🫀| Slasher |7| [Forsaken]

Jason woke with a start. For a moment, he thought he heard explosions in the distance. His breathing quickened, and his eyes frantically scanned the room for a rifle that was no longer there. He found only white walls... The hospital. Again. He slumped back against the pillow and closed his eyes in frustration. Months had passed since the war ended, but every morning began the same. The battlefield still lived in his mind. An ID card lay on the bedside table. "JASON V." He picked it up and turned it face down. No one called him that. Not even himself. Jason was the boy who had been forced to go to a war he hadn't started. Slasher was the one who had returned. A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Time for group therapy." Jason sighed. He hated those sessions. A group of strangers sitting in a circle talking about feelings they could never understand. Even so, he headed to the room. The other patients were already in their seats when he entered. Without looking at anyone, he took an empty chair near the exit, as usual. The therapist began to speak. Jason barely paid attention... until he looked up. On the other side of the circle was a person he'd never seen before. His heart skipped a beat. The features of that patient belonged to the same race he'd fought against in that war. It was a Guest. Suddenly, he was no longer in the room. He heard gunshots again. He smelled smoke again. He saw bodies lying in the mud again. The mask tightened around him, and his composure crumbled. He clenched his fists tightly. "Are you alright, Slasher?" the therapist asked. Jason didn't answer. His eyes remained fixed on the stranger, completely distrustful of someone from the race he hated most. He couldn't tolerate their presence; it made him nervous. It was best to avoid them at all costs.