VII

As Rebecca steps into the common room, the harsh glare of the studio lights stings her eyes. The space, once filled with capsules, now boasts an array of comfortable chairs and plush armchairs, inviting yet tinged with an undercurrent of unease. The atmosphere is thick with a forced camaraderie, a thin veneer over the simmering tensions that linger among the contestants.

In front of them, a large holographic screen displays the arena, bustling with viewers and vibrant energy. The arena itself is a sprawling expanse, alive with colorful lights and the distant roar of the crowd, contrasting sharply with the sterile environment of their individual rooms. On the raised platform in the arena, the two hosts stand with practiced smiles, their presence dominating the scene as they prepare to engage the contestants in yet another round of competition.

“Oy, oy, oy,” says the male host. “What an interesting bunch of misfits we have this year.”

“My, oh my…” says the woman next to him.

Their voices boom across the room, amplified for the audience. One by one, they call out the contestants’ numbers, displaying their profiles on a massive screen behind them – mugshots, brief summaries of their crimes, and the ever-crucial follower count. “He had just ten when he first arrived,” explains the female host, her voice tinged with emotion. “Now, he could fill three stadiums.” She finishes her sentence by wiping away a tear.

When it’s Reese’s turn, Rebecca feels a prickle of unease. The hosts lavish him with praise, painting him as a victim of circumstance.

“A self-made man, risen from nothing,” one host proclaims, his voice dripping with manufactured sympathy. “A testament to the power of dreams, tragically mired in the reckless actions of fans who have no connection to his own life.” The image on the screen flashes – Reese’s face, strikingly handsome and impeccably styled, surrounded by a halo of glowing endorsements and follower counts in the millions. The image feels almost nauseating in its artificiality. The narrative is so clearly designed to evoke sympathy, to garner votes, subtly framing the chaos caused by his fans as an unfortunate consequence beyond his control.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Rebecca read once about Reese's involvement in a riot, with the news framing it as his fault, despite the chaos being instigated by overzealous fans. A knot of resentment tightens in her stomach, not because she doesn’t know which version was true, but because there are two versions.

The spotlight shifts, and eventually, the camera focuses on Rebecca. Her stomach clenches. “She was at the top of her career,” says the female host. The man shakes his head in disbelief. “Such a shame, and a beauty, too.” He continues to narrate her story—a tale woven with misfortune and desperation. “A tragic tale of talent betrayed,” the host intones, his words dripping with insincere pity. “She was on the cusp of greatness; can you believe that? Brought low by jealous rivals. Driven to the brink of despair, she lashed out.” He makes a dramatic pause, letting the weight of his words hang in the air. “And that’s why we have her here—due to a desperate act of self-destruction that ended in fire.”

Rebecca’s stomach churns.

The screen displays her profile: a grainy mugshot juxtaposed with images of her past, images of grace and elegance, and all the other things she’s lost. The narrative, deliberately skewed, paints her as a victim, her actions framed as a consequence of circumstance rather than malice. Their words evoke a sense of pathos, designed to elicit sympathy from the viewers. Rebecca feels a flicker of anger, a cold spark igniting in her chest. The manipulation is blatant, and she recognizes the subtle shift in the way the other contestants observe her – a mixture of pity and wariness. Her gaze drifts to Reese, he’s staring at the screen; a flicker of something – surprise? perhaps even a hint of admiration – crosses his face, instantly gone.

The narrative continues, turning to the other contestants, their stories unveiled, one by one. The idealized image of the twins shatters as the truth about their parents' demise is revealed, the casual cruelty in their eyes now laid bare. The woman who had sobbed uncontrollably earlier is revealed as a drug addict who attempted to sell her child.

Each story, a painted mask concealing a terrifying reality. Rebecca finds herself staring at the other contestants, seeing them not as potential allies or enemies, but as individuals whose lives are as warped and broken as her own, caught in the cruel machinery of Live. The game, she realizes with a chilling clarity, is not simply about survival; it's about the perversion of truth itself.