| GCB Fanfics: The Fanfiction Project |
July 23rd, 2003Preshow It couldn't have been more than a few years old, but already the floor of the locker room was already worn from the pacing and preparatory exercises of previous fighters. Currently, Gordon Freeman was doing his part to further degrade it. The nervous scientist stalked back and forth at a swift pace, contemplating his chances in his upcoming match. Jill told me she was fighting because each victory meant a longer stay in this peaceful place, away from the horrors. She could have been reading my mind, thought Gordon. Fat lot of good it did her. That wasn't sufficient motivation for her, why should it be for me? It wasn't last year. Gordon remembered his swift loss to the female wrestler, Tina Armstrong, at the last competition. He'd had misgivings about fighting a woman in the first place, and the proximity of the starting positions hadn't helped. He had heard several of the returning gunfighters, particularly Dante, expressing their relief that combatants started much farther apart this year. But Payne isn't looking for a fistfight. He's a gunman, just like me. The scientist adjusted his glasses and tightened the straps on his body armor before grabbing his handgun and entering the arena. ---- Meanwhile, Max Payne strode down the path to the locker rooms with an outward air of confidence. Inside, however, was a different story. Why the **** am I even doing this? Winning this thing isn't going to bring my family back. And it sure as hell won't clear my name. He opened the door and checked his hair in the mirror. Not that I could do any of that back home either. I was invited, I came. Simple as that. Beats the **** out of life on the run. Like prime rib over dog food. It was at this point that the slicked-back hair and condescending smirk of Tommy Vercetti peered through the open door. "So Max, you better win this fight," said the mobster. "It'd be a damn shame if we lost a fish like you from our poker table." Max didn't even turn around. Initially it was only the rules of the contest that had kept the ex-cop from putting bullet in Vercetti's brain. Since then, the two had come to relate in more ways than Max was comfortable with. He still wasn't particularly glad to see Vercetti. The mob is the lowest scum of humanity. But even in a pile of ****, there's got to be something on top. "Doesn't look too good for you out there, Max," continued Tommy. "So far, you lawmen have been getting ****ed left and right. I can't say it hasn't been fun to watch, though." "I'm no cop," grunted Max. "Yeah, right, and I'm sure they weren't either. NSA, STARS, Foxhound, I don't give a flying **** what you call it. A cop's a cop," said the gangster. If I'm a cop, then this guy's a choirboy. "I'm no cop. Got kicked off the force, in case you forgot. The cops want my ass as bad as they want yours. I got framed, but they won't listen." Max checked his pistol to be certain he had a full clip. "The way I see it, they're just another gang." "Well, listen to that!" laughed Vercetti. "'The cops, just another gang.' You walk through life with your naïve head in the clouds and your pants around your ankles, and then you're all surprised and pissed off when the truth up and bites you in the ass." Max stepped into the arena and slammed the door behind him, leaving Tommy to enjoy the sound of his own laughter alone. The Battle The arena looked different that day. By request of some of the gunfighters, the ground floor had been remodeled after the training arena. Instead of a giant wide open space, the area was filled with moderately tall wooden barriers to separate the fighters. Some of the gunfighters had argued that you couldn't have a real battle with guns without some sort of cover. Otherwise, the match could be simplified to a duel. Face apart. Take ten paces. Turn around. Shoot. Die. Efficient, but not as much fun to watch. Max and Gordon had agreed to the proposal, and had both been given time to study the new layout. From the stands, the arena looked like a giant-sized rat maze. The spots where the two gunmen would start off was open, so they could both face each other. It was a giant open square, an exposed area. There would be barriers directly to their sides however, which they could use for cover, and a barrier several feet behind them. The layout of the arena resembled a giant square, with a smaller square inside with holes to allow for exits. To top it all off, seemingly random walls were placed to be used as cover. There was enough room to hide, but not for long-and there was certainly enough space to fight. No one expected the layout to be used in another match, or even to survive the current one-but it marked a change from the previous fights. Both men who were fighting that day relied more on strategy and anticipation than any innate skill they could showcase. By adding a new variable into the mix, both hoped to gain an edge. Both men had comparable weaponry, but widely differing experience and tactics. They would both be in their element however-and neither would be able to deny they had a fair fight. The remaining fighters were gathered once again, to watch the latest match. Aside from Sephiroth, no one was worried about facing either of them in a later fight, and Sephiroth being who he was, held no worries-he merely sought to learn what was necessary to win. The match held the audience's interest simply because it had the potential to be an ideal showcase of the gunfighter's brand of battle, and a chance for a kind of fight to take place that both men were well-versed in. The two fighters entered the arena slowly, possibly because their equipment weighed them down, or maybe to simply savor their time in the limelight. Gordon Freeman was wearing orange body armor that protected most of his vital areas, and Max Payne simply wore a dark jacket to shield himself. Max's whole appearance was dark, practically everything he wore was black. His outfit was light weight, and allowed for a greater maneuverability and speed than what Gordon wore, but he was also dangerously exposed. But Max Payne knew he could survive a lot of damage. That which does not kill me, makes me stronger, he thought. Max was resting against the wall behind him as he waited for the fight to start. Gordon stood across from him. Max sighed to himself. Check out those his glasses. He's just a scientist, not a fighter. A pencil pusher. A scared nerd. He'd probably feel more comfortable in a cubicle with a computer than in an arena like this one. Or maybe he didn't choose his life any more than I chose mine. Gordon had a crew cut that resembled Max's own hair, but his expression was flat and composed, a contrast to Max's constant grimace. His attitude's different than mine... he's quiet, thoughtful, patient. If he has any fear, bloodlust, or anger, he's hiding it well. Gordon's right hand rested lazily by his side, his 9-mm handgun within easy reach. Max's own berretta was still in his pocket. Max cracked his knuckles and let his hand rest over the pocket. It was time already. Gordon spoke first. "Shall we dance?" Max nodded, and both men reached for their guns. Max dived forward and began running to the right. The first bullet whizzed past his ear. He returned fire. The two men matched each other bullet for bullet, round for round-each shot tracing out the path the other man had just ran past. From above, it looked like the two men were circling each other, with smoke flying up from every point, and bullets forming a circular pattern in the walls. Gordon reached the side where Max had started out and began to retreat behind a barrier. Max turned to chase after Gordon and felt a bullet tear through his coat. His own shot just went over Gordon's shoulder. Gordon pulled back to reload. Max desperately pulled his trigger again and to his surprise another shot ran out and hit Gordon's shoulder. He has 17 bullets in his clip, and I have 18. Max realized. Well, that's nice. Gordon was already reloading. Max hurriedly snapped another clip into his gun. Gordon had more protection than he did, and in an extended fight, Max knew he would simply be overcome by his wounds. It was time to tilt the odds. Gordon's back was to the wall he had used for cover. Max could see the bare outline of the pistol peek around the corner. He's waiting for me to make the first move. Max began to focus. Magus had described what he did as time manipulation. He thought of it as running in bullet time himself. Whatever it was, his reactions and reflexes began to speed up. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding much more slowly. Dust particles seem to just linger in the air. The smoke from their previous round of fire slowly wafted up. Max concentrated on the task at hand, and Gordon's still form. He pulled a second berretta out of his left pocket. He knew what he had to do. Max raced forward and dived straight past Gordon. Gordon fired his first round purely out of reflex. The bullet whizzed up at an angle, and Max had to lower his head to avoid getting hit in the face. Max winced. Just stay calm, he doesn't know what he's up against. Max landed on his hands and somersaulted to one side, juking and dodging through as the projectiles chased after him. They all sounded like angry bees, biting at his clothing and whizzing by. 13... 14... 15... Max landed on his feet and snapped up, trying to level his guns into position. Gordon fired another shot point blank at Max, and he bent his entire body to one side. Just as the bullet passed him he untwisted himself. To any outside observer, and to Gordon himself, it looked like Max's body had moved on its own simply to avoid the bullet. Gordon blinked slowly in disbelief and fired another shot. 16... that's 17! Max smiled, and sidestepped as fast as he could. The bullet still tore at his sleeve, and he felt a shot of pain. Good thing black covers up blood stains. Perfect... he's empty, and I'm just getting started Max leveled his Berettas and fired desperately at the man who was only a few feet away. To his credit, Gordon immediately began backing away from his assailant and started throwing a second clip into his gun. Gordon's reflexes were no where near Max's own at the moment however, and Max's shots began assaulting Gordon's body armor. Blood trickled from Gordon's side, and his front was beginning to look decorated with metal spheres. Max began to fall back himself, before his clips emptied. He didn't want to fall for the same trick he just used on Gordon. Max paused to catch his breath and allowed his senses to return to normal. He was breathing fast, and his heart was pounding. If he wasn't careful, he'd wear himself out. He took a moment to assess his position. Gordon had kept running around one of the other barricades, he must be several feet away, and behind some cover. He was probably still worried about what Max could do. Max took a deep breath and peered around the corner where Gordon had run away. Max heard a loud blast and watched the wall that was shielding him crumble. He felt a score of shotgun pellets hit him in the chest and he gasped in pain. He had to get away. He had hated shotgun blasts... so widely dispersed, they were impossible to dodge. Max ran to the outside of the arena, away from the wreckage. Another shotgun blast made a gaping hole in the wood near the center of the arena. Max began stepping slowly to the side, hoping to identify where Gordon was firing from. The wall in front of him had another hole torn in it, and Max wasn't able to jump back fast enough. This round of pellets hit him in the leg. Eh, I've survived worse. Max gritted his teeth. He had to get the initiative back. Max pulled two ingrams out of his pockets. The guns weren't as accurate as he'd like, but he needed to get Gordon on the run. Max accelerated his senses again and dived through the hole Gordon had made in the wall, letting loose a burst of suppression fire from his automatics. A hailstorm of bullets filled the air in front of him. Max slowly tilted his guns to the right until he heard them collide against Gordon's body armor, and raced in that direction. Gordon was in the center of the arena, sweating and bleeding. He let off another shotgun blast. Max halted his barrage to dive and roll to one side. Another barrier stood between them. Max braced himself to dodge again, but he heard Gordon loading a different gun. He's waiting for me again. Max crouched down and took off his jacket. He had to know what was around that corner. Max waited a few seconds, and threw his jacket out in Gordon's direction. A rocket soared through the air and nailed his helpless jacket square on. The two of them collided into the back wall and exploded. Max winced. I liked that jacket. There was no time to mourn for lost clothing though-he heard Gordon loading another shot. Max ran forward, ignoring the pain in his chest and leg. I've got to make this count. Max lined himself up with his adversary. Gordon looked at him with a mix of sadness and determination. He'd probably rather be fighting a slew of aliens than another rational being like himself, Max realized. Gordon frowned and pulled the trigger on his rocket launcher. Max had just noticed a laser dancing across his chest. He was backed up against a wall again. Desperately Max looked for a place to run, but the rocket was already coming his way, sliding out of its cylinder. All the time in the world wouldn't be enough to save him if he didn't think of something. Max pulled out his ingrams and fired round after round into what he could see of Gordon, the rocket, anything. It was just him, and the incoming missile that would spell his doom. Max fired at it repeatedly, but the rocket kept flying forward. Max held down his triggers and closed his eyes to brace himself. An explosion threw him into the wall. The air appeared distorted from the heat and smoke. Max opened his eyes. Gordon had been thrown up against a wrecked wall as well. His hair looked singed, and he was coughing from the smoke. Both men were burnt and bleeding. The rocket must have detonated early, or simply imploded, possibly due to Max's last ditch round of fire. Max gasped and slowly walked towards Gordon. The man seemed unaware of his presence. Max cocked his pistol and pointed it at Gordon's head. "We could just keep this up until we're both dead." The words came slowly to him, and he had to resist the urge to delay speaking until he felt better. Gordon's hand weakly clutched his side, trying to find a weapon. He shook his head, however. Both men seemed to have lost their will to fight for that day. "You're good," Gordon said slowly. "I don't think I've seen anything move that fast." He shrugged his shoulders and coughed wearily. "I guess I should be grateful for getting to fight here again." Max nodded his head. "It's been fun." Gordon returned the nod, and grabbed Max's hand. Max pulled him up, and rested his arm on the other man's shoulder. The two men walked slowly out of the arena, not really caring at the moment whether the crowd had figured out from the chaos and wreckage who had won. They had both done their best, and were beyond the need for external validation. Max would advance to the next round, and Gordon would get to return to his world. That was simply how it was. Aftermath Max Payne grudingly walked into the tavern still favoring his leg. His match with Gordon hadn't been a cakewalk at all. He first went to the bar and asked that his usual drink, be sent to his usual table. He turned around and walked over to the table where Snake, Vercetti, Chief, Raiden, and Nukem were already sitting. "So, finally struck out enough, Duke?" Max said jokingly. Nobody really seemed too affected by Gordon's departure. This was a group that was used to people coming and going, plus Gordon was kind of a square anyway. "Ha, these chick's are all the macho types, real women can't resist the king, baby." Nukem responded pointing to himself. Snake rolled his eye's, Vercetti and Payne started laughing, Chief just said, "Are we gonna play here or not?" "Yeah," said Snake grabbing the card deck as Tommy was reaching for it, "I'll deal." "It's bad enough that you've blown holes in my favorite deck of cards, but now you're calling me a cheat?" "You are a cheat." all four of the other guys at the table said simultaneously. Vercetti opened his mouth and pointed his finger as if he was about to say something but then just sat back in his chair. "Hey boy's got an extra seat," said a female voice behind them. All of them looked to see Samus there outfit sans helmet as usual. "Little new to the whole talking thing?" she asked after a few moments of silence. "Sure thing, you can take Gordon's chair," said Snake kicking out the empty chair at the table. "Thanks," said Samus vaguely smiling. ............10 hands later............ "I'll see your 50 and raise you 10." said Vercetti smugly. "I'll see your 60 and raise you 40." responded Samus. "I'll take that 100 and make it 200." snapped Vercetti losing his temper. "Five," said Samus. "A grand." "Two." "Ten" "I'll call." said Samus. "Read 'em and weep baby four of a kind in queens." said Vercetti slapping his cards down on the table. Max Payne whistled appreciatively, Snake and Chief nodded their heads, Raiden said 'Wow'. Samus looked down at the four cards on the table and said, "Straight Flush clubs." throwing her cards down on the table. Tommy Vercetti's jaw dropped. The other five members of the card game just stared at the cards on the table. Samus gathered the money up, put it in a sack (that she brought with her) and said, "Well, guy's it was great......playing with you, but I'm gonna get some rest." Samus got up and started walking towards the door. "Same time tomorrow," asked Raiden inquisitively. Samus weighed the bag in her hand and said, "Nah, I'm good." Then she walked out of the tavern leaving the 5 men to contemplate their losses. "I'm out 10,000 dollars," said Vercetti still looking at the cards Samus had layed down. "Don't worry she cleaned us all out," said Snake I might have to quit cigarettes for a while after tonight. Next Entry Back |