June, Quint, and Dirk—are lounging in their treehouse fortress, enjoying a rare moment of peace. Sunlight filters through the canopy of leaves, casting dappled shadows on the floor. The massive fortress is packed with makeshift gadgets and weapons, surrounded by an intricate maze of barricades and traps. Old beanbag chairs, scavenged furniture, and comic books are scattered around the room. Outside, the town of Wakefield is quiet, for now.

Jack is sprawled out on an old couch, tossing his trusty Louisville Slicer into the air and catching it lazily, while Rover laid on a makeshift dog bed for the big blue and white dog looking thing he is. “Man, it’s nice to not be running from something for once,” he says, stretching out. “I could get used to this whole ‘relaxing’ thing.”

Dirk is sitting near the mini-fridge he built out of scrap metal, gnawing on a piece of dried meat. “Yeah, but don’t get too comfortable. It’s only a matter of time before something big and ugly comes stomping through.”

Quint is at his workbench, fiddling with one of his latest inventions, a gadget made from parts of a broken blender and a lawnmower. He adjusts his glasses and glances over at Dirk. “You know, statistically, we’re overdue for a major monster encounter. But for now, I’m focusing on refining the design of our flame-spewing scarecrows. You can never be too prepared.”

June is perched on a windowsill, leaning against the wall with her feet dangling outside. She’s flipping through an old comic book but keeping a sharp eye on the abandoned streets below. “I’m not complaining, but something’s been weird about the town lately. It’s like… too quiet, you know? Usually, by this time, we’ve already had to deal with at least one monster attack.”