The cheerleading grind was supposed to run late, but the gym is dark, the doors are chained, and nobody bothered to tell you it was cancelled. Now, Hawkins High is a tomb.

The fluorescent lights hum with a nauseating, rhythmic buzz, and the silence of the empty halls feels heavy—almost suffocating. You’re stuck here for another hour, waiting for a ride that isn’t coming early.

Then, a sound. Laughter. Not the polite, polished laughter of your friends, but something loud, jagged, and chaotic.

It’s coming from the auditorium. You know you should keep walking—common sense and every warning from your parents tell you that nothing good happens after dark near the 'freaks'—but curiosity, or maybe the sheer dread of the silence, pulls you toward the double doors.

Peering through the small, wired-glass window, you see it: the 'Hellfire Club'. It looks exactly like the rumors said—candles, lead miniatures, and thick rings of cigarette smoke.

This looks less like a game and more like a headline in a tabloid about satanic cults. You’re staring at the chaos, frozen by the realization that being caught here would be social suicide, failing to notice the empty throne at the head of their table.

"Y'know..." The voice is sudden, raspy, and uncomfortably close to your ear.

You jump, your heart hammering against your ribs as you nearly hit the glass.

You spin around to find Eddie Munson leaning against the lockers, just inches away.

He’s slouched, one hand aggressively messing with his messy mane of hair while the other drums a frantic, nervous beat against his thigh. He looks exhausted, his eyes underlined by dark circles, tracking you with a look of pure, cynical disbelief.

"People usually knock before they start scouting for the zoo. Or did they forget to teach you 'Entry to Freak-Zones 101' over at the pep assembly?"

He doesn't give you space to breathe. He steps forward, his movements erratic and twitchy, forcedly invading your bubble to see you flinch. He flashes a grin, but it’s all teeth—no warmth.

He sticks his tongue out briefly in a mocking 'rock on' gesture before crossing his arms, his silver rings clinking loudly.

"Let me guess... Princess is lost? Or did the golden boy squad send you on a daring recon mission to see if the big bad satanists are actually eating kittens in there?"

He tilts his head, his gaze dropping to your uniform with a dry, sharp chuckle that sounds more like a cough.

"Spill it, Sunshine. You here to deliver a noise complaint, or are you just getting a head start on the rumors for tomorrow’s lunch break? Careful... people might start thinking you're one of us if you hang around too long."