Chapter 8: The Eleven Encounter - Part 2
POV: Adam
Morning in Mike's basement brings the smell of toasted Eggo waffles and the sound of the Party arguing in whispers while their unexpected guest eats with the focused intensity of someone who's learned not to waste food.
Adam watches Eleven from his position near the stairs, noting the way she positions herself with her back to the wall, how her eyes constantly track the room's exits, the careful distance she maintains from everyone except Mike. She's been trained well—too well for a twelve-year-old girl who should be worried about homework and friendship bracelets instead of government assassins.
Through the bond, Scout maintains nervous patrol around the Wheeler house. The creature's agitation has settled into watchful tension, but Adam can feel his pack leader's readiness to strike if threatened.
[DIMENSIONAL ACTIVITY: ELEVATED]
[PSYCHIC INTERFERENCE: CONSTANT]
[GOVERNMENT SEARCH PATTERN: EXPANDING]
[ESTIMATED TIME TO DISCOVERY: 6-8 HOURS]
"We can't keep her here forever," Lucas says, voice tight with stress. "My parents think I'm at Mike's working on a school project. If I don't get home—"
"She's not safe out there," Mike interrupts, shooting a protective glance toward Eleven. "There are people looking for her. Bad people."
"How do we know she's not the bad people?" Lucas counters. "I mean, she can move things with her mind, Mike. That's not normal."
Dustin bounces between them like a referee trying to prevent a fistfight. "Guys, come on. She's obviously scared. Look at her."
Adam glances at Eleven, who's methodically working through her third waffle with mechanical precision. She gives no sign of hearing their debate, but he catches the slight tension in her shoulders that suggests otherwise.
She's listening to everything. Cataloging information, planning responses.
The Party's discussion continues in circles—call the police, don't call the police, try to get more information, protect their new friend at all costs. Standard twelve-year-old problem-solving, all heart and good intentions with very little strategic thinking.
That's when Eleven looks directly at Adam and nods toward the corner where they can't be overheard.
"Walk?" she says quietly.
Mike's head snaps around. "You want to go outside? El, that's not safe. The bad men—"
"Five minutes," Eleven says with the kind of quiet authority that makes it clear this isn't really a request. "Promise."
Something passes between her and Adam—an understanding that the boys can't quite read but recognize as significant. Mike's expression shifts from protective to suspicious.
"Why him?" Mike asks, and there's an edge to his voice that wasn't there yesterday. "Why do you trust Adam but not us?"
Jealousy. He's developing feelings for her, and he sees me as a threat.
Eleven doesn't answer, just stands and walks toward the basement steps. After a moment of hesitation, Adam follows, aware of three pairs of eyes tracking his every movement.
The Wheeler backyard is small and ordinary, bordered by a wooden fence that wouldn't stop a determined cat, let alone government agents. But it's private, and the November morning is crisp enough to make conversation feel natural.
Eleven leads them to the far corner, where overgrown bushes provide cover from the house's windows. Then she turns to face him, and her expression is sharper than he's seen it before.
"Brother?" she asks, pointing to his sleeve where the 017 scar hides.
Adam's mouth goes dry. She knows. She knows exactly what I am.
After a moment of internal debate, he pulls up his sleeve, revealing the faded numbers tattooed on his forearm. Eleven reaches out and traces them with gentle fingers, her touch warm against the old scar tissue.
"Seventeen," she says softly. "Bad men hurt you too."
"Yeah," Adam admits, his voice rough with emotions he didn't expect. "They hurt me too."
For the first time since he met her, Eleven smiles. It's small and fragile, but genuine. "Papa called me Eleven. Special. Said I was his favorite."
The way she says it—with the flat affect of someone reciting trauma like a grocery list—makes Adam's hands clench into fists.
"Papa lied," he says with quiet fury. "You were never special to him. You were just useful."
Eleven nods, unsurprised. "You run too. Like me."
"Different," Adam corrects carefully. "I was... rescued. By good people. But I remember the lab. I remember being afraid."
It's not exactly true, but it's not exactly false either. Subject 017's memories are Adam's memories now, fragmented and painful but undeniably real. The fear, the isolation, the casual cruelty of adults who saw children as test subjects—all of it lives in his borrowed flesh like radiation poisoning.
"I won't tell," Eleven whispers, leaning closer. "Your secret. Safe with me."
The promise hits him like a physical blow. In his previous life, Michael Thompson had never experienced the kind of acceptance that comes without conditions or expectations. And Subject 017's existence had been too brief and terrible to include friendship.
But this—this is something new. Recognition between survivors, understanding that doesn't require explanation.
"Your secret's safe too," Adam promises in return. "Whatever you need, whatever's coming—I'll help."
Eleven's smile widens slightly, and for a moment she looks like what she should be—a twelve-year-old girl making a friend.
Then her expression sharpens, head tilting as if listening to something Adam can't hear.
"Bad men," she says urgently. "Close. Coming now."
Adam's system immediately pings a confirmation.
[THREAT DETECTED: GOVERNMENT AGENTS]
[DISTANCE: 800 METERS AND CLOSING]
[ESTIMATED ARRIVAL: 4 MINUTES]
[RECOMMENDED ACTION: IMMEDIATE EVACUATION]
Through the bond, Scout sends images of black vans moving through the neighborhood with predatory purpose. Adam's other creatures—three newly tamed Demodogs that he'd been carefully conditioning over the past week—wait in strategic positions throughout Hawkins, ready to provide distraction and misdirection.
"We need to move," Adam says, already turning toward the house. "Now."
But Eleven catches his arm. "Split up. Better chance."
She's right, and they both know it. Together, they're too easy to track. Separately, they might both survive long enough to regroup.
"The radio shop," Adam says quickly. "On Main Street. If we get separated, meet there."
Eleven nods, then heads for the back fence while Adam returns to the basement where the Party is still debating what to do about their mysterious guest.
"Where's El?" Mike demands the moment Adam appears.
"Getting some air. Look, we need to go. All of us. There are people coming."
"What people?" Lucas asks, but there's no time to explain.
Through Scout's enhanced senses, Adam tracks the approaching vehicles—three vans moving in coordinated search pattern, closing in on the Wheeler house with military precision.
"Trust me," Adam says, grabbing his jacket. "We need to leave. Now."
The urgency in his voice finally penetrates, and the boys scramble to gather their things. But as they reach the basement stairs, the sound of car doors slamming echoes from the street.
"Back door," Adam says, but Mike shakes his head.
"They'll see us in the backyard. We need another way."
That's when Adam makes a calculated decision. "You guys go to the radio shop. I'll create a distraction, then catch up."
"What kind of distraction?" Dustin asks, but Adam's already moving.
"The kind that gives you time to get away. Just go."
He slips out the back door while the boys head for their bikes, disappearing into the maze of backyards and alleys that connect Hawkins' residential neighborhoods. Through the bond, he sends rapid commands to his scattered creatures.
Scout, take point. Demodogs, create chaos but avoid direct contact. Make them think they're chasing multiple targets.
The response is immediate. Scout emerges from the woods behind the Wheeler house just as government agents pound on the front door, the creature's howl echoing through the neighborhood like an air raid siren. Two blocks away, the first Demodog overturns a garbage can with spectacular noise, then vanishes before anyone can get a clear look.
Adam leads the agents on a careful chase through construction sites and abandoned lots, always staying just far enough ahead to remain a target but never close enough to be caught. His creatures provide perfect misdirection—sounds from three different directions, movement in peripheral vision, the sense of being surrounded by threats that exist just outside perception.
By the time he reaches the radio shop, the government teams are scattered across half of Hawkins, chasing shadows and howls that lead them everywhere except where they need to be.
[EVASION SUCCESSFUL]
[EXPERIENCE GAINED: +800 XP]
[LEVEL UP: LEVEL 4 → LEVEL 5]
[NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: TELEPATHIC COMMAND (IMPROVED)]
[THREE DEMODOGS TAMED - LOYALTY: 35% EACH]
The Party is waiting when Adam arrives, huddled in the alley behind Bradley's Big Buy with expressions ranging from admiration to suspicion. Mike grabs his shoulders the moment he appears.
"Are you insane? What if they'd caught you?"
"They didn't," Adam says simply, though his heart is still hammering from the chase. "Where's El?"
"Here."
Eleven steps out of the shadows near the radio shop's back entrance, moving with the fluid grace of someone who's learned to be invisible when necessary. She looks Adam up and down, cataloging injuries and stress indicators with clinical efficiency.
"Hurt?" she asks.
"No. You?"
"Safe."
But Lucas is watching their interaction with growing suspicion, his eyes narrow as he processes the easy familiarity between them.
"That's the third time you've 'gotten lost' and shown up right when we needed a distraction," he says slowly. "How'd you even know those people were coming?"
Careful. Too many questions, too much attention.
"Lucky guess," Adam says, but he can see Lucas isn't buying it.
Even Dustin looks thoughtful, his natural curiosity warring with friendship. "It is kind of weird timing," he admits reluctantly.
That's when Eleven does something unexpected. She reaches over and squeezes Adam's hand once—brief contact that could be gratitude or acknowledgment or warning. But Mike sees it, and jealousy flickers across his features like lightning.
"Why does she trust you?" Mike asks, and the question isn't friendly anymore. "She barely knows you, but she acts like you're... I don't know. Like you understand each other."
Because we do. Because we're both broken things pretending to be whole.
But Adam can't say that. Can't explain that some scars create bonds stronger than friendship, that survivors recognize each other across any distance.
"Maybe because I don't ask her twenty questions about things she's not ready to talk about," Adam says instead, keeping his voice level despite the tension crackling between them.
Mike's face flushes red, but before he can respond, Eleven steps between them.
"Friends," she says firmly, looking from Mike to Adam and back again. "All friends. No fighting."
The simple declaration cuts through the mounting hostility like a blade, reminding them all what's really important. They're kids in danger, trying to protect each other in a world that's suddenly revealed itself to be much stranger and more threatening than any of them imagined.
"She's right," Dustin says, ever the peacekeeper. "We should focus on keeping everyone safe."
But as they move deeper into the radio shop to plan their next move, Adam catches Lucas watching him with calculating eyes. And Mike's jealousy has hardened into something sharper and more dangerous.
I'm losing their trust. Getting too close to Eleven is making them suspicious.
Through the bond, Scout sends images of government vans still prowling the neighborhood, search teams coordinating through radio chatter that grows more frustrated by the hour. They've lost both targets, but they won't give up easily.
[GOVERNMENT SEARCH INTENSITY: MAXIMUM]
[SAFE HAVEN STATUS: COMPROMISED]
[RECOMMENDED ACTION: FIND NEW SANCTUARY]
That evening, as they settle into an abandoned junkyard where they can hide until the heat dies down, Adam stares at the 017 scar on his forearm and wonders if the truth will save everyone he's come to care about—or doom them all.
Because the longer he stays close to these kids, the more secrets he accumulates. And secrets, like lies, have a way of growing heavier until they crush everything underneath.
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