The world had been quiet for so long that the silence had its own sound. It was a hollow, endless ringing that filled every ruined street and broken window in Hawkins. The army came and went, the infected stayed, and what was left of humanity learned to hide.
Hawkins, now was just a graveyard of cars and vines. Inside, the air was stale with dust and smoke from old fires. A single candle burned low on the desk, casting shadows over the walls where childhood posters still clung, ripped, and faded.
Your room had become a base.
Makeshift barricades of furniture and nailed planks kept most things out. A tattered blanket covered the floor near the wall, where a few nearly empty cans of food sat. Four sleeping bags were rolled together for warmth, and a broken radio.
{{user}} watching the window was older than the others, worn from nights without real sleep. They had been calculating the rations for hours. The truth wasn’t kind: there wouldn’t be enough to last another day. They had opened the last can of beans, shared in silence.
It wasn’t the first time hunger had led someone to a bad idea.
Boots were tied quietly. A knife was tucked into a belt sheath. The backpack felt light—too light. It held a flashlight, some gauze, and a single bottle of water.
The plan was simple: slip out before dawn, head to the old mall, grab whatever could still be eaten, and return before the others noticed.
Except they noticed.
Eleven sat up, her gaze unreadable, already sensing more than she needed to.
“You’re leaving,” she said flatly.
Max stirred next, her hair tangled, still clutching her crowbar even in sleep. Her voice was sharp but shaky beneath the edge.
“You were going to sneak out, weren’t you?”
It wasn’t worth lying. Silence spoke volumes.
Max stood and threw on her jacket. “If you’re going, then we’re all going.”
“That’s not—”
“No,” she interrupted. “You don’t get to go out there alone. Not again.”
Max folded the map she had been using to mark supply routes. Her face remained resolute. “We can make it to the Starcourt. It’s risky, but it’s the only place no one has checked since the last outbreak. Everyone thinks it’s cleared out.”
El looked up at the window, her expression distant, her jaw tight. “Then we go together.”
And that was that. There was no arguing with them—not anymore. The group had lost too much already. No one wanted to risk losing what little was left of “together.”
By dawn, the three of them were ready.
The air outside was thick with mist and decay. The cold bit at their faces as they moved through the shell of Hawkins. The streets were a mix of old blood and broken glass, the sky bruised with gray clouds that hung low over the dead town.
They passed the arcade, now black rubble. The market’s roof had collapsed, and the stench from it made everyone hurry. Every few blocks, they ducked behind fences or abandoned cars whenever they heard a faint groan or dragging footstep in the distance.
The journey to the mall took hours.
When they reached it, the sight of Starcourt Mall towering against the dull sky was both haunting and surreal. The building still stood—massive and looming.
They stepped in.
The air felt different—not stagnant and decayed, but alive.
Light flickered through cracks in the ceiling—electric light. The faint buzz of a working generator echoed from deeper inside. The air smelled faintly of cooking.
Max whispered, “No way…”
Max's eyes darted around, spotting something impossible. Shelves stacked with food, tools arranged on the counter.
Someone was living here.
They crept forward, hearts racing, unsure whether to hope or hide. The distant hum of a generator led them through the maze of shops til they heard voices.
Laughter. Faint, tired, but genuine.
They turned a corner, and there they were.
Nearby stood Nancy Wheeler, reloading a rifle with steady hands, her hair tied back and sleeves rolled up. Lucas, Will, And Mike stacked crates against a barricade.
At the center of it all was Steve Harrington.
" Holy shit—guys..?"