The common room is dominated by a massive holographic screen, clearly intended to broadcast the nightly battles, entertain the viewers, and torment the contestants. 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. The equipment is so varied and excessive, it’s clear the contestants are expected to push their physical and mental capacities to their limits.
Rebecca scans the gear—weights, treadmills, sparring mats. Everyone must be thinking the same thing: they either kill themselves training or get killed by those who did. The tour concludes in the common room, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Overhead, the voice blares through the scattered speakers again with its typical forced joviality.
“Contestants, please stay alert for additional instructions. In the meantime, take this opportunity to get to know one another. In Live, friendships are essential for survival.”
Then, a semblance of silence settles over the room, if not for the low vibration of the ventilation system and the oh-so-soothing background music. Live’s theme song.
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—but they all know why they’re here. Some huddle together in tight, nervous clusters, while others stand apart, lost in thought. The heavy atmosphere, the ever-present soundtrack of the show, and the cameras surrounding them make it impossible to breathe.
Then Reese speaks. His voice, amplified by the room’s acoustics, draws everyone's attention. Satisfied with himself, he leans casually against the wall, one leg crossed over the other.
"Looks like we’re all contestants in the hottest reality show, man. Who needs Netflix when you’ve got real-life gladiators, huh? Am I right?"
Reese speaks like he owns the place—too confident for the situation they’re in.
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"Anyone else here famous? No? Just me then?" He pauses, scanning the room. "Wait—I swear I’ve seen you somewhere."
The man next to him barely spares a glance. "Rugby."
Reese smirks. "Ah. I see. Can’t say I know anyone who actually watches rugby, but hey—no worries. That’s what alliances are for, right?"
The way he says it—like someone used to getting exactly what he wants—makes Rebecca almost believe him. 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.
Some of them exchange uneasy glances. A few murmur to one another. A woman with dark curls scoffs, leaning toward her companion. “This guy thinks he's the main character or something. What an idiot.” But when she looks at him, she smiles a bit too much. Another contestant grunts under his breath. "He’s playing with fire," he mutters. "Popularity my ass—this show is about survival."
Rebecca watches Reese closely. She’s not the only one. They all feel the need to assess the fallout of his bold declaration. Nothing happens at first. No one wants to fall into his trap—either by elevating his status or by baiting others into action. Either way, it’s clear that Reese views this as more than a game; to him, it’s 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, smirking as he watches the other contestant from head to toe. 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, his eyes glint with amusement. "I’m just not sure you’ve got what it takes to win," he finally says, condescension clear in his voice.
The group shifts uncomfortably, their earlier confidence drained. They exchange uneasy glances before stepping back, murmuring among themselves.
The tall man cracks his knuckles, eyes locked on Reese. A camera flash flares in his peripheral vision, and he lowers his hands. He’s being watched. He's being judged. They all are.
Some contestants whisper behind cupped hands, weighing whether aligning with Reese—or anyone—is worth the risk. Others cast wary glances his way, debating if his celebrity status is an asset or a liability too dangerous to ignore.
