Page 50 of Stream & Scream
Not long for this world.
“Another beautiful day in this haunted hellhole!” she chirps, voice bubbly, lips glossed with spit to look plump for the feed. “But don’t worry, babes, I’ve got this. Built my own shelter, caught a fish, and guess what? No killer in sight!”
She winks and flashes a peace sign.
I hate her instantly. It’s not too personal. She just doesn’t belong here. She’s nothing more than a shiny toy for the sponsors to jerk off to.
Fine. I’ll give them a better show.
The north quadrant is quiet. Trees cut the moonlight into endless silver shapes. Rocks stick out of the ground like broken bones in a graveyard. The air tastes of wet earth and iron, rot fermenting under the leaves.
I move heel to toe, boots whispering against the ground. Rifle slung heavy across my back, balanced. Knife warm at my hip. Drones hum above, red eyes blinking like they can’t wait for the feed.
Gwen kneels by a fallen tree, her little “camp” staged like a fucking catalog spread. Fire burning neat, tent angled for the perfect shot, canteen gleaming as though it’s never touched dirt. She leans into her cam, cheeks caught in the flames, smile sugar-sweet.
“You know what I’d really kill for right now?” she giggles. “A PSFL. Pumpkin. Spice. Fucking. Latte.”
The chat floods with fake laughter.
I step just close enough for my voice to reach her. “I prefer blood.”
Her head snaps up, green eyes wide. Ponytail jerks. She sees nothing.
I’m already gone. Ten feet closer. Then ten more.
Her cam shakes as she scrambles upright. Panic finally cracks her voice and she bolts.
Good girl. Run.
She runs like one of those goddamn treadmill queens. Long strides, all wasted. Stray branches claw her face, roots snag her shoes, like she doesn’t know how to move in terrain that wants her dead. Sneakers skid, breath coming fast and shallow, a high whistle breaking into sobs.
I herd her. Snap a twig to the left, she jerks right. Toss a stone ahead, she veers into the clearing like a good little puppet. Drones whirl overhead, their lenses drinking in every stumble, every gasp.
She crashes to her knees on the incline, splitting her skin wide open and sending blood sliding down her shins. She cries out, but claws back up, clutching her cam.
“Keep running,” I rasp through the modulator, voice jagged and inhuman. “The viewers want to see yourun.”
Her scream tears the night apart.
I give her five seconds. Then I run. Boots silent, visor glowing with her ghost-green hue. Always ten steps behind. Always close enough to make hope feel that much more devastating.
The cedars rise ahead, spines jagged. Perfect.
I lunge from the shadows, fist tangling in her ponytail. She screams, body jerking back, green eyes wide with terror as I slam her down into the mud. The breath whooshes out of her chest in a grunt. She thrashes and kicks, but I’m already on her. My knee digs into her spine, my weight pinning her flat.
Plastic bites as I wrench her arms behind her. The zip ties cinch tight with a sharp crack, slicing skin, biting deeper when she struggles. She sobs into the dirt, hands twitching uselessly, wrists already bleeding under the strain.
“Stop fighting,” I rasp, tugging the ties once more to test their hold. “You’re not going anywhere except where I want you.”
I haul her upright by the restraints, her ponytail slapping against her face. She stumbles, sneakers slipping, but I shove herforward until her body slams into the cedar. Bark tears her cheek open. She gasps, broken, shoulders heaving as the drones swoop down, red eyes blinking, lenses alive with hunger.
Now she’s staged. Tied. Bleeding. Perfect.
“Smile, sweetheart,” I murmur, blade kissing her cheek. “You wanted views. Let’s give them a fucking show.”
“Please,” she chokes, voice already breaking.
I chuckle, low, menacing. “Please? You think that word works out here? No, sweetheart. Too late for ‘please.’ Mercy does not exist. You only get me.”
