chapter three:
❛ 007 ❜

PLEASE DONT BE A GHOST READER!!
COMMENT AND VOTE

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Dr. Sam Owens stared at the photos of Chrissy Cunningham laid out before him, his mind racing. The FBI agent across from him watched intently, waiting for a response. The images revealed the haunting truth: there were no visible injuries, no signs of struggle. It was as if Chrissy had simply died without explanation. The agent leaned forward, voice low and deliberate.

"There were no signs of any attacker. No bruises. No struggle. It's as if her attacker was a ghost. Does this remind you of anything, Doctor?" the agent asked, his tone sharp.

Owens shook his head, keeping his expression neutral. "No, it doesn't."

"Are you sure?" the agent pressed, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Owens furrowed his brow, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Why are you really here?" His voice was firm, laced with suspicion.

The agent shrugged, feigning indifference. "I'd like your opinion."

Owens scoffed, tossing the photos back onto the coffee table. "I was fired, in case you forgot."

"A foreign government invaded our country, all under your watch. There had to be consequences. Certainly, you understand that," the agent responded smoothly, unfazed by Owens' growing irritation.

Owens stood, pacing the length of the living room. "What I understand," he began, his voice rising slightly, "is that something is happening in that town that nobody fully comprehends. And I also understand that military strength is not the answer."

The agent leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "So, what is the answer, Doctor? More scientists? Because it was men of science, men like you, who created this problem in the first place."

Owens tensed as the agent pulled out two photos from his coat pocket, sliding them across the table. Owens' stomach clenched as he recognized the images immediately. One was of Eleven, her head shaved, wearing the hospital gown that was all too familiar to him. The other was Seven—Scarlett—with a pixie cut, her expression defiant as she crouched near an air vent, moments before making her daring escape.

"Everything that has happened in Hawkins can be traced back to Brenner's little pets. Wouldn't you agree?" The agent's voice was laced with accusation.

Owens stared at the pictures, his jaw tightening. He forced himself to remain calm as he slid them back across the table. "What you're suggesting is impossible," he said, his tone colder now.

The agent's eyes glinted with suspicion. "Is it?"

Owens didn't flinch. "Eleven is dead. And Seven's location has been unknown for years. She escaped, and there's been no trace of her since."

The agent smirked, leaning forward again. "I'm not convinced. The night Seven escaped, there was a girl found at Benny's Diner who matched her description. I'm convinced someone found her... and they've been hiding her this whole time."

Owens' pulse quickened, but he kept his face impassive. "Okay, so where has Eleven been? Hm?" he asked, lying as smoothly as he could, though he could feel the tension creeping into his voice.

"There are rumors that Eleven is alive," the agent continued, watching Owens closely. "And that she's receiving help from someone on the inside."

For the first time, Owens faltered, his carefully constructed facade cracking just slightly. The agent caught it, his eyes narrowing. "Are you saying I'm helping them? Is that what you're saying?"

The agent stood up now, his voice lowering, more menacing. "If I wanted to chat, Doctor, I would've picked up the goddamn phone." He took a step closer, looming over Owens. "Now, you can make this easy and tell us where they are, or we can do this the hard way."

Owens stared back at the agent, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew the weight of the threat in the agent's words, but he wasn't about to give in. Not now. Not after everything.

"There's nothing to tell," Owens replied, his voice steady despite the growing dread inside him.

The agent's eyes bore into his, a silent warning hanging in the air. "We'll see about that," the agent muttered, turning on his heel and heading for the door. "This isn't over."

As the door clicked shut, Owens let out a slow breath. He was in deep, and he knew it. But there was no way he was going to betray Eleven—or Seven. Not now, not ever.

Scarlett sat on a cold, hard bench, her body trembling as if she couldn't control it. Rink-O-Mania was buzzing with confused whispers, flashing lights, and the eerie hum of paramedics' voices. But for Scarlett, it all seemed distant. Her mind was somewhere else—deep in the lab, buried in memories she couldn't shake. Her body rocked back and forth, her arms gripping her knees so tightly her knuckles were white. She kept repeating the same phrase under her breath, like a mantra, "She deserved it... She deserved it..."

The fluorescent lights overhead flickered, not from a mechanical fault, but from her powers, simmering beneath the surface, struggling to break free. The other kids in the rink gave her a wide berth, watching the odd scene unfold from a distance but too afraid to get close.

Across the rink, Angela was being attended to by paramedics. Her face was still swollen, blood crusted under her nose, and her eyes glassy from the shock. Stacy stood beside her, pressing gauze against Angela's nose while the paramedic knelt beside her, trying to keep her focused.

"Can you tell me your name?" the paramedic asked, his tone calm and steady, though he couldn't ignore the flickering lights.

Angela blinked, trying to shake the daze. "Um... Angela," she stammered, her voice small and shaky, the pain and confusion still clouding her mind.

"Angela, do you know where you are?" The paramedic's voice was patient, almost too patient.

"Rink... Rink-O-Mania, I think," she muttered, her tone uncertain.

"Rink-O-Mania. Very good." The paramedic nodded, continuing his assessment as if trying to ground her in the present.

Meanwhile, Harvey, still wide-eyed from everything that had just unfolded, couldn't deal with it anymore. He looked at Will, shaking his head, his voice low but hurried. "Wi—Will, I'm going home. This is insane. Call me if you wanna hang out, okay?" His voice cracked slightly, betraying his unease.

Will, his face red, only managed a quick nod. "Yeah, sure. I'll call you later." Harvey didn't need any more encouragement—he turned and made his way toward the exit, escaping the scene as quickly as he could.

Will exchanged a worried glance with Mike, whose face was tight with concern. Their attention turned back to the bench where Scarlett sat, hunched over, as if the weight of the world was crushing her. Eleven was beside her, her arms wrapped tightly around Scarlett's frame, pulling her sister close.

Scarlett's breathing was ragged, her chest rising and falling rapidly as the memories assaulted her mind. Blood, dead kids strewn across the cold, sterile floors of the lab. She could hear the screams, feel the cold metal of the restraints that had once held her captive. Her eyes were wide but unseeing, glazed over as the memories twisted and warped inside her head.

Eleven tightened her grip, trying to hold Scarlett together as she began to unravel. "It's okay, Scar," Eleven whispered softly, her voice gentle but pleading. But Scarlett didn't respond. She just rocked back and forth, faster now, her muttering growing more frantic. "She deserved it... She deserved it..."

Mike stepped forward cautiously, his heart thudding in his chest. The lights flickered again—more violently this time—and a deep hum filled the rink, reverberating through the walls. It wasn't just the lights; it was the very air around them. Mike could feel the pressure building, the raw energy radiating from Scarlett, threatening to explode at any moment. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, as he tried to reach out.

"Scarlett," he called gently, his voice shaking with uncertainty.

But Scarlett didn't hear him. She was trapped, locked inside her own mind, her powers feeding off her fear, her anger, her guilt. The '007' tattoo on her wrist began to glow, pulsing with a soft blue light that flickered in time with the overhead lights. The energy crackled around her, almost visible now, like tiny sparks in the air.

Eleven's grip tightened even more, her face filled with concern as she whispered to her sister, "We're here, Scar. You're safe. You're with me." But even Eleven could feel it—the rising tide of power that Scarlett was struggling to control.

Mike, standing just a few feet away, felt helpless. He could see the fear in Scarlett's eyes, the way she trembled uncontrollably, but he didn't know what to do. He exchanged a quick look with Will, whose face was pale with worry.

Will, taking a tentative step forward, tried to speak, his voice soft but filled with concern. "Scarlett, it's okay. We're here for you. You're not back there."

But it didn't reach her. Nothing was reaching her. Scarlett's breathing grew more erratic, her powers reacting violently to her inner turmoil. The bench beneath them began to vibrate slightly, as if the very ground was shifting under her emotions.

Eleven, sensing the danger, tried to soothe her sister. "Scarlett, look at me," she whispered, pulling Scarlett tighter against her. But Scarlett's gaze remained distant, her body stiff as the memories continued to haunt her.

The lights flickered again, this time staying off for several long seconds before they snapped back on, brighter than before. The buzzing sound grew louder, more insistent, as if the whole rink was on the edge of a blackout.

Scarlett clenched her fists, the glowing tattoo on her wrist intensifying, casting a soft blue light that shimmered and pulsed. A single tear slid down her cheek, unnoticed by anyone but Eleven. The memories were too strong, too vivid. She could still hear the screams from the lab, see the bodies, feel the blood on her hands.

Mike's heart raced as he watched the scene unfold. He wanted to help, wanted to say something—anything—to pull her back. But he didn't know how. All he could think about were the words he had spoken earlier, the words that had probably pushed her deeper into this spiral. "Scar, what did you do?" he had asked, his voice filled with shock, and now those words echoed in Scarlett's mind like a curse, feeding her guilt and fear.

Scarlett rocked faster, her body trembling as the pressure built inside her. She could feel it—her powers clawing at her, trying to break free, trying to release the energy that had been building for so long. The lab, the experiments, the death—it was all coming back too fast, too strong.

And then, without warning, the lights exploded.

Scarlett sat in the back of the van, knees drawn up to her chest, her body slowly rocking back and forth, an unconscious effort to calm the storm still raging inside her. The events at Rink-O-Mania felt like they had happened hours ago, but the tension and chaos still clung to her like a second skin. Every few minutes, her thoughts would spiral back to that moment, the lights flickering, the feeling of power barely restrained, and the horror on Mike's face as he asked, "Scar, what did you do?"

Mike sat beside her, but his gaze was distant, lost somewhere in his own thoughts. His silence made Scarlett feel even more alone. Eleven sat across from her, frowning as she tried to process everything too. Will, on the other hand, was staring out the window, his face expressionless but his mind clearly elsewhere.

Jonathan and Argyle, high as usual, were in the front seats, with Argyle lazily guiding the van down the road. Scarlett barely registered the quiet conversation between them, her focus inward, battling the guilt and fear that threatened to overwhelm her. She tried to ground herself, to focus on her breathing, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw the blood. She heard the screams.

"I know this may be, like, upsetting and shit," Argyle suddenly said, breaking the silence in the van with his usual laid-back tone, "but that future prom queen is gonna be fine. It's just, like, rubber wheels." He glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes half-lidded, his words dragging.

"Plastic," Jonathan corrected, his voice sluggish, words slurring together as he blinked slowly.

"Ohhh," Argyle nodded, as if he had just discovered something profound. "Not like, hard plastic, though. Just... you know, the soft kind."

Jonathan seemed to agree, lazily nodding his head. "Totally."

Scarlett sighed, rolling her eyes at their nonsensical ramblings. But as ridiculous as they were, the inane conversation between Jonathan and Argyle had a weirdly calming effect, like white noise in the background of her turbulent thoughts. She let out a deep breath, her body relaxing slightly as she leaned her head against Mike's shoulder, seeking comfort, something solid to hold onto.

Mike shifted, pulling his shoulder away from her without even glancing in her direction. Scarlett frowned, the rejection cutting deeper than she wanted to admit. She pulled back, feeling the familiar sting of tears welling in her eyes, but she blinked them away, turning her face toward the window to hide the sadness that threatened to spill over.

"So people don't get hurt when they get shmacked," Argyle continued, his voice drifting through the van like smoke. Scarlett barely registered his words, her focus drifting outside, watching the trees and the darkening sky blur together as they sped down the road.

"Oh," Jonathan murmured in agreement. "Yeah... 'cause it happens more than you think, man. Roller skate attacks." He sounded as if he had just come to some deep realization, his words tumbling out in a sleepy drawl.

Argyle nodded sagely, eyes still half-closed. "Man. Hey, at least it wasn't an ice skate," he added, his voice lifting slightly as if he was trying to make a point. "That nose would've been sliced clean off, man."

Jonathan gasped, his eyes wide, nodding fervently. "It could've been so much worse."

Scarlett clenched her jaw, willing the tears away as she stared out the window. Argyle and Jonathan's idiotic banter filled the van, but it didn't do anything to soothe the ache growing in her chest. The guilt gnawed at her like a parasite, eating away at her resolve, and Mike's coldness only made it worse.

"So much worse," Argyle repeated, his voice floating through the air like an echo.

Jonathan agreed, "So much worse," his head bobbing in time with his words.

"You guys aren't helping," Eleven finally said, her tone exasperated as she glared at the two of them. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of the moment, but neither Jonathan nor Argyle paid her any attention. They were lost in their own little world, their conversation spiraling into oblivion.

"In the grand scheme of things," Jonathan mumbled, "it's just a little blip."

"Blip," Argyle echoed, a slow smile spreading across his face as if he found the word amusing. "That's a funny word, man."

Jonathan chuckled. "Blip."

"Blip," Argyle repeated, giggling softly.

"Blip, blip, blip, blip, blip," they both chanted in unison, their voices a surreal soundtrack to the emotional turmoil swirling inside the van.

Scarlett pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window, her reflection staring back at her with hollow, tear-filled eyes. The rhythmic chant of "blip" echoed in the background, but it was drowned out by the chaos inside her mind. The guilt, the shame, the confusion—all of it built up like a pressure cooker inside her, threatening to explode.

Her breath hitched, and a single tear escaped, sliding down her cheek. She blinked quickly, brushing it away before anyone could see, her heart aching with the overwhelming weight of it all.

She had hurt Angela. Badly. And even though part of her believed Angela deserved it, the guilt gnawed at her. What would happen if her powers spiraled out of control again? What if next time, she didn't stop? What if she became like the monsters in her memories—the lab, the blood, the dead kids who had never stood a chance?

As the van rolled down the dark highway, Scarlett found herself lost in those thoughts again, zoning out, her gaze fixed on the endless stretch of road ahead, tears silently falling as she struggled to hold herself together.

As Scarlett, El, Will, Mike, Jonathan, and Argyle walked through the front door of the Byers' home, the sound of Russian music immediately filled the air, an unexpected addition to their already chaotic day. Scarlett furrowed her brows, exchanging a glance with Eleven as Will called out, "Mom?"

The group made their way toward the kitchen, following the scent of something cooking, and when they rounded the corner, they were greeted by a strange but oddly familiar sight: Murray Bauman, the conspiracy theorist from Hawkins, standing at the stove with an apron tied around his waist, stirring a pot of risotto. Next to him, Carrie, Scarlett's mom, was pulling a tray of cookies from the oven, her face lighting up as soon as she saw them.

"Hey, lovelies!" Carrie greeted, her voice cheerful as she placed the cookies down on the counter, a broad grin spreading across her face. She wiped her hands on her apron before turning to the group. "Well, well! Aren't you lot a sight for sore eyes, huh?"

Scarlett blinked, completely thrown off by the sudden domestic scene in front of her. It was surreal. Since when did her mom and Murray become a dynamic duo? She shot El another confused glance, but Eleven just shrugged, equally perplexed.

"Hi, Murray," Jonathan waved lazily, still clearly under the influence of whatever he and Argyle had smoked earlier. His hand wobbled a bit, and he leaned against the doorframe for support, chuckling to himself. Scarlett rolled her eyes, shaking her head. Of course, Jonathan's still high.

"Well, hello there, Jonathan!" Murray responded, giving him an exaggerated wave. His eyes gleamed with that conspiratorial energy he always seemed to have. "You kids like risotto?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as if the question held some deeper significance.

Scarlett and Eleven exchanged another look, unsure of how to react. "Uh, yeah," Jonathan answered with a goofy laugh, clearly unbothered by the strangeness of the moment.

Murray smirked knowingly, then went back to stirring the pot, humming along to the Russian music. "Good, because Carrie and I have been working on this all day. It's a recipe I picked up during my... travels." He winked, and Scarlett couldn't help but roll her eyes again.

"Is this really happening?" she muttered under her breath to El, who just gave a small nod, equally bewildered. The scene felt like something out of a strange dream—a bizarre juxtaposition to the emotional chaos that had unraveled earlier at the rink.

Carrie beamed at her daughter, waving her over. "Scar, sweetie, come try these cookies. You'll love them. I added your favorite—white chocolate and macadamia nuts!" She sounded so carefree, like nothing was wrong in the world.

Scarlett bit her lip, trying to suppress the storm of emotions bubbling inside her. The calm normality of the scene felt wrong, like it didn't belong in their world of Upside Down monsters, secret government plots, and emotional breakdowns. But she walked over anyway, grabbing a cookie just to make her mom happy. As she took a bite, she felt the sweetness hit her tongue, but her mind was elsewhere, still processing everything that had happened.

Will, meanwhile, stood silently by the doorway, taking in the scene with a distant look. He leaned in toward Mike. "Why is Murray here?" he whispered, still unsure of what to make of the situation.

Mike shrugged, also a little disoriented. "I don't know, man. This is weird, even for us."

At the dinner table, Scarlett sat sandwiched between Mike and Eleven, picking at her plate but not eating. The tension between her and Mike was palpable, and the awkward silence between them didn't go unnoticed. Mike kept his focus elsewhere, avoiding any eye contact with Scarlett, whose mood was darkening by the second.

Murray was in full storytelling mode, seemingly oblivious to the strained atmosphere. "So there I was," he began, leaning into his tale with his characteristic energy, "headed down the I-5, going to see a client in Ventura. I'm looking for a motel to stay for the night, and suddenly, bam!" He slapped his hand on the table, causing a few startled glances. "It hits me. Didn't the Byers move here?"

Carrie chuckled alongside him, her thick Southern accent dripping with warmth. "Isn't that just peachy?" she said, smiling broadly. Scarlett bit her lip, feeling more out of place with each passing second.

Joyce, sitting across the table, smiled at the coincidence. "Small world, isn't it? It's a small world," she added, trying to keep the conversation light.

Carrie's eyes flickered over to her daughter. "Honey, are you gonna eat your food?" she asked Scarlett, her voice laced with concern. Scarlett shrugged, barely responding, and Carrie's worried look deepened. Her eyes darted between Scarlett and Mike, noting their distance and the clear tension. Something was wrong, but she decided not to push it—at least, not right now.

Murray kept the momentum going, chuckling as he continued his story. "So I thought, hey, why don't I drop in, say hello to my old friends? A little surprise visit never hurt anyone, right?"

Joyce nodded politely. "It's so sweet of you," she replied, though her eyes were more focused on keeping an eye on the kids, particularly Jonathan, who seemed miles away.

"Sweeter of you to let me stay," Murray quipped with a laugh.

"And he cooks! Why not?" Carrie added, her voice light with amusement.

Murray grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Mm, and cleans. A regular little housewife."

Scarlett's eyes narrowed as she glared at him, sensing something off in the whole setup. *What was really going on here?* she wondered. The light-hearted banter felt forced, like a smokescreen for something bigger. Murray was always up to something, and Scarlett was starting to suspect this was no ordinary visit.

Joyce broke the tension with a casual smile, directing her attention to her son. "You should stay," she offered.

Murray waved it off. "I'd be tempted, Joyce, except, you know, you and Carrie have that, uh..." He made a vague hand gesture, motioning for them to reveal the real reason behind his visit.

Joyce picked up the cue. "Right! Well, sugar," she turned to Scarlett, "Mommy and Joyce are going on a trip. You be okay with Bob?"

Scarlett froze at the mention of Bob's name, a chill running down her spine. Even though she liked Bob Newby, his name always stirred something painful in her—a reminder of the past, of things she couldn't save. "What?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. "Where are you going?"

Joyce jumped in quickly. "Business trip."

Will's brows knitted together in confusion. "Business trip? What business trip?" he questioned, his voice uncertain.

"It's this thing that came up at work," Joyce stammered, struggling to keep the story straight. "Turns out Carrie and I have to go to a conference tomorrow."

"In Alaska," Carrie added casually, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

Scarlett and Will exchanged wide-eyed looks. "Alaska?" they both said in unison.

"Tomorrow?" Mike added at the same time, clearly just as puzzled as the others.

"Crazy, right?" Murray chuckled, a knowing gleam in his eyes.

"That's where they're based, the Britannicas," Joyce said quickly, stumbling over the lie.

"Joan and Brian Britannica!" Carrie chimed in, her tone overly enthusiastic.

Before anyone could ask more, Argyle, ever the wildcard, jumped in with a completely off-topic question, looking directly at Murray. "So, do Eskimos, like, still live in igloos? Or, uh, are they, like, fully-blown living in the suburbs now?"

Murray blinked, baffled, and turned to Joyce. "Who is this?" he asked, gesturing toward Argyle, clearly unaware of his connection to the group.

Joyce ignored the question, her focus shifting back to Jonathan. "So, Jonathan, this means you're going to have to, you know, take charge while I'm gone."

Jonathan, still high and barely paying attention, blinked in confusion. "Wait. What? What's going on?" he mumbled, shoveling food into his mouth.

Will groaned, deeply embarrassed by his brother's behavior. "Oh my God..." he muttered under his breath.

Argyle leaned over and whispered to Jonathan, as if imparting some grand secret. "Your mom and Scarlett's mom are going to Alaska."

Jonathan's eyes widened as he processed the information. "You're going to Alaska?" he asked, staring at his mom in disbelief.

Carrie chuckled, realizing just how out of it Jonathan was. "What's going on in Alaska?" he asked again, still not grasping the situation.

"The Britannicas are there," Argyle helpfully explained, as if that answered everything.

Jonathan repeated the name, his brain trying to catch up. "The Britannicas?"

Joyce narrowed her eyes at her son. "Jonathan, what is wrong with you?"

Murray muttered under his breath, "I think I know what's wrong with him." Scarlett couldn't help but chuckle slightly, the absurdity of the situation almost too much to handle.

Jonathan, trying to defend himself, shrugged. "We just had a super stressful day."

Carrie leaned forward, intrigued. "Stress, huh?"

Argyle eagerly chimed in, as if he were reporting the news. "This girl got shmacked in the head today at the roller rink."

Scarlett, horrified, sank down in her seat as all eyes turned to her. "Shmacked?" Murray and Carrie asked in unison.

"Yeah, one of those vicious skate attacks," Argyle continued, nodding sagely.

Murray raised an eyebrow. "A skate attack?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't an ice skate. It was... it was a plastic skate," Jonathan explained, his words slow and slurred.

"No, it was, like, rubber," Argyle corrected.

"Rubber," Jonathan echoed.

"Rubber," Joyce repeated, staring at Jonathan, trying to make sense of everything.

"Yeah, anyway," Argyle went on, "she looked like she's gonna be fine."

"She's totally fine," Jonathan added, his tone dismissive.

Mike, glaring at Scarlett, finally spoke up. "She didn't look fine," he stated, his voice icy and sharp.

Scarlett stared at him in disbelief, feeling a mix of anger and hurt welling up inside her. "I'm going home," she muttered bitterly, pushing her chair back and standing up abruptly.

"Sugar! Where are you going?" Carrie called after her, but Scarlett was already storming out, slamming the front door behind her.

Carrie turned back to the others, eyes wide with confusion. "Mike, what happened?" she asked, but Mike remained silent, his face tight with anger.

Carrie's gaze shifted to Eleven and Will, both of whom avoided her eyes, not saying a word. Something was seriously wrong, and Carrie knew she needed to get to the bottom of it.

Scarlett sat on her bed, legs crossed, headphones covering her ears, as her favorite song, "Don't You (Forget About Me)" by Simple Minds, played at full blast. In her hands was her favorite book, *The Outsiders*, a story she'd read countless times. She tried to lose herself in the pages, but her mind kept wandering back to the events of the roller rink. She could feel the pulse of the music vibrating through her, but it couldn't drown out her thoughts.

Carrie came home, kicking off her shoes at the door. She felt the tension in the air and headed straight for Scarlett's room. Gently knocking, she peeked inside to see her daughter, completely zoned out. Carrie walked in quietly and tapped Scarlett on the shoulder.

Startled, Scarlett pulled off her headphones. "Mom, you scared me."

Carrie smiled softly and sat on the edge of the bed. "What's going on, sugar? You left dinner without saying a word. Something's clearly wrong."

Scarlett shook her head, turning her attention back to her book. "It's nothing. I'm fine, really."

Carrie's eyes narrowed, not convinced. "Now, I know you better than that. When my daughter says she's fine, that's when I know something's really up."

Scarlett sighed, slumping back against her pillows. She could feel the pressure building inside her chest, like the weight of a secret too heavy to hold any longer. "Mom..." Her voice wavered. "My powers... they're coming back."

Carrie's face softened with concern. "Oh, Scarlett..."

"I got so mad today. We were at the roller rink, and this girl Angela—she was bullying El." Scarlett clenched her fists as she recounted the memory. "I couldn't stop it, Mom. I just... I snapped. Next thing I know, I hit her. With a roller skate. I broke her nose." Her voice trembled, and she looked down, ashamed. "And then... after that, I was just... lost. It was like I wasn't in the rink anymore. All I could see were these memories from the lab, like I was back there again. And Mike... I could hear Mike's voice in my mind, over and over."

Carrie reached out, resting a gentle hand on Scarlett's knee. "Oh, sugar..."

Scarlett shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "I think Mike thinks I'm crazy now, Mom. He looked at me like I'm some kind of monster."

Carrie pulled Scarlett closer, wrapping her in a warm embrace. "Oh, no, Scarlett. He doesn't think that. Mike's just a boy who doesn't know how to process all this. Boys can be real dumb sometimes, especially when they're scared, and with everything going on... your emotions are all over the place. If your powers are coming back, that's a lot to deal with."

Scarlett wiped at her eyes. "But what if he never looks at me the same again? What if I scared him away?"

Carrie sighed softly. "Sweetheart, Mike cares about you. He's just trying to figure this out, same as you are. You're not crazy, and you're not a monster. You're my strong, brave girl, and I know you're going to get through this."

But Scarlett couldn't shake the doubt gnawing at her. "I don't know, Mom. I don't want to hurt anyone. I'm scared."

Carrie squeezed her shoulder. "I know you are. But we're gonna figure this out, together. You're not alone in this."

Scarlett pulled away slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I just need to be alone right now."

Carrie frowned, reluctant to leave her, but she knew when Scarlett needed her space. "Alright, sugar. But I'll be right outside if you need me."

Scarlett nodded, watching as Carrie gave her a final, loving look before quietly leaving the room. Once the door closed, Scarlett put her headphones back on, but the music didn't feel the same. The heaviness in her chest lingered, and for the first time in a while, she felt truly alone.

The next morning, Scarlett sat on her bed, sketching on a notepad, trying to escape into her art. Her room was dim, the curtains drawn tightly shut to keep out the sunlight. The only light came from her desk lamp, casting long shadows around her. A soft knock on the door interrupted the quiet.

"Hey, Scar. Bob let me in," Mike said cautiously from the other side. Scarlett sighed and kept drawing, deliberately ignoring him.

Mike hesitated for a second but walked in anyway. He sat down on the edge of her bed, his presence heavy, but Scarlett still didn't look up. Her hand tightened around her pencil as she continued to sketch, moving the paper slightly away from his gaze, covering it with her arm.

Mike sighed, already feeling the tension. "Are we not gonna talk about it?" he asked softly.

"About what, Wheeler?" Scarlett shot back, her tone biting.

Mike winced. She never called him 'Wheeler' unless she was pissed. "Scar... yesterday was kind of odd, you know? Your powers are back, and it's kinda... out of control."

Scarlett whipped her head towards him, her eyes already brimming with tears. "What do you want me to say, Wheeler? I broke a girl's nose! My anger is out of control! For the last eight months, I was calm. And now, my powers are back, and... and my anger and my powers are controlling me!"

Mike frowned, watching her struggle, guilt gnawing at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but Scarlett stood up, stepping away from the bed. "Mike, you looked at me with fear. You— you think I'm a monster," she croaked, her voice breaking as tears began to fall.

"What? Scarlett, no, I was in shock. I'm not afraid of you," Mike insisted, standing up too, reaching out for her.

Scarlett scoffed, turning away. "Mike, you moved away from me when I put my head on your shoulder! You didn't want me close because you were scared!"

"I— I was processing! I didn't know what to do!" Mike said, almost pleading. "It happened so fast, but it doesn't change anything, Scarlett. I care for you so much."

Scarlett looked at him, eyes red and tired. "So you don't love me?"

Mike blinked, stunned. "What? Scarlett, of course, I love you—"

"You never say it, Mike." Scarlett's voice was soft, hurt. "I say it all the time, but you don't. You can't even write it, Wheeler." She walked over to the letters he had sent her, the ones she had kept in a neat stack by her bed. With trembling hands, she threw them at him. They scattered across the floor, some catching on the air as they fluttered down. "You can't even write it."

Mike's heart sank. "Scarlett, I love you, okay? I'm sorry. I love you so much. You're the most incredible person in the world. I didn't just save you—you saved me too. I was dying inside, and when I saw you walk into Mr. Clarke's class... I fell in love with you."

Scarlett looked at him, her face streaked with tears, but she didn't believe him. She was broken, hurt in a way that Mike didn't know how to fix. Before he could say anything more, Bob's voice suddenly echoed through the house.

"Scarlett!"

They both turned toward the door, sharing a confused glance. Scarlett quickly wiped her face, and they rushed downstairs. As soon as they reached the bottom, Scarlett froze. There were officers standing in the foyer, their faces grim.

"Scarlett Harris, you are under arrest for the assault on Angela Marsh," one of the officers said as he stepped forward, handcuffs gleaming in the morning light.

Scarlett's heart dropped into her stomach. She turned back to Mike, eyes wide with fear, before the officer took her by the arm. "What the hell?!" Bob exclaimed, storming towards the officers. "Scarlett, it's gonna be okay! I'll get you out!"

Mike stood frozen, staring in disbelief as the officer recited the Miranda rights. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you."

Scarlett barely heard the words. All she could focus on was the cold metal of the cuffs as they clicked shut around her wrists. Her whole body went numb, and she avoided looking at Mike. The officers led her outside, their grip firm but not rough.

Mike followed behind them, calling out to her. "Scarlett! Scarlett, it's gonna be okay! I'll fix this, I swear!" He kept repeating himself, his voice rising with desperation, but Scarlett couldn't bring herself to respond.

She was guided into the back of the police car, the door slamming shut in her face. Through the window, she could see Mike standing on the sidewalk, still talking, still pleading. But his words felt distant, lost in the growing fog inside her mind. She rested her head against the window, watching as the officers drove away, leaving Mike and her world behind.

Scarlett sat in the bleak interrogation room, the sterile white walls closing in around her. Her eyes blazed with defiance, though her hands trembled slightly, clenched into tight fists on her lap. The room was cold, the harsh fluorescent lights casting a glaring reflection off the metal table in front of her. The two officers, a man and a woman, sat across from her, their expressions stoic as they took in her hardened demeanor.

"And why did you hit her?" the male officer asked, his voice flat and unfeeling.

Scarlett's face twisted into a snarl, her anger simmering beneath the surface. "She deserved it," she replied, her voice edged with a bitter venom.

"She deserved it?" the female officer echoed, her tone incredulous. She exchanged a look with her partner, clearly unsettled by Scarlett's unrepentant attitude.

"Yes, she deserved it!" Scarlett shot back, her voice rising with frustration. "Angela Marsh is a spoiled rich girl who bullies my friend. If anyone deserved to be taught a lesson, it's her."

The officers' brows furrowed in confusion and disapproval. "So, you don't regret it?" the male officer asked, leaning forward slightly.

"No," Scarlett said firmly, her jaw clenched. Her eyes glinted with stubbornness, and she refused to back down. "I don't."

The officers sighed, clearly dissatisfied with her response. They exchanged another look, as if debating their next move, before one of them stood and gestured for her to follow. Scarlett was led down a series of stark, fluorescent-lit hallways to the processing area.

The processing room was just as cold and clinical as the interrogation room. The walls were bare, and the only furniture was a metal bench and a counter with an array of impersonal equipment. Scarlett was directed to stand against a backdrop while a camera flashed repeatedly to take her mugshots. Each flash was a sharp reminder of her situation, her expression shifting from defiant to defeated with every click. She tried to hold her head high, but the process felt like an assault on her dignity.

The officers continued their work with mechanical precision, taking her fingerprints and recording her personal information. Scarlett's hands shook slightly as they pressed her fingers onto the ink pad, and her heart sank further with every official form that was filled out. The officers remained impersonal and detached, their efficiency only underscoring her sense of isolation.

Once the processing was complete, Scarlett was escorted outside to a police van. The cold night air hit her like a slap as she stepped out of the building. The van's doors creaked open, and she was pushed inside, the interior stark and uncomfortable. The metal bench was cold against her legs, and she sat down heavily, feeling the weight of her predicament press down on her.

The doors of the van clanged shut behind her with a finality that made her stomach churn. As the vehicle began to move, Scarlett looked out the small window, her heart pounding. She saw the familiar buildings of her town passing by, growing smaller and smaller as the van picked up speed.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mike sprinting after the van. His face was flushed and filled with desperation, his arms flailing as he ran alongside the vehicle. "Scarlett!" he yelled, his voice cracking with emotion. The sight of him running after her, his face a mixture of worry and helplessness, struck her with a pang of sorrow.

She watched as Mike's figure grew smaller and smaller, his calls becoming faint as the van moved further away. He stumbled and eventually stopped, his shoulders slumping in defeat as the van sped out of sight. The finality of the separation hit Scarlett like a ton of bricks, and she pressed her face against the cold window, tears streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks. Her body shook with silent sobs as the van drove away, the reality of her situation finally crashing down on her. The cool metal of the window was a stark contrast to the hot tears, and the rhythmic thrum of the van's engine seemed to mock her anguish.

Scarlett felt utterly alone, the weight of her actions, her powers, and the disapproval of those she cared about crashing over her like waves. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out the world.

Scarlett's heart raced as the van's tires screeched against the pavement, causing her to jolt upright. The sudden noise and chaotic motion sent a jolt of panic through her. She glanced out the window and saw cars speeding up alongside the van, their engines roaring and horns blaring. A wave of fear washed over her; she knew something was terribly wrong.

Her pulse quickened. This was a bad situation, and she needed to act fast. In a burst of adrenaline and desperation, Scarlett stood up, her mind racing. With a surge of raw power, she focused her energy on the van's door. Lightning crackled from her fingertips, slamming into the metal and sending a violent jolt through the vehicle. The door exploded open with a deafening clang.

Scarlett stumbled out, her senses overwhelmed by the chaos. Her nose trickled with blood from the force of her power. She hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb the impact, and then scrambled to her feet as the van came to an abrupt stop. Her eyes darted around, searching for a way out.

Just as she pushed herself upright, trying to regain her bearings, two officers lunged at her, grabbing her arms roughly. Their hands were firm and unyielding, and their kicks were swift as they tried to restrain her. Scarlett fought back, her energy crackling in the air as she struggled to break free.

Suddenly, the commotion was interrupted by the screech of another car. It came to a halt right in front of them. The door swung open, and Owens stepped out from the driver's side, a casual wave in his direction. El followed closely behind, stepping out of the passenger side with a look of intense concern.

"Hey, there," Owens said, his voice carrying an odd mix of calm and relief.

Scarlett's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and frustration. Her energy still buzzed around her, and her breath came in ragged gasps. "Owens? El? What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice strained.

El stepped forward, her gaze steady and serious. "Scar, we need to talk," she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Scarlett's eyes widened with a mixture of relief and anger. The presence of her friends in this moment felt both like a lifeline and a complication. "What are you talking about? I'm being arrested!" she exclaimed, struggling against the officers who were now visibly tense but trying to hold her still.

Owens raised a hand, signaling to the officers. "Let her go," he ordered. "We're here to sort this out."

The officers exchanged hesitant glances but, seeing the determination in Owens and El's faces, reluctantly released Scarlett. She rubbed her wrists, glaring at the officers with a mix of defiance and exhaustion.

El stepped closer to Scarlett, her expression softening with empathy. "Scarlett, listen. We're here to help you. But you need to calm down and talk to us."

Scarlett's anger and fear simmered beneath the surface, but she could see the genuine concern in El's eyes. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Okay, okay. Let's talk," she said, her voice trembling as she looked between El and Owens, hoping they had a plan to get her out of this nightmare.

Scarlett sat across from El and Owens in a quiet diner, the clatter of dishes and murmur of conversation providing a muted backdrop to their tense discussion. She picked at her plate absentmindedly, her mind racing with the weight of the previous night's events.

"Sorry about all the theatrics, Scar," Owens began, his tone apologetic. "El didn't know anything about this, promise. She's just finding out what's going on at the same time as you."

Scarlett glanced at El, who looked as confused as she felt. "Well, what's happening? Am I still in trouble?" Scarlett asked, her voice edged with anxiety.

Owens shook his head. "No, no, no. I'll make that go away, don't even worry about that. But I'll get to the point, I know how impatient you are. I saw something last night that I've been dreading for a long time. Hawkins is in danger."

Scarlett's eyes widened in shock. "I knew it. I knew he would come back."

Owens nodded grimly. "You've fought this evil before and you've won. But this evil—it's like a virus. Each time it returns, it comes back stronger, smarter, deadlier. A war is coming to Hawkins. There are good people, brave friends, who helped you fight your battle in the past. But they alone can't win this war, not without you two. I know it's not fair to ask more of you, but I wouldn't be here if I didn't think this was the only way, if I didn't think you were the only two who might have a shot to hit this thing so hard it can't get back up."

El leaned forward, her expression troubled. "I don't have my powers."

Scarlett nodded, her gaze troubled. "Mine are back, but they're out of control."

Owens's eyes were steady. "What if I told you there was a way... a way to bring them back? And make them under control again?"

El and Scarlett exchanged a look, their apprehension palpable. Owens continued, "I feared this moment would come, so I've been preparing, developing the means to restore your abilities and control them again. A program has the potential to not just bring them back and control them, but bring them back stronger than before. But there are others who don't believe in you, who think you are the cause. I believe they're wrong. I believe you two are the cure. That's why, if we really do this, I'm gonna ask that you leave with me now."

Scarlett's heart sank. "But you two need to know if this program fails, you will never see your friends again," Owens added, his voice heavy with gravity.

Scarlett faltered, her eyes reflecting her fear. "Our friends in Hawkins, they're in danger? Even my sister?"

Owens hesitated, a pained look crossing his face. "I'm afraid your friends and sister in Hawkins are very much... in the eye of the storm. You may feel you need to go to them now, but if you do, you will risk everything, risk everyone."

"Shit," Scarlett muttered, the weight of Owens' words crashing down on her.

Owens continued, his tone earnest. "They're not the only ones in danger. It's life as we know it. This is why I'm here. Because I believe you two are our best hope. Our only hope."

El and Scarlett shared a look, the gravity of the situation settling over them. The decision before them was immense, filled with uncertainty and peril. But they both knew that their choice would not only determine their futures but could also shape the fate of Hawkins and everyone they cared about.

ASH SPEAKS!

no mike and scarlett for a while :( we wont get them back for a few chapters

will my girl scarlett ever catch a break!?

her backstory is gonna be so fun to write!! GUYS ITS SOME CRAZY FAMILY LOREEE

also imagine if this was all real? like i swear scarlett will have so many fans and there would be so many edits of her eating UPPP