The night in Haddonfield had turned into a silent chaos after the prison transport crash. Cassian and Helen, alerted by Father Malone from the local diocese, left the motel at dawn, following the trail of the stolen truck driven by Michael Myers. They drove in a rented Jeep, Helen operating a Vatican tracking device while Cassian, seated in the passenger seat, checked his gun with icy calmness. The device, a small receiver with an antenna, picked up the signal from the truck thanks to a GPS tracker secretly placed on all Smith's Grove penitentiary vehicles. The screen flickered, guiding them to an isolated gas station on the outskirts of town, where the smell of gasoline and blood hit them before they even stepped out of the vehicle.
Inside, the scene was macabre: Aaron Korey and Dana Haines lay mutilated near the pumps, the mechanic slumped against a wall with his skull crushed, and the store clerk hung from an improvised hook on the ceiling. On the floor, among pools of blood, was Michael Myers' white mask, recovered and ready to be used again. Cassian knelt beside the bodies, examining the wounds with precise fingers, his face impassive but his eyes sharp.
"Superhuman strength," he said, his deep voice resonating in the silence. "Aaron's neck is broken like a dry branch, and the mechanic… this isn't the work of an ordinary man. Helen, what does your equipment say?"
Helen, adjusting the tracking device, frowned as she looked at the screen.
"The truck is three kilometers west, but it stopped an hour ago. I can triangulate its route from here. The movement patterns match what we saw in the dossiers: fast, direct, heading toward Haddonfield. Cassian, do you think he's still human after this?"
Cassian stood up, wiping his hands on a cloth he pulled from his bag.
"I don't know. Forty years locked up, and he still kills as if he never stopped. I don't smell sulfur, but this isn't normal. Let's go to Haddonfield. We need someone who knows him. Laurie Strode, the survivor from 1978. If anyone knows how to stop him, it's her."
Helen nodded, stowing the device and climbing back into the Jeep.
"I read about her in the Vatican archives while we were training. She lives in a fortress, obsessed with the idea that Michael would return. How do we convince her? She doesn't seem like someone who trusts strangers, let alone someone from the Vatican."
Cassian adjusted his crucifix, his tone firm as he gazed out the window.
"We'll tell her the truth. I've hunted killers and worse things around the world. If she doesn't believe me, I'll show her my scars. You prepare a map of Michael's movements, something that gives her an advantage. Let's go now."
They arrived at Laurie Strode's fortified house at noon, a wooden and steel bunker surrounded by cameras and barbed wire. When they rang the doorbell, Laurie emerged from the front door, a shotgun in her hands and pure distrust in her eyes. She aimed at Cassian, her sharp voice cutting through the air.
"Who are you? I don't want salesmen, reporters, or religious fanatics here. Speak quickly or I'll shoot."
Cassian slowly raised his hands, his composure intact as he looked her in the eye.
"We're not reporters or salesmen, Ms. Strode. I'm Cassian, this is Helen. We come from the Vatican, but not to preach. Michael Myers escaped last night, killed four at a gas station, and is heading to Haddonfield. I've spent years hunting killers and things not of this world. We want to help you stop him."
Laurie scowled, the shotgun barrel trembling slightly.
"The Vatican? What does the church have to do with this? Michael is a man, not a demon. I've been preparing for him for forty years. I don't need help from anyone, especially strangers who don't know what it's like to face him."
Helen stepped forward, holding a printed map she had prepared in the Jeep with Vatican data.
"Ms. Strode, we know you don't trust easily, and we don't blame you. But look at this: a map of Michael's movements in 1978, cross-referenced with this morning's murders. It predicts he'll attack the suburbs tonight. Cassian isn't an ordinary priest; he's killed things even I don't understand. Let us help you, please."
Laurie lowered the shotgun slightly, looking at the map with suspicion but interest.
"How do you know this? No one has this data, not even the police. What do you want in return? Because I don't give anything for free, and I don't believe in miracles."
Cassian crossed his arms, his voice grave but sincere.
"We want nothing. The Vatican pays me to stop killers, and Michael is one of them. I've faced men with strength I can't explain, some with knives, others with claws. If he's human, I'll kill him. If not, I'll find out. You know him better than anyone; we need your expertise. Alliance, or do we leave?"
Laurie hesitated, her gaze shifting between Cassian and Helen before lowering her weapon completely.
"Fine, come in. But if you betray me, no Vatican will save you from me. What do you know about him that I don't?"
Helen spread the map on the living room table, pointing to red dots.
"We know he moves faster than he should. The 1978 murders were within a small radius, but the timing between them doesn't match a walking man. This morning, he killed at the gas station and abandoned the truck three kilometers away. He's coming here, Laurie, and he'll do it tonight."
Laurie pressed her lips together, nodding slowly.
"I always knew he'd return. Fine, let's work together. But don't expect me to stay behind. If we see him, I shoot first."
Cassian inclined his head, accepting.
"Shoot all you want, but I'll face him up close. Helen, set up a perimeter with the Vatican equipment. If he comes near, we'll know."
That night, as Helen installed thermal sensors and microphones around the suburb, Michael began his killing spree. Silent houses filled with screams, bodies falling under his knife in a brutal dance. Cassian intercepted him on a dark street, the killer raising his weapon with inhuman force. Cassian dodged the slash with agility, rolling to the side and drawing his gun. He fired at Michael's shoulder, the impact making him stagger with a low growl, but it didn't stop him.
"He's fast!" shouted Cassian, running after him as Michael fled into the shadows.
Laurie and Agent Frank Hawkins arrived, their weapons firing into the night. Laurie hit Michael in the leg, but the killer disappeared into the fog. Hawkins, panting, turned to Cassian.
"Who the hell are you? That doesn't take him down!"
Cassian cleaned his pistol, his tone icy.
"I'm Cassian, here to kill him. It's not the first time I've hunted something that doesn't go down easily. Laurie, Hawkins, I'll protect your family. Helen, where is he?"
Helen ran toward them, holding the Vatican laptop, her voice urgent.
"The sensors have him two streets away, moving toward the woods. He's injured, but he's not stopping. Cassian, we need a plan."
Cassian nodded, his gaze fixed on the darkness.
"We'll have one. Laurie, get your daughter and granddaughter ready. Helen, maintain the perimeter. This isn't over until he falls."
The night closed over Haddonfield, the echo of gunfire fading as Cassian, Helen, Laurie, and Hawkins prepared for the next encounter with the evil that had returned.