Will the real Gabe Logan Newell please stand up?

Gabe Logan Newell Times Two // A Speculative Sci Fi Short Story by Gaben

The rain pours down and Gabe sits in his car. Waiting.

“Several members of the anonymous group, Anonymous, were arrested this morning is Prague. Authorities say they they have twenty men in custody. All under the age of 30. At this stage, the alleged are denying any involvement. No names have been released. Coming up next, we talk to the owner of the world’s cutest dog, Boo.”

Gabe turns off the car stereo and starts scrolling through his phone. The first thing on his feed is a picture some girl from his old high school shared of Boo.

Gabe turns off his phone. He drums the steering wheel. The rain eases, abates, and starts up again.

The he sees him.

The man with his name,

Gabe gets out of his car and crossed the road, past a gaunt man in a grey suit to a portly guy in plain with a greyish bread and flat hair,

“Mr Newell, Mr Gabe Logan Newell?”

The portly guy turns and looks at him, not that surprised. “Yeah?”

Gabe slides a pistol out of his coat just long enough for Gabe Logan Newell to see. “Get inside,” he says.



Inside, the billionaire creator of Valve Software says “What is is that you want?”

Gabe is pacing back and forth. “When I… When anyone searches for my name YOU come up. Look,” Gabe takes out his phone but it’s turned off.

“Hold on, let me just…”

“I know, wikipedia, know your meme dot com, the Forbes profile and ranking, I think I’m at one thousand four hundred and something… Though I never could understand why they put my marital status in there?”

“I can think of a billion reasons why,” said Gabe. “Look this is a big deal. I can’t get a job and it’s your fault.”

“How is it my fault?”

“When people look me up they find you. They can’t find me. They can’t vet who I am.”

Newell tilted his head. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

“You owe me Gabe Logan Newell. You made a billion dollars off our shared name and I want some.”
Newell blinked. “If I give you some money out of my wallet will that make things better?”

Gabe gripped the gun. “You know what you can do. Give me Half Life Three. I know you have it. Give me the most anticipated software title ever and let me sell it. Then we are even.”

“I’m sick of telling you guys. There is no Half Life Three.”

Gabe slammed his fist on the desk. Prompted by the movement, the desk monitor awoke from sleep mode. Gabe Logan Newell’s login picture was of Boo.

Gabe screeched. “I. FUCKING. HATE. BOO.” He leveled the gun at Newell. Then there was a sound behind him. Gabe turned. The door had opened. Standing there was thin, gaunt man in a grey suit with a metal briefcase.

“Mr Newell.” said the gaunt man.

“YES?” they both say.

The gaunt man placed his briefcase on the desk and unlocked the latches. “You wish to see the video game Half Life Three?”

“Yes!” said the Gabe with the gun.

“No,” said the Gabe with a Forbes profile.

“Very well. Here it is.”

The gaunt man opened the breifcase. There was a sudden shift in reality. A strange, popping sound in his ears. Then Gabe found himself in n ethereal, starlight realm. Tentacles reached out from a hidden abyss. The gun still in his hand, Gabe Logan Newell, the OTHER Gabe Logan Newell, began to fire.