Chapter Text
December 17, 1989
Will and Mike shared the living room couch at Mike’s house. Mike sorted through his old clothes to pick what to keep and what to give away. Will sketched in his notebook. The TV ran in the background, a VHS tape of Labyrinth playing as they multitasked.
“Hey, Mike?” Will asked nervously.
“Yeah?” Mike asked, still focusing on unfolding, refolding, and sorting his clothes.
“I need to tell you something kind of important,” he said.
“If this is about you being gay, you kinda already told me,” Mike said, joking in a poor attempt of diffusing the tension he sensed coming from Will.
Will continued, his tone still serious. “No it’s not that. I’ve been thinking for a long time and…” Mike turned to look at Will.
“I need to get out of Hawkins,” Will said, like he was bracing for impact.
“What? We grew up here together,” he kept his tone soft for Will. He tried to hide how he really felt: betrayed.
“That’s the problem, Mike. I can’t keep reliving my childhood. I didn’t have the same childhood that you did.”
“Well yeah, but they’re similar and I’m here for you. Always. No one understands you, the things you’ve been through, like I do. Even when we’re away at college, we call to catch up and-” Mike still spoke gently, despite his fear of losing Will. Will interrupted him.
“Mike, I really need you to just listen right now. I’ve been thinking about this for so long.” Mike dug deep and miraculously found the control to not interrupt.
“I’m leaving Hawkins and I don’t think I’ll ever find it in me to come back. I’m moving to the city. There are too many memories of what I experienced with Vecna, the Mindflayer, my dad, losing my mom… Even though the Mindflayer left me, some weeks my nightmares get so bad and I’m so sleep deprived that I cannot function-”
“You know you can always come over and sleep in my room like you used-”
“Mike-” Will looked at him like that- like he- was part of the problem. “Give me a little longer. I’m not done yet.”
“Jonathan is moving away to pursue his film interests. Dustin is in college. So are you, even though it’s close by. Lucas and Max moved away together. Lucas just started that assistant manager job. Even Nancy moved to New York. Robin was the only one here that was truly like me and she moved away to live with Vickie. Everyone’s moving on or leaving and it’s pretty clear I’m way overdue. In Hawkins, I just feel trapped as this version of me that I need to leave in the past.
“I hear updates from Robin and Vickie and I want what they have so badly too. I know I’ll never have what they do if I stay here. If I stay trapped here with all these memories, these nightmares, no one who truly understands me... I don’t think I could figure out who I am without some space outside of it all.”
Mike looked at him, understanding in a very small sense how Will felt about everyone else moving. Mike still couldn’t resist ruminating in a sense of abandonment. Then Will threw out that “no one who truly understands me” bullshit line when Mike knew he was the only one who truly understood Will. Mike was maybe the only one who would ever understand Will, or at least he wanted to be the only one.
Mike responded with poorly repressed bitterness. “Ok, Will. If that’s what you need.” He shoved all the impulses and all the feelings of abandonment down to support him. Then he had an idea. What if he could move with Will, not to live together, but generally to the same area? They were best friends, after all.
“Maybe I could save up and move to the same area so we can still-”
“Mike, I need to get away from you too,” Will blurted out.
Mike’s face dropped and his heart sank. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, Mike.” Will teared up. “I just realized that… you’re my best friend but you’re just not what I need. You can't understand what I feel. I tried to pretend that it didn’t… hurt, but staying this close to you hurts.”
“I don’t understand,” Mike continued, desperately trying to understand while simultaneously trying to hide how much what Will was saying hurt him.
“No, you wouldn’t, Mike. I’m gay,” Will stressed, as if that response had the answer clearly plastered plainly across it.
“Yes, I know. Is that what this is about?”
“Yes? Not entirely, but sort of. You just… aren’t like me-” Will continued.
“Well, yeah, even best friends have their differences. I really don’t mind that you’re gay,” Mike didn't care anymore about letting his frustration bleed out.
“That's not enough, Mike,” Will stated. “I don’t think it ever will be. I can’t just hang around here in misery and be stuck in ‘little Will Byers’ mode until I die. I’m sorry Mike. I just have to get the space I need to get away from these flashbacks and I want someone to love me. I will never find someone here-”
“I’m pretty sure statistically someone else in Hawkins has to be gay, it couldn’t just be you and Robin, right?” Mike assumed that was a supportive thing people say to gay people.
“It’s also mostly about the shit I went through as a kid. You saw how my mind, my body have reacted since the day I went missing, even now when they aren’t a part of me anymore. I can’t keep remembering it so vividly. Besides, Mike, you don’t know the dating pool here better than I do. There’s no one for me here. I finally like and accept who I am. But I need to love me and I can’t do that without space from Hawkins and- and you. It’s fine that you don’t mind that I’m gay but… why can’t you embrace that? Don’t I deserve someone to love me the way that Robin and Vickie love each other?” Will’s tears were streaming down his face now.
What was the big difference? Mind versus embrace? Will was just Will. Mike didn’t care that Will was gay and wasn’t that the right thing to think? He didn’t understand why Will kept bringing up his gayness when he claimed in the same breath that his reasons for moving weren’t all about being gay. Why was that such a big deal? Some people were gay or bi or lesbian and some people weren’t. It’s not like it had to be their whole personality, right? Based on the amount that Will stressed he was gay while Mike wasn’t, it seemed like Will thought gayness was a whole personality.
Mike didn't realize that Will was this romance-centered. Clearly his desire for romance was so strong that Will couldn't bear being single and he needed to move to find someone. Mike didn't relate to this mindset at all. Mike had been broken up with El for about a year and while processing the breakup was hard at first, he mostly felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Dating really wasn't what Mike thought it would be. He didn't miss it. He didn't even have a desire to find some new girlfriend. Mike had other priorities in life: school, work, his mother, his friends. Surely, if Will moved away then he would have this anti-romance realization that Mike already reached.
Will had school, work, his brother, and friends. He had Mike. Why did Will need so much space that he had to leave Mike behind-
“Wait, are you friend-dumping me?” Mike asked, standing up from the couch in offended shock. He only now realized this was something that was possible, but didn’t want to believe it was something possible between him and Will.
“No, I just need space to figure out my shit-” Confusion flashed across Will’s tear streaked face.
“What am I supposed to do without you, Will? You’re the only one left. I’d be all by myself here in Hawkins. You’re just going to abandon me?” Mike unleashed his selfish frustration and feelings of betrayal in full tonal force.
“God, why do you always get like this?” Will looked up at Mike in exasperation. He started packing his stuff up to leave, wiping his eyes and nose.
“What does that mean?” Mike said. Will didn’t respond, swinging his half-zipped bag over his shoulder and making his way over to the door.
Mike stepped between Will and the door. “You’re coming back, right?”
“No, I just told you I wasn’t. I wish that you at least tried to be supportive.”
“Well I was trying until you started the shit about getting away from-”
“Well maybe your ‘trying’ isn’t enough anymore, Mike,” Will said, his eyebrows turning up as a dam of tears threatened to break. He waited for Mike to say anything that showed how much he cared for Will.
Mike’s brain was so broken trying to decipher what the hell Will was actually saying and pinpoint what he did wrong that Mike had no words to clumsily grasp at. There had to be some sort of implication or secret meaning that he completely missed to warrant this reaction. For the first time ever and in a crucial moment when it mattered the most for Mike, he couldn’t find the words to make Will hold on.
Will looked off to the side in disbelief, shot Mike a disappointed glare, then walked around Mike to open the front door.
Mike could only add on a single question in autopilot. “How am I supposed to talk with you if you-”
“Don’t bother,” Will added, not even fully looking back.
Will slammed the door behind him and walked away from the Wheeler house for the last time.
October 15, 1993
Mike sat at his desk in his cramped room, knee bouncing, spacing out as he stared at the still tubed painting Will gave him years ago. Looking at the tube caused two words to repeat like a curse in his mind, slightly louder each time.
Don’t bother
Don’t bother
Don’t bother
Don't bother
Mike ripped his eyes away from the tube and put his glasses on the table, rubbing his eyes. He was supposed to be preparing for the interview with Puppetmaster or working on his Golem article or drafting language for his weekly article. His mind chose the path of most resistance, delaying Mike’s plans to get anything worthwhile done.
Mike forced himself to stand up, turning to the bulletin board hung on his wall. His attempt to focus on work again backfired as he stared at the new city map that Will had traced for him and dropped off last week. Great. The map that he had wanted with every fiber in his body hung in his room as a massive reminder of Will. It’s not like staring at it anymore would’ve helped anyway.
Mike looked at that goddamn map so many times already, trying to connect some sort of shape all through the dots to make something appear. Mike tried every order of connecting them solely based on geometry. He drew lines in the chronological order of appearances. He connected dots in order of number of Golems. He calculated distances between different spots to find some sort of mathematical clue.
Trying to identify attack location patterns might’ve been a dead end, but Mike didn’t want to admit it yet. Another part of him said there was something that he just didn’t see yet. He just couldn’t tell if that was the gut feeling Nancy told him about, or plain stubbornness.
Mike glanced over at the massive pile of papers on his desk that he procrastinated reading through. Over the past week, Mike spent time contacting families, coworkers, friends of the deceased Golem victims. He had contacted most of the living victims too. He had considered that if there wasn’t a clear connection in terms of location, maybe the victims were intentional targets; people that someone was pissed at or that they needed to shut up? He asked questions about their jobs, interests, hobbies, pastime activities, education, places they frequented in an effort to find some sort of connection with the victims themselves.
Based on his recollection of conversations with the victims, nothing clear jumped out at him. He had been procrastinating going through such a large pile, but maybe trying to get to the bottom of it was what he needed to do right now.
Mike ran his fingers through his wavy hair to tuck the sides behind his ears, then picked up the pile of papers, his notepad and pencil, and headed to the living room.
Mike divided the papers into stacks sorted by each of the 14 attacks. Over three hours, he covered half of the papers. No overwhelming discernable patterns. Varieties of religions, some overlap with shared Indianapolis elementary or middle schools, no shared occupations other than four people who happened to work at the same grocery store, but at different timespans. There weren’t any interpersonal connections between individuals either. Even the hobbies had a range to them and bar, club, and other pastime location preferences stretched across Indianapolis.
Mike fell backwards onto the floor, his back tired from crouching over as long as he did. He looked at his watch. 4:57 pm. Shit he had three minutes to meet Puppetmaster. Mike shot up, grabbing his notepad and running to his room to grab his tape recorder. He frantically wrote down a few scrambled notes.
- Origin Story- powers explained & source?
- How joined Demolitionists
- Values, goals
- Gossipy shit people want to know? Seeing anyone, hero drama, any secrets (other than identity)
- Strange or suspicious intentions
For the most part, Mike wanted to let the conversation flow. He didn’t have much choice in it anyway, given the fact that he accidentally procrastinated preparing for the interview. He checked his watch again. 5:01. Mike ran to his apartment front door and swung it open. No time to run down the stairs.
He just needed to make it over to the end of the hall window that exited to the fire escape and see if Puppetmaster was in the alley. Mike still didn’t even know if he would show. He knew residents weren’t supposed to go out the window except for emergencies, but no one was watching, there were no alarms, and it’s not like there were any cameras.
Mike pulled the blinds up, then unlocked and pushed the old wooden window up. He poked his head out. Mike looked down and through the gaps of the metal fire escape stairs. Puppetmaster stood in the alley against the brick wall, looking at a watch on his wrist.
“Hey,” Mike shouted down at Puppetmaster. Puppetmaster looked up at him and shot Mike a subtle nod. Mike still couldn’t bring himself to say Puppetmaster’s name out loud. He found it so corny, though he knew hero names were kind of supposed to be; Spiderman, Ghost Rider, the Hulk, Warrior Angel, .
“Should I come down or you come up?” Mike asked. No, letting a stranger into his apartment wasn’t a good idea. And now he knew what floor Mike lived on. Just before Puppetmaster could respond, Mike added, “Actually, I’ll come down. Wait there.”
Mike closed the window, ran down the complex stairs, and around to the alleyway. Puppetmaster still stood there, leaning against the brick wall of the neighboring building.
“Thanks for, uh, agreeing to the interview,” Mike said trying to hide his eagerness. Puppetmaster turned his body to face Mike.
“Yeah. I don't ever do this, so get everything you need now,” Puppetmaster reminded him.
“Are you ok if I record this conversation? Mostly just for notetaking accuracy?”
Puppetmaster nodded subtly. “Yeah. I’ll tell you if I want something to be off record.”
Mike pressed the record button on his tape recorder.
“So,” Mike started. “Puppetmaster?” he asked, hiding the tone of disgust that wanted to creep out.
“Mhmm?” He sounded somewhat skeptical of the way Mike asked it.
Then Mike decided he could actually never say Puppetmaster’s name out loud again.
“Actually- sorry if this is weird- is there something else I could call you?”
“I’m not giving you my real name if that’s what you’re asking for,” Puppetmaster replied with raised eyebrows.
“No it’s just…” Mike doubted if he should be honest, but followed through with it anyway. “Your name is a little strange to say out loud.”
Puppetmaster shot a look of disbelief and rolled his eyes. “What? You don’t approve of it? Are you that type of person?”
“No it just doesn’t feel… personable? Forget it, jumping right in. How did you-”
“How about you just use the initials?” Puppetmaster suggested. “PM?”
Mike tilted his head as he considered the suggestion. Yeah, he could say that way more easily.
“Yeah, that works. So how did you land on that name?”
“Just that I figured the name matched my abilities pretty well,” Puppetmaster continued with a pause at the end.
“Ok, well how did you decide on this look? Doesn’t really scream ‘puppeteer’.”
“Well if you do what I do, function and impression are more important than a theme. I wanted Indianapolis residents to think of me as someone of them and for them- I just happen to have abilities. I like yellow and this is just… a style I like. I’ve got my version of a mask; obscuring, special sunglasses, my eyes glow all white, and I have a voice modifier-”
“How does the modifier work? Are your eyes always white? How are the sunglasses special?”
“Sorry, won’t talk about the modifier or sunglasses. It's not a very wise move to share how certain disguise elements work with the public, is it? But no, my eyes aren’t always white. I taught myself how to keep them like this.”
“Ah. Speaking of residents, how would you explain the way your powers work to the average Joe? Seems like it’s something only you can see,” Mike followed up.
“I can’t really see my powers either. Actually, one of my abilities I do see with it, technically. Others, I feel with. I guess I would describe it as-” Puppetmaster extended his hand out as if to demonstrate what normally happens,
“-I reach my hand out here and in the distance it’s like there’s a giant invisible spectral force. I always envisioned it like a giant replica of my hand. I reach out and I can move or hurt things from the outside. But…” Puppetmaster paused as if to consider how to phrase what he wanted to say.
“This might sound a little weird. With the right focus I can actually tap into people or those creatures to sort of see what they do through their eyes? I don’t feel what they feel, but I have control from the inside as if that force is throughout them. If I’m tapped in, I can take complete control of a body and-” Puppetmaster took a breath and admitted, “-I can manipulate their movement however I want. With the creatures it’s um… bending and breaking.”
Mike saw that happen in real time, but the way he described it now made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
“How did you… find out you could do that?” Mike asked nervously.
“No comment. Strong connection to my secret identity,” Puppetmaster said, crossing his arms and leaning against the brick wall. God, that response put Mike on edge. He couldn’t tell if there was genuinely something to be concerned about or if the explanation truly was too closely connected to his background.
Mike cleared his throat and continued. “Ok well do you have any rules or conditions with your powers?”
“What, you mean like the abilities being conditional, or like self-imposed boundaries for my powers?”
“How about both?”
“Well, using my abilities isn’t just something that easily happens. The external puppeteering doesn’t waste too much energy, unless I interact with either a lot of or multiple heavier objects and people in a short time span. Sometimes I even use that ability in my non-hero life, like when I’m tired and don’t want to get up for a snack or I don’t want to get up to turn the TV off.
“I also have this weird sixth sense when something is off or danger is nearby. It’s just a sensation that enters my body. Kind of like skin crawling. Figured it became a power after,” Puppetmaster paused as he considered how to remain vague. “Certain experiences in my childhood connected to how I got my powers.” Puppetmaster immediately jumped into his final explanation.
“As for the tapping in, I have never and will never use that on a civilian. That’s reserved only for the enemies I go up against; things causing direct harm, violence, or death. The tapping in doesn’t always come easily. It’s easier when the target is tired or weak, but using it frequently is really draining for me. I've been working on it, though.”
“So they are like concentration spells,” Mike noted. His abilities weren’t too similar to necromancy, though.
Puppetmaster looked at Mike with an eyebrow raise, semi-amused at his comparison. “Sure? Whatever helps you understand them.”
“At the battle yesterday, I tried analyzing your strategy as a team and your specific powers-”
Puppetmaster scoffed, “Of course you did.” Mike paused, uncertain what he meant by that. Maybe that was just expected of journalists by the Demolitionists.
“Anyway, my question is what are your strategies? Do you all train?”
“On record, we can’t discuss that information. There’s a lot to learn about these creatures and we don’t want to give anything away. Pause your recorder,” Puppetmaster requested.
“What’s up? Is there some information about the creatures you don’t want getting out yet?”
“I just want you to consider how… shortsighted that question was. These creatures are non-strategically violent. So far, their behavior when attacking doesn’t reflect much planning behind it. We don’t know all the patterns of these creatures and where they come from. If someone is behind this-”
“You think someone is behind this too?” Mike asked, his excitement igniting his impulses while snuffing out the logic that maybe he shouldn’t let the Demolitionists know how much he knows.
Puppetmaster’s eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms. “Are you digging into these creatures?”
“No comment,” Mike added, intent on dissuading any suspicions Puppetmaster might have.
“Because if you were digging, I would warn you that as a civilian with no powers, that is an insanely dangerous thing to do,” Puppetmaster looked at Mike with worried anticipation for his response. Mike bit his lower lip to keep his mouth from running.
“You were saying about someone behind this?” He prodded. Puppetmaster caved in to Mike’s unwillingness to engage.
“Off record, if there’s some sort of strategic planning behind all this, then it’s not wise for the Demolitionists to reveal their strategies and habits, is it? Whoever the mastermind- or group of masterminds- is behind this could use that against us if they rad your article.” Mike nodded in realization. His ravenous curiosity, however, demanded that as an ex-Dungeon Master, he learn what their strategies are.
“Off record, would you tell me a bit about in-action strategies? Even if it’s just your own?”
“Are you so curious that not knowing would kill you?” Puppetmaster asked, in amused disbelief at Mike’s pushing.
Yes, actually. Mike felt that not learning at least a bit of this DnD-comic hero’s process might eat away at him like a slow release poison.
“Just… a little curious,” Mike responded.
“Ok,” Puppetmaster responded hesitantly.
“Off record, I keep my distance. I move civilians out of the way. I watch the edges of the fight ready to move the creatures back towards the other Demolitionists if they get too close to civilians. I deal damage when I don’t need to do the other things as much. I save my energy for my final blow attacks at the end when I can ensure they’re dead and gone for good. Demolitionists don’t have to get as bloody or worry about dry cleaning that way. As for the group, the dynamics and strategies change depending on who can make it to the scene. We do train. Forcible has been helping me improve energy conservation and stamina. I won’t give any further specifics, though. Battle is honestly the best training. Is your itch scratched? You won’t die of curiosity?” Puppetmaster asked.
“Sure,” Mike nodded. “Itch scratched. Back to being on record?” Puppetmaster nodded and Mike resumed the recording.
“How did you unlock your powers? Were they there from birth or was it like a radioactive bug situation?”
“Um,” Puppetmaster started, fidgeting with his sunglasses briefly. “I don’t know how open I can be about that. Identity connections, bad memories, and all.”
“Is there any vague, abridged version you’d want to share? You said to get everything I’d want now. Just trying to get the information Indianapolis residents would want to know,” Mike added.
“I guess I could try,” Puppetmaster explained with an exhale. He stared forward at the other brick wall instead of at Mike.
“When I was younger, I sort of siphoned or borrowed my abilities from someone- actually something- with powers of its own that wasn’t… It basically used me and put me through some crazy shit. I found the strength to get rid of it forever. I almost died in the process, but when I woke up I just… was different. So yeah, I guess it’s a radioactive bug situation of its own.”
Mike looked at Puppetmaster with inner eyebrows raised, listening attentively. He paused the recorder after noticing how uneasy Puppetmaster’s voice had become during that explanation.
“Hey, if I ever say something that goes too far or you just can’t answer, can you let me know directly?”
“Sure,” Puppetmaster said, straightening himself back up again but still looking at the wall ahead. “You can keep going.” Mike started the recorder again.
“I’m fine. I get this is what the people want to hear. I guess I just wanted to put off sharing that story as long as possible. Figured I should wait until the right reporter came along. My origin story isn’t really as fun as a radioactive bug.”
The right reporter? Did Puppetmaster feel that way about Mike even though he just met him and barely knew anything about him?
“Wait- do you think I'm the right reporter?” Mike asked.
Puppetmaster looked at him, semi-surprised by his own comment. The surprise faded as he tilted his head in suspicion.
“Well, I don’t know. You kind of harassed me until I said yes to an interview. I hope you are the right one, but,” Puppetmaster shrugged. “You’re definitely… determined. Seems like you’ll go to dangerous lengths for a story. I guess we’ll see how you tell mine. If the article gets published, I mean.”
Mike immediately jumped in, raising his recorder to his mouth, “Just to clarify, I did not harass PM, I just… asked him enthusiastically and repeatedly after a fight for an interview,” Mike said.
“Ah. Already skewing the narrative,” Puppetmaster said with an eye roll.
“Getting back on track: How about a more upbeat question? How did you get started with the Demolitionists?”
Puppetmaster sighed.
“Again, unfortunately I can’t share the full story. I’ll do the censored version. We met throughout different points of life. We each got our powers at different times and from different sources. We actually used our powers on smaller scales before we even became the Demolitionists. Mostly small things like stopping burglaries, containing or rescuing people from fires, catching thieves or attackers. We did so in subtle ways so that our powers would still stay secret. The creatures arrived, then we decided we needed to change our strategy and improve our skills to fight back against them. Lucas Sinclair- um, for the article, that’s a local businessman and investor- sent us some funds and took advantage of some connections to get us wardrobe and other resources that have helped extensively.”
Mike didn’t realize that Lucas sent the heroes that much money. Lucas must have been way better off financially than he originally thought.
Overall, Puppetmaster’s story seemed pretty on brand for the typical hero. Still, he could have been lying. Secret identities function as protection, but they can also be a great cover to hide suspicious information.
“Ok. Gonna hit some of the gossip-y shit some people might want to know. Do you have a superpowered girlfriend of your own? What’s-”
Puppetmaster’s lips downturned and eyebrows ruffled in a look of pure disgust. Mike immediately paused the recorder, wondering if that question was really so heinous.
“Wait, did I say something bad?” he asked.
“No, I’m just not- this is off record, right?”
“Yeah,” Mike responded, doublechecking the recorder. “Of course. The recording is paused and everything.”
“Ok. Off the record… I’m just… not interested in that.” Puppetmaster said.
Mike considered the concept of super-dating. If Mike had powers, he didn’t know if he would keep it an absolute secret or tell his closest loved ones. If it were an absolute secret and you were as active as the Demolitionists were, how would you even find the time for dating? Dating as a superhero would be near impossible. Whether it was keeping your secret from someone or sharing it just with them, both paths seemed like a hassle to navigate.
“Oh I get it. Yeah, if you had a girlfriend, it could be stressful with her,” Mike admitted.
“No. I mean yes that’s true, but off the record there will never be a her for me,” Puppetmaster mentioned, hoping that Mike understood what he meant.
Realization flooded across Mike’s face. Oh. He had no interest in girls at all. He was a gay superhero? It was his first time meeting a real-life superhero, let alone a gay one. Mike was mostly impressed at the combination, recognizing how rare it would be for someone to exist with both qualities at once.
Mike accidentally let his awkwardness at the realization entirely slip out.
“Oh. Um, good for you!” Mike reached his hand forward and clumsily patted Puppetmaster’s upper arm. Even through his leather jacket, Mike noticed the muscular definition between his shoulder and tricep. He didn’t expect Puppetmaster to secretly be toned like this, especially when his powers and in field strategy didn’t require him to be strong.
Puppetmaster tilted his head down to look at Mike’s hand on his arm, then raised his eyes up to look at Mike as if to question what the hell Mike meant by this whole exchange.
“Woah,” Mike quietly, but reflexively said at Puppetmaster’s arm before quickly removing his hand to tuck his hair behind his ear and avert eye contact selectively.
“I mean woah about the leather jacket. Seems like good quality.” Mike shook his hand a couple of times to shoot the nerves out. Puppetmaster noticed Mike’s flustered reaction.
Mike resumed the recorder again. “So, um, back to-”
Puppetmaster leaned forward slightly and looked earnestly in Mike’s eyes. “Were you trying to hit on me?” He asked it in a softer voice, as if the answer were a secret he was intent on hearing. Mike’s eyes widened as he immediately began to explain himself.
“What? No! I wasn’t trying to- I don’t really know you- I mean I wouldn’t be interested in someone like… you? Not that you’re horrible or anything-” Mike gestured as if the right words were right in front of him and they just needed a push to make their way to Puppetmaster.
Puppetmaster grinned at Mike’s squirmy response. “Dude, I was just teasing you. Didn’t think you were.”
Puppetmaster suddenly raised his hand to his ear, intently listening. Mike spotted the edge of an earpiece, likely there to keep in touch with the Demolitionists.
“I gotta dash. Do you have everything you need?” Puppetmaster added quickly.
“Yeah I should be fine. More Golems- I mean creatures?” Mike asked.
“No, a nearby apartment complex fire.”
“Ah. Good luck,” Mike nodded.
“Nice talking, Mike.” Puppetmaster gave Mike’s shoulder a friendly pat.
Puppetmaster shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and began speed walking out of the alley, but not before turning around briefly to say with a self satisfied expression of realization, “Interesting that you’re easy to tease.”
Oh, it was clear that Mike would regret his awkward blunder in the future. Puppetmaster sprinted out of the alley to the right, leaving Mike behind with his recorder and notepad.
Mike rewound the tape on his way back up to his room. Might as well jot any notes down now. If only he could stop replaying the conversation long enough to start writing.