Hopper
The two n I caught photographing the lab claid to be tourists. German, they said.
Except their accents were Russian. And tourists don't carry military-grade surveillance equipnt.
They fled before I could cuff them. Dropped a cara in their haste. I brought it to Steve.
"Look at this."
Steve examined the cara—expensive, professional. Scrolled through photos: the lab, tunnel entrance sites, dinsional activity markers.
"Foreign intelligence," he said imdiately. "Probably Russian."
"How do you know Russian specifically?"
"Because they're the only ones with resources and motivation to replicate what happened here." Steve set down the cara, face grim. "Aricans opened a gate once. Russians want the sa power."
"Should we be worried?"
"Yeah. But not today."
Steve
I called a core team eting—Hopper, Dr. Owens, Nancy, Bob, Robin. The people who needed to know about external threats.
"We have bigger problems than monsters," I began. Laid out the cara, the photos. "Foreign surveillance. Russians are docunting dinsional activity."
"Why?" Nancy asked.
"Because gates an power. Access to another dinsion, potential weapons, strategic advantage." I couldn't tell them I knew exactly what the Russians were planning—drilling operation under Starcourt Mall, opening their own gate. "They'll attempt their own access point. Not now. But within the next two years."
Dr. Owens nodded grimly. "I've heard chatter through my channels. Soviet interest in our... incident. They've been circling like sharks."
"When will they make their move?" Hopper asked.
"Unknown." I lied smoothly. I knew exactly when—July 1985, during Independence Day. "But not imdiately. They need ti to plan, acquire equipnt, build infrastructure."
"So we have breathing room," Bob said.
"For now."
Nancy
Steve's certainty about Russian plans troubled . He spoke with too much confidence, like reading from script instead of speculating.
"How do you know they'll wait?" I challenged. "How do you know any of this?"
Steve's corruption pulsed. "Pattern recognition. Strategic analysis. If I wanted to replicate dinsional access, I'd need specialized equipnt, secrecy, significant resources. That takes ti."
"But you don't know for certain."
"No. But I'm rarely wrong about these things."
Understatent. Steve had been right about everything for four years. Halloween, the tunnels, the breeding chambers. His track record was terrifyingly accurate.
"So what do we do?" Jonathan asked.
"Handle imdiate threat first." Steve pointed at the tunnel map. "Mind Flayer is active now. Russian operation is future problem. We deal with present apocalypse, then worry about next one."
"One apocalypse at a ti," Robin muttered. "Great motto."
Hopper
Made sense to prioritize. The Mind Flayer was actively trying to kill us. Russians were just watching.
"We need counter-surveillance," I said. "Soone to spot their agents, track their movents."
"Billy," Steve suggested imdiately.
"Hargrove? Why him?"
"He's mobile, knows Hawkins, doesn't care about rules, and needs purpose. Give him photos of the Russian agents, tell him to report sightings. Keeps him useful and in the loop."
Smart. Dangerous, but smart.
"You trust him?"
"No. But I trust that he wants Max safe. That's motivation enough."
I assigned Billy the mission that evening. He accepted with surprising seriousness.
"Russians?" he asked, examining the agent photos.
"Interested in what happened at the lab. We need to know if they're still around."
"I'll find them."
He left, actually focused on sothing productive for once.
Steve
The team dispersed. Plans made, priorities set. Russians were threat acknowledged but deprioritized.
Dr. Owens stayed behind. "Steve, you know sothing you're not saying."
"I know lots of things I don't say."
"About the Russians specifically. You knew imdiately they'd wait, that they'd build infrastructure. That's not speculation. That's knowledge."
I t his eyes. "Sotis I see patterns others miss."
"Or you know the future." He said it casually, but watched my reaction carefully.
"If I knew the future, I'd have prevented a lot more tragedy."
"Unless you're trying to prevent the worst outcos while accepting so losses as inevitable." He leaned closer. "You've been too prepared, too accurate, too strategic for a teenager reacting to crisis. You position pieces like chess player who's already seen endga."
My corruption flared. Danger sense triggering—exposure risk.
"Dr. Owens, are you asking if I'm a ti traveler?"
"I'm asking why a teenage boy knows military strategy, foreign intelligence patterns, and dinsional theory that should be classified."
"I read a lot."
"That's not an answer."
"It's all you're getting."
He studied —corrupted face, Phase 3 capabilities, knowledge beyond years. I could see him piecing together impossible truth.
"Fair enough," he said finally. "But Steve? Whatever you know, whatever you are—I'm on your side. Rember that."
He left.
Too close, I thought. He's getting too close to the truth.
But Owens was loyal. Had proven it repeatedly. If anyone could know, it would be him.
Not yet though. Not while I was still useful.
Steve
Alone in the bunker, I stared at the tunnel map. Most of the network was mapped now—80% coverage. The assault was coming. Final confrontation with the Mind Flayer's presence beneath Hawkins.
But beyond that... Russians. Starcourt Mall. Season 3's threats waiting one year ahead.
I can't fight everything simultaneously, I admitted. Have to trust I'll survive this threat before the next one cos.
The Mind Flayer whispered: Survival isn't guaranteed, traveler. Each battle costs pieces of yourself. How much will be left when Russians co? When the next threat erges? How many iterations before you're too corrupted to function?
One apocalypse at a ti.
Optimistic. Foolish. But entertaining. Very well. Focus on present. We'll deal with future threats when they arrive. If you survive that long.
I updated Billy's assignnt in the mission log: counter-surveillance on Russian agents. Minor role, but it kept him involved, gave him purpose beyond anger and abuse cycles.
Maybe saving Billy was possible. Maybe not. But trying mattered.
The corruption pulsed agreent. Or mockery. Hard to tell anymore.
348 days until Season 3. July 1985. Independence Day. Russians drilling under the mall that didn't exist yet.
I'll worry about it then, I promised myself. If I'm still alive. Still human enough to fight.
Big if.
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