[WING 9: THE META-HORROR][CURRENT BUDGET: OVERBLOWN][THREAT LEVEL: RATED R]
The Franchise Slasher was not biologically possible.
It stood in the center of the Control Room, a hulking monstrosity stitched together from the nightmares of the previous wings. It had the Spooner's rusty fedora, The Surgeon's spinning bone-saw arm, The Groundskeeper's denim overalls, and the Ghost Bride's wailing scream.
"It's a copyright infringement lawsuit waiting to happen," Jen horrified, clutching her clipboard. "Look at the mismatched assets! The texture mapping is inconsistent!"
"It's not about quality," The Host (Director) shouted from his safety deck, sipping his latte. "It's about volume! Kill them! Action!"
The Slasher roared—a sound that combined a chainsaw revving with a wolf howling.
It charged.
"Tank it!" Elara Vance screamed.
Kaelen Thorne stepped forward. He raised his platinum shield, planting his boots on the linoleum floor.
