Joyce
The lab's ergency lights painted everything red. Sirens wailed. Demo-dog shrieks echoed through corridors.
"Tunnels breached basent level," Dr. Owens reported, voice tight. "Power systems failing. We're going into ergency lockdown."
Doors slamd shut throughout the facility. chanical locks engaging. People trapped in sections, demo-dogs loose between them.
Bob studied the facility schematic. "Manual reboot from basent server room. It's the only way to restore full power and open locks."
"That's suicide," Hopper said flatly. "Basent's crawling with those things."
"Then people die trapped." Bob's hands shook but his voice stayed steady. "I know the system. I can reboot it."
"No." I grabbed his arm. "Bob, please—"
"Joyce, people need help." He kissed my forehead. "I'll be okay. I promise."
How many tis can you promise that before it's broken?
Steve
Bob moved toward the basent access. I blocked his path.
"You're not going alone."
"Steve, you should—"
"I should protect valuable assets. You're valuable." My Phase 3 senses tracked demo-dog movents below—dozens of them, scattered throughout basent levels. "I'll clear the path. You reboot systems. That's the deal."
Bob nodded. "Thank you."
Hopper handed a shotgun. "Don't die down there."
"Not planning on it."
The basent door opened onto darkness and clicking. Phase 3 perception mapped the space—demo-dogs three corridors ahead, moving in pack formation. Heat signatures, breathing patterns, threat assessnt.
I could see them through walls. Feel their positions. Predict their movents.
"Stay close," I told Bob. "Step where I step. Stop when I stop."
We descended.
Bob
Steve moved through the basent like predator. No hesitation, no fear. Each demo-dog that erged died within seconds—shotgun blast, knife throw, brutal efficiency.
The corruption on his face pulsed darker with each kill. Like violence fed it.
"Server room ahead," I whispered, checking the schematic by flashlight.
"Six demo-dogs between us and it." Steve reloaded. "Wait here."
"Steve—"
"Wait. Here."
He advanced. Ti seed to slow around him—I swear his movents blurred, faster than human capability. Six creatures attacked simultaneously.
Steve killed them all in under thirty seconds.
"Clear. Move."
The server room's door hung open, systems dark. I got to work—manual restart protocols, bypassing failed safety asures, rerouting power through backup systems.
Steve guarded the door. Watching. Waiting.
"How long?" he asked.
"Five minutes. Maybe less."
Demo-dog shrieks grew louder. Closer. Coming toward the server room in coordinated assault.
"Work faster," Steve suggested.
Steve
Phase 3 senses cataloged every approaching threat. Ten demo-dogs. Pack formation. Coordinated by hive intelligence. Converging on our position because the Mind Flayer recognized Bob's importance.
It wants him dead. Specifically him.
"Four minutes," Bob said, fingers flying across the console.
The first demo-dog appeared in the doorway. I fired. It fell.
Two more from the left corridor. Knife throw, shotgun blast. Both down.
Three from the right. Fight Master calculated optimal engagent—step, shoot, dodge, shoot, knife to throat. Perfect execution.
"Three minutes!"
Four more demo-dogs erged. I was running low on ammo. Switched to pure Phase 3 combat—bat, knife, bare hands when necessary. They were fast.
I was faster.
"Two minutes!"
The demo-dog ca from the ceiling. Dropped silently, bypassing my peripheral awareness. Lunged at Bob's back while he worked.
Ti fractured.
Phase 3 perception slowed reality to crawl. The creature's trajectory, Bob's exposed neck, the distance between us. I calculated impact point, threw my knife before conscious thought.
The blade struck mid-leap. Demo-dog twisted, fell, died inches from Bob's throat.
He spun around, saw the corpse, went pale. "I didn't hear it."
"That's why I'm here." I retrieved my knife. "How long?"
"Thirty seconds."
The remaining demo-dogs gathered outside the door. Waiting. Coordinating.
They're going to rush simultaneously. Overwhelming force.
"Bob. Whatever happens, finish the reboot."
"Steve—"
"Finish it."
Bob
The power ca online. Systems humd to life. Lockdown released throughout the facility—doors opening, lights returning, security asures reactivating.
The demo-dogs outside the server room scattered. Retreating from the restored lights and systems.
Steve lowered his weapons, breathing hard. Corruption pulsed across his chest, darker after the violence.
"We should go," he said quietly.
I followed him out, past the corpses, through the restored corridors. People erged from secured sections—lab personnel, Dr. Owens, security teams. All alive because of what we'd done.
Joyce t us on the main level. She grabbed , held tight, didn't speak. Just shook.
"I'm okay," I promised. "Steve protected ."
She looked at Steve—corrupted, exhausted, covered in demo-dog blood. "Thank you. For bringing him back."
Steve nodded silently, then walked away. Like hero's acknowledgnt hurt more than combat.
Joyce
Hopper found after Bob got checked by dical.
"Third ti," he said quietly.
"I know."
"How many more close calls before he runs out of luck?"
"I don't know." My hands still shook. "I asked him to stop volunteering. He says he can't. Says people need him."
"They do. But you need him more."
"I know that too."
Hopper lit a cigarette, technically illegal inside the lab. "Steve's protecting him specifically. Noticed that? He coordinates teams, deploys resources, but Bob? Bob gets personal escort. Steve won't let him out of sight during danger."
"Why?"
"Don't know. But I'm grateful." He exhaled smoke. "Whatever Steve is—corrupted, superhuman, whatever—he's keeping Bob alive. That counts for sothing."
Three close calls. Three miraculous survivals.
How many more miracles before reality demands paynt?
Steve
Found Bob later, sitting alone in a conference room. He stared at his shaking hands.
"You saved my life," he said without looking up. "Again."
"That's the job."
"Why? Why protect specifically? You coordinate everyone, but with , it's... personal. Like you're terrified I'll die."
Because you did die. In the original tiline. Right here in this lab. Eaten by demo-dogs while rebooting power.
"Because you're good," I said instead. "You're brave and selfless and Joyce loves you. Good people deserve to survive. That's reason enough."
"But you're obsessed with it. Hopper sees it. Joyce sees it." He finally t my eyes. "What aren't you telling ?"
That I've tried saving you in multiple iterations. That your death is canon event I'm desperately trying to prevent. That every close call is butterfly effect cascading through my changes.
"That I'm terrified of failing people. Of not being fast enough, smart enough, prepared enough. You're good person in horrible situation. If I can't save you, what's the point of any of this?"
Partial truth. Best I could offer.
Bob studied —corrupted face, exhausted eyes, weight of impossible responsibility.
"You're carrying too much," he said quietly. "No one can save everyone."
"Watch try."
He smiled sadly. "That's what worries Joyce. You trying so hard you burn yourself out."
"Better burned out than letting people die."
"Is it? What happens when you're gone and we still need you?"
Good question. No answer.
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