Interlude Will

Damien led the group: Will, renowned cartoonist Trevor McGee, Steve who couldn't help but throw suspicious glances Damien's way, and Will's friends. Mike stayed close to El, Lucas held Max's hand, and Dustin peppered Damien with a barrage of questions. Damien, however, cheerfully brushed them off, which, of course, didn't deter Dustin one bit.

For his part, Will remained quiet. There was a nagging familiarity about Damien, akin to grasping a fleeting dream just after waking. It remained elusive, slipping through his thoughts.

"And why does Will keep drawing you?" Dustin's relentless questions offered a clue. "Have you two met before?"

Damien's expression was hard to read, his face flickering between emotions too quickly for Will to interpret. But then, surprisingly, he responded, "Once upon a dream that wasn't."

Will's confusion deepened. Dustin, as always, pressed for more clarity.

Damien wasn't leading them to the Aperture's Hawkins Facility, as Will had half-expected. Instead, they were heading toward a peculiar house on the outskirts of town.

Will recognized that house.

It stood out, much larger than most houses in Hawkins, stretching up to three stories. Its old-fashioned design had details like intricate carvings around the windows and a pointed roof that seemed straight out of a fairy tale.

Compared to the other homes around, this one looked like it belonged somewhere else. That's probably what had drawn Will to it in the past.

He'd spent countless hours nearby, sketching. The house had always been vacant, so it had been peaceful, a perfect spot for drawing. But ever since the chaotic events in Hawkins, he hadn't returned. Not even once. Strangely, neither his brother Jonathan nor any of his friends ever brought up his sudden avoidance of one of his favorite spots.

But today, the once-empty house had company. Surrounding it were peculiar white robots on tripods, each possessing a singular, glaring red eye.

However, when one of the robots spoke, the voice wasn't robotic or menacing. Surprisingly, it sounded like a child. Not an older teenager like Will, but a younger kid.

"Hello, Two! If you're being held hostage, just blink, alright? We have plenty of bullets and we'd love to share with your friends!"

For a moment, Will was baffled, but it was Damien who responded.

"They couldn't possibly hold me hostage," Damien retorted, his voice dripping with the familiar arrogance that Will had come to associate with him. The idea seemed to tickle Damien. "We're going in. And I'm bringing them with me."

"You may enter without being shot," the robot replied, almost sounding disappointed.

Dustin suddenly jumped in, his voice rising in realization, "Hold on, Two, as in... like Eleven?"

Steve, looking every bit the protective older figure, straightened up, a hint of challenge in his tone, "Care to explain?"

Through Will's eyes, Damien looked momentarily taken aback, a clear sneer on his pretty, almost delicate face. "I'm nothing like 'Little Miss Cain'," Damien retorted. Will noted the disdain in his voice. "But yes, our designations originate from the same messed-up program."

Steve, eyes narrowing, replied, "So you're another of Brenner's experiments. How do we know you're not just leading us into a trap?"

Damien, rubbing his throat as if recalling a painful memory, answered darkly, "I have no desire to return to Brenner. If you're going to doubt anyone here, it should be her. After all, she was his prized pet."

Mike jumped in front of El, all protective. "Stop picking on El."

Will wasn't surprised. Mike always had El's back. But by the look on El's face, she was more annoyed than thankful.

Damien was about to snap something back, but then Trevor put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

Something about that touch made Will feel... weird. He couldn't really explain it, but it was something.

"But the news... Everyone said you were dead," Dustin stammered, disbelief coloring his voice.

Damien leaned in, a twinkle in his eyes. "The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. Always wanted to say that."

Max, always the skeptic, folded her arms. "Seriously? Quoting Twain now?"

Dustin, always one to voice his thoughts, blurted out, "Did you escape like Eleven? Were you hiding somewhere? Like the Phantom of the Opera? In some basement? Or did you fake your death?"

Damien, waving him off with a gesture towards the entrance, snapped, "We don't have all day. Come in. Eleven and Will are mandatory. The rest of you... Well, you're just baggage."

El was the first to move. With determination evident in each step, she followed Damien closely. Will could tell: she needed answers, and she wouldn't let a bit of hostility from Damien stop her.

.

One by one, the rest followed. There was a sense of unease in the air, like they were stepping into the unknown. As the last foot crossed the threshold, Damien signaled to the turrets, "Lock it down!"

A turret piped up, its voice childlike, "Yay! Bullet-sharing time!"

And then, in a bizarre chorus, the other turrets joined in, "Bullet-sharing time! Bullet-sharing time!" Their combined voices created a chilling echo, reminiscent of a toy gone haywire.

As soon as Will crossed the threshold, an unsettling sensation gripped him. It was hard to pinpoint, a feeling that things were not quite right. But he remained silent, taking note of his surroundings.

To his surprise, no one else seemed affected, not even El. Maybe it was just his nerves playing tricks on him.

Will felt a discomforting sensation the moment he stepped over the threshold. Though he couldn't pinpoint its origin, he remained silent. If no one else, not even El, sensed it, it was probably just his nerves playing tricks.

The interior was a spectacle of opulence: a magnificent crystal chandelier hung from above, intricate figurines with embedded jewels stood proudly on display, and a mural crafted from colorful precious stones adorned the walls. The floor was just as impressive, covered in an exquisite carpet, with gemstones marking the intersections of intricate geometric patterns. Some designs seemed familiar to Will, resembling constellations.

For a moment, his surroundings shifted. It felt as if he was in the midst of a dragon's hoard. As his imagination took over, the bright room darkened, transforming into a cave, with gems providing the only illumination. In the dark, he could sense the movement of a creature, its serpentine eyes reflecting in the gems. Fear paralyzed him.

Suddenly, a sharp pain brought him back to reality.

"Why did you hit Will?" Steve demanded, positioning himself protectively in front of Will. "It's going to bruise. Does it hurt a lot?"

Will, in a daze, touched his cheek. Tears welled up in his eyes.

"It was for his own good," Damien asserted coldly, his eyes piercing. "He was delving too deep, too open."

Steve's voice tightened, his fists clenched at his sides. "There's no excuse to hit him." He looked as if he was a breath away from lunging at Damien.

Watching Steve's protective stance, a twinge of gratitude coursed through Will, even as he wished he could defuse the situation. He didn't want his friends getting hurt on his account. Yet, a confusing mix of emotions welled up within him — a sliver of gratitude even for Damien. As painful as the slap had been, it wasn't as terrifying as the paralyzing fear he'd felt earlier. That fear was unlike anything he'd experienced, even when he was hunted by the monster in the ruins of his home.

Trevor, intervening with a monotone, almost robotic voice, said, "Such openness can be dangerous in certain places." He fixed his deep blue eyes on Will. Even in the coldness of his tone, Will could detect a glimmer of pain in Trevor's gaze. "You might want to learn meditation, Will. An open mind can be a heavy burden."

The words hit Will like a gust of cold wind. Meditation? Why did everyone seem to believe they knew what was best for him? But somewhere deep within, a voice whispered that perhaps there was merit to the advice. He just wished he could draw. Sketching had always been his anchor, a refuge from the world.

Damien smirked, "Pain is often the best teacher. It's how I learned and how I taught Ten. Besides, striking him was kinder than letting him experience what this place might've done to him. Touch a hot stove, and you're bound to get burned."

"You!" Steve shouted, losing patience, and grabbed Damien by the shirt. He was about to say something more when he recoiled in shock.

Damien's smirk grew even wider, revealing a large snake poking out from under his shirt. "Allow me to introduce everyone to my friend, Sarlacc. Would you like a kiss, Steve? It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience." As if understanding its owner's words, the snake opened its maw wide, exposing its sharp fangs.

"Sarlacc? Like in Star Wars?" Dustin inquired, echoing the same thought that had occurred to Will.

Trevor, with a hint of mischief, replied, "He's a fan. You can probably guess his favorite character. Tall, dark, and formerly handsome with a minor breathing problem." Trevor's tone had lightened, and it seemed he had momentarily set aside whatever painful memory had troubled him. Will envied that ability. "But let's move on. Damien, are there any weapons here?"

"In the basement lab," Damien answered, a note of confidence in his voice. "Standard Aperture procedure. However, I don't need any."

"Well, Harrington and I certainly could use some," Trevor remarked.

Steve interjected, "You can just call me Steve." He then shot Damien a look, adding, "Not you, though."

Will watched as Steve and Trevor headed for the basement, likely to arm themselves from the lab. The atmosphere grew oddly silent, punctuated only by the hushed conversations of his friends. Lucas and Dustin also tried to follow, aiming to get weapons for themselves, but Damien quickly put a stop to that.

Damien then placed his pet snake on a small side table, where it curled around a crystal figurine of a tree. The table was just a side note in the room, but that tree and the snake caught Will's attention. The crystal tree was surprisingly large, big enough for the snake to coil around it comfortably. Its branches were delicately carved, capturing the light in such a way that the whole thing seemed to shimmer.

Unable to resist, Will dug into his bag for his sketchbook and pencils. He'd been taking art lessons from Trevor before Damien's interruption, so his supplies were good quality. As he started to draw, the snake appeared to regard him for a moment before settling into a pose.

The snake seemed unusually aware, even intelligent. It made Will think of the familiars in Dungeons & Dragons. He'd always wanted a magical companion for his character, Will the Wise.

So absorbed was he in capturing the slithering grace of the snake and the surreal beauty of the crystal tree, he forgot everything else. The room around him faded away, replaced by the intricate lines and shades taking shape on his sketchpad.

The sound of shattering stone snapped Will out of his trance. At first, he thought one of his friends—probably Dustin or maybe Lucas—had accidentally knocked over one of the delicate statues. Everything here looked like it cost a lot, and that made him kinda nervous.

But no, it was worse. One of the larger stones from the mural on the wall shattered, then another and another, like a chain reaction, like dominos falling. Even the stones embedded in the ceiling and the window frames—details he hadn't noticed until they broke—shattered with a loud, jarring noise.

Then the door exploded. Will raised his arms to shield his face from flying splinters. His nostrils were assaulted by the acrid smell of burning flesh, disturbingly similar to the time Jonathan tried to cook and ended up burning the bacon. Through the haze, he saw the snake burning and the crystal tree melting, its once-exquisite form now a puddle.

"Papa is here," a voice declared from the ruined doorway. Will's eyes landed on Martin Brenner. He recognized the man from television reports and newspaper articles. In a small town like Hawkins, a mad scientist-cult leader was the most notorious villain around. But the short rod in Brenner's right hand was new; a metallic object entwined with vines, eerily reminiscent of that other place. "Now be good children and come with me. You have important work to do."

"No," Eleven declared, her voice resolute. Will wished he could be as brave as she was. He wanted to look at her, but he couldn't take his eyes off the sinister intruder.

"You killed my Sarlacc," Damien's voice followed, cocky but tinged with rage and pain. Will guessed he was fond of his pet snake. "You're going to pay for this," Damien vowed, his voice a low snarl.

"You're taking no one," Steve spoke next. "Drop that thing, or I'll shoot."

"As sharp as a serpent's tooth, it is, to have ungrateful children," Brenner commented almost idly, completely ignoring Steve's threat. "Get them!" he barked sharply next.

The sound of a gun firing was deafening in the small room, but the bullet hit an invisible barrier in front of the mad scientist. It was just like a shield spell, or maybe 'protection from arrows?'

Then there was a strange sound—akin to the ringing of a church bell but deeper, as if he were inside the bell itself when it was rung. It wasn't just a physical sound; Will felt it echoing in his mind, almost scattering his thoughts.

"Don't attack him directly, you stupid freak," Damien shouted. "I've seen something like that before. You need to be more clever."

Then other men and women appeared behind Brenner. They weren't soldiers or scientists but seemed like ordinary folks. Yet there was a feverish light in their eyes that deeply disturbed Will.

Will could hear his own heart pounding in his ears as the attackers surged forward. The protective barrier that Brenner benefited from was clearly not extended to his minions. One by one, they were picked off by Trevor and Steve's sharpshooting.

The thuds of bodies, rendered motionless by El and Damien's psychic onslaught, added to the chaos. Lucas, in a display of bravery, tried to aid with his slingshot, even though its impact was minimal in comparison. Will's fingers clenched tight, yearning to act, to do something, anything.

Mike stood resolutely by Eleven, and even from here, Will could see the mix of concern and frustration on his face. His best friend wanted to join the fight, not just stand and watch.

Amidst the mayhem, Steve's voice somehow broke through. "Point and shoot," he muttered repeatedly as he handled his unconventional z-shaped gun, a mantra to keep himself focused.

Will could smell something strange, maybe the melting metal, combined with the acrid scent of burning gemstones.

In contrast to Steve's fierce concentration, Trevor looked almost serene, his expression distant, as though he was painting a dark and twisted masterpiece in real-time.

But it was Damien whose face captured Will's attention the most. Lit by a savage joy, Damien showed no mercy. He dispatched foes with brutal efficiency, breaking limbs and using one enemy to trip another.

Despite their efforts, the onslaught was relentless. For every foe taken down, two more stepped forward. The room was quickly littered with injured bodies, their moans mingling with the sharp noises of combat.

Then Will's gaze was drawn back to Brenner. The answer to why the madman wasn't joining the fight was clear now. The statues in the room, once inert, had sprung to life, forming a protective barrier around him. With the rod in his hand, Brenner sent out bright yellow rays that melted anything they touched. It was a grim realization for Will, understanding now the fate that had befallen the snake.

"Enough! Must I do everything myself?" Brenner's voice cut through the chaos of battle, as clear as a bell. He raised his staff, and once again, Will heard that deep, ominous ringing sound. Only this time, it didn't stop. It grew louder and louder until Will could no longer think. The darkness that enveloped him next was almost a relief.

How long he remained unconscious, Will couldn't tell. The first sensation to return was the feeling of motion, as if he were in a car. Next came sound. Damien was speaking defiantly.

"My Master will stop you. Such cheap tricks are nothing compared to his power," Damien declared.

Brenner laughed. "The warden of the institution where I was held was a peculiar creature. He had a collection of genuine witch-hunter journals in his office. An odd fixation for a psychiatrist, but then again, less so than his habit of eating his patients. Many witches, once captured, made similar claims. No one was ever saved by their so-called 'Master.'"

Turning his attention to Will, Brenner continued, "Ah, you're awake, Number Nineteen. Let me welcome you to our family. From now on, you will call me 'Papa.' We're going to accomplish great things together."