Episode 7 — "Live Bait"
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Cold Open
A girl's scream split the night. Not Elena's. Someone else.
Trisha Moreno (20) sprinted across the campus quad, barefoot, shirt ripped, mascara streaking her face. She didn't look back—she'd already seen enough.
Her phone vibrated in her hand. She checked.
"KEEP RUNNING. HE LIKES TO WATCH."
Trisha's breath caught. "No, no, no…"
She stumbled toward the dining hall's glass doors, yanking them open. Inside, the building was dark, every light cut except the glowing vending machine.
She raced toward it, pressed her back against the wall, tried to breathe.
Her phone buzzed again.
A photo.
Her. Right now. Pressed against that wall.
She looked up, eyes wide, heartbeat jackhammering.
A soft tap tap echoed from the vending machine glass.
Trisha stepped closer, trembling.
Through the reflection, behind her—
Porcelain. Crack down the cheek. Mask inches away.
Her scream filled the dining hall.
Cut to black.
Title Card: THE STALKER.
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Act I — Jason Breaks the Rules
Detective Marla Vance slammed her fist on the table in the precinct conference room. "Another one! Twenty years old, fucking sophomore! This psycho is turning my campus into a goddamn slaughterhouse."
Jason leaned back in his chair, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes dead but sharp. "Then stop playing by his rules."
Vance glared. "Excuse me?"
Jason blew smoke, unbothered. "You run crime scenes, chase prints, bag evidence like this is a burglary. He's not playing that game. He's fucking with me. You want him? You follow me."
Vance snarled. "You're not a cop, Hale."
Jason leaned forward, smile sharp as a knife. "No. I'm better. I don't need a badge to hunt a monster."
Elena sat in the corner, pale, furious. "Jason, you're talking like him."
Jason's laugh was short, ugly. "Good. Maybe that's what it takes."
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Act II — Suspects
Jason started breaking rules that night. No more waiting for texts. No more letting the killer set the board. He went out and started tearing into anyone who even smelled suspicious.
• The Landlord: Jason caught Evelyn Ward's nephew sneaking around the dorm basement. Pinned him against the wall, knife to his throat. "You like closets, motherfucker? You like writing shit in blood? Tell me." The kid pissed himself before Vance dragged Jason off.
• The Frat Boys: Jason stormed a frat house where Nate used to hang. Slammed one of Nate's "bros" face-first into a pool table. "Who the fuck knew Nate was going to fall down those stairs? WHO?" The kid sobbed, nose broken, denying everything.
• Knox: Jason cornered Professor Knox after class, slammed him against the chalkboard. "You know more than you're saying. What the fuck did you cover up in '75?" Knox's voice was calm but his eyes were terrified: "You don't want to know, Hale. Some doors stay locked for a reason."
Jason didn't care. He wasn't Jason Hale anymore. He was a weapon.
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Act III — Elena as Target
Elena followed him out of Knox's office, grabbed his arm. "Jason, stop. You're not thinking. You're scaring people."
Jason turned on her, eyes burning. "Good. Let them be scared."
"Of you?" Elena whispered.
Jason froze, teeth clenched, then looked away. "…Fuck."
That night, Elena's phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
"HE'S SLIPPING. YOU'RE SMARTER THAN HIM. COME PROVE IT."
Attached was a location pin—the Ravenwood swimming pool, closed after hours.
She showed Jason, voice shaking. "They want me."
Jason's face hardened. "Then they get me instead."
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Act IV — The Pool
The swimming pool was a cavern of echoes. Water rippled, lights dim, the smell of chlorine sharp as knives.
Jason stepped inside alone, crowbar in hand. "I'm here, you fuck!" His voice bounced off the tiles, came back hollow.
The lights overhead flickered. Then all at once—blinding floodlights snapped on.
On the diving board—Elena.
Tied, gagged, struggling, eyes wild with terror.
Jason's stomach dropped. "No. No no no…"
A speaker crackled overhead. The killer's voice, distorted, playful.
"Congratulations, Jason. You found your prize. Now let's see if you can save her."
The diving board creaked. A mechanism hissed. The board tilted forward, threatening to drop Elena into the pool below.
The water churned. Electric cables floated across its surface like snakes, sparking violently.
"Holy fuck," Jason muttered.
The voice laughed. "She panics, she drowns. You panic, she burns. Clock's ticking, Jason."
Jason sprinted for the poolside panel, crowbar smashing the lock. He ripped it open—inside, a fucking rat's nest of wires. Red. Blue. Yellow. Black.
Elena screamed through her gag, body thrashing.
Jason's phone buzzed. A message.
"CUT THE RED. TRUST ME."
Jason's hands shook. His brain screamed trap. He shouted, "Do I trust him or not?!"
Elena shook her head violently, eyes begging.
Jason clenched his jaw, sweat dripping. He grabbed the black wire instead and sliced.
The board froze. Elena stopped tilting.
Jason sagged, gasping. He'd won—this round.
He ran, cut Elena loose, dragged her into his arms. She sobbed, clinging to him.
"I fucking hate you," she cried.
Jason stroked her hair, whispering hoarse. "I know. I hate me too."
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Ending Cliffhanger
Jason carried Elena out into the night. Sirens wailed in the distance—Vance was already on the way.
Jason dropped to his knees on the curb, shaking, holding Elena like a lifeline.
His phone buzzed one last time.
"GOOD MOVE. BUT NEXT TIME, I'LL MAKE YOU CHOOSE WHO DIES."
Jason's hands trembled around the phone. His jaw clenched. He looked up at the night sky, teeth bared.
"Then come the fuck on," he growled.
From the shadows across the street, the camera catches it—
The mask, peeking out, watching. The crack gleams in the streetlight.
It tilts its head, almost affectionate. Then it disappears back into the dark.