A/N: Very first Michael Myers story...not sure if I will add more chapters(supposed to be a ONE-SHOT)...

Chapter 1: Cellular Containment

"She's in the house! Get 'er out!" I yell to the policemen. We have been tracking down Shylea for so long. And we are so close. We have surrounded the Myers' house and are armed and ready. Don't get me wrong, we've probably over-prepared. Shylea has a criminal record for murdering her family, and some of her neighbors when she was 6. Reported to be seen with a kitchen knife. Just like Michael. The sheriff holds up his fully loaded Glock 17, and kicks the door down. "Put yer' hands up and exit the house immediately!" He yells, the gun shaking heavily in his hands. Silence. I grip my empty pistol. I had used the last of the bullets thinking I could stop her when she dashed into the house.

She had quickly dashed away at the sound of my bullets hitting the ground below her. That's when I realized I have terrible aim. She's now in the house, and the sheriff is going after her. I decide to quickly stride up next to the sheriff as he cautiously walks into the house. "The kids think this place is haunted, Loomis," the sheriff huffs. "Good. That means they won't have the guts to fool around here," I reply, my voice hoarse from yelling at the men to get after Shylea. "Sir," the sheriff says, "Yes?"

"Should I go upstairs?"

"That's what she'd expect us to do,"

"Why would she go upstairs, sir?"

"Because that's what Michael would've done."

I say Michael's name like he's some sort of animal. Because he is. He has no humanly emotions, just nothing. Except for pure, pure, evil. The sheriff turns around at a small creak down the empty hallway. He nervously aims his gun down the hallway, and I look up. I see a young girl, around the age of 19, staring down at us, a small glint of her stainless steel butcher's knife."Shylea!" I yell, and her surprised silver eyes glance down at the sheriff. The sheriff takes aim, and before I could stop him, shot Shylea in the side, and she tumbles down the stairs. Shylea hits the ground at my feet, blood splattered all on the walls and the stairs from her tumble down. She lies unmoving, her face pale and tense. Her unconsciousness is disturbed. We need her alive.

"Where's the ambulance? Get her in there and send her straight to Smith's Grove. The doctors there will tend to her." I instruct, as the sheriff walks out haughtily, and I frown. Too proud of himself. I wouldn't be proud if I were him. Maybe just a little bit. Or maybe not. The medics rush into the house, and lift Shylea onto the patient bed. They take her out into the cold October air, and raise her up into the ambulance. "So sir, would you classify this as emergency patient transport?" One of the medics ask as he strode over to me with a clipboard, the papers blowing around crazily in the shivering winds. "Why would it be emergency patient transport?" "Because you are transporting her to a place that is not the Haddonfield Memorial Hospital." "So? It is still a hospital and the doctors can handle injuries. No, this is not an emergency patient transport." "Yes sir." the medic replies, nodding before running off to the ambulance.

"Sir, you lead the way. Our sirens will be on, so stay in the left lane." One of the medics shouted out of the window before starting the ambulance. I quickly walk to the car, open the window, and start the car. I slam shut the door, and hit the accelerator. Don't worry Shylea. You won't be like Michael. You won't escape. Neither will he.


I wake up with a hot sweat. They put me out. As soon as my vision clears, I look around. The ceiling has small water droplets dripping quietly with soft taps. I go to sit up, but I am stopped by the sound of chains, and cold metal around my wrists. Great. Now I'm in jail. I mentally scold myself. Good going. That sheriff shot you. I scold myself again. I look at what I am wearing in the dim light. I am wearing a light blue jumpsuit, that has a tag with my last name, Brandt. My head is throbbing, and the temperature seemed to drop significantly within the room. I stand up weakly, using both hands on the cruddy walls for support. My long black hair is in my face, tangled and frizzy.

There is a dark cell across from me, and I grab the cell bars, and peer into that cell. I see a man, in a darker, more like a navy blue jumpsuit, staring blankly at the ground. He is wearing a...mask? A really pale, white mask, and his jumpsuit stained with crimson blood. I clang my cuffs on the bars, and his head snaps up, his cold, icy blue eyes, staring directly into mine, blank and un-human. I mouth words to him, since my vocal chords are messed up and I can't talk. He cocks his head, and suddenly the door across the way opens and a bright light shines in. The man fixates his gaze back down onto the ground, and I struggle to see who it is. "Michael, meet your new companion in the cellular containment, Shylea Brandt." A voice, that sound highly familiar says, and I reckonize that it is Dr. Loomis. Wait...did he just say, Michael? As in, Michael Myers?! NO way. Please, no. I don't want to have a death sentence and Michael Myers be the one who kills me. Oh, please no!

"Don't stress. I'm sure you both will get along just fine," Dr. Loomis adds, and Michael looks up just slightly, his eyes locking with mine, his gaze almost emitting an evil glare. "The meeting will start tomorrow. You will be let out of your cells to interact with each other under surveillance. You will each receive notepads," Dr. Loomis says before turning around, "See you tomorrow. Trust me, sleep kills." Dr. Loomis half smiles and shuts the door. Michael exits to the shadows of his own cell. I back up, and sit on my bed(bench!), and lie down. "Sleep kills..." I mouth to myself, looking out the single-bared window to my left. The moon is full, and it is three days until Halloween. And I was just beginning to enjoy myself.

What a great cellular containment room.