It’s been over a month that Henry and herself have been captive within Hawkins Lab. After several failed escape attempts —along with multiple beatings and electrocutions — Nancy is tired.
It’s not a feeling she lets Henry see; he’s struggling enough, what with being chipped again, not to mention being back here — and it’s her fault, so the very least she can do is put on a brave face.
This is the second time she’s come across this woman, and while their conversation had been brief and somewhat bleak, Nancy was grateful for the small bit of assistance. She’s not in the mood for harsh realities today, though — Nancy’s skin burns from being hit too hard, and the longer they stay here, the more of Henry she sees disappear.
❝ It’s not only about escaping. ❞ She doesn’t know how much the other knows about Henry, or about any of the children here, but it doesn’t seem as though this woman is privy to all of the doctor’s intentions. ❝ If we only escape, he’ll just come after us again. ❞ No, escaping alone isn’t an option — they need to remove Henry’s chip, and Nancy knows he won’t leave until this place is in ashes.
Even so, she does have a plan; and though it’s one that makes her stomach churn, it may very well be the only shot she has at catching one of the guard’s mistakes. Nancy’s memorized the schedules by now — she knows the man who looks at her too long will be in the infirmary later tonight, and if she makes herself known during that time — well. Whatever happens will happen, but she’s hoping a scalpel or some kind of tool can be procured.
And then they’ll be free, and Henry won’t keep disappearing.
I just wish I could save you.
You have, in every meaningful way a human being can save another.
❝ —I don’t get it, you know; how you can work here with these people, how you can help them. ❞ It’s perhaps too bold, and Henry certainly wouldn’t approve of her antagonizing any of Brenner’s staff, but the words hold no malice.
With her back slumped against the wall, Nancy lets her misted eyes close — it’s a brief reprieve from pain even to just sit and exist on the floor without being dragged around, gawked at, tortured, or made to watch Henry suffer. And the woman doesn’t seem to pose a threat to her — at least, not at the moment, and this is what prompts Nancy’s next words:
❝ You just don’t seem like a terrible person; not like everyone else I’ve met here. ❞
❝ Depends who you ask, ❞ May replies. She won’t pretend to be a good person, but at least she can say that she’s not actively trying to hurt people. The rules of the street don’t translate to this sleepy little town; in Hawkins, she can afford to relax somewhat. No turf wars. No bombs being launched through her windows. No seedy men sitting on the balcony across from hers, just waiting for her to fall asleep. ❝ If you keep trying to fit people into ‘good’ and ‘bad’ boxes, you’re going to wind up hurt. ❞
Part of her snippiness is because of who she is. She’s been raised to not take shit lying down. People can only intimidate her if she lets them. Part of it is because Nancy seems to know a lot about her boss that she herself doesn’t, and the niggling sensation in her brain ever since she shook the doctor’s hand has only grown worse since they crossed paths. Doctor Brenner has always made something in her prickle, like a hedgehog on the defensive, but she’s convinced herself that he’s harmless. He’s a little intense when it comes to the workload, but hell, she supposes she’d be intense if she gave a fuck about the Russians too.
Sorry, Doc. I’ve got people in my own country to smoke out.
I don’t have time to worry about guys who wear fur hats of their own volition.
May folds her arms tight across her chest, one hand fiddling with a loose thread on her sleeve.
❝ … I don’t know anything about what happens here, ❞ she admits, voice now hushed. She’s outspoken, has been described as crass by far too many, but she knows when it’s time to lower her voice. ❝ I noticed that a lot of people who work here… they don’t leave. It’s like they live here. Like they’re dumb little drones in lab coats. It gives me the creeps. But I’m not one of them. ❞
And as long as she has a choice in the matter– which, as far as she’s concerned, will be always, for she’d sooner kill a man than bow to him– it’ll stay that way.
❝ I just translate things. Messages. From another country. ❞ Careful. ❝ It’s… like doing assignments at school. I just tell him what they say, and then I leave. That’s all there is to it. ❞ The look she gives Nancy is vaguely disapproving. ❝ You think I’m hanging around these hoighty-toity PHD-having-fucks for fun? Shit isn’t free. I need cash. This place delivers. It beats what I used to do. ❞
Or at least, she tells herself that it does. The similarities between her and her now-dead father are staggering, and as long as she can do something to steer her destiny, she wants that gap between them to keep increasing. Being a street assassin with her brother-in-arms may sound like an exciting life, but there’s a reason she packed up and left. There has to be something else she can offer the world. She may not have finished school, but she knows all that she needs to and then some; what she doesn’t understand in mathematics and science, she makes up for with intensity and street smarts. A second, valuable language, too.
❝ It’s this or live on the streets. I don’t have any family to turn to, and no friends that would be able to help me, because they’re as poor as I am. What else could I do? ❞
