Episode 5 — "The Hunt"
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Cold Open
The camera follows a phone buzzing in the dark. The screen lights up:
"HEY JASON. YOU WANT TO PLAY TEACHER? LET'S START WITH AN EXAM."
Cut to Professor Harold Knox's office, empty except for Knox himself. He's grading papers, glasses low on his nose. The clock ticks past midnight.
His phone buzzes on the desk. Unknown number.
"LOOK UP."
Knox frowns, adjusts his glasses, glances at the window.
White porcelain stares back.
The mask is pressed against the glass, crack across its cheek like lightning frozen in ceramic. Knox jerks back, curses under his breath. He grabs his drawer, yanks it open—revolver, old, blued steel.
The light in his office cuts out.
The room plunges into dark.
Knox cocks the revolver. "Fuck you," he growls.
From the black: the faintest chuckle.
The overhead fan blades start spinning by themselves, groaning. The revolver shakes in Knox's hand. His phone buzzes.
"I'M BEHIND YOU."
Knox whirls—empty.
The chuckle grows louder, bouncing off the walls like a goddamn funhouse. Then—
SCREECH.
Knox's office door slams shut by itself. Something heavy drags across the wood, locking him in.
Knox's revolver trembles. His breath hitches.
Cut to black.
Title Card: THE STALKER.
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Act I — Jason's Breaking Point
Jason Hale sat on the dorm roof, cigarette burning between his fingers even though he hated smoking. The night air stung, rain misting his face. He didn't sleep anymore—sleep was just letting the killer use his dreams as target practice.
His phone buzzed. He braced himself, checked it.
"ARE YOU TIRED YET? HOW MANY BODIES DOES IT TAKE BEFORE YOU SNAP?"
Jason exhaled smoke through clenched teeth. "Already snapped, you piece of shit."
Behind him, Elena crawled out of the window with a blanket draped over her shoulders. "Ryan's still twitchy. Vance had him sedated again." She sat beside Jason, pulling the blanket around both of them like armor.
"You shouldn't be near me," Jason muttered.
"Eat shit," Elena said flatly. "You don't get to push me away just because some psycho's jerking off to your trauma."
Jason almost smiled at that—almost. "They're not just watching anymore. They're… escalating. Setting traps. Dropping photos. Knox is next."
Elena's eyes sharpened. "You think Knox is guilty."
Jason shook his head. "I think Knox knows more than he's saying. And the killer's going to rip it out of him—one way or another."
His phone buzzed again. A photo.
Knox's office. The revolver shaking in his hand. The mask in the window.
Jason's pulse spiked. "Fuck. We move. Now."
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Act II — Knox's Office
Jason and Elena sprinted across campus, rain slapping against their clothes. They didn't wait for Vance, didn't call campus security—Jason was done playing by anyone else's rules.
The office hall was silent when they arrived. Too silent. The air smelled like gun oil and something sour, chemical.
Jason tested the handle. Locked.
"Elena, step back."
He took a step back himself, then slammed his shoulder into the door. Once. Twice. CRACK. The lock gave, the door splintering open.
Inside: chaos. Knox's desk overturned. Papers scattered like snow. The revolver lying on the floor, hammer cocked, chamber empty.
And Knox—
Pinned to the wall with a hunting knife driven through his hand. Blood dripping in a slow patter onto the tile.
"Jesus fuck," Elena whispered.
Knox's face was pale, teeth gritted in a snarl. "Don't—fucking—stand there. Get me out."
Jason ripped his hoodie off, pressed it against Knox's wound, yanked the knife free in one savage motion. Knox screamed, blood pumping hot over Jason's fingers.
On the wall, scrawled in Knox's blood:
"TEACH HIM."
Jason's phone buzzed. He looked.
"YOUR TURN TO HOLD THE KNIFE."
And right on cue, the campus cops burst into the hallway, guns drawn.
They saw Jason standing there, knife in hand, Knox bleeding all over the floor.
"DROP IT!"
Jason froze. Elena screamed, "He's not the killer! It's a setup!"
But the cops didn't give a fuck about nuance.
Jason dropped the knife and raised his hands. His phone buzzed again. He glanced down, screen still lit.
"BLOOD ON YOUR HANDS. JUST LIKE I PROMISED."
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Act III — The Cage
Detective Vance lit him up in interrogation.
"You dumb motherfucker," she snapped, pacing the room like a panther. "You walk into a crime scene, knife in hand, professor nailed to the wall—and you expect me to what? Believe you were playing doctor?"
Jason slammed his fists on the table. "The killer set it up! They texted me the photo before I got there! They knew you'd find me holding the goddamn knife!"
Vance leaned close, voice low, dangerous. "You're running out of rope, Hale. Either you're the smartest bastard in Ravenwood or you're the killer with a hard-on for theatrics. Which is it?"
Jason's voice cracked with rage. "I'm not the fucking killer!"
The one-way mirror buzzed. A cop cracked the door, handed Vance a note. She read it. Her face hardened.
"What?" Jason demanded.
Vance slapped the note on the table. Scrawled in blood-red marker:
"EVERYONE IN THE ROOM IS NEXT."
Jason froze. "Room?"
Vance whipped around. "Shut the fuck up." She hit the alarm.
But it was too late.
The ceiling vent rattled. Gas hissed. Not halocarbon this time. Something sharp, chemical. Pepper spray dialed up to Satan.
The cops coughed, dropped. Vance yanked her jacket over her face. Jason slammed his chair against the mirror until it shattered, hauling Elena (who'd been waiting outside) through the chaos.
They stumbled into the hall, eyes burning, lungs on fire. Jason looked back once—saw Knox through the haze, bleeding, half-conscious, mouthing something.
Two words.
"RUN. NOW."
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Act IV — Predator
Jason dragged Elena outside into the storm. His lungs clawed for clean air.
"We can't fucking win," Elena coughed.
Jason's jaw clenched. "No. We can."
He raised his phone. Unknown number. He didn't wait for it to buzz. He typed.
You want me? Come the fuck out.
For the first time, the dots appeared. And stayed.
Jason's pulse pounded. He typed again. I'm done running. You want me? I'll find you first.
No reply.
Jason slipped the phone back into his pocket, soaked to the bone, eyes dark. "You hear that?" he asked Elena.
She blinked rain off her lashes. "What?"
Jason bared his teeth, savage.
"That's the sound of me hunting back."
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Ending Cliffhanger
Jason and Elena returned to the dorm to grab whatever the fuck they could carry. Jason shoved books, clothes, knives into a duffel.
Elena froze, staring at his desk. "Jason…"
He turned.
On the desk sat a Polaroid. Fresh. Still glossy.
The photo was of Jason and Elena on the roof earlier that night, blanket around them, her head leaning against his shoulder.
On the bottom of the Polaroid, written in neat black ink:
"SHE'S NEXT. DO BETTER."
Jason's hands shook so hard the photo almost tore in two.
His phone buzzed one last time.
"HUNTERS MAKE THE BEST PREY."