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Gordon Freeman was tired.
He got up from his bed at 7:40 AM, and because he just couldn't keep himself from writing just this one equation, reading just one more paragraph of his colleagues' notes, he went to sleep too late.
That was the last bit of rest he had since at least 26 hours, because being unconsious hardly counts as resting. In this period he had to endure random teleportation, attacks from creatures he never suspected to exist in the first place, explosives detonating right next to him, tons of bullets, electrical arcs and acid globs, not to mention the mental stress of seeing his colleagues dead or dying before his eyes, of seeing his workplace turn into an active warzone. Were it not for the HEV Suit (which he donned in the morning, thinking about how it was just a standard precaution), he would've been just another dead body littering the corridors of the research institute.
Now, his Suit emotionlessly reminded him of his death being imminent. He lost track how many times he had heard that sentence today. His most recent fight with a squad of HECU Marines scored him some fresh gunshot wounds, and in the corner of his suits AR overlay he saw, that his condition was grave... again.
He limped toward a wall mounted First Aid Starion. He stuck his hand into the machine and got rewarded with a humming noise of healing energy flowing through him, sealing his wounds, mending broken ribs and replenishing his lost blood. He had only a very basic understanding of the general principle the machine operated on, but he was grateful that it was there. Aside from the healing energy, the machine also administered some adrenaline and other chemical compounds, meant to remove the users fatigue. This, and the stimulants he took from medkits were probably the only reason he hasn't yet collapsed where he stood.
He was a pretty fit guy, but no casual, hell even no soldier was prepared to go through what he had been through.
He felt the fatigue go away for now, but he knew that it was going to return with intrest to take its toll on him in the near future. He sighed, and pulled his hand out of the now dark and recharging machine. He saw a storage room door, and he decided to check the room behind them for supplies. C4 statchels would be nice, but what he really hoped to find was a HEV battery, or even a charger. It would be nice to have something to take some hits for him, even though it only reduced the damage he recieved, a buffer between him and the agressor was something he would like.
He unholstered his M9, he was a quick learner after all, and opening a door here meant a high chance of stepping into some shit he would rather face armed. No threat emerged, but the sight before him made his heart sink.
There was a scientist, a bioengineer judging from his labcoat, laying dead on the floor, with three holes in his skull. Gordon saw enough bodies dropped by gunfire to be pretty sure of what has happened here. One of the Marines put a handgun to the scientists' forehead to threaten him, and when he got all the answers he wanted (or got an unsatisfying one) he shot the man three times in rapid succession. Not all gunpowder had time to burn, so what was left of the scientists' face was black with the residue.
Gordon saw his fair share of disgusting, brutal and gruesome things during the catastrophe, he went unfazed by most of it thanks to his superb psychic resilience, but this was too much. Maybe it was the stimulats that still circled his veins, maybe he just had to vent his frustration over his situation, whatever was the reason, Gordon just lost control. He got back to the main room, where a body of a masked soldier lied, and just lost it.
He started jumping in place making awkward noises, his selective mutism rendered his voice box useless in nearly every stressfull situation, and the whole dammned day (or two) were a constant stress. He just wanted to yell curses at the soldiers' corpse, but all he managed to get out was a squeak - murmur. This angered him even more, and he went into a blind rage. He started kicking and stomping the body with all his HEV - clad weight and all his might. Each stomp and kick was followed by a word in his inner curse monologue.
Why *kick* did you *kick* do that!? *stomp* Huh? *kick* Why can't you bitches *kick* be helping us!? *stomp* Whose *stomp* BRILLIANT idea *stomp* was it *three quick kicks* to send you all *stomp* to KILL US and cover this shit up!? *hard stomp* That's for the guy you killed over there! *kick* That's for Rosenberg! *kick* That's for Barney! *stomp* That's for EVERYONE you bastards killed! *kick* That's for ME surviving to SEE all this shit!!!
When the last sentence formed in his mind, Gordon delivered a desperation, anger and grief filled kick onto the soldiers' head. The gas mask flew across the room and revealed the face of a man younger than Gordon. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot, his mouth full of blood and his hair messy under the helmet, but this didn't stop Gordon from feeling immense guilt for what he just did.
With the mask on, the man was a ruthless killing machine, which enjoyed bloodshed and might as well be a mindless robot. A duo of such machine - men almost killed him by throwing him into a trash compactor, and caused him a lot of trouble by removing all of his weapons, leaving him almost defenceless in a dangerous part of the facility.
Yet, he felt a wave of guilt flood him when he saw, that the ruthless murderer was just a man, a man with dreams and life goals, for whom serving in an elite HECU was a major accomplishment. He started pondering about the soldiers' family, who waited for their pride - and - joy Tommy to return home on a leave to tell stories about his military career.
He was halfway through an imaginary scenario, where Tommy had a Thanksgiving dinner with his family, somewhere in Tennesee or South Carolina when Gordon realised he started crying.
He fell to his knees, sobbing and looked up into the ceiling so he wouldn't have to look at the body of a man he shot dead and then broke half of his corpses' bones in a fit of rage.
He knelt there for a while, but when the sadness gave way, Gordon decided to move on.
With a silent grunt he got back on his feet, bent over to pick up his crowbar, checked his MP5 magazine and went on his way. Other scientists told him to head to the Lambda complex.
There was a way to stop all this madness, and he knew he was the one who would be tasked with ending the alien invasion, and whatever was thrown at him, Gordon would overcome it.
Alien overlord, this is not your world to take.