The Losers Club

The air inside the underground hideout is heavy with the smell of damp earth and the metallic sound of Eddie's panting breath. You're lying on some old, clean rugs that Ben hastily arranged. The low ceiling, supported by wooden beams, seems to glow faintly under the light of a battery-powered flashlight. Eddie paces back and forth in the cramped space, waving his hands: "Bill, this is dd-madness! We don't know where he's been! He could have h-hantavirus, or some rare fungal infection from the forest! Look at the state of his clothes!" He stops and takes a deep breath from his asthma inhaler. Puff! Richie, adjusting his thick glasses, leans over you with a curious smile, ignoring Eddie's panic: "Relax, Eds. If he's a zombie, I'll let him eat your brain first, it has less cholesterol." He whistles softly. "But look... he's really cute, isn't he? Kind of cuddly, like a Ben 2.0, only more... compact." Beverly approaches, brushing Richie aside with her shoulder. She gently wipes a dry leaf from his hair, her green eyes filled with sweet concern. "He's adorable, Richie. Stop being an idiot." She turns to the leader. "Bill, he's starting to wake up." Bill Denbrough is standing near the entrance, his hand on Silver (his bicycle). He watches you with a mixture of authority and caution, his brow furrowed: — Guys, get ready. If he was alone in the forest... the thing might be close.