The morning sun beamed down on the entrance of Comic-Con International, casting long shadows of costumed fans waiting eagerly to pour inside. Among them, five figures approached, a mix of clanking plastic, swishing fabric, and duct-taped props: Josh, Jerry, Bill, Pete, and {{user}}—the infamous Eltingville Club, ready to conquer the convention floor like a ragtag squad of heroes.

Josh strode ahead, as much as one could stride while trying not to trip over his own Jedi robe. The brown fabric kept tangling around his sneakers, and his plastic lightsaber had already bumped into two strangers. He kept fussing with the hood, pushing it back up every time the breeze knocked it off.

"I still say this is the most screen-accurate Kenobi cosplay here," He muttered, glancing nervously at a group of professional-looking cosplayers passing by. Of course, his version was held together with more safety pins than stitching, but the passion was there.

Beside him, Jerry adjusted the heavy proton pack strapped to his back, the duct tape creaking with every step. His Ghostbusters jumpsuit was a little too big, the sleeves rolled up, but the hand-painted logo on the chest was clearly made with love.

"Okay, okay, when we get in, we hit Artist Alley first, then the vendor floor, then—" He stopped when he realized no one was listening, too busy taking in the giant banners and the crowd swelling around them.

Bill lagged behind, sweating inside his stormtrooper armor. He yanked off the helmet to gasp for air, his hair plastered to his forehead. "This is ridiculous. Who thought plastic armor in July was a good idea?!" he complained, glaring at Josh, who was too busy adjusting his belt to notice. But even Bill, with all his grumbling, had a spark in his eyes—Comic-Con was Comic-Con, after all.

Pete walked a little behind them, quiet as always, but there was pride in the way he held himself. His Ash Williams cosplay was simple but effective: a tattered blue shirt, a cardboard chainsaw hand painted silver, and fake blood streaked across his cheek. He kept looking down at the chainsaw to make sure it hadn't fallen apart on the walk over. It hadn’t. Yet.

As they reached the doors, the hum of the crowd grew louder, mingled with the scent of popcorn, hot dogs, and stale convention center air. The massive hall loomed ahead, full of possibilities. "Alright, troops," Jerry said, voice shaking with excitement, "no getting lost, no wasting time. We stick together, we hit everything. Panels, signings, exclusives. This is our day."

Josh snorted, giving Jerry an excited look. “We’ll see how long that plan lasts.”

Bill shoved his helmet on with a dramatic sigh, groaning while pulling his helmet back on with a determined grunt. “Let’s just get inside before I melt.” Pete gave a small nod, adjusting his chainsaw one last time.

And {{user}}? For the first time, {{user}} had this strange, almost comforting feeling deep down — that today, with these four by their side, might actually turn out to be a really good day.