Lights On In The Attic

Gordon Freeman, and his son Joshua Freeman, just moved into a new house so Gordon had more space for streaming, and didn’t annoy the neighbors with his loud noises when he streamed. There are rumors of hauntings, but that’s ridiculous, right? There is no way ghosts exist! 

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"We wait."

"Black Mesa may have heard the gun shots... if not, they'll come back later... we can't do anything to them until they return."

"this is a bitter fucking victory."

Unfortunately, you are a part of the group who are stuck behind. Gordon is now out of your reach.

Tommy does something similar to the other guard, knocking him out with the butt of his own gun, and the ghosts leave them there, in a heap in the front lawn. The shimmering forms disappear back inside, the door shutting, lock clicking shut behind them.

But it doesn't stop. It keeps driving, far off, turning the corner at the same speed. Briefly, those stuck in the house, catch a glimpse of Gordon, his hand on the wheel and his stump coming up to rest on his shoulder, blood streaking down it. But he does not stop. He does not look back. He just keeps driving, and those who are stuck lose him from view.

Tommy manages to get the gun from the man, who cowers, suddenly without his power in the situation. He doesn't seem quite sure what to do with it, but he has it away from the man who would use it against Gordon, and that's all that matters.

Benrey, on the other hand, is still struggling with his, even with Coomer coming around to try and wrap his arms tight around the man, pull the two of them apart.

Gordon's tires screech as he pulls out of the driveway, sending one last look towards his friends, then pulling away as quick as he can-

BANG

Benrey flashes into existence next to him body phsyical just enough to have grabbed the gun in the man's hands and pointed it up into the air, so the bullet flies up, though neither keep track of where it went. In the rising sun, Benrey is barely visible, a shimmer silloute of what he usually is.

Behind him, Tommy is in a similar position with the other man, wrestling the gun between them, trying to get it out of the man's grasp.

You have no need to tell him twice. He gathers himself, takes a breath, then stands, flinging open his door and booking it down the drive. The door slams into the wall, and he rounds the corner around his house, heading towards his car, just as he hears someone shout form inside. He slides into his car, locks it as he gets in, fumbles, just a bit, almost drops his keys. He ducks a bit to catch them and-

Eventually, the two of them stop arguing, and Gordon stares towards the kitchen in fear of one of them coming around, but-

The footsteps retreat back into the room. The man on the couch huffs, settles again.

Gordon shakes his head, though it does seem he's having to stifle another nervous laugh. He reaches up, grabs the key chain by the keys to stop them from clacking together, then carefully lifts them up from the hook, holding them tight enough his knuckles are pale. He brings it down closer to his level, behind the wall again, when he hears footsteps from the hallway.

"Dude are you sleeping again? Motherfucker, I just want a popsicle."

There's a dull thud, and a second voice groans "Fuck you... get your own damn popsicle... if there's any left."

Gordon freezes, staring towards the man on the couch, who makes no move to get up. He stays there, frozen, for a moment, before a voice from behind him calls.

"If you're getting up can you steal a popsicle from the guy's fridge? Motherfucker got the doodle ones, love those ones."

He keeps going, undettered by his lack of keys, or his lack of companionship through this perilous journey. The man on the couch sniffs, Gordon freezes for a moment, but the man makes no movement, nothing towards his gun or hat, just sniffs, shifts a bit deeper into the couch and continues on as he was. Gordon doesn't let himself breathe, just keeps taking careful slow steps across-

Gordon gives a rather unfortunate shake of his head, before jerking it towards the door.

With a careful, steadying, silent breath, Gordon begins to sneak his way across his own living room. He had gotten rid of the boxes just days before this all went down, but now his living room is a mess once again. Any books or knick knacks he has are scattered across the floor, though he keeps an eye out for anything broken. So far nothing, as he takes a few steps across the wood, eyes darting back and forth to the man on the couch.