《LIVE》


 CHAPTER ONE: PART ONE

    I


    The dream-like whine of the cryogenic capsule penetrates the haze of Rebecca¡¯s unconsciousness, replaced by a throbbing bass that vibrates through her bones. Her eyes snap open to blinding white light. The smell of antiseptics creeps into her throat. She is encased in a sleek, transparent cylinder, its smooth surface cool against her cheek. Around her, other capsules shimmer, each housing a similarly disoriented figure, their faces wearing a mixture of confusion and dread. A disembodied voice¡ªsmooth and chillingly pleasant¡ªdrills into her ears:


    "Welcome, Contestants, to Live! Your journey for survival begins now."


    Rebecca clenches her jaw as a metallic tang floods her mouth¡ªthe bitter taste coating her tongue. Contestant 42. The number stares back at her, embroidered on the chest of her uniform jumpsuit, cold and impersonal, like another brand burned into her already scarred identity. Her crime lurks in the background of her thoughts¡ªa shadow she cannot escape¡ªa desperate act that reduced her life to ash. Arson, they called it. A crime fueled by anger, despair, and something darker she has not yet named.


    The memory still sears her: the flames devoured the remnants of her studio, and the accusations tore through her like shrapnel. Jealous whispers had surrounded her for years, building until they finally collapsed into false smiles and cruel betrayals. And now, this¡ªa high-tech prison masquerading as entertainment, where her sentence is decided not by a jury, but by faceless masses.


    The voice continues, detached and clinical, outlining the brutal terms of survival: daily challenges, nightly battles, and relentless social media engagement. Millions of viewers hold power over their lives, their popularity scores determining who stays and who vanishes.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Rebecca¡¯s eyes roam the room until they land on him¡ªContestant 13, Reese. The name stirs a faint memory, conjuring a face she barely recalls from her past life in the music scene. Charisma radiates from him; his presence feels almost magnetic. He stands with a predator¡¯s ease, his gaze sweeping the room as though cataloging his prey. Unlike Rebecca, Reese enters this arena untarnished, whole, already adored.


    Once, she had stood at the edge of greatness too. The fire, however, had destroyed more than her studio. It had consumed her dreams, her reputation, and even her name. Now, she is nothing¡ªa disgraced dancer clinging to scraps of her former self¡ªwhile Reese, the self-made pop star, strides into the game with his fame intact. Resentment rises unbidden, coiled tight with bitter recognition of the power imbalance between them.


    The voice concludes its briefing by announcing the first challenge: a medical and psychological examination, supposedly designed to assess physical and mental prowess. When the capsules open, nausea surges through Rebecca, and she stumbles as her surroundings swim. Her gaze drops instinctively to her ankle, still healing from its injury.


    She shifts her weight tentatively. To her astonishment, the familiar ache that had plagued her for weeks is absent. She flexes her foot slowly, then again¡ªwith growing confidence. A lightness spreads through her, cautious yet exhilarating. The capsule¡¯s smooth surface no longer feels confining; instead, it becomes a brace as she tests her limits. Each small motion unveils a startling truth: her ankle appears completely healed. The sharp pangs, the relentless ache¡ªboth are gone. She rotates her foot fluidly, marveling at its strength as disbelief wars with a quiet, mounting thrill.


    An involuntary smile tugs at Rebecca¡¯s lips¡ªa fragile hope rising unbidden. She glances at her unscarred, steady ankle. Its newfound resilience defies logic. Could the show, with all its twisted ways, have healed her? Were they really offering her a second chance? The thought takes root, tentative but insistent. For the first time in months¡ªperhaps longer¡ªshe envisions herself dancing again. She imagines the rhythm coursing through her, her body moving without restraint, unburdened by pain or regret. Maybe, just maybe, this arena is not her end. Perhaps it is her beginning.

 CHAPTER ONE: PART TWO

    II


    The common room is dominated by a massive holographic screen, clearly intended for nightly battles to entertain the viewers. Adjacent to it, a sterile, chrome-plated dining area gleams coldly. Rebecca cannot imagine herself sitting there, sharing meals with people who might, at any moment, become enemies. Beyond the living spaces, the tour leads them to a state-of-the-art training facility brimming with equipment designed to push contestants to their physical and mental limits.


    Rebecca scans the gear¡ªweights, treadmills, sparring mats¡ªeach piece hinting at the diverse skills required and the desperation of the contestants to improve. The tour concludes in the common room, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Overhead, the forced joviality of the unseen host blares through scattered speakers, her hollow cheerfulness impossible to escape. A semblance of silence settles over the room, if it weren¡¯t for the low vibration of machinery and the oh so soothing background music.


    No alliances have formed yet, but Rebecca feels currents of suspicion and calculation swirling around her. She catches Reese¡¯s eye from across the room; his expression is inscrutable, his gaze lingering a second too long. Rebecca shifts her attention, scanning the room and observing the other contestants. Most display fear and apprehension on their faces¡ªthe tension is almost tangible. Some huddle together in tight, nervous clusters, while others stand apart, lost in thought. The heavy atmosphere, underscored by the ever-present soundtrack of the show, feels oppressive.


    Then Reese speaks. His voice, amplified by the room¡¯s acoustics, slices through the heavy silence. Leaning casually against a wall with one leg crossed over the other, he exudes an air of effortless confidence.


    "Looks like we¡¯re all contestants in the hottest reality show. Who needs Netflix when you¡¯ve got real-life gladiators, huh? Am I right?"Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    His tone is casual yet edged with deliberate arrogance. "Don¡¯t worry, folks," he adds with a smirk. "I¡¯ve got this covered. I¡¯m practically a social media god¡ªyou¡¯ll want to stick by my side."


    His statement drips with overconfidence, bordering on recklessness. Either Reese is utterly fearless, sure of his inevitable victory, or he''s employing a risky strategy to provoke conflict and stir up buzz on social media. Rebecca wonders how he maintains his boldness when most contestants look as if they are one bad moment away from peeing their pants.


    As his words echo, several contestants exchange uneasy glances. A few murmur to one another. A young woman leans toward her companion and whispers, "Does he really think he can just walk in here and take control?" Another contestant scoffs but nods slightly. "He¡¯s playing with fire," he mutters. "Popularity my ass¡ªthis show is about survival."


    Rebecca watches Reese closely, her expression guarded as she assesses the fallout of his bold declaration. It could be a move to elevate his status or a deliberate attempt to bait others into action. Either way, it is clear that Reese views this as more than a game; to him, it is a stage on which he is determined to play his role, no matter the consequences.


    A few contestants cautiously approach him, their steps hesitant. "Hey, Contestant 13," begins a tall man with tousled hair, "we were thinking¡­ maybe we could form an alliance? Watch each other¡¯s backs?" A sharp-eyed woman with an intense gaze adds, "Yeah, strength in numbers, right? We could work together, figure this out."


    Reese does not answer immediately. Instead, he leans further into the wall, arms crossed, his smirk unchanging. The silence stretches, and his lack of response amplifies the tension among them. The tall man frowns, his confidence faltering. "What¡¯s wrong?" he presses. "You don¡¯t think we¡¯d make a good team?"


    Reese¡¯s smirk widens slightly, and his eyes glint with amusement. "I¡¯m just not sure you¡¯re ready for what it takes to win," he finally says, his tone laced with condescension.


    The group shifts uncomfortably, their earlier confidence deflated. They exchange uneasy glances before stepping back, murmuring among themselves. The rejection ripples through the room, leaving a wake of uncertainty. Some contestants whisper behind cupped hands, debating whether aligning with Reese is worth the risk. Others cast wary looks his way, wondering if his confidence is an asset¡ªor a liability too dangerous to ignore.

 CHAPTER ONE: PART THREE

    III


    A woman¡¯s anguished cry shatters the fragile silence: ¡°I¡¯m no one! I¡¯m going to die!¡± Her raw, trembling voice slices through the room like a blade, igniting panic among the contestants. Despair spreads rapidly, unraveling the composure that some still cling to. Pleas, sobs, and whispered prayers rise into a cacophony that reverberates off the sterile walls.


    Rebecca retreats into a shadowed corner, her face remaining neutral as her pulse pounds in her ears. Chaos envelops her, pressing down like a suffocating weight, yet she wills herself to remain still and unseen. Her gaze locks on the floor, deliberately avoiding Reese¡¯s piercing eyes as they sweep the room with predatory sharpness. She knows he''s watching¡ªreading the room like a gambler sizing up a hand.


    From her vantage point, the pandemonium transforms into a grotesque performance¡ªa spectacle in which the contestants¡¯ fear fuels the entertainment for millions of unseen viewers. For them, this moment is prime-time drama. Rebecca swallows hard as the bile of resentment and dread rises in her throat. Fighting is one thing, she thinks, but being a pawn in someone else¡¯s show is another.


    Still, she cannot ignore how the contestants¡¯ vulnerability echoes her own doubts. She¡¯s never been the strongest, the loudest, or the most magnetic. This game will expose her in ways she isn¡¯t sure she is ready for. Yet survival demands playing the part¡ªeven if it feels like a betrayal of herself. Her hand rests on her stomach, grounding her. ¡°I¡¯ll survive this,¡± she tells herself¡ªwhether she believes it or not is a different story.


    The speakers crackle, slicing through the turmoil with an unsettlingly cheerful announcement: ¡°Breakfast is served!¡± Shaken, the contestants move hesitantly toward the dining area. Relief mingles with apprehension on their faces; their postures remain tense, shoulders hunched as if expecting another blow.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Rebecca follows at a distance and chooses a table at the far edge of the room. She avoids company and refuses to join the delicate, shifting alliances forming before her eyes. She watches as the others file in, their steps slow and deliberate, their faces pale and drawn. Some look as if they might be sick. Her own stomach churns, but not with hunger.


    Her attention shifts to Reese. He sits at a central table, as if it were his throne, flanked by two eerily identical twin boys. Their fair skin and ginger hair catch the artificial light, accentuating their strangely aged faces. Their large, round blue eyes shimmer with childlike curiosity, yet the fine wrinkles around their mouths and eyes betray their true age¡ªlikely in their mid-forties.


    They hang on Reese¡¯s every word, nodding in perfect unison, their movements unsettling in their precision. At first, Reese appears pleased with their deference, his trademark smirk in place as he speaks. Then something shifts. His smile falters and his posture stiffens. He leans back slightly, his expression slipping into discomfort. Whatever he sees¡ªor senses¡ªin the twins unsettles him, though he masks it swiftly.


    Rebecca observes the interaction with growing curiosity. Reese¡¯s bravado seems unshakeable, but this moment of unease reveals a crack in his armor. Around the room, other contestants take notice as well. Some eat in silence, casting venomous glances at the twins. It is not merely resentment toward them¡ªit is about Reese. His early alliances pose a threat, cementing the imbalance of power already tilted in his favor.


    Rebecca sips the provided nutrient paste, its flavorless sludge doing little to ease the nausea twisting in her gut. She is not hungry. Her mind spins, trying to map out a strategy, but nothing sticks. Every potential move feels too risky in a place where every action is amplified and every misstep immortalized. Even breakfast becomes a battleground¡ªa silent war of glances and positioning.


    She sighs, her gaze dropping to the table as reality sinks in. The battles, brutal as they may be, won¡¯t be the hardest part of being in this place. The worst is the unrelenting pressure to play the game¡ªpretending, performing, calculating every word, every look, every move. In a world where every flaw is under scrutiny, Rebecca doubts how long she can keep up the act.

 CHAPTER ONE: PART FOUR

    IV


    A group of robots emerges from the kitchen door¡ªslender sentinels of plastic and metal, their rectangular forms standing about fifty centimeters tall. Their metallic edges glint under the fluorescent light as they glide forward with unnerving precision. Their mechanical arms unfold like the petals of a metal flower. One robot glides silently to Rebecca¡¯s table, its delicate fingers swiftly collecting her untouched dishes. Its efficiency is almost graceful, yet the cold functionality of the act sends goosebumps down her spine.


    A cheerful, disembodied voice cuts through the low murmur of the room, bright and devoid of genuine emotion:


    ¡°Contestants, you will now undergo physical and psychological evaluations. Your results will inform your training regimen for the coming days. Individual profiles and personalized strategic recommendations will be displayed.¡±


    A collective ripple of unease spreads through the contestants. The earlier tension, momentarily dulled by breakfast, resurfaces. Slowly, hesitantly, they rise and shuffle toward the exit. Rebecca follows, her steps measured, her mind teetering between apprehension and anticipation.


    When her number is finally called, she steps into a perfectly white nurse¡¯s office. The room is clinical and futuristic, illuminated by a harsh, unnatural glow. A large holographic display flickers to life at the center, casting a faint blue light that dances across the sterile walls. Rebecca sits, her posture rigid, her gaze fixed on the display as it flickers and resolves into rotating 3D models.


    Her breath catches as her own image appears¡ªan intimate and unflattering portrayal, a digital replica of her standing in nothing but generic underwear. The harsh light accentuates every flaw, every scar, every line of her slender frame. Heat rises to her cheeks, yet she keeps her face impassive. This is Live, she reminds herself; humiliation is part of the game.


    ¡°Contestant 42,¡± the examiner begins in a sharp, clinical tone. ¡°Your physical limitations require a tactical approach that prioritizes speed and agility. Your slight build should work to your advantage. We recommend focusing on techniques that exploit an opponent¡¯s momentum against them. Jiu-jitsu¡ªa traditional Japanese martial art emphasizing leverage and throws¡ªis particularly suitable.¡±


    The hologram shifts, displaying animated demonstrations of jiu-jitsu techniques¡ªfluid, efficient movements that transform an opponent¡¯s strength into their weakness. Rebecca watches intently, her mind grasping the possibilities.


    Then the examiner¡¯s tone sharpens. ¡°Contestant 42, you seem to have overlooked a detail regarding your ankle injury... It was addressed.¡±


    Rebecca¡¯s brow furrows. ¡°Addressed? How?¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°This season, Live incorporates a new feature. During your medical check-up, enhancements were made. Your physiological framework, along with those of the other contestants, has been reinforced with microscopic metal fibers¡ªexceptionally strong and flexible. In your case, given your brand-new skeletomuscular flexibility, these fibers prove practically indestructible. Your ankle is healed. Any residual discomfort is likely psychosomatic.¡±


    She pauses. Then her smile brightens, and her tone shifts into something almost rehearsed, polished, and promotional.


    ¡°And, of course, we could not have done it without the groundbreaking innovation of Drugobrand! For the first time ever, their cutting-edge fiber technology debuts right here on Live! As they prepare to launch this revolutionary advancement in human physiology, what better way to test its capabilities than in the ultimate proving ground?¡±


    Rebecca narrows her eyes, processing the final part: Drugobrand. She used to buy facial creams from them¡ªshe even had a loyalty discount.


    She flexes her ankle¡ªtentatively at first, then firmer. No pain; just a strange, startling freedom of movement. So that is why it is healed. And, astonishingly, she does not mind. They are experimenting on the contestants¡ªthat much is obvious. The so-called enhancements are not really for the contestants, not by far. But her ankle is healed.


    Her foot presses harder against the floor, grounding her. The fibers woven into her muscles make it effortless, frictionless¡ªalmost artificial. She stands and performs a slow pli¨¦, her leg extending beyond its previous limits, the movement perfectly smooth and graceful.


    A slow smile spreads across her face¡ªnot one of joy, but of grim comprehension. These enhancements are not gifts. She is no longer just Rebecca; she is something more¡ªsomething shaped and controlled by the game. The realization unsettles her, yet it also sparks a whisper of possibility.


    The hologram flickers, shifting to a graph. The examiner¡¯s voice continues, detached and impersonal: ¡°Our analysis indicates a predominantly calm and introspective personality, with significant impulsivity triggered by intense emotions such as anger. This pattern aligns with the circumstances surrounding your alleged offense¡ªthe destruction of your dance studio. Was this an act of deliberate malice?¡±


    Rebecca¡¯s jaw tightens. ¡°It wasn¡¯t malice,¡± she replies quietly, her voice steady but charged with emotion. ¡°It was desperation.¡±


    Memories surge¡ªof her ruined ankle, the betrayal, the accusations, and the crushing despair. The fire was a final act of defiance, a way to obliterate what her rivals had stolen.


    The examiner notes something on a transparent overlay, her movements precise and unbothered. ¡°Anger issues,¡± she mutters, devoid of judgment, as though Rebecca¡¯s pain is merely another data point in an endless stream of statistics.


    The clinical detachment unnerves her, yet it is oddly grounding. In Live, even anger is just another tool to assess and leverage. Rebecca realizes that her emotions, her strengths, her flaws¡ªall hold value here.


    The examination ends abruptly. The holographic display fades, and the examiner, motionless and silent, dims like a machine powering down. For a moment, Rebecca stares at the lifeless figure, finally recognizing it for what it is¡ªa hyper-realistic machine.


    She steps into the hallway as the sterile light gives way to the muted buzz of contestants clustered in small groups. Their voices mingle in a low murmur of speculation and anxiety. The whole place reeks of deception¡ªevery glance a calculation, every word a strategy.


    Rebecca exhales slowly, her mind racing. The game has taken her body, her privacy, her very identity¡ªand twisted them into something new. Yet, amid the unease, a spark of determination burns.

 CHAPTER ONE: PART FIVE

    V


    Reese¡¯s voice cuts through the general murmur, instantly recognizable. He stands amid a cluster of contestants, his laughter loud and unrestrained as he gestures dramatically, his words carrying effortlessly down the hallway. The scene blends confidence with insecurity¡ªan appeal aimed at anyone within earshot. From a distance, Rebecca watches, her eyes narrowed in scrutiny. His desperate need for attention strikes her as almost pitiful, reminiscent of a small child whose mother is too distracted by a drunken husband or unpaid bills¡ªseeking attention, approval, any form of parental care amid a chaotic family breakdown.


    A soft chuckle escapes her lips, barely audible above the noise yet somehow carrying. From the corner of her eye, she notices a shift among the group around Reese. His attention wavers, then homes in on her quiet laugh. He pauses mid-sentence, his gaze prowling the hallway. Does he see her? Does he know it was her who laughed? She wonders silently. His expression remains unreadable, his dark, fathomless eyes unnerving her. After a beat, he resumes his boisterous talk, but that brief pause¡ª that faint hesitation¡ªtells her he might have noticed. She hopes not; the last thing she wants is the ire of a self-proclaimed celebrity and his fanatical admirers. She already suspects how unforgiving this world of Live can be, even after just a few hours.


    When Reese finally finishes his theatrical display, his gaze snaps to Rebecca. Pushing through the dispersing crowd with a predatory ease that contradicts the childishness she saw moments before, he approaches her from the side. His voice drops to a purr¡ªvastly different from the loud swagger he showed earlier. His words wash over her in a practiced flow, speaking of shared vulnerability, the ruthless nature of the game, and a vague offer of protection. He speaks clearly, with a melodic tone, yet an undercurrent of unease warps his sentences into an unintelligible blur in her mind.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    An announcement cuts through his feigned charm:


    ¡°Contestants, return to your designated quarters. Preparation for the nightly events starts in thirty minutes.¡±


    The voice is flat and mechanical, permitting no debate.


    Rebecca stands briskly, her movements abrupt. She dismisses his words without a glance, letting the metallic click of her heels echo down the corridor. The hall empties swiftly, and its sudden stillness amplifies the low, mechanical thrum within the building. Her adrenaline fades, leaving behind that unsettling tension which is becoming routine. She reaches her room, and the steel door slides open with a clean hiss.


    Inside, she hardly recognizes the space as part of the same facility. A minimal, feminine yet sterile design greets her¡ªworlds apart from the commotion in the hallway. The sole decoration¡ªa round mirror¡ªreflects her intense, contemplative face. She studies her reflection, sifting through fragments of Reese¡¯s words, shards of his manipulative approach. For a moment, she considers forming an alliance, but the thought vanishes as quickly as it appears. His offer feels less like genuine interest and more like a gambit to break through her guarded shell. Still, she cannot deny the sting of unease; he has prodded an old wound¡ªa latent pain she carried long before Live invaded her life.


    Drifting onto her tiny private balcony, Rebecca gazes at the glittering cityscape. An exhibition of neon lights sparkles against the night sky, yet the hypnotic spectacle fails to soothe the agitation roiling in her chest. Reese¡¯s smooth words and the artificial reality of Live conjure memories of the dance world she once knew¡ªa realm rife with manipulative alliances and constant threats of betrayal. She recalls how her so-called friends used her talents for their gain, reducing her to a mere tool instead of treating her as a person. Despite her fierce independence, she senses herself sliding toward the same trap again: another pawn in yet another game. The realization unsettles her, and she vows that she will not be used again¡ªneither by Reese nor by anyone else.

 CHAPTER ONE: PART SIX

    VI


    Rebecca¡¯s gaze shifts from the sprawling cityscape to the building¡¯s entrance below, where the lights blur into indistinct smears. Her balcony¡ªan exclusive perch with a view¡ªsits unnervingly close to the main entrance. From this vantage point, she notices a large electronic poster board above the reception area, its messages cycling in a rhythm that feels more like commands than mere decoration.


    The first slogan flashes brightly, pulsing with relentless urgency: ¡°DON¡¯T FORGET TO POST.¡± The words repeat more frequently than the others, reminding the imprisoned contestants of the show¡¯s obsessive need for engagement¡ªafter all, their lives depend on it. The slogan feels like the building¡¯s heartbeat, a rhythmic demand that refuses to be ignored.


    Next, a softer yet far more sinister message appears: ¡°YOU¡¯LL GET THE LOVE YOU¡¯VE NEVER HAD.¡± The phrase creeps into Rebecca¡¯s mind like a quiet lullaby, exploiting her insecurities and toying with her desires. It promises warmth and deceit, aimed squarely at those who crave validation and yearn for connection at any cost.


    The third message, far less frequent but infinitely more unnerving, reads: ¡°THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE TO SHINE.¡± The words serve as a warning¡ªa countdown of her scarce time left.


    Finally, a fourth message blinks into view, sharp and final: ¡°THE PRIZE, FREEDOM.¡± It speaks for itself. Freedom¡ªdangled as the ultimate reward¡ªfeels both like salvation and mockery.


    Rebecca stares at the board, her chest tightening as the slogans swirl together. The advertising is only a side effect; their true purpose is to exploit the contestants. Each message cuts deeper than the last, intended to manipulate and coerce. Together, they form a singular, unrelenting directive: Conform, or perish.


    Below, the city lights¡ªonce vibrant and dazzling¡ªnow appear harsh, their brilliance marred by the game¡¯s oppressive reality. Even the faint murmur of the building¡¯s systems¡ªthe white noise she barely noticed before¡ªnow feels sinister, letting her know not even the air she¡¯s breathing is real, making sure she never forgets she is under surveillance. Every light, every sound, every slogan is part of the same machine, pressing down on her from all sides.


    Back in her room, Rebecca lies on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The thin mattress offers little comfort, but that hardly matters¡ªcomfort is a distant luxury now. She reaches for her phone, hesitating as her fingers hover over the lock screen. When she finally swipes, its glow illuminates her face.


    The screen feels alien in her hand¡ªcold and unfamiliar. She does not know what she seeks, yet she cannot bring herself to set it down. Notifications flood in, fragments of the other contestants¡¯ desperation spilling through the digital noise.


    ¡°Hi, new followers!¡± chirps one voice, gratingly cheerful. Another, softer and more rehearsed, says, ¡°Let me show you my room¡­ it¡¯s¡­ cozy.¡± The forced intimacy¡ªthe transparent desperation to connect¡ªfeels almost comical.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Rebecca¡¯s own profile, once quiet and untouched, now teems with activity. Her follower count soars¡ªthousands, maybe more¡ªan inexplicable surge she cannot quite comprehend. When did it happen? How did it happen so fast? Her profile remains unchanged; it is still the same collection of photos and videos of her dancing, candid moments with friends and family, and the occasional shot of her cat. The only difference is that her life is now an open book, exposed for strangers to consume. Likes and comments pile up, the adoration pouring in faster than she can grasp.


    The phone feels heavier in her hand with each passing moment, as if burdened by an audience she never asked for. She scrolls, numb, as messages continue to stream in. Their affection feels hollow¡ªsuffocating rather than uplifting.


    A restless energy builds in her chest, propelling her to her feet. She slips out of her room, the familiar theme song of the show trailing her down the empty, C-shaped corridor like an omnipresent specter. Room 13 looms ahead, and before she can second-guess herself, she raises a hand and knocks.


    The door slides open, revealing Reese standing before her. His expression is a dissonant blend of euphoria and something darker¡ªan unease lurking in the shadows of his eyes. His practiced smirk stretches wide, a mask of triumph that fails to conceal the suspicion etched in his features.


    He remains silent at first, waiting for her to break the stillness. Rebecca, her voice steadier than she feels, asks, ¡°How many new followers do you have?¡±


    The smirk deepens, turning almost predatory. ¡°Two million,¡± Reese replies, his words tumbling out in a breathless rush. ¡°Two million new followers today.¡± His voice purrs with excitement.


    Rebecca¡¯s breath catches. The number is staggering, incomprehensible. A cold knot twists in her stomach as the reality of the game sinks in with crushing clarity. She glances up at one of the embedded cameras¡ªthey are probably watching her right now.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s a good thing,¡± she murmurs.


    Reese¡¯s eyes narrow, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second before returning with a sharper edge. ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± he admits, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. ¡°Two million followers¡­ that¡¯s not a victory. It¡¯s a target.¡±


    Rebecca turns, an urgent desire to retreat and hide from the world¡¯s gaze overwhelming her. The corridor stretches behind her¡ªa sterile, white expanse leading back to the relative safety of her room. But Reese¡¯s hand, surprisingly gentle, rests on her arm, halting her retreat. ¡°Wait,¡± he says, his voice softer now.


    The manic energy from earlier fades, replaced by a weariness that mirrors her own. ¡°They don¡¯t care about the followers, not really. They care about the story, 42. And right now, they¡¯re writing it for us.¡±


    ¡°My name isn¡¯t ¡®42.¡¯ It¡¯s Rebecca,¡± she replies firmly.


    Reese¡¯s lips twitch into a bitter smile. ¡°Rebecca,¡± he repeats, as if testing the weight of her name. ¡°Two million followers¡­ that''s a target on our backs. It¡¯s a liability, not an advantage. They¡¯ll want to see this¡­ this¡­ chronicle play out¡ªto the bitter end.¡± He pauses, his voice strained. ¡°Or until one of us breaks.¡± He continues, withdrawing his hand from her shoulder. ¡°And when we fall, they¡¯ll cheer. Unless¡­¡± His voice trails off as his eyes search hers for understanding. ¡°Unless we take control. You and me, Rebecca.¡±


    Rebecca responds immediately. ¡°Ask someone else,¡± she says, her voice cold and final. Without waiting for a reply, she turns and walks away.


    The corridor feels lighter, less oppressive, as she leaves him behind. His invitation is tempting, but she does not allow herself to falter. Whatever narrative the game is building, she refuses to let Reese or anyone else dictate her role in it. For now, the path ahead is hers alone¡ªand she intends to keep it that way.

 CHAPTER ONE: PART SEVEN

    VII


    Rebecca steps into the common room, squinting against the sharp glare of the studio lights. The room, which once held rows of cold capsules, now feels strangely inviting. Plush armchairs and sleek chairs are scattered across the space as the contestants settle into their new surroundings, chatting like old friends with wide, easy smiles. It is clear that the new furniture has somehow transformed these cutthroat competitors into one big, happy family¡ªbut Rebecca knows better. It is all a performance; like the room itself, their warmth feels fake and fragile.


    At the front of the room, a massive holographic screen buzzes to life, casting its glow across the contestants. The screen shows the arena¡ªa sprawling landscape of neon lights and roaring crowds¡ªin the very first round of competition. On this occasion, it is a battle for the viewers¡¯ hearts in a special four-hour premiere episode. Rebecca feels the energy of the scene even from here, though she cannot fathom their excitement. Are they cheering for the contestants or for their deaths?


    In the center of it all, on a raised platform, the two hosts command attention. Their smiles are flawless and their movements precise; every gesture feels rehearsed and perfected, just like everything else in this game.


    ¡°Oi, oi, oi!¡± the male host shouts, his voice too loud and chipper as he stretches his arms wide as if to embrace the room. ¡°What an interesting bunch of misfits we¡¯ve got this year!¡±


    ¡°My, oh my¡­¡± the female host rattles in a syrupy-sweet tone.


    ¡°But before we begin with our wonderful fifty-four contestants, let¡¯s talk about our sponsors!¡± the male host announces, gesturing grandly with both hands. ¡°First up, AttackTech Industries¡ªpushing the limits of endurance with next-generation combat gear.¡± He flashes a grin.


    ¡°Let¡¯s not forget OmniEspect,¡± the female host adds, matching his enthusiasm. ¡°Leaders in surveillance and predictive technology, keeping you one step ahead. OmniEspect sees it all.¡±


    ¡°And, of course, Drugobrand¡ªreshaping the future, one fiber at a time!¡± the male host concludes with a flourish.


    Their voices are amplified not for the contestants but for the audience¡ªboth the ones in the arena and the viewers lounging comfortably at home. The male host motions to the massive screen behind them, and one by one, the contestants¡¯ profiles appear along with details of their crimes and the ever-crucial follower count.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    ¡°He came in with only ten,¡± the female host says, her voice trembling with mock emotion. ¡°And now? Now he could fill three stadiums!¡± She wipes an invisible tear, pausing just long enough for the audience to drink it in.


    When Reese¡¯s profile flashes onto the screen, Rebecca stiffens. The hosts¡¯ voices rise in unison.


    ¡°A self-made man,¡± the male host announces, his voice thick with artificial gravitas. ¡°A true underdog story¡ªa boy who turned his life around, only to be caught in the chaos of fandom.¡±


    The image on the screen is almost too perfect: Reese¡¯s strikingly handsome face is framed by soft lighting, his smile confident but not arrogant. Numbers pulse around him¡ªmillions of followers and glowing endorsements.


    Rebecca swallows hard. She remembers reading about the riot¡ªone version blamed Reese entirely, while another portrayed him as a victim of his fans¡¯ recklessness. The truth does not matter here, she realizes; what matters is the story that sells.


    Then her own number flashes on the screen. Her heart sinks.


    ¡°She was at the top of her career,¡± the female host begins, her tone dripping with pity.


    ¡°Such a waste,¡± the male host says, shaking his head slowly. ¡°And so beautiful, too.¡±


    Rebecca wants to disappear as they spin her life into a cautionary tale. ¡°A brilliant dancer, brought low by envy and betrayal,¡± the female host continues, her voice soft and tragic. ¡°She was poised for greatness¡ªcan you imagine? And then, driven to desperation, she lashed out.¡±


    The male host steps forward, lowering his voice as though delivering an eulogy. ¡°A single moment of rage, and her entire world burned to ash.¡±


    On the screen, her mugshot appears¡ªharsh and unflattering¡ªnext to fragments of her past: graceful poses, bright eyes, the promise of success. The hosts¡¯ words mold her into a victim, her actions framed as tragic yet understandable, a narrative designed to pull at the viewers¡¯ heartstrings.


    Rebecca¡¯s stomach twists. The manipulation is so blatant that it is almost laughable¡ªbut the other contestants do not laugh. Their gazes fix on her now, filled with pity, judgment, and other feelings she cannot quite name.


    Across the room, Reese watches her profile with an unreadable expression. For a split second, his mask of confidence falters¡ªenough for Rebecca to catch a hint of something: surprise, perhaps even respect. It is gone before she can decide.


    The screen shifts its attention to the next contestant. The twins, who had seemed polished and harmless, are now exposed for what they are¡ªcalculating and cruel, with their parents¡¯ demise laid bare. The sobbing woman from earlier is revealed as a drug addict who once tried to sell her own child on the dark web. One by one, the contestants are stripped down to their worst versions, their humanity warped into raw entertainment.


    Rebecca studies the room, her chest tightening. She sees no clear allies or enemies anymore¡ªonly people, broken and battered, trapped in this machine just like her, while the producers pull the strings and the audience devours every moment.


    Her gaze returns to the screen, now flashing dazzling images and clips of yet another contestant, but she looks away quickly. Below, her reflection quivers on the surface of the reinforced steel door that connects the common room to the arena¡ªfractured, distorted.

 CHAPTER TWO: PART ONE

    <h2 style="text-align: center">I</h2>


    ¡°See you tomorrow folks, with another exciting episode as the game continues on Live.¡±


    The hosts¡¯ voices fade, leaving everyone with flushed faces, eying one another and passing silent judgment. Almost simultaneously, a sharp buzz vibrates from every contestant¡¯s phone. Rebecca glances down at hers. A single message appears:


    "Upload a story to unlock dinner privileges."


    The general response is instant and obedient. Some contestants immediately begin tapping furiously at their phones, their faces illuminated by the screens¡¯ cold light. Others, like Reese, scoff. ¡°Who needs to eat, right?¡± he mutters to himself. Rebecca thinks bitterly that he probably doesn¡¯t need to upload a story¡ªhe¡¯s already done at least twenty of those.


    As the thought crosses her mind, her stomach rumbles loudly. The sudden, embarrassing sound draws several curious glances her way.


    Rebecca¡¯s fingers hover over her phone. The message reeks of manipulation¡ªthe very first taste of the game¡¯s insidious control. Dinner is a necessity, yet more than that, it is an opportunity: to watch, to listen, to gather information in a setting that feels looser and less guarded. Refusing, however, would mean isolation. Weakness. And still, something about the prompt feels¡­ off. Too simple. Too direct. The timing is too precise, the collective hunger too convenient.


    A twist of suspicion coils in her gut. Is it the food they care about, or is there something deeper at play? Perhaps the ¡°story¡± requirement isn¡¯t about the content itself, but about the data it generates¡ªthe insights it feeds to the show¡¯s creators. What are they really after? And what happens if she doesn¡¯t comply?This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Her enhanced flexibility and resilience won¡¯t stop her from starving. The thought of a long night without food, coupled with the ever-present threat of physical fights, clouds her mind.


    She glances at Reese, who is absorbed in his phone with that familiar calculating look. He is already working on his post¡ªno doubt putting together a captivating story wrapped in charm and disarming smiles, intended to draw sympathy and boost his numbers. Rebecca wonders what angle he will take. A tragic victim? A reluctant hero? Or something more insidious, more strategic. The thought gives her a sharp, almost painful intrigue that soon shifts¡ªquick and hot¡ªinto anger.


    In a moment of impulsiveness, she abandons her initial plan for a measured approach and decides to share her own story. Without fully considering the implications, she hastily screenshots the message from the show producers and posts it to her story, feeling the pressure to act before dinner is served. The question arises: Will this display of defiance serve her survival or simply add to the chaos?


    After checking her story, some contestants exchange nervous smiles, their eyes reflecting a mixture of admiration and fear, while others mask their apprehension with expressions of feigned disdain. Rebecca¡¯s hands begin to sweat as she realizes the consequences of her rash idea¡ªsooner than expected: she has put herself on the map.


    Seemingly unfazed by her sudden rebellion, Reese walks past, his footsteps audible even over the loud conversation. As he passes, his breath brushes against her ear, and he whispers a single sentence, his voice low and almost inaudible before he continues on his way.


    ¡°Interesting move, 42,¡± he murmurs, his tone threaded with a hint of something Rebecca can¡¯t quite decipher¡ªamusement? Respect? Perhaps a subtle warning. The meaning remains elusive as the scent of smoke after a fire.

 CHAPTER TWO: PART TWO

    II


    Her phone explodes with notifications¡ªThe screen drowned in messages, comments, and reactions. When she unlocks her phone, a head-spinning mix of support and vitriol floods in: sympathetic messages like ¡°Poor thing, it¡¯s inhumane¡± and ¡°We¡¯re here to support you,¡± intermingled with disturbingly obsessive declarations such as ¡°I swear if you get out I¡¯ll make you my wife.¡± The massive volume of attention feels suffocating.


    These are the same people who tune in nightly to watch the brutal battles, the same ones who decide who lives and dies. The disconnect is jarring; their sudden empathy feels like a  grotesque parody of a real connection. The ones who obsess over her don¡¯t frighten her¡ªit¡¯s those who truly care about her well-being that unsettle her. They already know her fate: she¡¯s destined to die in two months, or however long the show lasts. Why invest in her?


    Even with her stalkers lurking, Rebecca feels a surprising calm during dinner. The simple act of eating¡ªa basic human need¡ªfeels like a small victory, though a full stomach does little to quell the unease gnawing at her.


    That night, sleep eludes her. Her body remains restless, her mind a storm of racing thoughts. She sits up, her hand brushing the cool surface of the nightstand as she reaches for her phone. A few taps on Live¡¯s music app, and the soft, haunting strains of a piano fill her room.


    She rises slowly, her bare feet brushing the cold floor. Her movements are tentative at first¡ªa pli¨¦ here, a pirouette there¡ªher body remembering what her mind has tried to forget. The music wraps around her like a familiar embrace, and for a fleeting moment, she feels weightless, free. Her arms extend, her legs sweep through the air, and she becomes lost in the rhythm, moving with a grace she thought was lost.


    But then the memories creep in: the harsh studio lights, the judges¡¯ scrutinizing eyes, the applause that once filled her with pride¡ªand what followed. The red faces, mocking laughs, the suffocating press of bodies, and the sudden, searing pain that stole the ground from beneath her... the endless nights spent staring at the ceiling, wondering if she would ever be whole again.


    Her steps falter. The music, once soothing, now feels oppressive, each note striking a nerve. Her chest tightens, her breaths come in shallow gasps. She stumbles, catching her reflection in the mirror. Instead of a dancer, she sees only a shadow of who she once was.


    Rebecca stops. Her arms drop limply to her sides. She reaches out and silences the music; the sudden quiet leaves her feeling empty. She stands there, motionless, pushing away the images of her past and the tight knot they twist in her chest.


    Then a soft knock echoes at her door.


    ¡°Open up, Becky. I¡¯m just here to talk,¡± a familiar voice whispers from the other side. Rebecca freezes, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Cautiously, she approaches while keeping the door firmly shut. ¡°What do you want?¡± she asks, her voice tight with apprehension. After a stretch of silence, Reese¡¯s voice¡ªso much softer than expected¡ªreplies, ¡°I want to make a deal.¡±


    Rebecca remains silent, her gaze fixed on the reinforced steel door as she catches her breath. Reese presses on, ¡°Just watch my story, will ya?¡± His voice rises. ¡°I can¡¯t stand the thought of you believing that pathetic version of me they¡¯re feeding the public.¡±


    Although she feels a twinge of hesitation, Rebecca''s curiosity wins out, and she taps open the app to check out Reese''s profile. The video begins. He looks nothing like the misunderstood victim the show has been broadcasting. In the video, Reese stands with an unyielding posture, his tousled hair only adding to his fierce presence. He exudes pride and defiance, refusing to be diminished. Yet it is not his attitude that shocks Rebecca¡ªit is his words. He directly addresses his fans, taking full responsibility for his actions. He confesses to orchestrating riots and crimes, detailing his role with unsettling frankness. He admits to masterminding acts of vandalism and even violence, showing no remorse. He makes it clear he doesn¡¯t care about sympathy or public opinion; he intends to remain true to his ¡°brothers and sisters,¡± his voice stripped of its usual polished charm and replaced by an unfiltered, defiant energy.


    The video ends, and Rebecca''s perception changes. There is something compelling about the way Reese owns up to his crimes¡ªraw, dangerous, and undeniably honest. She cannot help but admit it. His willingness to dismantle a more convenient, sanitized image and embrace a villainous role while remaining loyal to his fans reveals a self-awareness and control she had not anticipated.


    She''s left speechless¡ªthe ventilation system whispers behind her, the fading echo of piano notes rings in her ears¡ªand she feels pressured to say something, But why? What happens if she doesn¡¯t?


    She finally asks, ¡°So¡­ that¡¯s your deal?¡±


    Reese chuckles with a quiet growl from his throat. ¡°That¡¯s just the appetizer. The main course involves you.¡± He pauses. ¡°You and me, moving across the chess board together.¡±


    A brief, tense silence follows. Yes, she respects him now¡ªshe admits it¡ªbut can she trust him? If anything, he seems even more intimidating.


    ¡°Leave me alone, okay?¡± she adds firmly, her tone resolute.


    ¡°Is that a yes?¡± he asks, undeterred.


    Rebecca furrows her brow, wondering in what universe ¡°leave me alone¡± could be taken as a yes. Still, without really thinking about it, without even realizing it, she replies, ¡°I¡¯ll think about it.¡±


    She waits, straining to catch any sound that might indicate Reese is still there. Convinced at last that he has departed, she withdraws to her bed, the metallic frame cold against her skin.


    Sleep comes reluctantly, filled with restless images and vivid, unsettling dreams. In her dream, she wanders a labyrinthine corridor, the walls closing in, the time running out. Reese appears¡ªnot as the polished pop star, nor even as the defiant rebel from his video, but as a shifting shadow, both familiar and utterly alien. His eyes burn with an intensity that chills her to the bone, and when he speaks, his voice is a distorted echo of what she heard earlier¡ªa tapestry of promises and threats, manipulation and danger that leaves her breathless and terrified. She tries to flee, but her movements are sluggish. Her legs and arms feel weak and heavy. The dream ends abruptly, leaving her heart pounding and her breath ragged. Little by little, her reality takes hold¡ªcolder and more menacing than any nightmare.

 CHAPTER TWO: PART THREE

    III


    Morning breaks and her rushed encounter with Reese keeps replaying in her mind. She regrets every word of it and dreads the thought of losing control over her own decisions. She dreads facing someone with the power to persuade her.


    As she walks toward the dining hall, her breath quickens at the thought of having to see him again¡ªso soon after their awfully awkward conversation. Is she supposed to act friendly now? When she steps through the door, every eye turns toward her. Some of those scrutinizing faces now carry a story¡ªlike that of Contestants 22 and 24, the biologist and the literature teacher, seated together near the entrance. Rebecca pays them no mind. She simply finds a seat, grabs a tray and swallows her food.


    Reese isn''t there. Thank God.


    Another mandatory social media post follows, wrapping up the morning routine just as the scheduled training sessions begin. Contestants are divided into groups of nine, each allocated a forty-five-minute slot in the training facility booths, where they face off against customized AI combat robots. These robots are programmed to provide a challenging yet supposedly safe sparring experience, with setups tailored to each contestant¡¯s unique fighting style and physical capabilities.


    The robot facing Rebecca is a blur of motion and metallic limbs, its movements systematic and precise¡ªmirroring her recommended fighting style. She moves with fluid grace, masking her lack of true understanding. Her enhanced muscles turn the fight into a display of instinct, tricks, and luck. The battle is fierce¡ªan unrehearsed dance of controlled aggression and pinpoint strikes.


    Rebecca utilizes her newfound flexibility and elasticity to evade the robot''s powerful blows, who strikes with swift, studied precision. Yet despite her best efforts, the sparring match ends in a decisive victory for the AI combat robot, forcing her to acknowledge how far she still has to go. Just as she catches her breath, Reese appears out of nowhere, a smirk on his face¡ªas if he had been watching her every move.


    His eyes, usually bright and keen, narrow with a thoughtful intensity.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got potential,¡± he murmurs, his voice low, almost casual yet carrying an invisible pressure.


    He stretches out his hand, and with his help, Rebecca stands up, feeling a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. Discomfort overshadowed by a surprising warmth¡ªand something akin to¡­ appreciation? The thought is unwelcome. Utterly unwelcome.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Rebecca clears her throat, but her voice still comes out higher than normal. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± she demands, her gaze fixed on Reese. ¡°We¡¯re not supposed to watch each other fight.¡±


    A rush of irritation crashes over her. The strategy she employed during the sparring match now feels compromised¡ªReese has witnessed her fighting style, her strengths and weaknesses laid bare. The unfairness of it all stings. The mere thought of facing him in a real fight, stripped of the element of surprise, seeps into her bones and a cold dread settles in her stomach.


    Then she assesses her chances objectively.


    He is taller and significantly more muscular than she is. The other contestants, many with years of experience in various forms of violence, pose an even greater threat. Against them, her flexibility may not be enough¡ªwhether they have seen her training strategy or not. Then, Reese speaks in a low, measured tone.


    ¡°Relax, it''s not like any of us know what we are doing.¡± His words only deepen the sense of hopelessness that threatens to consume her.


    ¡°What¡¯s your ability?¡± Rebecca demands.


    He doesn¡¯t reply; instead, he places a knife in her hand and urges her to cut through his skin.


    The metallic trace of blood soon fills the training booth. She tastes it on the back of her tongue, the smell wiping out the sterile scent of the facility. Rebecca stares at the crimson line on Reese¡¯s forearm, watching as it begins to knit itself closed, leaving behind only a faint pink scar. Horror distorts her features. Did she just witness a display of near-invulnerability? His casual demeanor only infuriates her further.


    ¡°You''re invincible,¡± she breathes, the words bitter with despair. This knowledge shifts the menacing balance of power dramatically. Her enhanced elasticity, once a substantial advantage, now feels insignificant against his apparent immortality.


    Reese chuckles, his pointy fangs lending him a feline edge that sends a shiver down her spine¡ªone that has nothing to do with fear.


    ¡°Most of me,¡± he corrects, his eyes glinting with amusement. He leans against the wall, his nonchalant posture more unnerving than any overt threat. ¡°Except for two organs. But I¡¯m not going to tell you which ones. Wouldn''t want to give you any ideas.¡±


    He pauses, a playful glint in his eyes, then adds with a hint of a smirk:


    ¡°Though, considering your¡­ flexibility, I imagine you could reach some rather¡­ interesting places.¡±


    Rebecca¡¯s face flushes crimson. She wants to retort¡ªto lash out at his arrogant ass¡ªbut the words catch in her throat. His comment, intended as a taunt, unexpectedly strikes a nerve, one that¡¯s nothing like the usual anger or resentment she feels toward him. She shoves the knife back into his hand, her cheeks burning.


    ¡°Don''t push it,¡± she mutters, her voice barely a whisper, yet the steel in her eyes is unmistakable. She turns abruptly, desperate to escape this unsettling mix of fear and whatever else his casual revelation and teasing have stirred within her. Her mind races as she processes the implications of his near-invulnerability. This changes everything. Their potential alliance¡ªor lack thereof¡ªdemands reassessment. But for now, she needs space, time to recalibrate her approach.

 CHAPTER TWO: PART FOUR

    IV


    Instead of the profile reviews and strategizing from the night before, the hosts¡ªgrinning wide, arms spread¡ªannounce in hyperventilated unison:


    ¡°FAN COMMENTS!¡±


    The contestants exchange wary looks, uncertain of what to expect. The hosts dispel their doubts. Two hours. Two hours of watching strangers dissect their lives, their appearances, their actions.


    The onslaught begins.


    For most contestants, the comments are a mixed bag¡ªencouragement, criticism, jokes, and outright insults. Yet the distribution is heavily skewed. Fifty percent of the short videos target Reese, an avalanche of adoration from both men and women. ¡°Even before Live, Reese has always inspired me with his music!¡± one video exclaims. ¡°It¡¯s amazing how he connects with people,¡± another adds. ¡°Honestly, I feel like he¡¯s changed my perspective on so many things. He gives me hope for, like, humanity!¡±


    Out of the corner of her eye, she observes him. His usual easy confidence appears muted. His arms are crossed tightly against his chest, his expression unreadable, though a subtle twitch of his jaw hints at something simmering beneath the surface. His charismatic smile is absent, and his posture is closed off.


    Why is he reacting this way? The outpouring of adoration is clearly meant to boost his popularity, yet he doesn¡¯t seem pleased. Instead, he exhibits a quiet intensity that Rebecca cannot decipher. It¡¯s neither his usual playful arrogance nor the effortless charm he so easily projects. She wonders if this has anything to do with what he told her last night¡ªwhether it¡¯s just another one of his acts or a rare glimpse behind the pop star mask.


    Rebecca''s own comments come mostly from men¡ªlavishing praise on her looks and the ''fierce'' side they claim to see¡ªmany laced with frankly disgusting propositions.


    As the hosts read them out loud, dread sinks its claws into her ribs. They say things she¡¯s only ever heard in horny teenage movies, things she prays will never reach her father¡¯s ears. Fortunately, he doesn¡¯t own a TV¡ªand even if he did, he wouldn¡¯t watch a reality show, not even for her. His caregiver, on the other hand¡­ A wave of revulsion twists in her stomach.


    After what feels like an eternity, the hosts finally bid farewell to the contestants and audience. The screen flickers off, and the lights come on. The contestants file out of the common room more quietly than the previous night, embarrassed, shocked by the image they project to the world outside Live. At least, that''s what Rebecca feels. She waits until the room is nearly empty before making her way back to her dormitory. She had dinner before the show aired tonight, so she is now free to go to sleep.


    As she rounds the first corner, leading to the second row of bedroom doors, she spots a figure huddled on the floor, her shoulders shaking subtly.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    It¡¯s a girl, younger than Rebecca¡ªperhaps barely out of her teens. Her skin remains smooth, untouched by the harsh realities of the outside world or the brutal confines of Live. Her large, blue eyes¡ªwide and innocent¡ªhold a hint of unshed tears. Her blonde hair, once kept in a neat braid, now falls loose and messy, strands clinging to her damp cheeks. She is strikingly tall and broad-shouldered, and there is a naivete in her gaze that speaks of a sheltered life¡ªa life violently interrupted and hurled into the chaotic turmoil of the game show.


    ¡°Do you think the battles will start tomorrow?¡± the girl asks Rebecca, her question sounds painfully comical over the upbeat strains of the ever-present theme song. Her question encapsulates the pervasive uncertainty they both feel.


    Rebecca hesitates before sitting beside her. The girl does not flinch; instead, she stares at the floor, her fingers nervously twisting a loose strand of hair. Rebecca adopts a reassuring tone, projecting a calm confidence she does not entirely feel. ¡°I bet there¡¯s something else tomorrow. I bet they¡¯ll surprise us,¡± she says gently.


    The words are as much for her own comfort as they are for the girl''s¡ªit''s all she can muster to ease the rising tide of anxiety stirred by the young woman''s vulnerable state. An uncomfortable silence settles in¡ªhaunted by doubts and possibilities. In the distance, the murmur of voices and the familiar thrum of the contestants¡¯ house grow louder.


    ¡°You know,¡± the girl continues, wiping away her tears and straightening her back, her voice surprisingly calm, ¡°I never imagined I¡¯d know in advance that I was soon going to die.¡± She shrugs¡ªa gesture that feels almost too nonchalant given the gravity of her words. ¡°At least I¡¯ll make sure to kiss Reese before I go. I¡¯ve been a fan since he released ¡®Sky Blue.¡¯ No, wait¡ªsince ¡®Weeping Funny.¡¯¡±


    Rebecca stares at the younger contestant with a strange mix of pity and unease swirling within her. The girl¡¯s casual acceptance of her impending doom is unsettling. There is a chilling detachment in her tone, in her fatalistic resignation that clashes with her youth and apparent naivete. The laid-back way she speaks of death, coupled with her seemingly frivolous wish for a kiss from Reese, creates a dissonance that makes Rebecca¡¯s stomach churn. Yet something in the girl¡¯s committed gaze stops Rebecca from rolling her eyes. There is a painful fragility in the way she clings to normalcy in the face of unimaginable horror. Instead, Rebecca forces a smile, trying to project an air of casual amusement.


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re aiming high,¡± she says lightly, though a knot of tension tightens in her chest.


    Morning arrives, and Rebecca wakes with the all-consuming question of what challenges Live has prepared for them today. The breakfast¡ªearned through another social media post¡ªis bland but edible. At the communal table, Reese, ever the showman, talks about shooting a music video with some of the contestants. The good-looking ones, he says, charming as ever while subtly reminding everyone of the ever-present cameras¡ªand how much they love him.


    "People are going to love you too, big guy, because you''re gonna be with me!"


    Training offers a welcome respite. The padded training room¡ªthankfully free of cameras for now¡ªprovides a moment of genuine physical exertion. Rebecca moves with the grace honed by years of rigorous dance training, further enhanced by the microscopic fibers woven into her muscles. As she practices her combat techniques¡ªa silent ballet of lethal strikes and evasive maneuvers¡ªthe salty note of sweat mingles with the scent of protective padding. It is her release, a way to channel the anger and frustration she feels toward the contrived reality that traps her.


    Despite extending her training routine to nearly three hours, the respite is temporary. The inevitable return to the perpetual spectacle awaits her; the producers are already signaling for her and the other contestants to prepare for the next segment.

 CHAPTER TWO: PART FIVE

    V


    The summons to the common room are becoming routine, but today something feels off. Contestants 1 and 54 are absent. The speculations begin as soon as the remaining players notice it. Are the battles really starting tonight? Are contestants 1 and 54 the least popular of the day?


    Just then, the holographic screen at the front of the room flickers to life, streaming a live feed from the arena. Bathed in theatrical lighting, Contestants 1 and 54 appear¡ªdressed in elegant, almost ostentatious outfits. They look like completely different people without their standard-issue uniforms. Beside them stand the show¡¯s two hosts, their smiles wide and unsettlingly bright.


    The hosts unveil an exhilarating new phase of the game. For the next twenty-seven days, two contestants will be spotlighted each episode. Viewers can expect a captivating montage that highlights their backstories, unique skills, and memorable moments from their first three days on Live.


    A part of her is relieved. Now they know they won''t die in twenty seven days. But, spending all that extra time with the other contestants, won''t it make it worse when she has to¡­? She sighs. This is how the viewers get to know them. This is how they form opinions, how they later decide who lives and who dies. Only, those opinions are being blatantly morphed and distorted by the show''s producers. The twenty-seven days ahead promise to be a grueling, excruciating exercise in social strategy.


    Contestant 1 and Contestant 54 are polar opposites in every conceivable way. Contestant 1, a man whose backstory revolves around a white-collar crime, wears a sharp, almost militaristic tailored suit that emphasizes his persona of ruthless efficiency. Contestant 54, a young woman whose crime is depicted as an act of reckless defiance, appears in a flowing, bohemian gown that is both elegant and rebellious. Their outfits, chosen purely to amplify their stories, trigger a flood of comments and emoji reactions in the live chat. In the common room, the other contestants watch in silence, with a nervous cough or a whispered remark occasionally cutting through the quiet.


    Rebecca watches in horror. The poignant backstories, the hosts¡¯ overly sweet empathy, and every detail in the montage, selected exclusively for the show''s convenience, make her wonder: do the viewers know they¡¯re being influenced?


    Every contestant understands that their moment in the spotlight¡ªwith all its manipulative machinations¡ªis inevitable. The hosts, their smiles fixed and artificial, guide the conversation with precision. Contestant 1 takes the stage first, his voice smooth and practiced as he delivers a rehearsed monologue filled with reflections on regret, transformation, and gratitude for the opportunity that Live has granted him. Rebecca can¡¯t help but think he sounds like a typical politician.


    He speaks of "second chances" and "redemption," weaving a testament that skillfully glosses over the details of his crime while focusing on his newfound appreciation for family and community. When Contestant 54 takes the stage, her approach is markedly different. She is less polished, her responses more direct and edged with defiance. She speaks openly of injustice, systemic failings, and the profound sadness that drove her actions.


    She does not shy away from the harsh realities of her past or the manipulative nature of the show itself. Her vulnerability, however genuine, becomes subtly weaponized¡ªa clever move, Rebecca thinks, in the ever-evolving game. The live chat explodes with contrasting opinions, demonstrating the show¡¯s success in fueling division and controversy while feeding the insatiable appetite of its viewers.


    As the conversation flows, the male host casually announces the next pair scheduled to take the spotlight tomorrow night: Contestants 2 and 53. He speaks casually, but there''s nothing casual about his announcement, at least not for the contestants. They all realize, almost simultaneously, what this means.


    Everyone begins silently calculating who might share the stage with them. Rebecca''s never been good at math, so it takes her a while.


    As she counts on her fingers, only one thought runs through her mind¡ªshe pities whoever has to stand beside Reese. They might as well be a decoration next to the king of drawing people''s attention.


    ¡°Forty-three and twelve. Forty-two and¡ªno. No, no, no. Damn it!¡±


    She lets out a sigh, her head dropping into her palms. Next to her, Contestant 51 snickers.


    Reese, sitting behind her, leans in over her shoulder, his eyes glinting in the fluorescent light. ¡°Isn¡¯t that just damn luck?¡± he murmurs, barely holding back his amusement. ¡°It¡¯ll be like a test of our¡­ compatibility.¡±Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Rebecca raises an eyebrow. ¡°Compatibility? Is that what they¡¯re calling public flogging?¡±


    He chuckles¡ªa low, throaty sound. ¡°Think of it as performance art. We¡¯ve been playing a game of cat and mouse, haven¡¯t we? Now it¡¯s time to see if we can work together as a team.¡± He gestures toward the screen, where the interview is winding down. ¡°They want a show. They want blood¡ªor in our case, something a little more¡­ palatable.¡±


    A surge of anger flares in Rebecca. ¡°Palatable? It seems to me they don¡¯t even know what they want.¡±


    ¡°They want fun, Rebecca¡ªdopamine, entertainment,¡± Reese counters, his tone sharpening. ¡°Playing along is the only way to survive. We need to give them what they crave¡ªbut on our terms. Think of it as a well-choreographed dance, a deadly ballet of survival.¡±


    He pauses, studying her face. ¡°I¡¯ve watched you. I¡¯ve seen how you fight, how you strategize. You¡¯re resourceful, Rebecca. Passionate. And you¡¯re just as good at manipulating the system as any of us.¡±


    Reaching out, his fingers brush her cheek, and a fierce pulse slams into her chest. ¡°We could win this,¡± he whispers, locking eyes with her. ¡°If we work together.¡±


    Rebecca recoils into the arm of the chair, distancing herself from Reese¡¯s touch, which lingers like a phantom limb. ¡°And what happens after everyone else is dead?¡± she asks, her voice barely a whisper.


    Reese hesitates, then a slow smile spreads across his lips. ¡°That,¡± he replies in a low, husky tone, ¡°is something we can figure out later.¡± He leans back, but Rebecca isn¡¯t satisfied; she turns to face him.


    ¡°You¡¯re deliberately skipping a crucial detail,¡± she hisses softly. ¡°Only one person survives this show. So let me tell you what happens at the end: you kill me. You win. Simple as that.¡±


    A few nearby contestants, momentarily distracted from the ongoing interview on the main screen, turn to observe them. For a long moment, Reese says nothing¡ªRebecca¡¯s patience thinning with every rhythmic ping of the live chat notifications. Instead of answering, he shoots a menacing glance at the onlookers, who gradually shift their focus back to the screen.


    Finally, he speaks, his voice low and stripped of its usual playful arrogance. ¡°You think I¡¯m a fool, Rebecca? Do you believe this is just a simple game of chess with a predictable endgame?¡± He leans in closer, his gaze intense. ¡°The viewers crave drama. They adore a villain, they worship a hero¡ªbut they hunger for betrayal and unexpected twists that keep them glued to their screens.¡± He pauses, a faint smile tugging at his lips. ¡°You¡¯re right¡ªonly one of us can win. But you underestimate my ability to adapt and get what I want. You say the audience doesn''t know what they want? Well, I do¡ªand I always get it.¡± He gestures toward the main screen, where the interview continues, oblivious to the silent friction unfolding nearby. ¡°Fuck winning, Rebecca. Maybe we can achieve greater things than winning; maybe together we create a legacy¡ªa legend that outlives this game.¡±


    That subtle shift in his demeanor sends a shiver down Rebecca¡¯s spine. His calm is more unsettling than any overt threat¡ªit speaks of a patience that won¡¯t run out. Unable to bear the intensity of his gaze any longer, she turns away.


    The idea of a third option had never occurred to her. For Rebecca, the only conceivable futures are dying or winning.


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± she asks over her shoulder. ¡°Are you planning to sabotage the show?¡±


    ¡°Well, initially I wasn''t. I came here to win. But now¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Rebecca frowns, confusion evident in her tone. ¡°I don¡¯t understand you at all.¡±


    He shrugs lightly. ¡°That makes two of us. Have you ever heard of Carl Jung? He believed in concepts like synchronicity and stuff. Ever heard of that?¡± Rebecca has caught snippets in various videos but keeps her knowledge to herself for now, choosing to gauge his intentions.


    Despite her silence, he continues, his gaze focused, steady. ¡°What if us being here¡ªbeing interviewed together¡ªmeans something else? What if we¡¯re meant to do something big together?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t believe that,¡± Rebecca scoffs.


    ¡°I do, actually,¡± Reese contradicts. ¡°I¡¯ve believed for a while that I¡¯m meant to do great things, and look where that¡¯s gotten me.¡±


    ¡°It got you here.¡±


    ¡°You know what I mean.¡±


    There is a method to his madness, Rebecca admits inwardly. Still, she realizes something. ¡°Maybe it wasn¡¯t synchronicity that got you there but talking about it.¡± Reese chuckles, and she adds, ¡°Let¡¯s say we¡¯re not here for a grand act of defiance but to fight¡ªto win or die like every contestant on this show¡­ how many seasons have there been? Eleven? Twelve?¡±


    ¡°Then we adapt,¡± he murmurs, his voice low and conspiratorial. ¡°We twist the rules.¡±


    Rebecca raises an eyebrow, skeptical. ¡°And how exactly do we pull that off, Mr. ¡®I¡¯ll Betray You the Second It Benefits Me¡¯?¡± Her tone is bitter, sharpened by experience.


    Reese smiles¡ªa slow, genuine curve that reaches his eyes and makes her stomach clench unexpectedly. ¡°Easy,¡± he replies. ¡°We do the opposite of what the producers want us to do.¡±


    ¡°You mean act like children?¡±


    He sighs. ¡°No, we stay true to ourselves. Trust me, Rebecca; this will benefit us both¡ªat least for now.¡±


    ¡°Listen,¡± she says, her voice firm, ¡°I appreciate that you picked me for an alliance, even though many wanted to. But staying true to myself means telling you that I don¡¯t believe a word you say. I know you have a chance to win¡ªand I know being close to you could get me far in the game. But I¡¯m not interested in prolonging the inevitable.¡±


    The interview ends, and Rebecca practically sprints back to her dormitory, desperate to escape the dizzying complexity of Reese¡¯s words. She collapses onto her bed and closes her eyes as the image of them emerging victorious together flashes in her mind¡ªa nice thought, but as impossible as going back in time to prevent her legs from breaking.

 CHAPTER TWO: PART SIX

    VI


    Reese slams the door shut before Contestant 14 can catch him and ask for his opinion on yet another lyrically starved, socially resentful rap song.


    ¡°It''s great, man. Just open a dictionary every once in a while.¡±


    He sinks into his deep armchair and throws his head back, resting against the soft fabric. He gazes out at the glittering cityscape, where the lights blur into a hazy panorama. He pulls a wooden bird from his pocket¡ªcourtesy of a fan, surprisingly thoughtful¡ªand fiddles with it absentmindedly, his thoughts drifting to Rebecca.


    ¡°She thinks she can resist me, huh?¡± He chuckles.


    He had underestimated her, that much he admits; what once seemed like just a pretty face with an appealing backstory, easily swayed, now feels like a serious miscalculation.


    It¡¯s fine. He likes it that way. She is sharp and fiercely independent. Unlike the others, she doesn¡¯t play for the cameras. Or anyone. She doesn¡¯t even seem to care whether others like her. Maybe she just knows people will inevitably be drawn to her¡ªto her porcelain-doll face, to her tight legs and perky breasts.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Fuck. He is drawn to her. More than he likes to admit.


    He had expected a simple conquest¡ªa romance to entertain his fans and bolster his image as the man who loved the most beautiful woman in the world¡ªonly to lose her to the ruthless, unfeeling machinery of media entertainment. The number of lyrics he could mine from that story would provide him with material for years to come. But Rebecca plays hard to get. The small gestures of praise have proved to be of no use. So have the hints at joining forces for survival. His ideas are running out.


    Reese knows one wrong move could send her running, so he needs to tread lightly. He needs to choose each word and each step with care. With patience, he will find a way. She can¡¯t push back forever. He senses she resents him for some reason, but there¡¯s hope. Deep down, somewhere in her stubborn heart, there has to be a trace of trust waiting to emerge. She doesn¡¯t know it because she hasn¡¯t met the right person yet.


    And he might as well be it.


    He¡¯s perfect for the part.


    And it¡¯s not like it¡¯s a bad thing that she¡¯s making it hard for him. Changing her mind has become his favorite part of the game. The challenge isn¡¯t just to win her over but to show her that being with him is in her best interest.


    He scoffs.


    None of the others will get her nearly as far as he will, that much is obvious. If she allies with him, he¡¯ll make sure she lives as long as possible. He¡¯s willing to do that for her.


    He doesn¡¯t fully understand why he feels this way or how to articulate it to her yet, but deep down, he knows she would thrive by his side rather than apart from him.

 CHAPTER TWO: PART SEVEN

    VII


    Days blur together into a sickening cycle of interviews, training, and mandatory public appearances that drain Rebecca to her core. The live interview pairings¡ªContestant 2 with 53, 3 with 52, 4 with 51¡ªfollow the same formula, each one fueling the viewers¡¯ hunger for more. The only change is Reese, who has become elusive. He drifts like a ghost through crowded hallways, his gaze never meeting hers. The warmth of his touch from three nights ago, that unexpected glimpse of his true self, now seems like a distant memory¡ªa trick of her weary mind.


    "Did she imagine him suggesting an alliance? Did he even show up at her door that first night? Or did she dream of it? Maybe it was all just another move in his game. Maybe all he¡¯s trying to do is wear her down. Neither option makes her feel any better. Or any safer.


    In isolation, she watches the others. Contestant 51¡ªthe drug-addicted mother¡ªposts early-morning stories from her balcony, thanking the show for teaching her how beautiful life can be when you¡¯re clean. Little do they know her dealer boyfriend supplies her with every kind of substance. Meanwhile, the twins¡ªContestants 6 and 9¡ªtake a different route, filling their online stories with dark, personal comedy that makes it hard for Rebecca to watch.


    On the seventh day, she wakes to morning light filtering through the curtains of her bedroom. Shimmering dust motes dance above her. Outside, the usual rhythm of Live¡ªthe cryptic conversations, the endless theme song, the distant thrum of arena preparations¡ªfeels muted today, almost serene. Of course, it doesn''t last long.


    Leaving her dormitory, she rounds the second corner on her way to the dining hall. Down the corridor, her gaze catches Reese talking to his phone¡ªalthough it''s Contestant 14 holding it in front of his face.


    Reese shakes his head and covers his mouth. At his feet lies a large guitar case, and in his hand, a smooth, polished electroacoustic guitar. He gestures animatedly, a wide, almost childlike grin spreading across his face.


    Rebecca stops in the middle of the hallway. The last thing she wants is to draw his attention¡ªor worse, avoid it only to end up in his video anyway. So she stays put.


    He uploads the video as soon as he finishes recording it. A flood of hearts and comments fills her screen. In it, he thanks his fans with staggering gratitude.


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    ¡°This¡­ this is everything,¡± he says, emotion choking his words. ¡°Music¡­ is the only thing that keeps me sane. It¡¯s what keeps me going.¡±


    He then records a second clip, strumming a few chords¡ªa melancholic melody, both joyful and heartbreakingly sad. When he sings, a crack in his mask threatens to shatter it completely.


    Rebecca feels a strange blend of pity, fascination, and reluctant understanding. For a fleeting moment, his devotion to music reminds her of her own passion for dance¡ªwhen the music began and her body moved in perfect rhythm, all her troubles melted away. Now, however, that passion has turned to fear.


    He puts his phone away, but before he can catch her eye, she slips away quietly, returning to her daily routine.


    The fifth interview slot comes and goes, and the other contestants murmur among themselves, speculating. Rebecca barely listens¡ªshe hates how easily her focus drifts, and even more, why¡ªbut she keeps scanning the room until she¡¯s sure: Reese isn¡¯t there.


    The interview does little to quiet her thoughts about what he might be doing¡ªthoughts that keep roiling in her mind long after it¡¯s over.


    At 3?AM, a notification flashes on her screen, rousing her from her restless sleep¡ªa new song from Reese. She hesitates, her finger hovering over the play button. Sleep is a luxury she can¡¯t afford, but curiosity and the need to understand win over her exhaustion. With a deep breath, she clicks play.


    From the start, the melody is achingly beautiful. It¡¯s unfinished and rough around the edges, yet it holds a haunting quality that captivates her instantly. His voice¡ªchoked and exposed¡ªpours through her headphones, painting a portrait of inner turmoil and unexpected longing. He sings of disguises, of the effortless pretense of indifference, of a heart teetering on the verge of yielding to desperation.


    ¡°¡­And I¡¯ll put my heart


    in your hands


    and you¡¯re gonna watch it throb


    until it¡¯s dry


    and I¡¯ll be fine


    ''cause you''ll be mine


    and you¡¯ll be by my side.¡±


    As Watch Me Beg fades out, Rebecca is left in the unsettling silence of her bedroom, the moment stretching on. Then it clicks¡ªthe reason she dreads him, cold and clear: with Reese, she can no longer distinguish what¡¯s real from what¡¯s part of the act.


    The truth is too frightening to confront, so she tries to shove it aside. Yet it lodges deep in her chest¡ªthe fear of losing control over the game¡ªand it¡¯s only been seven days.

 CHAPTER TWO: PART EIGHT

    VIII


    The following morning, Reese becomes the center of attention. His social media feeds overflow with comments praising his bravery. His passion. The vulnerability he displayed in his song. The other contestants¡ªeven those who once dismissed him as an aloof, self-absorbed celebrity¡ªnow offer genuine compliments and shower him with gestures of admiration. In the hallways, he collects pats on the back and nods, while the circle of support around him grows ever thicker¡ªthe same ones that once turned him away now rally behind him.


    One little song, and Reese wins everyone over¡ªbut he remains detached. He accepts the accolades with a polite, distant grace, his eyes betraying nothing. He doesn¡¯t seek out Rebecca¡¯s opinion, nor does he seem to notice her quiet observation from across the bustling dining hall. There are no questions, no need for validation¡ªno hint of curiosity about her reaction. The song, poured out in the dead of night, now feels strangely impersonal. The silence between them is no longer a tense battle; it has grown into a vast, uncharted space filled with unanswered questions and unsettling assumptions.


    Rebecca concludes that it¡¯s safer to believe the song was written for someone else¡ªthat someone, perhaps, being the very people who now hold his fate in their hands.


    At breakfast, Lena¡ªthe girl she spoke with in the corridor¡ªsits next to Rebecca and leans in with a guarded expression. ¡°That song,¡± she whispers, low and awestruck, ¡°must have been inspired by someone truly special.¡± With a dramatic sigh, she adds, ¡°I¡¯m actually jealous.¡± The remark sends Rebecca¡¯s head spinning, and a dull ache seeps into her chest¡ªa small, unwelcome pang of jealousy, no different from Lena¡¯s own.


    Rebecca¡¯s heart races as she forces a smile, trying to mask the creeping insecurity.


    "Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s a bit too much? Like, come on," she says, rolling her eyes, but her bitterness falls flat.


    She knows she shouldn¡¯t feel this way, yet the thought of Reese¡¯s admiration being directed elsewhere stirs a storm of self-doubt inside her. As Lena continues to rave about the song¡¯s beauty, Rebecca can¡¯t help but compare herself to that mysterious muse¡ªwondering if she could ever inspire such feelings.


    Well, it¡¯s too late now, she thinks.


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    Later, bathed in the harsh fluorescent glow of the arena stage, Contestant 6 bounces in his chair¡ªhis eyes wide, his grin stretching, his hands moving uncontrollably. His nervous energy is barely contained by his impeccably tailored two-piece suit.


    His twin, Contestant 9, watches from the common room, his usually stoic expression drawn tighter than ever. The interview itself devolves into a chaotic spectacle. Contestant 6 dominates the conversation, drowning it in a torrent of nonsensical pronouncements and wild laughter¡ªlouder, more exaggerated than the already frenetic energy of the show. Meanwhile, Contestant 49¡ªa middle-aged former bank teller with a pale, drawn face¡ªbarely manages to interject, his reasoned commentary lost in the storm of the other''s manic enthusiasm.


    Rebecca finds herself strangely captivated. She can''t look away from the screen, curiosity driving her to analyze his every word. The frantic energy of Contestant 6 feels oddly refreshing, and she dissects his performance with clinical precision, searching for subtle cues to determine whether his apparent insanity is real or just an act for the audience.


    The camera¡¯s low-angle close-ups¡ªaccentuating his features and the shadows around his ice-blue eyes¡ªdo little to conceal the absurdity of it all.


    The bank teller¡¯s nearly imperceptible attempts to regain control stir sympathy in Rebecca¡ªshe¡¯s no stranger to being overshadowed, at least in social situations. Yet alongside that sympathy, a deeper sense of threat emerges: she realizes she doesn¡¯t want to hear him talk or for him to take the spotlight. He¡¯s boring. Perhaps that¡¯s what the viewers feel too, and maybe it¡¯s what they¡¯ll feel when it¡¯s her turn on stage.


    That night, once again, Rebecca finds it impossible to gain some sleep. After hours of tossing in her sheets, she steps onto the balcony in search of fresh air. The freezing wind, usually invigorating, offers only fleeting relief before the balcony¡¯s narrow confines remind her how trapped she feels. Returning inside, she bypasses her bed and heads toward the door. She walks down the corridor, the emergency lights painting it blue, her fingers tracing an imaginary line along the sterile wall. Beyond it lies the arena¡ªso close it¡¯s almost terrifying.


    In the very spot where, two mornings ago, she saw him broadcasting his new guitar, Reese now sits with his fingers dancing to an arpeggio. When he notices her, his expression shifts to one of quiet awe.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± he asks, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.


    ¡°I needed air. I was starting to feel trapped,¡± she admits.


    ¡°Oh yeah? How can I help with that?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­ can you get me out of here?¡±


    ¡°I can try.¡±


    Rebecca remains silent, fighting back a smile that threatens to break through. Reese takes her silence as an affirmation to something only he understands. He tells her not to move and tucks his guitar away in his room, before gesturing for her to follow him.

 CHAPTER TWO: PART NINE

    IX


    Reese leads her into the kitchen, a cavernous space nearly as expansive as the sleek, minimalist dining hall available to contestants¡ªbut far more crowded. Stainless steel surfaces gleam under the dim glow of the emergency lights. At the back, industrial ovens murmur softly. The whole place reeks of cleaning solutions mixed with a hint of metal.


    Reaching into the fridge, Reese extracts a carton of milk and pours it into two plastic glasses¡ªthe same ones they usually use for their meals. ¡°Cheers,¡± he says, extending his glass over her. Rebecca hesitates, then clinks her glass against his.


    ¡°If we ever need to meet urgently in this kitchen, we¡¯ll use ¡®cheers¡¯ as our secret code. Or ¡®milk¡¯,¡± he adds with a playful grin.


    ¡°Cheers is fine,¡± Rebecca replies, suppressing the amusement in her tone.


    They slip out through the back door into another corridor, where only elevators and the emergency stairs stand. The stairs lead down into an L-shaped basement, a labyrinth of dark tunnels and service shafts, which covers only a fraction of the space above, perhaps one-fifth of the floor. Rebecca can hardly breath with the musty odor of damp concrete and stale electricity, and the constant drip of water sets an unsettling rhythm. Here, amidst stacks of discarded furniture and forgotten equipment, the perfection of the Live facade crumbles, exposing the raw, unpolished underbelly of the show.


    ¡°There¡¯s gotta be a way out through here,¡± Reese murmurs, his voice in rhythmic consonance with the steady drip.


    ¡°There are probably many stories hidden beneath us¡ªyou can tell from the balcony that we¡¯re on the top floor.¡± Rebecca replies.


    Reese turns to her, his face lighting up with happy surprise. ¡°So you¡¯re really considering it? You¡¯re seriously thinking about sabotaging the show?¡± Rebecca hesitates, unsure of what to say, then finally she asks, ¡°Aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I am now,¡± he admits.


    Together, they approach the only remaining door in the basement¡ªa door that should grant access to the continuation of the emergency stairs¡ªbut it is locked. Unlike the rest of the abandoned basement, this door is shiny and forged from thick steel, equipped with a face scanner and numeric pad, much like the one under the big screen in the common room. They pause to contemplate the door, both keenly aware of its imposing security and frustrated that it blocks what seems to be their only possible escape route.


    ¡°What other rooms are there?¡± Rebecca asks.


    ¡°Let¡¯s find out.¡±


    Navigating through the kitchen, they reach the storage room¡ªa vast warehouse stuffed with bizarre items: crates of costumes, broken sets, and props from past seasons. As Rebecca wanders among the boxes, she spots another door, but it, too, is locked and heavily secured. ¡°Hey, Reese,¡± she calls, ¡°what¡¯s on the other side of this wall?¡±


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    Reese glances around and replies, ¡°The common room. But there must be a hallway in between, because right in front of us is the door that connects to the arena.¡±


    ¡°So this door also leads to the arena,¡± Rebecca observes, goosebumps prickling the back of her neck. Reese lingers on her for a moment before grabbing her hand and pulling her back into the kitchen, guiding her toward the stairs. ¡°Let¡¯s see if we can get to the roof.¡±


    Going up, the stairs end abruptly at another threshold¡ªthis one is not made of steel and, astonishingly, is open. Rebecca struggles to grasp the reality of it.


    On the rooftop, the wind whips around them¡ªfrigid like on her balcony, yet infinitely more liberating. Below her toes, a tangled web of light and void stretches¡ªbreathing, shifting, alive. A million lives unfolding at once, in a muted symphony of noise. From this height, the towering structure of Live seems to diminish, transforming into just another building among many¡ªits massive influence and high-tech security, nothing more than a fragile illusion compared to the vast night. Rebecca shivers, not entirely from the cold; Reese¡¯s hand, warm and steady, grips hers tightly.


    ¡°Well, if everything goes to shit¡­ this is our last escape,¡± he says.


    Rebecca¡¯s breath catches, yet she doesn¡¯t pull away¡ªshe won¡¯t, not now. A small nod accompanies her gaze fixed on the sprawling city lights, almost lost in the wind. He pulls her closer, wrapping her in a hug that feels both protective and oddly tender. His arms are strong around her, providing an incredible sense of reassurance. The wind tugs at her hair as she rests her head against his chest, feeling the chaotic rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the fabric of his shirt¡ªa heartbeat that doesn¡¯t align with the quiet strength he conveys; it is a pulse under pressure, beating with dread.


    The wailing song of the wind and the distant sounds from below fill the silence between them. The silence is not only bearable but strangely comforting. When he finally pulls back, his eyes¡ªusually darting about, restless¡ªnow study her with a fervor that surprises and captivates Rebecca. His voice drops to a low whisper in the wind: ¡°From now on, I want us to be a team¡ªjust you and me.¡±


    ¡°What about the others?¡±


    Reese shakes his head. ¡°I don''t care about them. It''s you I want to protect. But I need you to trust me. Can you trust me?¡±


    Rebecca doesn¡¯t respond. She simply stares into his eyes, lost in the meaning woven into his gaze.


    But then, the moment shatters. A sharp whirring robs her of the chance to answer. A drone¡ªresembling a pitbull-sized spider¡ªmaterializes beside them; its opaque body absorbs the shadows instead of reflecting the city lights. Before either can react, blinding lights flare, bathing them in an intense glare as more drones appear. A robotic voice booms from the emergency stairs: ¡°Unauthorized personnel. This area is restricted. Immediate relocation required.¡±


    Surprisingly forceful for their size, the drones nudge them away from the precipice with agile precision. Before Rebecca can fully register what¡¯s happening, their metallic arms wrap around her wrists, pinning her hands behind her back with incredible efficiency. There is no struggle¡ªnothing she can do¡ªas the drone holding her lifts her effortlessly with a third arm, yanking her back toward the main building at an alarming speed.


    Two stories below, the cold, impersonal cell feels even more confining than her usual dormitory. Rebecca lies on a thin, musty mattress, the fabric doing little to shield her from the squeaky springs beneath. She can¡¯t see him, but knowing that Reese is in the next cell brings a small measure of comfort. ¡°We totally missed this door,¡± she calls out, uncertain if he can hear her.


    ¡°I saw it before entering the basement but forgot about it,¡± he replies after a pause, then adds, ¡°I think we covered the whole thing, actually¡­ well¡­¡±


    Rebecca finishes, ¡°Except the arena.¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­ but we¡¯ll get there in a few days, together.¡± He hesitates. ¡°As a team, right?¡±


    Rebecca stays silent for a moment before finally saying, ¡°Right.¡± A shy smile spreads across her face.

 CHAPTER THREE: PART ONE

    I


    One thing remains constant: the days bleed into one another, indistinguishable from the last. The rooftop incident refuses to leave Rebecca¡¯s mind. The memory¡ªvivid at first but slowly blurring with time¡ªhijacks her thoughts. Outwardly, nothing seems to change, but inside, she battles with anxiety and confusion. She hears the rumors circulating around her; Lena even asks bluntly, ¡°Did you kiss him?¡±


    Social media rages on. The opinions are vast and diverse and Rebecca avoids them at all costs. She tries to turn off her phone, but every attempt fails. Each time, a message flashes: ¡°Access denied; administrative permission is required.¡± She can¡¯t even change the notification settings; her only options are sound or vibration.


    At the breakfast table, she rests her head in her hands, her tray pushed aside¡ªshe isn¡¯t even hungry. Uncertainty presses down on her, and all she can focus on is the chaos swirling in her mind.


    Fortunately, Reese understands her need to retreat into the shadows. He keeps a low profile too, but only for the first two days. Then he releases a song about that night, drawing heavy attention from both viewers and contestants.


    A new flood of commentary pours in, sweeping over Rebecca like a tidal wave. She clicks on one post¡ªa fatal mistake: ¡°Poor girl, can¡¯t she see he¡¯s playing her? She¡¯s rotting in the corners with shame while he¡¯s making new songs and monetizing their ¡®romantic adventure¡¯.¡± In that single 25-word comment, all her weaknesses and fears are laid bare¡ªand it has already garnered 86k likes.


    Rebecca is still glued to her phone when Reese sits beside her, just before the hosts introduce Contestant 9, the second twin, for his interview. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± he asks. She shakes her head and puts her phone away. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have read that,¡± she whispers.


    ¡°Why? What did it say?¡±


    She sighs. ¡°Nothing.¡±


    Contestant 9 is less flamboyant than his brother, yet he feels more grounded in reality. There¡¯s pain in his eyes¡ªlike he knows exactly what he¡¯s done and doesn¡¯t regret it. That makes him even more terrifying. Still, they share the same twisted sense of humor. ¡°Have you ever smelled rotten flesh? You should come to my house; my cousin Claudia loves it when there¡¯s visitors!¡± Horrified, the female host interjects, ¡°Isn¡¯t that the girl who went missing? Is she really your cousin?¡±


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    Contestant 6, seated in the front row beneath the massive holographic screen, bursts into laughter¡ªclapping and spinning in his seat¡ªwhile his twin in the arena remains expressionless.


    ¡°I bet I can take out that piece of demonic shit,¡± Reese declares, his eyes glued to the screen.


    While watching the second twin, Rebecca forgets she¡¯s sitting next to another kind of monster. The moment he catches her gaze, he takes her hand and squeezes it gently.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry; you won¡¯t have to face him. I¡¯ll take care of that little fucker, I swear.¡±


    But it isn¡¯t the twin she truly fears.


    ¡°Hey, Reese, have you gotten any hateful comments after your last song¡ªor before?¡± she asks in a hushed tone. He looks at her, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. ¡°Yeah, lots. Why do you ask?¡±


    Rebecca blinks, taken aback. ¡°How do you deal with them?¡±


    ¡°You just get used to them over time, I suppose.¡± He notices her lingering worry and adds, ¡°But it took me about a year to learn how to handle it. I was a kid then; I absolutely get it if they bother you.¡±


    She nods, feeling a knot tighten in her stomach as her fears resurface¡ªall over again. Trying to divert his attention, she leans closer and whispers in his ear, ¡°By the way¡­ I heard Lena would like a kiss from you. Why don¡¯t you grant her wish?¡±


    Reese stares at her with a wide smile and blank eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t even know who that is.¡±


    ¡°Lena,¡± she repeats. ¡°Contestant 30.¡±


    ¡°You want me to kiss Contestant 30?¡±


    ¡°Her name is Lena.¡±


    ¡°Okay, as you wish, my lady.¡±


    They fall silent for the rest of the interview, and Rebecca¡¯s mind races. Did he take her suggestion seriously? Or has he already forgotten? She hopes¡ªprays¡ªhe forgot.


    The answer comes when they¡¯re told to return to their sleeping quarters. Reese doesn¡¯t say goodbye; he strides over to Lena and taps her shoulder. ¡°Excuse me, are you Lena?¡± she nods just before he kisses her full on the mouth.


    A wave of nausea washes over Rebecca as she watches them¡ªshe hates the scene unfolding before her. Hates her role in it even more.


    And she shouldn''t. She should react like the other contestants¡ªchuckling, making jokes. Or like the viewers, already flooding Live¡¯s main feed with comments about their kiss.


    Rebecca takes a deep breath, reminding herself, forcing herself not to forget: Reese, Lena, herself¡ªthey¡¯re all part of an entertainment circus. Nothing more.

 CHAPTER THREE: PART TWO

    II


    ¡°Do I look familiar to you?¡±


    ¡°You certainly do. What about me? Do I remind you of someone?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Yes, you do.¡±


    Rebecca waits in the dusty, shadowed corridor between the common room and the storage room, after an intrusive search by the same spider drones they encountered on the roof. She presses her back against the wall, struggling to steady herself against the racing nerves within. Next to her, Reese bounces on his toes, jogging in place with his hands clasped behind his head. Even he feels the weight of the countless eyes watching and waiting for them behind that door.


    When the door swings open, Reese grabs Rebecca¡¯s hand, and they step through together. Rebecca blinks several times, struggling to comprehend the scene before her: thousands of people are seated in tiers, reminiscent of a grand cinema or ancient coliseum. They stand on a wooden balcony, two times larger than the ones in their rooms.


    The audience erupts in a wave of clamor¡ªan uproar of cheers, gasps, and the roar of a million screaming voices. The camera lights flare, capturing their every move. The massive screens around them flicker to life, showcasing a montage of their relationship thus far: stolen glances in the corridors and common room, fleeting touches during meals, and the haunting image of them hugging on the rooftop. That clip has no sound, but Rebecca still can¡¯t believe she didn¡¯t notice the security camera up there.


    To her left, a set of stairs descends to the stage where the hosts await them. From this point, she notices that the hosts are perched on a floating platform several meters above the real arena¡ªthe battleground where the contestants will fight.


    ¡°What a pleasure, what a pleasure!¡± the male host exclaims as they reach the stage. ¡°Please, Contestant 13, sit next to me. Did you notice how I¡¯m dressed tonight? I¡¯m trying to mimic your style.¡± His outfit does resemble the type of clothes that Reese often wore in his videos prior to the show.


    Rebecca then notices that the female host is wearing a tight baby pink dress, reminiscent of a ballerina''s tutu, strikingly similar to the one she wore for the premiere of her last dance presentation¡ªthe one that resulted in her getting her legs broken. Trying to maintain her balance, she squeezes Reese¡¯s hand tightly.


    ¡°Yes, yes! That¡¯s right! We want to channel your style tonight because¡­ if our audience is a swarm of bees, you two are the honey!¡± the female host exclaims. ¡°And let me take a moment to admire how beautiful you look this evening, Contestant 42.¡±


    Rebecca is wearing a dazzling red dress with a high slit, which she found on her bed after training. A message on her phone instructed her to take a shower and slip into the dress. Beside her, Reese looks sharp in a black suit, a single red rose peeking from his chest pocket.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to offer a compliment to Mr. Handsome over here?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t, I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m going to blush.¡±


    They are invited to sit; the plush velvet of the interview chair envelops Rebecca completely. Reese settles into his seat with practiced ease, while the hosts take their places on either side of them.


    ¡°So, how do you feel about being the number one couple on the entire Internet?¡±


    Reese responds instantly, flashing a charming, slightly crooked grin that captivates the camera. His voice, smooth as melted chocolate, fills the studio. ¡°Well, we¡¯re not a couple yet, so guys, don¡¯t scare her away, alright?¡± His gaze sweeps over the audience.


    Rebecca offers a tight, almost imperceptible smile. The ambiguity in Reese''s response keeps her safely on the sidelines. In that moment, she feels deep gratitude¡ªboth for sharing the interview with him and for his subtle mastery of manipulation.


    The male host continues. ¡°The viewers are captivated by your chemistry, the undeniable spark between you two. Some are even calling it the most genuine romance Live has ever seen. What do you say to that?¡±


    That one comment¡ª¡°Poor girl, doesn¡¯t she see he¡¯s playing her?¡±¡ªinfiltrates Rebecca¡¯s thoughts. Suddenly, the ground beneath her feels unsteady, as if the whole stage dangles from frayed ropes.


    Reese leans closer, locking eyes with her a moment longer than necessary. ¡°Genuine?¡± he murmurs, his voice barely rising above the cheers¡ªintentionally too soft for the hosts to catch. Then he turns to them. ¡°What can I say? I¡¯m always one hundred percent genuine.¡± He pauses before adding with a hint of irony, ¡°At least, that¡¯s what I tell myself.¡± The entire arena erupts in laughter.


    ¡°Oh, Contestant 13, you kill me.¡± The female host begins, dabbing at the tears in her eyes with a tissue. ¡°So, Contestant 42, you¡¯ve shown us a self-preservation side of you. Some people call that being individualistic or egotistical, but I like to think it¡¯s self-preservation. Am I right?¡± Rebecca doesn¡¯t have time to respond¡ªfortunate since she struggles to find an answer to a question that feels more like an insult. The host continues, ¡°And staying away from bad guys like Contestant 13 is a smart move, I know that. But isn¡¯t he everything you¡¯ve ever wished for?¡±


    For the first time since she burned down her studio, regret washes over her. She wishes, with all her heart, that she could set this arena on fire instead¡ªwith the hosts trapped inside. Before she allows herself to speak, however, she draws a deep breath and counts to five, relying on an old technique from her dancing days to steady herself.


    "I mean, who wouldn¡¯t want a love story with one of their celebrity crushes?" she finally replies, and the audience swoons as expected. "But if I have to go, I wouldn¡¯t want it to be with a broken heart."


    To her surprise, most of what she says rings true. Reese must sense it too, as he gazes at her with genuine tenderness.


    But her honesty doesn¡¯t seem to resonate with the cheerful atmosphere of the hosts. The male host leans in, a playful smirk on his face, and says, ¡°Oh, honey, you¡¯re bringing us down.¡± For a moment, Rebecca twitches, momentarily forgetting the type of company she¡¯s in. The host, unsatisfied with his previous remark, turns to Reese, covering the side of his mouth. ¡°I¡¯m starting to think you can do better,¡± he adds. Reese¡¯s expression hardens; rather than responding with a smile, he shoots the host a piercing glare that speaks volumes.


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    ¡°Of course you¡¯d think that,¡± he retorts. ¡°I¡¯ve noticed your cheap taste.¡±


    The male host is caught off guard by Reese¡¯s unexpected comeback and stumbles for a moment.


    The female host quickly steers the conversation back to Rebecca. ¡°I hear you weren¡¯t sure if your studio was empty when you set it ablaze.¡±


    ¡°I suspected it,¡± Rebecca replies, fully aware of how inadequate her answer sounds, yet the words slip out nonetheless.


    ¡°You know what?¡± Reese suddenly interjects. ¡°I don¡¯t like where these questions are headed. Can I ask them¡­¡± He gestures toward the audience. ¡°One question?¡±


    ¡°This is unusual,¡± the female host replies, hesitant to deny him the opportunity, especially with the audience cheering for him to engage. Seizing the moment, Reese strides to the edge of the platform. ¡°Have you heard this song¡­ probably one of the best that I¡¯ve written in my humble opinion: ¡®I Was Born¡¯?¡±


    The audience erupts in cheers.


    ¡°Would you like to sing it with me?¡±


    Though visibly disappointed by the shift away from his dramatic script, the male host maintains his professionalism. He forces a smile and remarks, ¡°Very entertaining, Contestant 13,¡± and adds, ¡°I¡¯m sure they can hear your songs at home. Let¡¯s allow them to see a more personal side of you, shall we?¡±


    But Reese isn¡¯t singing anymore¡ªthe audience is. He stands at the edge of the floating stage, arms raised, letting the crowd''s voice wash over him. When they finish, they call for one more song. Reese fuels their energy, tossing playful jabs at the hosts¡¯ attempts to steer the conversation, clearly signaling that he¡¯s won this round.


    Rebecca feels an unexpected sense of relief, a fragile calm in the chaos. She can¡¯t take her eyes off him, her heart swelling with pride and gratitude. The amusement she experiences isn¡¯t merely a reaction to his antics; she actually feels respect for his authenticity and courage to be himself in front of millions.


    The male host shifts in his seat, his patience wearing thin, then abruptly turns to Rebecca. His question, still professional though carrying a hint of exasperation, shifts the spotlight onto her. ¡°Do you imagine taking him to a family dinner?¡± he demands, fishing for any response to steer the interview back to its predictable script.


    But Rebecca, feeling oddly steadfast, meets his gaze with cool serenity. As she speaks, Reese interrupts the audience, prompting them to fall silent in anticipation.


    ¡°Thanks to you, I¡¯m not having any more family dinners, remember?¡±


    The male host lets out a bitter laugh, his disdain for her is evident. ¡°I understand you¡¯re angry. You two have found each other here¡ªtrue love, real connection¡ªsomething some of us search for our entire lives¡­¡±


    ¡°And some of us never find it, despite the fact that we have the privilege to go to the park or the coffee house whenever we please,¡± adds the female host.


    ¡°But you two find it here,¡± he continues, shaking his head as if trying to feign sadness. It¡¯s clear he takes pleasure in halting Reese¡¯s defiance. ¡°You know it¡¯ll be like a¡­¡± He takes a moment to think, ¡°a gentle whisper¡ªvibrant and real, but oh so fleeting. So, Contestant 42, can you explain exactly how you feel under these unfortunate circumstances?¡±


    ¡°I honestly can''t,¡± she says.


    ¡°Come on, Contestant 42, give us something.¡±


    Rebecca sighs.


    "I guess, I feel like I''d kill for a cigarette," she replies flatly, devoid of emotion. "But I''m not allowed matches." The host''s self-satisfied expression fades as Rebecca smiles.


    The audience gasps, then their reactions split¡ªsome laugh, others shout words Rebecca barely catches. The ones she does, she prefers to ignore. But most of them start singing another one of Reese''s songs. The hosts, completely caught off guard, stutter as they try to recover and steer the conversation back on track, but the damage is done. Meanwhile, Reese fixes his gaze on Rebecca, as if he¡¯d only just noticed her, as if the hosts and the audience were invisible to him.


    The interview concludes not with a hug and a goodnight, but with a jarring, high-pitched shriek from the studio¡¯s emergency siren. Red lights flash, casting an alarming crimson glow across the set. The hosts, visibly paling, abruptly cut the feed, mumbling something about "technical difficulties" before the screen goes black. The audience is ushered out in a controlled state of panic, confusion, and unease. Rebecca and Reese, escorted by the spider drones, are quickly led out of the arena and into the deserted corridor between the arena and the living quarters.


    Before they enter the common room, Reese stops Rebecca, his hand resting on her arm¡ªtoo gentle, as though she might crumble under his touch. The red lights from the emergency siren continue to cast an eerie glow on his face, emphasizing the serious look in his eyes.


    ¡°Hey, Becky. You know, about the interview¡­¡± he begins, his voice low. ¡°Everything that happened¡­ it wasn¡¯t just for show.¡±


    Rebecca stays silent, her gaze locked onto his. She feels a tremor in her chest.


    ¡°By the way, you handled those jerks like a pro.¡± He pauses to take a deep breath. ¡°You have no idea the effect you¡¯re having on me.¡±


    Rebecca pulls away slightly, her expression guarded. ¡°Reese,¡± she says, her voice calm but firm, ¡°you''re good¡ªtoo good. I¡¯m not falling for it. We came here as a team; that¡¯s all. We help each other survive. We use each other. But a bond¡­ a real bond? That won¡¯t happen. And even if it did, it wouldn¡¯t last. We¡¯re expendable here. It¡¯s a waste of emotion. One of us will get voted off.¡±


    His gaze softens. ¡°I know the risks,¡± he says quietly. It''s one of those moments, Rebecca thinks, when she can''t tell if the vulnerability in his voice¡ªand in his eyes¡ªis real. ¡°But it''s worth it. For you. For this...¡± He gestures vaguely between them, his hand lingering on his chest. ¡°Don¡¯t you recognize this?¡±


    Rebecca doesn¡¯t respond immediately. Fear still crawls under her skin¡ªthe biting comment she saw on his feed, the effortless kiss he gave Lena¡ªyet there are certain truths she can no longer ignore. She feels drawn to him¡ªa dangerous, intoxicating lure that terrifies her as much as it excites her.


    She meets his gaze, the wailing siren feels distant now, as if the entire interview belonged to a vivid nightmare she can barely recall. For this fleeting moment, the only thing that feels real is this primal, unfamiliar pull toward him.


    And it terrifies her.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure what you mean.¡±


    She attempts to walk away, but his hand catches hers¡ªfirm yet gentle. Before she can protest, she finds herself pinned between the wall and his body, and suddenly his lips meet hers. The kiss is unexpected and deeply intimate¡ªraw, desperate, utterly consuming. Rebecca doesn¡¯t resist; her hesitation melts away. She grabs his shirt, tightening her hold¡ªpulling him closer, keeping him here, unintentionally, overtaken by the emotions she¡¯s long fought to suppress


    Only the harsh glare of a spider drone''s front light breaks the spell. Several drones rush into the otherwise silent corridor, forcing them apart. The sudden intrusion jolts Rebecca back to reality. She can still taste Reese''s kiss and feel his touch, only now, as the spider drones stand between them, she''s deeply embarrassed. They are pulled roughly toward the common room, where the other contestants receive them with more blurring opinions and fake camaraderie.


    Once inside, under the watchful eyes of the cameras and their fellow contestants, they keep a deliberate distance, hiding their earlier intimacy under an air of casual indifference. The forced separation, though, leaves Rebecca reeling. While Reese quickly finds himself surrounded by a small crowd and acts as if nothing happened, Rebecca slips away, her mind consumed by the lingering memory of their kiss.

 CHAPTER THREE: PART THREE

    III


    The next morning, the dining hall reeks of silent judgment. As Rebecca steps inside, a hush falls over the room like a drawn curtain. Whispers trail behind her¡ªthe aftermath of last night¡¯s interrupted interview and the rumors about her encounter with Reese. Curious glances¡ªsome mischievous, others edged with hostility¡ªfollow her every move.


    She heads toward a relatively empty table, pretending to see and hear nothing¡ªit all seems hopeless. Lena slides into the seat across from her. ¡°Heard things,¡± she whispers in a low, conspiratorial tone, her eyes darting around as if hunting for eavesdroppers. ¡°About you and Reese. I don¡¯t know what to believe.¡±


    Rebecca tenses, her hand instinctively moving to her earlobe. Before she can respond, the dining hall doors swing open and Reese strides in.


    The whispers multiply, building on each other until they¡¯re impossible to ignore, and every eye shifts from Rebecca to him. He carries himself with casual confidence, scanning the crowd until his gaze locks onto hers. Unfazed by the rising murmurs, he approaches their table, while Lena remains fixed on Rebecca¡ªher face flushed and her body tense with a mix of shame and curiosity.


    ¡°Morning, ladies,¡± Reese greets, placing a hand on Rebecca¡¯s back. ¡°Did you sleep well?¡±


    Rebecca¡¯s jaw tightens. ¡°No,¡± she hisses softly, her voice low. Suddenly, she becomes all too aware of the dryness in her mouth. ¡°I¡¯m sick of being here¡ªof being watched.¡± She gestures vaguely at the other contestants, though her gaze fixes on Lena, silently pleading for her to catch the hint. Then she turns to Reese. ¡°And you, waltzing in here like¡­ like¡­¡± She hesitates, searching for the right analogy, before finally settling on, ¡°like a peacock at a pigeon convention isn¡¯t helping.¡±


    Reese chuckles. Leaning against the table, he seems oblivious to the stares. ¡°A peacock? Really?¡± he teases, raising an eyebrow as a playful glint flashes in his eyes. ¡°I thought I was more of a phoenix, rising from the ashes of public humiliation.¡± He winks, and Lena fans herself with her hand.


    Her eyes dart from Rebecca to Reese. She opens her mouth to speak, then closes it, and picks at her synthetic protein bar, lost in thought.


    ¡°Can you¡­ eat breakfast with someone else today, Reese?¡± Rebecca pleads, her lips curving into a tentative smile¡ªtrying carefully not to sound rude. ¡°Please.¡±


    ¡°But where¡¯s the fun in that?¡± Reese retorts, brushing a stray hair from his forehead with an indifference that grates on her nerves. Leaning in closer, he lowers his voice. "Besides, haven¡¯t you noticed? They¡¯re eating it up¡ªour little¡­ love story." His eyes sparkle with amusement.


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    Rebecca sighs, feeling the conversation drain away. He¡¯s right¡ªgossip fuels the machine. It¡¯s a game, and despite his infuriating arrogance, Reese knows exactly how to play. The only problem is, does she?¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± she mutters, eyes fixed on her bland food. ¡°But don¡¯t be surprised if, from now on, I make a quick exit whenever you show up.¡±


    Reese grins, a flash of genuine relief breaking through his playful facade as he sits next to her. ¡°Deal,¡± he replies, reaching for a protein bar of his own. He glances at Lena, who quickly averts his gaze, cheeks flushed. Lena hesitates for a moment, then picks up her tray, weighing whether to stay or move. ¡°You¡¯re welcome to join us, Lena¡ªunless you¡¯re too caught up in the ¡®peacock¡¯ show.¡±


    Lena hesitates, her eyes snapping back to Rebecca as if seeking permission.


    ¡°Please stay," Rebecca urges, her voice soft but firm. Lena¡¯s lips part slightly, trembling with surprise before she settles back into her chair.


    Reese leans back, a smug smile playing on his lips. He takes a deliberate bite of his protein bar, his eyes never leaving Rebecca. ¡°So,¡± he drawls playfully, ¡°what exciting plans do you have for today¡ªaside from, you know, trying to escape my charming company?¡±


    Rebecca grits her teeth, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. ¡°My plans? I was thinking of hitting the mall to buy new shoes. Want to come?¡± she asks, forcing a tight smile.


    Unexpectedly, Reese reaches across the table, his fingers brushing hers as he picks up her cup of juice. ¡°Oh, come now," he purrs, lowering his voice to a soft rumble. "Where¡¯s your sense of rapport? A little conversation doesn¡¯t hurt anyone, now does it? Small talk is a skill. Don¡¯t you agree?" he teases, directing the question at Lena, who flinches under his gaze.


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know,¡± Lena stammers, doing everything she can to avoid looking at Reese.


    Reese¡¯s smile widens as he takes a slow sip from Rebecca¡¯s cup, locking eyes with her. Her hand tightens around her fork, the metal prongs biting into her palm. She takes a deep breath, reminding herself that this is all part of the performance¡ªa strategy for survival.


    Throughout the meal, Reese pushes the boundaries of their friendship with subtle provocations¡ªslight touches, double-meaning remarks¡ªwhile watching her intently, gauging her reactions, testing just how far he can go, like a predator sizing up his prey. Lena remains silent, half captivated, half visibly uneasy by the spectacle of their staged love story.


    Before he finishes his meal, Reese announces, ¡°I¡¯ll go train,¡± then leans in and plants a kiss on Rebecca¡¯s forehead. The brush of his lips sends a jolt of heat through her, leaving her momentarily speechless. A blush creeps up her neck, tinting her cheeks red. He winks mischievously and saunters out, leaving behind another trail of whispered gossip. Rebecca remains frozen, the ghost of his touch smolders against her skin, while Lena¡¯s intense, probing gaze follows her.


    ¡°He¡­ he likes you, you know,¡± Lena whispers hesitantly.


    Rebecca forces a brittle laugh. ¡°Likes me? Please. He¡¯s just playing a game, Lena¡ªjust like everyone else.¡± The fake smile feels stiff as she picks at her food, suddenly devoid of appetite. She feels like a Barbie doll in a microwave, spinning and melting¡ªone minute in control, the next a puppet manipulated by Reese¡¯s charm and the public¡¯s whims.

 CHAPTER THREE: PART FOUR

    IV


    The holographic screen casts a sterile light over the assembled contestants with its harsh glare, and it gives Rebecca a headache. Interview number fourteen. Leaning against the wall, she struggles to accept that just yesterday, she was the one lighting up that giant screen. The blinding lights, the shiny clothes, the suffocating pressure to speak the right words¡ªall of it feels like a nightmare, one that sticks, one that just won''t fade.


    Reese stands beside her, arms crossed over his chest, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a hard frown. He seems different somehow¡ªhis bold attitude has been dialed down to a quiet intensity that unsettles Rebecca. ¡°I¡¯ve had enough of this shitshow,¡± he murmurs, his gaze fixed on the screen. His voice carries across the room, loud enough for everyone to hear. ¡°Let''s go, shall we?¡±


    Rebecca looks at him, her eyes widening. ¡°Go where? And to do what?¡±


    Reese shrugs. ¡°Do you want to watch?¡± He gestures at the screen with his head. Rebecca shakes her head. ¡°Not necessarily, but¡­¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s go.¡± He walks away without waiting for her answer or looking back to see if she¡¯s following him. He just leaves.


    ¡°Okay, wait up!¡± Rebecca calls after him.


    As she follows him down the corridor, Rebecca tells herself it¡¯s all an act¡ªa show for the cameras. Yet she can¡¯t shake the doubts, fueled by the way he sometimes touches her and the sincerity she sometimes glimpses in his eyes. Some days, it¡¯s all too easy to believe him and lose herself in the illusion of their connection. But then there are days when she feels nothing more than a pawn in his game¡ªa toy to be played with and discarded once he grows bored.


    She pushes the thought away, refusing to acknowledge the unsettling flutter in her chest and the vulnerability she feels whenever he¡¯s near. She has to stay focused; survival is the only thing that matters. Love, or even the illusion of it, is a dangerous distraction in this twisted game of life and death.


    He stops at his bedroom door and opens it for her. Rebecca, eyes wide, refuses to go inside. ¡°Let¡¯s stay on the balcony,¡± Reese suggests. ¡°We can go to yours if you want.¡±


    After a long, heavy sigh, Rebecca enters his room. Thousands of screams erupt in her head, urging her to flee as far as she can. But she doesn''t listen. The first thing she notices is just how different his room feels. His mattress looks more inviting, and instead of a mirror, there''s an armchair.


    Reese slides the glass door open, and they both step onto the balcony. Neither of them says anything. Reese watches Rebecca as if studying her, with an expression on his face that she can¡¯t quite decipher.


    Finally, he breaks the silence. ¡°I¡¯ve noticed you change when there are people around. You¡¯re more guarded and a little bit more grumpy too.¡±


    Rebecca feels a bit insulted at first but then recognizes he¡¯s right. ¡°I don¡¯t want the others to think I¡¯m weak because¡­ well, because I¡¯m being a fool.¡±


    ¡°You still don¡¯t trust me,¡± Reese says, with a sad smile that moves her deeply.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that. Or maybe part of it is, but not all,¡± Rebecca tries to explain. ¡°It¡¯s that we¡¯re playing different games, Reese. People love you, and your abilities make you nearly impossible to defeat. Meanwhile, I should be in the common room right now, studying Contestants 14 and 41, searching for their weaknesses and¡­¡±


    ¡°Rebecca, calm down. Nothing in tonight¡¯s interview will help you.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you even a little scared? Is there even a human being inside those muscles?¡± Reese chuckles lightly.


    ¡°I¡¯m worried my fans won¡¯t give me a chance to have a real fight.¡±


    Rebecca looks at him, horrified. ¡°Oh, boo hoo,¡± she drawls, unable to resist the sarcasm. ¡°The fights are brutal, Reese; you could die.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m serious,¡± he insists. ¡°I read what they¡¯re saying in the chat group. They want to keep me away from the arena until the finale while letting someone else survive who¡¯s easy to defeat. They want to give me an easy victory.¡±


    Rebecca raises an eyebrow, finding it hard to breathe, even as the wind batters her face. It¡¯s hard to fathom that there are actually groups conspiring to save Reese. ¡°And that¡¯s a problem because¡­?¡±


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    ¡°Because,¡± he continues, his voice dropping to a near whisper, ¡°I don¡¯t just want to win; I want to prove myself. I want to show the world what I¡¯m capable of.¡±


    Something occurs to Rebecca that hadn''t crossed her mind before: "Do you really think you could kill someone if it comes down to it?"


    No answer.


    Reese''s silence sends a shiver down her spine and presses on her chest¡ªmore crushing than any words ever could be. It confirms her suspicions, painting a grim picture of the man beside her; he can do it¡ªhe wants to do it. The realization forces her to step back.


    "I don''t think I could," she admits, as her back finds the wall behind her.


    Reese''s gaze sharpens as he studies her face. ¡°Didn''t you try to burn down your dance mates?¡± he asks, his voice edged with challenge.


    Rebecca¡¯s face flushes, her cheeks burning red. ¡°I wasn¡¯t trying to do that,¡± she retorts, indignation rising in her tone. Yet even as she speaks, doubt assaults her. The memory of that night¡ªthe dancing flames and the acrid stench of smoke¡ªplays vividly in her mind. She had been furious, consumed by resentment toward those who sabotaged her career and laughed as she lay injured on the floor. But did she really intend to hurt them?


    ¡°Relax, it''s fine. That''s exactly why I¡¯m convinced we¡¯re meant¡ª¡± he begins, then stops abruptly. ¡°We¡¯re not so different from each other,¡± Reese says softly, his previous hard edge replaced by tenderness. He reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against her arm. ¡°That fire. That passion. I get it.¡±


    Rebecca pulls away, her heart pounding in her chest. His words, though meant as a compliment, make her skin crawl. Is he attracted to her strength and resilience or to the darkness that lurks within her? Probably neither, she concludes.


    ¡°Can I ask you something?¡± Rebecca begins, her voice quivers slightly. "You have your popularity and fighting skills¡ªeven this fake love story that you wanted so much.¡± She pauses, trying to catch her breath as she watches the cityscape. ¡°Can you please not play with my feelings? Can you separate things¡ªkeep the acting for when the cameras are rolling and just stop pretending you feel something for me?¡±


    Reese''s reaction surprises her; he doesn¡¯t offer his usual playful smirk or launch into a defensive tirade. Instead, hurt and confusion wash over his face as he takes a deep breath and looks down at his feet. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet¡ªalmost devoid of bravado. "You think¡­ after everything that¡¯s happened¡­ you think I¡¯ve been pretending?" He looks up at her with earnest eyes. "Rebecca," he whispers, taking a step closer, cornering her against the wall, "you are the only real thing in this whole damn place.¡±


    ¡°Why?" Rebecca breathes, caught between giving him another chance to convince her or just shut him out completely. She can¡¯t make sense of it¡ªit feels impossible with someone like Reese. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t get it.¡±


    Reese¡¯s gaze holds hers¡ªintense and determined¡ªas he moves even closer. His voice drops to a hushed murmur, as though sharing a secret too precious to be overheard. ¡°I don¡¯t have a logical answer, Rebecca,¡± he admits, his eyes tracing the contours of her face, memorizing every detail. ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting this to happen this way.¡± He gestures at their surroundings with an accusatory tone, ¡°Everyone here wears a mask¡ªthey¡¯re all playing parts desperate for approval from an audience they¡¯ll never meet.¡± He pauses, his gaze returning to hers¡ªsearching. ¡°And I was more than willing to do the same thing. But not anymore.¡±


    He reaches out; his fingers brush lightly against her cheek. ¡°You don¡¯t hide who you are¡ªyou don¡¯t pretend to be someone you¡¯re not.¡± He smiles¡ªa genuine smile that transforms his features and makes him appear younger and more vulnerable than before. ¡°You fight for what you believe in¡ªeven when the odds are stacked against you¡ªyou don¡¯t back down even when it would be easier to surrender.¡± His thumb gently strokes her cheekbone¡ªthe touch both electrifying and comforting at once. ¡°You¡¯re flawed¡ªimpulsive¡ªsometimes reckless¡ªbut those flaws¡­ they make you real¡ªthey make you¡­ you.¡±


    He leans closer; his breath tickles the tip of her nose as he nuzzles his forehead against hers and whispers: ¡°You inspire me to be¡­ me.¡± He pulls back slightly; their eyes lock¡ªthe intensity of his gaze makes her heart pound in her chest. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s why¡ªor maybe I¡¯m just overwhelmed by how freaking beautiful you are.¡±


    ¡°You really have a way with words,¡± Rebecca says.


    ¡°That I do,¡± he admits playfully.


    Despite herself, Rebecca places a hand on Reese''s chest. ¡°Please try to understand me. I don¡¯t want this game to become more difficult than it already is.¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t be. I promise.¡±


    Rebecca shakes her head slightly. ¡°I want to go, Reese,¡± she says as she steps out of the balcony, crossing through his room to reach the corridor. He doesn¡¯t try to stop her; he doesn¡¯t tell her to come back. Rebecca decides it¡¯s better this way.


    She isn¡¯t surprised when she sees little of Reese in the following days; at night, he immerses himself in his music, and during the day, he disappears into the training room for hours at a time. She catches glimpses of him¡ªsweat-drenched and determined¡ªpushing himself to his limits, and a strange mix of pride and concern blooms in her chest.


    The cycle continues through the remainder of the month, until finally, the interviews wrap up with Contestants 27 and 28.


    The only one that truly captured her attention was Lena¡¯s. Through it, Rebecca learned what Lena¡¯s crime was: after her girls'' hockey team secured second place in a championship, Lena broke into the winning team''s coach''s office and stole the trophy. She was arrested for what was supposed to be just one night. Lena told the hosts, tears streaming down her pink cheeks, that her mum was supposed to pick her up at 5 a.m. By the end of her interview, Rebecca felt nauseous, filled with more hatred for the show than ever before.


    The next day, after the last interview, marks a significant milestone¡ªthirty days since they were thrust into this twisted game, thirty days of relative calm despite the constant surveillance. Because the day after tomorrow, the battles begin. And naturally, that calls for a celebration in true Live fashion.

 CHAPTER THREE: PART FIVE

    V


    Rebecca lets the synthetic tones and drum patterns shape her movements. The bass thrums in her stomach, her arms and legs obeying without thought. She started dancing when the sky burned orange, hesitant like the others. Now, with the dark dragging the shadows out, she¡¯s given in completely.


    The common room stayed locked until four in the afternoon. Then, they were summoned. The chairs were gone. The capsules had returned. A voice over the speakers ordered them inside. Rebecca obeyed¡ªthere was no other choice. That¡¯s all she remembers.


    The next time she opened her eyes, the capsules rested on the hillside of an island. Through the glass door, Rebecca caught glimpses of the landscape, but once it slid open, the view stole her breath.


    Outside the capsule, the wind tore through her hair, cool against her skin. She could breathe again.


    Behind them, mountains loomed, their peaks crowned with massive slabs of rock. Below, the beach stretched out, its sand soft, golden¡ªwarm, maybe. But between them and the shore, an army of spider drones stood guard. Probably because that¡¯s where the DJ was.


    And in front of her, the sea. Vast. Untouched. Free.


    Tomorrow, in the arena, that¡¯s what they¡¯ll be fighting for.


    Back in the house, Rebecca stepped into the capsule in her usual jumpsuit. She stepped out looking like a whole different person.


    The show had dressed her in an obsidian gown, sleek as liquid silk. Metallic threads laced through the fabric, catching the light with every shift of her body. Her makeup was simple yet tasteful: a smoky eye that emphasized the intensity of her gaze, and a deep crimson lipstick, providing a splash of color against her monotone outfit. Her long black hair fell in loose waves down her back, framing her silver earrings.


    When the sun vanishes the island shifts into a different kind of beauty. Everywhere she looks, darkness swallows the landscape. The mountain is invisible, but she feels it, pressing against the dark. The sea reveals itself only through the breeze it carries.


    Above, the sky''s the only thing not lost to the black. Stars¡ªtoo many to count¡ªspill across it. The longer she looks, the more they multiply.


    The lights pulse with the music, and Rebecca moves with them. She''s one with them. She hadn''t found the guts to dance ballet¡ªtoo many memories¡ªbut this is different. This is necessary.


    When the lights soften, their glow turning warm, the music follows. Rebecca stops, breathless. She sinks onto the grass, tilts her head back. Breathes.


    Then, someone sits beside her. Reese.


    She had seen him dancing with his pack of goons. He looked devastatingly handsome. His tailored midnight-blue suit, embroidered with gold, brought out the depth in his dark eyes. His usually messy hair was slicked back, exposing the sharp angles of his face. She can¡¯t see any of that now, only his silhouette, which he carries with such confidence.


    ¡°You look¡­" he pauses, searching for the right word, ¡°¡­breathtaking.¡±


    As another song begins, he outstretches a hand toward her as an invitation. ¡°Dance with me?¡± he murmurs, his eyes locked on hers.


    Dancing with Reese here, under the stars, in front of the sea, feels dangerous. The idea of being so close to him in such a romantic setting, surrendering to the rhythm and losing herself in the moment, is both exhilarating and terrifying. Yet, the music, the atmosphere, and above all, Reese¡¯s expectant eyes make it almost irresistible.


    He leads her back to the dance floor, his hand warm on her lower back. The music has shifted to a slow, sensual melody. It¡¯s not as terrifying as she imagined, she realizes, as they begin to move in synchrony. Following Reese¡¯s rhythm comes effortlessly to her. Their dance feels more like a conversation¡ªcasual and playful. Intimate. "So," he begins, a mischievous glint in his eye, "the infamous Rebecca graces me with her presence on the dance floor. I feel honored."


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    Rebecca raises an eyebrow, a faint smile dancing on her lips. ¡°Don''t let it go to your head,¡± she retorts. Whether it¡¯s the dancing, the dress, the island, she feels more self-assured than ever. ¡°I''m only doing this because my feet were getting bored.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah?¡± he chuckles, drawing her closer. ¡°I assure you, my dear Rebecca, boredom is the last thing you''ll ever feel in my company.¡± He twirls her smoothly, their eyes locking for a moment before pulling her back into his embrace.


    ¡°Is that a promise?¡± she teases, tilting her head slightly.


    "It''s a guarantee," he replies, his low voice so close it sends a tingling wave from her ear down to her neck. As the music swells, he dips her low, her back arching gracefully. When he lifts her back up, his expression turns serious. "You know what? I''ve been practicing, too."


    "Practicing what?" she asks, casting him a skeptical glance.


    "Dancing," he answers, his initial confidence softening into a shy smile as he meets her eyes.


    ¡°You knew there was going to be a dance?¡±


    ¡°There was one in season nine.¡± He shrugs. ¡°But that¡¯s not why I did it. I was nervous about dancing with you¡ªafter all, you¡¯re a professional¡ªso I¡¯ve been sneaking in lessons in my room.¡±


    Rebecca¡¯s heart melts at his confession. The thought of him working so hard just to keep up with her brings a smile she can¡¯t hold back.


    Then, he looks at her deep in her eyes, she notices even in the dark. "You''ve never mentioned how you¡­ your leg, wasn''t it?"


    Rebecca draws in a sharp breath. "What about it?"


    "I want to know what happened to you."


    She hesitates. Again, the way Reese looks at her makes it impossible to say no. She definitely blames the dancing this time.


    "We were celebrating¡ªsome friends and I," she says, shaking her head. "Some of my backup dancers and a few I was tutoring. We were celebrating in the studio because I had just starred in a huge choreography. A big deal. Then they said, ¡®Let¡¯s do the Torch Lift. You do it perfectly.¡¯ And we did.¡± She cracks. "But he dropped me."


    Rebecca exhales, staring at nothing in particular.


    "They said it was an accident, but¡­"


    Nobody laughs at an accident. She keeps that part to herself. Otherwise, she might break.


    "What a fucking asshole."


    "The worst part," she mutters, "I only got to perform in the premiere. After that, I had to watch it from home, both legs in casts."


    Reese watches her for a moment, then pulls her into a quick but tender hug.


    They dance in silence for a while, playfully moving to the upbeat songs, occasionally stepping on each other¡¯s toes. It always ends the same: Reese apologizing to Rebecca and her smacking him lightly on the arm, both of them laughing. As the tempo slows, they draw closer. In a moment of boldness¡ªor perhaps foolishness¡ªRebecca rests her head against his chest.


    In that moment, she wishes time would simply stop. Everything is perfect.


    And every minute that passes, every step they take, brings the first fight of the season closer. She¡¯s checked her social media; her numbers are promising, and many of Reese¡¯s fans are backing her. Still, the messages she reads feel more like threats than support: ¡°Don¡¯t you dare break his heart,¡± ¡°Prove you¡¯re good enough for Reese,¡± ¡°If you ever hurt our boy¡­¡± They¡¯re constantly testing her, subjecting her to an exam she never asked for.


    Suddenly, Reese breaks the silence. ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid, okay?¡± he murmurs, as if he can read her mind. He leans in, his cheekbone gently resting on the crown of her head, his warmth enveloping her. ¡°You have nothing to fear.¡±


    "I can¡¯t stop thinking about the fights," she admits. "I don¡¯t want it to be tomorrow¡ªever."


    He nods. "I know, but tonight is tonight." He spins her out and then pulls her back in, their bodies brushing together.


    She smiles, impressed by how effortlessly he handles the spin. "I''m terrified."


    He tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You shouldn¡¯t be."


    "I guess we¡¯ll see," she retorts. "To me, it looks like I¡¯m safe as long as I don¡¯t do anything to upset you or make you look bad."


    He tightens his grip on her hand, his eyes searching hers. "Rebecca," he says in a soft, lowering tone, "trust me¡ªyou have nothing to worry about."


    "And why is that?" she challenges, knitting her eyebrows.


    He pauses, his expression shifting as his teeth catch on his lower lip. "Let¡¯s just say," he begins, drawing closer, "you have certain¡­ advantages."


    "Advantages?" she repeats, confused beyond measure.


    He smiles. ¡°Trust me, Rebecca. You¡¯ll be fine.¡± He spins her again¡ªa double spin¡ªand she instantly realizes he¡¯s trying to shift her focus. Leaning closer, he murmurs, ¡°Just lose yourself in the dance for now. Enjoy the moment.¡±


    Reese; he smiles as if he doesn¡¯t have a care in the world. Yet her questions come roaring back: Does he really believe she¡¯s safe? What does he know that she doesn¡¯t? Or is he playing another game with her mind?


    Meanwhile, the live chat scrolls at a dizzying pace with a wild stream of texts and emojis: hearts, flames, and endless thumbs-up and thumbs-down that, from tomorrow on, will dictate the fate of every contestant.

 CHAPTER THREE: PART SIX

    VI


    ¡°And there they are, folks!¡± the male host announces, his voice blasting across TV screens and devices all over the continent. ¡°Our fifty-four contestants, in this incredible setting, enjoying their final night together¡ªa moment they will cherish forever before the competition truly begins.¡±


    ¡°You are absolutely right! Tomorrow, at this hour, there will only be fifty three contestants remaining.¡±


    ¡°Hopefully, there will be fifty three and not fifty two, if you know what I mean.¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on. Let¡¯s hope it doesn¡¯t end like that.¡±


    ¡°Now, let¡¯s take a look at the contestants, shall we? What are they doing right now?¡±


    ¡°Oh my God! Look at Contestant 22¡ªdoesn¡¯t she look stunning in that dress?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely gorgeous. Can you believe that before Live, she had a doctorate in biology and was involved in one of the world¡¯s biggest studies on death and consciousness?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s unbelievable.¡±


    ¡°And looks like she¡¯s been working out, too.¡±


    ¡°Well, she should be. They all should be. Now, what do you think about Contestant 1?¡±


    ¡°He looks like a movie star.¡±


    ¡°I bet his wife is missing him right now.¡±


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    ¡°And his mistress! Oh my, look who¡¯s dancing together back there!¡±


    ¡°Our star-crossed lovers, Contestant 13 and Contestant 42.¡±


    ¡°And they are rocking the dance floor too!¡±


    ¡°Well, she is a professional dancer.¡±


    ¡°I love them together. Don¡¯t you just love them together?¡±


    ¡°Of course I do, a romance like this one is every girl¡¯s dream. I mean, look at that chemistry! Do you think they¡¯re faking it, or is this the real deal?¡±


    ¡°Oops! It looks real to me. What about you, folks? Let us know what you think in the live chat!¡±


    ¡°And send us a super chat if you want us to read your message out loud.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m being told we already have some of those.¡±


    ¡°Should we give them a read?¡±


    ¡°We certainly should. This one says: ¡®#ReeseBecca4ever. They''re so cute together! OTP!¡¯¡±


    ¡°Look at this one: ¡®She''s totally using him for personal gain. #SaveReese.¡¯¡±


    ¡°¡®Save Reese from the bitch.¡¯ Ouch!¡±


    ¡°¡®Save Reese from the bitch.¡¯ There are a bunch of those¡­¡±


    ¡°¡®I don¡¯t care if she¡¯s using him; that dress is fire!¡¯¡±


    ¡°¡®Stop giving praise to Rebecca! You wouldn¡¯t even notice her if it weren¡¯t for Reese. #AllWomenAreBeautiful.¡¯ Oh, now that¡¯s sweet!¡±


    ¡°¡®That dress is too revealing. Attention seeker much?¡¯¡±


    ¡°Some of these comments are brutal. Looks like Contestant 42 needs to watch her back.¡±


    ¡°Well, we can¡¯t modify the people¡¯s opinions; they speak from the heart.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right. We give the people a voice in this show.¡±


    ¡°Now look at the nice things they say about Contestant 13: ¡®Reese is a king! Always so classy!¡¯¡±


    ¡°¡®He could wear a potato sack and still look hot!¡¯ Now, I agree with that.¡±


    ¡°Oh, oh, oh! What do we have here? ¡®I¡¯ve been paying attention to Reese closely; he always looks miserable when he¡¯s with Rebecca.¡¯ Something tells me there¡¯s more to this story than meets the eye, folks!¡±


    ¡°Is there trouble in paradise?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. You¡¯d better stay tuned because things are about to get interesting!¡±


    ¡°Coming up: what¡¯s up with the twins, tonight. Do they look collected or what?¡±


    The music swells as the camera pans out, showcasing the other contestants while the transmission is interrupted for commercials. The chat keeps flooding with comments¡ªboth praise and hateful remarks for all the contestants alike¡ªReese and Rebecca being the protagonists of the night. The views are going through the roof. It¡¯s been a good season of Live, one that promises to be remembered for a long time.

 CHAPTER THREE: PART SEVEN

    VII


    The lights soften with the first strains of the final waltz, signaling the approaching end of the celebratory ball. The sky, previously black, now dissolves into a deep shade of blue. By now, their clothes are wrinkled, their hair is messy, and their smiles have faded into frowns. Among them, Rebecca feels her intestines twist. She glances at Reese, who surveys the hill with apparent indifference, yet when his eyes meet hers, she catches something deeper¡ªa look she¡¯s seen before, though she hasn¡¯t learned what it means yet.


    Out of nowhere, he pulls her toward a secluded spot by the edge of the hill. The wind has turned more aggressive. Rebecca rubs her arms, trying to fight off the cold. He reaches out, his fingers gently tucking her hair behind her shoulders, and then he places his hand on her waist. Their dancing transforms into a mere swaying back and forth.


    "You know," he says, smiling with his eyes rather than his lips, "I¡¯ve been reflecting on what you mentioned on my balcony."


    Rebecca raises an eyebrow. "Have you?"


    He nods. "Yes, you said we should save the acting for when the cameras are on."


    "What about it?" she asks, unsure where he''s headed.


    "Well, I have some ideas for us now that the battles are coming."


    "Like what?"


    The music carries them along.


    "Like a video, for example¡ªme playing guitar, you dancing. It¡¯s so obvious we can¡¯t not do it!" He looks excited¡ªalmost too excited. "A photoshoot might work too; we could pick an interesting spot. Here would¡¯ve been perfect." He blushes slightly. "And I¡¯ve realized that the only time we ever kissed was when no cameras were around. Remember, in the hallway after the interview?"


    How could I forget? flashes through her mind, but instead she says, "Barely."


    He snickers. "That wasn¡¯t a wise move on our part. The audience would kill to see us kiss."


    Suddenly, Rebecca feels lost again¡ªconfused, disappointed. It¡¯s all part of the show, after all. His feelings, as she assumed, are a sham.


    "I don¡¯t think so¡­"


    Reese looks utterly disappointed. "What part?"


    "All of it. Especially the kiss¡ªit feels kind of forced."


    "But if we don¡¯t take advantage of the views we''re getting, what¡¯s the point? Those ideas I just told you are going to sell like hot bread."


    Every trace of a smile vanishes from Rebecca¡¯s face. "Sell what? Your music?" she challenges, anger seeping through. "I¡¯m not your new marketing toy, Reese."


    He sighs. To her surprise, he doesn¡¯t meet her anger. "I was thinking we could sell ''us''¡ªtogether. Create our own brand," he admits, his gaze drifting toward the surrounding cameras. "Who knows? We might even get big."


    "What? Did you forget where we are? Are you having a stroke?"


    "You don¡¯t need to be so mean." He meets her eyes again, but now there''s a seriousness she hasn''t seen before. "We''re both performers; I thought you wanted to be seen. That''s what performing is all about."


    "Well, I don¡¯t want to." She says. "Now I get it. That¡¯s why you wanted an alliance with me¡ªyou want me to dance for you, to kiss, to be used like a prop doll."


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    "No," Reese answers. "You''re wrong. I want to share something with you¡ªthat¡¯s all." He blushes. "And you look so beautiful tonight; even if it¡¯s a staged kiss, I want the world to know you''re mine." His voice trails off.


    Her heart aches at the longing in his eyes. "I never said I was yours," she whispers, raising her hand as a shield.


    He nods slowly, resigned. "Yeah. You never said you were mine." He pulls her closer, and they sway together to the music. "But you admitted that when the cameras are on, we¡¯d show the world how we feel." He pauses, gently stroking her hand with his thumb.


    As the last notes fade away, they stand for a moment, lost in each other''s gaze. The illusion of the dance¡ªof their fake but dangerous romance¡ªcrumbles, revealing a fragile truth neither can deny.


    "Well, there goes our chance," he says, as the sun begins to arise. Leaning in closer to her ear, he whispers, "You''re killing me, Rebecca. All I wanted was one kiss."


    ¡°Contestants,¡± the same voice that preys on them in the house now echoes around them. ¡°Please prepare to return to your respective cryogenic capsules.¡±


    Rebecca stiffens, pulling back slightly, her hand rising to rest against his chest again. "Reese," she says softly, a mix of warning and regret in her voice, "I''m sorry¡ªyou should''ve picked someone else. I can¡¯t kiss on cue; the cameras make me nervous."


    His expression shifts, the trace of annoyance softening into fleeting tenderness. "You''re playing a dangerous game, Rebecca," he mutters, eyes searching hers. "This ''hard to get'' act... it''s intriguing, but..." He trails off, his hand slipping from her waist.


    "But what?" she challenges, tilting her chin upward and meeting his eyes with a defiant spark.


    A slow smile spreads across his face. "But it only makes me want you more," he replies with a mix of frustration and undeniable desire in his tone. He steps back, creating a small space between them. "You know, this whole ''forbidden fruit'' scenario fits our narrative perfectly, doesn''t it? The viewers eat it up." He runs a hand through his hair. "They would have loved a kiss in this setting, but it''s fine. This push and pull¡ªit¡¯s captivating. You may not want to perform for them, but you''re still doing it. And your performance¡ªit¡¯s sincere. That can¡¯t be smart."


    Rebecca holds his gaze, despite the drones on the hill now moving in their direction. She knows he¡¯s right; every interaction is analyzed by an audience hungry for drama. But another kiss would only complicate matters further, and the audience has little to do with it.


    "I''m losing track, Reese. Where does the acting end and the truth begin?" she confesses, her voice on the verge of breaking. "I''ve asked you in every possible way to keep things separate¡ªto make it less complicated. Why can''t you do that for me?"


    "You find being around me complicated. Do you want me to vanish from your side completely?"


    "No," she answers before she can think. There''s a long, heavy pause before he speaks again.


    "So, you want me around¡ªyou just don¡¯t want to do anything with me or show me how you feel," he says, amusement glinting in his eyes. "What do you want me to be? A shadow?" He steps closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Open your eyes, Rebecca. My whole life, I''ve said the right things¡ªthe necessary lies¡ªto get where I am. But with you... you''re the only person I''ve been completely and foolishly honest with, and you never stop to consider that I might be telling the truth. Open your heart, Rebecca. Just because we might die tomorrow doesn''t mean you can''t live now. You''re missing out."


    He turns and walks away, vanishing into the thinning crowd. Rebecca stands alone in the whispering wind, her eyes fixed on the spot where Reese disappeared.


    The first morning rays wash the island in yellow light, the waves of the sea the only music accompanying them now.


    Rebecca lingers a bit longer, contemplating the vastness of the sea. She can¡¯t find peace anymore, not with the voice from the speakers reminding her of her true place in the world:


    ¡°Attention, contestants. The ball is officially concluded. Please proceed to your designated cryogenic capsules immediately.¡±


    The spider drones¡ªcreepy as ever¡ªthreaten the contestants with their red flares. Some comply without hesitation, their elegant gowns and tailored suits clashing with the growing urgency of their obedience. Others, caught in the emotional undertow of the impending fights, cling to the last vestiges of the night.


    ¡°Please, just a little longer,¡± pleads a young woman in a shimmering silver dress, tears streaming down her mascara-streaked cheeks. Contestant Forty-Something¡ªRebecca can¡¯t quite remember¡ªsobbed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to go back¡­ not yet.¡±


    An impassive spider drone steers her toward the capsules. Amid the rising tide of panic, Rebecca also obeys, her obsidian gown flowing around her like liquid night. As she leaves the hill behind, she adjusts the delicate silver chain around her neck.


    She doesn¡¯t look back; her gaze remains fixed on the path ahead.


    She doesn¡¯t want to leave the island¡ªthe sense of liberation, the ability to breathe freely¡ªonly to return to those suffocating walls. Yet, the end of the ball means little to her compared to Reese¡¯s Machiavellian game, with his twists and turns as he leads her through the stages of Live.

 CHAPTER FOUR: PART ONE

    I


    Tension¡¯s been a constant in the Live facility from day one, but tonight it is striking. The fifty-four contestants sit in silence before the expansive holographic screen, their eyes wide, their smiles strained. The space, normally alive with the sound of casual conversation, now resembles a holding cell. Everybody is watching the holographic advertisements splashed on the walls, but nobody knows what products they are promoting, not really.


    Rebecca occupies her usual spot beside Reese at the back of the room.


    The obsidian gown is gone, replaced by a standard-issue gray jumpsuit, yet the silver chain still rests against her collarbone. It¡¯s a small act, but the audacity in it charges her with a semblance of control¡ªand a touch of beauty.


    All she had to do was hide it in her underwear before entering the capsule. Of course, she¡¯ll never tell.


    She doesn¡¯t smile, nor does she frown¡ªshe just watches. But her hands rest under her legs, the only way to hide their tremor.


    At 9 p.m. sharp, the arena comes to life on the screen, its vibrant colors lighting up the room. Rebecca extends a cold, clammy hand and finds Reese¡¯s. He tightens his grip, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand in silent reassurance. They haven''t mentioned the ball¡ªor the fight they had that night. Just knowing that either of them could be sent to the arena is enough for one day. Rebecca can tell Reese isn¡¯t truly scared, but something still worries him. He¡¯s been unusually quiet, keeping a low profile, lost in thought.


    ¡°Welcome back to Live! Tonight marks the beginning of the most pivotal event of this show. Tonight we¡¯re diving into the elimination rounds!¡±


    ¡°Get ready to welcome the two contestants set to face off in the first elimination battle¡­¡±


    The female host pauses, prolonging the suspense with theatrical flair, managing it like an expert. Every breath in the room hitches in anticipation. Rebecca squeezes Reese''s hand. The screen goes black, and then the numbers start rolling until they settle on two¡ªdisplayed in the center of the wall, white and shiny:


    27 - 51


    ¡°The people have spoken, ladies and gentlemen. Let''s welcome Contestant 27 and Contestant 51 into the arena!¡±


    The other contestants¡ªthe ones who haven¡¯t been chosen¡ªsigh in relief. Then come the whispers. Two figures¡ªa young man with a shaved head and the drug-addicted woman who tried to sell her child¡ªare ushered forward by the ever-watchful security spider drones. The man''s face pales, his eyes wide with terror. In contrast, the woman holds her head high, a defiant glint sparking in her eyes.


    As they vanish through the heavy steel door leading to the arena, the room falls strangely quiet. The screen transitions to a live feed of the battle ground below the hosts'' floating stage. It is a rectangular space, drenched in harsh spotlights, with the dirt floor changing colors under the artificial illumination. The audience erupts in boos and accusatory shouts. Contestants 27 and 51 descend on a square levitating base, barely larger than their feet, their hands and legs bound.


    Rebecca feels suddenly sick. She can taste fear in her mouth and it is bitter. Sensing her distress, Reese leans closer. ¡°Apparently they¡¯ve been testing these fibers since season seven,¡± he murmurs with a throaty voice. ¡°At least those are the rumors circling on the internet.¡± His words, though intended to reassure her, paint a grim picture of the brutality that awaits the chosen contestants.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± she asks, her voice barely louder than a whisper. ¡°What makes you think that?¡±


    Reese¡¯s expression turns serious as he glances around the room, ensuring no one is within earshot. ¡°Season seven?¡± he asks, expecting Rebecca to know something she clearly doesn''t. ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear? Like, half of the contestants got extremely sick and then some died in the most weird ways.¡± He pauses, once again looking at her as if she should already know. ¡°They said their deaths were accidents, like eating something expired or choking on a chicken bone.¡± He meets her gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and something else she struggles to decipher. ¡°But people noticed in the way they fought that there was something going on. Now they¡¯re kind of admitting to it if you think about it.¡±


    Rebecca stares at him, absorbing the implications of his words. She didn¡¯t know any of that, she had stopped watching the show after season three. ¡°So they¡¯re not really testing it, they are marketing it,¡± she breathes, a chill settling over her spine. Reese nods solemnly. ¡°They worked fine in season 8 and 9, I guess now they¡¯re ready to sell it.¡±


    "Why didn¡¯t people do something to prevent it?" Rebecca asks.


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    Reese shrugs slightly. "Because they want to have it?" He gestures toward a lens embedded right above their heads. "I also heard the cameras¡ª" he points at it, "they have filters on us, so we look better than in real life."


    With a knot in her stomach, Rebecca turns her attention back to the screen. The two contestants are approached by spider drones that begin to loosen their bindings. Contestant 51 rubs her wrists as she prepares for combat. The camera zooms in on her face, capturing the fierce determination etched into her features.


    A piercing scream shatters the tense silence of the arena as Contestant 51 lunges at her opponent, unleashing a guttural cry that reverberates off the walls. Contestant 27 stumbles backward, his increased reflexive strength kicking in with instinctual precision as he regains his balance and narrowly dodges her fierce attack. She crashes to the ground but springs back to her feet with remarkable speed. Seizing a jagged rock from the dirt, she hurls it at him, but once again, he sidesteps her assault.


    This merciless exchange of aggression and evasion continues. The only moment she manages to inflict pain is when her long nails rake across his skin, leaving a crimson trail. Infuriated, Contestant 27 seizes her by the arms and flings her aside like a rag doll. He wipes the blood from his cheek, seemingly unfazed by the scratch. Turning to the audience, he raises his voice in a triumphant shout, gesturing wildly as Contestant 51 struggles to rise, coughing violently.


    From the crowd, a spectator hurls an object toward him; he catches it mid-air¡ªit''s a knife.


    ¡°Oops!¡± Says the male host. ¡°Looks like someone managed to contraband a weapon into the arena.¡±


    ¡°Weapons aren¡¯t allowed, people. Do we have to increase our security systems?¡±


    ¡°It certainly looks like it.¡±


    Rebecca flinches, her stomach twisting in knots. She instinctively looks away, but Reese''s grip on her hand tightens, refusing to let her cower from the brutal spectacle before them. ¡°Don¡¯t look away,¡± he tells her, giving her hand a slight shake. ¡°You need to see this. You need to get used to this.¡± His words are harsh, yet they pull her back to memories of her father¡ªback when he taught her never to surrender, never to stop¡ªlong before he stopped talking to her.


    When Contestant 51 sees the knife, she drops to her knees, desperate, pleading for mercy. But Contestant 27 lunges forward, seizing her head from behind. With a swift motion, he slashes the knife across her jugular. Though the skin splits open, shockingly, no blood flows forth. A devilish smile spreads across her face as he stands frozen in disbelief. In a sudden burst of defiance, she drives her elbow into his crotch; he doubles over in pain.


    Acting without hesitation, she wrests the knife from his grip and instead of aiming for a fatal blow, she plunges it into his armpit. His scream pierces Rebecca¡¯s ears.


    Contestant 27 pushes himself up on one arm but falters as agony radiates through him. Contestant 51 capitalizes on his weakness, slicing behind his knees; he folds in on himself and sinks to the ground. She continues to strike again and again until his body is drenched in crimson and dirt.


    Standing over her vanquished opponent, her chest going up and down with exhilaration, she revels in her hard-won victory. The knife drips thick dark fluid onto the ground below. Contestant 27 writhes in torment; his cries grow weaker with each passing moment as his left arm hangs at an unnatural angle, nearly severed at the elbow.


    Reese''s gaze is locked on the screen, his voice steady as he comments, ¡°She¡¯s impressive¡ªquick and merciless. She knows how to exploit her opponent¡¯s vulnerabilities.¡±


    Rebecca dares a glance at the screen. The camera zooms in on the woman¡¯s face¡ªso close that Rebecca can count every tooth. Contestant 51¡¯s eyes gleam, wide and round like golf balls, locking onto the camera¡¯s unyielding stare. Rebecca can¡¯t believe she¡¯s going to spend the night in the same place as her.


    ¡°She''s relishing this," she whispers, her words nearly drowned out by the man''s labored breaths, coming from the speaker overhead. "Far too much.¡±


    Reese nods, his jaw taut with tension. ¡°They all do eventually. It¡¯s the only way to survive in this place.¡± He pauses, his expression softening as he turns to her. ¡°But that won¡¯t be your fate. You¡¯ll be safe.¡±


    The man sprawled on the floor has gone still. A pool of crimson begins to congeal beneath him, glistening under the harsh arena lights. The woman raises her knife, blood trickling down her arm, poised for another potential strike. She studies him for a moment, then prods him lightly with the tip of her foot. No response.


    The male host''s voice booms through the arena, declaring Contestant 51 the victor¡ªthe first of the season.


    Rebecca shuts her eyes, leaning into Reese''s warmth as dread sweeps over her like a dark tide. His hand moves from hers to gently cradle her face, his thumb brushing softly against her cheek. ¡°It¡¯s over,¡± he murmurs quietly. ¡°At least, for tonight.¡±


    The heavy steel door hisses open, and Contestant 51 steps in, her black hair matted with a dark, viscous substance. Her once-pristine grey jumpsuit is now splattered with remnants of the gruesome encounter. She¡¯s received with a round of applause; some contestants rush forward with awkward congratulations etched on their faces¡ªthey fear her, but they also admire her¡ªwhile others maintain their distance, their expressions blank.


    Basking in the attention, the victor allows herself a small, proud smile before diving into the crowd of admirers. Rebecca turns to Reese as soon as she notices him shift in his seat.


    He rises gracefully, the tension on his face melting into his usual charming smile. ¡°I should go congratulate her,¡± he explains. ¡°Play along, Rebecca. It¡¯s safer that way.¡±


    He strides toward Contestant 51 in one fluid movement, flashing a warm smile and uttering words of praise just loud enough for nearby contestants to catch. Rebecca watches him with a tumultuous mix of admiration and resentment. He plays the game like everyone else¡ªand he enjoys it just as much as Contestant 51 enjoyed bleeding Contestant 27 to death.


    Rebecca understands the necessity of his performance; he has an image to uphold, a role to fulfill. But now that the battle is done and they''ve secured another 24 hours of life, all the questions that tormented her before the fight resurface.

 CHAPTER FOUR: PART TWO

    II


    Every time she closes her eyes, the fight replays in her mind: Contestant 51¡¯s swift, brutal victory¡ªher yellow teeth, her wide eyes unblinking¡ªand the viscous substance clinging to her hair and Contestant 27¡¯s clothes. It replays as if she''s still watching. On top of it all, the show''s endless theme song sounds louder tonight. There are no speakers in her room¡ªnormally, the music is distant¡ªbut tonight, she hears it right beside her ear. She tosses and turns, the sheets tangling around her ankles, until finally she sits up, pushing the covers aside with a sigh.


    She glances at the watch on her nightstand: 03:17. Most of the compound is asleep, lulled into a false sense of security. A tentative thought forms in her mind: Reese. He might be awake¡ªhe often stays up late, composing music or simply staring out at the cityscape. Maybe he can help.


    Quietly, she slips out of her room; the cool metal floor freezes her from her feet upward. She pads down the hallway, where the only sound louder than the theme song is her own heartbeat. At his door, she hesitates, her hand hovering over its surface. What if he rejects her? What if he laughs? The thought stings, but her need for comfort outweighs her pride.


    She knocks three times.


    ¡°Who is it?¡±


    ¡°It''s me, Rebecca.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°Come in.¡±


    Taking a deep breath, she turns the doorknob. The door hisses open, revealing Reese sitting up in bed, the covers pulled around him, a datapad illuminating his face in the darkness. He looks up, surprised, his expression softening when he sees her.


    "What''s wrong, Becky?"


    "I... I can''t sleep," she admits in a whisper. She shifts her weight, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "It¡¯s the fight¡­ I can¡¯t stop picturing it."


    He studies her for a moment, his gaze distant, lost in an internal debate. "Come here," he finally says, setting the datapad aside and making room on the bed.


    She hesitates for a moment, then crosses the room and sits beside him. ¡°I just¡­ don¡¯t want to be alone,¡± she clarifies, her voice tight. ¡°I don¡¯t want anything¡­ funny to happen.¡±


    ¡°Nothing funny,¡± he agrees.


    ¡°I mean it, Reese. No videos, no photoshoot, no kiss.¡±


    A faint smile touches his lips. ¡°Nothing funny,¡± he repeats, his voice gentle. He pulls the covers back, inviting her in. She slips under the warm fabric, the tension in her shoulders beginning to ease.


    The bed is slightly larger than hers, softer too. She lies on her side, facing away from him. Neither of them say anything but she finds comfort in the silence. She can feel the heat of his body radiating beside her, her feet already warming up.


    After a few minutes, she feels him shift closer. His arm drapes lightly over her waist, pulling her gently against him. She doesn¡¯t resist; the contact is surprisingly soothing. His hand rests on her stomach, rising and falling with each breath she takes.


    "Better?" he murmurs, his breath tickling the back of her neck.


    She nods, closing her eyes. ¡°Much better,¡± she whispers back. The knot in her chest finally unties, replaced by a sense of peace she hasn¡¯t felt in a long time. The rhythmic beat of his heart against her back lulls her into a state of deep relaxation. She feels safe, protected¡ªas if, for once, she¡¯s not on her own. The scent of his skin, clean and masculine, fills her senses. His hand, calloused but gentle, strokes her side in slow, soothing circles.


    She drifts off to sleep, enveloped in his warmth. The horrors of the fight no longer torment her, they fade into the background. For the first time since entering Live, Rebecca sleeps soundly.


    The soft morning light filtering through the gap in the curtains paints a warm glow across Reese¡¯s sleeping face. He looks younger, less guarded, in the quiet surrender of sleep. A strand of dark hair falls across his forehead and Rebecca resists the urge to brush it away. She has to get out. Now. Before he wakes up and she has to face the awkward aftermath of what she sternly reminds herself is purely a platonic act of comfort.


    With the same willpower that helped her quit smoking, she carefully pulls away from his embrace. He stirs slightly, mumbling something unintelligible. Her heart skips a beat. Has he woken? She freezes, holding her breath. Then he settles back into sleep, a soft sigh escaping his lips.


    She slips out of bed, her bare feet making no sound on the cool metal floor. As she reaches the door, she glances back at him and her chest tightens with a mixture of fondness and guilt. Guilt because she is sneaking away like a thief in the night. Fondness because¡­ well, because she can¡¯t deny the unexpected comfort she¡¯s found in his arms.


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    As soon as she shuts the door behind her, she lets out a shaky breath. As she walks back to her room, too aware of the cameras watching from the walls, her internal monologue begins¡ªsounding oddly like her first ballet teacher, a retired dancer who mentored her in childhood: Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did you have to go to his room? You have been weak, you have been childish. She has a reputation to maintain, a persona to project. The fierce, independent Rebecca doesn¡¯t need anyone¡ªespecially not someone manipulative and fake like Reese.


    But it was so¡­ pleasant. That thought intrudes¡ªunwelcome but unwilling to abandon her.


    His arms around her, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the feeling of safety she hasn¡¯t experienced in so long. It all had been so¡­ comforting. A blush colors her cheeks, and despite her best efforts, a smile tugs at the corners of her lips. It doesn¡¯t mean anything, she tells herself firmly. It¡¯s just sleep¡ªjust a temporary reprieve from the constant pressure, the ever-present cameras, the brutal reality of Live. Nothing more. Yet the memory of his touch¡ªthe faint scent of him in her hair and on her clothes¡ªtells a different story, one she isn¡¯t ready to acknowledge, a story that threatens to shatter the walls around her heart.


    Reaching her room, she slips inside. She leans against the cool metal, closing her eyes¡ªthe smile still playing on her lips. It doesn¡¯t mean anything, she repeats¡ªthe words sounding less convincing than before.


    What once felt unthinkable now falls into the rhythm of routine. Three more nights. Three more fights. Three more stolen hours of sleep in Reese''s arms. The walk down the silent hallway grows less fraught with anxiety; the hesitant knock on his door is now just a soft tap. The internal battle between caution and comfort fades with each passing night. The shared bed no longer feels like a transgression but a strange haven amid the storm. The fights continue, their brutality escalating with a sickening predictability¡ªthree more numbers add to the grim tally, three more empty beds in the contestants'' quarters. Yet in the quiet sanctuary of Reese¡¯s room, those horrors seem distant, muted. The warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart, the soft murmur of his breath against her hair¡ªthese are the tangible realities that anchor her, chase away the nightmares, and grant her a few precious hours of peace. Slowly, the arguments in her mind quiet down; she has learned to suppress them completely.


    This morning, however, the script flips. Rebecca wakes to a strange lightness¡ªa missing warmth beside her. She opens her eyes to find Reese already awake, his back resting against the wall behind the bed. He looks at her and smiles, his deep brown eyes catching the morning light, filled with a tenderness that steals her breath.


    Before she can react, he leans in and his lips brush hers. It¡¯s a chaste kiss¡ªa sweet good morning¡ªbut it shatters the illusion of the platonic comfort they¡¯d built. She had made it clear: ¡°No kisses,¡± and he had agreed. Now the guilt she managed to suppress over the past three nights surges back, raw and crushing. What has she been doing? She allowed herself to become too open, too exposed¡ªand that terrifies her.


    She pulls away, a blush burning her cheeks. The comfortable silence they¡¯d cultivated now feels suffocating. The gentle morning light suddenly turns harsh, exposing the untamed emotions she¡¯s tried so hard to keep hidden. She sits up, the thin blanket slipping away to reveal the bare skin of her shoulders.


    She puts on her clothes, she walks to the door. She stops.


    ¡°You promised.¡±


    He tilts his head, studying her reaction like she¡¯s some puzzle he¡¯s trying to solve. Then, he exhales.


    ¡°I thought I had earned it by now.¡±


    She freezes. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±


    His lips quirk¡ªnot quite a smile, but something close. ¡°You needed to know.¡±


    ¡°Know what?¡±


    ¡°That it¡¯s safe. That I¡¯m safe.¡± His gaze darkens slightly. ¡°That you can trust me.¡±


    She leaves.


    The day drags on, suffocating and endless. Rebecca drifts through it like a ghost, moving aimlessly through the bright, sterile corridors of Live. Every corner feels haunted by Reese¡¯s presence; the memory of his lips on hers bringing back her mistakes, her weakness. She avoids him with a diligence that surprises even herself. She rushes through her meals in isolated corners and throws herself into training, her fighting turns into a mechanical choreography, yet always resulting in defeat. At the slightest sight of him, her heart races and she bolts in the opposite direction, desperate to escape.


    Just before the mandatory gathering in the common room for the fifth fight of the season, she sees it¡ªa notification on her phone: a new upload from Reese, from six hours ago. Her thumb hovers over the icon¡ªa strange mix of apprehension and morbid curiosity compels her to click.


    The video opens on Reese¡ªhis face is ghostly pale and drawn, carved by the harsh glare of his room. His usual mask of charm and effortless magnetism is stripped away. Instead, he looks determined, obsessed even. His eyes, which usually radiate confidence and charisma, now carry a dull, aching exhaustion, not so different from the despair she feels.


    ¡°Good morning, my loves,¡± he begins¡ªhis voice rougher than usual and devoid of its melodic quality. ¡°I¡¯m making this video to ask¡­ to ask for something that might seem a little strange.¡± He pauses¡ªrunning a hand through his hair¡ªthe gesture revealing a tremor in his fingers Rebecca¡¯s never seen before.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t fought yet," he continues¡ªhis gaze fixed on the camera, as if speaking directly to her. "And while I appreciate the support¡­ the votes¡­ I need to do this right. I need to test my strength, my chances. Shake the fear out of fighting."


    He takes a deep breath, the muscles in his throat tightening. "So I¡¯m asking you, my fans, my supporters¡­ don¡¯t give me safety votes tonight. Downvote me. Let me fight. Let me feel, in flesh and blood, what it means to stand in the arena. To see if I have what it takes to¡­ win."


    A pause. His voice lowers. "I didn¡¯t ask you before because I thought I had a reason to stay safe. But¡­ I¡¯m not so sure anymore. So, can you do that for me?"


    He finishes with a thank you¡ªthe plea ringing in Rebecca¡¯s ears long after the video cuts out.


    She stares at the blank screen as blood drains from her face. She feels betrayed¡ªthat single word repeating in her mind like a mocking parrot, squawking from the depths of her thoughts. He wants to fight; he craves it. He¡¯s been playing the charming prince¡ªgarnering votes and sympathy¡ªwhile she grapples with the very real terror of the arena. He¡¯s used her¡ªexploiting their shared nights and fragile truce¡ªto build his image as the compassionate hero, all while plotting his descent into violence, indifferent to leaving her behind in that nightmare called Live. The realization ignites a fire in her chest; how can he not care?


    She hates him for risking everything for a few hours of recognition, yet deep down, in a place she rarely visits, she feels strangely relieved. She doesn¡¯t want to see him fight, she doesn¡¯t want to see him hurt or suffering. But being angry at him is so much simpler than being close.

 CHAPTER FOUR: PART THREE

    III


    Someone laughs behind Rebecca¡ªone of the Contestants. She doesn¡¯t know which one, and she doesn¡¯t want to look back to find out. The chair she occupies tonight is cold and stiff and too close to the screen¡ªnothing like the plush velvet armchair where she used to sit with Reese. She picks at a loose thread on her sleeve, her gaze fixed on the fraying white strands, pointedly ignoring the question mark written across Reese¡¯s face from the other side of the room. The only time Rebecca lifts her head is when the hosts announce they''re about to reveal today''s chosen competitors. Her heart raises, her hands begin to tremble and her shoulders hurt from the tension. She only sees one number: 13. Reese¡¯s. It blazes brightly on the screen, clear as water despite her vision is blurred by held tears.


    During the few seconds the numbers appear on the screen¡ªseconds that stretch endlessly¡ªRebecca feels frozen, glued to the glowing image, unable to look away. The distance between her and Reese suddenly feels vast, unreachable.


    She looks at him. He looks at her. His eyes tell her nothing. They¡¯re deep and dark, but hollow. What is he feeling? Expectation? Hope? A muscle twitches in his jaw¡ªthe only outward sign of the storm she knows must be raging inside him.


    He doesn¡¯t stand immediately. He stays seated, staring at her. Waiting for something. For what? A goodbye kiss? A reassuring hug? Some small gesture of¡­ what? Support? Love?


    Her hands turn cold.


    She remains frozen, her body rigid. Even though she doesn¡¯t want to, her face wears a mask of indifference.


    A spider drone approaches him but does nothing¡ªonly waits. Still, Reese takes its arrival as a sign. It¡¯s time. He has to go to the arena now, just like he wanted.


    He looks at Rebecca one last time before breaking eye contact. Then he stands¡ªcalm, composed¡ªand walks past her as if she isn¡¯t even there. The drone follows him closely as he moves toward the steel door, shoulders squared, head held high.


    But Rebecca sees it¡ªthe slight bounce on his toes, the almost imperceptible hitch in his step.


    His opponent, Contestant 3, has a back like a fortress and arms like bricks. He''s a former rugby player accused of street fighting. He waits, smiling, rubbing his tongue against his lips as if starving for violence. He cracks his knuckles, the snap louder than the crowd¡¯s acclamations.


    Both of them arrive at the arena a few moments later. Before the cameras even catch Reese, his presence is already revealed by the deafening screams from the stands. Today, mostly women.


    When they finally step onto the arena floor, Contestant 3¡¯s smile fades. Some of the previous ovation has twisted into outright hate. His chest rises and falls aggressively, his hands clenching into fists as he hurls obscene gestures at the audience¡ªwho openly call for his downfall. The hosts announce the start of the fight, but both contestants remain motionless.


    Reese¡ªsmaller and seemingly more fragile than his opponent¡ªwaits for his adversary to make the first move. Rebecca¡¯s heart races, pounding against her ribcage, her eyes stay locked on the screen. With her hands clasped together in a silent prayer, she hopes desperately for the battle to turn in Reese''s favor.


    Then, Contestant 3 disappears from his spot.


    Rebecca nearly gasps as she realizes his ability¡ªhis skin bends light, making him almost impossible to see.


    But Reese moves with startling agility, dodging Contestant 3¡¯s clumsy strike with an almost balletic grace. Contestant 3, driven by primal bloodlust, lunges again. He slams into Reese, sending him flying across the arena. He doesn¡¯t think. He doesn¡¯t measure his strength or his stamina. He attacks like an animal.


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    Rebecca watches, her breath caught in her throat and her fists clenched tightly. If she was angry at Reese before, she forgot completely. There''s only room for fear now; it is a visceral terror that has nothing to do with the game and everything to do with the man fighting for his life in the arena.


    He is quick¡ªhis days lost in the training room visible in every dodge¡ªbut his opponent is nothing if not resilient. Aggression propelling his tank-like frame.


    A sickening thud reverberates through the arena as Reese takes a blow to the ribs, sending him bouncing off the ground.


    Rebecca gasps; her heart lurches painfully in her chest.


    He lies there for a moment, motionless. The common room falls silent¡ªso do the audience, even the hosts. Only the speakers emit a sound, breathing in time with Contestant 3¡¯s ragged panting.


    Rebecca feels a wave of nausea¡ªuntil, with the speed of someone just awakened from a good night''s sleep, Reese springs back up. The visible dent in his side¡ªthe one that should have left him incapacitated¡ªvanishes just as quickly as it appeared. Their eyes meet: Contestant 3 is furious and frustrated, while Reese seems fed up.


    Contestant 3 charges forward with renewed ferocity. Despite his anger, Reese barely makes an effort to dodge his opponent¡¯s attacks, which have grown more erratic. Each time Contestant 3 lands a blow, Reese''s wounds heal almost instantly. At one point, the camera zooms in on Reese''s face, capturing one of the most arrogant smirks he¡¯s worn yet. Contestant 3 falters, baffled by the futility of his efforts; his initial confidence crumbles as his strength wanes. He¡¯s drained. He is losing his faith. Rebecca notices it in the arch of his eyebrows¡ªa detail that showers her with guilty hope.


    Desperate to end the battle quickly and secure a victory, Contestant 3 scans his surroundings. He snatches a metallic stick from the set decorations and rushes toward Reese, blending into the background. In an unexpected move, Reese closes his eyes and braces for impact. Suddenly, Contestant 3 appears right before him¡ªthe metallic stick pierces Reese''s stomach, and blood escapes from his lips. Yet Reese endures the pain; he grabs Contestant 3¡¯s head and twists it at an unnatural angle. The crack of his neck echoes through the arena and makes the speakers in the common room vibrate.


    The audience erupts in applause and standing ovations, the hosts declare Reese the fifth victor of the season. Everybody is happy by the time the battle ends. Except for Reese standing over his fallen opponent, his chest heaving, his eyes wide, his blood tainted lips parted. He looks up at the cameras as he falls on his knees, slick with sweat and blood. Clenching his jaw, he pulls the stick out of his stomach, growling behind his gritted teeth. He rests there for a second, maybe two, then he stands on the levitating platform and staggers toward the exit. Rebecca watches him with a grin she can¡¯t fight. Yet, beneath her sense of relief, beneath the bliss, fear rises.


    The steel door opens and Reese steps back into the common room, head down, muscles tense, dripping over the same blood spots all the other winning contestants have. And he¡¯s smiling. He isn¡¯t a victim of the game. Seeing him in danger made Rebecca forget, but his smile is enough of a reminder. He wasn¡¯t chosen by the viewers for making a mistake, much less for being too real in a world of faking. He asked to be there, he wanted to fight. He killed someone by choice.


    Remarkably, there isn''t a scratch on him; his skin is smooth and unblemished, showing no signs of the brutal fight he just endured. The rapid healing erased any visible damage, leaving him appearing almost untouched by violence. Yet, the fight has clearly taken its toll. He breathes heavily, his forehead is covered in sweat and his eyes, usually alert and animated, now hold a distant, almost vacant expression.


    The other contestants swarm him, showering him with congratulations and backslaps. He offers polite nods and strained smiles, his gaze drifting over their heads, searching. Rebecca stands near the edge of the crowd, her heart pounding against her ribs. There¡¯s a part of her that wants to rush to him, to bury her face in his chest and feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek. The uninvited urge to kiss him, to chase away the haunted look in his eyes, becomes so strong it is almost physically painful.


    But she remains rooted to the spot, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. She sees two versions of him now. One that offers protection, that treats her gently, that encourages her to enjoy what¡¯s left of her life. And one that¡¯s so obsessed with a goal that¡¯s capable of anything. The coldness he displayed, the way he not only endured but welcomed the stab to his stomach, the vacant look in his eyes when he twisted Contestant 3¡¯s neck¡­ it alters something between them. In that moment, as his gaze finally meets hers across the room, they share a silent but mutual understanding, perhaps even a quiet plea. The commotion of the common room fades into a dull roar as she holds his gaze.

 CHAPTER FOUR: PART FOUR

    IV


    Rebecca goes to sleep alone that night and the silence of her room suffocates her. As usual, she tries to shut her eyes and get some sleep but every time, her eyelids snap open. She tosses and turns in the narrow bed; her mattress feeling harder than ever. The digital clock on the nightstand blinks. 2:30 AM. A soft knock startles her.


    ¡°Rebecca, it¡¯s me. Open up,¡± Reese¡¯s whispered voice¡ªbarely audible through the door¡ªleaves her petrified. Her heart hammers against her ribs, she even stops breathing without realizing it. She wants to open the door, to let him in, to seek solace in his presence, but her body refuses to obey. Her legs feel heavy¡ªsewn to the bed.


    Fear¡ªnot of him but of her own turbulent emotions¡ªparalyzes her. The confusion and conflicting desires that war within her hold her captive. She stays silent, her breath caught in her throat¡ªhoping he will understand, hoping he won¡¯t go away yet terrified of what will happen if he stays. After a long, agonizing silence, his footsteps retreat.


    She curls up on her side, her knees close to her chest to cope with the cold, the thin blanket pulled tight around her. Finally, right before the first rays of dawn begin to filter through the sliding door, she drifts into a restless, dream-filled sleep.


    She bolts upright in bed, her heart pounding, a cold sweat bathing her skin. Dawn paints the sterile decorations a pale grey, and the silence in the room feels deafening and oppressive. She knows she had a nightmare, but she can only recollect pieces of it. Like the image of Reese lying broken and defeated in the arena. The dream is so vivid, so real, that a primal fear drives her from the confines of her room. She has to see him; she has let him know she cares he¡¯s alright.


    She knocks softly, but there''s no answer. She strikes again, this time with more urgency. Nothing. A momentary burst of irritation, quickly overtaken by a sharp pang of hurt, pricks her. He is being childish, punishing her for having doubts. Typical Reese¡ªalways playing games, always strategizing with his actions. Just as she is about to turn away, the door swings open, and Reese steps out.


    He¡¯s wearing pajama bottoms but nothing on his torso, and judging by the look of it, nothing under his pants either; his hair is tousled and his eyes sleepy. But it isn¡¯t his appearance that steals her breath. It¡¯s the figure emerging from the room behind him¡ªa girl with tangled hair, a ruffled t-shirt, and a sleepy smile playing on her lips. It takes a moment for Rebecca to recognize her without the uniform, but eventually, she does. She¡¯s Contestant 22¡ªthe biologist. The scene¡ªso mundane, so ordinary¡ªlands like a kick to the stomach.


    Rebecca stands frozen, her mind spinning as she struggles to process the scene before her. That fragile hope for something real between her and Reese¡ªhidden beneath layers of pretense¡ªcrumbles into nothing. He didn¡¯t seek her out last night because he craved her company; he didn¡¯t care who was by his side¡ªhe found what he was looking for, with someone else.


    A sickening nausea rises from deep within her. She wants to scream, to unleash her fury, to demand answers, but the words catch in her throat, choked by the crushing oppression in her chest.


    Shame¡ªhot and stinging¡ªfloods her cheeks. She¡¯s allowed herself to be vulnerable again. She¡¯s seen fleeting moments of real emotion in his eyes, heard it in the rough timbre of his voice, felt it in those rare, shared intimacies. Was it all a lie? Just another one of his manipulative tactics to keep her trapped in his web of deceit?


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    The girl, oblivious to the silent war raging inside of Rebecca¡¯s mind, brushes past her with a mumbled apology. Reese stares back at her, his eyes widening in surprise before narrowing as he takes in her stricken expression. He opens his mouth to speak, but Rebecca turns and flees, the image of him with another woman¡ªmocking her own foolish hope, is all she can take from him that morning.


    The hallway seems to have stretched, the path to her room becomes too long and her legs too weak. She hasn''t even reached the first corner of the corridor when a hand¡ªfirm and warm¡ªclamps around her wrist. She doesn''t need to turn to know it is Reese. His grip, though not painful, holds an undeniable strength¡ªpreventing her escape. He doesn¡¯t speak or offer an explanation, But the silence does more damage than any excuse he could have made. She stands there, her back to him, her breath catching in her throat, until she finally turns and faces him.


    She has to say something¡ªanything¡ªto break the suffocating silence. "I was looking for my charger," she blurts out, then she makes a pause. She gives him a chance to explain himself, to acknowledge what he''s done. Nothing. "I lost it," she continues, holding back the tears with everything she''s got, "but I guess I¡¯ll keep looking in my room. It must be there somewhere." The lie tastes like ash in her mouth. Of course, he says nothing¡ªthere¡¯s nothing to say. For a moment, she forgets, but his silence is enough of an answer. They aren¡¯t together. They are nothing.


    It was her decision after all. She had been the one to draw the line¡ªto insist on maintaining the facade of an alliance, nothing more. And yet, the sight of him with another woman¡ªthe sole idea of him, wrapping his arms around someone other than her¡ªignites a firestorm of emotions she can¡¯t comprehend.


    She wants to scream, to lash out¡ªto demand answers. Why has he sought comfort in another¡¯s arms while she¡¯s been tormented by nightmares of his death? Why has he pursued her¡ªoffered glimpses of tenderness and empathy¡ªonly to discard her so easily?


    The questions knot painfully in her throat. She can¡¯t ask him. The embarrassment is too sharp, the hypocrisy too loud. And the fear¡­ the dread of his answer.


    She can¡¯t bear it.


    At a certain point, when he tugs lightly on her wrist, testing the strength of his hold, she believes he''s finally going to speak. He doesn''t release her; but he doesn''t say anything either. And all she wants is to disappear. Every fiber of her being screams for an escape, for the seclusion of her room, where she can finally unleash the torrent of emotions trapped inside her chest. But his hand remains firm¡ªand she finally gets it. He''s not looking for the right words to say to her, he''s not at a loss of words due to his guilt and shame, his silence is an ultimatum for acknowledgement, for a confrontation she isn''t sure she is ready to face. He wants to hear what she has to say.


    Rebecca¡¯s heart hammers against her ribs, almost as dramatically as it did when Reese was in the arena. Her mind races, desperately searching for an escape route, a way to deflect the hurt and confusion. She just can''t take his piercing eyes anymore. ¡°I should go get dressed,¡± she says.


    Maybe it''s new, maybe he always had that power, but right now, he looks at her as if he could see right through her. She feels exposed and vulnerable. If she stays there, she won''t be able to hold it anymore. The tears, the demand for answers to questions she knows she has no right to ask, all of it will come out like burning lava. With the last bit of strength left in her, she forces her feelings to the bottom of her heart and locks them there. With a feigned indifference that surprises even herself, she asks, ¡°Can I go now?¡±


    The hallway feels claustrophobic. The scent of his cologne¡ªsandalwood and spice¡ªtransports her to those perfect nights she spent under his embrace. If she had known they would be so few, she would have tried to immortalize every second. Now it''s too late. Now they''re tainted by the image of him with someone else.


    Finally, Reese releases his grip and lets her go.

 CHAPTER FOUR: PART FIVE

    V


    Rebecca finds it comical, painfully comical, that after everything, Reese and her still sit together for breakfast. The groups have already been decided; there''s no room for a solitary island with a broken heart. They said their respective hellos, but after that, neither of them has uttered a word.


    Rebecca picks at her food. She''s done after one bite. Did the synthetic paste always taste like glue? She keeps her gaze fixed on her plate, acutely aware of Reese¡¯s presence beside her.


    Lena sat with them for a while, the only buffer keeping the silence from turning unbearable. But she had finished her breakfast in a rush and left. Leaving them alone, with their unresolved mess.


    Finally, Reese shifts in his seat. He reaches across the table¡ªnot toward her, but for the shared pitcher of synthetic juice. His fingers brush against hers as he grabs it. The touch, though brief, is electrifying, jolting Rebecca in her seat.


    He seems completely unaware¡ªor pretending to be¡ªof the shock he just caused her. He takes a sip, followed by more silence, then he drains the whole glass.


    When he''s finished, he clears his throat, loud enough for people at the adjacent table to overhear. He sets the glass down but doesn¡¯t let go, running a finger along the rim.


    ¡°So,¡± he begins, his voice lower than usual. Rebecca trembles. ¡°About last night¡­¡±


    He pauses, his gaze finally meeting hers. Rebecca can¡¯t read his expression¡ªpartly because he¡¯s been so guarded, but also because she can only steal quick glances at him.


    He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, finely carved wooden bird¡ªRebecca recognizes it as a sparrow, its tapered wings spread in mid-flight. He holds it out to her, the delicate figure resting in his open palm.


    Rebecca stares at it, drawn by the precise details of its carved feathers and outstretched wings, yet utterly baffled by its meaning. Is this an apology? A symbol that he wants to be free? Or did Contestant 22 leave it in his room last night, and now he thinks it belongs to her? Does he even remember what happened¡ªand who he was with?


    She swallows, whatever the answer is, she will only find out if she asks, she just hopes it doesn¡¯t hurt too much. ¡°What is this?¡±


    Reese¡¯s hand remains extended¡ªsteady, patient. He doesn¡¯t retract the offering or try to explain it away. He simply waits, his gaze locked on hers.


    Rebecca, clenching her fists at both sides of her tray, presses, ¡°Won¡¯t you say anything?¡±


    At last, he lowers his hand¡ªjust slightly¡ªstill offering the bird but now hesitant, the hope in his gesture dimming. ¡°It¡¯s a gift,¡± he says, his voice low, almost a murmur. He no longer looks at her, and a faint flush creeps up his face. ¡°To remind you of what¡¯s important.¡± He tilts the bird, letting the straining fluorescent light catch on the polished wood. It gleams, and for a moment, the tiny wooden feathers seem to come alive.


    ¡°A fan sent it to me,¡± he continues, straightening his shoulders against the back of his chair. ¡°She, uh¡­ said she was inspired by a song I wrote about my dad. In the message, she said it was her favorite¡ªit''s one of mine too.¡± He clears his throat. ¡°He always used to say that even in a cage, you can still dream of flying high.¡± His gaze drifts upward toward the ceiling, longing for something Rebecca can only guess at.


    ¡°My dad was an artist too. He liked working with wood. Furniture, mostly, but he wasn¡¯t good at business. We were poor. Proper broke. Didn¡¯t stop my dad from thinking he¡¯d make it big. Then my mum left us. She wanted a better lifestyle. And she got it, with her new family.¡± He sighs.


    ¡°That¡¯s when my dad told me to always fight for what I want until I get it. He never did, though. He never really believed in himself. But he believed in me.¡±


    His eyes return to hers, and the intensity of his stare makes her heart skip a beat.


    ¡°I¡¯ve carried it with me ever since I got it because it reminds me of where I come from¡ªand where I want to go.¡±


    "Right," Rebecca replies, her voice rougher than she intended. He¡¯s right, though. For a moment, the turbulent confusion of emotions¡ªthe jealousy, the hurt¡ªhad clouded her focus.


    She¡¯d forgotten what truly matters: survival.


    Her feelings for Reese, whatever they are, are a dangerous distraction¡ªa luxury. She can¡¯t afford such a thing in this twisted game of life and death. Especially since she knows, has always known, that it¡¯s nothing more than a performance. It¡¯s all part of his strategy to build his image, to boost his popularity. To become richer. More famous. Probably both.


    He told her from the start¡ªhe wanted to sell a love story, not live one. Not with her.


    She pushes back her chair, the scrape of its metallic legs against the polished floor grating in her teeth.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to training,¡± she announces, turning her face away from his gaze.


    Out of the corner of her eye, she catches the red flash of one of the cameras. Her urge to flee intensifies with the realization that thousands of eyes¡ªif not more¡ªare on her, watching, judging, pitying. Mocking.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Physical exhaustion is the only escape she¡¯ll find. It will drown out the image of Reese sharing his bed with another woman¡ªand the stinging memory of his casual good morning kiss.


    But before she can turn away, his hand shoots out and lightly grips her wrist. ¡°Wait,¡± he says in a low, urgent tone. ¡°Are you seriously going to run every time I try to talk to you?¡± Rebecca freezes. Her breath halts, the only sign of movement is the slow, subtle shift of her lashes. His fingers tighten slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep her in place. His touch sends a shiver up her arm; she can¡¯t tell if it¡¯s warmth or unease. He looks at her, silently pleading for her to stay. In that moment, Rebecca wonders if his insistence¡ªthis effort to hold her back¡ªis his way of admitting he¡¯s about to lose her, or if it means she¡¯s the one on the verge of losing him. Does he even care? To her, it¡­ seems so.


    A voice in her head screams, "Don''t give him another chance¡ªgo, run. End this absurdity." Yet something keeps her rooted to the spot¡ªperhaps a hope that whatever he says will change everything, make it better, take away the pain. Or maybe it''s just a morbid curiosity to see what game he''s playing now.


    She gives in to curiosity¡ªmaybe hope, maybe even plain stupidity¡ªand slowly sits back down. She fixes her gaze on his hand, wrapped around her wrist, watching his veins pulse beneath his skin. The others are watching, and the cameras keep rolling¡ªthey never stop¡ªbut she lets it all fade into the background. Right now, there¡¯s only the two of them in that dining hall.


    ¡°Damn it,¡± she mumbles under her breath.


    She lifts her eyes back to his face, searching for answers in the depths of his dark brown eyes. ¡°Okay, I won¡¯t run this time,¡± she says. ¡°Just explain to me, why should I listen?¡±


    Reese nods as he releases her wrist, his hand hovering just above the table, as if reluctant to break their connection completely. ¡°Last night¡­¡± he begins. ¡°I needed¡­ company.¡± He looks away, his gaze drifting toward the other contestants¡ªsome of whom are openly listening. ¡°After the battle¡­¡± he trails off, shaking his head slightly, the muscles in his arms flexing beneath his shirt. ¡°I felt awful.¡±


    Rebecca¡¯s eyebrows furrow. ¡°Why?¡± she asks, the hurt in her tone unmistakable. Sleeping with someone else wasn¡¯t the only way he had betrayed her¡ªshe¡¯d almost forgotten that. ¡°You fought because you wanted to.¡± The memory of his video message still stings.


    He makes a faint move to grab her wrist again but stops at the last moment, locking his gaze with hers. Only then, she begins to understand the expression on his face: shame. ¡°I know. You¡¯re right about that," he admits in a whisper so quiet he has to lean over the table for her to hear. ¡°I realized in the arena what an idiot I¡¯d been.¡± His hand clenches into a fist on the tabletop. ¡°It wasn¡¯t the pain,¡± he continues, pausing, then drawing a deep, shaky breath. ¡°Or the fear.¡± He hesitates again, as if trying to gather the right words. ¡°It was¡­ him.¡±


    ¡°Him?¡± Rebecca asks, narrowing her eyes slightly, urging him to continue.


    Reese¡¯s jaw tightens. ¡°Contestant 3. I lost count of how many times I talked to him, Rebecca,¡± he explains, his voice strained. ¡°We even shared a piece of bread once¡ªat lunch, after training. He was¡­ starving. And I¡­¡± He closes his eyes for a moment. Instinctively, his hand falls on the wooden bird resting on the table between them. He wraps his fingers around it and squeezes until his hand turns red. ¡°I didn¡¯t realize until then that I was facing a real person, someone as real as you or me.¡±


    He opens his eyes just a little¡ªenough for Rebecca to notice tiny drops of water clinging to his eyelashes. ¡°And when it was over,¡± he continues in a low, throaty voice, ¡°when I went to your room¡­ to talk¡­ you didn¡¯t open the door.¡± He scoffs at the end, as if mocking the way she rejected him.


    Rebecca didn¡¯t expect that. ¡°I was asleep,¡± she murmurs, though her words lack conviction even to her own ears. Reese¡¯s jaw tightens and his eyes harden. He doesn¡¯t believe her¡ªand he makes no effort to hide it.


    "Asleep?" he repeats, a smile forming on his lips¡ªa smile not of happiness but of restrained anger. "How is it that every night you stay awake until three in the morning, haunted by nightmares and unable to find a moment¡¯s peace... yet on the night I¡¯m fighting for my life¡ªgetting rammed in the stomach with a rotten piece of junk¡ªyou sleep like a baby?" A charged silence follows. He leans in, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "And how is it," he continues, his gaze burning into hers, "that every night you seek refuge in my room, in my bed, in my arms... but when I need you, when I come to you for comfort, you disappear?"


    His words hit Rebecca like a slap. She flinches, lost for a response to the raw pain in his tone. "I was scared," she whispers after a long pause. It¡¯s the truth, a basic, humiliating truth she''d kept hidden from both him and herself. "This whole thing, Reese, terrifies me." Her gaze falls to the floor, too ashamed to meet his intense stare. "You terrify me," she adds, her voice trembling. "Us... and just how far we''re taking this... this little scheme of ours." The confession rushes out; her cheeks burn red, yet somehow, admitting it feels liberating.


    Rebecca can¡¯t remember when she picked up the wooden bird, but now it rests nestled in her palm. She doesn¡¯t want to let it go¡ªthere¡¯s so many things she doesn¡¯t want to let go. Reese rubs his hands along the sides of his head, a gesture she¡¯s seen plenty of times. The faint lines around his eyes appear deeper this morning, the shadows under them darker.


    "I¡¯ve told you a thousand times that you have to trust me," Reese breathes, his eyes closed as he searches for the last bits of patience.


    "Right," Rebecca retorts, unable to suppress her bitterness any longer. The wounds festering beneath her skin now split open and bleed freely. "Like when you asked your fans to have you fight, for example? Or last night?" She lifts her chin, her eyes flashing.


    Reese sighs, smiling but shaking his head. He leans back in his chair, his body sliding slightly under the table. "What does this mean, then? That you¡¯re never going to trust me?"


    Rebecca hesitates, disturbed by the sour smell of the recycled protein paste in her bowl. Finally, she lifts her head, her expression resolute. ¡°I don''t think so anymore,¡± she replies softly but with a finality that makes Reese flinch. ¡°I mean, how could I?¡±


    He looks at her, his dark eyes clouded with hurt and confusion. He doesn¡¯t argue or try to convince her otherwise. Perhaps, on some level, he understands the validity of her distrust¡ªmaybe he¡¯s come to accept that their alliance brings more trouble and pain than comfort.


    Rebecca clutches the wooden bird tighter, her fingers trembling uncontrollably. She watches as Reese drifts his gaze to some uncertain point on the table, lost in thought. Her heart hammers; if she once built walls around it, now she¡¯s fortified them with layers of distrust and resentment, unsure how to dismantle them¡ªeven if she wanted to. And does she want to? The fear she confessed moments ago hasn¡¯t dissipated. It never will. The only difference now is that Reese knows about it.


    After a long, heavy silence, he pushes himself away from the table. The harsh scrape of his chair against the floor rakes down her spine like nails on a chalkboard. He stands for a moment with slumped shoulders, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the sterile walls of the dining area, looking lost in a sea of his own uncertainties. Then, without another word, he turns and walks away, disappearing through the door¡ªleaving Rebecca alone with her doubts, her demons, and a pain in her chest that forces her to accept a burdening truth: despite everything, despite her distrust and fear, a part of her aches for the fragile connection they''d forged.

 CHAPTER FOUR: PART SIX

    VI


    Seven nights have come and gone outside of the Live compound, each one taking a contestant with it. Their absence is becoming notable¡ªin the empty chairs in the dining hall and the shorter lines for the training booths. Rebecca is getting used to the fights too. She no longer needs to hide her face from the blood or cover her ears against the cracks of broken bones. She¡¯s numb to all of it, and she¡¯s almost thankful for it.


    Reese spends his days with Contestant 22, the girl from that night. Rebecca always catches them out of the corner of her eye. Yes, twelve contestants have died, but the house is still too small for forty-two people. He laughs easily with her, shares inside jokes, and touches her with a familiarity that makes Rebecca want to break whatever she¡¯s holding in half.


    Rebecca, in turn, seeks solace in Lena''s sharp wit and precise observations. They dissect the remaining contestants'' strategies, mock the producers'' catchphrases, and share theories over lukewarm protein shakes and cat meat. Yesterday, they spent the entire day trying to decipher how the metallic fabrics in their bodies work. Contestant 6, the loud twin, tried to use his ability in the dining hall while others were there, but his ability was deactivated immediately. Rebecca didn¡¯t like to think that other contestants would use their deadly biological weapons so lightly, but she felt a strange sense of eeriness knowing they were being watched so closely.


    Despite their situation, Lena always manages to appear happy and positive. Rebecca admires that in her. Except when she catches her looking at her with pity whenever Reese is near. She furrows her brows at the way she absentmindedly traces the outline of the wooden bird he gave her or places a hand on Rebecca¡¯s knee when Contestant 22 and him watch something, head to head, on each other¡¯s phones.


    ¡°I told you I don¡¯t care,¡± is usually her answer, pushing Lena¡¯s hand away or turning around to avert her gaze.


    Rebecca¡¯s eyes hurt from staring at her phone all day, and the harsh light of the common room burns her scalp. The afternoon gives way to the evening, and all the training booths have been taken since morning, leaving her with little to do but wait. Lena didn¡¯t catch one either, even though she practically swallowed her food to secure a spot. Turns out, as she tells it, Contestant 1, Contestant 24, and some others¡ªthough she doesn¡¯t know exactly who¡ªhave been saving booths for each other.


    Rebecca is about to respond indignantly to Lena¡¯s discovery when she sees it: the thumbnail of a video uploaded earlier today. In it, Reese and Contestant 22 sit on his bed, in front of a camera. Lena¡¯s voice fades into the background; everything around the tiny picture blurs.


    ¡°What can we do?¡±


    Rebecca lifts her head, but even Lena¡¯s face is out of focus. ¡°Huh?¡±


    Lena starts talking again, and Rebecca wants to listen¡ªshe tries¡ªbut all she can think about is the video and what could be in it.


    ¡°...or we¡¯ll never be able to train.¡±


    "Right," Rebecca says, making an effort to recall some of Lena¡¯s words. Something about the other contestants¡ªstaying in the booth until someone from their team arrives. She pauses. "Uh, why don¡¯t you go and wait? If someone else comes asking for the booth, just say you were there first."


    Lena¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°That¡¯s a good idea. Let¡¯s do that now.¡± She stands up but stops after one step. ¡°You¡¯re not coming?¡±


    ¡°I want to see something first.¡±


    Lena presses her lips together ever so slightly. She knows. That¡¯s why she doesn¡¯t insist¡ªjust nods and leaves.


    Rebecca takes a deep breath and buries her face in her phone again. With a shaky finger, she taps on the video.


    He is sitting in his armchair, and she¡¯s on the bed. Him with a guitar, her with a ukulele. Apparently, unless the video is heavily edited, besides having a PhD in Biology, being a renowned investigator of life after death, or something huge like that¡ªand having the lips of a goddess¡ªshe also sings.


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    They sing together in the video, one of Reese¡¯s songs.


    After their performance is done, they stay a little longer. The live chat floods the left corner of the screen, messages scrolling too fast to read. They chat for a while, answer a few questions, then play some more.


    Why am I watching this?


    She¡¯s about to shove the video away when Reese reads a question aloud¡ªone with her name, or rather, her number in it:


    ¡°You and Vanessa are so cute together, much better than¡­ with 42.¡±


    Contestant 22 bursts into laughter. ¡°Boy, we¡¯re not together!¡± she says. ¡°I don¡¯t even believe in being together with someone. We¡¯re all alone in this world.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± Reese¡¯s voice sounds in the back. ¡°Nah, we¡¯re not together.¡±


    He leans toward the camera again, narrowing his eyes. ¡°Yeah, no,¡± he begins. He doesn¡¯t read the question, but his answer doesn¡¯t really need one. ¡°I¡¯m not going back to Rebecca either. That¡¯s over, folks.¡±


    Rebecca¡¯s breath catches. Her stomach twists.


    She¡¯s unable to look away now¡ªshe either needs to hear something that will soothe the ache in her chest or destroy her completely. Reese continues.


    "Listen, I¡¯ve done it all,¡± he says, plucking at the guitar strings. ¡°She¡¯s a beautiful woman. Big heart. All that.¡± There¡¯s a pause. Then, he scoffs. ¡°But she¡¯s made it absolutely clear that she doesn¡¯t want me. She doesn¡¯t trust me. She wants nothing to do with me. Simple as.¡± He exhales through his nose and shakes his head. ¡°I¡¯ve bent over backwards, done every fuckin¡¯ thing I could to prove I¡¯m not some waste of space. But nah. She won¡¯t see it, man. And you know what? I¡¯m fuckin¡¯ sick of it. No one should feel like they aren¡¯t good enough. No one.¡±


    He rubs a hand across his face, then turns to Contestant 22. ¡°Shall we play another?¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡±


    Rebecca closes the app and throws her phone away. It lands on the rug, under a chair in the front row.


    She¡¯s invaded by an overwhelming urge to yell, to scream, to cry and kick and destroy everything in sight¡ªbut instead, she curls into the chair, hugs her knees, and buries her face between them.


    She wants to dance. She wants to get out of there and dance.


    One by one, the other contestants start filling the common room. Contestant 2 even returns her phone when he trips over it. Everyone is nervous, as usual, but Contestant 6 beats them all. He grabs his head, mumbles under his breath, and snaps at anyone who dares to breathe near him. His ability hasn¡¯t been activated yet.


    Lena is the last to arrive, sweaty and breathless, and takes the chair next to her.


    Rebecca¡¯s gaze drifts toward Reese¡¯s usual spot. He isn¡¯t alone. Contestant 22, her shiny black curls spilling over her arm, sits beside him, laughing loudly, grabbing his arm with both hands.


    Rebecca clenches her jaw, swallows the lump in her throat, and turns back to the screen, feigning indifference¡ªan expression she¡¯s mastered.


    Her fingers tighten around the wooden bird in her pocket, squeezing so hard the edges scratch her skin. She blinks back the tears that now burn her eyes. No one will see her cry¡ªnot here, not now.


    The hosts¡¯ cheerful greetings pull her back to the present. The white numbers on the black screen are already rolling when she looks at the holographic screen.


    Then they stop. But they don¡¯t make sense.


    The female host¡¯s voice rings through the arena¡ªso shrill that the common room speakers crackle with static. ¡°Let¡¯s welcome into the arena¡­ Contestant 5¡­ and Contestant 42!¡±


    Blood drains from Rebecca¡¯s face. Forty-two. Her number.


    Her world tilts.


    Now, what?


    She¡¯s done.


    And then Reese steps forward. ¡°I¡¯ll fight in her place.¡± His back turned to her, blocking her path, he addresses the hosts through one of the embedded cameras in the wall, his arms slightly open to take up more space.


    Rebecca stares at him from behind. What?


    If she takes one step closer, she¡¯ll be able to reach him¡ªand do what? Stop him? Thank him? Step aside and let him fight in her place?


    The male host snickers, glancing at the audience, then at his co-host, who simply shrugs. "Contestant 13? Are you certain? Substituting for another contestant is... unconventional, to say the least."


    Reese doesn¡¯t even hesitate. "I¡¯ve checked the rules, big boss¡ªit¡¯s legit. So I¡¯m stepping in. She¡¯s out."


    He turns to Rebecca, his eyes searching hers. He offers a small, almost imperceptible nod¡ªa silent confirmation of his decision.


    The other contestants murmur among themselves. Contestant 22¡¯s voice rises above the whispers. "What are you doing, Reese?"


    The audience is eerily quiet. They probably don¡¯t know how to react. They don¡¯t want Reese risking his life again, but they can¡¯t stop him. Even Lena, usually quick with a barbed comment, sits frozen in silence.


    After a beat of hesitation, the male host finally concedes. "Very well, Contestant 13, if you insist."