(go to about 4:55 for some good music when the action starts)
Mano’s was one of those small time greasy spoon
dinners, sitting just a few hours away from the infamous town of Crystal Lake,
New Jersey. It was quiet, non-assuming, and despite the “Open 24/7” sign,
illuminated in bright neon colors outside, it turns out very few people had a
hankering for their supposedly “World Famous Deluxe Bacon Cheeseburger” at 1:00
am.
In other words, it was the perfect place to discuss
a contract killing.
The first man looked completely out of place. It was
obvious to dining on roast caviar, not corn beef and hash. He was dressed in a
fancy five piece suit had the stiff, uptight look of a corpse who had just
walked out of the mortuary. He was sweating visibly, but whether it was from
wearing a tux on a warm summer’s night, or the presence of the man across from
him, one couldn't tell.
The man across from him… the only way to describe
him was off. His face was both blank, and yet at the same time, had an
otherworldly feel. It was the kind of face that wouldn't immediately stick out
from a crowd, but if you stared at it for two long, it would begin to creep
under your skin. He looked like a man who would be equally comfortable in a
plush office, negotiating a deal with the corporate sharks as he would be in
the inside of a slaughterhouse, which was ironic, as he had done both.
Neither man seemed to have much of an appetite, and
the only waitress unfortunate enough to be working at that time of night had
long since stopped pestering them to place their order. The businessman simply
sat, staring at his companion as he flipped through a thick manila folder. On
the front, a name: JASON VOORHEES.
He took one last one last look at the folder, and
then stood, and began to head for the door.
“Wait, where the hell do you think you’re going?”
The business man called after him, I thought we had a deal!” The man turned to
face him.
“Perhaps I misunderstood the arrangements of our
deal. What exactly do you think I do for a living Mr. Norton? You called me
here to “find” someone, not an urban legend.”
“Jason Voorhees is no urban legend Mr. Chigurh.
Please, sit” He gestured back to the booth across from him.
Anton Chigurh slid back into the booth. “Perhaps I
was an little overzealous at rejecting your offer Mr. Norton, but you still
haven’t given me a reason why I should search through the back woods to find
someone who may or may not exist.”
“Five hundred grand” Norton replied. “I would hope
that is reason enough. Half will be provided to you now. The other half when
you bring me proof of death.”
“Bringing you proof of death for someone who may or
may not exist.” A faint mocking smile found its way onto Chigurh’s lips “Even
if Voorhees is real, the legends say he’s immortal.”
“No one’s immortal Mr. Chigurh. You should know that
better than anyone else. Besides, that dossier should provide you with
everything you need to know.”
There was a silence as Chigurh mulled over the
terms.
“The conditions are fair” he finally replied “But if
I don’t find anything, then I still receive the other half. That’s non-negotiable”
“Fair enough” Norton smiled. “It’s a pleasure doing
business with you Mr. Chigurh.”
He held out his hand.
Chigurh didn’t take it.
Norton’s smile wavered slightly as Chigurh turned to
leave. The businessman called out to him just as he reached the doorway. “Mr.
Chigurh, I have some associates who will be accompanying you on
this…expedition. I’m sure this won’t be an issue. Will it?”
“Of course not Mr. Norton.” Chigurh replied, much to
the executive’s surprise. “Tell your men to meet me outside the camp at six.
And their pay…?”
"Their pay…uh, it will not cut into yours, I
assure you that.” Norton answered quickly, still surprised at that Chigurh had
even agreed to his last request.
“Good” Anton answered curtly. Turning quickly to
leave, leaving the confused businessman left to ponder who had really gotten
the upper hand in their deal.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was around five o’clock when Anton finally got
back to his hotel, just on the outskirts of the town of Crystal Lake. The sign
welcoming visitors to the town promised, “A quiet, small town experience that
you can’t find anywhere. The only thing it was missing was “Murder Capital of
the USA.” No one would have even heard of this hick town if it weren't for the
dead bodies and missing persons reports that seemed to pile up around here
every few years.
Anton’s room looked like it had been visited by a
conspiracy theory nut. Newspaper clippings and blurry photographs covered the
walls, except instead of focusing on alien abductions and crop circles they
were centered on Camp Crystal Lake’s resident mass murderer. The dossier that
Norton had provided him proved to be an excellent aid, but he found there to be
a few gaps that he had taken the liberty to fill with some information he had
gathered on Voorhees over the past few days. Although he hadn’t known for sure
that Jason would be his target when Norton first called the meeting, he had
strongly suspected it. Why else meet him so close to this insignificant
shithole in the middle of nowhere? Anton neither particularly trusted nor liked
his current employer, whom he suspected in having some ulterior motive behind
wanting Jason dead. Anton had done his research and gone through all the
obvious. Vengeful father who wanted revenge on Voorhees for child’s death? No;
and it fact there was little information Anton could find on Norton at all. He
had come from seemingly the middle of nowhere, and now controlled one of the
largest shipping organizations in the US. Yet as far as his early history went,
he was a ghost, and Anton didn’t like working with ghosts, despite being one
himself. He was also suspicious as to why Norton wanted his own men to
accompany him. A possible betrayal? Anton had already experienced plenty of
those. But Norton may have grown suspicious if Anton refused to go with his
men, and at the very least they would prove excellent distractors, and if need
be, “meat shields” to use against Voorhees. He decided that he could continue
to investigate Norton later, maybe after he delivered him his proof, and the
further Anton delved into his research, the more he began to realize there was
more to Jason Voorhees than backwoods myth.
For something often considered a simple urban
legend, Anton had to admit there was definite proof to back him up. Of course,
he had never doubted that there was something out there in the woods, just
perhaps not this invincible zombie that all the reports claimed.
Yet there was no risk in being too careful, meaning
Anton had spent the past few hours reading up on his zombie lore. Known methods of killing: Decapitation,
Dismemberment, Incineration. More of Anton’s notes lay scrawled in
shorthand across the room. Plans, back up plans, and back up plans to the
backup plans. If what all his findings on Voorhees were true, then this would
be the most difficult “hit” of his life. His target was implacable, vicious,
and from what some of reports stated, surprisingly cunning, but not without
weaknesses…
One interesting report from a young girl who had
survived an encounter with Voorhees, said that she had been able to stun
Voorhees by wearing his mother’s sweating, convincing him that she was Pamela
Voorhees, or at least long enough to put an axe through his shoulder.
Mother
seems to be another weakness. Reports say that he still keeps the head in a
shrine somewhere in the woods. Also claims that lake itself may be the source
of power, and returning him there will immobilize him. Must investigate further.
Anton spun an incendiary bullet absentmindedly
between his fingers. These things had cost him an arm and a leg, received from
one of his arms dealing contacts in the criminal underworld, but he felt they
would be worth it in the long run, if the rumors surrounding Jason’s incredible
durability were indeed true.
Anton smiled, a rare sight, and often not good sign
for those around him. This would be it. His magnum opus. Killing Voorhees would
cement his reputation as a man who could handle work no one else could, and in
a funny way, he would be doing a public service. He had been in Crystal Lake
for a few days now, gathering information. He had seen how the people moved.
They were afraid, afraid of the memory of a long dead old women and her
backwoods freak of a son. It was embarrassing quite frankly, and Anton felt
ashamed at the cowardice of the people of Crystal Lake. They were busy cowering
in fear, letting their lives waste away, almost as quickly as Jason could clean
out the Camp’s teenager population.
Then there was Voorhees himself; little better than
an animal, killing more based on instinct than anything else. Although Anton
did begrudgingly respect Voorhees’ devotion to his dead mother, it still didn’t
change the fact that he was simply a rabid dog. And one that had to be put
down.
Deciding that he had wasted enough time, and
remembering that Norton’s men would be expecting him, Anton gathered his
supplies. His hunting rifle, shotguns, sub-machine gun, C4, and pistols (one of
which he tucked in his waistband), and some other miscellaneous supplies that
might prove useful in the woods. He had decided to leave his cattle gun at
home. It had its uses, but not against someone like Voorhees’
He sighed. Whatever lay in store for him at the
Camp, it was sure to be a long day.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A large wooden sign hanging between two posts marked
the entrance to Camp Crystal Lake, aka Camp Blood as the locals called it. The
sign was indicative of better times, times before Pamela Voorhees and her
psychotic son. The red paint on the sign was now faded, and the wood itself
warped from lack of care, but those who remembered the days back when the camp
was the pride and joy of their town. Those who drove by the camp often stopped
to simply look at the sign, but never did any more than that. No one expect
curious tourists or dumb teenagers following a bet ever passed through the
entranceway.
Thankfully, the four men gathered there now were
neither. They were hard men, the type that looked like they had known trouble
in their lives and sported the scars to show it. They were armed with military
grade shotguns, machine guns, assault rifles, and were also sporting Kevlar
vests.
Their leader, a scarred, deeply tanned man named
Lennox, loaded his own heavy machine gun and turned to face his men.
“You’ve all been briefed, and know what we’re going
up against. Norton just radioed in and his “asset” will be arriving soon. Any
further questions?”
“Yeah” One of the men spoke up “Where are the
cameras? Pretty sure I saw this shit on the Discovery channel right after some
show about bigfoot. Norton can’t honestly think that there’s anything in theses
woods can he?”
“What he believes is really none of our business.”
Lennox snapped back. “What is though is that he’s paying us weather or not we
actually find anything. All the hard work belongs to this “Chigurh.”
“Is that so?”
Lennox and his men whirled around at the voice.
Chigurh had appeared behind them, his shotgun slung over his shoulder.
“You really should be more vigilant. Lots of rumors
of what lives in those woods.” Chigurh said, a shadow of a smirk lingering at
the corners of his mouth.
“You Chigurh?” Lennox asked. His disdain for the
hitman was evident in his tone.
“Yes” Chigurh replied, although he wondered who else
Norton’s mercenary thought he could possibly be.
“Nice of you to finally arrive. My men will be
splitting up into groups fanning out north, east and west through the camp.
When we have visual confirmation on Voorhees we’ll radio you, and you can move
in to take him out. Understood?”
Chigurh seemed to pay no attention to what Lennox
was saying, and began making his way towards the woods. Lennox, a man not used
to being ignored, let alone flat out insulted, grabbed Chigurh by the shoulder
forcefully.
“Did you not here me?!” Lennox snarled
“I heard you perfectly. But I don’t think you
understand who’s in charge here. Norton chose me to do this job not you. You
only chose the right, one tool for the job, to do anything else would be
foolish. Now why don’t you and your men continue to play good little guns for
hire and stay out of my way.”
And with that Chigurh left Lennox and his
mercenaries standing at the entrance way, disappearing into the shadows of the
woods.
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Anton wove his way through the tightly packed trees,
his shotgun leveled out in front of him. He had attached a small flashlight to
the front with some duct tape. It made the weight of the gun slightly awkward,
but the sun was not quite up yet, and he didn’t want to be at a disadvantage in
the still dim light of dawn. He stared down at the map of the camp he had
picked up at the local convince store. The man working the register had given
him a funny look when he bought it, but one glare from Anton was all it took to
keep him from voicing his opinion. Provided the map was right, his destination
was not too far away.
Anton was just finishing pushing aside some tree
branches with the barrel of his shotgun, when he finally saw it. Jason
Voorhees’ shack. The shack itself wasn't on the map obviously. If it was, the
police would have come in to tear it down ages ago. But thanks to Norton’s dossier,
Anton had managed to pinpoint wear it would be on the local maps. It was a
decrepit old thing; made out of old pieces of building materials likely
scavenged by Voorhees from the many attempts to fix up the camp over the years.
Anton approached with caution, remembering that the dossier had noted that
Jason was found of booby traps. Yet there didn't seem to be any from what he could
gather; maybe Jason thought no one would be stupid enough to break into his
home. Still vigilant, Anton pushed what seemed to be the front door of the
shack open.
The first thing that hit him was the smell. Anton
had seen quite a few dead bodies in his lifetime, but never so many together in
one place. They were strewn across the shack, all in varying stages of decay.
Some were simple skeletons with only a vestige of flesh clinging to their
bones. Others looked disturbingly fresh. But most eerie of all, was the severed
head, no heads, laying on an alter in the center of the room. The first had
obviously been there longer, with most of the flesh having been lost to decay
and the insects. Anton noticed a strong chemical scent emanating from it. So
he’s been preserving it, and not too well either Anton thought. Pamela Voorhees
I presume. The second head showed no signs of decomposition, although the skin
was completely covered in burn scars. The face looked vaguely familiar, but
Anton couldn't quite place it.
Anton took note of the place of the cabin on his
map, if he could find his way back to Lennox and the rest of the mercenaries,
there was the possibility they could lure Voorhees’ back here, and lead him
into an ambush. The details of it were still going through his head when he
heard the first gunshots.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lennox wanted to scream, that’s how badly things had
gone to shit in the last few minutes. He and another member of the group named
Jacobson had been moving through the woods when the sound of gunfire and
screams sounding over their radios from the other two men Lennox had sent to
search the other side of the camp.
“What the hell’s happening?!” Lennox screamed into
the radio. “Someone give me a report!”
“He k-killed Gibbons” a voice half sobbed from the
other end, another mercenary named, Turken. “Tore him right i-in half. Never
s-seen anything l-like it. I lost sight of him now, I think he’s…Oh god please
no! No! Aaaaghhhh!!” There was a terrible crunching noise over the other end of
the radio, and then Turken’s screams fell silent.
Lennox realized there was no time to wait for
Chigurh. Odds weren't very high that he was going to come running to save them
now. He signaled to Jacobson to begin moving up a small hill straight ahead.
Those gunshots didn't sound like they had come from too far away, so maybe they
could corner Voorhees before he slipped away.
Little did Lennox realize that they weren't the
hunters here. You don’t challenge an animal to a fight on its
home turf, and
this was most defiantly an animal they were facing here…
Jacobson staggered back suddenly, as if struck, and
then seemed to hold perfectly still.
“You alright Jacobson?” Lennox called out to him.
He held still for a second more before his head
seemed to roll off his shoulders, and his body collapsed to the ground.
Lennox screamed, more out of shock then actual fear,
he whirled around, raising his heavy machine gun towards the trees. The sun was
not quite risen yet, and the early morning darkness still cast eerie shadows on
the woods.
Suddenly, an explosion of movement appeared to his
left, as an massive figure came from seemingly out of nowhere, and sprang
towards him. Lennox screamed; a mix of terror and a battle cry, as the gunfire
lit up his attacker.
He was the biggest man that Lennox had ever seen,
standing well over six feet tall. His skin had a rotted appearance, and a
hockey mask covered what remained of his face, a machete in his hands. Even if
Lennox had never been briefed on this place, he would still have known who was
staring him in the face. Jason Voorhees.
He didn't even flinch as Lennox continued to pour on
the machine gun fire, didn't react as it tore huge fleshy chunks from his body.
Jason raised the machete as if to strike, but then paused, dropping it to the
ground. He would need both hands free for what he wanted to do next .And then he was on Lennox, his rotting,
necrotic, fingers gripping at Lennox’s arms, pulling with an inhuman strength.
With a sickening “pop”, Jason tore both of Lennox’s arms from their sockets,
their hands still gripped around the heavy machine gun, firing the last of the
rounds from the now detached arm’s death grip.
Lennox had barely any time to let out a scream, or
really comprehend what was happening to him to him, as Jason swung the machine
gun at him like a bat. It connected with his head, taking it clean off his
shoulders and sending it flying through the air. It rolled for about two feet
after hitting the ground, before finally stopping, leaving Lennox's face buried
in the dirt.
Jason stood back from Lennox’s corpse, as if
admiring his handiwork. The corpses would look very nice back at the shack, and
perhaps he could even add Lennox’s head to his altar. He was just about to
start collecting the bodies, when Anton’s first incendiary round took his arm
off.
Jason just stared down stupidly at the now charred
stump of his arm. The resulting mini-explosion had nearly knocked him off his
feet, and it was testament to his durability that he was even still standing at
all. Another round hit him square in the chest, this time sending him spinning
through the air.
Anton looked up from the scope of his rifle, glad
that he had gone back to his vehicle and switched out his shotgun for it.
Voorhees was down with only two shots, but he had been briefed on Jason’s love
of “playing possum” and he wasn't some moron to stand around gloating over the
infamously durable killer’s corpse. Anton put another incendiary round in
Jason’s chest as he began to walk down the hill. The body didn't stir.
Anton stopped to inspect the corpse closer. He was
as ugly as the stories said; rotted hunks of skins, that in some areas came
loose to reveal the bone underneath. Most of the skin in the center of his
chest had been torn open from the night's fighting, leaving his insides to
glisten in the early morning light. Anton realized that he had become so
fascinated with this monster he had forgotten to be surprised he even existed
in the first place. He supposed that was a point in favor of backwoods myths
everywhere. At least not all of them were bullshit.
Not wishing to waste any more time, he walked over to the machete that Voorhees had left lying a few feet away and picked it up. Transporting the entire body would be a waste of time when all the proof he needed was Jason’s head. He took one last look at Voorhees, suddenly struck with a curiosity to see what lay behind the mask. He bent over to remove it…
Jason shot up with a speed Anton wouldn't have thought a creature his size was capable of. His arm struck out like a sledgehammer, knocking Anton back off his feet. It was a good thing he had rolled with the blow just in time, otherwise Voorhees may have flat out punched a hole through his chest.
He frantically scrambled backwards as Jason advanced menacingly on him. The blow had caused Anton to drop the machete, which Jason had now retrieved; raising it slowly in the air as he prepared to deliver the death blow. Anton’s Remington was still slung over his back, but even if he could ready it in time, the angle was still too awkward to get off a good shot. In desperation, Anton pulled his Glock out of his waistband and unloaded the clip into Voorhees’ head and chest. The killer didn't even react, the tiny 9mm the equivalent of hitting a tank with a flyswatter. Anton realized that he needed to a distraction…
It was then when he saw it, gleaming through the undergrowth. A rusty old beartrap that Jason had apparently set out for intruders. Anton hoped that it still worked as he began to crawl towards it.
“Jason!” Anton called out to the serial killer, who didn't even seem to acknowledge his name, or thankfully the bear trap itself as he kept lumbering along towards it, oblivious to all things but his victim. Anton remembered noting that Voorhees’ relentlessness had the potential to be used against him, and that was exactly what was happening now.
“Is this what Pamela would want Jason? For you to live your life like an animal? A killer?”
At the sound of his mother’s name, Jason stopped, before continuing again, but this had bought Anton the time he needed as he slid past the bear trap, leading Jason right into it. With a sickening metal “crunch”, the jaws of the trap snapped down on Jason’s leg. The killer simply stared at it with the same vacant expression on his face, and bent down to remove it.
This was the opportunity Anton had been waiting for.
He sprang to his feet and unslung the rifle from his shoulder. Jason looked up,
just in time to receive another incendiary round to the chest. He wasted not a
second playing dead this time though, and immediately tried to climb back to
his feet. Anton was thoroughly finished playing around, and did exactly what he
should have done earlier; he put another incendiary round in the top of Jason’s
head, taking half of his face along with it in a shower of gore.
Voorhees swayed, and for a minute, it looked like he
still may have been able to stand. But the injuries were beyond even his
capacity to take, and he finally collapsed to the ground. Anton sighed, turning
away from the body. He only had four incendiary rounds left, and a few more
rounds of regular ammo as well. Thankfully, it looked like he would no longer
need them, as Voorhees was finally… gone once Anton turned around to check on
the body.
Anton had just committed rookie horror movie mistake
#13, never turn your back on the killer when you think he’s dead. He never is.
Any normal person would have been shitting their
pants right now, but Anton hadn’t gotten to be one of the most dangerous hitmen
it the world be being coward, and even now he was staying remarkably calm,
already formulating a strategy.
He
has the advantage now. Come after him and he can pick me off anytime he wa…
His thoughts were interrupted by the arrow hitting
the tree next to him, just inches away from his head. At this he did swear, for
it was nearly impossible to track the arrows, even as the sun was now beginning
to illuminate the trees around him. He cursed himself for leaving his tracer
ammunition in his vehicle, not thinking he would need it to hunt Voorhees by
daylight.
Another arrow whisked past his head then, and not
wasting time with even bothering to try and pull off a shot against a target he
couldn't see, he began rushing down the hill, hoping that Jason’s aim was poor
against a moving target. He occasionally felt a rush of air go by his head and
chest, realizing that for someone so slow, Jason was somehow keeping pace with
him; and he wasn't a poor shot against moving targets at all. It was only the
greatest amount of luck that had saved Anton from a potentially fatal arrow.
Perhaps in a more peaceful time, Anton could have reflected on why such a man
as himself was graced with such amazing luck.
With a sudden crash Anton broke through the trees,
and finally reached where he had hoped all his running would take him: Crystal
Lake. The lake itself stretched out in front of him, crisp, dark blue waters
that had an air of menace to them. They were after all, the origin of the
monster chasing him now. But Chigurh remembered his notes: Also claims that
lake itself may be the source of power, and returning him there will immobilize
him.
Anton quickly rushed down to the dock ahead,
desperate to find some cover from Voorhees’ bow. He noted a pile of neatly
stacked old canoes, the woods warped from years of going unused. Anton took
cover behind these, and trained his rifle on the tree line, expecting Jason to
come bursting through any second now.
One minute went by, and then two. Where the hell is he? Chigurh thought. He question was answered a
few seconds later by the spear that suddenly came whizzing past his head and
embedded itself into the wood of the canoe next to him. He whirled around just
in time to see that Jason had appeared behind him, dropping the now empty spear
gun to the ground, and advancing on him with his machete. His head was
surprisingly almost completely healed, with only a small hole at the top where
what Anton would have to guess was brain matter (or as much as Jason actually
had), leaked out the top. His signature hockey mask lay in ruins; only a small
piece of it remained to cover the lower part of his face. The rest of it was
now revealed to the world.
Anton dodged to the side as Voorhees swung wildly,
leaving the machete embedded in the wood by at least an inch. As Jason moved to
free it, Anton pushed the stack of canoes towards the hockey masked killer,
causing them to fall on top of him with a titanic crash.
Of course if Anton expected this to trap Jason, he
had sorely underestimated his target. Voorhees rose from the tangled mess of
canoes, causing several of them to go spinning through the air in his rage.
With his superhuman strength, he lifted one of the canoes above his head and
swung it at Anton. It hit the assassin square in the chest, sending him flying
through the air before landing at the very edge of the pier.
Anton groaned as he struggled to regain his footing
on the dock. His vision had gone partially blurry, and his chest -already in
pain from where Jason had struck him earlier- felt like it was on fire. He was
dimly aware of Jason advancing on him, machete once again in hand. It seemed
like that no matter what Anton did to Voorhees, he simply kept on coming, while
even a casual hit from Jason had the potential to cripple him.
Then he remembered the main strategy he had come up
with during his hours of prep: Must try
to destroy legs, it will keep him immobilized. Mentally shoving his pain
aside, Anton climbed to his feet, and took aim with his rifle. This time
though, he didn't even bother wasting his time with a chest or head shot.
Boom,
Boom!
Two incendiary rounds later and Voorhees was left
with both of his legs gone, what remained of them just bloody chunks covering
the dock. With great satisfaction Anton used his second to last incendiary
round to destroy Jason’s right arm, sending his machete skittering across the
dock.
Anton was just about to use the last one on Jason’s
left arm, when he stopped. He had suddenly a much better idea for it. He walked
back over to the canoes, and upon rummaging through some the supplies lying
around the dock, found some old, rusty chains. Grabbing that and one of the
canoes he had knocked over, he dragged them over to the still moving Jason; who
was now trying to drag his now otherwise limbless body over to his machete with
his remaining good arm.
Anton brought his foot down hard on place where
elbow met arm, and was rewarded with a satisfying crack as he broke Jason’s
left arm. With the hockey mask killer now mostly subdued, Anton began wrapping
him up in the chains, and with a grunt of effort, loaded his body into the
canoe. He pushed the canoe into the lake, and waiting several minutes so that
it was far enough out, he finally took aim and fired his last incendiary round
into the boat, leaving a fist sized hole in the bottom. Water began rushing in,
and Anton watched, pleased that after a minute or two the boat slipped beneath
the surface. He had no idea whether the undead could float or not, but it didn't matter. Those heavy chains would make sure that Jason was dragged down
to the very bottom.
Anton stopped, realizing it was finally over. Jason
was certainly the toughest target he had ever taken down, but he was now
finally at peace, and Anton could finally get paid. He then realized with some
irritation that he had no actual proof that Jason was dead. The only thing
remaining was his machete. Norton certainly wasn't going to shell over 500
grand for a machete with some blood on it.
Then Anton realized there was something that he
could use as proof: the head of Pamela Voorhees. Jason would never let anyone
leave the camp with his mother’s head alive, and Norton had the resources at
his disposal to do a DNA check and confirm that the head was legit.
Anton began making his way back to the shack, not
bothering to look back at the lake. Which was a shame, because if he did, he
would have noticed the ripples gathering on the surface…
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The sun was high in the sky by the time Anton
reached the shack, as ugly in the morning light as it was in the dark. Anton
had driven his vehicle up from its hiding place in the woods to just outside
the shack, and had swapped out his nearly deleted rifle and Glock for his
Remington 11-87 shotgun and Tec-9 pistol. Although Voorhees was gone, no one
ever died from being too careful.
The head of Pamela Voorhees was right where he last
saw it, still sitting on that creepy shrine, next to the head of the man Anton
still couldn't quite place. Anton reached down to grab it, when suddenly he saw
a silhouette appear in the doorway. His instincts kicked in, and he hurled
himself to the floor. Just in time too, if his head had been there a second
longer it would have been on the receiving end of the axe that Jason had just
thrown at him.
He turned around. Jason was clutching his machete,
which Anton realized he had foolishly just left sitting on the dock. His legs
and arms were fully regenerated, and he looked pissed as hell. He fixed Anton
with what the hitman could only imagine was glare of hatred. He was drooling
from the mouth like some kind of wild animal.
Anton simply laid the head on the floor, and then,
putting all his force behind it, smashed down on it with his foot, squashing it
like an rotten piece of fruit.
It was on.
Jason charged the hitman, who was already letting
loose with his shotgun. The blast should have knocked him off his feet, but I
the blinding rage that now possessed him, it didn’t even slow him down. He
knocked the shotgun from Anton’s hands, sending it flying across the room.
Anton ducked to the side as Jason lashed out with his machete. He didn't even
bother going for his Tec-9; if his shotgun wasn't going to stop Jason that sure
as hell wasn't. He then noticed the axe that Jason had thrown at him earlier,
still stuck in the wall of the shack. Anton ran over to it and pulled it free.
They clashed in the center of the room, Anton’s
skill and speed being countered by Jason’s strength and durability. Anton took
a swing right for Jason’s neck, but overextended himself. Jason saw the
opportunity, and swung the machete right at the axe's handle, severing it. Left
with only the broken handle, Anton tried desperately to stab it into Jason’s
eye, but the hockey masked killer didn't even seem to notice. Jason lashed out
again, Anton throwing himself to the side but receiving a nasty blow for his
efforts, sending him to his knees. He tried to climb to his feet, but received
another cut, this time right across his back.
Anton felt the floor becoming slippery with his
blood, his vision blurring. But even in this haze, one last plan came to mind.
This one involving the C4 that still lay in the trunk of his car…
He staggered to his feet and rushed out the shack
door. Even in his injured state he was still faster than
Jason. Voorhees barreled after him, but Anton seemed
to have disappeared into the woods. Jason was still wondering where he could
have gone, when Anton’s car came hurtling out of the woods right into him,
knocking his machete out of his hand. Just movements before the car crashed
into the shack, Anton leaped out of the driver’s side door, the forward
momentum of the car carrying it, and Jason, directly through the front wall of
the shack. Anton clambered to his feet, and pulled out the remote detonator for
the C4. With a slight smile, he pushed down on the trigger.
The cabin erupted in a massive fireball, the heat
and force of it nearly knocking Anton off his feet. There’s no chance that even he could have survived that. No chance at
al...
Anton saw the wreckage of the shack move.
Jason Voorhees pulled himself out of the rubble, or
more precisely dragged himself out. His right arm and leg were gone, torn off
in the explosion. His left leg lay bent uselessly off to the side, and it was
only his left arm that was allowing him to drag himself across the ground
towards Anton.
Anton picked up Jason’s dropped machete, and walked
towards him. Standing over Voorhees, Anton could finally see the killer in some
detail. Most of the skin had been blasted off his face, revealing the skull
underneath. His eyes had an almost sad look to them, one was partially melted
across his face leaving it to run down his cheek like jelly. Jason raised his
arm to Anton, almost as if a plea for mercy. It was at that moment Anton saw
Jason as the little boy he had been, turned into this monster by a cruel world.
He saw, and he didn’t care either. A job was a job.
Anton bent over him as he raised the machete over his head.
“Nothing personal, but the moneys good”
He brought the machete down.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Very impressive Mr. Chigurh! Very impressive
indeed!”
Norton seemed absolutely ecstatic as Anton presented
him with Jason Voorhees’ head. They had agreed to the meeting place, on a dirt
road just outside of Crystal Lake. He didn't seem the least bit upset at the
fact the entire mercenary team that he had sent in there with Anton had died
either. Anton supposed it wasn't surprising. Men like Norton could always hire
more after all.
“Your other half of the money, as agreed upon”
Norton said handing Anton a silver metal briefcase, which Anton opened briefly,
before putting it in his car.
“Aren’t you going to count it?” Norton asked
“Do I need to?
“Well no…”
“Good.” Anton replied, and without speaking another
word to the businessman, he climbed into his car and drove off.
Norton stood there for another moment. He had never
told Anton that he had given his mercenaries orders to kill him once he
finished off Jason. In a way, he was glad that Chigurh had survived; he had
proven himself a capable fighter, and was worthy of the trails yet to come. His
master would be pleased.
Yes… he though More trials, perhaps even a
tournament…
Epilogue, Camp Crystal Lake
The headless corpse of Jason Voorhees lay were Anton
had left it. No scavenger dared come near it. If you looked at it the right
way, you could even swear it moved, but no just a trick of the light.
But he would be back. He always came back.
Winner: Anton Chigurh!
*Note*: I decided to take up Mark's grading system for this fight, and will likely continue to do so for all future fights. Its much simpler to use and likely more accurate then my previous system.
Large Edge: 1.5 points
Medium Edge: 1 point
Small Edge: .5 points
Scoring:
Long Range: Small Edge Anton
Medium Range: Large Edge Jason
Short Range: Medium Edge Anton
Special 1: Large Edge Jason
Special 2: Large Edge Anton
Tactics: Medium Edge Anton
Training: Tie
Moral/Motivation: Small Edge Anton
Experience: Medium Edge Jason
Weaknesses: Medium Edge Anton (Jason gets one point detracted
from his score)
+1 point to Anton for monopolyman voting for him
Final Scores: Jason: 3 points
Anton: 5.5 points
Well Jason is certainly a powerful supernatural foe,
one thing caused this fight to fall into Anton's favor: prep. With his prep
time, he was able to use his intelligence to employ Jason's many weaknesses
against him, and was able to come up with strategies that allowed him to
counter Jason's terrain advantage, and avoid all of Jason's fairly predictable
strategies. Jason may have killed a lot more than Anton, but very few of those
people ever actually tried using intelligent tactics against him
Well feel free to give me any feedback on the fight. Positive, negative, it's all welcome.
As for my next fight, we return to the realm of history, as two of the deadliest snipers the world has ever seen face off.
Simo Hayha
VS.
Vasily Zaytsev
WHO IS DEADLIEST?!!
