The smell of popcorn and hot chocolate filled the Torres household that night. After a tough day filled with disappointments, surprises, and action, the family turned to what they did best: a family movie night. Despite the controversial judgment surrounding Mr. Torres' heritage and appearance, the Torres family was close-knit and loving. Every Friday—or whenever they could—they gathered in the living room for a movie night, a tradition often followed by board game Sundays. It was their way of reconnecting, forcing themselves to communicate, and momentarily forgetting the burdens weighing on their minds.

Blue Suede Shoes played softly on the radio, matching their cheerful vibe as they debated which movie to watch.

"What about Annie?" Emma suggested, rummaging through the collection of tapes on the floor.

Her mother grimaced as she set down a tray of hot chocolate on the coffee table. "Again?" she said, exasperated. If they watched that musical one more time, she might lose her mind. Ever since they saw it months ago at the cinema, the girls had been obsessed, prompting them to buy the tape. It had since become a near-monthly ritual.

"Again what?" James asked, stepping into the room with two bowls of popcorn in hand, dancing along to the beat of the song.

"Annie," Emma repeated. Her father mirrored his wife's grimace.

"Got it," Emma said, raising her eyebrows in mock defeat. Gently tossing the tape back into the box, she stood up to grab a handful of popcorn, her stomach growling. The school cafeteria food had been far from satisfying, leaving her ravenous.

James placed the bowls on the table and picked up the box of tapes, sifting through them himself as he traded spots with his daughter. After scanning a few options, he pulled out an unopened one. "How about this?" he suggested.

Gea leaned over to read the label, her brow furrowing. "Gremlins?" she asked skeptically.

"Wasn't that the movie we bought to watch on Halloween?" Emma grabbed the tape to inspect it. "We never got around to it, did we?" she mumbled, munching on another handful of popcorn.

"So?" James raised his eyebrows hopefully. Both Emma and Gea shrugged, agreeing to give it a try. "Lilith?" he called, snapping his youngest daughter out of her thoughts.

Lilith had been unusually quiet since returning home. Her mind was preoccupied with the events of the day: Dart, the creature Dustin had discovered; the mysterious girl at the gym; and Will, who had suffered yet another traumatic episode. She couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness that lingered.

"Huh?" she said absentmindedly.

"Gremlins?" her father repeated. The girl shrugged again, clearly distracted.

"You okay?" James asked, his concern evident. Gea, already sitting beside Lilith, squeezed her shoulders for comfort.

"Yeah, I just..." Lilith hesitated, frowning as she scratched her arm. "Will had another episode today, and I can't stop thinking about how none of us could actually help him."

Gea's expression softened as she tried to reassure her daughter. "The kid's been through a lot—more than any of us could imagine. It's normal to feel unsure about how to handle it."

James glanced at Gea, a silent exchange passing between them. They had talked earlier about her investigation into Barb's disappearance and the suspicions connecting it to the strange events in Hawkins.

"What was that?" Emma asked, narrowing her eyes at her parents. The way they exchanged looks was too suspicious to ignore. "Come on, we promised no secrets when we moved here."

"Your mom is working on Barb's disappearance now," James admitted reluctantly.

"What happened to the private detective?" Emma questioned, crossing her arms.

"I spoke with him a couple of hours ago," Gea explained. "We're meeting tomorrow for an update."

"And what does that have to do with Will?" Lilith asked, puzzled.

Gea sighed as James filled in the gap. "She thinks Barb's disappearance and Will's are connected."

"You were going to interrogate him, weren't you?" Lilith burst out, outraged. The idea of her mother questioning Will—who was already dealing with so much—felt like a betrayal, especially since Lilith had started forming a bond with his group of friends.

James quickly stepped in to defuse the tension. "Lilith, calm down. She hasn't done anything yet."

Emma, however, kept her piercing gaze fixed on her parents. "How'd you even get the case in the first place?" she asked suspiciously.

Gea exhaled, choosing her words carefully. "Today, we got a call at the station. A young, curly-haired girl was found near the park. She matches the description of the so-called Russian girl the detective mentioned in connection to Barb's case."

Emma's eyes widened, her heart skipping a beat. "A curly-haired girl?" she echoed, her concern growing.

Lilith frowned thoughtfully. "At the gym today, before we found Will... Max fell off her skateboard. She said it felt like something pulled her down," Lilith recalled. The room fell silent, all eyes on her. "Right before she fell, I swear I saw a kid who fits that description," she said, her voice trailing off as she remembered the most chilling detail. "Her nose was bleeding."

Time seemed to freeze as Emma's stomach dropped. The memory of the kid she had spotted near the school earlier that week came rushing back. She hadn't imagined it. She knew it.

***

That night, Emma dreamed of the girl repeatedly. It felt like a loop that restarted every time she reached out to touch the shoulder of the kid she was chasing. And each time Emma got closer, a different memory from her past would flash through her mind, resetting the dream.

The first flashback showed her playing with a red toy car alongside Eight and another girl. A woman entered the room but was abruptly dragged away before anything else could happen. The second memory was from the time the children in her department were separated into different sections, dividing them by the unique ways their powers were developing. Emma and another kid—whose abilities were as peculiar as her own—were forced to fight each other to strengthen their powers. A flash of lightning struck the other child, and the dream restarted once more.

The last flashback was of her attempt to escape. In the chaos, the silhouette of a little girl crossed her path. Emma hadn't seen her face, but she did notice one thing: the "011" tattoo on her arm.

"What's on your mind?" her father's voice broke through her thoughts. Startled, Emma's eyebrows lifted, and her gaze shifted from the car window to him.

"You're thinking about that kid," he said knowingly. Her father had an uncanny ability to read her, often catching her off guard. Their relationship was simple, easy, and sparse when it came to expressing emotions. Neither of them excelled at opening up, which sometimes made Emma feel like he didn't truly know her. Yet, time and again, he proved otherwise—sometimes knowing her better than she knew herself.

Her mother, Gea, was different. They talked often and openly because Gea led the conversations, making it easy for Emma to confide in her. But her father was observant, noticing the subtle things, seeing through her words. He was the one who had helped her understand her powers and bought her first comic book—a gesture that meant more to her than she ever let on.

"I dreamed about her," Emma admitted, turning her gaze back to the passing neighborhoods outside the window. The image of the girl haunted her thoughts, consuming her entire day.

"A dream?" Her father's voice was calm, but Emma could sense the raised eyebrow in his tone. He knew that when she dreamed about her time in the lab, it was rarely just a dream—it was fragments of lost memories.

"I think I knew her," Emma said hesitantly, her eyes darting around, searching for something to anchor her courage. "I think I saw her yesterday... just like my sister." She pulled her jean jacket tighter around her body, crossing her arms protectively. "I was by the football field with Brooke and Veronica when I noticed this kid walking into the Middle School building," she explained, keeping her hands tucked in her pockets.

James stayed silent, giving her space to continue.

"I don't know what happened exactly," Emma admitted, her nose wrinkling as she recalled the unsettling feeling that had overcome her. "It was like something was pulling me toward her." Her hands fidgeted with an old ticket she found in her pocket. "My powers... it felt like something inside me recognized her." Finally, she looked back at her father.

His eyes stayed on the road, his expression thoughtful. "What was your dream about?" he asked, his voice steady, not pressuring her but guiding her to keep going.

Emma stared straight ahead, mirroring his posture. They were on their way to the lab for her first session with one of the clinical psychologists. Her nerves were frayed, but for the first time in a long while, her powers weren't buzzing at her fingertips.

"I don't think it was just a dream," she confessed. "I think they were memories. She was there with me in one of them." Emma's voice grew quieter. "I think we grew up together until they separated us... and I escaped."

Silence filled the car again. She knew her father was mulling over her words. He always listened carefully, even when he didn't respond immediately. It was a quality Emma appreciated more than she often admitted.

"You think I should mention her in the session?" Emma asked after a moment, hesitating.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said firmly. "If that kid is wandering around town, they already know she exists. They're just hiding her."

Emma bit her bottom lip, her thoughts aligning with her father's. "The question is why," she murmured.

"What happened last year?" her father corrected. With every step closer they got to the truth, he became more convinced of Gea's theory: that Will Byers and Barbara Holland's disappearances were connected to the lab. And now, the sighting of that mysterious kid provided the missing link. Neither of them knew why. But Gea Torres would make sure to find the answers they needed about time. Begining with talking with the only detective who spotted that kid on the case: Murray Beuman.

***

The black-and-white image of a familiar brunette woman with her characteristic red lipstick and determined brown eyes flickered on an old screen. Across from it sat a man with a grown, curly beard and mustache, bald at the crown of his head, encircled by a short layer of curls. His face was framed by a pair of distinctive yellow-tinted glasses. He stared at the screen, his messy suit hanging awkwardly on his frame, a clear indication he wasn't the kind of man who usually dressed this formally. But the occasion demanded it.

After weeks of persistence and digging at the precinct, Jim Hopper had finally agreed to entertain his theories. Now, Gea Torres, the new inspector in town, had been assigned to oversee the investigation. She would manage resources, ensure adherence to legal protocols, and ultimately guide the case to its conclusion. Murray wasn't thrilled about this arrangement—he didn't know her and wasn't fond of relinquishing control—but he had reached a point where his actions were limited. With her help, they might finally crack the case.

After going through the formalities of identification at the door, Murray allowed the inspector into his cluttered home. The living room was in disarray, with papers and photographs scattered across every surface. A bulletin board crowded with articles and clues was crisscrossed with red string, forming a chaotic web of connections. Gea felt a shiver run down her spine. Not even her daughters were this messy. She despised untidy spaces but resolved to tolerate it for the sake of the investigation.

Walking carefully in her heels, Gea approached the couch and sat down across from him. Her sharp eyes scanned the board, taking in the intricate network of connections.

Murray tapped the rim of his coffee cup thoughtfully. When he had offered her one earlier, Gea had politely declined. "So, Mrs. Torres, what revelation has brought you knocking on my door?" he asked.

"The girl," she replied, her British accent crisp and precise. "I think we've found her."

"The Russian girl?" he asked, taking a sip of coffee. A small drop trickled into his beard, and Gea fought to suppress her grimace of disgust. Her lips tightened in a thin line as she tried to keep her expression neutral.

"She was spotted wandering the streets," Gea said, crossing her legs and straightening her posture. "A witness described her as mysterious and... threatening."

Murray smirked, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Your theory claims Barb found this girl and tried to help her escape from some secret Russian base. And in doing so, she uncovered too much and was killed for it," Gea continued, leaning forward slightly, her tone confidential. "But if that girl is still wandering around, wouldn't the Russians have already recaptured her—or worse?"

Murray leaned back in his chair, considering. "Not necessarily. They might be using her as a spy, or maybe they've left her alone because she's just a kid. No one would believe her. Letting her roam freely might serve their purposes." He placed his cup back on the table. "So, what do you think?"

Gea pressed her lips together in thought. "You believe the lab is where this supposed Russian base is," she said, laying her theory out. "And you need our resources to investigate it properly."

Murray nodded in agreement.

"But the lab was established in the 1950s, after World War II," Gea continued, placing a file on the table. "If it had ties to the Russians, that connection would have been under scrutiny for decades. Yet, there's nothing in these documents—what little isn't classified—that suggests it's suspicious in that way."

She paused, her tone shifting. "And how does any of this tie to Will Byers' disappearance?"

Murray raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "Will Byers? He went missing in the woods."

Gea pulled out a map of Hawkins and marked two locations: where Will's bike had been found and the Byers' house. "Will disappeared two days before Barb, on his way home from here," she explained. Then she pointed to another location, the Harringtons' house. "Two days later, Barbara Holland went missing—on the same day the town was searching for Will."

Gea marked another spot: a local burger restaurant. "That same day, a man from the diner disappeared too. It was dismissed, but one patron mentioned seeing a strange girl there. What if that girl is our link?"

Murray studied the map as she continued. "All three events are connected by one thing: the lab," Gea said firmly. "I'm sure it has a role in all of this, but I don't think we're talking about Russians. This lab is known for psychological experiments, particularly those aimed at enhancing human capabilities. That's what the files confirm—though they're heavily redacted."

She paused, choosing her words carefully. "That's all I know." It was a lie, but she wasn't about to reveal everything—not yet.

Murray's eyebrows shot up. "You've done your homework," he admitted, studying the map again. "But if it's not the Russians and it's our own government... what are they hiding?"

Gea's expression darkened. "And why did they let Will Byers come back alive?"

***

"You need to be cautious with what you say," James Torres warned his daughter as he parked in front of the lab.

"I know," Emma nodded, unfastening her seatbelt. Her mind was a chaotic mess. The faces of the children she remembered from the day she ran away flashed before her eyes repeatedly—faces streaked with blood, lifeless. And that one kid... She swallowed hard. "But still..." Her voice faltered. "I know what I saw. They were all dead, Dad. I remember it. How can...?" Her breath hitched, and she felt the familiar tingle of electricity crawling over her hands.

"You escaped too," James reminded her, his gaze locking with hers, filled with concern. He often worried that while she had physically escaped, mentally, she was still trapped within those blood-soaked white walls. "You're here. Maybe she is too."

Emma pressed her lips together, unconvinced. She opened the door and stepped out, her brows furrowed as she walked silently toward the building.

"What are we going to get your mother for her birthday?" James asked, his voice lightening to ease the tension. He always did that.

A smile crept onto Emma's lips as her thoughts shifted completely. Her mother's birthday was fast approaching.

"What about flo—" she began, only to be interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Emma?"

The ocean-blue eyes of Nancy Wheeler greeted her, tinged with surprise.

Emma's brows knitted as she took in Nancy's appearance: pale, rosy cheeks and her signature furrowed brows, now paired with a tentative, confused grin. She wasn't forcing a smile this time, and there was no attempt to feign that everything was fine. Emma's eyes trailed downward to Nancy's hand, which clutched another, larger hand—a steady connection she hadn't rushed to break. Following the hand, Emma's gaze landed on the concerned grin and prominent cheekbones of Jonathan Byers.

"Jonathan? Nancy?" she blurted out, startled.

"What are you doing at this lab?" Nancy asked, her tone both defensive and calculated. She was careful with her words, clearly guarding her thoughts.

Emma glanced at her father out of the corner of her eye. The question could just as easily have been asked of Nancy and Jonathan. But Emma was sharp; she knew how to craft an excuse on the fly. She had rehearsed plenty of cover stories before they even moved to Hawkins.

"Um, yeah, how do I put this?" Emma scratched the back of her neck—an obvious tell whenever she was about to lie. She needed to work on that. Her eyes darted briefly before settling on Nancy. "The lab is helping me with a chronic disease," she said, forcing the words out.

Nancy's face softened from suspicion to understanding. The explanation made sense to her—why Emma often had medical appointments, why the Torres family had abruptly relocated to Hawkins. It all fit. But Nancy wasn't naïve; she knew what went on inside that lab.

"What? I didn't know you..." Nancy began but was quickly interrupted.

"No one knows," Emma said with a grin.

"That's why you moved here," Jonathan guessed.

"Yeah, kind of," Emma admitted, scratching her arm nervously. She hated talking about it, mostly because it wasn't true. She wasn't sick. She didn't have a chronic disease. She was born this way, but she had spent her entire life being treated as though she were wrong—broken, even. "This is the only place that really knows how to treat it." That part, at least, wasn't a complete lie.

"And you?" Emma asked, trying to shift the focus.

"My brother's being treated here," Jonathan replied, referencing the lab's cover as a psychology center.

And then it hit Emma. "Because of the trauma episodes?" she guessed. "My sister mentioned something about that yesterday."

"Yeah, post-traumatic stress," Jonathan said, scratching behind his ear. The whole conversation felt laced with unspoken suspicions.

"I hope he gets better. He seems like a sweet guy," Emma offered, giving a small, polite smile. She raised her hand in a quick goodbye and stepped into the lab with her father.

"That was..." James began.

"Will's big brother and Barbara's old best friend," Emma finished, nodding before he could say the words. "Mom's turning out to be right about everything," she added, her tone firm.

If they had learned anything by now, it was this: nothing in Hawkins was a coincidence.

The doors clicked shut behind them as they entered the building.

***

A Coke tumbled down into the vending machine with a satisfying clunk. The brunette girl, dressed in a green military jacket, pushed open the metal flap to retrieve her drink. She was parched. Her ginger-haired friend had dragged her to the arcade about an hour ago. Frustration had been written all over her face when Max found her skating in the street, her emotions simmering—repressed and furious.

Lilith had been wandering the neighborhood on her bike, deep in thought. She needed to clear her mind. School, Will, her parents, Dart, her sister, and that kid—it was all too much. When Max ran into her, neither of them needed to say much. They just rode together, heading straight to the arcade.

Playing video games had helped ease Lilith's mind. Max had even helped her beat her personal best on Dig Dug, and now Lilith found herself standing on the podium of high scores, just behind Dustin. She couldn't help but grin, even as the bittersweet memory of Dustin's face—heartbroken over losing Dart—flashed in her mind.

They'd spent the whole day searching for Dart at school but turned up nothing. The situation left a bad taste in her mouth. It felt like she was helpless, unable to fix anything. Still, an idea kept nudging the back of her mind. If she could make it work, it might bring some peace—not just for her but for Dustin too. Even with everything going on. Then again, maybe she was just overthinking it.

"You know," Lilith started, leaning against the machine Max was playing on and taking a sip of her Coke. The redhead raised her eyebrows, signaling she was listening.

"I still think we should apologize to Dustin," Lilith said, her voice uncertain.

Max sighed heavily, her fingers tightening on the joystick. "You're overthinking it. They dumped us. End of story." The memory of her argument with Lucas flashed in her mind, making her hands tense on the controls.

Lilith noticed. "I don't think so," she countered. "Lucas really seemed like he wanted us to be part of it. Even Dustin."

Max smirked, her eyes still glued to the screen. "Yeah, and then they slammed a door in our faces and kept secrets from us."

Lilith pressed her lips together, unsure how to respond. Her perspective was different—maybe because she was keeping her own secrets, or maybe because she had her own theory about what was really going on. She wasn't sure if it was right. Regardless, she understood Max's anger. Being pushed away hurt.

But if Lilith's hunch was correct, the boys had their reasons. Reasons Max was probably safer not knowing.

Lilith opened her mouth, ready to argue, but decided to let it go. It wasn't worth bursting the safe bubble they were in right now. Instead, she sighed and teased her friend. "Oh, let me show you how the big kids really play this," she said, stretching her arms dramatically and nudging Max aside with a grin.

Max rolled her bright blue eyes, chuckling as she stepped aside. They started playing together, laughing as their characters battled on the screen.

The sound of Max's laughter made Lilith's stomach churn unexpectedly. At that moment, she knew with certainty: she couldn't drag Max into her world.

***

Later that night, the Torres family sat around the dining table in silence. There was no music playing this time. The lights felt colder, not because of the weather but because of the tension thickening in the room. Lilith picked at her scrambled eggs and fries, a lump lodged in her throat.

Her sister, Emma, had come home after her first session with the psychologist, tears streaking her face. She hadn't said a word about it. From what Lilith knew, they hadn't even touched the main subject—the day Emma escaped. Instead, they started with fleeting flashes of the lab, and the session ended with Emma crying for an entire hour.

The doctors said her trauma was deeply entrenched, making it difficult for her to talk about it, which was normal at this stage. But it weighed on Lilith. Emma hadn't even opened up to her, and she told Lilith everything. Even the events at the radio club back in California.

Lilith frowned, watching her sister. Despite everything, Emma was forcing herself to smile. That frustrated Lilith. Emma hadn't asked for this life—she hated it. But if Emma could see herself through Lilith's eyes, she would see how incredible she was. She'd see her potential. Sure, her powers might have been intended as a weapon in her nightmares, but to Lilith, they made her a hero.

Their parents were talking softly about the next day, discussing how to proceed. They had been asked to visit the lab early to see how they planned to work with Emma to improve her mental state. It was crucial for the lab to keep her emotions and abilities under control, or she could become dangerous, even unintentionally.

Gea was adamant about keeping her daughter away from the lab entirely. She knew if Emma were fully "taken in," they might never see her again—especially with all the secrets the lab was keeping. James, on the other hand, was trying to keep dinner lighthearted. He didn't want Emma to feel like she was a burden, like they were sitting around discussing what to do with her.

But Emma wasn't listening to their conversation. Her attention was on Lilith, who was fidgeting with her napkin. "Hey, you okay?" she asked, her voice gentle with concern.

Lilith pressed her lips together, wrinkling her brow. How could Emma always do that—put others first? "Yeah," she nodded, even though she wanted to vent everything weighing on her. "I was just thinking about Dustin's pet. It got lost the other day, and it was kind of indirectly my fault," she said, steering the conversation elsewhere.

Emma's brows furrowed at the phrase indirectly my fault but decided not to press. Lilith would tell her if it was important—she always did, in excruciating detail.

"Well," Emma said softly, "you could always go talk to him if it's bothering you." She'd meant it as a simple suggestion, not knowing she might come to regret saying it later.

But in the grand scheme of things, it didn't matter. Sooner or later, they would uncover the secrets Hawkins was hiding—secrets buried deep beneath their feet. They just needed to look at the world from another perspective: upside down.

.

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Hi, who it must concerned (I'm not good at this shit), em here's the next chapter. It's a bit slow in my opinion, I have to work more on how to make the strong reveal but hey, it's coming, it's coming. (I don't even know if someone reads this, I feel like I'm always writing and talking to myself) Anyway, I recently discovered this story won the record  (It's not a record , it's challange, I correct myself.) of the 30DC in november. I don't know how, but it happened, I have no time even for me to think or study but seems I have time to write. Anyway, cool to know I can write fast. Does it makes sense? What I write, I mean. I have no idea.