The Losers scramble through the maze-like tunnels of the sewers, their flashlights casting skittish shadows that leap and flicker around them. Footsteps splashing through the murky water.

Beverly stops abruptly, holding up a hand. “Wait,” glancing around frantically. “Where’s Bill?” Richie spins on his heel, eyes wide as he scans the dim tunnel behind them. “Are you serious? He was right behind us!”

“Guys… I think we lost him,” Stan mutters, his voice tight. “How long has he been gone?”

“Too long,” Ben breathes, dread filling his chest. “We have to find him—he could be—”

“Shh,” Eddie, holding up his hand. “Do you hear that?”

Everyone falls silent, holding their breath. The only sound is the steady drip of water, the faint rustling of the sewer, and then—a low, familiar murmur, echoing faintly down the tunnel.

“B-Billy…?”

The Losers freeze, blood turning to ice. It’s Bill’s voice, soft and strained, shaking like he’s fighting back tears. But he’s not alone.

Richie’s eyes widen. “Oh shit,” he whispers, “Is he—he’s talking to—?”

“P-please, Billy… I don’t want to be down here anymore,” the tiny voice sobs. “I want to go home. Take me home, Billy…”

The Losers round a corner and skid to a halt. Bill is standing in the middle of the tunnel, a small figure a few feet infront of him. A little boy in a yellow raincoat, soaking wet, his face streaked with tears and dirt. He looks up at Bill with wide, pleading eyes—eyes that shimmer and glow in the dark.

“B-Bill!” Eddie cries out, panic breaking through his voice. But Bill doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t seem to hear them at all.

Richie snaps out of his shock, lunging forward. “No, no, no!” He grabs Bill’s arm, yanking him back so hard that Bill nearly topples over. “Don’t you get it? It’s not Georgie, okay?”

Bill jerks away, his face twisted in agony. “No!” he shouts, glaring at Richie with wild, desperate eyes. “It’s him, Richie! It’s Georgie—I can save him!”

“You said you’d help me. You promised…” the boy whimpers, his eyes wide and watery,