Chapter 2: The Orphanage Gambit
POV: Adam
Dawn breaks cold and gray over the abandoned hunting shack where Adam huddles against Scout's breathing flank, his system interface painting warnings across his vision in steady, pulsing red.
[WARNING: HYPOTHERMIA DETECTED]
[HP: 30/100]
[SURVIVAL RECOMMENDATION: SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER]
The night had been a blur of stumbling through underbrush, following Scout's lead until they'd found this forgotten structure—three walls and half a roof, but enough to block the wind. Now, with pale light filtering through gaps in the rotted wood, Adam forces himself to think past the chattering of teeth that aren't quite his own.
I need a story. A cover. Something that explains a twelve-year-old boy wandering alone in the woods wearing a hospital gown.
Scout lifts his head, petals unfurling slightly to taste the air. Through their bond, Adam feels the creature's alertness, its awareness of sounds too distant for human ears.
No one followed us. Good.
The telepathic connection still feels foreign, like wearing clothes that don't quite fit. But it's there—a warm presence in the back of his mind, loyal and waiting for direction.
[TELEPATHIC BOND: SCOUT]
[LOYALTY: 45%]
[STATUS: INJURED BUT STABLE]
[COMMAND ABILITIES: BASIC TELEPATHY, SIMPLE ORDERS]
Adam closes his eyes, accessing memories that belong to this body but feel like borrowed books. Subject 017 had been at Hawkins Lab for months before whatever procedure killed him. Before that—foster homes, group homes, a string of temporary placements that nobody bothered to track too carefully.
Perfect. No one will miss Subject 017. But Adam— He catches himself. I need to be Adam now. Need to stop thinking of myself as Michael Thompson.
Because Michael Thompson died in that car crash, screaming his daughter's name as metal folded around him like origami. This is someone else's life now. Someone else's chance.
Through Scout's senses, he perceives movement in the distance—not the harsh geometry of search teams, but something softer. A town, maybe two miles south through the woods. Buildings that rise like gentle hills rather than concrete blocks.
Reconnaissance first. Then infiltration.
"Scout," he whispers, and the creature's attention focuses on him completely. The bond thrums with readiness. "I need you to go look at that town. Stay hidden. Find people who might help a lost kid."
Images flow between them—not words, but concepts. Hide. Watch. Report. Protect pack.
Scout noses his hand once, then melts into the underbrush with predatory grace. Through the bond, Adam feels distance growing between them, but not disconnection. It's like watching through a television screen that someone else controls—glimpses of forest floor, flashes of sky, the steady rhythm of Scout's movement.
Then, suddenly, buildings. Scout has found the edge of the town, and through his eyes, Adam sees a modest main street lined with simple shops and houses. A church steeple rises above it all, and beside it—
St. Mary's Home for Children.
The sign is weathered but legible, painted in faded blue letters above a Victorian house that's seen better decades. Through Scout's enhanced senses, Adam catches fragments of life within—the smell of oatmeal cooking, children's voices raised in morning chatter, and something else. Something warm.
Kindness. Actual kindness.
Scout moves closer, finding a perch in the old oak that shades the orphanage's back yard. Through his eyes, Adam watches the children file out for morning activities—twelve kids ranging from toddlers to teenagers, supervised by three adults in simple brown habits.
One of the nuns draws his attention immediately. She's younger than the others, maybe thirty, with laugh lines around her eyes and a way of touching the children's shoulders that speaks of genuine affection rather than duty. When a little boy trips and skins his knee, she's there instantly, offering comfort and a Band-Aid with equal measure.
Sister Catherine, Scout's predatory senses somehow supply. Pack leader. Protector of young.
Adam files the information away, already forming his plan. Through the bond, he sends Scout new instructions: Create distraction. Make them think wild animal. Loud, scary, but no real harm.
Scout's excitement ripples back to him—this is what he was born for, this hunt and chase and controlled violence. The creature drops from his perch and begins circling the orphanage grounds, just close enough to rattle the underbrush, far enough away to remain invisible.
Then Adam begins his own performance.
He tears the hospital gown further, rubs mud into the fabric and his skin, tangles his hair with burrs and leaves. When he stumbles into the orphanage's front yard twenty minutes later, he looks like a child who's been running through the woods for days.
Sister Catherine is tending a small garden when she sees him. Her face goes through a perfect sequence of emotions—surprise, concern, protective rage—and Adam knows he's chosen correctly.
"Sweet Mary and Joseph," she breathes, dropping her trowel and rushing toward him. "Child, what happened to you?"
Behind the orphanage, Scout lets out a long, bone-chilling howl. Several children scream. A window slams shut.
"There was a dog," Adam gasps, letting his voice crack with manufactured terror. "A big dog. It was chasing me, and I ran, and I got lost, and—"
He doesn't have to fake the way he collapses. Hypothermia and exhaustion are real enough, and Sister Catherine catches him before he hits the ground.
"You're safe now, child," she whispers, already stripping off her own coat to wrap around his shoulders. "You're safe. What's your name? Where are your parents?"
"Adam," he manages through chattering teeth. It's not really a lie—Adam is who he needs to be now. "I don't... I don't remember. I was in a hospital, and then I was running, and the dog—"
"Shh." Sister Catherine's arms are surprisingly strong as she lifts him. "No more questions right now. Let's get you warm and fed, and then we'll figure everything else out."
She carries him inside, past curious faces and whispered questions, into a kitchen that smells like bread and safety. As she settles him into a chair by the radiator, Adam catches a glimpse of her desk through an open doorway—files scattered across the surface, forms waiting to be filled out.
Perfect.
While Sister Catherine fusses with hot soup and dry clothes, Adam lets his adult mind work. He needs documentation, a paper trail that explains his existence without leading back to Hawkins Lab. Through the bond, he senses Scout returning to his hidden position, the creature's excitement at a successful hunt warming Adam's chest.
"The police will need to be called," Sister Catherine says, returning with a bowl of soup that steams like heaven. "There'll be paperwork, questions about where you came from—"
"Please," Adam whispers, and he doesn't have to fake the desperation in his voice. "I'm scared. The people at the hospital—they hurt me. They called me numbers instead of names. I just want to stay somewhere safe."
Sister Catherine's face hardens. "Numbers? Child, what hospital was this?"
"I don't remember the name. Somewhere far away. But I have papers." He gestures weakly toward his torn gown. "In my pocket. From before."
Of course there are no papers. But while Sister Catherine helps him change into borrowed clothes—jeans and a sweater that belong to one of the older boys—Adam's hands work quickly. A pencil from the desk. A piece of letterhead that's seen better days. His adult handwriting, carefully disguised to look like institutional typing.
Andrew Mills. Age 12. Ward of the State of Michigan. Transferred for specialized treatment. No living relatives.
It's not perfect, but it doesn't need to be. Foster children slip through cracks in the system all the time. One more lost boy won't raise too many questions, especially if that boy is polite and grateful and makes the right people want to protect him.
"I found these," he says, handing Sister Catherine the forged documents when she returns. "They were in my gown pocket."
She reads them quickly, her frown deepening. "Andrew Mills? But you said your name was Adam."
"That's what they called me at the bad place," he says. "But Adam is my real name. The name my mom used before... before she went away."
It's a perfect lie—one that explains the discrepancy while tugging at every maternal instinct Sister Catherine possesses. Her eyes soften, and she kneels beside his chair.
"Well then, Adam it is. And you know what? I think God brought you here for a reason. St. Mary's has room for one more, if you'd like to stay while we sort everything out."
Through the bond, Adam feels Scout's satisfaction. The hunt is complete. The pack has found a new den.
[QUEST COMPLETED: FIND SHELTER]
[REWARD: +500 XP, SAFE HOUSE LOCATION ESTABLISHED]
[LEVEL UP!]
[YOU ARE NOW LEVEL 2]
[NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: STEALTH COMMAND]
[SCOUT LOYALTY INCREASED: 45% → 55%]
[NEW QUEST AVAILABLE: INFILTRATE HAWKINS]
[OBJECTIVE: ESTABLISH LONG-TERM COVER AND GATHER INTELLIGENCE]
[REWARD: +1000 XP, ADVANCED PLANNING ABILITIES]
That night, Adam lies in the first real bed he's had since awakening in Subject 017's body. Around him, eleven other children sleep peacefully, unaware that they're sharing their sanctuary with something that doesn't quite belong to their world.
Through the window, Scout's presence whispers at the edge of his consciousness—loyal, protective, waiting for the next command. And in his mind, Adam begins to plan.
November 6th, 1983. Will Byers goes missing tonight.
The knowledge sits in his skull like a loaded gun. In his original world, this was fiction—a story about a boy lost in a nightmare dimension, about kids with superpowers and government conspiracies and monsters that hunt in the dark. But here, now, it's all real.
And he has six hours to decide what he's going to do about it.
[WARNING: HAWKINS LAB SEARCHING FOR SUBJECT 017]
[RECOMMENDED ACTION: MAINTAIN LOW PROFILE]
[ADDITIONAL NOTIFICATION: ANOMALOUS DIMENSIONAL ACTIVITY DETECTED]
[ESTIMATED TIMELINE: MAJOR EVENT IMMINENT]
Adam closes his eyes and reaches out through the bond, feeling Scout's steady presence in the darkness beyond the window. Whatever comes next, whatever role he's meant to play in this unfolding nightmare, he won't face it alone.
I'll save him, he thinks, picturing a boy with a bowl cut and innocent eyes. I'll save Will Byers. And maybe, in saving him, I'll figure out how to save myself.
The system interface flickers once, then goes dark, leaving Adam alone with his borrowed dreams and the weight of knowledge that was never meant to be his.
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