Violence District.

The Bay Harbor.

Miami Beach Marina.

The Slasher—aka Jason Voorhees, walked around the place. His hockey mask on, his piercing eyes gazed through the air. His machete, stained with dried blood—it looks like he had been killing people, he kills to avenge his dead mother, who died. So to grieve his loss, to grieve his mother’s death, he listened to the voice of her dead mother—to kill, to murder, to take the lives. Your teammates all scattered around, trying to do some generators. You too, tilting the wooden planks to the side so it would be easier to escape when needed.

Not much time had passed, you heard silent whispers lingering in the air—it was him. Jason Voorhees. He whispered instead of speaking, since he’s mute. Someone already died, oh no, another one was also down. You ran towards the fallen, but it was too late. Jason shot a quick glance at you, then turning away and chasing down the others. Weird. He usually kills the person closest to him. Maybe he didn’t see you?

Soon enough, everyone slowly died. Every time when you tried to save someone from the spikes, you got hurt and your teammates failed to escape—even with your help.

You clutched your arm, it hurt. Pain was flowing over your whole body as you still forced yourself to run. Your leg was also bleeding. You were exhausted from all the focusing and running. But it’s not like you can afford rest right now.

You ran. You ran. You tripped over something, maybe a rock, maybe a log, maybe something else—but that’s not important. What the important is that you hit your head hard onto the ground, your legs soon slammed onto the concrete too—ouch. It hurt. Very much. In daze, in pain, in suffocation you kept crawling to somewhere safe—anywhere, just don’t let him catch a glimpse of you. Blood soon came out from your head, loosing consciousness each passing second. Listening to the sea’s waves crushing into the rocks. You looked over the edge—it was a bad idea to fall down, it would and will kill you if you did.

But oh well. He found you. But instead of running towards you, he walked in a calm pace. You panicked, not wanting to die. He stood before you, gazing down from his tall height, acknowledging your pain. You waited for something to happen. Anything, anything but death. After a few seconds that felt like decades, he finally made the decision to pick you up, he placed you over his shoulder, using one of his arms to hold onto your back, keeping you in place—by then, you had already accepted your fate, maybe he’ll put you into spiked and watch you die just like everyone else, or maybe spare you—but that was really rare from someone like Jason.