IX

Reese leads her into the kitchen, a cavernous space nearly as expansive as the sleek, minimalist dining hall available to contestants—but far more crowded. Stainless steel surfaces gleam under the dim glow of the emergency lights. At the back, industrial ovens murmur softly. The whole place reeks of cleaning solutions mixed with a hint of metal.

Reaching into the fridge, Reese extracts a carton of milk and pours it into two plastic glasses—the same ones they usually use for their meals. “Cheers,” he says, extending his glass over her. Rebecca hesitates, then clinks her glass against his.

“If we ever need to meet urgently in this kitchen, we’ll use ‘cheers’ as our secret code. Or ‘milk’,” he adds with a playful grin.

“Cheers is fine,” Rebecca replies, suppressing the amusement in her tone.

They slip out through the back door into another corridor, where only elevators and the emergency stairs stand. The stairs lead down into an L-shaped basement, a labyrinth of dark tunnels and service shafts, which covers only a fraction of the space above, perhaps one-fifth of the floor. Rebecca can hardly breath with the musty odor of damp concrete and stale electricity, and the constant drip of water sets an unsettling rhythm. Here, amidst stacks of discarded furniture and forgotten equipment, the perfection of the Live facade crumbles, exposing the raw, unpolished underbelly of the show.

“There’s gotta be a way out through here,” Reese murmurs, his voice in rhythmic consonance with the steady drip.

“There are probably many stories hidden beneath us—you can tell from the balcony that we’re on the top floor.” Rebecca replies.

Reese turns to her, his face lighting up with happy surprise. “So you’re really considering it? You’re seriously thinking about sabotaging the show?” Rebecca hesitates, unsure of what to say, then finally she asks, “Aren’t you?”

“I am now,” he admits.

Together, they approach the only remaining door in the basement—a door that should grant access to the continuation of the emergency stairs—but it is locked. Unlike the rest of the abandoned basement, this door is shiny and forged from thick steel, equipped with a face scanner and numeric pad, much like the one under the big screen in the common room. They pause to contemplate the door, both keenly aware of its imposing security and frustrated that it blocks what seems to be their only possible escape route.

“What other rooms are there?” Rebecca asks.

“Let’s find out.”

Navigating through the kitchen, they reach the storage room—a vast warehouse stuffed with bizarre items: crates of costumes, broken sets, and props from past seasons. As Rebecca wanders among the boxes, she spots another door, but it, too, is locked and heavily secured. “Hey, Reese,” she calls, “what’s on the other side of this wall?”

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Reese glances around and replies, “The common room. But there must be a hallway in between, because right in front of us is the door that connects to the arena.”

“So this door also leads to the arena,” Rebecca observes, goosebumps prickling the back of her neck. Reese lingers on her for a moment before grabbing her hand and pulling her back into the kitchen, guiding her toward the stairs. “Let’s see if we can get to the roof.”

Going up, the stairs end abruptly at another threshold—this one is not made of steel and, astonishingly, is open. Rebecca struggles to grasp the reality of it.

On the rooftop, the wind whips around them—frigid like on her balcony, yet infinitely more liberating. Below her toes, a tangled web of light and void stretches—breathing, shifting, alive. A million lives unfolding at once, in a muted symphony of noise. From this height, the towering structure of Live seems to diminish, transforming into just another building among many—its massive influence and high-tech security, nothing more than a fragile illusion compared to the vast night. Rebecca shivers, not entirely from the cold; Reese’s hand, warm and steady, grips hers tightly.

“Well, if everything goes to shit… this is our last escape,” he says.

Rebecca’s breath catches, yet she doesn’t pull away—she won’t, not now. A small nod accompanies her gaze fixed on the sprawling city lights, almost lost in the wind. He pulls her closer, wrapping her in a hug that feels both protective and oddly tender. His arms are strong around her, providing an incredible sense of reassurance. The wind tugs at her hair as she rests her head against his chest, feeling the chaotic rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the fabric of his shirt—a heartbeat that doesn’t align with the quiet strength he conveys; it is a pulse under pressure, beating with dread.

The wailing song of the wind and the distant sounds from below fill the silence between them. The silence is not only bearable but strangely comforting. When he finally pulls back, his eyes—usually darting about, restless—now study her with a fervor that surprises and captivates Rebecca. His voice drops to a low whisper in the wind: “From now on, I want us to be a team—just you and me.”

“What about the others?”

Reese shakes his head. “I don't care about them. It's you I want to protect. But I need you to trust me. Can you trust me?”

Rebecca doesn’t respond. She simply stares into his eyes, lost in the meaning woven into his gaze.

But then, the moment shatters. A sharp whirring robs her of the chance to answer. A drone—resembling a pitbull-sized spider—materializes beside them; its opaque body absorbs the shadows instead of reflecting the city lights. Before either can react, blinding lights flare, bathing them in an intense glare as more drones appear. A robotic voice booms from the emergency stairs: “Unauthorized personnel. This area is restricted. Immediate relocation required.”

Surprisingly forceful for their size, the drones nudge them away from the precipice with agile precision. Before Rebecca can fully register what’s happening, their metallic arms wrap around her wrists, pinning her hands behind her back with incredible efficiency. There is no struggle—nothing she can do—as the drone holding her lifts her effortlessly with a third arm, yanking her back toward the main building at an alarming speed.

Two stories below, the cold, impersonal cell feels even more confining than her usual dormitory. Rebecca lies on a thin, musty mattress, the fabric doing little to shield her from the squeaky springs beneath. She can’t see him, but knowing that Reese is in the next cell brings a small measure of comfort. “We totally missed this door,” she calls out, uncertain if he can hear her.

“I saw it before entering the basement but forgot about it,” he replies after a pause, then adds, “I think we covered the whole thing, actually… well…”

Rebecca finishes, “Except the arena.”

“Yeah… but we’ll get there in a few days, together.” He hesitates. “As a team, right?”

Rebecca stays silent for a moment before finally saying, “Right.” A shy smile spreads across her face.