Some people believe in the afterlife.
Hell, Heaven, Purgatory, or just simply the concept of an afterlife. Some are correct. Some are not.
In reality, the afterlife exists. It is a pit of darkness. Your senses are dampened and you are left with only your mind, unable to keep track of time.
I don't know for how long I was gone. I just remember it was 2007... or 2005. I don't recall perfectly.
I pulled the pin from my grenade, holding the safety spoon in one hand, and a USP in the other, it's barrel cold and pointed at a Rank Leader. One way or another, the nuke would be stopped, either by killing or by blowing the controls. I guaranteed death for all if I was shot, and I most certainly guaranteed death for that traitor
I don't mind the combine. They secured me a nice future, even if the last few weeks before I died were.. hectic. The fall of City 17 was an atrocity, and it was a miracle we survived that, but even after that it was chaos. The Terminal terrorists caused us to flee into Siberia. Though I will not stand for the annihilation of a million people and the inhabitability of yet another region of the earth. We all draw our lines somewhere, even if we don't immediately show it.
The darkness is overwhelming. It breaks you. I don't recall my given name, my tagline, or anything along those lines. I don't even know for how long I've been in there.
After what felt like an eternity I heard it. I heard the rumbling of a vehicle. Each little cog and piece in the machine was like a sample of Eden's apple. It was violent, but it was good.
My eyes opened, for the first time in what felt like forever. My body felt weak, but it felt alive. My vision was augmented, with the usual tint of blue the masks offered. I saw my weapon, I saw my insignia. It read ROLLER-9, RANK LEADER. I don't remember that. I looked to my left and my right, and just took a sigh, quietly thinking about my second chance. My second chance to make things right for myself. Where I am doesn't matter, it matters that I am here.
