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—dressed 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—with all its manipulative machinations—is 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—a 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—she 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—no. 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."

Rebecca raises an eyebrow. "Compatibility? Is that what they're calling public flogging?"

He chuckles—a 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—or 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—dopamine, entertainment," Reese counters, his tone sharpening. "Playing along is the only way to survive. We need to give them what they crave—but 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—Rebecca'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—but 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—only 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—and 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—a 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—it 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—being interviewed together—means 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—to 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—a 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—at 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—and 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—a nice thought, but as impossible as going back in time to prevent her legs from breaking.

***

Fun fact: I didn't plan for Reese and Rebecca to be paired together for the interviews. I chose 13 for Reese because it's a number associated with bad luck, but 42 was completely random. I had to count—just like Rebecca—to realize they'd be sharing the stage. It was purely a happy coincidence.