Über Jason's containment and escape

On the lowest rung of the concentric spiral forming the inner architecture of the NAR's top-secret moon base, an aquarium-like tank filled a space fifty feet long and thirty feet tall. Panes of shockproof synthetic plastic exerted strength great enough to resist quakes, fires, floods and most conventional weaponry.

Milky green liquid washed in show circles around a humanoid figure, a body crisscrossed by an optic grid that tracked him, day and night.

Although technically the thirteenth rung, the area was known as "the Ninth Circle". It had been built for one purpose: warehousing Jason Voorhees. Initially scheduled for cryostasis, Jason's body was basking in a warm amniotic bath, fed by dozens of lead lines and tubes. Many of these tubes simply pumped Jason full of tranquilizing agents. Others took core samples from time to time for routine analysis.

He was soft enough to inspire rhapsodies of deliquescence from the late Dr Wimmer, had he lived to share the joy. Never mind that the subject in question had no pulse, no discernible brainwave activity, and was, according to the most sensitive diagnostic instruments, as sentient as the average turnip.

Immense precautions governed even the most casual access to Jason's body. A series of interlocking, pressure-locked doors opened only with an access code based on the visitor's DNA signature. Beyond the doors lay a decontamination chamber. Here, hot chemical soup pumped through needle-like nozzles covering every inch of the visitor's skin. Finally, a skintight one-piece lab suit was literally sprayed on, a lightweight but impenetrable helmet, clamped tightly on the head.

These protocols were sound, based on experience. So far, Jason hadn't even twitched, even while he was carefully decocted from the Marduk's containment tube, plugged in and placed in his bath like a comatose scorpion. But nobody was taking any chances. Every member of Team Jason—at least those belonging to the scientific community—had been debriefed on Planet of the Beast. They'd seen the vircher tapes, suffered the horrors of the Reality Studio and relived the agony of the Marduk's crew.

Sentient or not, turnips don't rip off heads with the ease of someone popping open a can of soda. If Jason was no longer a man, he was definitely not a vegetable.

Jason was an anomaly.

In an era that had supposedly vanquished superstition, the fanciful languages of sorcery and alchemy translated into hard, gleaming science, Jason was a changeling. A witch's spawn. Indestructible, imperturbable. In short, impossible.

	Jason X: Death Moon - Pages 114-116

Meanwhile, Jason was safe and sound, strapped down within a giant metal press with tripwires, sensors, shocks and batteries of trank to take him down, should human voices wake him and they die.

The weirdest thing was, Jason didn't have consciousness. At least the kind that machines could measure. The brain itself, a shriveled ganglion the size and texture of a walnut, floated within a giant vault of melded flesh and metal. EEG traces tracked a solid flatline. The beast displayed the brain activity of a turnip. For that matter, he had no pulse.

Yet Jason was very much alive, a fact palpable by the sense of his presence in the room. There was something more to Jason Voorhees than this hulk, cast within its web of heavy metal. A sinister aura blazed from the beast, ripe with its own breath, its own life and its own will. Jason's body, his husk, was a living tomb. A self-contained resurrection machine. It had power you could feel.

	Jason X: Death Moon - Pages 320-321

Immersed in wet splendor, Oskar failed to notice the red emergency light pulsing in the periphery of his right eye. He failed to hear the cataclysmic sounds of bolts being wrenched and popped, the elaborate metal web that encased Jason's body falling apart as, with superhuman strength, Voorhees burst his bonds and rose from the laboratory pallet.

Finally, Oskar failed to observe the shower stall door bending, buckling, giving way. At that precise moment, Oskar had melted his identity with the robotic showerhead that obscured April's labia minora.

	Jason X: Death Moon - Page 325