So to better develop my writing skills, I wanted to adapt Half-Life into written story as I play through the original game. The story will progress the way I play the game. for example, if I get injured in a gunfight, there will be a passage about Freeman tending to his wounds until he gets better treatment from a health station. I'll also make some additions and embellishments as needed for the sake of the story and to actually have some original input, but it will by and large still follow the events of the game. For example, throwaway npcs like specific scientists or guards may become recurring characters with their own respective personalities. Also, I'm taking some minor liberties with canon (i.e. Barney Calhoun working the front desk instead of being seen on the tram ride. Stuff that's really inconsequential, but I know some wiseass will point it out.). Also, Freeman will talk, just not much. [url=http://youtu.be/wHHjsUlRh2w?t=1m59s]Probably just to give wisdom and shit[/url]. This is just practice and so far I'm not taking it too seriously, but criticism is always welcome. I'll be updating this over time as I play through the game. So yeah, story as follows.
1. King
The passenger tram crept along a featureless concrete tunnel for what seemed like an eternity, especially to its sole passenger, Gordon Freeman, running late for the third consecutive day.
Gordon Freeman waited at the door impatiently as the guard approached his tram. This would be the third time being late this week, he reminded himself as he drummed his fingers against the long aluminum bar that served as the emergency release. And for a moment, he contemplated using it, pushing the plexiglass window out of the tram, climbing through the opening and sprinting to the airlock door. The thought began as a joke to calm himself down, but as he watched the Bachman –the guard- amble towards the tram, he began to give it an inkling of a serious thought. Richard Bachman was a kind old man, God bless him, and knew everything there was to know about Black Mesa, but he wasn’t exactly agile, even for an old man. That limp in his stride was something he brought back from Vietnam. He sure had a lot of great stories about it, but they tended to drag on as much as his leg, and often ended with some kind of divine intervention.
Freeman felt guilty about that leg joke, so his subconscious reminded him how late he was as punishment. Boy oh boy, he couldn’t [I]wait [/I]for the inevitable ass-chewing the he’d get today. His alarm clock didn’t go off, for the third day in a row. After yesterday, he bought a second alarm clock with a battery backup and set his watch to go off in the morning. And this morning, he found the first clock blinking 3:33 as though it was reset, the second shorted out and its batteries caked in corrosion, and his watch battery flat-out dead. Try explaining to an employer that lighting struck you three times and see if still keep your job. Now that’d be divine intervention. He began thinking of more believable excuses.
Bachman finally made it to the tram and let him out. Freeman gave him a friendly nod, but he saw through it, noting impatience.
“I know that I’m not young anymore. The door code is 0451. You didn’t hear it from me.” Bachman spoke in his trademark gravely voice. Freeman noted that he sounded a little bit hurt, and began to speak to fumble out one of the prefabricated apologies he was saving for his supervisor. Bachman held up his hand, stopping him. He had a sort of sad smile, one that seemed to say, “Don’t worry about it. I’m old, and I know things that you don’t.”
Freeman punched in the code, and as the airlock doors began to depressurize and eventually open, he felt somehow comforted by this. No matter what lied ahead, he had the extravagant stories and worldly wisdom of old Richard Bachman to guide him along the way.
2. Libation debts and phobias
The airlock’s cycle was tedious, and to Freeman it seemed pointless, since any sort of contamination would not make it outside of the test chamber. He hated airlock cycles. There was always that pause that seemed to last forever, where he began to wonder what would happen if the door broke down. As the first blast door locked behind him, he thought about being stuck in a reinforced 20 by 10 cell, impervious to explosives and sealed shut. Coldly, he wondered if the remaining breathable air in his tomb would be measured in hours, or if the process of his death would occur over the course of days. He wondered what it was like to suffoc—
Another hiss, followed by a deep metallic click. The second airlock door began to open, very slowly, of course, in keeping with the theme of lateness. Whenever you’re late, Freeman thought, it seems like every obstacle is specifically [I]designed [/I]to make you even later. When the blast door had opened enough to climb through, Freeman didn’t hesitate; he really [I]didn’t [/I]have time for this shit. He earned a few disapproving looks from some of his colleagues, but they didn’t offer any other forms of protest as he made his way to the reception desk to check in. One of his friends in security (he seemed to have more friends in security than on the science team), Barney Calhoun, was working the front desk. He looked less than thrilled, especially for a security guard.
“I don’t want to hear why you’re late. I don’t even want to hear how grateful you are that I’m sticking my neck out for you for the third time in a row, because I know that already. You lucked out this time, because we had a system crash about 20 minutes ago, so the time clock isn’t working. I told them you arrived on time, so you need to get to the locker room, get your hazard suit on, before [I]my [/I]job is on the line! You’re scheduled to be in the test chamber at 8:15; that’s in less than ten minutes, so haul ass!”
Understanding, Freeman merely nodded. As he made his way to the locker room, Calhoun shouted to him.
“Gordon!”
He looked back over his shoulder.
“You owe me a beer!”
3. Narc
Freeman had every intention of making his way to the locker room, but a man wandering the corridors caught his attention first. In his crew cut and dark suit, he looked like a narc, which ordinarily would mean he’s there to make sure Black Mesa wasn’t squandering their generous government grants.
This man, on the other hand, didn’t have the presence of that stereotypical, X-Files pastiche of a nondescript G-man, and that, specifically, demanded Freeman’s attention in the same way the flaming husk of a semitrailer’s cab on the side of the road would demand yours on your daily commute. A disaster was unfolding and he [I]needed [/I]to see it.
He followed The Narc at a safe distance until he made his way into an office, sealed by a locked door and its windows blocked by venetian blinds. He crept to the window in order to listen, but stopped in his tracks as The Narc opened the blinds. He was turned the other way, however, and never saw the eavesdropper. Freeman pressed against the concrete wall and peeked in. He was speaking with a member of the science team, an upper-management type whose name he could not remember. The window, of course, was soundproof and he could only hear muffled dialogue. He leaned in, squinting, trying to read lips. Nothing.
Then, as if the windows had just silently shattered, he could hear him speak clearly. Picture a snake taking the form of a man, and then imagine how it would sound trying to talk to you with a gunshot wound in the gut. He spoke with this same tremble, as if it pained him to form the words he spoke, yet, at the same time, it seemed as if he spoke in a way that savored the way the words rolled off his tongue. Gordon’s peripheral vision was shrouded in blackness, and he could not look away. The snake man, on the other hand, turned his neck only slightly towards him, just enough for Gordon to catch a glimpse of the violent green color his eyes were. The corner of his mouth stretched slightly to form a crooked smile. Gordon would only remember the two words that would follow, and even these words were the closure to a sentence spoken to the other scientist, the figure spoke these words [I]to Gordon Freeman.[/I] He led him there, opened the blinds to the office window, and held this little performance specifically for [I]him[/I]. The two words were buried in his mind, inaccessible to him for now. He knew the meaning of these two words, but couldn’t speak them yet. These two words sent chills under his skin, down his spine, into his bloodstream, and froze his soul.
When the dark shroud disappeared, the blinds were closed again, and he caught this G-man rounding the corner at the edge of the hall. He ran after him. Around the corner, the airlock to the next sector was closed, and the Narc was nowhere in sight, instead, only a pissed-off security guard.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Freeman? Calhoun vouched for you, now he’s up in the management offices getting his balls busted by the security chief! Now Guthrie had to come in on his day off to fill in at the front desk for him, and you’re repaying them by dicking around at their expense? You need to get your hazard suit on and get to the test chamber yesterday!”
Freeman turned and went towards the locker room indignantly. That can’t be right, he spoke to Calhoun, what, 2 minutes ago?
Oh, shit. His watch read 8:47 AM.
As he broke into a sprint for the locker rooms, it occurred to him his watch was inexplicably working again.
4. Slip of the Tongue
Freeman’s sprint slowed to a jog as he reached the locker room door and passed through. He dodged Dr. Magnusson and made a beeline for the HEV suit cradle, while considering the inevitable termination of his employment. He would usually wait in the locker room while his breakfast –the same foul-smelling instant casserole, every Goddamned morning- cooked in the microwave. You know, because [I]Lord forbid [/I]he actually speaks to his colleagues on non-professional terms once in a while.
“Weren’t you supposed to be in a test chamber half an hour ago?” he chided from the other end of the room. [I]No, asswipe, I wasn’t aware, [/I]Gordon thought as he shot Magnusson a dirty look. He wasted no time donning the hazard suit, still adjusting it as he left for the Test Chamber. He did, however, make a detour at the break room to add a few more minutes to food rotating in the microwave. Enjoy your nuked casserole, prick.
A long stretch of corridor, a few security doors later, several canned greetings from co-workers, and an elevator ride later, he finally made it to the Control Room for Test Chamber C33/a. And, oddly enough, no scolding. In fact, his supervisor, Walter Bennett, had an expression that was a cocktail of amusement, sarcasm, and a shot of resentment. He went on to explain:
“I’m not sure you realize how lucky you are today, Mr. Freeman. We’re still waiting on the sample, which, like you, has been running a bit late. So, your repeat tardiness, while concerning, is of no consequence to us today. You’re off the hook today.”
Freeman couldn’t conceal an expression of disbelief. His supervisor continued.
“Your employment in the first place is largely owed to your benefactor, Doctor Kliener. This morning, I was ready to give your job to someone else, a young woman named Judith Mossman who actually [I]earned [/I]the distinction of her doctorate, rather than relying on nepotism.”
Bennett exhaled, adjusting his tie, then continued.
“But it would appear, once again, you have friends in high places to bail you out. The gentleman responsible for giving us today’s sample, one distinct enough that we allowed the test to be delayed half hour, mentioned you by name. One of these days, Freeman, your luck will run out.
“By the way, I believe he instructed you to relay a message to me?”
Freeman responded without thinking, and the words slithered from his mouth automatically, slick as motor oil, and tasted just as foul. “Unforeseen Consequences.” He answered.
Walter Bennett went as pale as white man who spent his career under fluorescent lights could get. The taste still lingered. “What the hell did you just say?” he asked in restrained terror.
Gordon Freeman spoke again, this time with a slight whimper of desperation, hoping to expel this dark vocabulary from his system, for fear of it leaving some kind of poison phlegm in his lungs. To get rid of that damned taste.
“Prepare for Unforeseen Consequences.”
His expression was not longer amusement. It was a distinctive mixture of hatred and abject horror. It was such a specific mixture of hate and fear, Freeman observed, not unlike the way cynics see God. He felt perverse power swimming in his bloodstream and shuddered.
“You’re needed in the test chamber, Gordon.” He spoke plainly, and keeping his fearful gaze tracked on Freeman.
5. Suffocation
Freeman was still shaken up about the confrontation with Walter Bennett by the time he made it into the test chamber airlock. Not picking up Freeman’s restless fidgeting and other generous clues on his fear of airlocks, the two scientists gave him the full briefing. The younger and more nervous of the two (perhaps he shared Freeman’s fear of airlocks?) began.
“We’ll be deviating a bit from standard analysis procedure today, Gordon.”
Before he had a chance to continue, the elder cut him off, and spoke with more temerity that contrasted the timidity of his partner. “Yes, but with good reason. This is a rare opportunity for us, this is the purest sample we’ve seen-“
The younger snapped back at his colleague with a ferociousness that startled Freeman. Perhaps the elder scientist pinched a nerve. “And potentially the most dangerous! Which is [I]exactly [/I]why we to stall the test and make sure it’s stable enough to use!”
“Sure, Rod. Let’s wait a month. Let me go explain to Administrator that we need to wait, and in doing so let Aperture Science pass us up.” He replied calmly. Freeman would have rolled his eyes if he weren’t panicking over the locked doors and dwindling air supply.
“Oh Christ, Gene, when was the last time Aperture actually beat us out of a contract?”
“How about ’93, when they won the bid to make automated gun turrets for the Marines? Remember that one? You ought to remember, we now have them installed throughout the facility by government mandate. We are getting comfortable and we are losing ground against, frankly, a more ambitious company. They want it more than us. I can’t imagine anything that drives the point home more than Aperture-brand guns pointed at you in your workplace.”
“I understand that, but why today? Almost everything that can go wrong, so far, has. We’ve had multiple systems crashes, most of our servers are down, half of our equipment won’t start because of inexplicable BIOS errors, our assistant is late –no offense-, and our phones are out. We needed to use a goddamned [I]crowbar [/I]to get into the control room!” Rod shouted, counting on his fingers as he listed off problems.
“What are you afraid of, a resonance cascade?”
“No, that’s ridiculous. But take the turrets for example. They revert to combat mode if there’s a—“
“Gordon doesn’t need to hear all this, he’s a highly trained professional! We’ve already assured Dr. Breen that nothing will go wrong.”
Rod shrugged, looking defeated. “Well, let’s let him in.”
As the airlock doors opened, Freeman let out an audible sigh of relief. The doors shut behind him and a series of gears and piston moved the protective locking cylinders into place, the fear came back, although it was a low-sodium-sugar-substitute-diet-version of the earlier fear. A morbidly amusing thought occurred to Freeman: his airlock fear was directly proportional to the size of the tomb he was locked in. The bigger the room, the lesser the fear. The test chamber, however, was still a tomb with no exits beyond the airlock, so the fear lingered with him.
This seems a good idea for the thirty minutes you spend walking around the office, and maybe for the twist, and for the ending, but then how will you novelize jumping and killing aliens?
Smoke breaks I guess
no but in all seriousness, that's why I chose to do half-life. It get's repetitive at times but it's also kind of a blank canvas at times too. Everyone plays through the game a little differently; some charge at soldiers guns blazing, others try to avoid them and lay traps for them. Some go nuts and shoot a scientist.
I also plan on making up stuff that obviously doesn't happen in-game. For example, in the parking garage scene later in the game, maybe Freeman steals one of the SUVs and there's a short chase with the Gargantua. There will also be more characters that tag along with Freeman over the course of his journey. I don't want to spoil it, but you'll see exactly what I mean once I get to the 'office complex' portion of the game.
I also might take a break from Freeman's perspective occasionally and tell it from another scientist's point of view or a vortigaunt.
Updated with another passage, made a few minor edits to an earlier one for the sake of consistency.
E: Also made some some better spacing between paragraphs, since formatting isn't preserved when I paste stuff from Word
As someone who is novelising a videogame also, I would very much recommend staying away from trying for a 1:1 recount of the story. Gunfights work in games because you're the one doing the shooting, the same cannot be said for a book.
You've said you'll be changing it up a little, which is good, but be wary of accidentally changing things which may have larger impact down the road. Cutting a couple of vortigaunt encounters is fine, but straightup inventing aspects could get messy.
All this naturally depends on your ability as a writer though, so I'll reserve judgement for now.
Take a look at the Archie MegaMan comics. They did a fine job of taking creative liberties to make the story interesting while staying as true as possible to it.
Not at all familiar with the Megaman storyline, but I'll look into it.
Great idea, and till now I feel well executed.
Looking forward to reading more, hope that if you go further you take it to the end though, would be a shame to stop half-way trough...
Maybe look into writing it on a blog website, so people can read the whole story in one go (instead of having to look trough facepunch pages). Or, seeing as you do use word to write the initial parts, maybe post the full file when done?
Small mistake I found:
"because I know you that already."
Barney tells Gordon this when he just arrived at the front desk. I suppose it should be "because I know that already" or something.
Other than that your writing seems pretty solid to me.
Good eye, and thank you for pointing that out. I meant to say "because I know that already"
Every time I edit the original post, I have to re-paste the entire story from Word for some reason and re-format it to be more readable on forums, which is a HUGE pain in the ass. In the future I'm just going to write in in a forum-friendly format, because this will get more and more obnoxious as time goes on.
I'll have to separate it into different posts sooner or later, but we'll find a more streamlined way to cross that bridge when we reach it. In the meantime, here's a little preview of the next chapter to tide you folks over for the time being:
[quote]Freeman’s sprint slowed to a jog as he reached the locker room door and passed through. He dodged Arne Magnusson and made a beeline for the HEV suit cradle, while considering the inevitable termination of his employment. Magnusson would usually wait in the locker room while his breakfast –the same foul-smelling instant casserole, every morning- cooked in the microwave. You know, because [I]God forbid[/I] he actually speak to his colleagues on non-professional terms once in a while.
“Weren’t you supposed to be in a test chamber half an hour ago?” he chided from the other end of the room. [I]No, asswipe, I wasn’t aware[/I], Gordon thought as he shot Magnusson a dirty look. He wasted no time donning the hazard suit, still adjusting it as he left for the Test Chamber. He did, however, make a detour at the break room to add a few more minutes to food rotating in the microwave. Enjoy your nuked casserole, prick.[/quote]
[SIZE=1][COLOR=#444444][B]Edited:[/B][/COLOR][/SIZE]
e: I think if there's anything more than raw text in the post, it makes me start over when I try and edit the post. It does this whenever I edit a post pasted from Word. I don't know why it does this but it's fucking annoying.
[QUOTE=blooregardo;42004229]Smoke breaks I guess
no but in all seriousness, that's why I chose to do half-life. It get's repetitive at times but it's also kind of a blank canvas at times too. Everyone plays through the game a little differently; some charge at soldiers guns blazing, others try to avoid them and lay traps for them. Some go nuts and shoot a scientist.
I also plan on making up stuff that obviously doesn't happen in-game. For example, in the parking garage scene later in the game, maybe Freeman steals one of the SUVs and there's a short chase with the Gargantua. There will also be more characters that tag along with Freeman over the course of his journey. I don't want to spoil it, but you'll see exactly what I mean once I get to the 'office complex' portion of the game.
I also might take a break from Freeman's perspective occasionally and tell it from another scientist's point of view or a vortigaunt.[/QUOTE]
I'm thinking of doing this with Quake, and this is the exact reason why. Goodonya.
Update. Sorry it took so long.
Small discrepancy with the storyline, Barney is all the way over on the other side of the facility getting armored up when Gordon arrives for work. He never has direct contact with Gordon during the incident. The story is a neat idea though.
[QUOTE=blooregardo;42003929]Also, I'm taking some minor liberties with canon (i.e. Barney Calhoun working the front desk instead of being seen on the tram ride. Stuff that's really inconsequential, but I know some wiseass will point it out.).[/QUOTE]
[QUOTE=overwatch pvt;42094663]Small discrepancy with the storyline, Barney is all the way over on the other side of the facility getting armored up when Gordon arrives for work. He never has direct contact with Gordon during the incident. The story is a neat idea though.[/QUOTE]
Well, that didn't take too long.
[QUOTE=blooregardo;42117784]Well, that didn't take too long.[/QUOTE]
My bad, missed that part. Still that is kind of consequencial seeing as almost everything Barney does is on the other side of the facility and having him with Gordon would kind of undo everything he takes part in. (Helping the scientists escape, clearing those areas of the HECU, visiting Xen, etc.)
[QUOTE=overwatch pvt;42126119]My bad, missed that part. Still that is kind of consequencial seeing as almost everything Barney does is on the other side of the facility and having him with Gordon would kind of undo everything he takes part in. (Helping the scientists escape, clearing those areas of the HECU, visiting Xen, etc.)[/QUOTE]
I'm not making an exact transcript of Half-Life, that would too easy, and the end result would be boring. I'm taking liberties with the establish valve/gearbox canon to make for a better story. Since it's established that Calhoun and Freeman are friends, I thought it'd make for a more interesting story to have Calhoun cross paths more often Freeman during his daring escape from Black Mesa.
I also might briefly switch to the perspective of Calhoun, Shepard, and/or an original character
I never finished Half-Life :v: but I'll try and continue. Please, creator, respond and tell me if it's good. If it isn't I'll promptly snip it. Thanks!
[I]Unforeseen Consequences, Gordon[/I]
Still remembering the phrase he had uttered, he felt as if he was carrying a grave weight into the the test chamber.
[I]Unforeseen Consequences.[/I]
The words echoed in his mind as if it was a curse of sorts. He heard the door closing behind him and tried to forget these thoughts as he climbed up the ladder to activate the Anti-Mass spectrometer.
"Don't forget, we're using some strange specimen the admin sent us today so be careful!" he heard Bennett say.
Those words stopped Gordon in his tracks. The administrator rarely sent new specimens. Did the strange narc have anything to do with this?
He fought those thoughts and promptly climbed down, just in time for the specimen to arrive on a cart. He slowly pushed the cart towards the spectrometer. He was panting as he thought "Well, this is unusually heavy." Just as he was about to leave the chamber, a spark in the background caught his eye.
What?
It was not just one, but there was an unusual reaction between the substance and the spectrometer. It was as if the substance was a vortex, sucking all electrical energy into it.
[I]"Unforeseen consequences, Gordon. Are you prepared?"[/I] he seemed to hear as he blacked out.
I've got it covered but thanks
Updated again. Sorry, I've had a busy couple of weeks and the attention span of a rodent.
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