While waiting for the numbers to appear on the holographic screen, Reese stays quiet. Not a word comes out of his mouth. Not even when he first saw Rebecca curled up in a shadowed chair in the common room, not even when he looked at her like he was about to speak. He just sat beside her, eyes drifting to the screen, and hasn’t looked away since.

  It’s not until the hosts begin their usual greetings that he finally turns to her, though his gaze never really meets hers. “Rebecca,” he begins. “Why did you tell Lena she was going to die? It looks like… like you’re actively trying to get yourself sent to the arena.”

  The question, though soft, makes Rebecca flinch. It’s her body’s way of saying it cut too close to the bone. She inhales, eyes locked on the male host’s white teeth, and releases the air through her mouth. It’s going to be her number up there. There’s no other likely outcome. And then what? Will she let Reese fight for her? Will she be able to stop him?

  The numbers flash across the holographic screen.

  25 – 43.

  Rebecca’s world tilts. Then, she feels relief. For a second, she thought she saw it clearly. But it was just the resemblance. It isn’t her number, but somehow, 43 feels too close.

  She watches as Contestant 25 steps forward. A former personal trainer, charged with sexually abusing several of his clients. Just yesterday, it was discovered that he’d been maintaining multiple emotional relationships with his online fans, feeding each of them the same bullshit. He walks with a swagger toward the steel door, like he’s already won. He hasn’t fought yet, but the arrogance in his stride makes it clear he thinks he has it in the bag.

  Contestant 43 is different. Low-profile, mid-fifties. A handyman before all this. His only crime was loving alcohol too much—so much, in fact, that he was drunk on a Monday at eight in the morning while driving his little daughter to school. And this morning, he made the mistake of saying, in front of the cameras, that his daughter was better off now, because the world was “filled with brain-dead, king-sized, baby adults.”

  Beside Rebecca, Reese exhales, sliding lower in his seat, apparently more at ease. “We were lucky, Becca.”

  Rebecca feels the urge to lean into him, to rest her head on his shoulder the way she used to when watching the battles. But she can’t. Not for him. Not for herself. Instead, she digs into the coldest artery of her heart and spits out the most self-destructive words.

  “Leave me alone, Reese.”

  A pause.

  “Okay,” he says. Nothing else. He just stands, pushing his chair back hard enough for it to teeter on its back legs. The scrape of metal on metal sets Rebecca’s teeth on edge.

  Then he’s gone. He settles into a seat across the room, his back to her. There are only a few meters between them, but it might as well be a continent.

  Big, pigmented lights sweep across the floor of the arena and the audience, painting everything in pink, purple, and blue. The crowd roars. The battle begins.

  Contestant 25 moves first. He throws his head back and lets out a loud, guttural “Oooooh!” before launching himself forward, all energy, all impulse—hurling his body at Contestant 43 like a human projectile.

  Contestant 43 is ready. With a flick of his wrist, the heavy, silver-bathed chains around Contestant 25’s neck snap into his enhanced magnetic grip. His hands—big, calloused, the hands of a man who has worked all his life—close around the cold metal. He yanks hard, snagging Contestant 25 mid-leap, and slams him into the ground. The impact is brutal. The crack of bone echoes through the arena, amplified for the audience to hear.

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  But Contestant 25 quickly gets back on his feet. For a moment, it’s unclear who has the upper hand. The blows come fast, vicious. Contestant 43 breaks Contestant 25’s nose. Contestant 25 answers by pinning him to the dirt and biting off the lobe of his left ear. Then he strikes—five punches in a row, straight to the jaw. The last one lands hard, and Contestant 43 gasps for air.

  But that only makes him more livid.

  With his magnetic grip, he catches hold of the chains again, drags Contestant 25 down and traps him under his legs. Then, slowly, patiently, he wrenches his arm backward. The break is loud and slow. Painful even for those watching.

  Rebecca covers her eyes and curls up in the spot where Reese usually sits, but there’s no warmth, no trace of his skin—only air. She shifts, trying to mask her embarrassment, and turns her attention back to the screen, as the fight reaches its end. Contestant 43’s victory isn’t creative. It’s a classic. He punches Contestant 25’s face with his raw knuckles until his face turns into a lumpy paste.

  Rebecca stays seated until everyone leaves, her head buried between her knees. She hears footsteps beside her, but she doesn’t look up. She doesn’t want to see Reese walking away without her.

  A part of her—the part that ignores logic, that hears no rhyme or reason—wishes he would come look for her. She longs for the sound of his voice telling her to cut the act and go back to him.

  It never happens and long after the common room empties, Rebecca returns to her bedroom alone.

  She doesn’t see Reese at breakfast. He doesn’t show up for training. He’s absent from lunch, from dinner. She knows why—he’s leaving her alone, just like she asked. She had hoped he would crack eventually. He doesn’t.

  What does happen is that a short video of Lena and her goes viral.

  It’s an old clip—an intimate moment between her and Lena when they first met, captured by the embedded cameras in the bedroom corridor. A small, out-of-context snippet from their conversation.

  Lena is the one speaking in the video, but her words are little more than an unintelligible mumble. A few things are easy to make out—like “Kiss” and “Reese”—but the rest is unclear. Of course, one fan took the time to add subtitles. Rebecca remembers that conversation, and the subtitles aren’t even close to what Lena was actually saying.

  “Promise me you’ll never kiss Reese. Friends don’t mess around with their friend’s crushes. It isn’t even funny.”

  That’s all the video shows. Nothing else. But above their heads floats a caption, added by the same person who subbed it.

  "Rebecca is a bitch from day one. Reese should’ve picked Lena instead."

  At first, Rebecca rolls her eyes. She finds the video to be childish. Even funny. But the reaction it sparks is anything but.

  The video itself has little significance, its content isn’t what’s getting them riled up. It’s simply their own desire to hate on someone.

  And she played her cards wrong. She gave them exactly what they wanted.

  Yesterday, she was saved by the drama surrounding Contestants 25 and 43. Maybe some of Contestant 43’s votes were meant for her, maybe people just remembered the number wrong. Maybe Reese’s fans didn’t dare to vote against her, not without making sure they have his permission. She doesn’t know. But she knows she won’t be so lucky this time.

  Moments before tonight’s battle, she sits in front of the round mirror in her bedroom and watches her reflection. “You’re not doing it right.” The words leave her lips in a whisper, her own face embarrassing her. "What am I doing so wrong?"

  She’s certain Anya is behind all of it: the reaction challenge, the viral video of Lena, but it’s still the viewers’ choice to hate her, and they do. Their hate intensifies with every little push. She’s missing something—some invisible rule she keeps breaking. They don’t sympathize with her. They despise her.

  But why?

  Is it because she is hurting Reese, this season’s one and only deity? Is it because she’s truly cruel with her words? Is it because she never went for a strategy? Because she let herself get carried by her true feelings while on a stage?

  A voice from the speakers announces that tonight’s episode begins in five minutes, and that everyone should head for the common room. She complies, what other choice is there?

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