Instead of the profile reviews—or rather, dissections—from the night before, the hosts announce in perfect unison: “FAN COMMENTS!”

  The contestants exchange wary looks, uncertain of what to expect. The hosts dispel their doubts. Two hours. Two hours of watching strangers pick apart their lives, their appearances, their actions.

  The onslaught begins.

  For most contestants, the comments are a mixed bag—encouragement, criticism, memes, jokes, and outright insults. Yet the distribution is heavily skewed. Fifty percent of the short videos target Reese, an avalanche of adoration from both men and women. “Even before Live, Reese has always inspired me with his music!” one video exclaims. “It’s amazing how he connects with people,” another adds. “Honestly, I feel like he’s changed my perspective on so many things. He gives me hope for, like, humanity!”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Rebecca observes him. His usual easy confidence appears muted. His arms are crossed tightly against his chest, his expression unreadable, though a subtle twitch of his jaw hints at something simmering beneath the surface. His charismatic smile is absent, and his posture is closed off.

  Why is he reacting this way? The outpouring of adoration is clearly meant to boost his popularity, yet he doesn’t seem pleased. Maybe it has something to do with what he told her last night—whether it’s just another one of his acts or a rare glimpse behind the pop star mask. Next to him, Contestant 3 gives him pats on the back every time his awards are mentioned or whenever his musical talent is deemed otherworldly.

  Rebecca's own comments come mostly from men—lavishing praise on her looks and the 'fierce' side they claim to see—many laced with frankly disgusting propositions.

  As the hosts read them out loud, horror sinks its claws into her ribs. They say things she’s only ever heard in horny teenage movies, things she prays will never reach her father’s ears. Fortunately, he doesn’t own a TV—and even if he did, he wouldn’t watch a reality show, not even for her. His caregiver, on the other hand… A wave of revulsion twists in her stomach.

  Contestant 24’s divided reception is interesting. Some viewers defend him, saying he’s a brilliant man, too bright for a pitiful teacher’s salary, but too honorable to do anything else. They claim he made a mistake. That what’s born from nature can’t possibly be harmful. That he was just desperate to make it to the end of the month with some cash. That his love for animals and the ecosystem should be enough to excuse his crime. That selling weed to his high school students isn’t really that bad. Others—and Rebecca can’t help but agree with this second group—believe he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

  After what feels like an eternity, the hosts finally bid farewell to the contestants and audience. The screen flickers off, and the lights come on. The contestants file out of the common room more quietly than the previous night, embarrassed, shocked by the image they project to the world outside Live. At least, that's what Rebecca feels. She waits until the room is nearly empty before making her way back to her dormitory. She had dinner before the show aired tonight, so she is now free to go to sleep.

  As she rounds the first corner, leading to the second row of bedroom doors, she spots a figure huddled on the floor, hugging her legs, shoulders shaking subtly.

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  It’s Contestant 30. She’s younger than Rebecca—perhaps barely out of her teens. Her skin remains smooth, untouched by the harsh realities of the outside world or the brutal confines of Live. Her large, blue eyes—wide and innocent—hold a hint of unshed tears. Her blonde hair, previously kept in a neat braid, now falls loose and messy, strands clinging to her damp cheeks. She is strikingly tall and broad-shouldered, and there is a naivete in her gaze that speaks of a sheltered life—a life violently interrupted and hurled into the chaotic turmoil of the game show.

  “Do you think the battles will start tomorrow?” the girl asks Rebecca. Her question sounds painfully comical over the upbeat strains of the ever-present theme song. It captures the uncertainty they both feel, but it lands more like the ending of a bad ’90s sitcom. Stay tuned for more!

  Rebecca adopts a reassuring tone, projecting a calm confidence she doesn’t entirely feel. “I bet there’s something else tomorrow. I bet they’ll surprise us,” she says gently.

  The words are as much for her own comfort as for Contestant 30’s. But they don’t seem to help, since the girl’s eyes well up again.

  “Surprise us, how?”

  Rebecca hesitates, then sits beside her. The girl doesn’t flinch; she just stares at the floor, fingers nervously twisting a loose strand of hair.

  “I don’t know,” Rebecca says quietly. “But I’m sure they would’ve announced the battles if they were starting tomorrow. Don’t you think?”

  “You know,” the girl continues, wiping away her tears and straightening her back, her voice surprisingly calm, “I never imagined I’d know in advance that I was soon going to die.” She shrugs—a gesture that feels almost too nonchalant given the gravity of her words. “At least I’ll make sure to kiss Reese before I go. I’ve been a fan since he released ‘Sky Blue.’ No, wait, since ‘Weeping Funny.’”

  Rebecca stares at the younger contestant with a strange mix of pity and irritation. Everywhere she goes there’s someone talking about Reese. He appears everywhere, in every post, in comment, even in her dreams. She’s starting to feel like she can’t escape him. Yet something in Contestant 30’s committed gaze stops Rebecca from rolling her eyes and lashing out. The girl’s casual acceptance of her impending doom is unsettling; it makes anyone who still believes they have a real chance of winning seem delusional. And her frivolous wish for a kiss from Reese creates a dissonance that makes Rebecca’s stomach churn. But she can’t judge her. She understands exactly where that wish comes from. It’s a final, devastating attempt to cling to normalcy in the face of unimaginable horror. So instead, Rebecca forces a smile, trying to project an air of casual amusement.

  “Oh, you’re aiming high,” she says lightly, though a knot of tension tightens in her chest.

  Morning arrives, and Rebecca wakes with the all-consuming question of what surprise Live has prepared for them today. The breakfast—earned through another social media post—is bland but edible. At the communal table, Reese, ever the showman, talks about shooting a music video with some of the contestants. The good-looking ones, he says, charming as ever, while subtly reminding everyone of the ever-present cameras and how much they love him.

  "People are going to love you too, big guy, because you're gonna be with me!"

  Training offers a welcome respite. There are no cameras in the training room, and Rebecca’s starting to get used to the silent company of the AI training robot. The techniques assigned to her aren’t particularly difficult, especially with an unmovable target for an opponent. In fact, Jiu-jitsu feels close enough to ballet for her to enjoy the effort and precision, but not close enough to trigger those goddamn memories she keeps trying to bury. Irrational as it seems, she’s terrified the cameras—or worse, the other contestants—could somehow access the self-punishing thoughts that play on repeat in her head.

  She stops for a moment after the stipulated forty-five minutes, but Contestant 51 never shows up to reclaim the booth, allowing Rebecca to stretch her training session to almost three hours. Even so, the relief is temporary. The return to the perpetual spectacle is inevitable. The producers soon signal for her and the other contestants to prepare for the next segment.