Interlude Owens

Dr. Samuel Owens fiddled with the rearview mirror of his car, the edges of the day's news gnawing at him through the radio's static veil. The broadcast painted a grim picture of a catastrophic event that had befallen Missing Mile, North Carolina. Each word from the radio host, laden with urgency, seemed to crackle with the grim reality of the massive explosion that had shaken the quiet rural town to its core.

"The authorities are in a frantic race against time to evacuate Missing Mile," the host's voice trembled through the radio, "with the National Guard thrown into the fray to aid the relief efforts. The cause of the explosion continues to elude understanding."

A sigh of relief escaped Owens when the host touched upon the surprisingly low number of casualties, given the magnitude of the devastation. "Against all odds, the evacuation process has shown a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos, keeping the death toll at a bare minimum."

As Owens' car ate the distance to the fringes of Missing Mile, the crackle of his car's CB radio sliced through his thoughts. Agent Chase's voice, steady yet tinged with a coat of concern, filled the silence. "Dr. Owens, we've touched ground in Missing Mile. It's a tempest of confusion, but we're threading order through the chaos."

Agent Young's voice followed, a hint of dread weaving through his words, "It's a sight for sore eyes, Dr. Owens. The devastation has left scars that run deep, and the raw fear amongst the townspeople is palpable."

Owens' hands clenched the steering wheel as he absorbed the battered landscape surrounding him. His mission wasn't to aid in the relief and evacuation, but to decipher the mystery behind the calamity and to deter any ensuing disasters.

Navigating through the debris-laden roads, a cocktail of anxiety and resolve swirled within him. The ghost of the Hawkins National Lab catastrophe lingered, reminding him of the hefty mantle of responsibility now draped over his shoulders.

The formidable military barricade loomed ahead. National Guard units were erecting roadblocks while federal agents from an array of agencies strived to weave a thread of order through the reigning confusion. Owens presented his credentials to the sentry at the checkpoint and was ushered into the town's core.

He drove past skeletal remains of buildings and shattered storefronts, his gaze catching a cluster of religious protestors near the town hall. They were knee-deep in fervent prayer, hoisting placards scrawled with biblical forewarnings. The dense aura of desperation and fear among them was palpable. Owens felt a pang of empathy threading through his resolve.

He parked his car adjacent to the town hall, inhaling a deep, steadying breath as he steeled himself for the hurdles awaiting him. His foremost agenda was to liaise with Mayor Thomas and synchronize their endeavours to unearth the reality behind the misfortune that had struck Missing Mile.

Stepping out into the crisp air, Owens scanned the bustling scene before him. The town hall was a hive of activity; a torrent of faces swirling in and out as they grappled with the enormity of the catastrophe that had befallen them. The air crackled with a fusion of fear and determination, mirroring the resolve in Owens' core as the townspeople rallied to mend the shards of their once tranquil town.

As Owens neared the entrance, a fleeting image of a middle-aged man amidst a congregation of serious faces caught his eye through the open door. He inquired from a passerby in the town hall, "Is that Mayor Thomas?" Receiving a nod of affirmation, he stepped closer.

Mayor Thomas, the steward of the small, dwindling town of Missing Mile, North Carolina, carried a stern facade and an air of authority that seemed to eclipse his humble surroundings. His greying hair and modest attire spoke of a once flourishing farming hub now tethered to past glories. The once fertile lands had soured with time, reducing Missing Mile to a mere waypoint on the road to more substantial destinations. Though not a particularly adept politician—he would have ventured to more promising territories otherwise—he was a notable figure in his diminutive domain, a role he clung to with unyielding resolve.

Adjacent to the mayor stood a figure Owens recognized despite never having met personally: Dr. Alexander Johnson.

The aura around Dr. Johnson was hard to ignore. Age seemed to have glossed over him, leaving behind a youthful visage with blond locks and blue eyes exuding an androgynous allure. His boyish features belied a charismatic gravity that seemed to pull individuals in, akin to moths drawn to an open flame. Owens found himself reminiscing about the gallant scientists epitomized in the 1950s sci-fi flicks of his youth, with Johnson embodying an almost cinematic grace and allure atypical in a contemporary scientist.

The dichotomy between Mayor Thomas and Dr. Johnson was stark. The spectacle of them together piqued Owens' curiosity, making him ponder on the serendipity that brought the Technical Director of Aperture Science to Missing Mile at such a critical juncture.

As Owens' gaze lingered on Dr. Johnson, a fragment of memory jolted through him, knotting his stomach with a sense of foreboding. He recollected Johnson's presence in Hawkins during Dr Brenner's interaction with the alien dimension. This revelation stoked a flame of suspicion within Owens, his mind weaving threads of wariness around Johnson's presence here, in the wake of yet another catastrophe. The query hung in the air, a silent spectre that Owens knew warranted a deeper delve as he cautiously ventured further into the town hall.

Owens lingered at the threshold, his gaze sharpening as he observed the dynamic between Mayor Thomas and Dr. Johnson. The subtle incline of the mayor's head towards Johnson with every pressing matter raised a quiver of suspicion in Owens. It seemed there was an unseen thread of influence emanating from Johnson, one that swayed the decisions in the room.

As the crowd undulated with concerns and urgency, Owens watched Johnson navigate the storm with a finesse that belied his youthful visage. His words were a balm, his demeanour a steady hand amidst the turbulence. Owens, a disciple of the art of persuasion over brute force, found himself reluctantly admiring the deft way Johnson handled the room.

With a resolute breath to steel his resolve, Owens finally made his way to the pair. "Mayor Thomas, Dr. Johnson," he said, he announced, extending a hand in formal greeting. "I'm Dr. Samuel Owens, I've been sent here to investigate the recent incident."

Mayor Thomas' face tightened; his reply was a taut string of impatience. "Look, Dr. Owens, we've got dozens of emergencies to handle right now, and people's lives and livelihoods are at stake. Your investigation can wait until we've got things under control."

Dr. Johnson intervened with a soothing cadence. "I understand your concerns, Dr. Owens, but the mayor is right. We need to prioritize the immediate needs of the town, and we can cooperate with your investigation once the situation has stabilized."

Owens nodded, acknowledging their stance but still wary of Johnson's presence. "I understand, but please just answer a few brief questions. It's crucial that we determine the cause of this disaster as soon as possible."

Mayor Thomas, clearly a down-to-earth man, sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Fine, you've got a deal. But keep them short, we've got a town to save."

Owens had initially planned to ask Mayor Thomas about the timeline of events leading up to the explosion, but upon seeing Dr. Johnson, he quickly changed his mind. He needed to understand Johnson's involvement first. "Dr. Johnson, what exactly are you doing here in Missing Mile?" Owens inquired; his tone laced with suspicion.

Dr. Johnson replied without hesitation, "I've been investigating a similar anomaly to the one that occurred in Hawkins. Unfortunately, the government has withheld funding, likely due to some misunderstandings about Aperture Science's past. As a result, I've been forced to come here and work on a personal, low-budget basis with my assistant."

The word 'misunderstandings' hung in the air. Aperture's reputation was far from misunderstood; it was earned. Yet, as Johnson mentioned the anomaly, a current of anticipation laced with scepticism surged through Owens. His mission in Missing Mile was to discern if psychic phenomena or something akin was at play in the recent explosion, given his expertise in the area. Until the anomaly was mentioned, there was no solid evidence to support such a theory. Owens couldn't shake the feeling that something critical was about to transpire.

Mayor Thomas burst forth, "This is outrageous! I'll be penning a strong letter to the governor about this. We ought to have a robust detection system deployed nationwide to prevent tragedies like this from ever happening again."

Dr. Johnson, however, expertly managed the situation with caution. "While I appreciate your support, Mayor," he said, subtly conveying his gratitude for the intervention while skillfully maintaining control, "I must emphasize that I have no solid evidence to suggest that the anomaly is to blame, or if it's a consequence of someone meddling with it, or even a completely unrelated phenomenon."

Owens weighed his next move carefully and decided to inquire about Johnson's findings. "Dr. Johnson, have you gathered any data on this anomaly?"

Dr. Johnson sighed, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Unfortunately, the explosion damaged my equipment. It was not rated for such an event," implying that Aperture had more robust devices but had brought cheaper ones, "I suggested sending it back to the Enrichment Center to recover data, but a decision has yet to be made." Despite his irritation, Johnson's charisma seemed to shine through, making his words feel genuine and trustworthy.

As Owens absorbed Johnson's explanation, he found himself swayed to believe him, albeit he couldn't pinpoint exactly why. There was an elusive trait in Johnson that rendered him remarkably persuasive, a subtle pull in his words that seemed to bypass Owens' usual scepticism.

"Could the anomaly still pose a danger?" Owens pressed.

"No, it no longer exists," Johnson replied his tone once again calm and measured. "I will preempt the obvious question: it's not known at this time whether the explosion caused it to end, was a consequence of it ending, or if the timing was an unfortunate coincidence. I was occupied with evacuation efforts after it occurred. Investigating this can wait until more urgent matters are dealt with."

As Mayor Thomas nodded in approval, his impatience evident, Owens found himself pondering the implications of Johnson's answers. He couldn't shake the feeling that Johnson was being completely honest, even though his experiences told him to be sceptical.

Sensing that it was time to wrap up the conversation, Owens decided to ask one last question on a positive note before letting the two men get back to their duties. "How were you able to evacuate the town so efficiently and keep casualties so low amidst such a catastrophe?"

Mayor Thomas glanced at Dr. Johnson, who modestly shifted his gaze downwards, seemingly downplaying his role in the successful evacuation.

"It's the strong sense of community in Missing Mile that played a significant role in the evacuation," he said, crediting the townspeople for their resilience and cooperation. The mayor, visibly pleased by Johnson's modesty and tact, couldn't help but add his own praise.

"And Dr. Johnson here deserves a medal for his efforts," he declared, his voice full of admiration and gratitude.

As they discussed the evacuation, a young man with large blue eyes and ginger-blonde hair approached them. He carried a tray with warm coffee for Mayor Thomas and a glass of cold spring water for Dr. Johnson. The mayor looked at the young man and said, "You know, it'd be nice for you to visit without something awful happening." The mayor caught a stern look from Dr. Johnson and quickly apologized, citing exhaustion.

"Ah, thank you," Dr. Johnson said, accepting the cold spring water, then gesturing towards the young man. " Dr. Owens, allow me to introduce my assistant, Trevor McGee."

Mayor Thomas took the warm coffee with a nod of appreciation. "Thanks, son."

Trevor, looking a bit exhausted and nervous, smiled at them both. "You're welcome, Dr. Johnson, Mayor Thomas."

Owens extended his hand to Trevor. "Dr. Samuel Owens. Nice to meet you, Mr. McGee."

Trevor shook Owens' hand with a polite, somewhat anxious smile. "Nice to meet you too, Dr. Owens."

As Trevor walked away to attend to other matters, Owens turned back to Mayor Thomas and Dr. Johnson. "Thank you for your time, gentlemen. I'll do my best to keep my investigation from interfering with your ongoing efforts. If I have any further questions, I'll make sure to reach out."

Mayor Thomas nodded, visibly exhausted. "We appreciate it, Dr. Owens. Good luck with your investigation."

As Owens stepped out of the town hall, he couldn't help but notice a young preacher with short, dark hair addressing a group of religious protesters with passion. The preacher, of medium build, was dressed in a simple white shirt and black trousers, clutching a well-worn Bible in his hands.

"Brothers and sisters, I have witnessed it with my own eyes!" the preacher proclaimed. "An angel descended from heaven, a sight both wondrous and terrifying. It was a sign from the Almighty, a call to action for us all!"

The preacher's voice grew more fervent as he continued, "We must embark on a pilgrimage to the holy site, to bear witness to the divine intervention that took place right here in our town. It is our duty, our mission, to share this miraculous event with the world!"

As Owens listened, he noticed a local police officer or sheriff's deputy approaching the group with furrowed brows, clearly concerned. The officer was a middle-aged man with a sturdy build, dressed in the typical brown uniform of the local law enforcement.

"You need to stop talking about this, preacher," the officer warned, his tone firm yet respectful. "Dr Johnson has informed us that the site of the explosion isn't safe. People could get hurt, and we don't want that."

The preacher argued back, his conviction unwavering, "The Lord will protect us, officer. We cannot ignore His divine message!"

The situation escalated, the preacher's supporters becoming more agitated, their faces reddening and voices rising in volume. Owens, seeing the potential for further trouble, decided to intervene. He stepped forward, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

"Please, everyone, let's remain calm," he said, his voice steady and authoritative. He addressed the preacher and his supporters, "I understand your fervour, but the officer is right. The area is dangerous, and we need to prioritize everyone's safety."

As he spoke, the crowd turned their attention to Owens, their expressions ranging from curiosity to scepticism. The preacher hesitated, studying Owens intently before responding. The deputy, on the other hand, looked grateful for the assistance, giving Owens a nod of appreciation as he stood by, ready to maintain order.

As the crowd seemed to quiet down a bit, Owens took the opportunity to forge a more personal connection with the preacher, hoping it might help calm the situation further. He extended his hand and asked, "May I know your name, sir?"

The preacher eyed Owens warily for a moment before accepting his handshake. "I am Nathaniel Collins," he responded, his voice firm with a hint of pride.

Upon hearing the name, Owens couldn't help but recall a recent report he had come across during his investigation. There had been several false sightings of the presumed-dead figure known as Two, a former experimental subject. Nathaniel Collins had reported a sighting in Missing Mile just the night before the explosion. Lt. Colonel Sullivan had always been diligent in following up on such reports, and Owens found himself pondering if their paths might cross in town.

"Mr. Collins, I believe you reported a sighting of the individual referred to as 'Two' recently?" Owens asked, trying to confirm his suspicion and maintain a calm demeanour, though his mind raced with the possibilities of what it could mean.

After all, subject Two had died years ago. The thing that drove Martin Brenner insane must have been some sort of shape-shifting monster preying on the scientist's guilt. Strangely, that brought a modicum of relief to Owens. He had worked with Brenner and perhaps could have even called him a friend once. Knowing that the other scientist wasn't completely heartless was a small comfort.

Upon hearing Owens' question, the preacher's expression changed, and he regarded Owens with a newfound respect. "Yes, that's me," Nathaniel replied, nodding. "I have been granted the sight of the beast. You must be the one who's investigating its presence here."

Owens took a moment to process the preacher's words, wondering how much of the sensationalized stories about Two had influenced the man's perception.

A recent sensationalized article titled "Satanist Scientist Brews Antichrist in Government Lab" had stirred public panic, likely contributing to numerous false sightings.

Owens realized that he would need to tread carefully to keep the situation from escalating further.

"That's correct, Mr. Collins. I'm investigating the matter and would appreciate any information you can provide," he responded diplomatically, aiming to steer the conversation toward facts over wild speculation.

"I saw him, Dr. Owens, at the 'Sacred Yew' nightclub," Nathaniel said, making air quotes around the club's name and shaking his head disapprovingly. "I go there sometimes to save the lost sheep, as it is written in Luke 15:4, 'Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn't he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it?'"

The preacher continued, "I saw that boy, Two, with another boy, a young man with ginger-blonde hair, trying to lead him astray. But I didn't know then who the other boy was. The Lord works in mysterious ways, revealing His truth in His own time."

Owens raised an eyebrow, sceptical of the preacher's account. "Are you sure you're not just uncomfortable with the idea of two young men being together, Mr. Collins?"

Undeterred, Nathaniel went on, "No, Dr. Owens, it's not about that. The next day, right before the explosion, I had a vision. It was a sign from the Lord Himself, as it is written in Acts 2:17, 'In the last days, God says, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams.' In that vision, I saw the true face of Two – a monstrous combination of man and insect, an abomination before the eyes of the Lord."

Owens felt a shiver of recognition, recalling Dr. Brenner's testimonies that had been kept from the public. "Thank you for sharing this information with me, Mr. Collins. I'll be sure to take it into consideration in my investigation."