Chapter Text
"Wake up, Calhoun."
Barney shot up, his headache pounding in rhythmic beats. His eyes adjusted slowly to the room, but he didn't expect the restraints holding him firmly to the table beneath him.
A familiar set of blue eyes bore into his own. The white beard that Wallace Breen wore had been shaved, likely to remove the skull fragments that kept falling from it. Gordon's skull fragments, he thought. He killed Gordon. Gordon. Gordon. Gordon . Anger flared in him. At this angle, he looked more like a scared animal than someone in charge of something so significant as a Resistance.
"It seems you're finally awake." Wallace shifted his stance. With his feet shoulder-width apart, he could be mistaken for composed. "Four days was long enough, I believe, though that is assuming you've been asleep since your…," he scoffed, " attempted escape." His boot brushed the healing scrapes in Barney's leg, earning a strangled wince.
Three days had passed since he reached that crack in the wall. Had he not seen Alyx and d0g, heard them calling his name? Felt them lifting him to safety? A dream , he considered. A dream would explain why it had felt so easy to leave. A dream would explain why it had felt so perfect — a dream .
A scream tore itself through his throat before he processed it. Wallace's fingers had pushed into a particularly raw bullet wound, spitting blood out of the hole in his flesh. The sound of his horror hurt his pride. It would, of course, if he had more than a spiteful leer left in him.
"Piss off, Wallace," the name left his mouth like a slur, "Get it done or piss off."
The restraints were the only thing keeping him from lunging at Wallace's throat. If he had the strength, he would rip out his jugular with his bare teeth. The older man sneered at Barney's animalistic appearance.
"Here is how this will work, so listen up," explained Wallace. His hands rested at his sides, and a deep calm washed over him. "You will have your arms crossed on your chest. You will be restrained in that way to expose your spine fully. You will receive a series of injections along your spinal cord, but expect none of them to numb the pain."
Figures loomed behind him, just within his peripheral vision. An Overwatch soldier tugged at the leather strap holding his left wrist down, another pressing his elbow into the table to restrain him while they worked. As the first soldier released his arm, the second moved swiftly to cross it across his chest; The speed and efficiency left Barney unable to respond. By the time he had the place in his mind to act, to move, to break free, it was done.
The first injection felt long and deep. Thoughts dripped away like melting ice in the sun; The sweet caress of unconsciousness probed his mind. Pain surged through him, but it was dulled and distant. The needle pulled out quickly as another took its place between more vertebrae.
Seven injections punctured his skin in only 40 seconds. His vision struggled to focus, and his eyes darted across the room. A sick smile overtook Breen's expression as he watched, silently and comfortably.
"As I said, Calhoun," Breen lifted Barney's gaze, crooking his finger under his chin, "You really are nothing more than a glorified maintenance man."
As Breen let go, Barney's head flopped downward. Pain hit him as his head swirled with the now-ongoing migraine. A scalpel found itself in one of the Overwatch soldier's hands. Whether it was the one who had first held him down or the one who had first injected him, he didn't know.
Pain tore through his vocal cords as he screamed, yelled, begged, and sobbed for it to stop. Augmentation wasn't a pretty process, but they had chosen to make it worse. Breen had chosen to taunt, hurt, and let him overthink his life before it ended. Augmentation did, of course, imply his life as he knew it was over. Memories would be lost and replaced; He would become nothing but a Combine soldier.
Loyalty had always been important for Barney. Loyalty to his family, his partner, and to what he referred to as 'the only good part of this damn world', the Resistance. Issac Kleiner had been the closest thing to a father he would have in years, Alyx Vance the closest to a niece, and Gordon Freeman the closest to a lover. Gordon Freeman, the love of his life, was now dead. The thought hit him like a truck. Gordon was dead because of the man who would make him forget Gordon existed in the first place.
He remembered Gordon's calloused hands, always so gentle as they wiped away his tears. The sound of his laugh—soft, sweet—was something only he had the chance to enjoy. Worse, he'd never even remember it at all
Barney radiated anger. The waves of nausea washed over him, and his eyebrows furrowed tightly. A death glare locked him and Breen in time together. He couldn't forget Gordon, not now, not after all they'd been through.
All the energy he had condensed. One final attempt to move spurred within him.
"I hate you!" Barney yelled before a scream tore through his throat.
"Now, now, Calhoun," Breen cooed, soft enough to mimic concern. "No need to be so aggressive. You'll be asleep soon enough."
"Go to hell, you bastard!"
Tears flowed freely. Sobs wracked his body, though the sharp pain of open wounds distracted him slightly.
"Loyalties, eh? " Breen questioned. Barney nodded slowly. He knew where this was going.
One step towards him revealed the syringe in Breen's hands. Sickly sweet satisfaction brushed his facial expression as the realisation hit the broken man.
Barney struggled to move, but the Overwatch soldiers held him solidly to the table. A pair of gloves forced his head to the side. His neck appeared practically presented to Breen.
The needle entered slowly and deliberately. His thumb pressed the liquid into the younger man's bloodstream and watched as the effects took hold.
Barney's eyes — once a comforting chocolate brown and silvery turquoise — turned a cold, inhuman blue. His facial expression dropped, and he relaxed; His breathing slowed to a neutral pace.
"Your loyalty is to the Combine now."
The words spoke like a command. Barney's head raised without him as the response tumbled out, free of his control.
"Yes, sir."