“Welcome back, Contestants 2, 6, 10, 13, 22, 24, 42, and 45.”

  The speakers detonate as soon as the spider drones shove them into the common room. Rebecca knows it’s not a real person speaking—just the usual artificial voice—but something about it feels off. The tone keeps its typical cheerful cadence, yet she could swear there’s an edge of irritation in it.

  “Congratulations. You are the final eight contestants of the show. Unfortunately, your actions have deprived the viewers of twenty-one days of Live and twenty-one arena battles. As a result, additional security measures will be enforced. In the meantime, you are expected to remain in the common room. Please don’t waste your time resisting.”

  Eight spider drones force each of them to kneel on the floor. Up on the rooftop, they had subdued them in seconds, right after Contestant 1’s phone died. Lining them up now takes no effort. They position Contestants 2, 6, 10, and 13 on one side, and contestants 22, 24, 42, and 45 opposite them.

  Then, the search begins. The drone dealing with Rebecca uses two of its long, pointed legs to restrain her hands above her head, while the others skim over her body. Its little pokes both tickle and humiliate her.

  She glances at Reese. Two drones are on him—one holding him back, the other searching. From one of its legs, a tiny black metallic wave extends and slides into Reese’s pocket. When it comes back out, it’s carrying Contestant 1’s cellphone. The drone sets the device on the floor, then fires a laser. The phone splits in two, destroyed beyond repair.

  That’s it, Rebecca thinks. There goes our only chance to escape.

  Soon, the voice over the speakers continues. “Now, collect your phones and please take a seat. Tonight’s episode is about to begin.”

  Their phones are no longer in the box—they’re aligned in a perfect circle on the coffee table by the front row of chairs. The phones that belonged to the contestants who didn’t come back are gone. Of course Live won’t make the same mistakes twice.

  The holographic screen pops on. The transmission begins with a close-up of the male host’s face. His expression is pure fury. Maybe Rebecca imagined it in the voice over the speakers earlier, but there’s no doubt he’s livid.

  “I apologize for not greeting you with my usual bright smile,” he says. “That’s because I’m disappointed.”

  The audience murmurs in agreement.

  “So, let’s proceed with tonight’s selection.”

  “That’s a great idea,” the female host adds. “Tonight, more than ever, we are reminded of why these people are here.”

  “Exactly. We spend so much time watching them, discussing them, even rooting for them that we forget what they truly are: criminals.”

  “Heartless.”

  “So, let’s see the numbers.”

  The screen turns black before two numbers appear: 17 and 29. Rebecca and the others glance at each other. Neither 17 nor 29 is here anymore. The producers are well aware of that. The numbers quickly change—most likely selecting the next contestants with the highest number of dislikes and the lowest number of support votes.

  Again, the chosen numbers aren’t present. The cycle repeats, numbers shifting rapidly, until finally, one remains: 6.

  Rebecca’s heart pounds. There are so few of them left. The odds feel inevitable.

  Then the screen changes again. A new number appears: 10.

  Rebecca almost falls from her chair. It’s not her. She can’t believe it. When did people stop hating me? It doesn’t matter. The relief is overwhelming. She feels like crying. Of course she doesn’t.

  She doesn’t stay to watch the fight either. She’s seen too much death already. At the door, a spider drone stands guard, but it lets her through. There are more in the corridors, and she bets there are some in the dining hall as well. The spider drones used to be hidden—who knows where—but it seems they’ll have to get used to their overt presence from now on.

  Rebecca goes to her room and lies down on her bed, scrolling through the music app. She chooses a rather slow song. Maybe it’ll help stop the trembling in her hands. Before getting up, she closes her eyes for a second to gain strength. But that second turns into five hours.

  The music’s still playing when she wakes up disoriented in the middle of the night. She never got under the covers, and she’s still holding her phone. The rest of the house is oddly quiet.

  She sits on the edge, hands gripping the sheet covering the mattress. She feels awful—tired, dizzy, sad. Why is she sad? It takes her a moment to remember. When she does, she runs out of breath.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Reese.

  She spits question after question in her mind, and as she tries to find answers, all she can think of is him. His empty eyes as he watched the bodies, his silence, his face blurred by a darkness she’s not sure he’ll ever leave behind. He left her alone. That’s how it feels.

  Despite the cold, Rebecca stands and leaves her room. She heads for the training room but walks past it when she notices the lights in the common room are on. She doesn’t know who she’ll find there. She’s both terrified and hopeful it’s him.

  Rebecca opens the door as quietly as the hinges allow her to. She finds Reese sitting on one of the chairs, his back to the door, head hanging heavy over his chest. In his hand rest the two pieces left of Contestant 1’s phone.

  I shouldn’t be here. Slowly, Rebecca turns around and steps back into the hallway. A scraping noise on the floor paralyzes her.

  “Rebecca.”

  She stops. Before deciding whether to step in or out of the common room, she takes a deep breath, trying to control the frantic rhythm of her heart. Finally, she steps inside.

  Reese stands and lifts a hand, showing her what’s left of the phone. “They found it. Those damn robotic ticks.”

  Rebecca’s eyes drift to the cameras. Those are the good ones, with the good microphones. At least, that’s what Reese had her believe from the start. Is he starting to mix up his own lies?

  He continues, “Well, there we go again, right? Back to square one. Uncommunicated.” He scoffs. “Like it matters, anyway. I’m sure you’d choose dying over escaping with me without half a thought.”

  Rebecca doesn’t know how to respond. She can’t believe what she’s hearing. Escaping with him? Was that option on the table again? Since when?

  "Just remember what I’ve been asking you all this time, will ya? You will have to do that, yeah?"

  She stares into his eyes, though it hurts as much as looking directly into the spider drones’ blinding lights. Maybe that’s where she’ll find answers, ones that will make her feel better or worse. Not knowing is simply unbearable.

  After a moment, she sees what’s hiding behind all the masks he's wearing, old and new. It’s pain. She feels the sudden urge to grab his hand.

  Don’t you dare.

  Her fingers twitch at her sides. She wants to snap at Reese, shake him, make him tell her the truth. But what if she already knows it? What if she’s just too much of a coward to face it? The worst part isn’t wondering whether Reese always wanted them to die. The worst part is wondering if, deep down, she could excuse him. Fewer battles to fight. Fewer people to kill. The ones who jumped, at least, didn’t suffer. And Reese takes all the blame.

  Seeing him in pain makes her wonder if he didn’t do this out of coldness, but as an act of sacrifice.

  No. Stop. That’s not what this is. You don’t get to call it sacrifice just because it hurts.

  She inhales. “This version of you scares me, Reese. It does. But I’ve seen other versions of you that I don’t like, and none is as strong as the real you.” He lifts his eyebrows in surprise. “You did something horrible tonight. I can only imagine how fractured you feel. But I also believe you can leave all of this behind—when you win.” Rebecca pauses. Reese’s gaze drops to his feet. “You don’t have to take it with you, okay? Outside, be the man who makes me proud. The one that made me feel safe.”

  Their eyes meet, and Rebecca wells up because she doesn’t know what his gestures mean. A moment later, Reese glances at the camera closest to them. He shakes his head, as if fighting something off.

  “Can I do something for you?”

  Rebecca frowns.

  “Like what?”

  “Anything.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  A moment of silence.

  “Can I walk you to your room?”

  “No,” Rebecca says. That’s a risk she doesn’t need right now. “Are you okay?”

  Reese doesn’t respond immediately, but ends up nodding his head. “One more week, yeah?”

  Rebecca locks in place.

  The next morning, she wakes up early to a video of Reese. He doesn’t look injured like he did last night. Now he looks composed, slightly detached. Sad too. But Rebecca can’t tell if he’s pretending to be hurt, or if he’s truly hurt and pretending to be fine.

  “How are you, my beautiful lot?” he begins. “I’m sure you’ve heard all kinds of things by now and are expecting me to say something about it, so here it is. Well, this is mostly for my lovely, lovely fans. You know you mean the world to me, and I honestly believe I owe you, you bunch of crazy suckers, a decent explanation.” He smiles at the camera and clears his throat. “But I guess this goes to anyone that’s curious, actually. Yes, I wanted to shoot a video. That part is true. But I also hinted that something could happen to us if we did. That’s why I didn’t jump. It was a hunch that was bugging me from the start. And you know what? A part of me wanted to test Live and see how far they’re willing to go. Now I know—they’ll go far. They’ll go to the goddamn extremes.” He chuckles. “I bet they’ll play it like I’m the bad guy. They’ll get on board that asshole’s boat—Contestant 24—and say I was responsible for their deaths. But hey, I didn’t pull the trigger. That was Live.”

  Rebecca pauses the video and stares at the frozen screen for a while. She’s scared to find out what else Reese has to say, and she’s only halfway through it. She lifts her finger from the screen, and Reese’s speech continues.

  “I get why they don’t like it. They want us to die; they just don’t want to be the ones doing the killing. That part’s for us. We’re already criminals, after all. But yesterday they crossed that line, and now they want to make it look like it was me.” He scoffs. “There’s a little problem, though. How’s Drugobrand going to like it when the face of his product turns into the show’s monster?”

  “Reese, what are you doing?” Rebecca mumbles under her breath.

  Reese shrugs. “What do I care, anyway? They’ll probably find a way to get away with everything, like they always do. I’ll take the loss, fine. I’ll admit the show’s bigger than me, stronger than me. But I’m still here, ain’t I? And I’ll go back to aiming to win. I know I can do it, and I won’t stop till that victory’s mine.”

  A pause. His expression darkens.

  “Right, I know I fucked up. I deserve your downvotes, don’t I? So, if you lot wanna chuck me in the arena tonight, go on. Fair play. That’s the price, yeah? I’ll take it. That won’t stop me.”

  The video ends there. Rebecca checks the comments and almost chokes on a breath. Everyone is wondering what he meant by being ‘the face of Drugobrand.’ Some people in the audience have already begun speculating—and they’re not far from the truth.