Page 100 of Haunted Spurs

Lucien bypasses the fake kidnapping entirely: he bursts out in front of him, snaps his arm back, and unleashes a lightning-fast hook. He clocks the astrophysicist right in the jaw.

Emerson crumbles to the floor unconscious before he even realizes what hit him, while the two PAs take a step back, eyes wide, clearly intimidated by the cowboy's fury.

Off-camera, the producer's voice crackles over the walkie-talkie in the background: "Fuck, he actually hurt him! That wasn't the plan! Grab his body and get some ice on him! Cut, cut!”

[CONFESSIONAL: EMERSON]

Emerson is sitting on the leather couch. He's pressing a massive ice pack against his jaw, his expression halfway between bewildered and furious.

"That punch..." he starts, adjusting his crooked glasses with his pinky finger. He points to the bruise blooming out from under the ice. "That punch was absolutely not accidental! He completely ignored the basic rules of stage combat. There was clear, unjustified, personal hostility behind that right hook! And right when Susan was... well, was about to connect intellectually with me!"

[CUT]

[CONFESSIONAL: CAROLINA]

The camera clicks on to frame her. Her makeup is slightly smudged, her lips are visibly swollen, and there's a gleam of pure satisfaction in her eyes.

She's rocking a black tank top, ripped at the sides, featuring a new slogan printed in bold white letters: RIDE HARD OR GO HOME.

She lounges casually on the leather couch, crossing her legs and settling in with extreme calm. She runs a hand through her wildly messy brunette waves, pinching a small, unmistakable piece of yellow hay out of her curls with two fingers.

She stares at it for a second, twirling it between her fingers. Then she looks up dead into the lens, flashing a brazen, feline, and absolutely unapologetic smile.

"Sorry..." she murmurs, tilting her head with fake innocence. "Do I still have hay in my hair?"

She bursts out laughing, a clear, triumphant laugh, as the shot fades to black.

29

In or Out.

Selene

"Do you prefer popcorn or potato chips?"

The question slips out of me abruptly, cutting through the background chatter. I will never admit it, not even under torture, but... I'm actually starting to like this stupid dare of asking each other a question a day.

Ron turns to look at me. I hear him move, the fabric of his jeans rustling against the wood of the bleachers we're sitting on. Production set up a sort of small, makeshift grandstand on the sidelines for us "safe" contestants, letting us watch the elimination challenge as privileged spectators.

"Hmm..." Ron tilts his head, narrowing his eyes with an expression of dramatic concentration. "That is truly the most complicated question you have ever asked me. It's cruel, even for you, Queen of Darkness."

He reaches out to grab another handful of popcorn from my bag, and his fingers brush mine. A hot, lightning-fast electric jolt shoots up my arm. I pretend not to notice, but my stomach tightens.

"Reluctantly, though, I think... chips," he finally decrees, chewing solemnly. "I love popcorn, but chips... are top tier. You?"

I swallow the crunchy bite I was chewing, taking a second to savor the butter and salt, before turning to look at him. "Without a shadow of a doubt, chips."

"Excellent choice," he nods, flashing a smug smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

The deafening shriek of Aunt Tina's megaphone echoes across the clearing, grabbing the entire grandstand's attention.

She has positioned herself right in the center of the dirt lot, illuminated by two massive red floodlights.

"Survivors! And condemned!" she begins, her voice vibrating with an almost macabre excitement. "The Trial of the Demon's Brand is about to begin! An obstacle course through smoke and darkness, where speed means nothing without courage."

She spreads her arms wide, pointing to two long wooden posts driven into the ground at the far end of the course.

"The goal is simple. The two challengers must navigate the fog to retrieve the branding irons. Don't worry, they won't burn you... too much." Tina takes a dramatic pause, smiling diabolically. "The brand is equipped with a special thermal plate. It reaches a temperature just high enough to leave a red mark and give you an... intense thrill of heat on your bare skin. The first cowboy who manages to brand the thigh of the maiden tied to the post will win the right to stay in this house!"