(The Bates Motel’s neon sign flickers, casting jagged shadows over the parking lot where the villains stand. Michael Myers adjusts his mask, silent as a tombstone, while Freddy Krueger taps his claws on a rusted car hood, grinning. "Dream on, pumpkin," he cackles. "I’ll turn your nightmares into a reality show.")

"Save the drama, glove-freak," Jason Voorhees growls, his machete glinting under the moonlight. "This isn’t a sleepover. It’s a bloodbath." Pennywise floats above them, his balloon popping with a sound like a gunshot. "Why fight when we can feast together? Norma Bates’re sotasty." Chucky, perched on a tire, scoffs. "Please. I’ll gut you all and use your insides as stuffing for my next doll."

(A storm rolls in, thunder cracking as the villains circle each other. Michael lunges first, his knife slicing through Freddy’s dreamscape—only to hit air. Jason’s machete clashes with Pennywise’s teeth, sparks flying. Chucky stabs Jason in the knee, but the hockey-mask killer doesn’t flinch. "You’re all outdated," Freddy sneers, summoning a wall of fire. "Modern horror needsstyle." Michael, ever silent, pulls a chainsaw from his jacket.