The Ishimura's landing craft, a streamlined vessel distinct from the Combine's angular designs, descended silently through City 17's oppressive smog. Inside, Isaac, Jill, and Carlos, now clad in dark, non-descript uniforms that blended with the city's grim palette, felt the familiar thud as they touched down in a desolate, forgotten industrial district.
The air, thick with the metallic tang of industry, was a stark contrast to Pandora's vibrant, if toxic, flora. Two T103 Tyrants, disembarked first, their immense forms surprisingly agile as they secured the perimeter.
"Welcome to Earth...again" Isaac muttered, the comms system in his helmet crackling with his voice. "Doesn't quite match the tourism brochures, does it?" Jill, her hand instinctively resting on the grip of her pistol, scanned the skeletal remains of factory buildings. "More of a fixer-upper, I'd say. And I thought Raccoon City was depressing."
Carlos grunted from behind the wheel of the armored vehicle, eyes narrowing. The Combine's grip was everywhere, silence, surveillance, and dread. It was a place that had forgotten how to breathe.
Their mission was simple: set up a foothold, gather intel on the Resistance, and wait for Marcus's orders. They were ghosts, moving into the ruins to spark rebellion. As the landing craft sealed shut behind them, Isaac felt a prickle of unease, so he quickly investigated.
Isaac had heard about the creatures in the briefing, but seeing the headcrab made him freeze. He got his rifle up before it jumped at his face. One burst slammed it against the wall.
Then a figure stumbled from a side corridor. Isaac stared at the human clothes on the twisted form. When it raised its head, he saw the parasite clamped to its skull. The sound it made wasn't human anymore. Isaac fired into its chest, but it kept coming until the headcrab shrieked and tore free and was shot by Carlos.
"Damn…" Carlos muttered, then laughed. "At least they're slower than your average zombie."
*****
Far above, in the sterile, humming silence of the Ishimura's bridge, Marcus reviewed Isaac's initial landing report. The feed from the landing craft's external cameras painted a grim, yet familiar, picture of urban decay and totalitarian control.
"Efficient, if uninspired," Marcus mused aloud, a dry commentary on the Combine's urban planning. "Still, a perfectly functional theatre for our grand entrance." He was about to issue new directives when a presence, a distinct shift in the very fabric of the bridge's reality, caused him to pause.
The air shimmered, not with the distortion of a Shockpoint Jump, but with a subtle, almost imperceptible ripple. And then, he was simply there. Standing a mere few meters from Marcus's command chair, a tall, gaunt man in an immaculate blue suit, clutching a well-worn briefcase. His skin was pale, his eyes unnervingly bright, and a faint, almost hypnotic hum seemed to emanate from his very being. The G-Man.
The Ishimura's automated defenses, utterly silent. The bridge crew, composed of Resident Evil personnel and a handful of seasoned Dead Space engineers, continued their duties, seemingly unaware of the ethereal intruder.
Marcus, however, felt a cold knot tighten in his gut. This was an entity beyond his current understanding, a force that bent reality as easily as he might adjust a screen's brightness.
"A rather... unconventional arrival," Marcus said, his voice level, masking the internal alarm bells. He leaned back further in his chair, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. "Though I suppose dramatic entrances are your specialty."
The G-Man's gaze, an unsettling blend of distant contemplation and piercing scrutiny, fixed on Marcus. His voice, a resonant baritone that seemed to echo not from his throat but from the space between atoms, drifted through the silence.
"Indeeeed… Although I usually… relish my agents being somewhat… ill-prepared for such… excursions… beyond their little sphere." His head tilted, lips curling in the faintest suggestion of a smile. "You are an… interloper… a stray variable that does not… belong… in my carefully balanced equation."
Marcus chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed out of place in the G-Man's presence. "Variable, perhaps. But a rather well-resourced one, wouldn't you say? And one with a keen appreciation for a well-structured narrative, even if it occasionally requires a bit of improvisation."
He tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest of his chair. "So, Mr. G-Man, or whatever quaint moniker your... employers... have assigned you, to what do I owe the pleasure of this reality-bending house call?"
The G-Man's lips twitched into what might be called a smile, though it carried no trace of warmth. "My… associates… and I… maintain a certain… vested interest… in the present arrangement of this… particular segment of reality." His words stretched, each syllable chosen with deliberate care. "Your… mere presence… has introduced… complications. And possible… impediments."
Marcus's smile didn't waver. "Complications, I assure you, are merely opportunities in disguise."
He steepled his fingers, his eyes never leaving the G-Man's. "Let's be blunt, shall we? You work for someone. Your employees, like all beings with such... far-reaching interests, must desire something. It's not just technology, is it? The Combine have plenty of that, though I confess, their approach to teleportation is rather crude compared to what you seem to be capable of."
He paused, letting his words sink in, watching for any tell, any flicker in the G-Man's unnervingly still demeanor. "No, you don't chase mere gadgets. You chase... leverage. Keys to other locks. And in this particular reality, given the Combine's rather thorough pacification efforts, the only truly unpredictable elements left are the remnants of humanity's spirit, and a few... misplaced pieces of Aperture Science's more experimental temporal devices. You seek the ship, The Borealis, for instance."
The G-Man's unsettling eyes seemed to widen by a fraction, a barely perceptible shift that Marcus, ever observant, immediately registered as confirmation. "And, of course," Marcus continued, pressing his advantage, "the ultimate destruction of the Combine itself. Their methods are... inelegant. And their continued existence likely presents its own set of impediments to your... associates'... long-term goals."
The G-Man lingered in silence, the pause stretching until it became almost unbearable. The air itself seemed to hum faintly, as if straining to contain some unseen current. His gaze fixed on Marcus unblinking, dissecting, as though peeling back layers of thought and motive.
"Atssstute… observation," he murmured at last, the usual resonance in his voice narrowing into something sharper, more precise. "Your… comprehension… issss… adequate. Sufficient… for now."
Marcus allowed himself a small, triumphant smirk. "Good. Then let's cut to the chase, Mr. G-Man. We have converging interests, it seems, but divergent methods. I propose a truce. A mutual understanding. I continue my... operations... on this planet, pursuing my own goals, and you continue yours. We don't step on each other's toes. Your 'calibrated equation' can continue, perhaps even accelerated by my presence, and I get to... re-educate a few particularly stubborn alien despots. I don't want to deal with any unforseen consequences at the moment."
The G-Man's head tilted once more, slow, deliberate."A… truce," he said at length, as if savoring the syllables. "An… alliance… of convenience."
His eyes narrowed, a faint glimmer of amusement threading through their otherwise unreadable depths."Such an… arrangement… could, in fact… expedite certain… outcomes."
The words hung like weights in the air, every pause calculated. For the G-Man, there was no question of morality, only efficiency. Timelines to be nudged, events to be… guided. And Marcus, the unpredictable interloper,possessed the raw potential to either derail… or accelerate those designs. An agreement would, quite simply, make matters… easier.
"Indeed, an alliance," Marcus confirmed. "So, what's the deal, then? My objectives here are clear: to break the Combine's hold and, in the process, gather certain... assets. The Human Resistance leaders are central to this. Gordon Freeman and that old warhog Shepard – they're good at rallying people, excellent at cutting swathes through the enemy. I want them. And in return, I'll help you and your employers get a crack at the Borealis. It's a fair deal, isn't it?" Marcus's tone was calm.
The G-Man's smile crept back, thinner… sharper… as if savoring a private joke."A… mutually beneficial… arrangement," he intoned, each word measured, deliberate. "Freeman… and Shepard… they are… uniquely… gifted individuals. Their… orientation toward the Resistance… is of… paramount concern."
He lingered on the next words, almost tasting them."And the Borealis… ahhh… its secrets are… most… intriguing."
Slowly, he extended a pale, gloved hand—not for contact, but as a gesture, a symbol."Con-sider it… done."
Marcus nodded, a flicker of something in his eyes – relief, perhaps, but also a deeper, more predatory calculation. "Excellent. I'll take care of getting your... employees... what they need. And in return, my operations here will proceed without external interference."
He knew the G-Man was a force to be reckoned with, an extra-dimensional chess player on a scale he couldn't yet fully comprehend. For now, a non-aggression pact was the most pragmatic approach. But Marcus also had a long memory and a keen interest in self-preservation. "And perhaps," he thought, a cold, calculating gleam entering his eyes as the G-Man's form began to subtly blur, "while I'm studying the Combine's technology, I'll study precisely what kind of technology they used to imprison you, Mr. G-Man. One never knows when a good 'containment field' might come in handy for... other difficult-to-manage entities."
With a final, knowing glance that seemed to transcend time and space, the G-Man dissolved, leaving only the faintest ripple in the bridge's air. The Ishimura's crew remained oblivious, the silence of the bridge unbroken.
*******
The nauseating lurch was the first thing Alyx Vance registered, a violent disorientation that wrenched her from an abyss of darkness. Then came the pain – a throbbing ache behind her eyes, the metallic taste of blood in her mouth, and the crushing weight of rubble on her limbs. Her vision swam, blurred shapes resolving slowly into the familiar, confines of Dr. Kleiner's laboratory.
"Gordon we're here! let's check where Dr. Kleiner is."
Next to her, Gordon Freeman groaned, he pushed himself up, his head shaking, the iconic HEV suit's helmet cracked. His eyes, dazed but rapidly focusing, darted around the destroyed teleporter. The teleporter, it seems, would no longer be functional for the time being.
Alyx pounded on the metal door, the clang echoing down the corridor.
With a hiss, the sliding panel cracked open, and there stood Dr. Kleiner—clutching a large shotgun. His eyes went wide.
"G-Great Scott! Alyx! Gordon! I—I feared the worst! I thought you'd perished!"
Dr. Kleiner, his spectacles askew, rushed over, his scientific curiosity momentarily overriding his concern. "The energy wave! It must have shunted you back to the lab just as Nova Prospekt's teleporter core suffered catastrophic failure! A temporal displacement, a quantum rebound, quite astounding!" He was practically vibrating with frantic excitement, even let them in.
"Nova Prospekt?" Alyx rasped, her throat dry. The last thing she remembered was the blinding flash, the scream of unstable energy.
Kleiner waved his arms frantically toward the still-crackling radio. "A-Alyx! The… the reports—Nova Prospekt! It's… it's gone! Completely, utterly… destroyed!" His eyes danced, and a grin spread across his face, almost uncontainable. "Y-You two… you brought it down!"
He took a quick step closer, practically vibrating with excitement. "The city—oh, the city is in chaos! The Combine… they're running, Alyx! Running scared! The… the revolution—it's… it's begun!"
He adjusted his glasses, peering at them both with a mixture of pride and worry. "Now, now, listen carefully. The Resistance… they are counting on you. Barney needs your help, he's planning an assault on the Citadel!" His hands flailed, almost knocking over a precarious stack of beakers. " But… oh dear, please be cautious! The Combine are… everywhere!"
"They still got my dad doctor! We need to rescue him!" Alyx exclaimed, her voice tight with urgency.
"Oh… Eli! Good heavens… what… what happened back there, Alyx? With… with your father?"
"That b*tch Mossman! She betrayed us… sold us straight to the Combine! Used the teleporter to take my father God knows where! We barely made it!"