I
“See you tomorrow folks, with another exciting episode as the game continues on Live.”
The hosts’ voices fade, leaving everyone with flushed faces as they eye one another and pass silent judgment. Almost simultaneously, a sharp buzz vibrates from every contestant’s phone. Rebecca glances down at hers. A single message appears:
"Upload a story to unlock dinner privileges."
A ripple of murmurs courses through the room. Some contestants immediately begin tapping furiously at their phones, their faces illuminated by the screens’ cold light. Others, like Reese, scoff. “Who needs to eat, right?” he mutters to himself. Rebecca thinks bitterly that he probably doesn’t need to upload a story—he’s already done at least twenty of those.
As the thought crosses her mind, her stomach rumbles loudly. The sudden, embarrassing sound draws several curious glances her way.
Rebecca’s fingers hover over her phone. The message reeks of manipulation—the very first taste of the game’s insidious control. Dinner is a necessity, yet more than that, it is an opportunity: to watch, to listen, to gather information in a setting that feels looser and less guarded. Refusing, however, would mean isolation. Weakness. And still, something about the prompt feels… off. Too simple. Too direct. The timing is too precise, the collective hunger too convenient.
A twist of suspicion coils in her gut. Is it the food they care about, or is there something deeper at play? Perhaps the “story” requirement isn’t about the content itself, but about the data it generates—the insights it feeds to the show’s creators. What are they really after? And what happens if she doesn’t comply?
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Her enhanced flexibility and resilience won’t stop her from starving. The thought of a long night without food, coupled with the ever-present threat of physical fights, clouds her mind.
She glances at Reese, who is absorbed in his phone with that familiar calculating look. He is already working on his post—no doubt putting together a captivating story wrapped in charm and disarming smiles, intended to draw sympathy and boost his numbers. Rebecca wonders what angle he will take. A tragic victim? A reluctant hero? Or something more insidious, more strategic. The thought gives her a sharp, almost painful intrigue that soon shifts—quick and hot—into anger.
In a moment of impulsiveness, she abandons her initial plan for a measured approach and decides to share her own story. Without fully considering the implications, she hastily screenshots the message from the show producers and posts it to her story, feeling the pressure to act before dinner is served. The question arises: Will this display of defiance serve her survival or simply add to the chaos?
After checking her story, some contestants exchange nervous smiles, their eyes reflecting a mixture of admiration and fear, while others mask their apprehension with expressions of feigned disdain. Rebecca’s hands begin to sweat as she realizes the consequences of her rash idea—sooner than expected: she has put herself on the map.
Seemingly unfazed by her sudden rebellion, Reese walks past, his footsteps audible even over the loud conversation. As he passes, his breath brushes against her ear, and he whispers a single sentence, his voice low and almost inaudible before he continues on his way.
“Interesting move, 42,” he murmurs, his tone threaded with a hint of something Rebecca can’t quite decipher—amusement? Respect? Perhaps a subtle warning. The meaning remains elusive as the scent of smoke after a fire.