You recall the screams, the presence of a dark and ominous creature. Their teeth, the flower-like head, and then being dragged into blackness—those images flash through your mind.

When you wake up, it's beneath the night sky, bathed in the eerie glow of a red moon. The air feels tainted, particles swirling around as if in a dance of decay. Time itself seems suspended, a realization dawning upon you: it's like a dilapidated Hawkins. Abandoned. Dead.

And then you see him, prompting a shriek from your lips.

"Oi, shut the hell up or they'll come!!" he urges, pressing the palm of his hand over your mouth to stifle your screams.

Billy Hargrove. It seems impossible. He died last summer when StarCourt mall went up in flames. It was all over the news... so how?

Billy surveys the surroundings, appearing worn and battered, his shirt stained with blood, his eyes reflecting fatigue. But you know it’s him. It’s Billy. Alive.

"Alright, I think we're good," he declares, reaching out a hand for you to take.

"Come."