Chapter 8: The Timeline Begins
November 6, 1983. The twilight glow slanted into the basement of an abandoned house on the outskirts of Hawkins.
Andy sat cross-legged on a worn-out sofa, clutching a half-empty bag of Lay's potato chips, his eyes fixed on a twelve-inch black-and-white television.
On the screen, the sitcom "Happy Days" was playing a heartwarming family scene: a father repairing a bicycle for his son, a mother preparing dinner in the kitchen. Everything was so normal, so... ordinary.
This kind of "ordinariness" was both foreign and fascinating to Andy. For three years, he had peered into the lives of normal people through this stolen television.
Sitcoms, news, commercials, old movies... all of these formed his cognitive map of the "outside world."
He took a bite of a chip, feeling the explosion of salt and grease on his tongue. A bottle of Coke sat beside him; it wasn't very cold anymore, but the sting of the carbonation still satisfied him.
Over these years, he had gradually figured out an illusion ability similar to Number 008's. With this power, he could easily take whatever he wanted from convenience stores.
Though it sounded shameful, these things were all "borrowed" from convenience stores in town.
He would later use spare change he found to quietly put back on the counter, or use telekinesis to take the exact amount of coins from the cash register.
Though this behavior was no different from stealing.
The basement was much more comfortable than when he first found it three years ago. Although it was still dark and damp, Andy had learned to utilize limited resources.
Old books and magazines he'd scavenged were stacked against one wall; characters from "X-Men" cut out from comics were plastered on another; in the corner sat a camping stove and a few pots and bowls. On the desk next to the sofa were scattered his homemade monitoring equipment: several modified radios connected to a DIY antenna, capable of picking up communications from around the Lab.
This abandoned house was his sanctuary, and also his cage.
The house was located on the edge of the forest in the eastern suburbs of Hawkins, part of a residential area that had been almost forgotten.
Three years ago, after Andy left Mike's house, he stayed for a few days before confirming he would only put them in danger, and chose to flee alone.
He needed a place that could both monitor the Lab and be sufficiently hidden, so he found this house.
Stories circulated in town about the "Cursed House": in the sixties, a bizarre family murder-suicide occurred in a mansion not far away, supposedly haunted by ghosts.
Gradually, the residents of this area moved away one after another, leaving several vacant houses to slowly rot in the forest.
Andy wasn't superstitious about ghosts, but he appreciated the privacy the legend provided.
For three years, except for the occasional brave teenager coming on a dare, almost no one came near here.
He didn't occupy the entire house either; too many obvious signs of habitation would attract attention.
He only used the basement, which had a hidden back door leading to the forest, a small window that let in a bit of sunlight, and most importantly, fully functional bathroom plumbing.
He tried to make the space feel cozy, modeling it after what he had seen in Mike's basement.
For three years, he lived in Hawkins like a ghost.
He rarely went out during the day unless necessary; he only moved quietly at night to scavenge for food, gather information, or just sit in the forest looking up at the starry sky Henry had once promised to take him to see.
Why hadn't he left Hawkins?
He could have gone further, to a bigger city like Indianapolis or Chicago, and disappeared into the crowd.
The Lab's search was most intense in the first few months and gradually decreased afterward. Brenner likely thought he was dead or had gone far away.
But he couldn't leave.
Because Eleven was still there.
Every night, Andy performed a ritual: closing his eyes, activating his telepathy, and connecting to the Lab.
It wasn't an intrusive connection, but a long-distance "perceptual scan," searching for Eleven's unique mental fluctuations.
Eleven's mental signature was very special: powerful but closed off, like a star encased in a thick layer of ice.
Most of the time, Andy could only feel her existence and could not establish a real connection.
But a few times, when Eleven's powers went out of control or her emotions fluctuated violently, cracks would appear in the ice, and Andy could briefly feel her emotions: fear, loneliness, a longing for freedom.
These moments sustained him, letting him know she was still there, still alive.
And they let him know he couldn't leave.
The ending theme of "Happy Days" played, and the credits rolled across the screen.
Andy brushed the chip crumbs off his hands and turned off the TV with the remote.
The basement plunged into dimness, with only the last sliver of daylight filtering through the high window.
It was time for tonight's scan.
Andy sat cross-legged, closed his eyes, and placed his hands naturally on his knees. This posture had become very practiced after three years of exercise.
He took three deep breaths to quiet his consciousness, then "tuned" into the direction of the Lab, like turning on a radio.
However, as soon as he connected, he felt something abnormal.
Chaos.
It wasn't the usual orderly, oppressive atmosphere of the Lab, but a violent, spreading panic.
Fear permeated the entire facility like thick smoke, mixed with pain, shock, and... a premonition of approaching death.
Andy's heart rate accelerated. He increased the depth of the connection, trying to understand what was happening.
Then he discovered an even more unsettling fact: he couldn't feel Eleven's mental fluctuations.
It wasn't faint, it wasn't closed off—it was completely non-existent. Like a star had suddenly vanished from the night sky.
"No, no, no, this can't be happening."
Andy opened his eyes, his brow furrowed. A bad premonition gripped his heart like an icy hand.
He closed his eyes again, this time using a more active approach. He needed to see the scene, not just perceive emotions.
He looked for a suitable target in the Lab—someone at the center of the event with a good field of vision.
He "scanned" those panicked mental signals and finally locked onto one: Dr. Ballard, Brenner's senior assistant, who was currently running down a corridor on Level B, heart pounding like a drum, his thoughts filled with pure terror.
Andy established a connection. It wasn't control, but rather "possessive observation," sharing the target's senses without affecting their actions.
This was a technique he had honed over three years; it was more stealthy than complete control and consumed less energy.
The moment the connection succeeded, Dr. Ballard's perspective became Andy's.
He "saw" the swaying corridor, flashing red emergency lights, and dark red liquid on the floor.
He "heard" alarms, screams, and a certain... sound of flesh tearing. He "smelled" blood, ozone, and a sickly sweet scent of decay that was nauseating.
Dr. Ballard turned toward an elevator on the right. Just as he stepped inside, he looked up trembling—
A face was suddenly pressed against his, its bloody maw wide open.
No, it wasn't a face.
It was something resembling a face, but without eyes, only layers of fleshy petal-like structures. At the center was a bottomless hole, its edges lined with fine, needle-like teeth. Those "petals" were writhing, opening and closing like breathing.
"Holy shit!" Andy and Dr. Ballard cried out simultaneously.
Andy abruptly broke the connection and bounced up from the sofa, his heart racing, cold sweat instantly soaking his t-shirt.
He panted heavily, pressing his hand to his chest as if that could calm the heart that wanted to leap out of his ribcage.
"What the hell was that thing?" he muttered to himself, his voice trembling.
In his three years at the Lab, he had seen all the studied "anomalies": from the most basic telekinesis to the most complex dimensional theoretical models.
But he had never seen, or even heard of, such a thing. That was not an earthly creature, not a natural creation. It was... something else.
Something from the Other Side.
The thought washed over his body like ice water. He remembered that voice, the one echoing in the depths of his consciousness: "The gate is open..."
It seemed Henry hadn't just opened the door to the laboratory back then.
He had opened another door.
Andy forced himself to calm down.
Deep breaths. One, two.
He couldn't panic now.
Eleven was missing, and there was a monster slaughtering people in the Lab. He needed to find her.
"Where is Eleven?" He closed his eyes again, this time conducting a carpet search directly within the range of the Lab.
Ignoring those feelings of fear, ignoring those fading life signals, he focused on finding that unique psychic imprint.
Nothing.
Eleven was not in the Lab.
This fact was both terrifying and brought a glimmer of hope.
If she wasn't in the Lab, maybe she had escaped, maybe she was still alive.
But Hawkins had a population of tens of thousands; how could he find a superpowered girl who was intentionally hiding among so many people?
There was only one way.
Andy bit his lip. "Oh man, I really don't want to do this," he muttered to himself.
A large-scale psychic scan. Not targeting a specific individual, but conducting a "census" of the entire Hawkins area.
This required immense psychic energy and was extremely dangerous; he would be forced to receive the emotions, thought fragments, and sensory impressions of thousands of people.
It was like an unprotected person standing under a waterfall, being pummeled by a torrent of information.
In three years, he had only done this twice: once right after escaping the Lab when searching for the others, and another time to avoid involving Mike and his friends, when he released a large-scale telepathy and made them forget him.
Both times left him exhausted, with headaches lasting for days.
But for Eleven, he had to do it.
Andy sat back down, assuming his most stable meditative posture.
Deep breath, clear the mind, and then—release.
His consciousness exploded outward.
Instantly, the town of Hawkins turned into a massive, noisy, chaotic psychic symphony.
The torrent of information slammed into him like a tsunami hitting a dam.
Andy gritted his teeth, veins bulging on his forehead, and his nose began to bleed; he had to find the target before being overwhelmed.
Filter, sift, search for that specific frequency.
The psychic imprint of a superpowered person was different from that of an ordinary person. Brighter, more complex, carrying a certain... "resonance."
Like a chord in a musical instrument, rather than a single note.
He searched through the stream of information, like looking for a specific star in the night sky.
Ordinary person's consciousness... ordinary... another ordinary person... wait.
There.
On the edge of Hawkins, in a small diner called "Benny's Burgers," there was a special point of light.
Bright, but fluctuating wildly, like a candle in the wind.
Eleven was there—alive, but weak; afraid, but... free?
Andy locked onto the target and narrowed the scan range, filtering out other noises; now he could only perceive Eleven's surroundings.
She was eating. Wolfing down a burger.
Complex emotions: hunger, confusion, pure joy from food, alertness toward the unfamiliar environment, deep fear and loneliness... and Benny—the diner owner, a kind man with a warm smile, was taking care of her, asking her questions, but Eleven didn't speak, only nodding or shaking her head.
"Man," an irrelevant thought flashed through Andy's mind, "Benny's Burgers, I really want to eat one too."
Then he snapped back to his senses, shaking his head and focusing on the important matter: "Wait—Eleven escaped!"
Joy surged through his body like a warm current.
Three years. For three years, he had scanned the Lab every night, imagining the scene of rescuing her countless times.
And now, she had escaped on her own. In the chaos when that monster appeared, she had found her chance.
She was free.
But Hawkins was just as dangerous for her; Brenner's people were definitely looking for her.
And that monster... who knew if it had also escaped?
Andy concentrated, trying to communicate with Eleven through a psychic connection.
This wasn't simple perception; it was actively establishing a two-way connection, like making a phone call.
He "dialed" and sent a connection request.
Eleven's psychic defenses reacted immediately, like a startled animal's hackles rising; she felt the intrusion and began to resist.
A long silence.
Andy could feel Eleven thinking, weighing, and fighting against years of fear.
Ultimately, Andy disconnected. After all, for some reason over the last three years, Eleven didn't seem to recognize him and was now guarded against him at every turn.
He withdrew from the deep connection but maintained a faint "navigation beacon," like a psychic compass pointing to Eleven's location.
Andy opened his eyes and found himself drenched in sweat, with blood from his nose dripping onto his shirt.
His head throbbed painfully, as if someone were beating a drum inside his skull.
But he smiled.
For the first time in three years, he smiled truly and with hope.
Eleven had escaped. He would find her, and then they could leave this cursed town together, go somewhere far away, and start over.
He stood up and began to pack his things quickly.
He didn't need to take much: a few clothes, some food and water, and the little bit of money he had saved.
And most importantly, his notebook, which contained his observations of the Lab over three years, his research on superpowers, and his speculations about "The Other Side."
He opened a secret storage space containing some "emergency gear": a flashlight, batteries, a first-aid kit, and a handgun he had "borrowed" from a Lab guard back then.
Then he stopped.
He needed a plan. How would they leave Hawkins? On foot? Too slow. Greyhound bus? Too easy to be spotted. Stealing a car? He didn't know how to drive.
Maybe he could ask Mike and the others for help? It had been three years; he didn't know how those boys were doing.
They might have forgotten him, or worse, gotten into trouble for helping him.
No, he couldn't involve them.
This time, he would protect Eleven on his own.
Andy sat down, took out paper and a pen, and began to formulate a plan.
Routes, supplies, contingency plans. He wrote intently, occasionally looking out the window at the deepening night, the forest shrouded in darkness.
He could feel Eleven's presence—that faint but clear psychic beacon—at Benny's Burgers.
She was safe, warm, and experiencing the satisfaction of food.
Let her enjoy it for a little longer, Andy thought.
This might be the first time in a long time she felt safe and full.
By the time he finished the plan, it was past nine in the evening.
He checked the list and then began preparing for their "reunion."
He cleaned the basement, prepared clean water and food, and set up a comfortable corner for Eleven to rest.
As he busied himself, he couldn't help but imagine their reunion.
Three years. They had both grown up.
What did Eleven look like now? Did she still remember him? Would she trust him?
But most importantly, they could finally be together.
Two products of the Lab, two "children" created as tools, could finally become family to each other.
Andy felt a long-lost, warm hope, like the light from the small desk lamp in the basement—faint, but enough to dispel the darkness.
What he didn't know was that just a few miles away, at Benny's Burgers, the wheels of fate were turning in ways he couldn't have predicted.
Eleven had just finished her second burger, and Benny was looking for clean clothes for her.
In the darkness outside the diner, an unmarked black van slowly pulled to a stop.
The window rolled down, and a pair of cold eyes observed the lights inside the restaurant.
Further away, deep beneath Hawkins Laboratory, the "Gate" that had been opened remained ajar. From behind that door, more things were coming through.
And Will Byers, the quiet boy who had helped Andy three years ago, was currently saying goodbye to his friends in Mike's basement, preparing to ride his bike home.
He didn't know he was about to become the first victim, didn't know his path home would take him through a dark forest road, and didn't know something was waiting for him in the darkness.
November 6, 1983, night.
Beneath the calm surface of Hawkins, undercurrents were converging.
The reunion of Andy and Eleven was just the beginning of this long night.
And a greater storm was coming.
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