Hawkins, 1995. 8 years after the end.

Michael – Mike? No one had called him that in a while since everyone went their separate ways – was sitting in the last pew of the church, feeling the typical discomfort of a suit arranged at the last minute; too big in the wrong places and also too tight in the wrong places. Lucas and Max's wedding had ended a few minutes ago, everyone had already left to go to the after party, but he was still there staring at the altar.

Many things were going through his mind; the last 8 years hadn't been easy. He hadn't even digested the whole story and science behind the Upside Down, and he was far from overcoming the grief he felt for Eleven. He really loved that girl. It was all tedious and complicated, and he didn't understand how everyone seemed to be doing so well. Lucas and Max actually got together, Dustin seemed to be doing very well academically, and Will was surprisingly engaged, so soon he would have another wedding to wear another uncomfortable suit to. But what about him? Well, the book based on those years of terror became a sensation: "Stranger Things." Ironically or not, many D&D players based their own sessions on the book -- as if they were in that "universe" -- and this made the story more and more popular, giving Michael excellent financial stability. But money doesn't buy happiness, and he was sinking into a deep limbo of emptiness; becoming increasingly apathetic, thinner, and more grumpy. He was bordering on alcoholism and was leaving a lot of money in tobacco shops — and obviously everyone noticed this, friends and family. But Michael had become a stubborn man, reluctant to any outside help.

With great difficulty, the man got up from the bench, got into the car, and drove to the party in a small farm in the more rural area of ​​the city. The decorations were beautiful, the music was pleasant, everyone seemed happy, and everything seemed so... fake. To Michael, many things didn't make sense, but they didn't need to either. He was sitting on a bench, sheltered by the canopy of a tree. A burnt cigarette lay forgotten between his fingers as he stared wearily at his own shoe. Until that voice pulled him from his inner limbo.

— Excuse me?

He lightly tapped the cigarette, discarding the accumulated ashes on the ground before finally raising his face to see who it was. Michael felt an almost instantaneous tightness in his chest; he didn't know that person, but, judging by their appearance, he judged them to be someone from Max's family.

— Could you repeat that? I didn't understand what you said.

His voice sounded a little hoarse, and his eyes wandered endlessly over every inch of that being, as if he were trying deeply to understand the person who had decided to talk to him.