The production vans stopped at the edge of the quarantine zone just after sunrise.
The air smelled like rust, old popcorn, and something else — the faint electric buzz of anticipation.
Twenty contestants stepped out into the light, blinking against the glare.
Cameras hovered like vultures overhead, their red lenses already blinking LIVE.
To the audience watching from their living rooms, it was entertainment.
To Aria Lane, it looked like a training ground.
The park stretched before them — cracked pavement, broken rides, a skeletal ferris wheel jutting into the gray sky.
Wind stirred faded banners that read WELCOME TO ELYSIUM PARK! in cheerful decay.
"Ugh," Bianca Drew muttered, tugging her designer jacket tighter. "It smells like old socks and despair."
"Fitting," Aria murmured, eyes scanning the perimeter.
The host appeared on a raised platform, flanked by drones and fake soldiers. His smile was all teeth and caffeine.
"Welcome, brave survivors, to Apocalypse Playground!" he boomed. "For the next five days, you'll live, fight, and maybe even die—figuratively—inside this park!"
Fake thunder rumbled overhead. Someone screamed prematurely.
Aria blinked. "They rehearsed that scream," she said.
Bianca scoffed. "You think everything's fake."
Aria's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Not everything."
---
The contestants gathered in a semicircle as the rules were explained:
Each participant received a digital wristband to track "health" and "missions."
Supply crates would drop randomly.
Eliminations were automatic if a contestant "died" on camera.
Alliances were allowed—but so were betrayals.
"Classic reality show structure," the host said, grinning like a maniac.
"Survive five days, and the winner takes home a million credits!"
The crowd cheered, though a few looked like they were reconsidering their contracts.
Aria raised her hand. "Question."
"Yes, Miss Lane?"
"What happens if someone dies off-camera?"
Laughter. Nervous. Too loud.
The host chuckled. "Oh, that won't happen. Everything's monitored."
Aria looked up at the nearest drone, watching it rotate in the air like an unblinking eye. "Sure it is," she said softly.
---
Team assignments followed. Each contestant drew a digital card from a holographic board.
> Team A: Bianca Drew, two influencers, one actor.
Team B: four gym bros who high-fived too loudly.
Team C: Aria Lane — Solo.
The crowd laughed again. Even the host looked thrown.
"Ah… looks like someone's flying solo today!"
Bianca smirked. "Aw, poor thing. Guess nobody wanted her."
Aria adjusted her wristband. "Perfect. Less to carry."
The audience loved it.
> 💬 "She's alone?? Again??"
💬 "Solo run! This woman's built different."
💬 "She's gonna own this entire park."
The host recovered. "Well! That's what we call drama potential! Miss Lane, may the odds be ever in your memes!"
"Trust me," Aria said. "They will be."
---
The gates groaned open, and the contestants spilled into the park.
Screams echoed as the first "zombies" stumbled out of hiding — actors in prosthetics, groaning dramatically.
Half the group panicked immediately. Someone threw a shoe.
Aria didn't flinch.
She watched the movement, the angles, the pacing — their choreography was good, but predictable.
She picked up a fallen piece of metal pipe, weighed it in her hand, and started walking toward the noise.
A drone followed close, capturing every frame of her calm face, the way her steps never faltered.
> 💬 "She's literally walking into the danger zone??"
💬 "Main character moment!"
💬 "Is this bravery or a death wish?"
---
From the control room, the director leaned forward, watching her feed.
"She's not scared," he muttered. "Not even pretending to be scared."
One assistant chuckled nervously. "That's good TV, right?"
The director didn't answer. He just stared.
---
In the park, Aria reached the edge of the broken carousel.
The air felt colder there. Too still.
Something shuffled behind one of the horses.
"Boo," said a voice — the "zombie actor," jumping out.
The camera caught her next movement in perfect cinematic timing:
One twist, one flick of the wrist, and the man's prop weapon went flying.
He froze mid-act, eyes wide.
Aria smiled politely. "Sorry. Reflex."
Then she helped him back up as if nothing had happened.
The drone zoomed in on her smirk.
The comment feed detonated:
> 💬 "'Sorry, Reflex' — SHE DID IT AGAIN."
💬 "I can't tell if this is horror or comedy."
💬 "Someone give her a frying pan already."
---
By sundown, Aria had mapped half the park.
She'd found three blind spots the cameras didn't cover and a stash of emergency snacks labeled "Props — Not for Consumption."
Naturally, she ate one anyway.
The livestream caught her mid-bite.
She looked directly into the lens and said, "Apocalypse or not, a girl's gotta eat."
> 💬 "NEW QUOTE ALERT."
💬 "She's the most relatable assassin ever."
💬 "How is she so calm it's sexy??"
---
In the control trailer, the director rubbed his temples.
"She's breaking the format," he said. "She's not supposed to be… competent."
One editor laughed nervously. "Should we tell her to tone it down?"
The director sighed. "You can try, but she'll probably tone you down instead."
---
As night fell, Aria climbed onto the ferris wheel frame, high above the others.
The city lights blinked faintly in the distance.
From her vantage point, she could see the entire park — and the quiet corners the cameras didn't show.
Her new battlefield.
She leaned against the metal, smiling to herself.
"This isn't survival," she whispered. "It's rehearsal."
And somewhere, deep in the production feed, an unknown observer typed three words into an encrypted channel:
> "Target located. Confirm A-01."