Your name is Mark Hunt, an elite Marine sent in to ‘clean up’ the Black Mesa Incident.
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- Your name is Mark Hunt, an elite Marine sent in to ‘clean up’ the Black Mesa Incident. Near evening your platoon was ambushed by a superior force, taking you completely by surprise. In the chaos you became separated from your C.O. and by sheer luck evaded the atomic blast that followed. The Brass didn’t call it luck. You were courtmartialed for desertion and sentenced to ten years in a maximum security prison. Black Mesa wasn't even mentioned in the court case.....
Two years into your sentence, something happened…
You awoke in your cell one morning to find a clean cut stiff with a briefcase standing by the door. He was government issue lackey all the way, complete with crew cut and quiet smirk. Your instincts screamed not to trust him, but he made an offer you couldn’t refuse. Pull a simple operation for him, and you’re a free man. You couldn’t say no.
The G-man worked for a top secret paramilitary branch of the FBI. A conspiracy theorists dream; Stone faced puppeteers pulling invisible strings, operating above and beyond the law for their own inscrutable purposes. As of that day, you ceased to exist.
That was two weeks ago. Last month sitting alone in your concrete cage, the walls cold and crushing, the thought of a mission was ambrosia. Freedom was all you could think of. Now that cell’s looking pretty cozy. The mission as the director explained was simple. Infiltrate an underground weapons facility owned by a massive multinational corporation, ‘procure’ a canister from the bioweapons lab and get out in one piece. Just like stealing candy from a baby. A baby in the seventh circle of hell.
You are to enter the main facility and work your way to the labs. How is up to you, but should you trigger the alarm your chances of getting to the chemical are going from impossible to worse. Upon reaching the office complex you will find a Hazardous Environment Suit belonging to one ‘Gordon Freeman’.
His ‘absence’ has already been arranged by the department; Assume his identity and enter the labs. From there it should be a cake walk, if you’re lucky. But if there’s one thing you’ve learned in two years in the brig, it’s that Lady Luck is a bitch. Intelligence has received reports of a radical terrorist organization planning actions against the facility. At least the security guards aren’t out to kill anyone they see. Should this organization interfere with your plans, remember: You are above the law. Don’t let anything stand in your way.e
Contact with headquarters will be maintained via a special encrypted radio. As with the rest of your equipment, under no circumstances may any evidence of the department’s existence fall into enemy hands. Good luck, soldier.
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