A new message on the Crown of Snakes website appears when I hit refresh.

*Hi, my name is Scorpio. I’m a budding actor from Nevada who’s just found my big break. I’m coming on this show. What about you?*

I look at the words for a minute. He must be from one of the groups that were ‘ok’. I start typing a reply.

*Hi, my name is Vicki. I’m the budding actress from California who was waiting for her big break. I’m coming on this show with my three…*

Friends doesn’t seem right but I remember what Valerie said before the audition. From now on, we’re a team.

*…teammates, Valerie, Kiyoshi and Sheena. What about you?*

I’m not entirely sure why I’m messaging this guy and telling him about my team. Something tugs at me, telling me that he is my- an enemy, but my brain doesn’t care.

I glance back at the screen and see a message. It seems unlikely that he would be on this website at the same time as me but just like the snake border, another message is on the screen.

*Hi, my name is Scorpio. I’m the actor from Nevada who found his big break. I’m coming on this show with my three teammates, my wits, my guts and my sanity.*

I can’t tell if he auditioned alone, or if his teammates are his metaphorical wits, gut and sanity.

*Call me?*

The format we were using is gone now and replaced with two words, sent from him, followed shortly after with a number. This is a bad idea, I think. He’s called Scorpio. That’s already a bad sign- no pun intended- but I type the number into Whatsapp anyway.

His contact information is pretty normal. Emphasis on ‘pretty’. A picture of a boy, his eyes are as black as his hair and a chiseled jawline and just ‘Scorpio’ without a surname. I begin to feel a little embarrassed as he can probably see my drunk pouting face and ‘VICKIII IN DA HOUSE!!!’ on his screen. I made it when I was at Friday’s and haven’t changed it since. I tap the call symbol and smooth down my hair as I wait.

“Hey,” a voice says. It’s deep. Well, by deep I mean deeper than other boys I know and they’re just that- boys. “This is Vicki, right?”

“Yeah. My name is Vicki and all that crap,” I say. He laughs a bit. Not cruel, but sharp edged and crisp.

“You look really nice. Your profile picture,” he says. I’m not sure if it’s a joke but he sounds genuine.

“You look nice too,” I say. It’s not a lie. “So, how are your wits, guts and sanity doing?” That was a bad joke.

“Slowly diminishing. I don’t think I’ll have anything left in time for the show. I mean, my sanity’s already gone. I guess my gut’s still here because I called you,” he says.

“You think that’s bad? I invited a total stranger to audition with me,” I say before remembering the things I said to him earlier. I should probably apologize but I’m busy so… later.

“A total stranger?” he asks.

“A barrister at a boba shop I was in at the time,” I say, deadpan.

He laughs again. “Now I know why I can’t make friends- because I asked the barrister at Starbucks when I should’ve tried the boba store.” I’m kind of surprised that he can’t make friends, what with that face and jokes as bad as mine.

“Do you know anything about the show?” I ask. Maybe he’ll have researched further or gotten info when he was accepted formally whereas Sheena somehow got us in via bribing or negotiation or more likely blackmail. He shakes his head.

“No,” he says.

“Oh. Well that’s ok.”

“No. No yeah sorry. I do know some stuff.” His deep voice falters slightly. Slightly, but surely. But it's good that he knows stuff. “I know some people who are going on.” And you didn’t go with them? Coincidental much. “They are um. Old friends.”

“I hear you,” I say. “Do you want to switch to video call?”

“No. No thanks. I’m wearing my retainers now which don’t look great,” he says. He must have straight teeth then but I find it difficult to believe that someone who’s planning on going on a reality show has trouble video calling a fellow contestant.

“Ok. And these old friends?” I prompt. There’s a pause on the other end.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Yeah. We were mates in high school but they started not liking me and I don’t really know why. There was another guy they did the same thing to but he left the school,” he says. “Wanted to start again. I do too, Vicki, I really do.”

“Pick different friends? Or go back to how it was before your friends started hating you?” I ask.

“Yeah that,” he says, not really answering my question.

“Both?” I ask, wondering if that’s possible.

“Lots of things. More than you realize.” I’m beginning to get confused. What the heck is he talking about? “I have to go now. Bye!” He doesn’t give me time to say ‘bye’ before he hangs up. Weird. Weird and abrupt. He leaves me a text after that; all it says is ‘good luck’. For the show I guess. 13. Luck. It all seems connected- connected like charms on a bracelet or metal rings on a chain.

I text Kiyoshi a quick ‘sorry for what I said’ and forward it to Valerie too.

Downstairs, a key turns in a lock.

“I’m home, honey!” Mom cries from downstairs. There’s a shuffling as she puts things away. “There’s a letter for you here and my god, a lot of flyers telling me who to vote for and where I should get my takeaways. We need a sign on the door letting people know that we don’t get fast food in this house, don’t we honey?” I jog downstairs and take the letter from the doormat.

“Shit!” I say. A drop of blood seeps through my skin, a little drying on the edge of the envelope where I was cut.

“Victoria! We don’t swear in this house!” Mom says. I jog back upstairs before she can ask what’s in the letter. After I’ve shut my bedroom door, I rip the corner off. I can see the edge of the letter with a golden snake symbol is the shape of the letter ‘s’. No. We should do this together. I create a group chat labeled ‘hollywood stars’ before calling it. For the first time in my whole life, everyone in the group joins the video call.

“Have you guys gotten letters?” I ask. Valerie’s monitor goes black and she returns a few minutes later, waving her envelope.

“Wait,” Sheena says, pressing her face against her phone. “I thought that was spam and I chucked it away.” I would facepalm if my hands weren’t full.

“When a letter is addressed to you, with the name of the show you recently auditioned for and the official logo, it’s probably legit,” I say. She just shrugs. Kiyoshi’s letter hasn’t come yet so me and Valerie open ours.

“Dear Valerie Víbora, you have been accepted into the Crown of Snakes- guys we did it!” Valerie says, glowing bright enough that even Sheena smiles- a tiny bit. “You will be part of the Kingsnakes. Please, feel no need to pack for the trip. Travel is paid for by ourselves. Your role is a player. Please fill in the form attached to confirm your entry to show. Vicki, read yours now!”

“Ok.” I rip open the rest of the envelope and slip out the letter inside. “Dear Victoria Vickers, you have been accepted into the Crown of Snakes.” Even though I know that the auditioner liked my interview and that Sheena ‘helped him with his decision’, I’m still surprised. A feeling rushes through my veins. Success? Pride? Accomplishment? Maybe they’re all connected. “You will be part of the Kingsnakes. Yes! Val, we’re on the same team!” Valerie beams. “Blah blah packing. Your role is a player, blah blah form.”

“How will Sheena come on show if no form to fill in?” Kiyoshi asks, raising a decent point.

“I’ll just fish it out the bin. It’s fine,” she says, her screen going black. She picks her phone up again later and holds up her very crinkled letter. “It’s fine,” she says again. “Kingsnake. Shouldn’t it be king cobra, though?”

“I can’t believe we’re all on the same team!” Valerie says, awkwardly trying to communicate a virtual group hug with her arms. “I’m filling in my form now.” I reach for my pen and answer questions. Name, date of birth, medical problems, address, contacts, holy shit! After it asks me for my phone number, a question which reads ‘pick one’ followed by two tick boxes. One is labeled ‘your teammate’s life’ the other labeled ‘a million dollars’. What? I tick the money box after a long debate in my head. It’s just a question, I wouldn’t really but I know that the producers will prefer it if I’m dedicated to the prize. The next question is acting contracts followed by my preferred nickname to be called on the show. Soon enough, I’ve finished the form but my mind is still buzzing about 6. What was the secret meaning to that question? Was it a question they can use to decipher things about my personality?

“What did you guys put for question 6?” Valerie asks.

“Money. Of course. What kind of Kiyoshi would put teammate?” Sheena says. Is Kiyoshi’s name being used as a substitute for weakass? Because that’s what usually goes in that sentence.

“I put money too. Cos the producers will like it better,” I say. Valerie shakes her head.

“You two are so scorpio,” she says. I’m reminded of Scorpio and wonder if I should ask him what team he’s in later. “I’ve got to go now so I’ll see you later. Bye Kiyoshi, Sheena and Vicki!” I hang up as well, folding my forn into the smallest rectangle I possibly can, before unfolding it and doing it again. I should probably post this. I put on my shoes and leave the house. I jog to the postbox. Jogging outdoors when it’s quiet is peace. Not peaceful, but the root of the word. The person who created the word probably made it up when he was jogging to a pillar box to deliver the hair thin square of white that will save his fucked up life. Or it was a girl. Or non-binary. I’m going to stop the list there before I start questioning if he- they even identified as a person in the first place.

I slide it through the slot, the red and white stark against each other until the envelope falls so deep into the box that there’s only black now.

“Bye bye form. Hello better,” I whisper to myself. I’ve done it. That’s the only thought in my head as I jog back home.

I text Scorpio outside my front door with a simple but effective ‘kingsnake????????’. He reads but doesn’t respond. I cannot, I repeat cannot deal with readnoreplyers. Just die. Go fuck yourself and die. Ok that was harsh. But still. I pull out my keys and twist them in the lock.

“I just went to post a letter,” I call into the house. Mom comes down the stairs.

“Victoria, is there something you want to tell me?” she says. God, I’m not 12.

“You have a haircut?” I offer. Let’s make this short and sweet.

“Was that an audition?” she asks. “Are you still going to these stupid auditions?” Oh my god. “You’ll never get in. Why don’t you go to real job interviews?”

“Shut the fuck up!” I shout. Mom gasps. When I swear it’s not usually directed at her but I’ve gotten into this show despite her not caring and at this point, mother or not, no one is going to tell me no. I don’t give a shit if they try.