The evening air at Frank Michaels's facility carried the familiar weight of exhaustion and unspoken tension. Ethan made his way to the small kitchenette, his steps measured and purposeful. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead as he opened the cabinet where the peanut butter was usually stored.
Empty.
His hand lingered on the vacant shelf, fingers tracing the outline where five jars had been carefully arranged just two days ago. The disappointment cut deeper than it should have—not just because of the food, but because someone had deliberately disrupted his one consistent routine in this chaotic place.
Ethan's light blue eyes narrowed as he recalled the conversation with Kenji from the other day. Kenji had mentioned, almost in passing, how Jason noticed patterns that others missed. "He said you've been making late-night kitchen runs. Sunday nights, around nine-thirty." At the time, Ethan had filed the information away. Now it crystallized into certainty.
Jason had been watching him. Studying his routines. And now the five jars Ethan had been carefully rationing were gone.
Jason must have used Kenji to send a jar without knowing.
Ethan closed the cabinet with controlled precision. He hadn't bothered asking Kenji about the missing jars because he sensed Kenji wouldn't know—and more importantly, Ethan didn't want to involve Kenji in what should be a simple matter. He could handle this himself. He'd just find Jason, ask for his peanut butter back, and that would be the end of it.
Fast. Clean. Simple.
Ethan knew exactly where to look.
He found Jason on the back patio, sitting alone on a wooden bench. No laptop this time—Jason was simply sitting there in the gathering dusk, as if he'd been waiting. His pale features were calm, almost serene, but there was something predatory in the way he held himself.
"You took them," Ethan said, his voice carrying that quiet intensity that had served him well in the Memphis wilderness.
"The five peanut butter jars. Don't play stupid."
Jason looked up slowly, those dark eyes meeting Ethan's with unsettling directness. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Took what?"
"Don't play games. The five peanut butter jars. I know you've been watching me."
"Ah." Jason stood with deliberate slowness, his movements fluid and controlled. "You noticed."
"Where did you put them?"
Jason tilted his head, studying Ethan like a specimen under a microscope. "You want to do something about it?"
The question hung in the air like a challenge. This wasn't going as simply as Ethan had expected. He took a step forward, his wilderness instincts reading the subtle shifts in Jason's posture—the way his weight had shifted to the balls of his feet, the slight tensing of his shoulders.
"Actually," Jason said, his cold smile widening, "on second thought—I do know where the peanut butter is. But I'm not going to give it to you."
That's when Ethan realized this was never going to be simple.
And that's when they both proceeded to have hand-to-hand combat.
What erupted wasn't the clumsy scuffle of typical teenagers. This was intense, military-level fighting—combat that spoke to serious training on both sides. Jason's movements were calculated and surgical, each strike designed for maximum efficiency. Ethan's combat style carried the fluid, adaptive grace of someone who'd learned to survive against unpredictable wilderness threats.
They moved with dangerous precision, testing each other's limits, neither giving quarter.
Two kids walking back from practice, having just finished drinking water, spotted the fight and froze completely. The intensity was unlike anything they'd witnessed—both fighters were evenly matched, moving with a competence that was genuinely frightening.
"Should we... should we try to stop them?" one whispered, his voice barely audible.
"That's Jason Anderson," the other replied, fear evident in his tone. "If we try to intervene with Jason Anderson fighting, he might go after us too."
They watched, transfixed and terrified, as the battle continued.
Ethan executed a perfect backflip, his powerful legs launching him backward. As he jumped back, he used a nearby tree as a pivot point as Jason chased Ethan, spinning slightly over it and backflipping completely over Jason, landing gracefully behind him.
Ethan executed a perfect backflip, his powerful legs launching him backward. As he jumped back, he used a nearby tree as a pivot point, pushing off the tree bark when Jason chased him toward the tree and backflipping completely over Jason who immediately spun and attempted a low sweep, his leg cutting through the air in a precise arc. The move almost caught Ethan's ankles, Ethan tripped back barely staggering, backing up just enough to avoid the strike.
The curfew bell began to ring, its sharp tone cutting through the evening air.
Jason stopped mid-motion, straightening with that cold, calculating smile spreading across his face. "You chose a stupid time to try to go after me, Eldridge," he said, his voice carrying that familiar analytical detachment. "But I suppose this was the only time you could."
Ethan's eyes narrowed. The bell meant they had minutes before they'd be in serious trouble for being out of their dorms after hours.
Jason started backing away, still smiling with predatory satisfaction. "You know what's interesting, Ethan? This is supposed to be your element—the wilderness, the outdoors, survival. But tell me... is the wilderness your cage?"
His voice carried a taunting edge that made Ethan's blood run cold.
Then Jason turned and ran into the deeper woods.
The Hunt
Ethan pursued him without hesitation, his wilderness instincts overriding the logical voice telling him to return to the dorms. His training gave him advantages in outdoor terrain—reading the ground, moving silently, tracking movement through shadows and undergrowth.
But as they moved deeper into the wooded area behind the facility, Ethan noticed something that unsettled him profoundly. Jason seemed to camouflage himself remarkably well for someone who'd grown up in suburban comfort. The way he used shadows, the way he moved through the brush—it was almost as skilled as Ethan's own techniques.
Where did he learn that? Ethan thought, a chill running down his spine.
The chase led them to a small clearing where several trees formed a natural shelter. Jason was nowhere to be seen, but Ethan could hear his voice echoing through the darkness, seeming to come from everywhere at once.
"Is the wilderness your cage, Ethan?" The voice bounced off the trees, making it impossible to pinpoint Jason's location. "Are you scared that I might kill you and leave your body in these woods?"
Ethan moved toward the sound, every instinct screaming that something was wrong. The acoustics were off—too clear, too consistent. When he reached what seemed to be the source of the voice, he found a small digital recorder attached to a tree branch, its red light blinking in the gathering darkness.
Beneath the recorder, arranged in a neat, deliberate row, were three empty peanut butter jars.
Ethan's stomach dropped as understanding flooded through him.
The recording continued, Jason's voice carrying a chilling, almost hungry quality:
"It's the thrill of the kill... thrill of the kill... thrill of the kill, do you feel it in my voice? How much I want to drain the light out of your eyes? Can you feel my desire to break you? Come find me Eldridge, come step into the wilderness if you think you can find me in the dark."
Ethan felt his blood turn to ice. This wasn't teenage posturing or psychological games anymore. The hunger in Jason's recorded voice, the deliberate pacing, the predatory satisfaction—this was someone who genuinely wanted to hurt him. Maybe kill him.
"Why am I doing this? Why am I going out of my way to do this? I do it for the thrill of the kill … I can already imagine it. Come here Eldridge test your luck in here the dark, - Come here, I'll merge you with it."
The recording wasn't finished:
"What are you going to do now, Ethan? Are you going to come after me? I already gauged that you're not the type to tell your problems to others. I know you're pretty pissed off that your peanut butter was eaten. You've caught on to how serious I am. If you feel confident in the wilderness, don't go back because of the bell—come further into the forest where I can end you... and enjoy the remaining two peanut butter jars."
Ethan stared at the empty jars, the full scope of Jason's planning becoming horrifyingly clear. This had all been calculated from the beginning. The peanut butter theft, the casual waiting on the patio, the fight, the chase—all of it orchestrated to get Ethan alone in the woods at sunset, with curfew looming, where Jason could spring whatever trap he had waiting deeper in the forest.
The curfew bell continued ringing in the distance, its urgent tone a reminder that time was running out. The sun was setting, casting long shadows through the trees that seemed to reach toward Ethan like grasping fingers.
Jason had timed this perfectly, forcing Ethan into an impossible choice: pursue him deeper into dangerous territory where Jason clearly had some sinister plan waiting, or return to the facility and face the consequences of being out after curfew.
But as Ethan stood there, listening to Jason's taunting recorded voice and staring at the three empty jars that served as both proof and warning, he realized something that made his blood run cold.
This wasn't just about peanut butter anymore. Jason Anderson was genuinely unhinged. There was something deeply, disturbingly wrong with him. The tone of the recording, the careful planning, the deliberate isolation—Jason legitimately wanted to hurt him. Maybe even kill him.
Ethan's wilderness survival instincts, honed by years of reading dangerous situations, overrode any desire for confrontation or revenge. This was a trap. A carefully constructed snare designed by someone who understood psychological warfare as well as physical combat.
Jason had been waiting for this. Planning it. He wanted me isolated, angry, and making poor decisions.
Ethan stepped back from the recorder, his mind working quickly. Jason knew he wouldn't tell others about his problems. Jason had counted on Ethan's pride, his self-reliance, his tendency to handle things alone. The whole setup was designed to exploit those exact traits.
The curfew bell continued ringing in the distance, urgent and insistent. Jason had timed this perfectly, using the facility's own rules as part of his psychological warfare.
Ethan's wilderness survival instincts, honed by years of reading dangerous situations, overrode any desire for confrontation or revenge. This was a trap. A carefully constructed snare designed by someone who understood psychological manipulation as well as physical combat.
Ethan reached up and carefully detached the recorder from the tree branch, slipping it into his jacket pocket. This wasn't just evidence—it was proof that Jason Anderson was far more dangerous than anyone realized. The hunger in his voice, the careful planning, the predatory satisfaction—this was someone who had crossed a line into genuinely murderous territory.
As Ethan turned and headed back toward the facility, moving swiftly but quietly through the darkening woods, his mind was already working on his next move. Jason had been right about one thing—Ethan typically didn't share his problems with others. But this wasn't just his problem anymore.
"Nope. I ain't doin' this. This guys unhinged. Big time, no... he set this all up and really wants to kill me?"
As Ethan emerged from the tree line and saw the lights of the dormitory building ahead, he was faced with a decision that would define how he handled Jason Anderson going forward: should he tell Kenji what had just happened, warn him that his little brother was far more dangerous than anyone realized? Or should he keep this disturbing revelation to himself and simply stay vigilant?
This was about Kenji. About the other kids at the facility. About anyone who might cross Jason's path when he decided to escalate from psychological games to actual violence.
Ethan slipped through the facility's back entrance just as the final curfew warning echoed through the halls. In his pocket, the recorder felt heavier than it should have, weighted with the proof of just how far Jason Anderson had fallen into darkness.
Ethan slipped mind racing with the implications of what he'd just experienced.
One thing was certain: Jason Anderson wasn't just calculating or detached. He was predatory. And Ethan would have to be very, very careful around him from now on.
The empty peanut butter jars had been more than theft—they'd been a declaration of war.
Tomorrow, he would show Kenji the recording. Tonight, Ethan would sleep with one eye open, knowing that somewhere in the facility, a predator was planning his next move.
The empty peanut butter jars had been more than theft—they'd been a declaration of war. And Jason's recorded voice had made his intentions crystal clear: he didn't just want to win their rivalry.
He wanted to end it permanently.