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SPONSOR DONATION RECEIVED:

+$5 000

A sharp chime immediately follows. Mason—aka the loudmouth—glances down at his watch and nearly chokes on his drink.

Then a grin stretches across his face. “No fucking way.” His group immediately crowds around him.

“A watcher just sent me five grand,” he articulates before turning toward a camera, blowing a kiss.

Now that gets people’s attention. Heads turn, and a few contestants openly stare.

One of the girls beside him leans closer, “What’d they say?”

He taps his screen before reading aloud, “Congratulations. Excellent route management. You reached the arena untouched despite multiple hunter encounters; keep it up.”

His table erupts into cheers and laughter. Someone slaps him on the shoulder as another whistles. “Five grand for running?” one of them jokes.

Mason tears another piece from the leg of lamb and points. “Correction.” He takes a bite. “Five grand for being good at running,” and more laughter follows.

Around the room, contestants begin checking their watches, suddenly far more interested in sponsorships than their food.

“Christ, five grand just like that?” Amani states under her breath, leaning closer to Lucas.

“Lucky bastard,” he replies with a mouth full of food.

I scoff under my breath, eyes back on my plate. I have it all wrong, partially. We are the prey; there’s no doubt in that. As for the hunters, they are the predators. Those watching us from the cameras are mere spectators betting on racehorses. We’re nothing but zoo animals trapped in a concrete cage smack dead in the middle of the woods on Halloween.

The thought should bother me. Instead, I find myself wondering something else. How much money would someone pay to watch a person die?

Another chime sounds.

At first, nobody pays much attention to it. Another sponsorship, another contestant, that’s all, but it’s my name that appears on the screen.

ADRIAN SUMMERS

SPONSOR DONATION RECEIVED:

+$15 000

Ah fuck.

Collective gasps spread through the room, and I can feel their eyes burn into me. I lower the fork and glance at my watch.

The notification is already waiting;

+$15 000 Sponsorship Received.

“You handled the hunter well. Excellent decision-making after the roadblock incident. The truck maneuver was particularly entertaining, but the knife move was my favorite.”

My jaw tightens. The room grows louder as contestants begin talking over one another. Fifteen thousand is enough to turn heads. Enough to make people curious.

This is exactly what I didn’t want, and I can already feel eyes drifting in my direction.

Across the table, Mason’s grin falters. His gaze flicks from the screen to me, then back again. “What the fuck did you do to get fifteen grand?”

I continue eating, and apparently, that isn’t the right answer. His chair scrapes loudly against the floor, and the conversations around the room begin to die as he rises to his feet.

“Hey.”