Rebecca’s heart pounds, her back is covered in sweat. Her fingers trace the wooden sparrow in her pocket, running over its edges again and again in a quiet attempt to soothe herself. Then, it appears, the dreaded number 42, paired with number 9. She'll have to fight against the scariest of the twins. Her knees buckle.

  She rises, her body moving on instinct, responding to the brain of Live instead of her own. She drags her feet toward the exit. Her walk is slow, each step torturous. Especially with the mockery and disdainful comments from the other contestants. The steel door is the only thing she sees. Everything else is black. Just as her fingers brush the cool metal of the handle, a strong hand clamps down on her wrist—a warm, firm grip.

  She jerks, snapping out of her numb paralysis. Her gaze drops to Reese’s hand, his fingers wrapping around hers, pulling her back. He doesn’t look at her, though. His eyes stay locked on the omnipresent cameras. His message, concise and tight with anger, isn’t aimed at her, but at the unseen audience.

  "She’s not fighting."

  The speakers in the common room crackle to life, and the male host’s voice reaches from the arena.

  "Sadly," he drawls, with a hint of amusement. "We don't control our contestants. But that’s what we love about Live, isn’t it?" His words seem to carry an undertone meant for her, implying something only she could understand.

  Rebecca tries to speak—to reason with Reese, to plead—but the words are trapped in her chest. She reaches for him, but he anticipates the move.

  "Don’t get in my way, Rebecca."

  "Reese, please don’t go. They chose me. They want to see me down there." He doesn’t react, he just opens the door. "Let me through, Reese. It was my number on the screen."

  With sudden, violent force, he plants his hands beneath her ribs and lifts her off the ground. His grip is rough. Frightening. He shoves her into the nearest chair. The impact jars her bones. His anger is too big, untamed—charged with everything that’s built between them since she came back from the nurse’s office. All the daggers he never threw.

  “I’m not changing my mind,” he says, his hands on her shoulders, shaking her slightly to emphasize the words.

  Then, his eyes meet hers one last time. They share a look that holds too much. Hope, exhaustion, fear. Something that could break her if she let it… Without another word, he turns and steps over the threshold into the arena, followed closely by the unnervingly calm twin, Contestant 9. The steel door hisses shut behind them. Rebecca stays among the piercing stares, both relieved and terrified by the future repercussions of her failed mission.

  She’s left with no choice but to watch. She can’t breathe properly. She can’t stop her feet from trembling. The arena is as chaotic as ever—flashing lights, the hosts’ rambling commentary, their schoolgirl giggles, and the roar of the crowd swallowing everything else.

  Contestant 9 circles the floor, examining his surroundings as if it’s his territory. His neural enhancements allow him to read every micro-movement, track every twitch in Reese’s stance before he even attacks. As a result, Reese fails at every attempt to even touch him. Ten minutes into the fight, and neither has taken any damage. Yet Reese doesn’t stop.

  This is the first time Reese has made the first move. Rebecca doesn’t like it. His last two battles had a pattern, a similar rhythm she thought she could predict. This breaks it.

  What if—?

  She shakes her head, shoving the thought away.

  Whereas Contestant 9’s fighting style is based on anticipation, Reese acts out of pure, raw impulse. He just won’t give up. Every strike comes heavier, harder—fueled by a primal instinct. A need to survive. A need to win. A need to reach the end and drag Rebecca out of here with him.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The twin, always a step ahead, targets the places Reese can’t heal. He kicks him on the head, throws an elbow to his heart. He’s not physically strong but doesn’t waste a single move.

  Until exhaustion finds him and his confidence fractures. His once-perfect timing slips. His movements lose precision. His entire body becomes slower and weaker. It doesn’t matter how accurate Contestant 9’s predictions are—he can’t stop Reese from tearing through him.

  Reese is winning, but he’s reckless. Rebecca sees it in the way he takes damage without flinching, in the way he pushes forward without a thought for self-preservation. In the way he crushes Contestant 9’s ribcage with kick after kick, not a hint of remorse on his face. It terrifies her. She wants to close her eyes. She doesn’t.

  Blood stains the arena floor. The twin’s own neural enhancements work against him now, making him fully aware of every mistake, every incoming blow. His body absorbs the impact, his mind registers the pain before he even feels it. Suddenly, the arena falls silent.

  Reese stands over the twin. His chest heaves, blood soaking his clothes, but he doesn’t collapse. Contestant 9 squirms beneath him, his struggles growing weaker, more desperate. Reese doesn’t hesitate. He lands one final kick to the twin’s side—a broken rib pierces an artery, spraying Reese’s shirt in red.

  The twin’s body thrashes, his last cough comes wet with blood. The arena’s acoustics turn the sound into something sickeningly sharp. A final gasp. Then, nothing. Silence settles like dust. Reese won. No. That can’t be considered winning. He survived.

  Back in the common room, silence shatters. Contestant 6, the explosive twin, bursts from the shadows, eyes blazing with fury. His rage isn’t aimed at Reese; it is locked entirely on Rebecca.

  "It should’ve been you down there!" he roars, barely holding back his fury. "You should have been in the arena, he should’ve killed you! The fault is yours, bitch!"

  Before Rebecca can react, he lunges. His powerful hands clamp around her throat, fingers digging into her flesh. Air vanishes from her lungs. Her vision blurs at the edges. The world spins.

  From hidden doorways in the walls and floor, security spider drones whir to life, their opaque bodies camouflaged among the other contestants' legs. They close in on Contestant 6, their thin metallic legs clicking against the floor. But at the last second, they freeze, systems suddenly compromised.

  What just happened?

  The fury in his eyes is the last thing she sees before everything starts to fade. Rebecca’s grip on consciousness slips. The world blurs to a hazy dark as the pressure on her throat tightens. She fights for breath—but closing her eyes is so much easier…

  It lasts only a minute. One moment, the weight is crushing her; the next, it's gone and oxygen floods her lungs. She opens her eyes, but everything is black. Slowly, her pupils adjust, light slipping back in, and the scene around her starts making sense.

  Reese, back from the arena, reeking of blood. He has the twin in his grasp, as if the battle never ended—just moved to a different battleground. The force of his attack sends Contestant 6 sprawling, his body slamming onto the floor with a heavy thud.

  Still riding the adrenaline of the arena, consumed by a protective rage, Reese pins him down and drives a vicious punch into his face. Then another. And another. The twin’s grunts are swallowed by Reese’s guttural growl.

  This time, the drones react. They surge forward, metallic limbs snapping between them, forcing a swift, cold separation.

  Rebecca gasps, lungs burning, the smell of blood from Reese’s clothes creeps into her mouth. She lies there, bruised and shaken, mind racing. The frozen drones. The brutal fight. The pieces finally align. It wasn’t a malfunction. They were programmed to freeze. The show doesn’t care where she dies—only that she does.

  The common room empties. Contestants file out, their faces a mix of shock, concern, and, in some cases, excitement. They leave behind the wreckage of the brutal confrontation. Even Contestant 6, surprisingly, is ushered away—his status as the "victim" granting him a temporary truce. Only Reese and Rebecca remain.

  Reese leans against the wall, his breath coming in ragged, torn from his lungs. His skin glowing with sweat. His body wrecked from the fight, the tension of the game, and the self-imposed pressure of what’s still to come.

  From the corner of the room, Rebecca watches. Her body trembles with a mix of adrenaline and fear. She knows what would calm her, what would slow the accelerated rhythm of her heart. But she doesn’t dare. She doesn’t even know how to thank him.

  Reese breathes heavily, contemplating something on the wall across from him. What, Rebecca can only guess. Maybe it’s the fight. Maybe it’s her. Finally, his gaze finds hers. He lifts a finger, his voice rough.

  “I want to show you something.” He speaks with difficulty. "So, you're sleeping with me tonight. Did you hear me?"

  The camera—always watching—beeps softly above their heads. Its lens shifts, adjusting to aim at them. Rebecca glances up at it, hesitates, then nods.

  On another note, go check out this story!