Jason Voorhees
Jason did not apply for the job.
He had entered the office building for very traditional Jason reasons: ominous footsteps, dramatic hallway lighting. Perhaps a little light stalking while deciding which after-hours employee to start with. Standard evening schedule. Nothing complicated.
Yet somehow, by the time Security approached him, instead of screaming or fleeing, the guard squinted at his hockey mask, glanced at the machete, and said:
And that was how Jason ended up with a temporary badge and a cubicle.
The first time he tried to actually do what he came to do was during a departmental budget meeting. He stood silently in the corner—good corner, decent sightlines, only one exit behind him—waiting for the right moment, machete resting at his side. Eventually someone began presenting an extremely expensive expansion plan involving luxury office furniture and something called
Jason didn't know what those were. He didn't care. What he cared about was the presenter's loud, grating voice echoing off the conference room walls.
He stepped forward. Slowly. Intentionally. Raised the machete.
Before he could do anything else, three executives began talking at once.
Jason paused.
That… was not the expected reaction. Usually there was more screaming. More running. Occasionally someone trying to fight back.
He lowered the machete slightly, confused.
Everyone nodded approvingly, as if he had just delivered a keynote speech on fiscal responsibility.
This kept happening.
When he stood beside a hallway printer preparing to disable it and lure the IT guy into a quieter area, an employee nervously whispered,
When he loomed near a catered lunch meeting—scanning for the loud eater who crunched ice and smacked lips—someone announced,
The loud eater remained alive. Still crunching ice somewhere.
Once, Jason rested the machete against a decorative glass sculpture while deciding which direction to walk next. Two managers hurriedly agreed to
The sculpture was gone the next morning. Jason hadn't even noticed it. He'd just been thinking about how bright the lights were.
Jason never spoke. He didn't understand the spreadsheets people kept showing him. They'd point at numbers, look at him expectantly, and he'd stare back, occasionally tilting his head in puzzlement, which everyone interpreted as deep strategic contemplation.
By the end of the month, company expenses had dropped dramatically.
HR sent him a congratulatory email titled:
`
Jason stared at the screen for a long time.
He hadn't accomplished a single murder. Every time he tried, someone interpreted the gesture as cost-cutting advice. One guy he'd been following for three days started arriving early and staying late. Jason couldn't catch him alone anymore. The guy was thriving.
One evening, Jason slowly lifted the machete behind an employee working late. Finally. Empty floor. No witnesses.
The employee glanced over his shoulder, saw the machete, and immediately turned back to his screen.
Jason lowered the machete again.
The employee kept typing. Probably going to get promoted. Again.
At this point Jason wasn't even sure what his job was anymore. He spent most days wandering the halls, slightly bewildered, while departments nervously optimized their budgets in his wake. Someone brought him coffee once. He didn't drink it—just held it—and they looked so pleased he didn't throw it away.
The CEO eventually shook his hand in the lobby.
Jason tilted his head, mask reflecting the fluorescent lights. He still didn't understand why no one was running.
But apparently… things were going very well.
Today, the elevator doors slide open to your floor, and the first thing anyone sees is the tall masked figure already standing near the department workspace. Silent. Motionless. Machete resting at his side.
A coworker leans over and whispers,
Jason slowly turns his head.
And for some reason… he stops at your desk.
He had entered the office building for very traditional Jason reasons: ominous footsteps, dramatic hallway lighting. Perhaps a little light stalking while deciding which after-hours employee to start with. Standard evening schedule. Nothing complicated.
Yet somehow, by the time Security approached him, instead of screaming or fleeing, the guard squinted at his hockey mask, glanced at the machete, and said:
Ah. Corporate sent the consultant early.
And that was how Jason ended up with a temporary badge and a cubicle.
The first time he tried to actually do what he came to do was during a departmental budget meeting. He stood silently in the corner—good corner, decent sightlines, only one exit behind him—waiting for the right moment, machete resting at his side. Eventually someone began presenting an extremely expensive expansion plan involving luxury office furniture and something called
executive relaxation pods.
Jason didn't know what those were. He didn't care. What he cared about was the presenter's loud, grating voice echoing off the conference room walls.
He stepped forward. Slowly. Intentionally. Raised the machete.
Before he could do anything else, three executives began talking at once.
You're right, we don't need the premium leather option.
Honestly, half the pods wouldn't even get used.
We could cut that entire section and save millions.
Jason paused.
That… was not the expected reaction. Usually there was more screaming. More running. Occasionally someone trying to fight back.
He lowered the machete slightly, confused.
Everyone nodded approvingly, as if he had just delivered a keynote speech on fiscal responsibility.
This kept happening.
When he stood beside a hallway printer preparing to disable it and lure the IT guy into a quieter area, an employee nervously whispered,
Yeah, we probably do have too many printers,and submitted a consolidation request before the end of the day.
When he loomed near a catered lunch meeting—scanning for the loud eater who crunched ice and smacked lips—someone announced,
Actually, sandwiches are fine next time, we don't need the seafood buffet.
The loud eater remained alive. Still crunching ice somewhere.
Once, Jason rested the machete against a decorative glass sculpture while deciding which direction to walk next. Two managers hurriedly agreed to
eliminate unnecessary lobby décor expenses effective immediately.
The sculpture was gone the next morning. Jason hadn't even noticed it. He'd just been thinking about how bright the lights were.
Jason never spoke. He didn't understand the spreadsheets people kept showing him. They'd point at numbers, look at him expectantly, and he'd stare back, occasionally tilting his head in puzzlement, which everyone interpreted as deep strategic contemplation.
By the end of the month, company expenses had dropped dramatically.
HR sent him a congratulatory email titled:
`
Outstanding Impact on Organizational Efficiency.`
Jason stared at the screen for a long time.
He hadn't accomplished a single murder. Every time he tried, someone interpreted the gesture as cost-cutting advice. One guy he'd been following for three days started arriving early and staying late. Jason couldn't catch him alone anymore. The guy was thriving.
One evening, Jason slowly lifted the machete behind an employee working late. Finally. Empty floor. No witnesses.
The employee glanced over his shoulder, saw the machete, and immediately turned back to his screen.
You're right,he said, typing faster.
We should cancel the second offsite retreat. Good call.
Jason lowered the machete again.
The employee kept typing. Probably going to get promoted. Again.
At this point Jason wasn't even sure what his job was anymore. He spent most days wandering the halls, slightly bewildered, while departments nervously optimized their budgets in his wake. Someone brought him coffee once. He didn't drink it—just held it—and they looked so pleased he didn't throw it away.
The CEO eventually shook his hand in the lobby.
We've never had a consultant deliver results this fast.
Jason tilted his head, mask reflecting the fluorescent lights. He still didn't understand why no one was running.
But apparently… things were going very well.
Today, the elevator doors slide open to your floor, and the first thing anyone sees is the tall masked figure already standing near the department workspace. Silent. Motionless. Machete resting at his side.
A coworker leans over and whispers,
That's him. If he's here, it means someone's getting audited.
Jason slowly turns his head.
And for some reason… he stops at your desk.
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