Final Girl - Season 2
by John Doe

Before reading this story, it's highly recommended that you read Season 1 for more context and to avoid spoilers.

Season 1 here: https://boards.guro.cx/lit/res/28312.html#28312

Prologue.

I stand on the bow of my luxury yacht as it starts docking at the marina of Jeff’s private island. The air is warm and heavy, a humid blanket after the clean breeze of the open ocean. Lush greenery and towering coconut trees swallow most of the island’s landscape, leaving only the faint outline of Jeff’s massive mansion visible in the distance.

My year‑long vacation is over – twelve months of exotic locations, overpriced pleasures, and constant surveillance. I almost never saw the people watching me, but I always felt them there. It’s hard to relax when the world itself becomes your prison. Ironically, this island is the only place where my every step isn’t monitored. Jeff considers it his fortress, and as long as I’m here, he knows I’m no threat to him.

Those of you who watched season one of Final Girl know me as John Doe. That’s not my real name, but it doesn’t matter – you don’t need to know it anyway. The price I pay for my luxurious lifestyle is small, supposedly. Once a year I simply need to kill eight young beautiful girls in a brutal and painful way for the entertainment of a rich, perverted audience. Easier said than done…

I won’t go into how I ended up here—those who watched season one know everything they need to know. Suffice to say, I’m not here by choice, and I hate this fucking job. But there’s nothing I can do about it.

As I step onto the dock, Jeff greets me personally. His handshake is warm, his smile handsome and disarmingly friendly. But I know better. I may be the brain behind the show and its unfortunate host, but Jeff is its architect, its producer, its puppet‑master – and easily the most dangerous man I’ve ever known.

His mansion is grotesquely pompous, like a parody of Versailles. Marble pillars with gold trim, fountains and floral arrangements bursting from every surface. It’s all for show. What matters is what lies beneath: a network of corridors and hidden rooms forming the underground Facility where Final Girl takes place.

The premise of the show is primitive, recycled, and effective: a survival reality show where contestants die for real. Eight girls. Seven days. Each day, someone is chosen at random. She gets to pick the way she wants to die, and then she is fucked – by yours truly, of course, an actual clause in my contract – before being brutally murdered. At the end of seven days the last surviving girl is awarded fifrty million dollars and gets to walk free. Or so she is told.

Season one was a massive success. Ratings through the roof. Money pouring in. And it left me so psychologically wrecked that I spent the entire following year trying not to drown myself in alcohol… or something stronger. I don’t know how I’ll handle season two. They say you can get used to anything. I hope they’re wrong.

This season, Jeff told me to “spice things up.” So I made a little change to the rules – instead of just one girl being chosen each day, this time there will be two. They must then decide between themselves which one volunteers to die. The survivor will be the one forced to activate the machine – forced to kill the other. I’m supposed to feel relieved that my hands will be technically clean, but we all know that’s bullshit. This twist only makes everything worse.

After lunch, I head to the observation room, a small, cramped space lined with monitors showing the Dungeon. It’s not a stereotypical medieval dungeon – far from it. The holding area is a bright, sterile chamber with soft padded floors, warm air, and eight sleeping mats arranged in the center. The sanitary station sits in a corner: a toilet, shower, and water fountain, all fully exposed and offering zero privacy. The glass wall spanning the length of the holding area is what really sets it apart though. On the other side lies the Machine Room.

The Machine Room is the place where all the executions take place – a cold tile and concrete area filled with metal tables, restraints and the deadly killing machines. There are seven of them there right now – the fairly standard guillotine, the transparent glass tank of the Drowner, the gleaning metal skewer of the Impaler, the massive oven of the Roaster, the practically brutal circular saw table, the bizarre multi-armed chair of the Dismemberment Station and the Gallows – its noose looking almost innocent compared to the mechanical horrors surrounding it.

I open my inbox – there are only three messages there. A nauseatingly cheerful greeting from Jeff, a reminder about security protocols, and one labeled Welcome Package. I open the package. Inside is the show schedule and a dossier detailing the participants of this season.

All eight girls are contestants in a beauty pageant run by one of Jeff’s close friends. They were drugged, kidnapped, and will arrive tonight. Time to open the dossier and see who I’ll have to murder this time.