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Doctor Coomer ran his tongue over his teeth. The taste of blood still lingered. Manacled, he lay cramped in the compartment those wretched 'Com-bine' had tossed him into on this bizarre looking train, headed to what they called 'Nova Prospekt'. The compartment was dark, cold, and too cramped to either sit up or lay down fully resulting in his legs being pushed up and tucked awkwardly in against his quaint little belly. A belly that deserved softer times.
An ache was setting in deep inside those old joints of his. He shifted, trying to alleviate some pressure, but all he succeeded in was inciting a sharp cramp piercing into his side. He winced and rode it out. The pain gave him a short reprieve from the thoughts that had be circling his head since he'd been seized in the station, though they returned soon after. The stun batons crackling through the air, the vice-like grips that felt like they'd grind him to dust sooner than relinquish their hold on him, and Gordon standing slack-jawed and idle on the other side of the chain-link fence.
The doctor chided himself. It wasn't Gordon's fault, he knew that. This was a new game, with new rules. It was his place to teach the player how the game worked. But not this game. He felt a little foolish at that, even in this new engine his old instincts still seemed to rear their heads. He didn't know if the Super-Player Feature would work outside of GoldSrc, even if Gordon did have the Play-Coins.
Doctor Cummer smiled despite himself at that thought. Gordon never was the best at saving up his Play-Coins. Sometimes Doctor Coomer doubted that he even remembered to leave his 3DS turned on with the screen closed in a pocket or bag at all, but what sort of friend would think that of somebody? Surely Gordon had racked up all kinds of StreetPass Extras. He hoped that they would help him in the trials that he was now sure to face.
The train jolted hard as it ran over a join in the tracks lifting Doctor Coomer into the air momentarily before slamming him back against the unyielding steel floor. All of this unrendered. Unreal in a way. Just backstory to be exposited should a Player trigger certain lines of dialogue yet somehow perceptively true to the artificial mind of Doctor Cooler. It was odd. The textures weren't in VRAM, the polygons weren't on the stack, no numbers were being crunched through Gordon's CPU, but it was all still happening. Not in the way it would if a Player had been there to see but in a way only a narrative being could comprehend.
He didn't need to dwell on it now, he'd had years to do so already. It was just how it was. It had been nice to be rendered again though. The station hadn't been the most hospitable place but to move through the X, Y, and Z axis of a rendered level again had been refreshing. Like coming up for air.
The brakes squealed suddenly, forcing Doctor Cooker against a wall as the train came to an abrupt stop. From outside there came the beating of rubber soles on cement before the door to the cramped compartment was wrenched open. The light pouring in stung at his eyes like the cold wind that bit at his skin. Before he could adjust hands pulled him from his cradle and sent him spilling to the ground.
"Up."
The voice wasn't really there but if it had been it would be brusque, craggy, and not one that you disobeyed orders from. Doctor Cooper got up.
"Process the rest, standard." The figure barked, staring at the doctor so wholly that Coomer almost wondered if the order was directed at him before the Enforcers behind him chimed acknowledgement.
"You, " This one was directed at him "in front of me."
---
The Soldier led him through the dank halls of Nova Prospekt from behind, barking one word directions at him whenever they came to an intersection. Snaking left and right down dark corridors with black mould in every corner and paint peeling off every wall. Then up and down metal stairs onto expanded metal walkways suspended in the cavernous halls where each step sent rattles echoing through the room. The uniformity of the building only broken up by disrepair and bullet holes strewn throughout the halls.
Surely the labyrinthine route was intended to keep prisoners disoriented. Not to keep them imprisoned, no, that was no great task for these Combine, but to keep them off balance. To disturb their concept of place. They had clearly never intended to hold someone who had worked at Black Mesa. The hallways unravelled behind them in Coomer's mind like a perfect path through a daisy filled meadow. It was, in fact, a little bit nostalgic. He was even accompanied by a shouting lunatic with a gun, that certainly took him back.
"Stop."
Cougar stopped, but in his musings he forgot himself.
"Pardon me, I-" was all he got out before the butt of the gun met the back of his head, sending waves of colour through his retinal implants and renewing the taste of iron that he'd almost forgotten was in his mouth.
The Soldier didn't say anything as Coomer stumbled back to his feet. Don't tell the prisoners what they've done to earn their beating and they might give you a chance to repeat the lesson. Clever, in a diabolical way. That was also nostalgic, sadly. There was silence for several long seconds after that. Waiting to see if he would repeat his mistake, but Cooter was smarter than that.
Eventually they seemed satisfied that he wouldn't have another outburst and pulled open the door to their left, a heavy iron barricade with locking levers. Something more at home on a hyperbaric chamber than in a prison cell.
"In."
Coomer did as he was instructed. Inside was the same peeling paint and black mould as the halls but the addition of a flickering fluorescent light really brought the room together. In the centre of the room sat a grim portent; a steel chair with restraints for not only his wrists and ankles but three or four other joints to boot. He didn't dare turn his head but out of the corners of his eyes he could make out a terminal of some sort and what appeared to be a tray of surgical instruments.
He had seen enough laboratories in his time to know that he was in reasonably deep shit now.
The door slammed behind him, the locking levers sliding into place. Truly trapping him. Is this how it had felt for Bubby when his test tube closed on him? If not for his Black Mesa Power-Lungs he wouldn't have been able to breath.
"Turn."
He turned.
"Hold out your hands."
He held out his hands.
The Soldier grasped the manacles by the connecting bar. Something in them responded to the contact with something in the glove and the manacles sprung open, freeing Coomer in some small, meaningless, way that nevertheless sent the queerest joy through him. The endorphins told him this was the moment. His cybernetics were less powerful here, the sequel's power scaling had a higher floor than he was used to, but this was one guard in close combat and his arms were already up.
"Strip."
"I... I say," The endorphins apparently did not care whether his suicidal escape attempt was physical or verbal "I... No!"
"Uffhh" Was that a laugh? A guard amused by an inmate stupid enough to give them a reason to bloody their gloves? "Please?" Their voice took on a playful tone. "I always used to love the little shows you'd give me."
"Used... to...?" His eyes frisked the Soldier, the room, anything. A frantic search for any clue as to what was happening. All they found was a deactivated camera.
"What? Don't you say you forgot about me." The Soldier purred out, though their vocoder turned it to a growl. They reached up, unlatching their helmet from the neck of their uniform. "Now then, about that alimony I owe you" She lifted her helmet, revealing the distinctly Vortigaunt-like visage beneath.
"It's me Coomer. Your ex-wife. From our marriage!"