Hello all and welcome to a new story! This will definitely be different for me, and not just because this story isn't Stranger Things based, but I hope you al enjoy regardless. And if you've come from my other in-progress stories don't worry! I'm still working on those as well. but I've suddenly become obsessed with this show/comic/world and couldn't help myself!

It may be awhile since I update again since I really want to plan this story out but I at least wanted to get the prologue out. I hope you lovelies enjoy :)

Martha Montgomery was many things, but one thing she hadn't been in a long time was free. Though the air inside her room and the hallway were the same it smelled much sweeter when she stepped outside of her own free will for the first time in 60 years, looking just as young as she had the last time she'd done something that was her own choice. Though she knew she didn't have any time to dilly dally she allowed herself just a moment to soak up a moment of peace she doubted she would have again for a while. How long it would be she couldn't say. Time, like many things, was relative.

As quickly as her moment of peace had come it was gone and she was back to her mission. Everything she could possibly plan for had been carefully mapped out for over a week. And yet she knew that the element of surprise had never exactly been on her side. She was either going to walk out of the building a free woman or in a body bag. Martha knew this and was fine with it. If she was successful what, or who, she would be facing was worth every risk in the world.

The key was confidence. To walk through the hallways like she was meant to be there just as much as anyone else. She wasn't sure how many people would recognize her, it had been a long time since anyone besides her handlers and higher ups had seen her. Martha held her chin higher and did her best to push these worries out of her mind. The first step of her plan was the hardest; get a briefcase.

She knew she could get one. She just didn't know if she could get one without making a scene.

Martha was already a little out of place with what she was wearing. The only clothes she could get her hands on besides the collection of sweats she'd been wearing for the past 60 years was her outfit from the last mission she'd ever gone on. She and her old partner were sent to terminate a police officer that would have done a traffic stop on Mark David Chapman, the man that killed John Lennon. Something went wrong and there she was in the same bell bottom jeans and cropped sweatshirt, very against the commissions uniform policy.

She felt people's gazes linger on her as she passed. She was familiar to them, they just didn't know why. Which was fine with her as long as they didn't place her.

The layout of the commission was as familiar to her as the back of her own hand, and it wasn't long before she was standing in front of the security desk that was the only thing left between her and the locked room of briefcases. Through the window they seemed to stare back at her, beckoning her to them. We need you, Martha. We all need you.

"Can I help you?" the security guard asked her, suspicion in his voice already. Perhaps her choice of attire wasn't the best.

Martha put on her brightest, most polite smile she could manage. "Yes, you can." She told him, "I need a briefcase."

He seemed to resist the urge to roll his eyes at her. "I'm going to need to see some authorization and identification first." By the tone of is voice Martha guessed the man in front of her was confident she wouldn't be able to produce them.

On the surface Martha seemed very average. Average height, average weight, average attractiveness. But the dozens of needle and IV marks under the sleeve of her sweatshirt and 60 years worth of experiments proved differently. It took only a matter of seconds before the guard's expression became confused and dazed.

"I'm sorry, I think you misunderstood me." Martha said, her voice sickly sweet. "I need a briefcase."

The security guard blinked at her a few times, the words taking a moment to properly sink into his head. He then stood up and walked over to the door, Martha following close behind, unlocking it and pushing it open. She slipped inside and grabbed one of the many off the shelves before he could come to his senses. Platform heels weren't the easiest shoes to move in but she did her best to speed walk away, her grip on the briefcase tight enough to turn her knuckles white.

Stage one had been completed. Stage two; track down the time and location of her target.

"Martha?"

She whipped around and immediately spotted Evelyn, the woman who had been in charge of her for almost the entirety of the past 60 years, standing only a yard away and staring at her in shock.

New plan; find a room to lock herself in and track down her target the hallway.

She turned and sprinted down the hall, onlookers parting like the red sea at the sight of a woman dressed ready for a war protest being perused by one of the few people in the commission who had allowed herself to age over 50. Evelyn had aged 80 of the 638 years that she had been alive and could still run like a spry young teen. Martha, who had been in the body of her 17 year old self for almost 200 years, had never exactly been a track star. She clutched the briefcase close to her chest and set out for the 5th flood supply closet, the closest door that locked where she knew she would be alone.

The original plan was to avoid making a scene. But the original plan hadn't included being chased down so she figured it was safe to veer off course a little bit. The sound of her heels colliding with the floor seemed to amplify in her ears while she looked over her shoulder. She thrust one of her hands out and watched Evelyn fly back about 10 feet as if she had been pushed. Unvoluntary witnesses gasped in shock.

She forced herself to run faster while she still had a head start. The supply closet was 2 right turns and 1 left away. She was so close.

Her mind was surprisingly clear while she ran. All the memories she and her partner had made ran through her mind, making her heart ache with her desperation to find him again. There were many times in her life where she had thought failure was not an option. Never had such a statement been so true.

When she finally made it to the closet she burst through the door and smashed her finger against the lock. Martha pressed her back against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to connect her mind with his. It was such a long shot, but she had to. "Come on, where are you, where are you, where are you?" she mumbled to herself. Or more to him.

She eventually heard Evelyn pounding her fist against the other side of the door but Martha could hardly process it she was so focused on the task at hand. Her head was pounding and her veins were popping with struggle but she forced herself to push forward until a thought in a voice other than her own came into her head.

April 12th 1997, Greenwich.

Without hesitation Martha ripped open the suitcase and was sucked into the land in between, neither here nor there, and thrust into a different time and place entirely.