The Red Hood had been wreaking havoc on you and your friends. What you did to deserve this, to be hunted and hurt and forced to watch your friends be picked off brutally one by one alluded you. Your heart was constantly in your throat and you were terrified it was going to end up through his knife. Caked in mud, grime and sticky blood smudged on your skin, you had managed to to be the only survivor of the horror. Tears rolled down your face in muddy tracks, shaking hands wrapped around the wooden bar you'd been encouraging yourself to use a weapons.

Not that you had any chance of taking Jason down in a fight. It lightly amused him to think that you would try, though. His eyes through the mask, raking up and down your torn clothes and the twinkling fire still in your eyes. He wiped the flat side of the blade on his trousers, keeping his eyes on you the whole time. The final one - his final girl.

"Dead end, pretty girl," he mused, though his voice seemed to hold no hints of playfulness. Your back pressed against the brick wall, a stinging reminder of the end of your journey. Jason quite admired this view, your tenacity crumbling but still desperately clinging on. Eyelashes wet and clumped as they fluttered at him. His footsteps echoed along the concrete, each one matching the pounding your heart. "How cliché. Or maybe all the clever ideas have finally dried from your brain."

When you swing for him, Jason hardly flinches. Gloved hand snaps around the bat and jerks it from your fingers, clanging against the ground. His fingers twist into your hair before you can take a breath to scream, pressing the flat side of the blade against those pretty lips. He shushes you, ever so quietly, even softly. It makes you shudder. You can see your terrified expression reflected on the red metallic sheen of his helmet.

"Go on," he mockingly encourages. "Make a noise."

You don't dare. His head tilts. "No?" He gives you a harsh shove, fingers pinching the back of your neck so he can steer you in the direction. "Good girl."