HENRY'S PLACE had turned up bupkis, same as Drury Mills and the Bullocks, making Hess Farms the next location on the list Ana and Hopper were gradually making their way through.
Darkness had descended upon the pair, driving from place to place, as the hour grew late. Ana had misgivings about investigating the suspicious properties at night, so much could be shrouded in shadows, but both her and Hopper seemed to sense they were working against an ever ticking clock.
Silence encased the cab as Hopper drove. Ana's leg was again bouncing in disquietude, causing the revolver in her lap to gently hop with each downward beat, but her hand came to rest upon the weapon in an effort to still its jostling.
When they arrived, Hess Farms had a Lynx box truck parked out front, an observation that drew from Hopper the comment, "looks like somebody's home." The realization did nothing to settle either of their nerves, though.
The front door creaked inauspiciously as the police chief turned the handle, hopefully not loud enough to alert the residents of unexpected visitors. Hopper entered the residence first, his gun and flashlight trained, prepared for any surprises that may arise during their unprompted visit. Ana trailed behind, her own firearm similarly at the ready. The home appeared empty, at the moment, but a solitary coffee cup on the dining room table, and a used ashtray balancing on the arm of a nearby sofa chair, told them that the property wasn't permanently vacated.
Too, there was a high pitched whirling sound emanating from inside the house. The noise fluctuated in time with the dimming and brightening of the overhead lighting. Yeah, Ana and Hopper were definitely in the right place, but did they want to be?
The couple proceeded through the home silently, checking each room as they came upon it, thankfully finding no surprises lurking behind each corner. Finally, they came to a bedroom where the sound seemed to reverberate loudest. "Where's that coming from?" Hopper verbalized for the both of them.
"It's definitely below us," Ana said, tucking her gun into the back of her jeans, and dropping to her knees. "I can feel it through my shoes." The consistent pulsating caused the same sensation as having held a leaf blower for too long. A tingling numbness followed the high-frequency vibrations, which expended up from the floor and through their limbs.
From her position on the ground, Ana could see an orange glow issuing from beneath the bed at the center of the room. Her eyes tilted up towards Hopper as she rested back on her haunches. "We need to lift this up," she instructed while gesturing towards the mattress.
He did so with impressive ease, and beneath the bed frame lay a secret stairway. What awaited them at the bottom of it was anyone's guess. Before the couple began to descend, Hopper turned to Ana and instructed, "you need to stay behind me and stay safe. No matter what." For once, she didn't bother to argue with him.
Below the first floor was a room filled with machines and various contraptions, and, unfortunately, the room was occupied. Ana and Hopper could faintly make out the sound of men speaking in another language over the blood pumping through their ears. Thankfully, the men seemed none the wiser to their intruding presence until Hopper decided to yell, "hey, dipshits!"
The unexpected interruption had both men jumping to attention, spinning towards them in freight. One was wearing a white button-up and glasses, the other, a navy jumpsuit.
With his gun held steadily at the pair, Hopper instructed, "Hawkins PD. Hands in the air." When the man in the white button-up hesitantly stepped forward, he firmly challenged, "don't make me say it again!"
Hopper's show of dominance might have been intimidating, but when the man dressed in the navy jumpsuit began frantically speaking in Russian, it became clear that the entire display had been for naught.
Ana and Hopper shared a bewildered look, silently convening, 'I don't know any Russian, what are we supposed to do now?' Turning back to the men, Hopper tried to demand that they speak English. Given that the response he received from the man in the white button-up was again in Russian, the assumed answer was no. While Hopper bickered back and forth with the bespeckled Russian, a gradual thumping could be heard overhead. Trails of dust fell from the rafters, corresponding with each heavy step. If Ana had to put money on it, she would bet the newcomer was wearing steel-toed boots, which meant it was probably...
"Shit, we gotta hide," Ana forcibly whispered to Hopper. Swiftly, the pair set about cuffing and gagging the two Russians in front of them, while the lumbering steps above progressed ever closer.
Ana had barely managed to conceal herself behind a pillar before the descending figure revealed itself to the room. Standing stout at the bottom of the staircase, a semi-automatic clutched between his hands, was the same guy from Hawkins Lab. Things were about to get downright fucked, Ana registered.
The man assessed his surroundings, his head swirling from left to right, as he strolled towards the center of the room. The Russians that Ana and Hopper had incapacitated started to grumble through their gags and pull at their restraints, attempting to warn their comrade as his steps grew nearer.
When the baddie in the denim jacket, not a leather one this time, was drawn further into the room to inspect the noise, Hopper jumped into action. Rushing forward, he held the barrel of his revolver to the man's head and demanded, "don't move!"
The man in question barely batted an eye, same as he had done to Ana at Hawkins Lab, which was concerning given a loaded weapon was presently digging into the back of his skull, and not several yard away this time. Seeing how his captive didn't immediately attempt to abide by Hopper's directive, the police chief pressed his pistol further into the man's head. "Drop the gun," Hopper hollered. Still, the man wasn't compliant. "Drop it! You understand what I'm saying, big guy? Drop the weapon."
When the mystery man finally spoke, it was with a thick Russian accent. This probably shouldn't have surprised Ana or Hopper, but it was a revelation nonetheless. "Or what?" Russian Arnold Schwarzenegger challenged Hopper in return. He let out an almost indiscernible scoff before continuing, "you going to shoot?"
The cavalier nature, the way the man behaved as though a shot to the head would be but a minor inconvenience, obviously had Hopper unnerved, but he suppressed the notion. "Good, so you do understand what I'm saying, huh? And, yeah, you don't put that thing away, I'm gonna blow some daylight into that thick skull of yours." Hopper was seething, his eyes never straying from the figure in front of him.
The immediate response to Hopper's declaration was, "no. You won't do that." Jesus, were these dude's steps so heavy because his balls were so huge? Ana was hoping Hopper would just get to shooting him already, the back and forth was becoming tedious and getting them nowhere. Plus, discount Roy Batty had a shitty attitude that just begged to be put in check. The conversation, playing out in the center of a secret Russian lair, didn't halt even for Ana's ill-timed musings, however.
"Why's that?" Hopper continued to holler at the man who just smirked obstinately.
"Because you are a policeman," the foreigner reasoned. "Policemen have rules."
The sneer on Hopper's face grew fiercer with each word dripping from those cocksure lips. "Oh, yeah?" He pressed the barrel further with each syllable, then pulled the hammer back. Its clicking echoed through the still room, and not even a shuddered breath could be heard. It was the silent warning that the police chief's patience was running out.
"Wanna test that theory? I'm going to count to three." As Hopper began counting down, Ana braced herself for whatever would come next. It was apparent that the big guy wasn't going to succumb without a fight.
On three, Hopper pulled the trigger, and all hell broke loose.
The big bad Russian bastard dodged the fired bullet and began elbowing Hopper repeatedly. Their ensuing grapple resulted in the gun which had once been pressed against his flying across the room. In its absence, the two scrambled over possession of the semi-automatic, which fired several times into the ceiling and walls while they wrestled for it.
Ana wanted to help, but inserting herself into the hand to hand taking place would have proven entirely counterproductive, and she couldn't get a clear shot off without potentially winging Hopper in all the commotion. So, she retrieved the discarded pistol from where it lay several feet away and watched on as the two men effectively beat the shit out of each other. She'd never felt so useless in all her life.
After what felt like eons, Hopper finally got the upper hand in the fight when he was able to place a well-aimed blow to his opponent's shin with a wrench. As the man lay on the ground, groaning and clutching his leg in pain, Ana raised Hopper's gun and fired it as the assailant. The first shot he dodged, so Ana dispensed a second, which he also avoided with a well-timed roll. When Ana went to fire a third, the chamber clicked, but nothing happened. Great, it appeared Hopper was out of bullets.
Ana could have tried using her own gun, but by that point, the colossal Russian had gone to reclaim his semi-automatic. With no other good options left but to run, that's precisely what they chose to do. Hopper screamed at her to go while cuffing the man he'd designated 'Smirnoff' to himself. Bullets trailed the trio as they made a break for the stairs, waves of gunfire tearing through the mattress as they slammed the bed down to stall their pursuer's progress.
The Russian was hardly deterred, though, and he made quick work of the bed and trailed close behind them as they ran to Hopper's Blazer.
With the car in sight, he chunked the keys at Ana. "Start the damn car," Hopper instructed, which would have been a simple task if it weren't for his terrible aim. The keys had flown right past Ana and landed somewhere in the grass behind her. Dropping to her knees, she grasped around for them while he continued to scream at her from the backseat.
"Stop fucking yelling at me," Ana shouted back as she scrambled into the driver's seat after finally closing her fingers around the misplaced object.
"Quit screwing around, Ana! Start the car!" Hopper screeched at her, which she found to be altogether unhelpful.
"Fuck off. I'm trying!" Ana shrieked over Hopper's chorus of "go, go, GO!"
After endless fumbling, Ana finally got the key in the ignition and turned over the engine with a resounding roar. Throwing the car into gear, she witnessed the Russian stomping out onto the patio through the rearview mirror. "Duck your heads!" She commanded while peeling out of the driveway. Their retreating vehicle was followed by a hail of bullets, one which shattered the back window, and several that embedded themselves in the car's frame.
However, they'd escaped alive, even if they were a little worse for wear.