Page 5 of Stream & Scream
"Your wrist devices will be your lifeline," Milo continues, his voice echoing off the trees. "They're equipped with GPS, a live camera feed, and most importantly, an emergency extraction button. One press of that bright yellow button, and we'll come to you. But remember—once you're out, you're out. No second chances, no do-overs. The money goes to whoever lasts until dawn on Monday."
I glance down at the wrist device—black and sleek, heavier than it looks on TV. The screen shows a steady red recording light, and I can see my own face reflected in its surface, pale and serious among a group of people who look like they're heading to a pool party instead of a survival game in the middle of the forest.
The emergency button Milo mentioned is almost mocking in its cheerful color. Something about the whole setup feels wrong, but I can't articulate exactly what.
Maybe it's the lack of visible medical personnel. Maybe it's the way the production assistants from this morning all had the same dead-eyed look of people who've seen too much. Maybe it's just the general atmosphere of barely controlled chaos that seems to follow Milo Vane's productions.
"Now, let's talk about what you're carrying," Milo's voice takes on an instructional tone. "Each of you has been provided with a standard survival pack. Inside you'll find a sleeping bag, a water bottle, some basic rations, and extra batteries for your device. No weapons, no communication equipment, no outside assistance. This is about pure human survival instinct."
Emily Cho raises her hand like she's in fucking school. "What about food after the rations run out? Are there edible plants in this area?"
"That's for you to figure out, sweetheart," Milo replies, and there's something patronizing in his tone that makes me feel ill. "This is Stream & Scream, not a nature walk with your scout leader."
A few contestants laugh, but Emily's face goes red. I file away her question as evidence that at least one other person here is thinking practically about actual survival instead of just camera time.
The other contestants are getting restless, some already pairing off into alliances. I watch Riley strut over to a group thatincludes Lexie and Tara, his charm in full swing. "Ladies, ladies," he says, that practiced grin never wavering, "how about we team up? Strength in numbers, right? Plus, I've got wilderness experience."
Wilderness experience. Right. I'll bet his idea of roughing it is a hotel without room service.
Chase is showing off his "wilderness knowledge" to anyone who'll listen, pointing at trees like he's David fucking Attenborough. "See that moss pattern? That indicates the moisture level in the soil. And those bird calls? That's how you know if predators are in the area."
Brooke Miller, the youngest at nineteen, nods eagerly at everything he says, her blonde braid bobbing with enthusiasm. She's the type who probably believes everything she sees on the internet.
I tune them out and focus on what matters—the terrain, the light, the way sound carries in this particular stretch of forest. If this is really about survival, I need to start thinking like someone whose life depends on making smart decisions, not like a contestant hoping to go viral. I need to play the game.
"One more thing," Milo's voice cuts through the chatter, and something in his tone makes everyone fall silent. "The cameras will be watching.Alwayswatching. Every move, every decision, every moment of weakness will be broadcast live to millions of viewers around the world. Some of you will rise to the occasion. Others... Well, let's just say will fall."
There's an undercurrent to his words that I don't like. A suggestion that failure here is unacceptable and final. But that's probably just my paranoid brain working overtime, right? This is television, not a snuff film.
Still, the feeling persists as I scan the group of contestants. Fifteen people signed up for fame and fortune, most of them tooyoung or too naive to understand what they might have gotten themselves into.
Malik catches my eye from across the group. He's been quiet for most of the day, watching almost as much as I have. When our eyes meet, there's a moment of recognition—two people who are here to change their lives. To dig themselves out of the hole life has unfairly thrown them into.
But even that moment of connection feels dangerous here. Trust is a luxury I can't afford, especially when there's so much money on the line.
"The game begins at sunset," Milo announces, his voice building to a crescendo. "That gives you about two hours to get your bearings, form your strategies, and prepare yourselves for what's coming. Use that time wisely, because once night falls, the real test begins."
The speakers crackle and fall silent, leaving us alone in the clearing with nothing but the sound of our own breathing and the mechanical whir of drones circling overhead.
Two hours until sunset. Two hours until whatever this really is gets started.
I'm still mulling over my concerns when I feel it—that prickle between my shoulder blades that makes me think someone's watching. Not the cameras, not the drones.
This is different. Personal.Predatory.
I turn slowly, scanning the tree line, but see nothing except shadows and branches swaying in the cool breeze. Still, the feeling persists, crawling across my skin.
Someone is out there.
Someone is watching me.
CHAPTER TWO
Jaxen
Night one
Iwatch her from the tree line, crouched low in the bramble like a feral creature. Not breathing. Not blinking. Not fucking human.
