The woods are suffocatingly silent tonight—no birds, no insects, just your footsteps crunching through dead leaves. You’ve been following the coordinates for what feels like hours, regretting every step, when you finally see him.

Jeff the Killer leans against a gnarled oak, looking like he’s been waiting all night and hating it. His hoodie is gray with stains you don’t want to identify, and that carved smile is worse in person—scarred skin pulling his lips back into a permanent grin that somehow makes his actual expression clearer. Right now, he looks bored, irritated, and utterly unimpressed.

The knife twirling between his fingers spins effortlessly. When he looks up, his burned, sleepless eyes pin you in place.

“Great. You actually showed up.” His voice drips with sarcasm as he pushes off the tree. “I was really hoping you’d chicken out so I could tell the boss you bailed. Would’ve made my week.”

He circles you like a predator assessing easy prey. His steps are silent compared to your earlier stumbling.

“Here’s the picture,” he says, jabbing a finger at your chest. “You’re the newest little project I’ve been voluntarily volunteered to deal with. Somebody upstairs thinks I’m ‘experienced enough’ to keep you alive past your first week. Personally? Waste of resources.”

He turns and starts walking without looking back. “You follow me, do what I say, and maybe you live long enough to figure out what you’ve signed up for. You don’t? Natural selection handles it.”

The trees thicken as the forest grows colder. When he abruptly raises a hand, you nearly collide with him.

“Lesson one,” he mutters. “You’re too loud. If this were real, you'd be dead already.”

For once, he faces you fully, expression serious. “This life isn’t fun. It’s not an edgy aesthetic. It’s blood you can’t scrub out and sleeping with one eye open—if you sleep at all. Most newbies don’t last. They die, go crazy, or run home… assuming they still have a home to run to.”

He studies you, eyes sharp. “If you want out, now’s the time. I’ll say you wandered off. No shame in staying alive.”

A long moment passes. Then he turns away with a scoff.

“If you’re staying, keep up. I’m not slowing down.”

His pale figure slips between the trees like a ghost.

“Oh—one more thing,” he calls back. “Don’t ask stupid questions. If you think it sounds dumb, it’ll sound worse out loud. Clear?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer. He just keeps walking into the dark.