Chapter 50 – The Safety Protocol
Before long, the group returned to the narrow path they had followed earlier.
Pushing deeper into the forest for several hundred meters, the trees suddenly parted, revealing an open clearing.
There, surrounded by a ring of iron fencing, loomed a massive building.
This was the Hawkins National Laboratory.
Sheriff Hopper stared in disbelief. He had lived in Hawkins for years and never knew such a place existed.
But now the facility lay in total darkness. Even the guard post at the entrance was deserted.
Activating his Ethereal Sight, Gideon "saw" a dark energy seeping from the laboratory grounds.
So it's true. Something is very wrong here.
He raised a hand to signal the others to stop, then lowered his voice.
"Before we move, does everyone remember the safety protocol?"
The officers exchanged uneasy looks but nodded.
During the trek, the priest hadn't stopped talking—drilling them with possible scenarios and how to respond.
"Good," Gideon said. "Let's hear it again. Officer Bob, start."
Bob stiffened when everyone turned toward him. Adjusting his cap, he stammered,
"Uh… Never, under any circumstances, act alone. Not even for a second."
Gideon nodded approvingly. "Next."
Sheriff Hopper sighed. "Don't get curious about anything you don't understand."
"Next."
Another officer spoke up: "If animals—cats, dogs, whatever—react strangely or refuse to enter somewhere, we… uh, respect their opinion."
"And if a person behaves oddly," another added, "we keep our distance immediately, and never let them out of sight."
…
It took the officers nearly five minutes to recite the full set of rules.
Most of them made sense—precautions to minimize risk. But others, like listening to cats and dogs, struck them as bizarre.
More than one officer silently thought the priest must be paranoid.
Still, after reinforcing the rules in their minds, Gideon gave the order to advance.
With Hopper leading, they approached the main gate of the lab.
Meanwhile, Gideon, Emma, and two officers veered off toward a clearing nearby.
The air here was thick with energy leaking from the Upside Down.
A damaged section of the facility revealed a tunnel entrance, tufts of black fur still clinging to the edges.
Gideon guessed that the demodogs had escaped through here.
Without hesitation, he unpacked an assortment of holy tools.
He directed the officers to fetch containers of salted water and cuts of fresh meat—materials he had ordered prepared back in town.
To safeguard the townsfolk, Gideon had already mass-produced sacred charms, distributing them through the police.
Now, Hawkins residents sat barricaded in their homes, fully armed and ready.
Here, Gideon intended to set traps, luring stray monsters into one place—for the final purge.
---
Elsewhere, in Hawkins…
A pack of demodogs prowled the darkened streets.
One stopped, raising its snout to sniff the air. Fresh prey was everywhere.
Drip… drip…
Drool splattered onto the pavement.
Its instincts urged it to attack.
But then—a whisper slithered into its mind. In an instant, the primal hunger was erased, replaced with a chilling calm.
The others stilled as well.
Now, they had a new directive: tear the prey to pieces.
Moving in perfect order, the pack spread out, searching with their unnatural senses for the houses with the greatest number of humans.
In the darkness, their shapes fanned out like hunters circling a herd.
At the same time, a few rats scurried from the sewers.
Night was their time—human garbage, their feast.
One rat slipped into an empty pizza box.
A heartbeat later, razor-sharp jaws pierced its body.
Crunch… crack…
Within moments, the rat was shredded to pulp, bone and flesh churned together.
But the demodog didn't swallow it. Instead, it spat the gore onto the ground.
And then—something grotesque happened.
The mess of blood and bone twitched… crawled… as if alive.
All along the street, similar piles began to merge, dragged together by some unseen force.
They fused into a single, deformed body sprouting writhing tentacles, its elongated head jerking unnaturally.
But after a moment, the body collapsed again into raw flesh.
The power wasn't strong enough yet.
It needed more. Much more.
The command was clear: hunt. Feed. Gather.
The demodogs charged.
Iron fences shattered under their jaws. Wooden doors splintered like paper.
Bang—bang—
But as they struck, a force repelled them, slamming the beasts back. Some lost their limbs instantly.
For a brief moment, their glowing eyes flickered with confusion.
This was not part of the plan.
They tried again. And again.
The result was the same.
Suddenly, several hounds' skulls burst apart—punishment from the unseen will that ruled them.
A new command followed: find the stragglers. The isolated.
The pack scattered, circling the neighborhood.
But when they searched every street, not a single human was exposed.
Because inside each home…
Furniture was stacked against the doors, crucifixes hung at every threshold.
Families huddled together in living rooms, armed with whatever weapons they had.
Even trips to the bathroom were done in pairs.
When the sheriff and the priest had ordered these strange preparations earlier, most had assumed it was just some emergency drill.
After all, Hawkins had always been a peaceful town.
But now—hearing the monsters clawing at their doors—they finally understood the danger.
They had braced themselves for monsters breaking through doors, for blood and bodies strewn across the streets.
But to their astonishment, the precautions they had set up actually worked.
The front doors, the back doors, every window in the house—
one after another, the monsters' assaults were repelled without exception.
Out on the streets, the number of demodogs had thinned drastically.
Many of them had been reduced to grotesque piles of flesh and bone, punished by some unseen will for their failure.
Those that remained finally gave up their siege.
They froze, then all turned toward the same direction.
They had caught the scent of fresh meat.
A new command spread through them like a wave—return to the lab.
And so, under cover of darkness, the creatures slunk back toward Hawkins National Laboratory.
---
Hawkins National Laboratory
Fourth Floor, Laboratory Wing
Dr. Brenner moved with painstaking caution, dressed head to toe in protective gear.
He lifted a vial from its case and carefully dripped the liquid into a transparent containment chamber.
Inside, a writhing shadow stirred—a sample taken from the collapsed underground facility.
Not long ago, when these things had first poured through the Gate, the entire laboratory had teetered on the brink of disaster.
By protocol, Brenner should have reported directly to his superiors, containing the incident before it could spread further.
But doing so would have destroyed his career.
Human experimentation was already a federal crime. Worse, he was on the cusp of a breakthrough in his superhuman project.
And so Brenner made a choice—a choice that killed whatever conscience he had left within seconds of making it.
Dozens of his staff paid with their lives.
The survivors he corralled onto the fourth floor, locking them down to limit further "accidents."
He had even tried sealing the Gate itself.
But in the presence of those shadows, no machine, no tool, no instrument functioned as it should.
Even armed guards lost their bearings the instant they stepped near.
After several costly failures, Brenner shifted tactics.
This experiment was one such attempt.
Yet again, as the shadows devoured the liquid and grew restless, he knew the result.
Failure.
"Damn it!" he spat, slamming a fist against the table.
Just then, an alarm blinked across the monitor feed.
The first floor's security cameras lit up—
a small squad of officers was moving through the halls.
Brenner's eyes narrowed.
He had records on every resident of Hawkins.
It took only seconds to recognize Chief Hopper among them.
One look at the man's face told him everything. Hopper had seen enough. He knew something was wrong.
That meant exposure was imminent.
And that was something Brenner would never allow.
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