Page 36 of Stream & Scream
I find him by the stream, crouched over his wrist-cam, talking like anyone’s listening. He’s made a selfie stick from a branch and some wire, holding it out so the audience can drink in every angle of his sweat-slick face. He winks. Flexes. Runs his fingers through damp curls plastered to his forehead with sweat. The water behind him runs clear and cold, moonlight scattering silver across the surface. He dips his canteen, raises it like he’s filming a beer ad, and takes a drink. He thinks this is his fucking stage. That people tune in for him.
I watch him longer than I need to, letting the hunger build. The woods are alive around us—frogs croaking near the bank, owls calling in the distance. I circle him slowly, each step silent, boots sinking into earth. My helmet hides my breath, funneling it back warm against my skin. My pulse is steady. Myhandsare steady. The knife at my hip feels like part of me, balanced and waiting.
Cody talks, and talks, filling silence with his own voice like it keeps him safe. “Still haven’t seen the big bad hunter. Guess I’m too good looking to kill, right? Can’t say I blame him.”
He laughs at his own joke.
I bare my teeth in the dark. It’s time.
One step closer. Two.Three. The last thing he says cuts off mid-sentence when I slam his face into the log behind him.
CRACK.
Bone snaps. Cartilage shatters. His scream rips the silence wide open, echoing through the trees. He claws at the ground, scrambling, but I’m already on him. My boot grinds into his spine, pinning him flat. My hand tangles in his hair, jerking his head back until his neck stretches taut and his mouth gapes open like a fish.
“P-please?—”
“Shut the fuck up.” My voice is low, guttural, vibrating against the inside of the mask. “It’s rude to wake the others.”
The knife comes quick in a flash of steel. Moonlight kisses the blade as I press it to his thigh and carve deep.
HISS.
The cut is clean. Artery opened. Blood gushes hot and fast, spraying my gloves, spattering the log. He howls, his legs kicking like a slaughtered pig, heels thumping the moss.
“N-no, please—fuck, please?—”
“You should’ve kept your mouth shut.”
He’s sobbing, begging, face streaked with blood and tears. Pathetic.
“You told them you were too pretty to die.” I tilt my head toward the drone circling above, its lens blinking red. “Guess that makes this personal.”
I drag the blade across his cheek, splitting skin wide open. His scream tears through the night. “Not so pretty now.” I pinch his nose between two fingers, bring the blade down once, twice—clean. His shriek gets more frantic as blood gushes down his face, pouring into his mouth. I hold the severed cartilage up for the camera, tilting it like a trophy.
“Too pretty for this world? Not anymore.”
He thrashes, choking,gaggingon blood. I slam his head into the log to still him. “Ears next.” The first slice is quick, the ear sheared away in a spurt of red. The second takes longer, sawing through flesh and cartilage while he howls, voice breaking. Blood sprays hot against my mask, but I don’t flinch. I want the audience to see.
“Ugly enough yet?” I rasp, shoving his head toward the lens.
His lips tremble, forming a plea. I don’t let him finish. I press the knife flat to his mouth and carve. His scream is muffled, choked, skin tearing until his lips are gone.
I step back, admiring the mess. His face is a horror show, completely unrecognizable. “Now look at you,” I whisper, yanking his head up by the hair. “Not too pretty to kill. Too ugly to let live.” I lean close, voice a growl just for him. “You’ll be remembered for this, Cody. For what it looks like when vanity rots.”
Then I open his throat in one brutal slash. Blood pours out, soaking us both, steaming in the cool night air. His body twitches once, twice, then goes limp.
I hold his face up to the camera one last time, tilting it for the audience. “Smile for them now,” I rasp, blood dripping from my gloves. “Let’s see who’s still watching.” Then I stomp on the lens, static exploding across the feed, leaving them with nothing.
For a long time I sit beside his body, breathing. Listening. The woods are silent now—no birds, no frogs, no breeze. Just the hush of a forest. It always goes like this, like nature itself recognizes me.Respectsme. I wipe the blade on his shirt, fabric ripping under my hand, then slide it back into its sheath. Theblood is sticky on my gloves, drying along my throat. I don’t care. I like it. Proof. A reminder of what I’ll do again.
Cody’s voice will stick in their skulls all night, a lullaby of failure. Every contestant that flinches at a snapped branch, every idiot who runs blindly through the dark trying to escape something they can’t see, just makes my job easier. Scramble, piggies. It makes you easier to hunt. And the faster you fall, the faster I strip this game down to what it was always meant to be—her.
One by one, until there’s no one left but the audience, the cameras, and Liv. My little clickbait. My headline. My final act.
The comm crackles. “Hunter, confirm. Is Ten down?”
I tap twice. Then once more. Slower.
