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Dec. 14th, 2009 10:38 amWhen the Combine took over Earth, there were places they didn't really bother with. The Xen incursions of the prior four years left parts of the world depopulated, and frankly, without the resources the Universal Union was most interested in, those places just weren't worth the bother. It would be wrong to say human civilization flourished in those places. Flourishing implies the ability to reproduce and continue. But it managed, more or less. Some people just don't know how to lie down and die.
They weren't Resistance, exactly. That would require them to be actively engaged in the fight against the Combine. But in the southernmost reaches of the Rust Belt, the people in the places where Earth's extraction industries had once been and gone? They kept right on living. Not the way they used to; it was too dangerous now, between Xen wildlife and the occasional lazily roaming synth. In the tunnels that used to be the mines, or under the buildings that had been mills, they kept on going. When the opportunities arose they took to the surface for as long as they needed, and they gathered or hunted or raised what they could. It was a hell of a situation to be in, but hell, they hadn't had it easy before. Why should now be any different?
That was the thing about the Rust Belt survivors. They had long, long memories. And they were good at getting old things to keep working long after they should've logically given up the ghost. Generators, for example. Electrical lighting. Radios. You never knew what might be coming your way; if the Combine got angry real fast, or if the Resistance actually made a move, you wanted to know. Who knew. You might need to throw in with them if that was what it took to be left alone.
Or, you know, you might pick up on Combine reports about the destruction of the Scab. And if you listened real close you'd hear that the Resistance stole more than they destroyed. Score one for humanity, right?
. . . did they just say that? Did they just say to keep an eye on the sky for the helicopter with the Marine in it? Since when were there any of those even left? And where was that son of a bitch going?
. . . well, long story short, the survivors had long, long memories, and Tim Hutchence wasn't the only man with good reason to be mad as hell at the prospect. Either someone was lying, or someone had been laying low for a damned long time, and either way there was at least one survivor who'd lost family at Black Mesa twenty years before. And he was going to get some answers, thank you very much.
They weren't Resistance, exactly. That would require them to be actively engaged in the fight against the Combine. But in the southernmost reaches of the Rust Belt, the people in the places where Earth's extraction industries had once been and gone? They kept right on living. Not the way they used to; it was too dangerous now, between Xen wildlife and the occasional lazily roaming synth. In the tunnels that used to be the mines, or under the buildings that had been mills, they kept on going. When the opportunities arose they took to the surface for as long as they needed, and they gathered or hunted or raised what they could. It was a hell of a situation to be in, but hell, they hadn't had it easy before. Why should now be any different?
That was the thing about the Rust Belt survivors. They had long, long memories. And they were good at getting old things to keep working long after they should've logically given up the ghost. Generators, for example. Electrical lighting. Radios. You never knew what might be coming your way; if the Combine got angry real fast, or if the Resistance actually made a move, you wanted to know. Who knew. You might need to throw in with them if that was what it took to be left alone.
Or, you know, you might pick up on Combine reports about the destruction of the Scab. And if you listened real close you'd hear that the Resistance stole more than they destroyed. Score one for humanity, right?
. . . did they just say that? Did they just say to keep an eye on the sky for the helicopter with the Marine in it? Since when were there any of those even left? And where was that son of a bitch going?
. . . well, long story short, the survivors had long, long memories, and Tim Hutchence wasn't the only man with good reason to be mad as hell at the prospect. Either someone was lying, or someone had been laying low for a damned long time, and either way there was at least one survivor who'd lost family at Black Mesa twenty years before. And he was going to get some answers, thank you very much.
