Tommy, with his girlfriend Megan riding shotgun, gunned the orange Camaro toward the supermarket.
Heavy-duty chain, gasoline, lighter.
The full anti-Jason toolkit—locked and loaded.
Stepping out of the store doors, they found the car hemmed in by cop cruisers, a few officers sighting down their barrels.
"Tommy, you're busted—you crazy son of a bitch, escaped from the loony bin again." Sheriff Garris, Megan's dad, glowered at him like he was roadkill. "You take one step toward my little girl, and I'll boot your ass back to the Stone Age!"
"Dad, come on—he's a good guy." Megan jumped in, trying to vouch for him.
But that just cranked the sheriff's temper to eleven. He sniped back, all sarcasm: "If he's such a saint, he wouldn't be spreading those panic-inducing tall tales around town."
"You irresponsible punk—dumping extra crap on the psych ward staff, and now us cops in Green Forest County are stuck cleaning up your mess."
Tommy's gut twisted—man, if only they got it. He doubled down: "I'm not lying—this is real. You don't believe me? You're gonna regret it big time."
The sheriff barked orders; his deputies swarmed, slamming Tommy against the hood and cuffing him tight.
"My biggest regret? Locking you in that cell back when, letting a nutjob like you anywhere near my daughter."
Tommy's face soured, and Garris jammed his pistol to the kid's forehead, growling: "You psycho—cool your jets in a cell tonight. Come morning, you're outta here and straight back to the funny farm!"
Woo-woo-woo!
The cruiser did a U-turn, sirens wailing, hauling ass back to the station.
Tommy hadn't even gotten to throw down yet—just cuffed and carted off. Tonight? Solitary in the slammer.
"Tommy! Tommy! Dad, you can't do this!" Megan fired up her ride and tailed them, desperate to spring him.
...
Green Forest Camp.
"How long's Megan been gone? Feels like forever." Counselor Paula tossed out the question, brow furrowed.
"Probably off handling some grown-up business." Sissy, the lone Black counselor still kicking around camp, fired back offhand.
The kids were tucked in, lights out. The two of them killed time with a lazy poker game.
The other pairs? Off on their own gigs for now.
Darren and Lizbeth claimed a moonlit stroll; Cort and Nikki said they'd patrol for any late-night drama.
Bottom line: Tiny summer camp turned winter wonderland—not exactly prime for hanky-panky, so they all just dipped with a knowing wink.
Out in the wilds.
Night had settled deep, the backwoods whispering with nothing but wind.
A car rocked steady-like, heavy breaths leaking out the cracked window—raw and rhythmic.
Yup, a couple deep in their own private poker game... the non-card kind.
Lost in the heat of the moment, they had no clue death was creeping up.
In the beam of the headlights? Crystal Lake slasher Jason, planted dead ahead.
He was back—home turf, where his nightmare kicked off.
Time to send the message: the boogeyman's returned. Jason gripped a sharpened rebar pole, his blank stare sweeping over the oblivious lovebirds mid-do.
Son of a bitch—talk about clueless.
Word on the street? Jason's been flying solo since forever, a grizzled vet of the loneliness game. Nothing irked him more than folks flaunting their fool-around right in his grill.
These two? Dead meat—begging for it.
Jason lumbered forward a few steps, jabbed once—the headlight shattered in a spray of glass.
"Whoa—holy crap!" "Ahh!"
The pair jolted inside, hearts slamming.
They both gawked out front: some masked freak staring 'em down, that long iron rod screaming "bad news."
"Dear God—let's peel out!" Lizbeth, horror-flick vet, laid it out: "From years of binge-watching slashers, masked weirdoes? Always the villains—no exceptions."
"But he smashed my light!" Darren fumed—not just the scare, but the hit on his baby. That he couldn't let slide.
"Gotta teach this clown a lesson." He popped the glove box, snagged a pistol—ego inflating like a balloon.
"Yo, what's your deal—looking for trouble? Darren don't play!"
He leveled the gun at Jason, who didn't flinch, like he was deaf to the whole circus.
"Asshole—apologize and beat it smooth, you hear me!" Darren blustered, all bark and no bite.
Jason lunged in a blink—rebar tip spearing clean through Darren. Instinct kicked in; the trigger squeezed, rounds popping into Jason's torso. Dude didn't even twitch.
Then, with Darren dangling off the end like a shish kebab, Jason yanked back hard—flinging him rearward.
A geyser of crimson splattered the windshield.
Lizbeth screamed bloody murder. Next beat? Jason thrust again—pole pulverizing glass, tip rocketing toward her.
Mouth still agape, her wail cut short. The spike punched through soft palate, crunching skull before bursting out the back.
Lizbeth dropped dead on the spot, blood gushing wild, soaking her clothes.
Bang-bang-bang!
Crisp shots cracked from behind.
Darren, flat on his back and fading fast, had emptied the mag—every slug drilling Jason's skull.
Clink-clink-clink!
Sweet ricochets later, brass casings hit dirt.
Jason? Pristine, face blank as he pivoted slow, gripped the rod, and drove it home.
Brains exploded.
Darren chased Lizbeth into the black.
...
Pitch-black, windy night.
Maria couldn't sleep—zipped open the tent flap, stepped out for some air.
Tumble-tumble!
A dark something sailed from the brush, rolling to a stop three yards from her tent.
She caught the noise, peered over.
"This... should I wake Mom and Dad?" Maria's pulse raced—last thing she wanted was a quick-and-dirty plot death from wandering solo.
Ever since clocking that real-life boogeymen lurked like in those late-night scream-fests, her paranoia was cranked—down pat on all the classic "you're next" tropes.
"Call 'em up for a group sacrifice?"
Barry nailed the gut-punch zinger.
"Guess it's hero time—me again."
Barry bolded up, padding over to the dark lump.
With his night-owl vision cutting the gloom, one glance confirmed: human. Or part of one.
A head—eyes bugged in eternal shock, cranium caved like a busted piñata. Textbook brain-scramble kill.
"My money's on Jason. He's back for real—and throwing shade my way."
Barry relayed via the pendant.
Maria: "Where's he at now?"
Barry's gaze flicked to the distant Green Forest winter camp lights.
A bloodcurdling shriek sliced the quiet—trouble brewing loud.
Shit hit the fan!
Even from here, the chaos chatter filtered through.
From the next tent over, two figures emerged: Maria's folks. "What the hell's going on?"
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