Hearing stuff that would fit in an active war zone is normal in City 17. You're a citizen (of course- who isn't?) living in one of the many vaguely Soviet apartments littering the City. However, today you hear something a bit different.

Your afternoon can of water and viewing of Dr. Breen's daily talk show is interrupted by a muffled boom from upstairs that shakes your furniture. An explosion? In the block? You head upstairs after a moment, to check out what happened. The walls are slightly torn up in the hallway, and you soon find the source of the sound.

Some sort of pressurized canister seems to have gone off in the building, during an arrest. Several people you couldn't put a name to are spread out around the apartment, dead. The air smells slightly like ozone, and a lot more like smoke. One of those massive Combine soldiers- a Charger- is sitting in the corner, looking quite dead too. You stoop to steal their gun (they do sell for a lot), but pause when you notice their raspy breathing through their damaged mask. They're still alive.

"HELP." The Charger grunts, lifting one hand in a surprisingly human motion for a Combine synth. You glance up at their helmet, cracked and smeared with blood. Combine soldiers don't talk. Only the metrocops do that. They're not supposed to talk... and yet, this one is.