Page 2 of Stream & Scream
I respect that.
But it won’t save her.
Nothing will.
Because the moment she stepped off that bus, she gave me every reason not to let her win.
She doesn’t even realize it yet, but she’s mine.
And before the sun rises on the final day, I’m going to break her—again and again—until she stops asking me for mercy and begs for more.
I stand and grab my pack. My gear’s already locked and loaded—tactical, efficient,mine. Reinforced combat boots, military-grade soft shell jacket, blackout fatigues layered with Kevlar.
Everything custom-fit to move with me, not against me. Combat knife strapped to my thigh. Sidearm holstered at my hip. Tranquilizers, rope, zip ties. MREs sealed and rationed. Backup camo, forest-optimized. My helmet hangs from the hook by the door—matte black, no logos, no bullshit. Built withthermal sensors, audio dampeners, and a visor that sees in the dark like a predator. The producers wanted something flashier. Something branded. I told them to go fuck themselves. This one’s mine. Like everything else in that forest will be, soon enough.
Like her.
I let the silence wrap around me as I step out of the surveillance truck and into the clearing. The air is sharp with the scent of pine needles, wet earth, and the distant smoke of the producer’s campfires burning out behind the main zone.
Somewhere behind me, she’s still at the starting line. Right where they dropped all fifteen of them off. Cameras in their faces. Producers shouting countdowns. Viewers are already placing bets.
None of them know it’s all real yet.
But they will soon enough.Shewill.
Because when the lights go out and the forest swallows the signal, I won’t be a character anymore.
I’ll be the last thing she fucking sees.
I wonder if she knows she’s already being hunted.
My boots crunch over frost-laced gravel as I head toward the edge of the woods. Beyond the fence line, the wilderness stretches out like an open mouth. Towering pines, gnarled trunks, deep ravines. Shallow creeks that’ll freeze by morning. Wildlife tracks and blood trails. No paths. No shelters. No help. Just forest and fear.
Fifteen contestants. One hunter. That’s how the show sells it.
A horror-themed reality challenge with real stakes.
A half-million-dollar prize dangling like bait.
A one-in-fifteen shot at viral fame, survival,glory.
But what they don’t know is this?—
The hunter decides who lives.
The hunter decides who wins.
And I’ve already fucking decided.
They think it’s a fucking game. A horror-themed obstacle course with fake blood and staged screams. Flashy effects. Clever editing. They signed waivers without reading them, posed for the trailers, cracked jokes on the ride over.
All of them smiling.Laughing.
They won’t be laughing when the first body drops.
When they see the blood doesn’t wash off and realize there’s no safe word. No exit. No second take.
That’s the part I live for—when it hits. The fracture of understanding in their eyes. The silence that follows the scream. That sharp, breathless moment where reality claws down their throat and they can’t swallow it fast enough.
