Jason awoke with a jolt, his breathing was short and heavy. His eyelids ripped open by reaction, he regretted it quickly because of the immense pain that followed. He was sitting in a metal folding chair, both of his arms pulled out tightly and held in place by chains attached to the walls. After he stomped his feet thunderously a few times he had a good visual of the room, three stone walls, and one metal door, like a prison gate. There was also a wooden table in front of him, with something on it, maybe a computer or television. When he finally noticed how cold the room was, the television flicked on.
"Hello, I want to play a game. This game is simple, last man standing. In this game there will be a lone winner and 11 losers. There shall be no ties, no second place, AND NO runner-up, THERE WILL BE NO COMPRIMISES! And what is a game with out prizes? The victor of this match will be transported back to their original location. Currently there is a harmless microchip in your cerebral cortex, any attempt to remove it will result in absolute paralysis, even for those who are more or less immortal. In addition, going out of game bounds will have you tele-ported back to this room, along with a 10,000 volt shock.
The binds that hold you will soon be released, after which, go to the table in front of you that displays your weapons. Hold them dearly. Outside of the door behind you is an island with varying terrains, more weapons, ammunition, and many death traps of my own design. Last but not least, your opponents. You and your enemies are a mix of good and evil killers, but killers none the less. I am on this island as well, an introduction is well over due, my name is Jigsaw, your game master and host.
The choice is yours... kill or be killed. Good luck.
Oh and did I mention 2,000 blood thirsty zombies? "
Just as his host promised, the chains on his wrists sprung off. He gently rubbed his sore spots and stood up to the table and selected his dear weapon, a one and one sixth meter long sheathed machete. He immediately attached to his waist and unsheathed his blade and assessed its beauty. Once he was finished, he stabbed it through the television screen as a way of saying "I'm coming for you.". He tossed the chair out of his way and proceeded though the now open prison gate to a simple wooden door. Jason kicked it dead center with so much force its hinges broke off enabling it to fly outside. The environment was a dense north-western forest. It had many pine and fir trees, with some oaks spread about. A light snow fell, with no more than 3 centimeters layered on the ground. His holding cell was bunkered into a small hill, with short untamed grass covering it. He listened to tell if he was being stalked, nothing, it was though this whole damed place was dead. He wore large combat boots with baggy, torn, and faded dark blue painter jeans. He had finger-tip-less black gloves, a long black military coat, with a hunters jacket underneath. inside of his black hood he wore a grimy hockey mask. At the current moment Jason was blind, due to his last skirmish with a teenager on his territory. She had gotten his mask off and slashed his face from temple to temple with an electrical cable. His other senses would have compensate, for he was out for blood.