Sonya, if I remember the roster photo correctly. Human. Scarred knee. Arms like she’s on intimate terms with heavy machinery. She’s holding a protein drink and squinting into the arena like she’d like to punch the architecture.
“I am horrified,” I say. “I thought there would be a little more ceremonial easing-in. Maybe champagne before the trauma.”
She snorts. “You’re Bron, right?”
“Occasionally.”
“I watched your arrival interview clip.”
“God, already?”
“They move fast.”
“What’d I say?”
She deadpans, “Something about public suffering as a career pivot.”
I put a hand to my chest. “Excellent. Nice to know I’m branding consistently.”
That gets the smallest twitch of a smile. “You training today?”
“Absolutely not. I prefer to preserve the illusion of competence until absolutely necessary.”
“Coward.”
“Strategist.”
She takes another drink. “Whatever helps you sleep.”
“That and pharmaceuticals.”
Inside the arena, a siren chirps and one section of the floor tilts unexpectedly. Three contestants curse at once. One goes down to a knee. The Trinex woman barely stumbles.
I watch the trainer pace the edge with a slate in hand, noting times, errors, recoveries. Not just whether they finish. How they react. How quickly they adapt.
Useful.
Another arena sits beyond this one, open-air, full of climbing towers and suspended cargo nets. Beyond that I can see an aquatic course glinting under the sun. This place isn’t just a competition venue. It’s a factory for pressure.
Sonya jerks her chin toward a bank of screens mounted above the rail. “Look.”
I follow her gaze.
The screens are cycling through contestant stats, archived clips, sponsor tags—and a live menu calledAUDIENCE FAVOR INDEX.
My brows go up.
Below it, percentages ripple beside various names. Another tab readsINTERVIEW IMPACT RANKING.Another:VIEWER ENGAGEMENT BONUS.
“Well,” I say. “There it is. The beauty pageant part.”
Sonya’s mouth flattens. “You didn’t know?”
“I knew there’d be cameras. I did not realize my suffering would also be judged by strangers eating snacks in their homes.”
She barks a laugh. “Yeah. Public voting. Personality segments. Viewer saves in some rounds. Sponsor points if you trend.”
“Of course.” I stare at the board. “So it’s not enough to survive the obstacle course. We also have to survive being likable.”
