a shot at a target of your choosing. (Roll 3d6+5, killing on a 12.)(Sergeant)
Let's hope the butterfly effect doesn't change too much.

>>4449981
>You’re gonna have to have a talk with Guttman about military ordinance and combat fatigue after this, but right now Vorty needs suppressing fire. Convince those marines to stay down with a mag dump from your SMG. (-50 SMG ammo.)
>Order Kirchoff to take a shot at the giant floating fetus.

>>4450256
Allow me to explain my reasoning for this vote, to the other players.
Vorty's use of the vortessence to attack likely will have a STRONGER impact on temporal clones than other attacks, or he may be charging up for something other than an attack (attempting to retroactively undo the intel team's shackles perhaps?). Thus, we're better off with vorts being supported. And if he can free his team retroactively, who knows - maybe they'll appear in the present as backup?
If vorts chooses to disrupt the intel team, then it may render the controller ESPECIALLY vulnerably, which Kirchoff can promptly take care of with his HIGH powered rifle.
TL;DR Back up vorts, gank the intel team without fucking up vorts; possibly acquire backup?

>>4450271
Sounds like a solid plan to me, I'm all for it.

I'm currently working on the next update, but due to some computer issues, and some classes, it might come somewhat late. Apologies guys. It still should be out sometime today however.

Apologies for the delay. This one turned out longer than I expected, really fun to write though. I won't require a roll for Kirchoff's shot here, since the xen controller can't really react.
>>4449995
>>4450256
>>4450271
>>4450557
“Kirchoff!” You loudly shout, the cacophony of gunfire muddling your voice, at the same time, you sling your mp5 over your shoulder. As you pull out the magazine, looking down at the double stacked nine-millimeter rounds to see fourty-nine bullets in the magazine, with one more in the chamber. Placing it back, when you place it back, you use your now free hand to point to the large headed floating alien in the center of the temporal anomaly and shout, “Kill the fetus.”

Behind you, with his rifle already out and in the position to fire, you hear the sound of another round chambering. Recognizing that he’s heard the order, you stand up, out of cover with your submachine gun targeted towards the marines. Pulling back repeatedly on the trigger, you send heavy but inaccurate bursts of five to ten rounds down range. However imprecise, the high rate of fire quickly has the two marines ducking down into cover, and following your lead by example, Marietta and Reilly soon join in.

The loud sound of electricity crackling builds up behind you, and the quickly spreading smoke begins to thin with the atmospheric control systems still active. Vorty begins to mutter guttural alien words as he charges his shot, clearly intending to make it count.

Focusing on maintaining a rate of fire synchronous with your fellow spies, you aren’t able to turn around to check your rear, but you swear you hear rubber padded boots move behind you as the firing rate continues.

Flicking your eyes away from your iron sights for a brief moment as the bursts continue, you notice that two of the vortigaunts almost seem to have taken a moment to shirk from their duties, pulling away from the unconscious bodies of the science team. It’s brief, yes, but with a direct connection to their xenian master, you wouldn’t imagine they would be allowed such periods of latency.

You return to focusing on maintaining suppressive fire, turning your five to ten round bursts into well controlled three to four round shots, making your fifty round clip last just a little longer with the addition of two other shooters. However, you’re distracted once again or a moment, seeing Holland skirt around the edge of the lobby. Seeing it, you pull your eyes off your iron sights once again, losing some accuracy, to track the man moving across the room, to the far corner next to the blast door, where the dead machine gunner lays.
(cont.)

>>4451578
(cont.)
However, having looked away from the alien repeat, you suddenly notice that two of the vortigaunts have drawn out their own charge. Blurry, foggy wisps of what you know is green lightning is pulled up from the ground. With the marines being held down, you’re able watch the xen controller as he releases a warbled screech, then prepares an orange, glowing ball of retaliation. Still, the two vortigaunts don’t head them an eye, continuing to stare their red eyes towards the far end of the room, where the many computer screens of the black mesa lobby has been infested with xenian flora and fungi.

Far behind the translucent seen, through the smoky, blurry figures, Holland is still skirting the lobby’s edge, but as you easily track his head, covered in a bright yellow helmet, you realize he’s watching something hidden behind a large mass of xenian flora growing out of a grunt’s colossal corpse. Holland’s look is not out of fear, or greed, more just surprise, and confusion.

The creature screeches one last time in warning , and you watch as small wisps of orange energy draw upward from the three vortigaunts that aren’t drawing up their abilities. However, as the creature is about to release his pulse of orange energy, you see him stare directly towards where Holland is currently looking, and where the two charging Vortigaunts are ready to release bolts of lightning.

However, in that moment, Vorty releases his alien bolt of lightning, directly into one of his own past kin, who immediately hits the ground .

As if they knew what would happen, or possibly more aptly, what did happen, the two vortigaunts charging electrical shots suddenly turn away from where the xen controller is looking. They both turn towards the other two remaining alien creatures, suddenly releasing their energy in a coordinated strike, as though they had somehow planned the strike with Vorty. Despite being the largest threat to all of them, the xen controller is completely ignored by the two seemingly unshackled vortigaunts. It’s as though they have a full understanding of the battlefield down here, they coordinated with Vorty’s zap, do they expect the xen controller not to be a problem soon?

As you continue holding down the marines, sticking them to their cover with heavy outgoing fire, you notice a gloved hand pop up, out behind the crates. It slinks away before you can redirect your fire at the small target, however, you begin to hear the sounds of heavy hydraulics, and following it, the blast doors of the anomalous materials labs begin to drop. The marines want out.
(cont.)

>>4451579
(cont.)
The contortions of the migraine start to rapidly grow, at odds with its usual deflation of pain during a repeat’s animations. Just after firing his electrical charge, you start to hear Vorty chant, but overpowering his grumbling is the sudden, loud, ringing sound of a five-five six round bursting out of Kirchoff’s bolt action m40. Under any other circumstances, the supersonic round would’ve overpenetrated, leaving little energy in the alien’s head, and the creature alive for minutes, maybe even hours after the shot connects. However due to the effects of the anomaly, the impulse of the round is dulled, having a less tight impact but simultaneously giving the energy of each and every atom between the xenian skull and five-fix-six round billions more chances to interact. The impulse of the bullet, hitting more like a supersonic golf ball than NATO round, causes the alien’s head to cave in on one end, and blow out on the other.

Still floating above the ground, the alien starts to spasm, letting out electricity as its own destroyed head works against it, flooded with pain and tremors for a short for seconds, before suddenly the creature falls to the ground.

As the repeat begins to fade, you take a look out past the blast door, and start to see the ghosts of the marines, along the rapidly flickering image of Dr. Freeman among them, an image you note that they don’t see. Before the marines even recognize the vortigaunts, you see the Vortigaunts apparently jolting magnussons team awake once more. As they begin to stand up, confused and groggy, the still living vortigaunts quickly push them on their way. In the corner of the room that attracted both Holland’s attention, and the xen controller’s, you see the anomalous repeat of Dr. Saulson began to run, keeping his head low and keeping a hand on his glock.

The two living vorts almost seem to beckon him over, but the scared, paranoid human doesn’t take a second to consider the concept of a friendly Vortigaunt. He quickly pulls his gun out of his lab coat pockets .All the scientist saw was a race of aliens so vicious they would turn on their own kind. “Get back you ugly bastards!” He says in a warbled, shouting whisper. When the creatures do step back, rather than charging another shock, he seems surprised, but not unperturbed. “Dr. Mags, get up, get up right now! We gotta go!”

A warbled shout from the repeat of the captain’s voice, accompanied by a company far larger than you’ve fought down here already, demands, “Keep your heads up. I know we’re supposed to be pulling out soon, but don’t take that as a message to not give a shit. You’ll get yourself, and your boys killed down here doing that.”
(cont.)

>>4451580
(cont.)
The confused science team are slowly beginning to get their bearings, as Dr. Saulson urges them to get a move on. With him moving back, away from the marines, you can tell they’ll be able to avoid the marines, but with Dr. Saulson urging the vorts to stay back, they’re likely to be seen by the marines if they aren’t allowed to move forward.

“You see something up there cap?” One of the marine’s from their distant chunk of the anomaly shouts.

Having been placing a large chunk of your own focus on the way Vorty and Kirfchoff, you’ve been neglecting counting your own ammo, and after Vorty pulls back into cover, your gun begins clicking. Quickly, you duck your head down, dropping the mag as you realize your fellow spies are doing the same with their own submachine guns.

As the anomaly gets closer and closer to fading, the constricting, twisting pain of the anomalous muscle in your temple gets stronger and stronger rapidly, in time with the tearing of the timeline. You’ve nudged things considerably out here, and because of it, the vortigaunts actions have changed, the science teams actions have changed. Vorty has his work cut out pulling you out of the fire here. You can already hear him beginning to muttural himself, and a purple glow emulates from where he’s hiding behind cover in the server room, but he sounds incredibly tired.

In the distance, you hear the heavy sound of an M60 having another belt fed round racked. The last person you saw running towards it was Holland. He is rather quiet for a civilian, that’s true, but you can hear him fiddling, confused with the large and complicated gun. It may take some time for him to figure out how to use the gun.
(cont.)

>>4451583
(cont.)
>Don’t make Vorty’s job any harder than it has to be, just finish off the last two marines. That shouldn’t be too hard if Holland can figure out that machine gun. (-1 revolver round.)
>Don’t make Vorty’s job, or your job, harder than it has to be. Have everyone pull back into the server room, if the marines want to leave, then let them. Pull the team back near Vorty in the server room while the timeline shifts, keep your alien ally safe.
>You ought to ensure those marines never existed. Have Mareitta fire some grenades down past the blast doors, into the group of marie repeats. Of course, you’d probably be losing any chance you had to interrogate that captain, and you’d likely be putting way more on Vorty, who already has a lot to deal with at the moment. (-3 of Marietta’s SMG grenades.)
>Three vortigaunts have already died here, although to the vorts own hands strangely enough, don’t let Dr. Saulson kill any more of them, move in, knock the gun out of his hand, and force him to retreat along with the vorts. Of course, without any weapon, you may be sacrificing the scientist's safety for the vortigaunts safety.
>Write in.

Along with your vote, four players roll a 1d6. The top three will be added into a 3d6 for Vorty, to determine how his exhaustion affects him.

Rolled 4 (1d6)

>>4451586
>>Don’t make Vorty’s job any harder than it has to be, just finish off the last two marines. That shouldn’t be too hard if Holland can figure out that machine gun. (-1 revolver round.)
C'mon Vorty, you can make it.

>>4451586
>Order Kirchoff to finish off the last two marines with Holland.
>Use some of the anomalous controller's blood to spell something out to the group in the past, quickly, to convince Dr. Saulson to leave the vortigaunts be.

Maybe something like 'No collar = Friendly, -> Only'
with the arrow pointing at a vortigaunt. And maybe draw the Lambda symbol to imply the science team is sending this message? Might get them to trust it more. Not sure if that's too metagame or not, though we do know that the lambda complex is/was safe and sound.

Rolled 3 (1d6)

>>4451586
>>4451601
I also forgot my roll like a dingus

Rolled 5 (1d6)

>>4451601
I'll support this plan, we gotta try and save everyone we can.

Rolled 6 (1d6)

>>4451586

I don't think I'm gonna be able to put out another update today, I have to catch up on some class assignments. Apologies for the slow update speed. The next update should still be tomorrow, but if I turn out to be a bit lucky and get my stuff done early, I might try and push one out tonight. As always, I love hearing feedback on anything that can be improved upon, and thanks for making the quest so exciting to write.

>>4452150
No worries. Lock-downs and summer is ending.

Thanks for your patience guys. I just wanted to assure you I am working on the update, and intend to have it out tonight, it's just turing out to be a bit long.

>>4451588
>>4451601
>>4451602
>>4451790
>>4451908
“Kirchoff!” You shout to the sniper, who is currently pulling back the bolt on his m40.

Kirchoff pulls away from the scope, then responds, “Yes?”

“You and Holland, finish them off.” You quickly respond, pulling another magazine out of your bag, and placing it into the magazine well. Not intending to continue your suppression, you refrain from slapping the bolt down and chambering another round.

Kirchoff looks over to the marines, then looks back to Holland, who is still struggling with the machine gun. You can’t make out any facial expressions in the dark, but he almost seems to hesitate for a moment. Instead of returning to his rifle, he begins to stand up, picking up the gun and folding its bipod in a single movement so as to not waste any time. When he’s ready to move, he pulls out the alien weapon he acquired from the two shocktroopers, and begins to send bright shots of electricity downrange, seemingly attempting more to suppress with the bright and intimidating shots of the weapon.

In the distance, one of the warbled anomalies, the voice of the captain, responds, “Keep your voice down. If you see something, double check it on thermals. We’re working with intelligence here, and have some standards.”

You notice that as the back end of the marine company that rode in on that tram make it over the gap, the scout team, led by the sergeant who’s currently still alive, is watching the now open bulkhead, moving his head down slowly. The door’s are being opened, meaning you still have some time before magnusson’s team and the vorts are spotted.

Allowing Kirchoff to deal with the issue as he sees fit for a moment, you look back to the anomaly, where the repeat of the marines is slowly moving forward. The catwalk was blown out at some point during the resonance cascade, so a jerry-rigged bridge has been put in place that they must slowly cross to get to the magnusson’s team, and the vorts.

Returning your attention to the ghostly visage of Magnussons team, and the vorts, whom Dr. Saulson is currently unwittingly pushing back into the marines as he holds them away at gunpoint. Given how helpful the vortigaunts have been in the past once freed, you aren’t about to let two of them get gunned down. You need a way to send a message, but the lobby isn’t filled with pens and papers, like Kleiner’s office was. You need to do it fast as well. This anomaly has already gone on for some time, and you can hear Vorty in the server room, his voice getting shakier as he keeps the migraine from constricting around you. Since he didn’t have to do it right on the fly, it is a bit easier, but you can tell this is pushing him hard. It’s quickly getting more and more painful as the timeline splits, but you still have just a little bit of time left.
(cont.)

>>4453962
(cont.)
Thinking quickly, you spot the most apparent pigment the room has to offer; xenian blood. Despite being from a xen controller rather than a headcrab, the yellow stuff that splattered out of the creature isn’t all that different from what Vorty used to paint his mural in the office infirmary.

Kirchoff, quickly moving across the room as he keeps up the covering fire from his alien weapon, yells out, “Holland, get over here!”

With the corporate spy's attention drawn away from the machine gun he lacks any experience, his head flicks around to see Kirchoff, who’s waving him closer, looking to be brought the m60. Holland quickly begins to move through the dark lobby, keeping his head down once again to move it closer.

Quickly you shout out to your two fellow spies, “I need covering fire!”

Once you see Reilly and Marietta both nod, the latter shouting, “Got it!” The both of them slap down the bolt of their MP5s after loading in a new magazine. With their weapons reloaded and chambered, the two of them begin to fire more rounds down range.

Seeing this, Holland picks up the pace. In less than thirty seconds, he’s return to the rest of the group, where Kirchoff quickly snatches the belt fed machine gun out of the civilian’s hands, and quickly starts to make it usable. A piece of shrapnel jammed into the ammunition box. The energy of the impact heated up the box, and caused rounds to cook off. With the belt ruined only a few rounds down the line, Kirchoff removes the box and belt.

As he works to get the heavy weapon operational, you quickly dive out of cover, reaching for the repeat of the xenian controller. It’s head was shattered by the five-five-six round, so you don’t have a difficult time finding any of the blood. It’s a rather disgusting task, but if you were a squeamish woman, you wouldn’t be in the CIA. Besides, you're in a sealed suit, and it’ll all fade, probably in less than a minute. You dip each of your skinny, but gloved fingers into the disgusting stuff, feeling how the migraine is getting more and more painful, the inverse of its usual deflating feeling, and using it to judge the amount of time you have left.
(cont.)

>>4453965
(cont.)
You quickly move back to the lobby desk, where you used to work night shifts, and from behind which Dr. Saulson is now aiming at the vortigaunts and slowly backing away, urging them to do the same. So focused on his groggy team, and the vortigaunts, he doesn’t see the marines slowly moving in behind the aliens. Quickly, you swipe every object, from the crisp and solid objects of right now, and the softened temporal anomalies, off the desk and onto the floor. This immediately grabs the attention of the scientist, meaning he’s drawn away from the sights of his gun for a short moment while you start to draw on the desk with your finger. The stuff is strange to write with. You’re not sure if it's an effect of the earth's atmosphere, or the alien’s biology is truly so strange, but it almost feels like trying to write with mustard.

As you draw out the word no, you look at the position of the foremost marines vision, where he begins to manipulate some sort of panel, presumably getting ready to open the second blast door. You don’t have all that much time, and writing with this stuff may take a while. Pretty quickly, you have the barely legible word “No,” dragged across the desk.

“What the hell…” Dr. Saulson says. “Is that you?” He returns his attention to the pistol, gesturing it towards the aliens. “Stop it, and step back.”

The vortigaunts don’t step back, but one of them reaches for its neck, and the other follows soon after. While you certainly know better, the blurry image of the temporal repeat makes it impossible to discern the collar that should be there from their necks, so a small part of your brain imagines a tie being adjusted. You also continue writing, adding “COL,” in big, easily readable capital letters. You can’t help but be reminded of finger painting as a little girl, but the last thing you’re feeling in this situation is nostalgia.

While Dr. Saulson, taking up a position as the groups protector, has dismissed the anomalous writing, Dr. Magnusson is staring at it with great interest. Still groggy and confused from the effects on his mind, he asks, “What is that?” He looks up to the alien creatures. “[i]Is[/i] it you?”

One of the creatures nods no, the other glances to where you are standing in the present, as you add the letter, “LAR.”

The creatures toying with whatever is on their neck. As it pulls away, you’re able to discern it from their necks. A collar, apparently broken at some point, hangs limply from their hands. . When you saw the video of the ambush team Reilly was a part of, you did notice that there had been a few vortigaunts with broken collars, spies perhaps, feigning loyalty.
(cont.)

>>4453966
(cont.)
“Not now Mags.” Saulson responds, pushing the doctor back with a hand taken off his pistol grip. Everytime Dr. Saulson speaks, you can hear his voice quiver. He’s no Freeman, that’s for sure, he’s just a scientist, way out of his element and in over his head. “Where’s Forbes, she here?” He turns left, then right, looking at the team around him, then looks back to the creatures, “You people take her?”

“I think I saw her hide in one of the vents.” One of the scientists responds.


“For god's sake man,” Magnusson says, seeming still scared, but at least more collected. “Look at the writing. Something is speaking to us.”

As Magnusson says this, Kirchoff has finished replacing the ammo box of the m60, and reloading the gun. Not wanting to take his chances with two rifle shots, he’s reloaded the heavier caliber, far higher rate of fire gun, and intends to mow down the two marines.

“Shut up,” Dr. Saulson responds. “We can examine it later.” As he says this, you continue with another word, leaving “FRIE,” on the desk.

Kirchoff puts the gun up on a bipod, as he does, with a free hand, he instructs Marietta and Reilly to stop their suppressing fire. With the blast door down, the two marines are free to make a dash away. Seeing this, you suddenly realize Kirchoff’s trap. Make the enemy think you’re letting them surrender, then shoot. It’s rather… psychopathic for a marine to do to his former brothers in arms.

“...NDS,” you finish writing on the desk, before quickly adding two quick arrows at the top of the desk, to wear the vortigaunts are standing.

“Dr. Saulson, by everything that is reasonable man, put your gun down so we can all get out of here!” Magnusson adds. “Look at the message in front of you. Act like a man of science and bear it some thought, unless you would rather act like some sort of brute.”

“You said it was a damn war yourself Mags.” Saulson responds. “Who knows who wrote that? They might be tricking. Misinformation right?”
(cont.)

>>4453970
(cont.)
Hearing this, you immediately realize that you need some sort of reason to trust you, some sort of calling card that might seem safe to them. Your first thought is the badge of the CIA, but you’re not an artist, and they’re being hunted by the very same government, so you drop the idea quickly. There’s the black mesa logo, but that’s very broad, and could also be interpreted as a trick. Kleiner told you that the lambda labs were doing a lot of work to keep control of the situation, and are where some of the brightest minds of the facility stay. You can only vaguely remember what the lambda labs symbol looked like from some of Guttman’s files, and the symbols on the HEV suits, but you extrapolate the rest from what you remember real lambda symbols look like, seeing them on plenty of equations marked on white boards in your time as a security, and a few memories of high-school chemistry classes. You quickly drag your middle finger over the desk, creating an upside down lower-case y, with blocky lines and a small foot at the right end, and as you remember the details of the images on Guttman’s files relating to his work with Lambda patients, you remember the circle surrounding it. You add what ends up being more of an oval to the image, but it gets the idea across.

Having not noticed the new addition yet, Magnusson adds, “Which of these aliens have you seen respond to intimidation by standing still, and neglecting to move? Don’t be foolish. Even that idiot Kleiner could recognize when one of these creatures became friendly.”

Saulson seems to lax up at least somewhat, loosening his grip on the trigger, and offering himself some time to look back down at the message. “No collar, friends? That right?” He looks down once again, “What about this Lambda?”

The vort nods, then mutters in its alien voice, “The Oppenheimer.”

Immediately, the whole team seems shocked, including Magusson, who quickly peaks in curiosity, asking “Oppenheimer? The Oppenheimer? Do you mean Robert J Oppenheimer?”

The vortigaunt nods no, but before he’s able to explain any more, there’s the sound of heavy hydraulics, warbling through the air, and the entire group quickly turns around, looking at the repeat of the marine team. As the door drops, you begin to hear, “Push out, keep it quiet, engage on sight,” from the warbled voices of the repeat of the marine team.
(cont.)

>>4453972
(cont.)
Looking back behind you, Vorty has seen better days. Guttman is currently watching, unsure what to do as the creature just barely holds itself up on a piece of reinforced steel that secured a wall that is no longer there. Vorts seems completely drained of energy, his legs shaking and gasping for breath. Although it certainly could have been worse- he is still conscious after all, Vorts seems completely drained for a moment, and you can’t help but feel it’d only get worse if you pushed him harder.

As the marines run away, they leave plenty of crates, and on a more grim note, the gear on their dead fellows. While there may be more pressing matters at hand, it might not be a bad idea.

>Tell Kirchoff to stop firing. You’ll have to talk to him about him throwing shots, but you don’t want to let those marines live to tell the tale, and create a bigger problem later on. Move in, and finish off those marines with your fellow CIA members. (-2 USP rounds, the marines will get shots on you, Marietta, and Reilly.)
>Search through the server room, perhaps find the CIA device you left in there before all this started, and see if you can’t learn more about whatever Vorts did with the electricity. You also didn’t see the science team take Forbes with them when they ran.
>Allow the marines to book it, and start taking the gear they left behind. They ought to pay you back for the stuff you fired at them.
>You have some unfinished business with Kleiner’s key, and the letters from Breen back by the offices. Go back there, hopefully unperturbed, and
>Head back to the sample storage area, where Kleiner, Eli, and Freeman probably did at least a portion of their work, and you can find “fuel” for the LIGA prototype.
>Head further into the anomalous materials labs right now, you want to keep a move up.

>>4453977
>Tell Kirchoff to stop firing. You’ll have to talk to him about him throwing shots, but you don’t want to let those marines live to tell the tale, and create a bigger problem later on. Move in, and finish off those marines with your fellow CIA members. (-2 USP rounds, the marines will get shots on you, Marietta, and Reilly.)

>>4453977
>>Tell Kirchoff to stop firing. You’ll have to talk to him about him throwing shots, but you don’t want to let those marines live to tell the tale, and create a bigger problem later on. Move in, and finish off those marines with your fellow CIA members. (-2 USP rounds, the marines will get shots on you, Marietta, and Reilly.)
Sorry Vorty

>>4453977
>Tell Kirchoff to stop firing. You’ll have to talk to him about him throwing shots, but you don’t want to let those marines live to tell the tale, and create a bigger problem later on. Move in, and finish off those marines with your fellow CIA members. (-2 USP rounds, the marines will get shots on you, Marietta, and Reilly.)

>>4454001
>>4454021
>>4454208
“Kirchoff!” You shout, as you’re still recovering from a now throbbing pain of the contorted migraine, feeling more like a bullet wound removed under fire than the usual, steady hands of your vortal ally.

You’re not sure if he’s ignoring you, or the smacking, thumping sound of the belt fed machine gun is overpowering all other sounds, but for the first few seconds, he doesn’t even respond, still sending inaccurate shots downrange. You have to shout “Kirchoff, cease fire!” once more until he finally stops letting inaccurate spray flood every position in the corridor except the marines, who he only barely clipped a few times.

“Piece of shit.” He mutters to himself, his voice muffled by the gask mask. Quickly, he begins to inspect the gun, as though attempting to act like it was broken looking for warped rifling or misaligned iron-sights. You know that even a broken clock is right twice a day, and when that broken clock is putting out six-hundred and fifty rounds per minute, it’s still going to do some damage.

“Kirchoff, put the gun down for now.” You quickly command with a stern tone, stifled slightly by the filter adding a plastic effect on your voice. “Marietta, Reilly, on me.” You say to the two of them, pulling your USP off your belt and signalling them forward. Two wounded marines vs three CIA agents is a matchup you’re pretty sure you can win. Still, Kirchoff might not exactly be happy about it, that is if he doesn’t shoot you in the back as you move in.

Marietta and Reilly start to snake through the crates and sandbags the marines left in the lobby, keeping low and quick in the place as they move down towards the large airlock that connects up to the transit system. You stick back, still moving up with them, but keeping a careful eye behind you. You knew the man was a marine from the start, but you were never sure whether loyalty to the department of defense outweighed his loyalty to the United States in general.

“They’re following us!” One of the marines shouts. “They’re after us goddamnit!”

“Move your ass, get the tram running again!” The sergeant shouts, as your group continues to move in on his heels. The ranger vaults over one of the broken windows, and Marietta and Reilly are both forced to duck in cover, behind the edges of the outer airlock doors as the sergeant instead swings his body around on gashed muscles, and sprays out inaccurate fire, trying to suppress your team back, and buy a few seconds for the private to kick on the . Realizing you have no room to take cover, you instead mentally brace as you raise up your USP .45 to fire back.
(cont.)

>>4454855
(cont.)
Nine millimeter rounds almost immediately begin to pummel your PCV, thankfully not penetrating as the fibers of your advanced gear harden. Three round bursts smack against ribs, your gut, and your clavicle, drawing blood as it penetrates partially into the fat and muscle of your gut and chest.

You yelp out in pain an instant later, but having been ready to fire, you were just barely able to keep your composure for a brief fraction of a second, sending a silent, subsonic round towards the soldier before the signal of pain is even able to reach your brain. The armor penetrating round instantly zips through the air towards the soldier, getting him in the gut. His PCV stiffens him just as yours does, but the discarding round is far thinner, and sharper than typical forty-five, or even nine-millimeter. The round cuts deep, first through the soldier’s vest, then skin and muscle, and eventually nailing itself into a rib, not even inches away from puncturing the soldier's lung. A few shots still continue out of his weapon, but affected by recoil and pain, go wild.

Your next shot misses completely, cutting through the thin steel plates of the broken catwalk, and falling somewhere into the black pit below the transit system. Your body had instinctually recoiled as you yelled out in pain.

Covering you, Marietta quickly takes aim, seeing that the marine’s shots have stopped suppression for a moment. Her gun spits once, and the sergeant finally drops, having only been kept up by adrenaline. When he goes limp, the weight of him and his gear causes the entire catwalk to shake. Behind the sergeant, the final remaining marine, a private, begins to send ly shots down range. “Get the hell outta here!” He shouts out as he magdumps. Quicky you move forward, jumping down and taking cover against some of the supplies left, hauled across the catwalk.

Reilly, having not been shot yet, and apparently feeling brave, leans out of cover with her silenced pistol, then takes a nine-millimeter round to the shoulder. You’re sure the PCV would make it less than deadly, but she does quickly pull back, and you hear her yelp in pain. A second later however, the marine’s shots stop. Reilly leans back out, and just as you see the soldier reach for his sidearm, a few rounds from both Reilly and Marietta pepper the metal tram with pistol shots, leaving bright sparks in the dark, and then finally, a careful shot from Reilly smack the marine right in his helmet, and he goes down.

“No more contacts?” You shout to the rest of your team. “Are we good?”

“Nobody’s advancing in the opposite direction anymore, that’s for sure.” You hear Kirchoff shout from the other end of the airlock, still messing with his gun. He doesn’t sound particularly happy about what you just did.
(cont.)

(cont.)
>Search through the server room, perhaps find the CIA device you left in there before all this started, and see if you can’t learn more about whatever Vorts did with the electricity. You also didn’t see the science team take Forbes with them when they ran.
>You have some unfinished business with Kleiner’s key, and the letters from Breen back by the offices. Go back there, hopefully unperturbed, and
>Head back to the sample storage area, where Kleiner, Eli, and Freeman probably did at least a portion of their work, and you can find “fuel” for the LIGA prototype.
>Head further into the anomalous materials labs right now, you want to keep a move up.
>Search through the gear the marine’s left behind. They ought to repay you for the bullet wounds.
>You’re starting to hurt. See how much Guttman can patch you up before doing anything else. Without any of the wondrous Black Mesa medkits on hand, this may mean quite a while down here with your PCV off.
>Write in.
(Optionally, respond to Kirchoff.)
>”I don’t like killing my own country’s soldiers as much as you do Kirchoff, but I hate it a lot less than I hate my own country’s soldiers killing american civilians.”
>”We can’t afford to leave witnesses down here Kirchoff. Time anomalies, and new aliens have left enough uncontrolled variables as it is, let’s not add another member of the ISA hunting me down just like you did.”
>”That was some interesting shooting you did there, Kirchoff. Did they train you to keep your eyes crossed in the marines, or is that your own tactic?”
>”Kirchoff, I’m damn well sure you didn’t miss those shots on accident. Don’t pull a stunt like that again, or you’ll be joining marine command on whatever treason trial follows this whole debacle.”
>Write in.

>>4454862
Forgot to link the health/inventory.
https://pastebin.com/Lte0sgmY

>>4454862
>>Search through the server room, perhaps find the CIA device you left in there before all this started, and see if you can’t learn more about whatever Vorts did with the electricity. You also didn’t see the science team take Forbes with them when they ran.
>”We can’t afford to leave witnesses down here Kirchoff. Time anomalies, and new aliens have left enough uncontrolled variables as it is, let’s not add another member of the ISA hunting me down just like you did.”

>>4454862
>Search through the server room, perhaps find the CIA device you left in there before all this started, and see if you can’t learn more about whatever Vorts did with the electricity. You also didn’t see the science team take Forbes with them when they ran.
>”We can’t afford to leave witnesses down here Kirchoff. Time anomalies, and new aliens have left enough uncontrolled variables as it is, let’s not add another member of the ISA hunting me down just like you did.”

>>4454862
>Search through the server room, perhaps find the CIA device you left in there before all this started, and see if you can’t learn more about whatever Vorts did with the electricity. You also didn’t see the science team take Forbes with them when they ran.

>>”I don’t like killing my own country’s soldiers as much as you do Kirchoff, but I hate it a lot less than I hate my own country’s soldiers killing american civilians.”
>>”We can’t afford to leave witnesses down here Kirchoff. Time anomalies, and new aliens have left enough uncontrolled variables as it is, let’s not add another member of the ISA hunting me down just like you did.”
Really, just ask him what he thinks would happen if they got away, considering the goals of that fireteam.

>>4455043
Support

>>4454868
>>4454884
>>4455043
>>4455413

I was originally going to do a tiebreaker roll, but since the split in consensus still mostly overlaps, I think I’ll combine them.

“We can’t afford to leave witnesses down here, Kirchoff.” You say as you and your team pull back. Looking past the marine as you walk and talk, keeping your arm held over a pained spot at the bottom of your ribcage, you see the now dark hole that has become of the wall between the lobby and the server room. “There’s a lot of unknown variables down here, time anomalies, new aliens, we shouldn’t be adding another member of the ISA hunting us just like you did.”

“You let that first group leave.” Guttman remarks. “Hell, you even told them you were CIA before they saw us.”

From under his gasmask, Kirchoff shoots you a long, hard look, but doesn’t say anything.

“Not without an insurance policy.” You respond, as you continue to walk towards the server room, moving around your desk, “I was sure they wouldn’t talk, however I can’t get that assurance from someone running away frantically.”

“I don’t know if we can get assurance from anyone, or anything in this place.” Marietta responds.

“Permission to be frank Gabby, but the main reason I’m with your squad is because government cover ups were not in my job description.” Kirchoff responds, crossing his arms, “Not everyone in this group has a cyanide pill in their pocket. Self defense is one thing, shooting retreating marines is another. ”

You continue on through the holl where the dividing wall between the lobby and the now destroyed server room is, looking across the ruined computers, terminals, and even occasional speakers. Recovery teams could look through this stuff for days finding intact drives, logs, and messages. It took an immense amount of processing power to run the equipment, compute the readings, and model the science teams own simulations. “Help me look through some of this stuff.” You say as you crouch down, wincing slightly as the pain in your leg screams back at you. It takes a second for you to even realize that the migraine has begun to tighten itself slightly, as the pain in other parts of your body took precedent.

Removing your attention from the conversation for a short moment, you continue to look over the old server room, as more of your team begins to search through the wreckage. You move over to where you last saw the body of Dr. Forbes, and unfortunately, she’s still there. Worse, short of a miracle, there’s no way Guttman is reviving the woman at this point. The suffocating gas, dust and spores seems to have been the straw that broke the camel's back, and she’s now lost any signs of life.

Glancing over your shoulder, Vorty seems to be eying her body, strangely enough.
(cont.)

>>4456053
(cont.)
“It’s not about coverups, I don’t like killing US marines any more than you do Kirchoff, but what’s the alternative? You know why that fireteam was here just as well as I do.” As you speak, Reilly and Marietta join the search, picking through some of the old equipment. You glance over your shoulder to ask “Holland, you’re an electrician, how much energy would it take for power to arc around a pile of computer parts like this?”

“Sure if you plugged some damn space super reactor into it.” He mutters, keeping back from the mess. “Most of the big wires are cut or insulated, and the actual conductors in the computer parts are probably powder by now.” He shrugs to himself, “Still wouldn’t touch it without gloves,” Reilly pulls back, and Guttman does as well a second later when Marietta nods him back, “but it won’t arc out of the air at you. You need to try for those kinds of conditions.”

“Well why don’t we save the philosophy debate for when we’re not in the universe’s freshly torn asshole.” Guttman says, glancing at Kirchoff as the soldier takes his place, as he allows Vorty to stand on his own, leaning against a piece of Rebar, and joins you in the pile of rubble.


Not responding to Guttman for the moment, you turn to Vorts, who’s currently still regaining his head, and ask the alien, “Does your electricity work the same way as regular electricity?

Vorts nods his head no, but says, “Much energy.” Takes a few breaths, and asks, “Little light.”

“All I’m asking is that we don’t shoot marines unless we have to.” Kirchoff responds, seeming to not have listened. “We’re working for the same government here, unless you want to enlighten me on whatever crazy global order is behind all of this insanity.”

As you search through the broken systems, glad that whatever vortal anomaly affected this place prevented xenian growths from overtaking it, and was able to be stopped, or “adjusted,” by vorty, you just barely see a small green light fill the room, like a piece of stray electricity bouncing around.

“I personally am more invested in not getting shot again than I am discussing the ethics of killing the people who were just shooting at me, can we keep it moving?” Guttman says, clearly not trying to argue, but just dismissing the entire argument.

Fearing that the electrical anomaly might flare back up again, you quickly order “Everyone step back.” Marietta gets off of her knee, and Kirchoff doesn’t hesitate from not doing the more menial tasks of the CIA. Vorty however seems unconcerned. The migraine is quickly growing tighter and more painful, indicating when another anomaly is coming, and the last time it happened, the electrical anomaly came in tune with the temporal one. Perhaps, you think, Vorty’s adjustments didn’t stop it, it was just never regular?

“What is it?” Marietta asks as nothing changes. “What’s going on?”
(cont.)

>>4456054
(cont.)
You keep watching, occasionally seeing a small spark in the same place as before, even as the migraine constricts your temple further. It doesn’t become more intense, the frequency doesn’t increase, nothing changes. Once you see the formation of shimmering repeats, an orange and a black one bouncing around the server room, but not accompanied by any arcing electricity, you let your guard down, and say “False alarm, nevermind. I thought we were about to get zapped there, and didn’t want to take any chances.”

Some of your compatriots just shrug, and return to random sections of the server room, some turning their attention to easily readable physical logs rather than the few intact hard drives among the million shattered ones. You however immediately focus on the anomalous spark among the destruction, moving closer to it as the two unanimated anomalies of Dr. Freeman and some sort of alien probe bounce around the room. As the probe flickers through space, you notice that some of its paths seem to take it through the hole you only just recently made in the wall.

Refocusing your attention away from the anomalies, and back to the sparking object in the shattered server room, you dig through broken computer parts, thankful you’re wearing resistant gloves with the amount of sharp computer parts scattered around. Eventually, you bump something in there that, even in spite of the loss of touch the gloves on your suit give you, feels far smoother and less broken than everything around it. Removing debris with more purpose now, you quickly start to flick broken boards, ruined CPUS, and many, many fan blades out of the way, until among the wreckage, you see the sparking object. At first you can’t make it out, the electricity glaring against the gas mask you’re wearing. You pull both your optical goggles and your gas mask over your head, removing the obfuscation of resilient clear plastic spotted with random pieces of debris and grime that built up in the time you’ve had it on.

Without the mask, you can make out what’s below the sparking green glow; your old CIA dongle. Somehow, the device you left in the Anomalous Materials server room has been affected by Vorty’s energy, and it sparks with. You can see a slight green glow for a moment, but then you feel a pain from the migraine, and it's as if the color fades, but doesn’t, becoming almost unexplainable. The device doesn’t seem to shock you as green Vortal energy arcs out of it, jumping into the air, then back into the device.
(cont.)

>>4456054
(cont.)
Looking over it, no physical modifications have been made. The seal on its plastic casing has never been opened, the plug that enters the machine itself has escaped being bent somehow in the destruction of the server room. Despite the crackling electricity, it seems to be the exact same device that you placed in the server room yesterday morning, right before the resonance cascade. You keep it close to you, not sure if you want to tell anyone about it yet.

The more you stare at the phenomenon, the more your head hurts in the more “traditional” sense. It can’t cause it's ever painful pavlovian seizures, but it continues to kick. Pain ripples across your skull, throwing off every thought you have as you stare at the object. Every few seconds, your eyes twince, and your face contorts every so slightly into a wince as you push through the pain. Whatever happened to this device, the migraine despises it.

>Fortune favors the bold. Plug it into the laptop the CIA gave you last night, see what comes of the anomalous device. The vorts have already rooted through your brain, what’s the worst that could come from them rooting through your device?
>Silently take the device over to Vorty, see what he has to say about it. Of course, he’s not in the best position to talk much right now, having just barely scraped past falling unconscious.
>Whatever happened to it, the device is probably compromised. Break it, and get rid of it, you have others, and it’s bad enough that the aliens have rooted through your skull, you don’t need them rooting through other CIA secrets.
>Hold the object up to your whole team, let them all know about it, “Here’s the cause of our false alarm. What a shocker. ”
>Write in.

>>4456059
>>Fortune favors the bold. Plug it into the laptop the CIA gave you last night, see what comes of the anomalous device. The vorts have already rooted through your brain, what’s the worst that could come from them rooting through your device?
A shame we didn't save Forbes, we had many chances.

>>4456059
>Fortune favors the bold. Plug it into the laptop the CIA gave you last night, see what comes of the anomalous device. The vorts have already rooted through your brain, what’s the worst that could come from them rooting through your device?

>>4456059
>>4456071
Vorts already have their own agenda. OOC it's aligned, but right now it's best to throw to Marietta to evaluate what to do with the data.

At the very least we're extracting with it.

>>4456549
Honestly, I'm doing it because of the possibility that Vorts put data ON the stick rather than him attempting to extract data from the computer with it.
I think it's a decent possibility, despite the choice suggesting that Gabi thinks otherwise.

>>4456591
even if they put data on the stick, x86 architecture isn't gonna crack whatever code is on it. Something else will better interface with it. If it allows digital/vortlink connection, that's a hell of a thing. Like secret anti-combine weapon level thing.

>>4456614
I have a few theories bumping around in my head on what a vortigaunt could feasibly want to add to a CIA super spy dongle. The most ideal for us personally, in my opinion, would be something meant to interfere with the migraine. The migraine is definitely combine in origin, and their stuff is PRETTY susceptible to hacking, since all you have to do is wave an electric science stick at one of their consoles to do most things.

>>4456070
>>4456071
>>4456549
>>4456591
>>4456614
>>4456645
Your initial instinct was almost immediately that the device had been modified by the vortigaunts to extract data, hell, it was the purpose of the original device. The tech inside of it is more advanced than most computers, allowing an intense broadwith almost anywhere, likely pulled from On top of that, you can see that it’s been modified somehow by the vortigaunts. There’s no telling what it could, would, or will do to any machine it's plugged into. Perhaps your initial instinct is wrong, you think as you turn the device over in your gloved hand, rotating it, further inspecting it as though observing another surface might just grant you further insight into the device. What little you do know about the device is that it clearly comes from the efforts of two groups you trust, the vortigaunts, and the United States Central Intelligence Agency. There are no assumptions that can be safely made about the device, but the possibility that it may give you information, rather than read your country’s secrets, is far too tempting to pass up as a risk. Besides, you trust the vortigaunts with information taken directly from your head, even if you’re wrong, it can’t be too bad.

Not yet sure if you want to reveal this object to your team, or keep it hidden away on your person, you quickly pull out a quick reason to take out your laptop, shouting to your searching team, “Hey, if you got a working drive on hand, give it over here,” you request to your team as you stuff the anomalous device into your pocket, “I’m gonna start skimming the things for usable data. Just because it looks intact doesn’t mean it's still readable, so I want to check before we start to lug anything with us.”

“You’ve already got a damn arsenal on your back, ghost cop. Is a few CDs and hard drives the straw that breaks the camel's back?” Reilly jokes as she stands up from the pile, handing you a collection of hard drives. Marietta and Kirchoff soon follow, until you have a stack of scuffed hard drives in your hands.

“Every object that I carry that can’t kill something makes me slightly less American.” You crack back as you wipe dust and spores off of the drive ports, “I have to choose carefully here.”

A few of your compatriots crack a smile, Holland rolls his eyes, but you don’t pay it any mind. Instead, you just pull back to the desk where congealed xenian blood has been drawn into the shape of a lambda, now dried, and seeming to glow ever so slightly in the dark. You kneel down, sling your pack around your shoulder, and slide the CIA supplied device out, still in its protective kevlar case. It only takes a second to unclip the latches on the box, and remove it. Not wanting spores to latch on to the padding, you act quickly, removing the laptop, placing it on the desk, then quickly smacking the latches back down before any residual dust can float in.
(cont.)

>>4457653
(cont.)
When you click the small power button, the fans immediately start to blow dust away before the screen lights up. Booting successfully, a black background with white text greets you, with an all too familiar request for security credentials, followed by a very long winded warning of capital punishment for unauthorized tampering. Inputting your credentials through muscle memory, you're in under a second, and using the computers loading time as an opportunity to pull the sparking dongle out of your pocket. Hiding the slight glow of vortal energy that radiates away from it with every tiny arc of lightning by surrounding it with the recovered hard drives of your team, you place it in just as the computer’s operating system loads up, printing out new text explaining to the less technologically inclined members of the CIA this device’s abilities, purpose, and functions., then showing you indented lines representing the many nested directories that make up the machine’s stored information and programs.

The text, which should easily be within the capabilities of the device's advanced processing power, comes slower than usual. Large blocks of text fill out the screen once every few seconds, spewing out, then pausing, then throwing out more. Occasionally, some of the sentences seem to corrupt, normal characters turning into random assortments of pixels. Larger and larger percentages of your directory names become unreadable with every new chunk of text that loads onto your screen.

Fearing valuable data is being destroyed by the device you just put into your machine, you quickly reach to remove it, but as you put your hand close to it, you start to see legible text return. New text starts to be printed, at first alongside your now illegible directory names.

“UN…ITED … STA...TES NAV...AL FORCES”

Why are the vortigaunts showing you data regarding the United States navy? You’re in the desert of a landlocked state. What possible relevance could it have to Black Mesa?

“TE…NTH FLEET. AUTHORIZ…ED USERS ONLY. TOP SECRET. ”

As far as you can remember, the tenth fleet was a section of the United States navy tasked with anti-submarine warfare. It was made inactive in 1950. With a furrowed brow, you watch the screen closely, before in monocolor it begins to slowly print out a gold and blue, stylized logo. The bottom border of the loading image slowly scrolls down, revealing more and more. The top of a blue circle then a golden owl, drawn with stylized polygons in opposition to usual navy symbols. In what you assume are the creature's talons is what seems to be a trident, fitting of the navy. While having two colors instead of one would put it out of place, the blocky style, and the surrounding circle makes it almost look more like one of the logos at Black Mesa than one of the logos of a naval fleet.
(cont.)

>>4457655
(cont.)
Finally, as the image finishes up, no longer padded with the corrupted text of CIA director names, it spews out one final message, “SHOWING RESTRICTED DATA TO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL MAY RESULT IN CAPITAL PUNISHMENT OF ALL OFFENDING PARTIES.”

In that case, it may be a good thing you didn’t show this to too many people. Some of the file dates also seem rather strange. Either the dates are wrong, or some of these files are from the future. How simple your job would be if the latter was an impossibility. As well, a large majority of the files are simply ruined, and unable to be opened. Only a few seem available to you, but those might still have missing or corrupted text. As well, if this is a connection to an external system somewhere, you have no idea how long this connection will last.

>RECOVERY OF UNAUTHORIZED SATELLITE: DD-MMM-2000
>STORM AND SUIT PROTOCOL: DD-MMM-2000
>NATO TAPPED OUT: GOING DARK: DD-MMM-2001
>NEW ADMINISTRATION: DD-MMM-2001
>LATVIAN CONTACTS: DD-MMM-2004
>NEUROLOGICAL FINDINGS: DD-MMM-2010
>PRIVATE LOGS: AFTER QUARANTINE ZONE EXPLOSION. DD-MMM-2015.
>OUT OF OXYGEN. DD-MMM-2020.
>There’s a better time and place to read this information, eject the device, and pocket it. (Feel free to write in anything else you’d want to do after ejecting the device.)
>Write in.

>>4457657
>>NEW ADMINISTRATION: DD-MMM-2001

>>4457657
>NEUROLOGICAL FINDINGS: DD-MMM-2010
If they're interesting enough, maybe we should call Dr. Guttman over to review this particular document?

Bls vote lurkers

>>4457657
>NATO TAPPED OUT: GOING DARK: DD-MMM-2001

>>4457657
>NATO TAPPED OUT: GOING DARK: DD-MMM-2001

>>4457657
>>PRIVATE LOGS: AFTER QUARANTINE ZONE EXPLOSION. DD-MMM-2015.

>>4457665
>>4457738
>>4458613
>>4458648
>>4458718
Apologies for the delay, have a quiz tomorrow.
https://pastebin.com/Lte0sgmY
Navigating down the directories list, past hundreds of files marked “[unreadable]” or “[unauthorized],” many of them even featuring corrupted files names and dates. As you move through the system, your arrow-keystrokes occasionally initialize refreshes the date organized lists, and you begin to notice significantly more folders tagged “[unauthorized]” occasionally appear, but often with unreadable names. Not many have time to appear however, as you quickly reach one of the early files, only dated a year from now.

Your interest may be spread thin, with your eyes first darting to keywords such as “Administration,” and “Neurological,” first grabbing your eyes, and hitting personal notes with the situation in Black Mesa. However, the rational side of your brain reminds you of how heavy words like “NATO TAPPED OUT,” can be, and you begin to move your highlighting cursor down the lines. Just before you tap the enter key, you also consider reading the private logs, finding a strange curiosity arising from it, but regardless, you stick with the most pressing one. If it’s the NATO you’re thinking of, you want to know what they’re “tapping out” of in the coming months. Hitting the enter key, the screen begins to clear out, line after line.Then, words begin to print out, the small devices fans hissing as they spew hot air, the anomalous device clearly putting heavy strain on your laptop.

“DD-JAN-2001. MONTHLY LOG OF THE USS WEINBERG UNDER AUTHORITY OF CAPTAIN WEINBERG AND TENTH FLEET COMMAND. PRIMARY SUBJECT OF INTEREST: NATO TAPPED OUT, GOING DARK.”

The “monthly log,” starts out exactly as you would expect, technical reports, dates, and security confirmations that you all skim over. It’s not particularly useful to read the engineering reports of a ship you still don’t know exists, especially when you’re not in a secure position. As you skim however, what does catch your eye is stats such as “Oxygen,” and “Reactor half-life.” Data relating to nuclear submarines is guarded closely, and even more so when that submarine is in a fleet that doesn’t officially exist.

As you skim through the documents, the section labeled “COMMAND REPORT:” Is what seems to catch your eye, finally featuring the words “NATO.” As the documents header suggested.

“COMMENTS OF CAPTAIN RICKOVER:” The section begins.

“I’ve been counting myself lucky, having my crew unable to watch the news down here. Everything they hear from the surface comes through me first. It’s definitely kept morale up. January’s been hell on earth, storms, divers getting eaten, and now Admiral Curie is telling me that NATO has dropped dead overnight. I thought the old bastard was joking at first. Apparently it’s official news: unconditional surrender."
(cont.)

>>4459246
(cont.)
“I’m not gonna be turning these into the pentagon anymore, so fuck it. Professionalism is for countrymen, and apparently a country wasn’t in the surrender terms. I wasn’t even told about a fucking war. Sure, I heard all about the “War on invasive species,” slogan, but when did an army arrive? We were under water for the ungodly half of the day and by the time we come back up, NATO pissed itself, and the rest of the world followed. It took half an hour to get an explanation out of Cu…”

The text suddenly becomes visibly corrupted, no longer rendering as the crisp and clear white lines of text your computer’s bare-bones, resource saving operating system produces. Random jumbles of pixels glow along the black lines, becoming unreadable for a moment, before new text arrives. You notice that it almost seems to almost come in tune with the growing contortions of the migraine, having been growing tighter, as both of the anomalous, ghostly visages of both Freeman and the black probe flicker around the room. They’re still not animated for the moment, but could it be possible that the anomaly is affecting your computer?

As the anomalous muscle contorts into a plateau of pain, you see a new chunk of text among the corrupted lines. They’re not written in the same military standard font your computer typically uses, but they would be easily readable, if not for the intense pain of both the migraine contorting itself, and kicking you at the same time. Thankfully having taken the diazepam, you can still just keep your watering, wincing eyes open enough as you grab your head in pain.

“...LIZING MEMORY ERASURE PROCESS SUBJ…” is all the computer is able to print out before the contorting pain begins to release, as though it were steam being vented from a pipe. The short block of text quickly trails into illegibility. Turning around, and taking a look at the state of the two anomalies, you do in fact see that both freeman and the drone are moving around once again, playing out individual moments of millions of possible actions, no scene lasting longer than a second before they flicker away into one of the other many possible actions. You have no doubt that if Kleiner was here to watch this, not even the marines would be able to get him to leave.

Looking back to the computer screen, the scattered pixels have reformulated into regular text. Thankfully, your machine renders this text slowly, so you don’t seem to have lost much.

“...arently no word yet on who actually negotiated us an unconditional surrender. Doubt that will last long however. Bureaucrats love their spotlight, I’m sure he’s already all over TIME magazine by now. Some career politician, right place, right time.
(cont.)

>>4459249
(cont.)
According to Curie, the last order we got from the pentagon was to hoard supplies and hide. If we’re getting orders, it’s coming from the CIA. Not sure if we’re gonna be told anything else from these ‘surrender terms.” It’s my two cents that there’ll be a lot of mutinies in the next few days.

I’ve been keeping the reports from periscopes to myself for the past few days. Still thinking about how I’m going to break the news to the boys. I still barely believe all of this in the first place, but I trust Curie, and I trust the periscope operators, who say Santa Anna and San Francisco are smoldering right now.

This is supposed to be the part where I make some asinine morale suggestion requesting lobster dinner from a plastic bag, but I can’t stomach it right now. This month has already been insane, but somehow now it doesn’t even feel like reality. I’ve gotta figure out how to break the news of thi...”

As the anomaly begins to fade, once again the text corrupts. The easily readable comments of the so called “Captain Rickover,” quickly turn into a spew of random pixels travelling down the next two or three command lines. Among the illegible command lines however, you begin to notice some legible text, “... OMAL … OUS … SIGNAL DET … ECTED … I … DENT… IF … Y COMM … UNICATE … ISOLATE … STU … DY … RE … QUEST … ING … RESPONSE … COMPLY … OR … TRAC...”

With every letter that you identify in the mass of scattered white pixels, the migraine ripples across your skull and grey matter. Pain strikes you, then echos through your head. You’re thankful you took that diazepam earlier, as you fear the consequences could be far worse.

Finally, the jumbled collections of pixels begin to turn back into human readable text. You’re booted back to the menu you were in before, with a collection of directories, many of which are now labeled as [unauthorized].

The files however, are giving you trouble. Even through your gloves you can start to feel the system getting hotter. The fans are slowly beginning to hiss more and more. You feel that the machine may be soon to be stressed to its limit.
(cont.)

>>4459252
(cont.)
>RECOVERY OF UNAUTHORIZED SATELLITE: DD-MMM-2000
>STORM AND SUIT PROTOCOL: DD-MMM-2000
>NEW ADMINISTRATION: DD-MMM-2001
>LATVIAN CONTACTS: DD-MMM-2004
>NEUROLOGICAL FINDINGS: DD-MMM-2010
>PRIVATE LOGS: AFTER QUARANTINE ZONE EXPLOSION. DD-MMM-2015.
>OUT OF OXYGEN. DD-MMM-2020.
>Before it automatically shuts down your laptop, attempt to quickly save the insanity you just read to a hard drive. Since this data doesn’t seem normal, you may risk making damage worse.
>Manually transmit something through your laptop. If something’s requesting a response, who’s a better ambassador for humanity than a member of the CIA? (Write in whatever you intend to transmit.)
>Vorty may still be recovering, but you need his help with whatever the hell this is. Nuclear submarines sound vaguely familiar, but unconditional surrender to whom, and apparently with a war so quick that it lasted less than a day? This requires vortal assistance.
>Don’t risk overheating the machine, or messing with things you don’t understand. Shut it down, and consider explaining things to your team while you heal up and restock your weapons.
>Write in.

>>4459256
>Don’t risk overheating the machine, or messing with things you don’t understand. Shut it down, and consider explaining things to your team while you heal up and restock your weapons.
It's extremely tempting to keep reading, but with vortigaunt assistance we could likely recover/read these files later on a better equipped system.
It would suck to brick our current laptop and end up needing to use it later on for something.

>>4459256
>“... OMAL … OUS … SIGNAL DET … ECTED … I … DENT… IF … Y COMM … UNICATE … ISOLATE … STU … DY … RE … QUEST … ING … RESPONSE … COMPLY … OR … TRAC...”

We are being traced by something. We have time for maybe 1 more log but that is it.

>Before it automatically shuts down your laptop, attempt to quickly save the insanity you just read to a hard drive. Since this data doesn’t seem normal, you may risk making damage worse.

>>4459256
>Don’t risk overheating the machine, or messing with things you don’t understand. Shut it down, and consider explaining things to your team while you heal up and restock your weapons.
Let's not push our luck too far now, we'll read the rest later with vorty's help and a more powerful system, if we can find one.

>>4459256
>Before it automatically shuts down your laptop, attempt to quickly save the insanity you just read to a hard drive. Since this data doesn’t seem normal, you may risk making damage worse.

>>4459840
>>4459256
>Don’t risk overheating the machine, or messing with things you don’t understand. Shut it down, and consider explaining things to your team while you heal up and restock your weapons.

Unfortunately, I have a pretty heavy workload today, so I'm not entirely sure if I'll be able to finish the update today, apologies. I'm still gonna try to get the it out sometime today, but it's iffy. The latest it'll come is tomorrow.
As always, I love to hear any feedback you guys have in the meantime, especially if you see anything that can be improved.

>>4459324
>>4459586
>>4459840
>>4459850
>>4459868
It’s incredibly tempting to read more, whatever the vortigaunts did to your device, it’s giving you a direct window into the future. You can’t help but feel that the holy grail of national intelligence has fallen into your lap, and it’s tempting to save everything you just read to a hard drive, and then everything you haven’t read afterwards, but you only have the one computer for now. As much as you’d like to say, “it’ll be here when I come back,” not even that is something you can assume. Still, even you know the value of restraint when it comes to impossible information, and you know that whatever you’re looking at right now doesn’t help all too much in the immediate situation, and you’re not about to let a fuse in your laptop melt, and make the device unusable without trained repair and equipment you don’t have. Typing quickly, you manually input a safe eject command.

Immediately, lines quickly begin to self delete, the fans kicking into a higher power for one last push of processing power. Monitoring the machine closely to ensure nothing unexpected comes of the ejection, but in what Dr. Guttman less gracefully described as the structurally superfluous new behind of the universe you can’t help but have developed the instinct that something strange will come of the relatively simple process.

As you watch, you occasionally glance behind you to see that some of your compatriots have given up on their search of the server room, deciding that there likely isn’t much more to be found in there except for scrap and parts. Recognizing this, you say, “If you’re done searching for data, start looting. Don’t get caught without any ammo.”

Looking back to your computer, you suddenly see that the quickly clearing text has suddenly been immediately replaced by new lines of data. The typically black, barely lit background of your screen has suddenly turned blue, the light of the screen now illuminating the entire area around it. White text has been spat out by the operating system. Crash logs, error reports, and the final set of commands executed by the machine before everything had shut down. Almost immediately a shiver of concern runs down your spine. Had even that light amount of reading been too much to handle for your stealth oriented computer? Should you have simply pulled the device out of its socket, rather than performing a safe ejection? Should you not have even placed the unknown device into your laptop?
(cont.)

>>4461953
>>4461953
(cont.)
Hoping that you may get more answers, you quickly pour through the wall of text, reading long strings of letters and numbers, and trying to remember an old course you took in training years ago now. However, as your eyes descend down the screen, you begin to notice that the crash report is not for the computer you’re currently using. What at first glance appeared to be a crash caused by multiple different errors now appears to be rather the crashes of numerous different computers. The text occasionally corrupts, and where the lines scatter, they soon reform into the error report of another machine. You don’t have time to read them all down before the system automatically shuts down, but a quick graze of the logs have dates ranging from roughly nine AM yesterday, to the twenty-twenties. One crash log features a familiar user log, “cp_rkovr,” which you would guess is “Captain Rickover’s” username, strictly limited by a system character limit. Oddly enough however, it’s the only one with that username, or any other navy related markings for that matter. The rest seem to come from a variety of other sources, in file locations and error logs that would instead hint at other locations, some in Black Mesa, some others that you can’t discern any sort of location or affiliation from.

One of the error messages, right at the end, doesn’t feature any traditional error logs. The date as well is either erroneous, or written in a format you’ve never seen in your seven years of working for the CIA. In place of a string representing an error number, warning, or exception is human readable text, as though someone physically acknowledged the error and typed it down. “... ION MANDATED MNEMONIC TRANSPLANT INTERRUPTED, EJECTING SUBJECT.”

As the system automatically shuts down and reboots, you come to the realization that it would be rather odd for a custom designed operating system built to allow the user to discreetly use it while drawing as little attention to themselves as possible would also feature a windows blue screen upon crashing, basking the users face with blue light and possibly snagging the eyes of anyone around them. You pull the anomalous device out of its port, then slipping it back into your pocket.

The laptop begins to quickly reboot, and assuring you won’t lose anything, you quickly re-input your security credentials into the device. The device boots, and you’re able to quickly skim your files, confirming nothing has been lost or corrupted due to the vortally modified dongle. The fans now spin at a normal rate, given the residual heat that you can feel radiating off of the device.
(cont.)

>>4461957
https://pastebin.com/Lte0sgmY
(cont.)
Satisfied that your laptop is fine, despite the scare, you quickly pull open the latches on your device’s case, then with one hand, slide the laptop in as you hold up the kevlar covering, wanting to keep the case open for as short a time as possible for fear of some sort of spore or insect nesting inside. Done with your computer for now, you look over your compatriots, who have been picking away at what the now deceased group of marines left on them.

From across the lobby, you hear Marietta call out, “Hey, keep yourself stocked,” as she drops a marine’s equipment bag onto your desk, “Better to grab what we can when we’re not up to our necks in radiation.”

You nod in agreement, and quickly begin to pick through the bag, finding two glock mags stacked with nine-millimeter rounds you could just as easily use in your submachine gun, four shotgun rounds, and a glowing suit battery, and a single frag grenade.

Looking to your right, you can see that Reilly is currently buckling up her PCV, and at the same moment, Guttmman is packing away the basic medical equipment he took from the infirmary, after apparently treating Reilly.

Vorty also has begun to seem somewhat better, now standing on his own, he seems to be shifting his gaze between a curious look at the body of Dr. Forbes, and the rest of his team. He definitely still seems fatigued however, with shaky movements and a posture that seems slumped even by his species standards.

>Talk to Kirchoff, working for the department of defense, perhaps he heard something in his time as a marine about the “Tenth fleet,” or perhaps you want to talk to him more personally about his insubordination a few minutes ago.
>Talk to Reilly and Marietta about what you just saw, it may technically be a leak, but it's also a matter of national intelligence you ought to be involved in if it's appearing this way, and they may have insights on how it should be handled, or possibly know where to get more information.
>Take some time to let Guttman heal you while you’re in the lobby. You took a beating in the fight, and you’re currently hurting. It’s also not a bad chance to talk with your resident neurologist.
>Vortal knowledge may be communicated in vague and confusing ways, but it’s also certainly expansive. Go over to vorty, try to talk to him about what you’ve just seen on the device, perhaps showing it to him
>You have some unfinished business with Kleiner’s key, and the letters from Breen back by the offices. Go back there, hopefully unperturbed, and look for the key and letter.
>Head back to the sample storage area, where Kleiner, Eli, and Freeman probably did at least a portion of their work, and you can find “fuel” for the LIGA prototype.
>Head further into the anomalous materials labs right now, you want to keep a move up.
>Write in.

>>4461962
>>Take some time to let Guttman heal you while you’re in the lobby. You took a beating in the fight, and you’re currently hurting. It’s also not a bad chance to talk with your resident neurologist.

>>4461962
>Take some time to let Guttman heal you while you’re in the lobby. You took a beating in the fight, and you’re currently hurting. It’s also not a bad chance to talk with your resident neurologist.

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>>4461985
>>4462018
https://pastebin.com/Lte0sgmY

“Don’t put that away,” you mention to Guttman, seeing that he’s just finished with healing up Reilly’s wounds. You took a beating, and you also know that once you start hitting spikes of radiation, you’ll have to leave the team’s medic behind. “I took a few hits in that last fight, do you mind taking a look.”

The migraine is still pulsing and kicking from when you looked at the laptop. Small waves of pain ripple across your skull residually, however, you notice that as you talk to Guttman, it begins to flair up again.

“Stop getting shot or I’ll start charging you military prices for all my medicinal care. Four hundred per bandage.” Guttman says sarcastically, as he reopens his box of medicinal supplies, you can tell that a chunk of it has been taken out in his healing of Reilly. “The stuff’s getting a bit harder to find down here. Everything’s been eaten away or contaminated by the goddamn...” he pauses for a moment, and looks down to the fungal outbreak that has filled the lobby, and much of the rest of the laboratories, “...alien truffle farm.” Much of the stuff around him has been blown away by grenade blasts. You don’t know if it’s his own form of coping mechanism, genuine apathy, or far too much faith placed in his PCV, but it’s rare to see a civilian that can make cynical quips about his situation only moments after being shot at.

“That money usually ends up going to the expenses of turning people invisible.” You respond, with a cocky tone to your voice. You can’t help but miss that ability of your suit while wearing this heavy radiation lined suit.

“Even more reason to stop getting shot then, you can’t do that anymore.” He responds, then looks you up and down, likely not getting much information about you, being covered in a hazmat suit. “Where’s the problem area, and do you mind taking that off so I can take a look?”

A little paranoid, you look around the area, glancing quickly at every possible entrance. You’d rather not be caught without your PCV on. Before you touch the zipper on your suit, you quickly command, “Kirchoff, Marietta, do you mind covering our entrances for a moment?” Turning back to Guttman, you say, “Sure,” then as you begin to pull your hazmat suit off, you tell him, “I took a few bad hits to the ribs, some from an m60, some from an mp5, and a shot in the thigh from a shotgun.”
(cont.)

>>4463035
(cont.)
Kirchoff just quickly nods, “Got it,” and Marietta joins behind them. Thankfully, the vault door is locked up, and the lobby funnels the entrances from the locker rooms, the higher security labs, and the lower security labs all into one area.

“In my medical opinion you're dead.” Guttman responds, seeing you pull off your suit. “Did any of them penetrate the armor?” He asks, suddenly switching to a tone of medical professionalism, before quickly looking you up and down once again, seeing the mark where a seven-six-two round partially penetrated your gut. , before being pulled out by the PCV itself’s hardening fibers. “Let me get that first, before it gets infected by everything down here.”

“I also think I may have suffered a few fractured ribs.” You say, As Guttman approaches the wound. In the dark, you can tell he can barely see, and with a free hand he pulls out a small flashlight and shines it on the area.

One last time, the doctor makes a quick medical examination, his eyes travelling up and down your torso, looking for any visible signs of damage that the fractured ribs may have produced. “I can’t do much for that except for helping with swelling and applying painkillers.” He mutters as he focuses on the wound. “Pull your shirt up, just to your naval, I need a better look at the wound. When I’m done with this, I’ll try and identify which ribs are broken. I’m just going to apply pressure on each until I find the ones that hurt.”

Complying with doctor’s orders, you pull your shirt up just slightly, enough for the medic to see where the sharp end of a seven-six-two round partially penetrated your armor. He takes one last closer look, then says, “Huh, I guess it fell out on it’s own.” He quickly gets to dressing the wound in bandages.

“I ought to apologize for what happened with the suited guy earlier.” Guttman says as he wraps a set of bandages around you. “I acted irrationally.”

You hold your tongue for a moment, waiting for the doctor to perhaps explain himself from earlier, but that’s all he says about it. You don’t know if he can’t explain more, if it’s something personal to him he doesn’t want to discuss, or if he simply won’t explain it unless you ask. Judging by the look in his eyes when he wanted to go for the briefcase in the anomalous storage laboratory, there’s likely some sort of emotion involved in the whole debacle, but how that has cooked in his head over the past hour or so since then is anyone’s guess.
(cont.)

>>4463036
(cont.)
>You can’t accept the man’s apology without understanding why he did it. Let him know this. He’ll either explain what happened, or be upset with you. “Well, what exactly happened back there? I can’t just forgive and forget matters of national intelligence without gathering information first.”
>Offer a quiet trade of information, your childhood experience with the suited man for his. “It’s alright, Guttman, I understand how that man can manipulate people. I can understand if you don’t want to tell a federal agent your personal secrets. How about I tell you something, so you can trust me a little better?”
>Take a moment to reinforce your authority on the team. “You need to keep your emotions under better control, Guttman. It’s okay to be upset or irrational sometimes, but that’s why you have to listen to direct orders when they’re given. Apologies don’t change the fact that you showed insubordination in a critical situation.”
>Let the man keep his secrets, accept his apology and make a joke to lighten the mood and change the subject. “It’s alright Guttman, you’re a civilian, it’s going to happen sometimes. But hey, this is the second time you’ve eyed the prize, with that kind of bravery you’d make a natural agent.”
>Just nod yes, but ask the medic to hand you his thermal goggles for a moment. You’re more concerned with the fear of being caught without your PCV than you are what he’s talking about.
>Write in.

>>4463040
>>Offer a quiet trade of information, your childhood experience with the suited man for his. “It’s alright, Guttman, I understand how that man can manipulate people. I can understand if you don’t want to tell a federal agent your personal secrets. How about I tell you something, so you can trust me a little better?”

>>4463040
>Offer a quiet trade of information, your childhood experience with the suited man for his. “It’s alright, Guttman, I understand how that man can manipulate people. I can understand if you don’t want to tell a federal agent your personal secrets. How about I tell you something, so you can trust me a little better?”

>>4463040
>>Offer a quiet trade of information, your childhood experience with the suited man for his. “It’s alright, Guttman, I understand how that man can manipulate people. I can understand if you don’t want to tell a federal agent your personal secrets. How about I tell you something, so you can trust me a little better?”

>>4463040
>>Offer a quiet trade of information, your childhood experience with the suited man for his. “It’s alright, Guttman, I understand how that man can manipulate people. I can understand if you don’t want to tell a federal agent your personal secrets. How about I tell you something, so you can trust me a little better?”
If he’s skeptical just say we have no proof if it’s a real memory or not.

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I apologize guys, but I think I'm gonna have to take another break today. I have a big chunk of assignments that I need some time to churn out. The next update will have to be put on hold until tomorrow. It's definitely been slow, so I'll see if I can make up for lost time over the weekend.

As always, I love to hear any criticisms of the story and how things are being run, suggestions on how to improve, or any feedback on your mind.

Thanks for making this quest such a joy to write, I really can never say that enough.

>>4464129
>that pic
oh fuck
>that spoiler
Don't worry about it bro, as someone who's been to college i know how it can suck away all of your time and energy like a really slow but particularly sadistic vampire.

Only feedback I'd give would be to look up Diazepam's effects/side effects for a more accurate portrayal of what it's like to be on it. There's been a few inconsistencies with how it works in the real world

>>4464129
Shorter options so I am not looking at a wall of text when picking. If you can somehow make them short and to the point it would look nicer.

>>4464148
It's defintitely a bit of a stress test balancing this and assignments. I might declare a few days per week to just purely focus on my assignments. Also I'll certainly look into doing some more research. The internet seems to mainly say either tremors or muscle weakness, but that's mostly just google searching, I'm sure there's more information out there.
>>4464433
Yeah, I'll try and shorten the prompts. Let me know if anyone thinks they're still too long, or likes them longer. I may also try to include the information in different ways.

>>4463054
>>4463245
>>4463627
>>4463682
“It’s alright Guttman, I understand how manipulative the subject can be.” You say, keeping a tone of understanding professionalism, hopefully relieving Guttman from any possible fears he may have about his position in the team.

“Yeah, creepy bastard.” Guttman mutters to himself. “This might sting, I grabbed the strong stuff from the infirmary.” He stops bandaging for a second, leaving the wound only very lightly covered. As he reaches over to his box of medical supplies, reaching for a small bottle labeled with a Black Mesa logo, a long chemical symbol, and a warning reading, “DO NOT APPLY DIRECTLY TO SKIN.” As he pulls off the cap, he asks “You’re not pregnant, are you?” He begins to pour the substance slowly onto the bandage as the gauze soaks up your blood. At first, you feel nothing, but slowly, a stinging pain adds itself to the bullet wounds, already a painful mix of sensations.

Not wanting him to change the subject, you ask him, “What did he say to you?” You’re not exactly expecting him to answer your question cleanly, but you want to start by asking as to not immediately arouse suspicion of manipulation.

“Is that an order?” He asks, peeling his glance away from your wounds from a short moment, but his hands still work to apply gauze, seeming to move from the practice of performing such routine first aid rather regularly to the older and more delicate subjects that the science team provide. With his mouth covered in a surgical mask, it’s hard to make out the minutiae of his facial expressions, but in his eyes he seems more annoyed than he does suspicious or angry. You can’t help but feel like you’re pushing on a part of Guttman that he doesn’t often show. Perhaps not out of emotional distress, or some sort of trauma, but perhaps he simply finds it too much of an inconvenience. “I’m gonna start applying pressure on your ribs one by one. Tell me if it starts to hurt.”

“It’s not an order. I understand if you don’t want to tell all of your personal secrets to a federal agent.” You begin as he starts pressing down on your bottom ribs, one hand applying pressure on both of your sides. “I have my own experiences with that subject. If I told you a little bit about those, would you trust me a little better?”
(cont.)

>>4465807
(cont.)
“When did that happen?” He asks, continuing up your ribcage. Suddenly as he does, the pain in your chest flares up, you quickly wince, taking an immediate heavy breathe in through clenched teeth, only making the pain worse. Quickly, Guttman takes his hands off, letting the sudden spike of pain subside, and asks, “Was that left or right? Sorry, I know it hurts, but I don’t have an x-ray to identify the fracture. ”

“Left!” You grun, subconsciously pulling back a bit and holding your chest where the pain flared. “Don’t worry, I’ve been shot before.” You quickly start to recover from the flash of pain, simply haven broken your focus from the conversation for a short moment. “But, ahh…” You recoup your thoughts for a moment, feeling the pain slowly subside, “I’m still not sure if my deal with the man was a real memory. I think the vortigaunts may have revealed a hidden memory, or he implanted it there, just like the aliens did with the ambush team. As far as I can recall though, he visited when I was… five, maybe six? He said something about restrictions, I think.”

For the first time in the conversation, Guttman takes his attention away from the medical care. He had been continuing past the fractured ribs, but you having apparently struck some sort of a nerve, he needs a moment to focus on what you said. His brow furrows, and sounding almost confused, he asks, “Did he… threaten you?”

“I don’t think so directly, but he did imply that not complying would risk the ‘survival of your species.’ I don’t know if it was a threat, or a warning.” You can’t help but sacrifice some of your confidence as you explain the incident, as it was strange even for Black Mesa standards. “It was also just hellish when I was that young. I remember a war room, a destroyed city, and for a little while I was in the infirmary, and one of the spies was standing over Dr. Breen, about to kill him.”

“Huh... Jesus.” Guttman mutters to himself. “You said he made a deal with you? What did he want from you?”

“He wanted me to extract Breen specifically. That’s why I had the administrator on board an express flight out of here. He was a goldmine of information anyway, so it wasn’t hard to convince the CIA to do it.”

“You agreed to it? I wouldn’t trust a guy like that if he were donating to an orphanage.” Guttman responds. As he does, he begins to return to your ribcage, placing his fingers back where he found the first fractured rib, and continuing up it.

“It seemed like a bad idea to tell him no, and wasn’t particularly out of my way.” You respond. “He’s a good source of information at the moment, he was going to be interrogated either way.”

“Sure.” Is all Guttman responds with. He’s silent again for a moment.
(cont.)

>>4465810
(cont.)
“Did he make a deal with you?” You ask, trying to keep the topic alive. “You didn’t doubt that I remember seeing him in the past, what did he show you?”

Guttman stops his medical attention once again, taking a deep breath, this time, annoyed. Taking a quick glance around, his eyes flick across your compatriots, hanging on vorts for a short second, “He said he wanted me to separate you from the vortigaunts. Or… failing that, deliver your property to him, which seemed to be some sort of spy device.”

Immediately, your mind flicks back to the device you just used on your laptop. “What kind of device? Can you tell me what it looked like?”

“Small, greenish black, looked a bit like one of those thumb drives you put in a computer. Probably wants information right? Seemed like a CIA type.” Guttman explains, not seeming too interested in the device itself.

Greenish black could very well be a product of the anomalous device’s strange glow of electrical sparks. Guttman’s description is vague, but it definitely sounds like the device you just found. You’re thankful you didn’t show it to him. Before you consider showing it to him, you want to know if Guttman would have the motivation to take it, or perhaps ‘separate you from the vortigaunts.’ “Well, what’s in it for you? Did he threaten you, or offer you anything?”

Guttman takes a deep, probably therapeutic breath, “Yeah. Motherfucker showed me my son uhh…” He has to steele himself for a moment. “Just... I don’t know what did it but... somethin’ huge just… I wanna say I don’t know but fucking med school.” For a short moment, you’re conflicted as to whether or not you should say you don’t expect him to detail the image of his son’s dead body, or urge him for more information, but before you do, he suddenly continues on. “It was definitely a crushing wound, something big but focused came right down, it went right through and crushed a portion of the chest, separated it from the rest of the body, and deposited him a few meters away.” Guttman takes another deep breath, and shakes his head for a second. “When he dropped me back in Black Mesa… I was ready to kill that sleepy eyed motherfucker.” He explains. Guttman definitely cracked for a second, but you can tell that he’s quickly rebuilding into his usual cynical self. “That’s why I swapped on the briefcase. I didn’t care about the actual briefcase that much, I just thought it would be the closest I would get to strangling him.” Guttman takes one last sigh, and then returns to checking each of your ribs, slowly going up the sides of your chest, towards the armpits.
(cont.)

>>4465812
(cont.)
Instinct tells you that Guttman is completely lost in this situation. Sure, you consider him rather well composed and quick to pick up combat for a civilian, but he is nevertheless a civilian. He doesn’t have experience or training with decisions like these, and even if he did, it would be a major conflict of interest. He clearly wouldn’t ever want to lose his son, but he also knows that the CIA is not something he can easily play with without treason charges on his head or being left to the marine, and what if your mutual friend was deceiving him? It’s impossible to tell if he’s weighing up the options carefully, or too scared to even think about the topic. Perhaps you ought to offer him some advice, but you have a hard time wondering what possible advice you could give him. This investor of yours seems to play the game on more dimensions than you can perceive.

>Tell Guttman that he ought to not listen to your mutual friend, he’s playing on his fears.
>Tell Guttman that you will separate yourself from the vortigaunts after you get out of the anomalous materials labs for his son.
>Tell Guttman that the CIA will do it’s best to keep his son safe.
>Show Guttman the device you just found, ask him if it’s the one he saw.
>Don’t give Guttman any sway, but take a minute to comfort him. Perhaps give him a hug if your rib cage allows it.
>Ask Guttman for more information on where and when he saw his son killed, although it may be difficult.
>Write in any further questions on his experience with your mutual friend.
>Write in.

>>4465819
>>4465819
>You've gone this far, confide in Guttman with all of your psychedelic experiences. Considering what he saw with the Subject, he's probably more willing to believe it all right now.
I think it's time we filled him in on everything we've experienced so far, especially as far as vortal interactions go.

Considering just how thick of an exposition this would be, I think it's fine if the details are glossed over

>>4465819
But what if the very attempt to save him was what got his kid killed?

>>4466399
I apologize if this sounds like a stupid question, but I feel like I ought to ask, are you writing that in as something you want to say to Guttman, or just asking it out of character?

>>4465819
>You've gone this far, confide in Guttman with all of your psychedelic experiences. Considering what he saw with the Subject, he's probably more willing to believe it all right now.

>>4466777
Mostly OOC

Apologies for the delay.
>>4465869
>>4467194
With how much information you’ve given up on the activities of the subject, you’re starting to question if it's worth keeping the rest of the stranger experiences of your activities. Few would believe you, and giving up any information in your line of work is always a risky trade off. Guttman however is one of the few people who wouldn’t question your sanity or recollection of events, especially with your fellow spies likely constantly suspicious of the possibility that someone’s memories may have been altered by the aliens. He’s already seen a picture of your brain activity, and you know that he’s not particularly talkative with his secrets. You need more than one mind trying to figure all of this out, if not for further expertise than at least to ensure that you aren’t insane and to find a line and to have some assurance of objectivity.

“Guttman,” You say as the doctor finishes up checking across your ribs, his hands having reached just below your clavicle. “I don’t really know if I can help you with your son at the moment. For all we know, if I were to help, the act of me helping would cause it.”

Guttman releases a long, frustrated sigh, one of the many he’s made during the conversation. “Yeah I get it.” He responds. “It’s goddamn insanity.” He says, before he begins to reach over to his medical box once again, retrieving some sort of strap, with a small packet of material held by cloth around it. He grabs the bulbous part of the strap, twists it, and as it releases a crack, you realize it's a simple chemical ice pack. “This should hold off swelling, make it easier to breathe.”

“I don’t mean I can’t or won’t do anything, I’m still considering our options here. It’s just that there’s a lot more going on that just this guy in the suit.” You begin to explain, putting on a tone of quiet professionalism and hoping he follows suit, keeping his voice low. “Look, I have a lot to tell you here, because I think you’re willing to believe it, and I’ve already told you so much. We’re playing a game of fourth dimensional chest as the pawns in someone else’s game, so none of us are gonna win here unless we stick together.”

Having grabbed Guttman's attention once again as he wraps an ice pack around your chest, ensuring it stays where your ribbed was fractured, he mutters, “At this point, all I want is for this to stay in New Mexico. If they have to turn the place into a crater, fine by me.”
(cont.)

>>4467598
(cont.)
“I honestly don’t think that’s going to happen, Guttman.” You say sympathetically, but quietly, before beginning to explain things. You start with your morning yesterday, the image you saw in your computer, like a mushroom cloud in a hurricane, you describe. Being a man who works with physicists every day, he mentions the possibility of it being some sort of firestorm, but for some reason that explanation doesn’t sit well. You don’t remember the image well, and your drawing doesn’t do much to help, but you vaguely remember it having rather unnatural colors. You also take the time to explain some of the things the vortigaunts told you after you freed them from their enslaving collars, the strange voice you had been hearing, that odd experience you had inside some sort of chamber, with machinery in your head.

With only vague memories from that experience, you instead skip ahead to your experience in what seemed to be another country, where you, or perhaps another woman was working for a group called civil protection, and you begin to hear voices, one eastern european, another american, whom Vorts hinted to being or somehow being related to Guttman. Guttman stops you at that statement, asking you, “What do you mean you heard my voice in your head? Was I talking to you?”

“I’m still not even one hundred percent sure it actually was you, and I don’t really know. The words “Back door,” and “transmission” were used quite a lot.” You briefly explain, before telling him about the implants that were in your head, and how they were causing major head pain.

When you tell him that, he jokes “I guess I need to recalibrate the machines a few years.”

You also take the time to explain the drawings of your vortal acquaintance, how he showed you assassinating Dr. Breen, how he mentioned another species coming, and lead you to hear about how they would be affected by “The Shepherd.”

“Finally, there’s one last strange experience I had, and it was just a few minutes ago.” You begin, reaching into your pocket. “When we searched through the server room, I found what Breen’s investor might have been talking about.” You pull out the small sparking device, and it immediately releases a dull green glow. The migraine flares up again for another moment, before it slowly starts to churn away, the glow fading with it.

“That’s…” Guttman takes a close look at it with a furrowed brow. “That’s definitely what the guy wanted from me.” He pauses for a moment as you hold it up, considering things.

Using the second’s pause to get a word in edgewise, you quickly explain, “It somehow connected to a section of the US navy that doesn’t officially exist, the tenth fleet. I read logs from a captain of a submarine claiming that something had taken down the entirety of NATO in less than a day. If that’s true, I don’t think this incident is gonna stay in New Mexico.”
(cont.)

>>4467602
(cont.)
You watch as a few emotions flick through Guttman’s eyes, then he looks to you, and asks, “Should we give it to the guy? That’s gotta be a lot of information, right? Maybe it’ll somehow stop all of this?”

Looking at the big picture, you find that unlikely. Guttman’s likely searching for the possibility that leaves his son’s life most likely to be saved. The device in your hands may very well be the holy grail of national intelligence, a window into America’s future, it’s hard to imagine what might come of giving it away, or keeping it.

>Hand it to Guttman, the subject can have it if it will save Guttman’s son’s life.
>Tell Guttman that you intend to keep it so you or the CIA can examine it further.
>You don't know yourself. Don't make any promises, hold onto it for now.
>Write in.

>>4467606
>Vorts had to have altered it for a reason, and considering how the subject wants it for himself and wants to separate us from the vortigaunts, I think it's clear to say that they're on different sides of this chess game. I think it's best if we keep it on us for now. I wouldn't trust either side too much for now, but as long as they're focused on dealing with interference from each other, we're relatively free to act...

>>4467620
Backing this

>>4467820
>>4467620
Bad idea. Guttman now knows what the object is, and his son's life is at stake with the object.

The best situation is for the file to be secure but away from us. Giving it to Guttman on the promise he holds on to it and does with the information what he can is the closest to optimal we can get. And make it clear that the lives of many living creatures may be attached to that if the vortigaunts took the time to do something with it.
It's not our place to sacrifice his son. But he should know the scale of what happens if he decides to toss it. It's even possible all this work done in this hellhole would be for nothing, and that's what leaves all of us as implanted cyborg manpower.

>>4468072
No, Guttman knows that gman told him his son's life is at stake with it. Whether that's true or a manipulation remains to be seen, and he knows it. Guttman isn't inclined to trust him anyways, and his first reaction to being given that mission was to try to strangle him apparently.
It's best that we keep the cards close to our group, rather than with the vortals or gman. Both of them have need of it for one reason or another.

>>4468072
So whats your vote?

>>4467620
Support.

>>4468662
>>4468092
Guess keep it on us for longer?

>>4467620
>>4467820
>>4468072
>>4468092
>>4468662
>>4468814
>>4469078

“It’s best we keep it on us for right now.” You say to Guttman, keeping it close to yourself, as to not let it be easily seen as though the Subject might be watching you through the walls somehow. “It seemed to have been altered by Vorts, and he had to have done it for a reason. Considering our Subject wants the device for himself, and us far away from the vortigaunts, I think it’s pretty clear that they’re on opposite ends of the board.”

“Really?” Guttman interrupts, “Why would the aliens stop you from grabbing his suitcase, or show you the deal you made with him as a child, if they were fighting the guy?”

“Both of them have some sort of knowledge of the future, that was in Kleiner’s notes, and what Vorty was telling me in the infirmary” You begin to explain to Dr. Guttman. “They’re playing long games down here Guttman, so they’re thinking pretty far ahead. I wouldn’t trust either of them right now, but as long as they’re both running interference on each other, we should be relatively free to act.”

“LIft up your leg.” Guttman instructs, pointing to the leg that had been grazed with shotgun pellets. “I missed some open wounds.” As you comply, pulling your leg back, Guttman grabs more of the gauze and disinfectant from his bag of medical supplies. “Look, I’m not here to immerse myself in interdimensional strip poker,” he says as he begins to wrap a band of gauze around your thigh, “The only consolation I’ve had through all of this is that it’s almost a thousand miles away from any thing I actually care about.” He pauses for a second, pushing your leg a little further back, and applying the solution he took from the infirmary. “If I’m gonna be helping you out with some time travelling sex offender, I want you to know I’m in for my son, not national intelligence, or any of that nonsense.”

As he snugs another few wraps of bandages around your leg, protecting it from the spores that currently fill in the air, you read into his sentence a little bit. You’ve shared with him a lot of information, that’s not something someone in your line of work does lightly, and he probably trusts you more because. He’s not particularly loyal to you or your cause however, more just hopeful that you’re one of the few people that can effectively help him save his son.
(cont.)

>>4469082
(cont.)
As Guttman finishes up with the bandages, you start to hear the sound of heavy, pained coughing. You look around, and notice that the limp body of the captain, whom you took a minor shotgun wound to knock out rather than kill, is starting to move again. Reilly, having been watching the unconscious soldier, and being the one who zip-tied him while you were otherwise occupied on other things, crouches down to the captain as he begins to groan, waking up in a pile of alien fungus, and occasional blood stains. Reilly quickly glances up to you, and quickly asks, “What are we doing with this guy?”

Seeing her glance over to you as you cautiously hold out the anomalous device, you quickly return the object to your pockets, wanting to limit the amount of people who see it. For now, you’re keeping the device to yourself, you don’t really know who you can trust among the vortigaunts, or your mutual friend. Thankfully it seems that Guttman isn’t particularly trusting of them either. As the neurologist finishes up with the wound on your leg, he tightens the bandage one last time, then says, “You’re good to go, but stop getting shot so much.”

With the device sparking away in your pocket, it's hard to foresee how your decision might change things along the line, but you're playing it conservatively so far. Only you and Guttman know about it, and both of you plan to keep it on the group, and out of the hands of any inter-dimensional bureaucrats, or alien species for now.

>You need a talk with Kirchoff about his transgressions earlier, or the object you found.
>Take a minute to talk to Vorty, perhaps his cryptic knowledge may help.
>Tell Reilly to handle the interrogation will have to wait, you want to return to the offices where Kleiner’s key should now be sitting.
>Tell Reilly to join you and Marietta, you want to talk with your fellow spies.
>You don’t want to bother with the captain, leave him here and have the team move forward.
>Go over to the captain, interrogate him now.
>Tell Reilly to handle the interrogation herself. (Feel free to include any other option with this prompt.)
>Write in.

(Optionally, say anything else to Guttmann.)
>Remind Guttman that billions of lives are at stake, not just his son.
>Assure Guttmann like you did earlier today that you’ll do everything you can to help his son.
>Take a moment to comfort Guttmann, he needs a cool head down here.
>Just let Guttman know that progress might be slow, you’re just as in the dark as he is now.
>Keep the device physically on Guttman, if you feel its safer there, you're confident he'd still hand it back to your for now.
>Write in a response.

I just wanna say, seeing you guys discuss things really makes my day. Thank you.

>>4469102
>Go over to the captain, interrogate him now.
>Assure Guttmann like you did earlier today that you’ll do everything you can to help his son.
Best to reassure him so he trusts us even more, you know? It may be a cold move, but as long as he BELIEVES we'll prioritize his son over billions of lives, we're gucci.

>>4469120
>Remind Guttman that billions of lives are at stake, not just his son.
>Assure Guttmann like you did earlier today that you’ll do everything you can to help his son.

IE: I'll prioritize the safety of your son, but you best understand the possible consequences of it.

Imagine how he'll feel when the seven hours war happens and he remembers that sentence. kek.

>Go over to the captain, interrogate him now.
>>You need a talk with Kirchoff about his transgressions earlier, or the object you found.

Basically, this guy is Kirchoff's responsibility to an extent. He'll attend this interrogation.

>>4469127
Backing all of this

>>4469127
Support

>>4469120
>>4469127
>>4469582
>>4469689

“I’m not about to let a little kid get killed either Guttman, especially not your son.” You say, as you begin to push yourself off of the ground, feeling your leg begin to sting as the disinfectant slowly seeps through the gauze. “I’m gonna do what I can to help your son, I promise, but I need you to understand just how much is at stake here.”

“I understood the first time I saw an actual alien appear out of thin air.” Guttman responds. “But I know what I can and can’t save. I don’t want to start bashing my head against the wall if it turns out that there’s a portal to hell in that test chamber, and these are really the end times. I’m cutting my losses and saving what I can save.”

“I’m not asking you not to save your son, I just think you need to understand the consequences of it.” You explain as he picks his box of medical supplies off the ground. “I’m just warning you to think of the consequences.” You lower your voice for a moment, “Some of the file names in the tenth fleet’s logs hinted at it reaching all the way to Eastern Europe, and I doubt it stopped there. At some point, you have to also start thinking about the world you want your child to grow up in.”

“I need to make sure my son actually grows up first, Gabby.” Guttman responds, sounding rather apathetic to what you just said.

“I just need you to understand that Billions of lives are at stake here, not just one.” You explain as you walk over to the captain, “I’ll help your son, but you should understand the possible consequences that might come of our actions out here.”

“You sound like the business man.” Guttman says with a light chuckle.

Guttman’s indifference and cynicism to the fate of the free world is slightly frustrating, but you have more urgent matters to attend to with the captain slowly waking up. As you approach the man, he groans, pulling his zip tied hands up to the sides of his clearly pained head. “Kirchoff,” you call through the lobby. Having been watching the hallway intently, his head suddenly swivels away from his rifle’s IR scope. “I want you to help out with this interrogation. You both work for the same people, so he’s partly your responsibility. I want you to attend this interrogation.”

Kirchoff mutters, “You got it,” from a distance as he shrugs, and begins to pack up his rifle. Disturbed by the snipers movement, a few samples of nearby hostile alien flora begin to snap and swing at the air. As Kirchoff approaches the sole survivor of the marine’s team, he crouches down to approach his eye level. Looking up to you and Reilly, Kirchoff asks, “When did we capture him?”
(cont.)

>>4470685
(cont.)
“Ghost cop handled him with the boot.” Reilly says, glancing over to you impressed. “I hope you didn’t kick any intel out of his head. He was already looking confused earlier.”

“Same here.” Kirchoff grumbles as the captain groans once again. Kirchoff quickly looks over the man’s bloody fatigues, likely searching for any form of identification. However, the captain starts to move on the fungus infested floor, finally opening his eyes.

“What the hell…” The captain groans.

“Captain?” Kirchoff responds. “Captain, this is Lance Corporal Kirchoff of the ISA, can you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yeah I hear ya…” The captain mutters, before finally trying to separate his hands. Still completely dazed, it takes a moment for him to understand that they’re tied together via zip tie. “What… get these fuckin’ things off of me, will ya corporal?”

“Negative captain.” Kirchoff explains, but simultaneously begins to help the man off the ground. As he pulls up the captain's torso, he grunts and says, “We’re under new management. The CIA arrived, and that means legally they have us by the throat.”

The captain shuts his eyes again, likely as a combination of stress, confusion, and headache, and releases a long, slow, “Fuck…” He pauses for a moment, and processes things. “Are any of my boys still kicking.”

“I doubt it.” Kirchoff responds dejectedly. He holds his tongue, but when the captain grabs his face once again,

Looking around the lobby, a good chunk of the bodies are clearly well beyond saving. Shrapnel has shredded some, cutting vital arteries. A few have had vital organs pierced by armor penetrating forty-five rounds, or high velocity five five six. Others however have been pounded by the kinetic force of smaller rounds, likely breaking bones and incapacitating them from the pain. Some have slowly gone into shock from lighter wounds bleeding slowly, and may still be able to be kept alive, even if they’re a far cry from consciousness. Still, the majority seem to be beyond saving, and, while it may make the captain a little more willing to answer the harder questions, it would also be a major sink for Guttman’s medical resources.

“Men in black…” The captain lets out another sigh, then reopens his eyes, looking up to see you. “Or… ladies in black. Are you with the CIA?”

It may be a decent idea to at least respond to that before you get into the basic questions like, “What is your name, what are your orders, what have you found down here, and are there any more of you?”
(cont.)

>>4470690
(cont.)
https://pastebin.com/Lte0sgmY
>That’s not important, get right into basic questioning. Why is this group here, and are there more?
>Yes, you are. Give him your codename, and apologize for the hostilities before getting into basic questioning.
>Tell Guttman to see who he can stabilize with what he has, while you get into basic questioning. This will take up a lot of his medical supplies.
>”You may call me black hair, all american ninja.” Do a cartoonish bow, then get into basic questioning.
>Write in a response.
(Optionally, add any non-basic questions, such as anything that may give him information by asking.)
>Ask how much he knows about Magnussons team.
>Has he or his men seen any sort of black, teardrop shaped probes down here?
>How much has he seen of your mutual friend down here?
>Ask if his teams discovered anything about the anomalies themselves.
>Write in any additional questions.

>>4470699
>”Yes, and that is all you are authorized to know at this point in time.”
>Order him to give a quick rundown on all the events he’s witnessed since coming into this sector, minus the firefight they just had.

>>4470690
>”You may call me black hair, all american ninja.” Do a cartoonish bow, then get into basic questioning.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>4470758(1)
>>4471096(2)
Tiebrealer roll, as always, people are free to throw in a last minute vote if they'd like.

>>4470758
>>4471096
>>4471537
Since I've been juggling this and a paper the last few days, there's a good chance I'm gonna take a break tomorrow to prevent burnout from writing in general.
https://pastebin.com/Lte0sgmY
Wearing all black, and with real tactical value tin dodging and obfuscating the answer to his question, you’re tempted to make some silly joke claiming you’re team is actually ninjas, but wanting the captured marine to grant some cautious respect, all you say to him is “Yes, I am with the CIA, that’s all your authorized to know at this point in time. Do you have a name or codename I should know?”

“ Wells” he mumbles, holding a hand to his bruised skull.

Kirchoff helps you continue with questioning, asking the marine, “Why was your team down here?

His other hand reaches up to pull the cracked gas mask off his face, pulling the band around his head and starting to cough slightly as the many residual spores filling the air first hit his lungs. “Primary reason was simply to scout out enemy positions.” Seeing his face clearly now, you can tell that the death of his men is slowly setting in, although with the constant insanity that’s made up the Black Mesa incident, he’s got a lot of practice stuffing it, and is keeping his composure for now. “We had a few secondary objectives though.” He runs his hand through his dirty mustache as he tries to recall, clearly still uneasy from the dual head wounds. “Find evidence incriminating the science team was one, they also mentioned tracking any new species down here.”

“Well then how successful were you?” You ask, kneeling down to the marine’s sitting position to get a better look at his facial expressions, but deliberately keeping yourself elevated above him. “Why don’t you give me a quick rundown on all the events you’ve witnessed out here?”

“I’ve been stuck up here commanding the company.” He explains. The marines you have encountered so far have not been a company’s worth of men. “I’ve seen the scientists getting killed or probed by a group of aliens a million times over. Les kept saying that if you looked closely at the exit-” he nods over to the lobby’s exit, from where you can go back the way you came, or further into the labs, “-you could see a guy in a suit when it faded. Boys got better eyes than me so I couldn’t see him. I’m sure you’ve been briefed on all the rumors?”

You just nod, not giving him any more information than you have to.
(cont.)

>>4472033
(cont.)
“Other than that, it’s all been reported over radio, and the connection’s been scarce if at all.” He continues, “The little we have been able to receive is all insanity. Don’t let any of those damn cyclops creatures spot you down here, or they bring all hell with them. Sometimes they like to appear out of thin air, and in that case, kill it as quick as you can. They seem to be using them as scouts to call in whole teams of ‘em, with the babies at the center. We’ve also had a few reports of some major fires down below, some of the teams think it was the aliens, but I’d put my money on electric…” the captain slows down his speech, suddenly tracking something behind you. Behind you, you start to hear the sound of hooves walking on the metal floor of the anomalous materials labs. As you consider explaining that the creature is friendly, Kirchoff takes the liberty of explaining it for you, being rather lose with information during this interrogation.

“These aliens are unwillingly conscripted,” he quickly explains. “Somehow the CIA found out that removing their collars makes them non-hostile.”

“That’s…” The captain just holds his head for a moment, knowing he’s not in a good place to call you or your compatriots insane. “That’s a find.” He pauses to gather his thoughts for a moment. “As I was saying, I think it’s electrical, boys just got a hell of an imagination, suggesting flamethrowers. It gets worse the closer you get to the test chamber, and they’ve been noticing a lot more of the cyclops creatures down there. If there was fuel, I’m thinking they might’ve set it off.”

“What do you mean they’re finding more vortigaunts down there?” Reilly asks, pointing to Vorty.

“The scouts down there have encountered them more often, saying some of them are moving closer to ground zero. I believe them on that front, but some of them are saying that the anomalies have been triggering deliberately to protect the creatures. I wouldn’t doubt it so much if the squads down there weren’t mostly idiots.”

>Incriminating evidence? Do the marines have reason to believe the science team acted deliberately, or do they want to cover their ass?
>Quickly ask Vorty if he knows anything about the vortigaunts approaching the test chamber.
>Ask for more detail as to what he knows about the fieres further down. Where were they, were there any patterns?
>Did the squads downstairs give any more detail about how the anomalies were acting strange around the vortiguants?
>Why would the marines make a major push into the labs right before they pull out?
>You’re done with the captain, start deciding what you’re gonna do with him among your team.
>Write in.

>>4472034
>Why would the marines make a major push into the labs right before they pull out?

>>4472034
>Incriminating evidence? Do the marines have reason to believe the science team acted deliberately, or do they want to cover their ass?
>Why would the marines make a major push into the labs right before they pull out?

As I said in the spoiler text yesterday, I don't think I'm gonna be able to put out another update today. I have a lot on my plate today, and I was feeling a little burnt out from the last few updates., so I'm gonna focus on assignments and hopefully come back a bit more refreshed with an update tomorrow. As always, I'm open for any feedback and criticism people would like to give in the meantime.

>>4472074
>>4472471
Apologies for the delay.
“You said you had other scout teams down here, you’re moving in crates, and you mentioned a whole company’s worth of men.” You say, pausing for a moment so the tied up marine can confirm.

The marine simply responds with a suspicious look in his eye, a small nod, and affirmative grunt.

“In one of the anomalies during the fight, I didn’t see too many men moving in with you.” You explain with a curious tone. “Where did the gear, and the rest of the company come from?”


The captain shrugs, then explains “The trams are automated. We sent it back to pick ‘em up a few times.” He explains. “I couldn’t figure out how to work the thing. I’d say you’d have to ask the sergeant but uh…” He chauffs and nods at you, but for a brief second afterward you see a flash of genuine remorse in his face before discipline washes it away, “You came along.”

“So you didn’t just wander into the labs, this was a coordinated attack?” You clarify, and see the captain nod quickly in response. “I’ve been hearing that the marines intend to pull out some time soon. What is command doing making a major push like that right before pulling out?”

“They’re pulling out?” The captain responds with a raised eyebrow, then looks to Kirchoff, who nods in response. “Idiots. I stopped listening to command a few hours ago, we were already getting every request denied, then shells dropped on our goddamn head, and that was it. Haven’t responded to anything those rat bastards have said yet.”

“So you’ve gone completely AWOL?” You ask.

The captain throws his bound hands up only a foot off his lap, shrugs, and explains, “I guess. I don’t know if that’s the right word when nobody seems to know who fights what and where, but I’m just here to get something done for once. If this is ground zero, there’s gotta be some important aliens here, and that’s just what we were finding.”

So this must be the military equivalent of vigilante work. Fed up with the brass, Wells dropped contact from the upper echelons of the marine corps. If this is indicative of the rest of the HECU division however, this could mean major issues for the already risky retreat of the marine. First soldiers, now officers are refusing to follow orders, and taking matters into their own hands. The coordination required to extract thousands of soldiers will sputter out, and many of them will be left behind.

As you consider further questioning, wondering whether or not you should ask him if he really believes the science team deliberately punctured a hole in the universe, you suddenly begin to notice an odd sound. You quickly dart your head to the right as you hear the sound of a high-tech cloak fizzle upon activation.
(cont.)

>>4475059
(cont.)
“What the hell?” Reilly mutters.

You make out the silhouette of Reilly, but somehow, the colors have scattered in some impossible way. Noticing that her cloak somehow activated without her pressing the buttons, Reilly quickly begins to grab at the interface on her suit, of course, unable to make out any system parts as light around her warps like refraction in a boiling pot of water. The fizzling sound of the cloak is heard behind you as well, but muffled and dampened, so you keep your eyes on Reilly as she feels for the buttons to activate and deactivate her cloak on her wrist. Before she can find anything however, the sudden interference affecting her cloak goes away, dying out. Reilly’s shimmering form suddenly returns to normal, and from what little of your face you can see under her mask, it seems she has no idea what the hell just happened.

“What’d she do that for?” The captain asks.

“I didn’t turn it on by accident, the power didn’t drop. What the hell was that?” Reilly asks, more to herself than anything.

Adding to the sudden onset of strange happenings that seem to be so common down in ground zero, you begin to hear distant hoovesteps, something smacking down against the steel floors of the anomalous materials labs.

You may have to decide what you’re going to do with the captain rather soon, given that he’s currently tied up in an exposed position.

“Quiet,” You say to your compatriots, letting you listen in for a moment and gather more information. From a distance, you can’t tell if the hoovesteps are heavy enough to be those of a grunt, or smaller and lighter like a vortigaunts. What you can tell from here is that the sound appears to be coming from the way you came, the offices, and lab-spaces. You do know that there are friendly vortigaunts in the area, and likely in large numbers. Could this be them, or xenian aliens tracking the sounds of your earlier brawl? Perhaps its collared vortiguants who you could free, or may call in a team of alien intelligence? Perhaps it's an entirely new species of alien you haven’t seen before.

>Have the team stay back while you, Marietta, and Reilly move up and try to spot them before they spot you.
>Have the entire team hide in the lobby, let them come to you. (Roll 3d6 for the less stealth oriented members of your team not to give you away, pass on a 12.)
>Don’t take any chances down here whatsoever, everyone take aim at the door, and be ready to open fire at the first thing that comes around.
>Untie the captain. He’ll be able to help out, if you can trust him. (Feel free to write in anything that might get him to trust you more.)
>Write in any final questions for the captain that you can ask quickly, or any clever ideas.

>>4475061
>Have the team stay back while you, Marietta, and Reilly move up and try to spot them before they spot you.

>>4475061
>Have the team stay back while you, Marietta, and Reilly move up and try to spot them before they spot you.

>>4475363
>>4475453
https://pastebin.com/Lte0sgmY
Listening in closely,you make a decision on the spot. You need more intel here, and you’d rather you have that intel before shots are exchanged. The best way to do that would be to sneak up on them before the aliens spot you. Just loud enough for those in the room to hear you, you shout “I think we’ve got incoming, something with hooves by the sound of it. I don’t remember putting a pony on my wishlist, so it’s probably either grunts or vortigaunts.”

“What are we doing with Captain Planet then?” Reilly immediately asks, “Not sure if it’d be a good idea to leave him in the open.”

“That’s why Guttman, Kirchoff, Holland, and Vorty are gonna pull him into cover. Secure the area so we can decide what we do with him when we’re clear.” You begin to explain. “Then you, Marietta, and I are going to sneak up ahead. We should try and spot the enemy before they can spot us.” A pain is slowly beginning to grow in your temple, as though some sort of nonexistent muscle is twisting against itself, constricting into a knot.

“And what if we get spotted in the process?” Marietta asks as you signal the three of them forward.

“Then we better hope that there’s not too many of them.” You explain, walking into the server room. “We’ll have to handle them with only half the team. Remember what the scientist and the Dr. Saulson, and the captain says. If we’re seen by vorts, we’re gonna have to think fast.” You approach the server that leans up against the wall, it’s upper end pushing against a ventilation shaft. Before you get to scaling it, hoping to pop out on the other end, you take a quick glance behind you. Kirchoff, the only one in the lobby group with military training, has taken control, and is moving the captain rather slowly and carefully into cover. You are wary of what he may do alone with a fellow marine, given that he was just earlier deliberately missing shots for the sake of saving them, but Guttman, Holland, and Vorty may just be able to keep him in check.

Turning back, you begin to clamber back up over the slanted server, prowling over the frayed ends of cut wires. Climbing into and through the ventilation shaft, you hear Marietta, then Reilly move over it as well. The moment you move through the ventilation shaft, the sound of hoofbeats becomes somewhat clearer. As you twist your body around after reaching the end of the ventilation shaft, you listen in to the sounds. Small, lighter hoofbeats smack against the metal floor, dampened and muddled by the sprawling mycelium padding that’s infested the anomalous materials laboratory, but every so often a heavier hoof smacks down against the floor.
(cont.)

>>4476442
(cont.)
It’s slowly growing harder to focus on the sounds as the twisting pain of the migraine continues to grow, Wanting to move before you lose focus, or the aliens round the corner, you drop legs first out of the air vent, nearly smacking the ground hard as light muscle tremors throw off your landing ever so slightly. Still, you manage to stay quiet enough that nothing seems to detect. As your compatriots drop down behind you, you push up to where the hallway turns off, peaking past it to ensure nothing has inhabited the space. When you’re sure the coast is clear, you slither up the hallway, making it as far forward as you can before the hoofbeats get close enough that you’re forced into cover.

As the twisted migraine starts to twist your face into a wince, and one of the heavy hoofbeats rings out closer than all the others, you quickly call your game of stealth chicken, throw up a hand signal and throw yourself through the space that was once a window, vaulting over and into a small lab and office room. Reilly soon follows, while Marietta takes cover on the opposite side of the hall. While you wait for the alien creatures to move into view, you begin to notice the migraine is beginning to plateau. It may not be too long before the ghostly visages of past events start to play on repeat around you.

As the aliens move around the corner, you first see a hulking spearhead. The carapace covered alien grunt slowly stomps around the corner, every step crushing xenian flora below it. Following slowly after is a single enslaved vortigaunt, but then finally, and with no warning of hoofbeats, a xen controller slowly floats around the corner. Knowing just how intelligent and willing those creatures are, you quickly pull your head down, under cover to avoid being spotted by the observant creature.

As indicated by their footsteps, the colossal grunt only continues a short while forward, reaching the center of the hall before suddenly stopping in his tracks, while the vortigaunt continues on. Knowing that one of the creatures is able to move without sound, you steal yourself another look at the aliens. Strangely enough, the grunt and Xen controller have stopped in their tracks, and the latter is observantly rotating his gaze around the room, as though looking for something. Whatever he’s looking for seems to be sitting a few meters off the ground. The grunt however, seems intent to act simply as a bodysheild for the controller, there to protect him if something were to come from where you just came. Finally, the enslaved vortiguant is simply continuing on, towards the lobby, alone.

There aren’t many aliens down here, but remembering what Dr. Kleiner said, teleportation in this area is exceptionally easy. If you can’t act either exceptionally quickly, or exceptionally quietly, they may bring in more.

The migraine is approaching another plateau, but you don’t see any new anomalies just yet.
(cont.)

>>4476445
(cont.)
>You need to know what these creatures are looking for in this area. Don’t risk losing that chance, hunker down and watch.
>If they can call reinforcements, you can’t have that vort spot the other half of the team. Pull your team away from the creatures to knock him out silently.
>Now’s your chance, the grunt thinks you will come from behind. Take out their leader quickly and quietly. (- 3 USP rounds.)
>Send just Reilly to handle the scouting vort herself with her cloak so you can do other things, but be weary of further cloak malfunctions. (-12 cloak power.)
>While they’re not very far away, have marietta lob an SMG grenade into them. Loud as hell and expensive, but quick. (-1 HEDP grenade.)
>Write in.

>>4476448
>Now’s your chance, the grunt thinks you will come from behind. Take out their leader quickly and quietly. (- 3 USP rounds.)
>While they’re not very far away, have marietta lob an SMG grenade into them. Loud as hell and expensive, but quick. (-1 HEDP grenade.)
We shoot first, then finish with grenade.