Dangers Old and New
McChord Air Force Base
Tacoma, WA
May 9, 1986
Dr. Martin Brenner stood before his bathroom sink, getting ready for bed. At the end of another successful day, closing out a fruitful week, he traded his crisp black suit for a pair of neatly-pressed charcoal pajamas. He squeezed a precise dollop of toothpaste onto his brush and proceeded to polish his teeth, methodically working his way across his upper jaw and back across the lower. A creature of habit, his pattern was thorough and with little wasted motion. He pulled a length of floss from the roll and made another well-rehearsed tour through his mouth. Finally, a quick swish of mouthwash rounded out his nightly routine. Leaning in for a closer inspection, he assured himself all traces of the day had been removed from his mouth; in all things, there was no room for sloppiness.
Only then did he let his gaze slide up to take in the rest of his reflection in the mirror. Reaching up, he carefully lifted off the black patch covering the empty socket where his right eye should rest. Folding the band of the patch, he set it in its proper place on the little shelf above the sink. Turning his face slightly to the side, he carefully inspected the damage. He had been wounded badly when the beast from another dimension had pounced on him that terrible night. With its five mouth flaps, lined with thousands of teeth, the creature had badly shredded the right half of his face. He had lost both the eye and ear on that side. Even now, as healed as he would ever be, there were countless ragged scars across his cheek, neck and forehead. On the side of his scalp, there were several long, thin patches where hair simply refused to return.
As bad as the damage had been, his men had done their duty and saved him. Before the beast had a chance to do even more damage, they had riddled it with enough gunfire to chase it off and dragged him back to safety. Most of those men never made it back out of the school, after returning inside to try and recover the girl, Eleven. He recalled that night with great irritation. They wouldn't have had to go to that school at all if the girl hadn't run off like that. His little girl, whom he had raised from a baby, had betrayed him, her loving Papa, and run away. Years of work had gone to waste and his most trusted associates were either killed or fled the project. Brenner himself had been forced into exile and found himself doing his best to continue his work in secret at a military base across the country, far from Hawkins. He had few friends left in power to fund his work, but enough strings had been pulled for his research to continue.
As for Eleven, all the official reports indicated that she died that night, using her powers to destroy the beast, but he knew better. He knew it would take more than that to kill her; she has to still be out there, somewhere.
His thoughts were cut short by six thuds in rapid succession from down the hall.
Smiling, he turned and spoke firmly over his shoulder "20:45, Twelve. Lights out in 15 minutes."
From down the hall came her reply, "Yes Papa."
Alone in her room, Twelve sat cross-legged on her bed, hands resting lightly on her knees. She was dressed in a dark gray tank top and matching track pants. On her nearby desk chair, a matching zippered jacket sat folded neatly; Papa always said there was no place in life for sloppiness. Beside her on the bed lay the discarded blindfold she used when she tried to reach out into the void to find people for Papa. She had never been able to make it work, but Papa thought that with practice she might still be able to do it. So she kept at it every night, for him. Try as she might, it only succeeded in giving her a headache.
"Besides, that was Eleven's trick," she thought to herself. She could never understand why anyone would want to slink around in the shadows trying to listen to people's secrets when you could just go up to them and MAKE them tell you.
Reaching out with her mind, one by one she pulled her six throwing knives from the target in the corner of the room and brought them over, laying them out gently in a neat row on the blanket in front of her. The light from her bedside lamp glinted off the mirror-polished blades with their gold inlaid handles. She had handled countless knives over the years, but these were special. They were hers, and only hers. She was allowed to keep them here in her room rather than having to turn them back into the armory at the end of training. They had been a present from Papa when they left Hawkins and moved out here; when she had to leave the only home she had ever known. She had been happy there, in her little room that looked out over the forest. Her little room, right next to Papa's. Because of HER. That horrible night, when Papa almost died, because of ELEVEN.
In a dark flash of rage, she whipped four of the knives up off the bed and slammed them into the target, forming a box, perfectly square, around the center of the board.
She fought back the fury that came over her whenever she thought back to that terrible night. She had been so scared when one of Papa's helpers had come to collect her. He had woken her up and told her to get dressed quickly and pack her things. She put her two changes of clothes into the bag the man had brought with him. She had grabbed the three things that mattered the most in the whole world to her. Her potted cactus with the little red flowers that she kept in the sunshine on her window sill. A framed picture of Papa that she kept on the table next to her bed, for the times when she missed him, when he had to leave the lab for a few days. The teddy bear he had given her when she was four, to show her how proud he was of her when she had killed the cat, just like he asked her to. She quickly put the bear and the photo into the bag along with her clothes, scooped up the cactus in her other hand, and followed the man out the door and down the elevator to a waiting car downstairs.
They had driven quickly through town and out to a nearby airport. On the way, the man driving had explained how Papa had been hurt, but that he was still alive. They had to get out of the area and get to someplace safe very quickly. When they got to the airport, they had parked next to a large, dark gray plane and climbed on board. She recognized it as a cargo plane from pictures Papa had shown her. Inside, she had been shocked at the sight of Papa. He was laid out on a makeshift operating table, being tended to feverishly by a doctor and nurses. All she could really see of him was the blood that covered his face, before one of the crew forced her into a seat along the wall near the front and strapped her in. The plane had immediately begun taxiing toward the runway. With a deafening roar, the engines spooled up and they made their way down the runway and into the air. Everything had happened so fast, she hadn't even had a chance to be scared about this new experience of flying until they were airborne and headed west. Stopping to think about it, she had been terrified through the whole flight, sitting alone in that darkened space listening to the engines drone endlessly along. She had wanted to cry out every time the plane shook with turbulence, but she knew she had to be strong for Papa, so she kept quiet. Instead, she passed the night with her eyes clamped tightly shut, clinging to her cactus.
Once they had settled into their new housing on base, and Papa was feeling better, or as better as he was ever going to get, he had decided it was time to explain a few things he thought she should know. She had sat there in silence as Papa explained how her mother had gotten very sick near the end of her pregnancy and how she had asked Papa to please take care of her little girls. It had certainly been a surprise when Papa informed her she had an identical twin sister, named Eleven. He had even shown her pictures of Eleven from her time in the lab back in Hawkins. At first Twelve thought it must have been some kind of joke, or one of Papa's tests, until she took a close look at the other girl's wrist. Sure enough, where her own wrist read 012, this other girl's read 011. It gave her a strange feeling to think that there was some other girl out there, going around wearing her same face.
Papa continued with his explanation, how their Mama had died right after the girls were born, and so Papa had taken it upon himself to make sure they were raised to be good, strong, healthy girls. He decided soon after they were born that Twelve was the stronger girl, with the potential to do great things and make him so proud. So he had spent lots of extra time with her, to make sure she learned well. Eleven was sent to be raised in a different part of the lab. Papa didn't want to distract Twelve from her studies, so he had kept them apart. It all made perfect sense to Twelve. Papa was very smart, so if that is what he had decided to do, it must have been right. And Papa had been right, of course. Eleven had been the one to betray Papa's trust and run away. She had been the one to let that monster loose, and almost got Papa killed when he tried to go and rescue her and bring her home.
Shaking off the thoughts of that night, Twelve once again plucked the four knives carefully from the board and brought them back to the bed. She lifted their sheath off the bed and then, one by one, lifted each blade into the air and slipped it delicately back into its proper slot. That done, she rolled the sheath up and secured the snap. Finally, she floated it back to its proper place, neatly on the shelf next to her cactus. She gave it a final nudge on one end, ensuring the bundle lay perfectly straight.
As she stood and pulled back the covers on her bed, Papa walked in to say goodnight. Settling in, she pulled the blankets up to her neck as Papa crossed the room and stood next to her.
"Good work today." he said, reaching out a hand and giving her head a quick pat.
"Thank you!" she smiled back, "Goodnight, Papa"
"Goodnight, Twelve" he returned, already turning to head for the door.
As his hand moved for the light switch, she reached out with her mind and clicked off the lights first, throwing Papa a grin. It was her little game she played with him every night when he came to tuck her in. He threw her back a quick smile as he walked out and pulled the door shut behind him.
Laying there in the darkness, staring into the black nothingness, she thought once more about her sister. Papa told her that everyone was sure Eleven had died fighting the monster, but she could tell he didn't believe it. And if Papa thought she was still out there, then she must be, because Papa is very smart. As her eyes started to close, she once more repeated her nightly vow.
"I know you're still out there Eleven. You were bad. You hurt Papa, and I am going to make you pay for that. Someday."