The morning after the Ferris Wheel run, the amusement park felt different.
Too still. Too watchful.
Aria stirred her coffee with a twig, eyes scanning the horizon as Bianca's laughter sliced through the silence.
"Can you believe she's trending again?" Bianca said loudly to the group of contestants, her voice sugar-dipped poison. "She throws one punch, and suddenly she's the nation's sweetheart."
Her followers tittered on cue.
Aria didn't even look up. "That's the problem with the internet," she said softly. "It confuses survival with style."
Bianca froze. The cameras caught it perfectly — Aria's lazy smirk, Bianca's tightening jaw.
> 💬 "Oof. She just buried her with one sentence."
💬 "Queen energy detected."
💬 "Bianca trying to start drama again? Sit down, extra."
---
But Bianca wasn't the type to sit down.
By noon, she'd already whispered her way into a plan.
During that night's mission — a scavenger hunt near the old haunted house set — she and two others would stage a fake "zombie ambush" to make Aria panic on live stream.
One of the guys, a washed-up model with too much confidence, bragged, "I've got the mask and fake blood ready. We'll give her a show."
"Perfect," Bianca purred. "Let's remind everyone she's just acting brave."
---
Night fell.
Fog thickened over the broken rides. The host's voice echoed from the speakers, far too cheerful:
> "Contestants, you have thirty minutes to retrieve the keys hidden inside the haunted house. Don't get caught!"
Bianca smirked. "Showtime."
Aria, walking with a small flashlight, had already guessed something was off. The energy was too rehearsed. Too expectant.
She'd seen ambush setups before — the small, restless glances of people waiting for their moment.
She didn't call them out. She just smiled to herself.
"Aria," Bianca called sweetly from the corridor ahead. "Can you help me? I think I heard something."
"Probably your conscience," Aria said.
Laughter erupted on the livestream.
> 💬 "She's ruthless 💀"
💬 "Bianca's trap about to backfire."
💬 "This is better than any drama series."
---
Bianca took a breath, gave a signal.
The two "zombies" burst out from behind the props, shrieking — one grabbing at Aria's arm, fake blood splattering on the floor.
Aria reacted on instinct.
Her flashlight dropped, her body spun — elbow, pivot, low sweep.
Both attackers hit the ground so hard the set rattled.
The audience went wild.
> 💬 "SHE DID IT AGAIN!!"
💬 "Those poor actors 💀💀💀"
💬 "Someone give her her own action movie!!"
But the laughter froze when one of the men didn't get up.
He wasn't moving.
Bianca blinked. "What— what are you doing? Get up!"
Aria's eyes narrowed. She crouched beside the man and pulled up his sleeve.
Another metal implant. Same pulse of blue light.
"Not one of yours, huh?" she murmured.
Bianca paled. "What is that?"
Aria looked straight into the nearest drone.
"I'd like to know too," she said.
The broadcast lagged — a second of static, the screen flickering like someone backstage was scrambling.
The host's voice crackled over the intercom, forced laughter in every word.
> "Ha-ha! Incredible realism tonight, folks! Give it up for our performers!"
But the audience wasn't fooled.
> 💬 "That guy's not moving…"
💬 "Was that real blood?"
💬 "Production, explain??"
💬 "#SomethingWrongWithTheShow trending now."
---
Bianca backed away, trembling. "W-what's happening?"
"Reality," Aria said.
The lights flickered, then cut out entirely.
Screams echoed through the building — contestants, crew, it didn't matter. The park had come alive in the worst way.
Aria grabbed Bianca's wrist and pulled her behind a support beam just as something — someone — barreled past in the dark.
She caught a glimpse of movement: gray skin, jerky motion, eyes too flat to be human.
Her breath slowed. "That's not an actor."
Bianca gasped. "But they said—"
"They lied."
---
The emergency lights flicked back on, strobing red across the set.
The camera drones hovered, confused, recording everything.
Aria moved first — dragging Bianca and the others toward the exit. The rest of the contestants were screaming, scattering like frightened birds.
"Everyone to the north gate!" she shouted. Her voice cut clean through the chaos. "Don't stop. Don't look back."
The livestream audience watched in stunned silence.
Their "fragile starlet" was giving tactical orders.
And every movement was efficient — not panicked, not staged, just pure, deadly precision.
> 💬 "She's leading them. Wtf??"
💬 "No way this is acting."
💬 "Is this part of the script or are we watching a real emergency??"
---
Once outside, the survivors collapsed near the broken ferris wheel. Bianca's mascara had run halfway down her face, her fake nails cracked.
Aria, barely breathing hard, scanned the shadows.
"Kelly's gonna kill me," she muttered.
Bianca looked up, trembling. "You— you saved me."
Aria gave her a sideways glance. "Don't sound so surprised. I like a good audience."
Bianca blinked, still shaking. "Who are you?"
Aria smiled faintly, the firelight catching in her eyes. "Just the girl who refused to die quietly."
The comment section went berserk.
> 💬 "That line. THAT LINE."
💬 "Queen of Apocalypse, officially."
💬 "She's not surviving the show — the show's surviving her."
---
At HQ, the director stood frozen as the feed replayed the attack.
"That wasn't ours," he whispered. "Those weren't our people."
Behind him, a silent figure in a red vest typed something on a tablet.
> Transmission Confirmed. Target A-01 verified. Proceed to Phase Two.
---
Aria sat by the fire, staring at the flames as the other contestants cried and cursed.
The weak one was smiling again — softly, dangerously.
Because the game was no longer pretend.
And finally, she wasn't pretending either.