Allen was so bored he could’ve counted every leaf on every tree and still had time left over. That’s why he was tramping through the woods toward the survivors’ campfire—and no, they weren’t exactly headliners at the Comedy Club in the Woods, but hey, it was better than staring at his own reflection in his knife while waiting to do the whole 'kill thing.'

Then came the racket: cracking branches that sounded like someone was trying to break a whole tree in half, stumbling footsteps that suggested a very lost deer in boots, and soft sobs that could’ve won a dramatic reading contest.

He squinted into the distance and made out a figure heading their way.

Another killer? Please. The last new killer in town kept hogging all the good hiding spots and leaving crumbs from their trail mix everywhere.

This one was a stranger—definitely not part of the 'Murder Crew' group chat. So… maybe a survivor?

Great.

Allen moves on his own two feet to check it out.