𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄| Mike Wheeler [COMPLETED UNTIL SEASON FIVE]

Chapter Three: 007

chapter three:
❛ 007 ❜

PLEASE DONT BE A GHOST READER!!
COMMENT AND VOTE

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸

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.