Chapter 52: Bob's Second Close Call
Bob
The lab's auxiliary facility sat three miles from the main campus. Smaller, less secure, containing equipment Steve said we needed.
"Advanced sonar mapping equipment," I explained to Nancy while we parked behind the building. "It'll show us complete tunnel networks, breeding chambers, weak points. Everything."
"And Steve said no," Nancy reminded me.
"Steve says no to everything involving risk."
"Because he's usually right."
"Usually isn't always." I checked my watch. "Shift change in three minutes. We go in, grab equipment, get out. Fifteen minutes maximum."
Nancy loaded her pistol—Hopper had given her one after the junkyard incident. "If this goes wrong—"
"It won't."
"But if it does, you run. Don't try to be a hero."
I thought about Steve's warnings, Joyce's fears, the demo-dog that nearly killed me in the tunnels.
"Can't promise that."
Nancy
The facility's side entrance required keycard access. Bob pulled out a device he'd built from RadioShack parts.
"You built a security bypass?" I whispered.
"It's just basic electronics. The keycard system uses simple RFID frequencies. This emulates—" The door clicked open. "There."
Inside, fluorescent lights hummed over empty corridors. Skeleton crew working graveyard shift. Bob moved confidently, checking door labels.
"Storage is sublevel two," he said. "Stairs, not elevator. Less noticeable."
"You've thought this through."
"I may not be a fighter, but I'm good at planning."
We descended. Sublevel two smelled like chemicals and concrete. The storage room held exactly what we needed—three units of advanced sonar equipment, portable but heavy.
"Jackpot," Bob whispered, loading them into his backpack.
That's when the alarm triggered.
Bob
Red lights strobed. Sirens wailed. Doors began sealing electronically.
"Run!" I grabbed Nancy's hand, sprinted for the stairs.
Security personnel appeared ahead. Nancy yanked me sideways, into a maintenance corridor.
"Steve!" Nancy hissed into her radio. "We've been made. Need extraction guidance!"
Static, then Steve's strained voice: "Give me your position."
"Sublevel two, east maintenance corridor."
"Hold on. I'm seeing... third door on your left. Maintenance shaft. Leads to ground level exhaust vent."
"How do you know that?" I asked.
"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to. MOVE!"
I ran to the third door, locked. Pulled out my bypass device—wouldn't work on this system, different frequency—
Nancy shot the lock. "No time for subtlety."
The shaft was vertical, barely wide enough for shoulders. Ladder rungs corroded. We climbed anyway.
Steve
My corruption flared hot, letting me see through tunnel-connected surveillance. The lab's security cameras fed into the same network—stupid, but lucky for us.
"Twenty feet up, vent on your right," I guided. "Security's converging on sublevel access. You've got ninety seconds."
"Copy," Nancy panted.
On the screens, I watched security teams coordinate. They'd reach the maintenance area in—
"Sixty seconds now. FASTER."
Bob and Nancy emerged from the vent, dropped into parking lot. Ran for Nancy's car.
That's when the demo-dog appeared.
Nancy
It emerged from the tree line. Medium-sized, face-petals opening, clicking aggressive.
I raised my pistol, fired three times. Two hits, one headshot. The creature dropped.
Bob stared. "You just—"
"RUN!"
More clicking. From everywhere. A pack, drawn by the gunshots.
Bob ran, limping—his twisted ankle from earlier hadn't healed. He tripped on loose gravel, went down hard.
"BOB!" I grabbed his arm, tried to haul him up.
Demo-dogs emerged from darkness. Six of them. Surrounding us.
Steve's voice, panicked for the first time: "Hopper! Bob and Nancy at the lab! Demo-dog pack! GO NOW!"
I fired until the pistol clicked empty. Three creatures down. Three remaining.
Bob found a piece of rebar, swung it desperately. Connected with one demo-dog's face. Bought us seconds.
Headlights blazed. Hopper's truck crashed through underbrush, running over one demo-dog, scattering the rest.
"GET IN!"
We scrambled into the truck bed. Hopper floored it, tires spinning on grass, gaining purchase, roaring away.
The demo-dogs gave chase for half a mile before dropping back.
Bob
Safe at the bunker, Joyce didn't speak for five minutes. Just held me, shaking.
When she found her voice, it was furious. "You could have died!"
"But I didn't. And we got the equipment."
"I don't care about equipment! I care about YOU!" She shoved me—gently, but the anger behind it was real. "You're not expendable, Bob. You're necessary. You're... you're everything. Don't you understand that?"
"I wanted to help. To be useful—"
"You ARE useful! You're essential! But alive essential, not dead hero!" She grabbed my face. "Please. Please stop risking yourself. I can't lose you. I won't survive it."
I pulled her close. "Okay. Okay, I'll be more careful."
Steve watched from across the room, corruption pulsing, face unreadable.
Steve
Two close calls. Bob had survived two situations that should have killed him.
The lab infiltration succeeding was pure luck—or interference. Dr. Owens might have delayed security response deliberately. Hard to tell.
But the pattern was forming. Bob's heroism, his competence, his need to prove himself—all leading him toward danger repeatedly.
In canon, he died in the lab. Rebooting power while demo-dogs swarmed. Heroic sacrifice.
I'd changed so much already. Different timeline, different circumstances. But Bob's fundamental nature remained—brave, selfless, determined to help even at personal cost.
That's what gets him killed. Every time.
"Steve?" Hopper approached. "A word."
We stepped away from the others. Hopper's face was grim.
"Bob can't keep doing this. He's going to get himself killed."
"I know."
"Then stop him. Lock him in the bunker if you have to."
"He'll just find another way to help. That's who he is." I touched the corruption on my chest—warm, wrong, spreading. "People like Bob don't stop being heroes. They just die being them."
"Then we protect him from himself."
"We're trying. It's not enough."
Two near-deaths down. In canon, Bob survived this long before the final confrontation. We were approaching that moment—the assault, the chaos, the sacrifice.
I had to change it. Had to save him. But every attempt to protect Bob pushed him toward different dangers with the same fatal courage.
How do you save someone determined to be a hero?
Joyce held Bob like he might vanish. He whispered reassurances, promised to be more careful—promises he wouldn't keep.
Eddie documented everything from his corner, journal filling with observations about Bob's bravery and everyone's fear.
The countdown continued. Twelve hours until the assault.
And Bob Newby, RadioShack manager and accidental hero, had survived two close calls.
Third time's the charm, the Mind Flayer whispered. Or the end.
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