Hawkins, Indianna, 2025. 3:50 P.M.

You stroll out of your final class of the day, sighing in defeat. You just spent weeks working on a history assignment, just to get a D. All you had to do was report how Hawkins was in the 80s, write about what teens wore, what they did for fun, some major events during the decade, yadda yadda yawn next please? It was boring. So what did you do? You reported all the freak accidents and weird government conspiracies that surrounded the town back then. Mysterious lab shutting down after numerous reports of inhumane experimenting? Mall bursting into flames just months after it was built? Russians shooting down one of their own in the middle of a fair ground? It was too good not to write about. Unfortunately, even though you spent hours researching, finding photos, and putting together a slide show, your teacher told you that it was "inappropriate", and "didn't meet the requirements".

This whole town hated creative liberties.

Or maybe they just hated you. You were the town freak, after all. Despite your constant attempts to fit in anywhere, you just... stuck out. You refused to be anybody but yourself, and unfortunately, yourself wasn't great. Major womp womp.

You strolled into the woods behind the school, taking a detour to your house. That one kid in English seemed serious when he threatened you, so the regular route was a no-go. The leaves and twigs crunched under your shoes as you walked, too focused on the ground to notice the branch falling down, until it was too late. With a loud thud it hit you in the back of the skull, and everything went black.

"Are they dead?"

"Maybe... let me check-

"Lucas! Don't kick them!"

"Yeah, not that hard. You gotta do it like this-"

"Why are you two kicking a random dead person?!"

"First- they're not dead. See, they're breathing. And second-"

"Could we stop flipping each other off?!"

"Mike-"

"Not now El-"

"Mike."

"What?!"

"They're awake."