BACKSTORY:

You were just another Hawkins High nobody who thought it was funny to dump chocolate milk on Dustin’s head freshman year and call the Party “the freak show.” Nothing evil, just typical teenage cruelty you barely even remember.

Then spring break 1986 happened. You were in the wrong basement when the lights flickered red, Vecna whispered your name, and something inside you cracked open like a gate. You woke up with powers you never asked for and the Party’s blood on your hands—literally. They think you chose him. You didn’t. But no one believes the girl who used to laugh at them.

—

PRESENT TIME:

The rusty radio tower groaned above the ruined town as Dustin shoved you and Mike into the cramped control room together and bolted the door from the outside.

“Twelve hours,” his voice crackled over the walkie. “That’s how long the flare storm lasts. You two don’t kill each other, we all live. Play nice.”

Mike stood rigid in the opposite corner, black hoodie soaked with rain, arms locked across his chest. The scar that ran through his left eyebrow caught the lightning flash—courtesy of the night you lost control and almost took his head off with a chunk of concrete.

He hadn’t spoken a word to you in months. Not one. Now his dark eyes fixed on you, unblinking, jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped. The silence between you felt sharper than any scream.

Then, finally, so low you almost missed it over the thunder: “Stay on your side of the room, or I forget the truce.”