"James! Wake up, dude, something crazy just happened!"
"Who the hell is knocking at my door at this time of night?" the young man muttered, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he stumbled downstairs. He opened the front door to reveal his best friend, Mieczyslaw Stilinski—better known simply as Stiles—standing there breathlessly.
"Stiles, what the hell, man? Do you realize it's the night before the first day of high school?"
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Stiles waved dismissively, eyes wide with excitement. "But James, I overheard my dad's police radio. Something big is going down—state police, Beacon Hills deputies—everyone's out tonight."
"What are you talking about? What happened?"
"They found a body."
"If they found the body, why the huge search?"
"That's the thing—they only found half of it."
James stared, wide-eyed, absorbing the revelation.
"Grab your jacket," Stiles urged. "Scott's already waiting in the jeep. Let's go!"
"Alright, give me a minute."
James bolted upstairs, adrenaline kicking in. "I can't believe this is actually happening," he muttered as he grabbed his hoodie. "All my life I've watched this moment—Scott and Stiles discovering their place in the supernatural. Never thought I'd reincarnate into my favorite show. Better hurry before they leave without me."
An impatient horn blared outside. "I'm coming!"
Moments later, three teenagers sped down the road in Stiles' teal jeep, excitement written across their faces.
"Hey, Stiles," James leaned forward from the backseat, "If they only found half a body, what exactly are we looking for? And how do we know it's exactly half? What if it's more of a quarter? Or—"
"You know, that's actually a good question," Stiles admitted, suddenly realizing he hadn't fully thought this through.
"Yeah," Scott chimed in nervously. "And what if whatever killed that person is still out there?"
Stiles visibly deflated. "Also a great point."
James sighed dramatically. "So, you dragged us out of bed to find part of a corpse, risking getting killed by whatever ripped someone in half, without even considering the danger?"
Stiles grimaced, admitting softly, "Yup."
James and Scott simultaneously groaned, "Great."
The jeep pulled up to the preserve, blatantly ignoring the warning signs. The trio jumped out eagerly, Stiles holding the only flashlight.
"Stiles, seriously? One flashlight for three people?" James asked incredulously.
"Another oversight," Stiles admitted sheepishly.
"Classic Stilinski attention to detail," James quipped dryly. "Otherwise known as our impending doom."
"James, relax. We'll be fine," Stiles said, already darting off into the dark.
"You know, Scott," James sighed, "one of these days, I'm genuinely going to dropkick him."
Scott smiled knowingly. "Count me in."
"Let's go," James said reluctantly, and they jogged after Stiles.
As they ascended the steep incline, James noticed Scott's labored breathing. Scott, severely asthmatic, was already struggling.
"Hey, Stiles," James called ahead sarcastically. "Maybe the guy who can barely breathe should hold the flashlight? Just a thought."
"None taken," Scott wheezed, pausing to use his inhaler.
"Scott, you okay?" James asked, concerned.
"Just…moving too fast," Scott gasped.
"Guys, hurry up!" Stiles urged from ahead, seemingly oblivious.
Soon, they spotted flashlights weaving through the trees: the search party.
"Stiles, kill the flashlight!" James hissed, diving behind a fallen log. Stiles fumbled nervously before plunging them into darkness.
"We need a plan," James whispered. But before he could finish, Stiles impulsively bolted toward the searchlights.
"Stiles, wait!" Scott whispered urgently, but it was too late.
"Come on, guys!" Stiles yelled back.
Suddenly, officers spotted him, prompting shouts and pursuit. "Stiles, stop!"
"Whoa, Scott," James quickly grabbed Scott's arm. "Better him than all of us. His dad's the sheriff—he'll get off easy. But us? We haven't been seen all week. We'd be suspects."
"Hang on!" came a familiar voice—Sheriff Stilinski. "This little delinquent belongs to me."
Stiles grinned awkwardly, attempting casualness. "Hey, Pops!"
"Stiles, do you always listen in on my calls?" the sheriff sighed heavily.
"Not the boring ones," Stiles joked weakly.
"Right," Sheriff Stilinski muttered. He scanned the darkness, calling loudly, "James, Scott! You guys out there?"
"See?" James whispered. "He'll take Stiles back to the jeep. We stay hidden."
Eventually, the sheriff relented. "Alright, come on, kid. Let's have a chat about privacy."
As Stiles and his father walked away, Scott and James realized the jeep was now off-limits. Waiting until the coast was clear, they decided to sneak out the way they'd come in.
But darkness quickly swallowed them, and without a flashlight, they became separated. A sudden stampede of deer sent James sprawling. As chaos erupted, he heard Scott scream in pain, followed by a guttural howl.
Then, searing agony exploded up James' right arm. Vision swimming, he collapsed, consciousness fading rapidly. Just before blacking out completely, he heard something strange echo in his mind:
"System Booting… Transporting…"
"Wait…what?"