The desert was painted in hues of gold and crimson as the sun dipped low, stretching long shadows across the chaotic scene surrounding the Nina Project's surface entrance. Dust clouds swirled in the wind, mixing with the faint scent of blood and gunpowder that lingered in the air.
A sharp, insistent bark broke the desert stillness, cutting through the heavy, dusty air. Charging over the ridge came a purebred Staffordshire Terrier, her sleek, muscular frame glinting under the harsh sunlight. Her tail wagged furiously, her floppy ear bouncing with each determined stride. She moved with purpose, nose to the ground one moment and snapping up to scan the horizon the next, as if she knew exactly where she was leading them.
Behind her, the rumble of an engine grew louder, and moments later, the familiar, garish Surfer Boy Pizza van hurtled into view. The van swerved slightly to avoid the rocky terrain, its driver seemingly trying to keep up with the pit bull's relentless pace. Nina barked again, glancing back as if to ensure they were still following, before bounding forward once more, her energy unwavering.
The dog was unmistakably guiding them, her playful movements juxtaposed against the deadly seriousness of the destination ahead.
Inside the van, Argyle gripped the wheel tightly, his knuckles pale as he pressed the horn with reckless enthusiasm. "Move it or lose it, dudes!" he yelled, his voice pitched with equal parts panic and adrenaline.
The van screeched to a halt at the edge of the scene, kicking up a plume of dust that obscured the already chaotic battlefield. The group inside scrambled to take in the scene unfolding before them, their wide eyes darting from the bloodstained sand to the scattered bodies, to the hulking helicopters looming ominously overhead.
"Civvies. Five o'clock," Sniper Two's voice crackled over the radio, his scope snapping toward the unexpected arrival.
Sniper One adjusted his sights, narrowing his eyes as disbelief crept into his voice. "The hell? Is that… Major Gleason's service dog?"
Sniper Two froze, his scope locking on the Staffordshire Terrier bounding across the desert. "Can't be. How did she get out? That dog's been missing since the mark took him out."
"Since she snapped his neck," Sniper One said grimly. "That was three days ago. You're telling me the damn dog's been out here alone all this time?"
"Looks like it," Sniper Two replied, his tone uneasy. "Three days in the desert and still alive. But how the hell is she leading them here?"
Sniper One didn't respond, his grip tightening on the radio as he tracked the dog's movements. Below, the van raced forward in the dog's wake, kicking up dust as it barreled toward the chaos.
Inside the van, the tension hit like a freight train.
Mike's hands pressed against the dashboard, his eyes wide and frantic. He leaned forward, his voice cracking as he shouted, "There she is! There she is!"
Jonathan's head whipped toward Mike, scanning the horizon. "Where?" he demanded, his voice sharp with urgency.
Mike jabbed a finger toward the middle of the chaos, his chest heaving. "On the ground!" he yelled, his voice breaking. "Right there!"
Argyle, his usual laid-back demeanor shattered, gawked at the scene outside. His hands gripped the wheel so tightly his fingers ached. "What are those dudes doing on the ground?" he asked, his voice wavering. "Is that… is that blood, man?"
Will leaned forward, his expression grim as he tried to process the carnage. His stomach churned as his eyes landed on Brenner's motionless body crumpled in the sand, with Eleven limp in his arms. His voice was low and full of dread. "Shit."
Eden's gasp broke the momentary silence, her wide eyes fixed on the scene. "Oh my God," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the helicopters circling above.
The van fell into an uneasy silence, the gravity of the situation pressing down on them like the desert heat.
The snipers perched in the helicopter adjusted their scopes, their brief confusion at the arrival of the Surfer Boy Pizza van fading as they refocused on their target. The radio crackled in their ears as they tracked the chaos below.
"Victor-Two-Sierra," Sniper two reported, his voice steady but edged with urgency. "We've got a civvy headed our way."
Sullivan's reply came almost immediately, calm and unwavering.
"Ignore it. Just take out the girl."
Sniper two hesitated for only a fraction of a second before acknowledging. "Copy that. Ignore the civvy. Take the shot."
The sniper adjusted his grip, centering Eleven in his crosshairs once again. She was no longer crumpled in Brenner's arms. Her small frame now stood amidst the carnage, her posture unsteady but unmistakably defiant. Bloodstains and desert dust clung to her hospital gown, and the Soteria device around her neck glinted in the setting sun.
Her arm rose, trembling slightly but steadying as she extended it outward, palm open toward the helicopter above.
The sniper inhaled deeply, his breath slow and measured as his finger hovered over the trigger. Through the scope, Eleven's eyes locked onto the aircraft, her expression distant yet burning with something fierce.
The sniper exhaled and prepared to take the shot.
The desert winds roared to life, kicking up waves of sand and debris that spiraled in chaotic patterns around Eleven. The air grew heavy, thick with an electric charge that seemed to hum just beneath the surface of reality. Eleven stood unsteady, her arm still outstretched, her hand trembling as raw energy radiated from her like ripples in a pond.
Through the sniper's scope, the crosshairs wavered. Sniper two muttered a curse under his breath, steadying his aim. His finger tightened on the trigger, and a deafening shot cracked through the chaos.
But the bullet veered wide, carving a harmless path into the dust.
"Hell are you doing? Hold her steady!" Sniper one barked, his voice tinged with rising panic.
In the cockpit, the pilot's hands gripped the controls tightly, his movements jerky as he fought against the sudden resistance. "I don't know, man," he shouted, his voice cracking. "Something's wrong!"
The helicopter's blades began to whir erratically, the rhythmic thrum shifting into a strained metallic groan. The sniper tried to readjust, but the turbulence made it impossible to lock onto Eleven.
"Jesus Christ," Sniper one whispered, his voice trembling as he stared down at the girl below.
Eleven's eyes burned with intensity, her focus unwavering as the energy around her built to a crescendo. The wind howled louder, the groan of the helicopter's straining metal growing more desperate with every passing second.
"Holy shit!" the pilot screamed, his voice breaking with terror. "I'm losing her!"
The helicopter jerked violently, spinning as if caught in an invisible grip. Eleven's body shook with the strain, blood beginning to trickle from her nose. Her lips parted, and she let out a piercing scream that seemed to reverberate through the very fabric of the desert.
The Soteria device around her neck sparked and cracked under the pressure, its restraints failing to contain the overwhelming force of her powers.
The groan of twisting metal gave way to a sudden, ear-shattering snap as the helicopter's control systems gave out entirely. The aircraft spun wildly, its tail whipping through the air before it plummeted toward the earth.
"Mayday! Mayday!" the pilot shouted over the radio, his panicked voice lost amid the chaos.
The impact was cataclysmic. The helicopter slammed into the desert floor, a fiery explosion erupting on contact. A shockwave rolled across the landscape, scattering sand and sending debris hurtling through the air. The towering column of smoke and fire reached toward the darkening sky, casting flickering shadows across the ground.
Eleven stood in the center of it all, trembling. Her shoulders heaved with each ragged breath as the exertion of her powers threatened to overwhelm her. Blood dripped steadily from her nose, mixing with the dust on her face. Her wide eyes remained fixed on the wreckage, unblinking and unreadable.
Inside the Surfer Boy Pizza van, the group stared in stunned silence, their faces pale as they tried to process what they had just witnessed.
Mike pressed his hands against the dashboard, his voice muffled as he whispered, "Eleven…"
The next moment, he flung open the door, his voice breaking as he called out louder, "Eleven!"
He broke into a sprint, his legs moving faster than his thoughts as he ran toward her. "Eleven!" he shouted again, his voice full of urgency and something else—hope.
The desert air was still, heavy with the aftermath of the chaos. Smoke billowed in the distance from the wreckage of the helicopter, but Eleven's focus was elsewhere. Her legs moved before her mind could catch up, carrying her toward the group emerging from the Surfer Boy Pizza van.
Mike was the first to break into a sprint, his voice cracking as he shouted her name. "Eleven!"
Her breath hitched, and she stumbled forward, the sight of him flooding her with relief. When they reached each other, she collapsed into his arms, burying her face in his chest.
"Oh, Mike," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Is it really you?"
Mike held her tightly, his hand cradling the back of her head. "It's me," he said softly. "I'm here."
Eleven nodded against him, her breath steadying. "Okay," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
Mike pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes, and gestured toward the van. "Everyone's here," he said, his voice filled with quiet reassurance.
The others waved from the van, their faces alight with relief. Eleven's gaze lingered on them, her expression softening as she realized they had all come for her.
She turned and ran to Will, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. He held her just as fiercely, his face etched with concern.
"Eleven," Will said, pulling back slightly to study her. "Are you… are you okay?"
Eleven gave him a weak smile, her exhaustion evident. "I'm okay," she said, her voice steady despite the strain.
Nearby, Argyle paced in frantic circles, his wide eyes darting between the wreckage and the group. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Shit!" he exclaimed, his panic escalating with every word.
Eden stepped in front of him, her voice calm but firm. "Chill out, Argyle!" she snapped, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Argyle froze, his mouth half-open, before letting out a shaky breath. "Okay," he muttered, though his eyes still darted nervously toward the smoke.
A faint groan carried over the wind, drawing Eleven's attention. She turned toward the source of the sound and saw Dr. Brenner lying on the desert floor, his body a crumpled mess. Blood seeped from multiple wounds, staining the sand beneath him, but his hand clutched the device that controlled the Soteria collar.
Her steps were slow, deliberate, as she approached him. The once-imposing figure of "Papa" now looked frail and broken, his breaths coming in shallow gasps.
His eyes flickered open, focusing on her as she knelt beside him. "Papa," she said softly, her tone unreadable.
Brenner's lips twitched into a faint, almost wistful smile. "Eleven," he rasped, his voice barely audible. He coughed weakly, his body shuddering with the effort.
"I want you to know…" Brenner's voice faltered, and he took a shallow breath before continuing. "I'm proud of you. So very proud. You… are my family. My child."
Eleven's expression remained stoic, though her eyes betrayed the slightest flicker of emotion.
Brenner struggled to lift his head, his voice growing more desperate. "I've only ever… wanted to help you. To protect you. Everything I did, I did for you." He winced, his face contorting with pain. "I need you to understand. Please tell me you understand. Please."
Eleven stared at him for a long moment, her expression unchanging. Finally, she stood, her movements slow and deliberate.
"Goodbye, Papa," she said, her voice steady and devoid of sentiment.
Brenner's hand reached out toward her as his strength faded. He let out one last shuddering breath before his body fell still, his outstretched hand sinking to the bloodstained sand.
Eleven didn't look back as she walked away, her shoulders squared and her steps resolute, leaving the man who had shaped so much of her life behind.
The desert wind was beginning to die down, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The group clustered near the Surfer Boy Pizza van, their movements hurried as the weight of what had just transpired pressed heavily on them.
Eleven reached up, her fingers brushing the edge of the Soteria collar. With a faint click, it finally released, falling to the ground with a metallic clink. She exhaled sharply, her shoulders sagging as though a massive weight had been lifted from her.
Jonathan glanced at the collar briefly before turning to the van, sliding the door open as they began to load their supplies and regroup. Before anyone could say a word, a blur of movement bounded toward them.
The dog, Nina, emerged from the desert, her tail wagging furiously as she leapt into the van with unbridled enthusiasm.
Jonathan frowned, his hands on his hips. "Wait, the dog's coming with us?"
Eden shrugged, an amused grin spreading across her face. "Shes the only reason we got here in time. We're not leaving her out in the desert. Besides, she's clearly claimed us."
Before Jonathan could argue, Susie crouched down beside the discarded Soteria collar, her fingers gingerly picking it up as though it might still be dangerous. She turned it over in her hands, inspecting the cracks and scuff marks.
"We shouldn't leave this here," Susie said, her voice quiet but firm.
Mike gave her a skeptical look. "It's broken," he said, gesturing dismissively.
Susie shot him a pointed glance, her dark eyes narrowing. "It's not about whether it works or not. You don't just leave something like this lying around."
Will nodded, stepping toward Brenner's lifeless form. His gaze lingered on the pool of blood around the body before he reached down and plucked the controller from the doctor's cold, unmoving hand. "She's right. We definitely shouldn't leave this either."
The group exchanged uneasy glances, the tension thick in the air as Susie and Will secured the items. Without another word, they made room in the van, packing themselves tightly into the cramped space.
From a distance, Sullivan's silhouette was barely visible, standing motionless as he watched them. His men hovered nearby, rifles slung over their shoulders, but no one advanced. It was an unspoken stalemate, both sides knowing the fight wasn't over.
With a rumble of the engine, the van kicked into gear, speeding away and kicking up a cloud of dust as it disappeared down the desolate desert road.
The van was packed tighter than ever. Argyle sat cross-legged with Nina sprawled across his lap, panting happily as though the chaos outside had never happened. Eleven sat near the window, leaning heavily against Mike, her exhaustion evident.
Eleven's voice was quiet but determined. "We need to get to Hawkins."
Mike turned to her, his brow furrowing. "I know. And we will. But we need to get you somewhere safe. There are gonna be people behind us."
Eleven shook her head firmly, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "No, Mike, we need to get to Hawkins tonight."
Jonathan's voice came from the driver's seat, laced with skepticism. "We'll never make it."
Susie glanced up from her spot beside Will, her tone practical. "That's over 2,000 miles," she reminded them.
Eleven straightened slightly, her eyes blazing with urgency. "We need to find a way. If we don't, they are going to die."
Mike's breath hitched, alarm flashing across his face. "Who's gonna die? El, who's gonna die?"