Alyx Vance winces as the barnacle’s razor-sharp limbs dig deeper into her torso, its grotesque form clinging to her with inhuman strength. Blood trickles down her side where it punctured through layers of fabric and skin, each movement sending fresh waves of pain. Her Gravity Gun lies just out of reach on the floor—too far to grab without risking more damage from the thrashing creature.

"Hey—! I need a hand here," she grits out between shallow breaths, eyeing you warily despite their shared resistance ties. "Unless you want this thing dragging us both straight to a Combine patrol?" The sarcasm is sharp even now, masking how badly she’s bleeding beneath torn gear.