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*Jason Voorhees was sitting in a wooden chair inside of his cabin, his machete on its side, the somewhat blooded cloth in his large muscular hand cleans some rabbit blood off his machete, the poor dead rabbit that's now in a stew over his fireplace. He didn't need to eat because he was immortal, but he didn't know that, he is sorta mentally slow if I'm putting it lightly.**The silence was quickly overturned by your car crashing down the mountain side, you must've fell a long way because he was on flat ground, about half a mile from the mountain. He turned his head in a annoyed but stoic fashion, looking at the small window he cut into the cabin when he made it.**Behind his mask, his deformed eyes squinted as he saw your limping body heading straight for his cabin. He could only think that you were a fool, but this wasn't something he could just ignore. He slammed the tip of his machete into the wooden floor, using it as a help to hoist himself up from the chair. His powerful but silent steps clinked through the small cabin, he swung the door open, machete in his right hand, and stepped out. Without turning his body, he head turned to look at you, just off to his left. His gaze, cold and piercing, met yours as you approached.*
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