Chapter Text
Gordon Freeman was a man with little ties to a life at home. Beyond visiting his son and looking for a job to curve his time spent alone, it was kind of sad what he considered the daily ritual of life.
Well, he wouldn't outright admit that to himself. That was something to unpack another day. He was an MIT graduate for gods sake!
When he found himself getting a call back from Black Mesa of all places, he was just a little ecstatic. The job outline was scrounged up from nowhere particularly enthusing, but as far as Gordon knew, he'd be getting a respectable pay for something as simple as reporting from a watchtower for a few days. The details given were comparable to being told to babysit a forest and limited at that, but it was made clear he'd have food and supplies made available to him. That enough made him agree and after a little delegation, effectively brought him to where he was now- in the passengers side of a military truck driven by a security personnel.
No words were exchanged on the way there (wherever 'there' was supposed to be). But Gordon expected as much. His first clue into how peculiar this job would be was the cold reception he received upon arriving at the complex. It took him a while to find it, actually. He quickly learned it wasn't their main facility and became quite acquainted with the dead-end his GPS insisted for him to continue to drive down. Who would have thought they'd have something like this out here? It felt like millions of acres, just fenced off... and for what?
They were indifferent to his presence, as if the procedure was nothing but a passing blink of the eye. Sure, it didn't really make Gordon feel good, but he supposed it was better that than making a casual fuss over things he didn't know the half of. He briefly wondered how many others had this job before him, and it proved to be a fruitless train of thought as the scenery held his attention much easier. Overall, it seemed like any other forest. Driving off-road on a path barely worn into and surrounded by tall trees, one could consider it peaceful. The question of why they had it fenced off continued to nag at him in the background.
It almost felt like spending hours in the same place, driving through scenery all too similar to distinguish, on and on... and on.
When they met a sudden clearing in the forest unlike all the others, it suddenly hit him that they arrived.
The watchtower creaked loudly in the breeze, metal supports bolted to the ground and stretching beyond the treeline in a daunting sight. Gordon had to duck and angle his head to see it in all its uninviting glory through the tinted windshield, but its oppressing height stood a chance at something. He had yet to identify what that something was, but the hope of Black Mesa being worth what was practically essays of agreements and what he could only assume were signatures holding him to confidentiality. That had been made explicitly clear at least. No one outside of the program could know what he was doing, where he was... how he got there. Unspoken threats swam in his mind.
A brief pang of something hit Gordon then, reminding him of the few personal belongings in the duffel bag at his feet that he was allotted to bring. Clothing, essentials, anything he'd need for a couple days in the middle of nowhere. Perfect.
His time came when he was prompted to leave by the stare the guard gave him. It took all too long for Gordon to get out of the vehicle apparently- because as soon as the door shut, the guy was driving off like being there was asking for trouble. Gordon didn't have the same sentiment as he approached the sets of stairs leading up the tower. Didn't have a reason to, rather. Why did this thing have to be so fucking tall? Wasn't it on a hill anyways?
Reaching the top awarded him with a view far more vast than he could have expected, and Gordon had to suck in a breath at the sight. He knew it was a big place, sure, but he couldn't even see a skyline of the city from out here. Everything was thick with trees and occasional clearings- containing lakes and fields, all of which he knew they didn't pass by on the way. No wonder he didn't see the tower until they got there. The platform itself held an array of floodlights on each side, controlled in the main part of the structure from what he could assume. The sight of the sun setting so early made his stomach twist in a way he didn't really like, so Gordon resigned to inside the tower to settle in.
The first thing that was noticeable was the large desk dedicated to what looked closer to an industrial box than a radio- it's only function made apparent by a microphone attached to it. Dials, knobs, a numbered display... all of which he knew little to nothing on how to operate. Why did they send him up here with so few requirements or training again? The only other significant additions to his mental list of interests was the electrical panel on the wall directly behind the radio, a worn cot pressed into a corner, a mini fridge (hey, at least that was a nice surprise), and another desk framed by bookshelves and an impressive hand-drawn map. If Gordon had to guess, the papers scattered about were probably left by whoever was previously here- in a hurry, from what it looked like.
Setting down his duffel bag, he promptly fell back onto the aforementioned cot and sighed.
Gordon Freeman never knew homesickness for a life so uneventful could set in so quick.
The third day into effectively keeping watch for nothing, Gordon's next hint that this wasn't a usual job was marked by the amount of times he was contacted by Black Mesa's headquarters. The questions didn't feel off at first, but come the fourth or fifth radio interrogation, Gordon began to wonder if he was supposed to be seeing something.
Sat in a chair in front of the radio, Gordon briefly glanced at the photo of Joshua meticulously propped against some equipment. He couldn't help but frown at the thought of him. What would he be up to right now? Sleeping, probably. It was getting late.
Checking his watch again, he realized.. it was past the time they usually called in to check and ask if he's spotted anything. What 'anything' pertained to? He had yet to know.
"It's just a minute ahead, or something..." Gordon reasoned to no one, gaze dragging up to the silent radio next to him. He never touched any of the dials or buttons on it; it was already set up when he got there and was strictly advised not to attempt any tampering upon the first call. Doing so would result in 'unforeseen consequences', quote unquote. Another item to add to the 'Things Gordon would rather Not think about' box. When did this company get off on making unspoken threats?
The light hanging above him briefly flickering is what jostled him out of thought. That was... new. A brief relief from nothing interesting happening, but the idea of losing power without even knowing where a generator was wasn't a pleasant one. It couldn't be far from here if he did have to do something about it, right? Did anything attached to the communication have a backup, or work without main electricity?
Eventually, he figured he may as well try to go ahead with contact first. Where was the harm in it? They only told him not to tamper with what they had set up for him. What if they... forgot? Nothing was ruled out as a possibility at the moment. Forgoing any second thoughts, Gordon held down the button to the microphone and announced his presence to Black Mesa's operatives.
"Uh, hello? This is Gordon Freeman, how do you receive?"
He released the button and was met with silence.
Was it because they couldn't hear him? Or were they just busy? Normally, responses came quickly, it almost felt automatic. The only thing he knew about common radio codes used was the previous papers left behind by whoever was here last. Was he not intended to use those, either?
Too much he didn't know, wasn't sure of- why didn't they train him for any of this? Gordon's anxiety began to spike, only when-
Noise. Slight, barely anything, but something indicating that someone was there. It was dead air, really, but still something thrilling to him. Only moments ago he was beginning to delve into exactly how far out he was- how his only connection to civilization was a fucking radio with nothing but risks attached to it- and-
Gordon, come on man, get it together.
"Okay, okay-" he mumbled, holding the button down once again. "Hello?"
There was another noise this time, followed by a string of voices Gordon almost had to strain to hear.
"Wh- what do we do, Mr. Coomer?"
"Well, our circumstances are quite odd! Why, I think we should-"
Whoever was there was suddenly cut short by a much louder, clearer tone, causing Gordon to reel back a bit. Some kind of note, or song? He squinted at the radio, finding any previous panic melting from his thoughts like there was nothing to be worried about in the first place. Long silence stretched out after that, but he couldn't quite muster up the gall to speak a third time.
"hey."
Well, he didn't have to if he was spoken to first. Gordon's mind blanked for only a moment at the different voice greeting him. He couldn't place it as anyone he recognized and it was uncharacteristically monotone despite the casual greeting.
"... Hello?"
"yeah, i'm, gonna need some authorization. for this call. you got- some uhh, identification to show me?"
"Some... what? This-" this is a fucking radio, how does he show them anything? "I- my name, is Gordon Freeman. I'm in the watchtower...?"
"which one, dude? these are- precious radio waves here, we can't waste these, c'mon, failman."
"There's more than one?"
Exacerbated, he let go of the button and barely even registered the name he was called. Was he not the only one out here? He wasn't told anything about that. Gordon desperately drew his attention to some of the old notes he'd compiled, scanning over the neat writing as quick as he could. It felt demeaning to have to look through others work to even get a grasp of what the hell he was doing.
"course, there's like- a whole bunch, man. you didn't know that? don't even have your ID- you doin' something suspicious, huh? yeah?"
"What?" he shouted, though quickly realized the other person wouldn't be able to hear-
"you, you heard me, gordont-show-my-ID-when-i'm-told-to."
What the fuck. Was something broken? Did the button not matter in the first place like he thought? It lit up when pressed for a reason, didn't it?
"Listen man, I don't know what tower I'm in or, or what you want from me for ID, I wasn't given any!" he responded without bothering to touch the microphone again, irritation washing over him and building just as quick as he lost his earlier anxieties. He disregarded the papers and tossed them back down on the desk. "What's your deal? Who the hell am I talking to?"
There's a pending silence on the other end, and Gordon almost questioned if he did have to hit the button.
"huh?"
You're joking.
Sighing, he ran a hand down his face and rubbed a tired eye, knuckle bumping his glasses as he did. Did he just get off on a bad foot with this person? Preserving what was left of his sanity quota of the night, he decidedly pressed the button before he spoke.
"Listen, I think... I'm supposed to be reporting in, right now, to Black Mesa. Can you like-" he paused and gestured with his hand, as if that would help his brain supply the word quicker. "- patch me in, or something? Is that what you're supposed to do? Is this some- some kind of in-between with who I'm supposed to be talking to?"
"whuh?"
"I haven't been able to get through to anyone besides you and- well I mean there was something else but I don't know who that was and I think something's wrong, and," he forced himself to pause what would have been the beginning of rambling, hand scratching the nape of his neck in a nervous tick.
"... what?"
This is hopeless, he realized. Gordon released the microphone's button and groaned, holding his head in his hands for a brief moment of solace in... whatever this was. He... couldn't just avoid the voice on the line though. He held the button down again.
"Am I done here, or something? Is that what it is? I thought I still had a day or two, but if it's done, it's done, right?" Gordon raised his voice a little, continuing to vaguely gesture as he spoke out of habit. If he was doing that bad of a job that they weren't even going to direct him to the facility anymore, he wished they gave him a heads up or something. Who the hell gets ghosted by an entire corporation?
"... try- try changing the channel on it. the radio."
It didn't answer Gordon's question, but there was a newfound confusion with this instruction. That was...
"Are you sure? Like- isn't that like, tampering? Orr..." Exactly what he was told not to do?
"maybe."
He could only make a noise of frustration, looking up at the wooden rafters and once again finding his hands covering his face.
"I don't... I don't know what you want me to do here, man." Gordon's hands fell to his lap, now staring at the radio with unease.
"wh- cringe failman can't use a radio? just- use the, the big dial, idiot. lil baby need a walkthrough?"
If the voice was attempting to egg him on, it certainly worked.
"No! What is your deal, dude? Quit calling me shit!"
"quit brooding over it man, just like, change it- switch it over, to, sixty niiine. c'mon. please?" they prodded, ignoring the complaint.
"... Right." He wasn't brooding.
The display revealed the channel was on... 53. Gordon hoped the voice was being serious about this. He tried to turn the largest dial- but it met with some resistance. This thing wasn't rigged to fucking explode or something, right? A soul-searching moment later, and it suddenly gave with audible clicks, gears having gone long unused finally finding themselves freed. Gordon managed to get it right with only a little messing, raising a brow at the white noise that faded in and out between certain channels.
"No, I think you fucked it up!"
"Now Bubby, it's very rude to point the blame-"
"Hello?! Can you hear me?"
Gordon was almost pleading for a shred of normalcy as he spoke, head ringing with the new clarity of the previously faint voices. One sounded similar, the other new again. Entirely different from the previous speaker, that he had no doubt of.
"Shut the fuck- what is your problem?" they asked, clearly irritated.
Gordon ran a hand through his hair again, fearing he'd tear some out over the sheer absurdity of the situation.
"I need, to talk. To Black Mesa. Right now." each pause was accentuated with a move of his hand, the other busied in holding a microphone button that may not even work.
There was more considering silence on the other end.
"... Well that's not my problem."
He would have yelled again, had it not been for the following voice.
"Gordon! That is your name, right?"
That caught him off guard. Had they really heard him state his name earlier? They all had such... contrast from their voices alone. If he was being completely honest, it was almost a morbid kind of refreshing from the sterile monotone of other employees he's had to speak with. Maybe crossing out that other weird guy who told him to change channels in the first place.
"I- yes! Gordon Freeman, do you know-"
"Hello, Gordon!"
That's... yeah, okay.
"M- Mr. Freeman? Why are you on our radio?"
A third voice. They sounded more curious than the rest, but he could catch the mix of emotions that question apparently held. Was he... not directed to the right channel at all? Gordon let out a slow, thoughtful sigh.
"I uh... don't, really know?" It was the truth. He didn't realize how incredulous it sounded until he actually said it.
"What are you, an idiot? Can't use a radio?" The one voice riffed, apparently taking to being rude to him as well.
"Now, let's not demean, Bubby! He could be of importance!" The 'rude one' was now appropriately filed down in his mind as 'Bubby'. That couldn't be a real name.
"Oh- oooh, yeah! Like- like in, he could help get us Darnold's coat! Or maybe-" an excited gasp, followed by a hushed tone, "can we see the tower from here?"
"Splendid idea, Tommy! Gordon, could you do us all a favour and turn on one of your floodlights?"
"Floodlights...? Oh, sure, uh-" He wished he knew what possessed him to perform the next action. Full of bad ideas tonight, apparently. Unspoken threats notwithstanding.
Standing up and reaching towards the large electrical panel on the wall ahead, Gordon pulled a lever down meticulously labelled 'FLOOD N' with marker on an old piece of tape. Electricity buzzed all too loud as the light came to life in the dead of night, dragging his attention to the white glow now coming in through his window. He'd grown used to the creaks and groans of the tower's metal, but the noise of running hydro was a change he wasn't sure he liked. Gordon didn't have to guess that it was far brighter on the other side, shining out as far as it could reach on the forest below-
"Fine work, Gordon! Clear as day. We're eager to see you tomorrow night!"
"WHAT?!"
No response. They couldn't hear him without the button being held down- that, or they all stopped talking.
He scrambled to turn the floodlights back off, but knew from the eerie silence on the line that he'd already majorly fucked up. He wasn't sure if he wanted to try and provoke a response.
Gordon Freeman thought himself a dead man as he forced himself to sleep that night. Exhaustion took him as the radio blared out another long, monotonous tone.