By the next night, Apocalypse Playground had officially entered its "panic-for-ratings" phase.
The producers were desperate.
Viewership was breaking records, but Aria Lane's unflappable calm was ruining their "horror-survival" angle.
Fans weren't watching for fear anymore — they were watching for her.
So the director made a decision.
> "If she won't play scared," he said grimly, "we'll force her to."
He didn't realize he was declaring war.
---
The fog rolled in thicker than ever, swallowing the park.
Every speaker screamed with eerie laughter. Animatronic clowns flickered to life. Sirens blared.
The drones dropped new "zombies" into every corner — faster, louder, unpredictable.
Contestants shrieked. One influencer tripped over a bench and declared they were "emotionally done."
Bianca was already crying into her mic.
Aria Lane?
She was roasting marshmallows.
Sitting cross-legged beside a small fire pit made from scrap metal, she calmly skewered a marshmallow on a stick and held it over the flame.
A "zombie" stumbled up behind her. She didn't even turn.
"Hi," she said dryly. "You're early."
Then — clang.
Her frying pan shot out behind her in one smooth motion. The actor hit the ground before he finished his groan.
Aria looked down at him.
"Nice makeup. Bad timing."
> 💬 "She's UNBOTHERED 😭😭😭"
💬 "Queen of roasting and roasting."
💬 "If apocalypse happens, I'm following her."
---
In the control room, the director stared at the monitor. "Is she roasting marshmallows during a zombie siege?!"
Marcus leaned over. "Yes. And you just sold another two million ad slots."
The director rubbed his face. "She's supposed to be terrified!"
"Terrified doesn't trend," Marcus replied. "Aria does."
---
Meanwhile, Aria had found a rhythm.
Zombie. Clang.
Zombie. Step. Swing. Flip.
Zombie. Dodge, sigh, snack.
At one point, she even yawned mid-fight.
> 💬 "She's yawning while knocking people out 💀💀💀"
💬 "She's not scared, she's BORED."
💬 "Rename the show to 'Aria vs Humanity.'"
---
But then something different happened.
One of the "zombies" moved wrong — too sharp, too controlled.
And his weapon — not a prop bat or foam machete — gleamed cold and real in the flickering light.
A dagger.
Not just any dagger.
Her dagger.
The Agency-issue blade she'd lost the day she died.
Her heart stuttered.
She ducked instinctively behind a booth as the man passed. His movements were deliberate, tactical. He wasn't acting.
Her fingers tightened on the frying pan. "Oh, so that's how it is."
---
She watched him circle the carousel, pretending to snarl for the cameras.
No one else noticed.
The production drones hovered, oblivious — or pretending to be.
She stepped silently into the shadows, her whole posture shifting.
Gone was the lazy confidence, the comedic detachment.
What emerged was Agent A-01.
Her eyes went flat, focused. Every step was measured.
When the "zombie" turned, she was already behind him.
She struck — fast, clean.
Her frying pan slammed into his wrist, disarming him. The blade clattered to the ground.
She caught it mid-fall.
It was heavier than she remembered. Familiar. Cold. Real.
"Where did you get this?" she asked quietly.
The man didn't answer. His mask hid most of his face, but she could see the fear in his eyes — not from pain, but from recognition.
He knew exactly who she was.
---
> 💬 "Why does that zombie look terrified???"
💬 "She just took his knife in one move wtf???"
💬 "THIS ISN'T A SHOW ANYMORE 😭😭😭"
---
The "zombie" stumbled back, tripped over a broken bench, and fled into the fog — not toward the cameras, but away from them.
Aria didn't chase him.
Instead, she crouched, studying the dagger under the faint light.
Her initials were still carved at the hilt. A.L.
And below that — the engraving she'd scratched herself years ago, a habit of hers before missions:
"Stay alive."
Her own words, staring back at her.
She whispered, "So you've been carrying my ghost, huh?"
---
In the control tent, chaos broke out again.
The security feed flickered — static overtaking the scene where Aria stood.
"Why is her camera down again?!" the director yelled.
"Because she wants it down," Marcus muttered. "Trust me — if she's off-screen, she's doing something you don't want recorded."
---
Noah Hale, watching from the forest edge, finally saw the flicker on his own handheld monitor — a glint of light, the shape of a dagger.
He swore under his breath. "That's hers. They found it before she did."
He tapped his earpiece.
> "Headquarters, this is Hale. Confirming physical retrieval of A-01 weapon. She's in contact with an operative. Situation escalating."
Static.
Then a voice replied, soft and calm.
> "Understood, Agent Hale. Proceed with Phase Two."
His expression darkened.
He knew what Phase Two meant.
---
Inside the park, Aria stood under the ferris wheel again, dagger in one hand, frying pan in the other.
Her fire was out, but her pulse wasn't.
She looked at the camera drone hovering nearby and said quietly,
"Boredom's over."
The wind stirred her hair, carrying her next words like a promise.
"Your move."
> 💬 "Why did she say that like a threat???"
💬 "She's too calm — something's about to go down."
💬 "Even the drones are scared 😭😭😭"
The screen faded to static.