[SCREENING FOOTAGE - PARTICIPANT #99]
The monitor flickered to life, static distorting the image before sharpening into focus.
Lucia sat slumped in a steel chair, her face half-hidden under a frayed baseball cap. Behind her, a white door loomed—pristine, ominous.
The interrogator's voice crackled through the speakers, devoid of empathy:
"Name?"
"Lucia Novikov." Her reply was dry.
A gloved hand tapped a pen against the table.
"What was your sin?"
Lucia's fingers twitched.
"I really don't wanna answer that."
GLITCH
The screen warped violently, pixels scrambling her face into a grotesque mosaic.
"What. Was. Your. SIN?"
The interrogator slammed his fist.
Silence. Only the whirring of a ceiling fan filled the void.
Then—a whisper, so quiet the mic barely caught it:
"I killed my father."
GLITCH
The interrogator scribbled on his notepad, the pen's screech muffled.
"Your reason for joining Project Terror Island?"
Lucia lifted her head, eyes glinting under the cap's shadow.
"Freedom."
"You understand this contract is—"
"Yes." She cut him off, voice ironclad. "I don't care about the consequences. If it means I can start over... I'll become a product."
The interrogator paused, then wrote one final note. The camera zoomed in—
GLITCH
STATIC.
***
Lucia's eyelids fluttered open to the harsh kiss of sunlight. Sand gritted between her fingers as she pushed herself up, the remnants of a parachute tangled around her legs.
"I think I passed out mid-air..."
she muttered, yanking the release belt. The harness clattered to the ground.
"Thank god for automatic features."
Her gaze scanned the shoreline—endless turquoise waves to her left, the jungle's emerald wall to her right. Then, the crossbow.
Black, sleek, unnervingly modern.
"Crossbow this time?"
She scooped it up, fingers tracing the tactical scope. "Okay. Just like Round One."
Her voice was steady, rehearsed. "Stay close to the ship. Survive. Get back before the timer ends."
The pouch with arrows at her hip bumped against her thigh with each step. She didn't open it.
"It's not like I'll use it."
The ocean breeze tugged at her short skirt, the fabric fluttering like a surrender flag. Her blonde hair—now dulled by salt and sweat—stuck to her neck.
Lucia hovered at the jungle's edge, toes digging into the warm sand. The trees loomed before her, their shadows thick and impenetrable.
"I think... I should wait a bit more,"
she murmured, dropping her crossbow and pouch onto the sand.
She stretched out on the beach, the scorching sun baking her skin. Sweat beaded along her collarbone as she groaned.
"Ugh... I wish I had sunscreen right now."
Her arms flopped over her eyes, blocking out the blinding light.
"Last night, I couldn't sleep..." The ship's groaning metal, and the weight of her own memories had kept her awake until dawn.
"...Guess it couldn't hurt to close my eyes for a little..."
Her breathing slowed, the crash of waves lulling her into a half-conscious haze—
—until muffled voices jerked her awake.
Lucia's eyes flew open.
Three figures stood over her, silhouetted by the sun.
Gasping, she scrambled back, fingers clawing for her crossbow.
The man in the center threw his hands up.
"It's okay! We're not here to hurt you... I promise." He signaled the others, and their bows thudded onto the sand.
Lucia's grip loosened slightly, but her muscles stayed coiled.
"They're all men..."
She scanned them:
1. Left – A purple-haired guy with torn clothes, his smirk oozing arrogance.
2. Right – A wall of muscle, posture rigid, eyes sharp— ex-military?
3. Center – Fade-bearded and soft-eyed, the only one who looked like he'd never held a weapon before.
The gentle one stepped forward, hands still raised.
"I'm Fred." His voice was warm, incongruous with the jagged scar on his neck.
"We just... didn't expect to find someone napping on a death island."
The purple-haired man—Kevin—shrugged, hands tucked in his pockets. "We just wanna team up. That's all."
Fred nodded, his faded beard catching the sunlight. "Don't worry. You can trust me—I'm a teacher. Well... was."
His smile was worn but genuine, like a dog-eared textbook.
Lucia's grip on the crossbow didn't waver. "You haven't killed anyone. Right?"
"No," Fred said, meeting her gaze. "I'd never do such a thing."
Something in his voice—the tremor of a man who'd broken up playground fights, not bones—made Lucia lower her weapon.
Kevin sighed dramatically. "Well, I'm Kevin. And he's—"
Inigo spat on the sand, his muscular frame blocking the sun. "Inigo." His voice was gravel and gunpowder.
A beat. Then—
"If the chit-chat's over," Inigo cracked his neck, "open your pouch."
Lucia flinched. "Why?"
Inigo's smirk was razor-wire. "To make sure you haven't used any arrows, of course."
Fred stepped between them, palms up. "C'mon, man. She obviously doesn't look like a threat—"
Inigo's eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a warzone whisper:
"In my experience? Even kids in war can be dangerous."
Fred stepped forward, his voice strained but firm. "C'mon, man—this isn't a war!"
Inigo's grip on his bow tightened. "I like to believe it is."
Fred threw his hands up. "If that's the case, then show us your rank!"
"No," Inigo growled.
"Why?"
"You're too naive to understand." Inigo's eyes scanned the group.
"Nobody here wants to show their ranks. Including her."
He jerked his chin at Lucia, who stared at the sand.
Fred whirled around, desperation creeping into his voice.
"Nonsense! C'mon, guys—let's vote! Who's with me on this?"
Silence.
Only Fred's hand shot up.
Lucia ducked her gaze. Kevin shrugged, arms crossed.
Inigo smirked. "See?"
Fred scooped up his bow, hands shaking.
"Sorry… but I won't trust anyone blindly."
Inigo moved like lightning—his own bow drawn and aimed at Fred's chest in a blink.
"Let's see it, Teach."
"GUYS, WAIT!" Kevin darted between them, arms outstretched.
"I get both sides, but violence isn't the way!"
"Ya got a better idea, noodle-head?!" Inigo barked.
Kevin pointed at Lucia, who flinched.
"Huh?!"
"We can all agree she's the least threatening person here," Kevin said.
"So we give her all the weapons. Reduce tension until we figure things out."
Fred nodded instantly, dropping his bow. "I agree."
Inigo glared, then spat in the sand. "Tch." His bow thudded to the ground.
Kevin gathered the weapons—two bows, a quiver of arrows—and placed them on a flat stone beside Lucia. He held out his hand expectantly.
"Yours as well, miss…?"
"Lucia," she muttered, reluctantly handing over her crossbow and a small canister of pepper spray.
"They're giving me all the weapons because I'm the weakest one here?"
The thought stung more than she'd admit.
Kevin wiggled the pepper spray with a grin.
"Was this for your stalker?"
"Yeah," Lucia said tersely. "But it's more complicated than that."
She clamped her mouth shut, eyes darting away.
Kevin chuckled, "Well, I used to get stalkers too."
Lucia blinked. "Were you famous?"
"Oh c'mon," Kevin flipped his purple hair dramatically,
"I thought you'd realized by now."
Her blank stare spoke volumes.
He sighed, shoulders slumping. "Kevin Zegler. Star of Paris Love? The highest-grossing rom-com of 2011?"
"Oh…" Lucia's tone was politely vacant.
"So why's an actor here?" she asked, genuinely curious.
Kevin's smirk flickered out. "Had a… incident with a fan. She ruined my career."
He kicked at the sand. "Guess that's why I signed up for this hellhole."
"Shit!" Inigo stomped back from the shoreline, his pants soaked to the knees, hands empty.
"Couldn't catch a damn fish."
Fred kicked the sand, frustration cracking his usual calm.
"Those assholes didn't even give us breakfast."
Lucia's stomach growled loudly, her hand pressing against it instinctively.
Fred clapped his hands, forcing optimism.
"Don't worry—we'll work as a team. Inigo, try fishing again. Kevin, gather firewood. I'll scavenge for anything edible."
He turned to Lucia, softening. "You stay here. I'll be back soon."
She nodded, watching him disappear into the jungle.
***
Hours passed. No Fred.
Inigo returned, tossing a handful of writhing worms onto the rock.
"No fish. But these'll do."
Lucia recoiled, gagging.
"Eww… I'm not eating that!"
"Sorry, missy," Inigo shrugged, wiping his hands on his pants.
"In Vietnam, I survived 50 days in the jungle on birds and bugs."
Kevin rolled his eyes. "Okay, dude. We get it."
Inigo chuckled darkly—
"LOOK!" Kevin shouted, pointing skyward.
A small plane droned overhead, its shadow skimming the treetops.
"Are they here to save us?" Lucia whispered, squinting at the plane.
Inigo snorted.
"No. Look at what it's dropping."
Kevin shielded his eyes from the sun.
"Boxes. It's dropping them in every direction."
"Now I get it," Inigo muttered, knife already in hand.
"Get what?" Kevin snapped.
"Those are our meals," Inigo said, slicing through a vine.
"They don't want us to starve—just fight for it."
A blue-smoke canister hissed nearby, marking a drop 50 meters downshore.
Inigo gestured forward, but the path was choked with razor-edged ferns. He yanked a survival knife from his boot.
Kevin gaped. "Huh?! You were supposed to surrender your weapons!"
"And now we need it," Inigo said, clearing a path.
"Don't worry. I won't use it for anything else."
Lucia clenched her jaw but followed.
The crate cracked open under Inigo's boot.
"Hell yeah!" Kevin dug through the contents: protein bars, canned fruit, vacuum-sealed sandwiches.
"There is even sunscreen!" Lucia said excitingly.
Lucia grabbed the sunscreen, rubbing it onto her arms with a relieved sigh.
Inigo held up a water bottle, shaking it.
"Clean. No poison."
"C'mon, what are you waiting for?" Inigo tore into a sandwich, mayo dripping onto his wrist.
***
Rustling.
Lucia's head snapped up. The bushes behind them quivered.
Fred staggered out of the jungle, his arms crisscrossed with bloody scratches, breaths ragged. His eyes locked onto the half-eaten food, then blazed with fury.
"Wait—WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" he roared, voice cracking.
Kevin flinched, a protein bar dangling from his mouth.
"They dropped a box of food for us. What's wrong with—"
"You dumbass!"
Fred slammed his fist into the crate, sending a water bottle rolling into the sand.
"I ALMOST DIED OUT THERE! And here you are—gorging like we're at a
FUCKING PICNIC "
Lucia set down her noodles, hands raised. "We were just hungry. That's all—"
"Well I'm fucking hungry too!"
Spittle flew from his lips, his bloodshot eyes wild. "We save the food. Put everything back. Divide it properly—"
"Shut up."
A blur of motion.
Inigo's knife slit Fred's throat in one silken stroke.
Blood erupted—a crimson arc splattering the crate, Fred clutched his neck, gurgling, fingers slipping through the flood. His knees buckled, body twitching as he collapsed onto his side, eyes locked onto Inigo's smile.
The killer wiped his blade on Fred's shirt, revealing his armband:
[ 3 ]
"He talked too much," Inigo said, kicking Fred's shuddering legs.
Lucia couldn't move.
Couldn't blink. Her breath hitched in her chest, her vision tunneling until all she could see was red.
"I don't like naive people," he murmured, almost to himself.
"Thinking they're better than everyone else..."
Lucia's stomach lurched. She had to look away—had to—before the tears burning her eyes spilled over.
Her gaze darted to the treeline, the waves, anywhere but the body.
Inigo stood. "I'm going to gather firewood."
As if nothing had happened.
The moment his silhouette vanished into the jungle, Kevin broke.
"H-he's... a LUNATIC!" His voice was a strangled whisper. He staggered to Lucia, hands shaking so badly he nearly dropped his bow.
"We need to run. NOW"
Lucia's lips parted, but no sound came out. "B-but... if he comes back—"
"That's exactly why we need to go!"
Kevin's fingers dug into her arm, yanking her up. His pupils were pinpricks, his breath ragged. "MOVE!"
"Ow!" Lucia yelped as his fingers dug into her flesh. "You're holding too hard!"
But Kevin didn't seem to hear her. He was already pulling her toward the tree line, his movements frantic, like a man in a trance. His breath came in short, panicked gasps as he practically dragged her away from the bloody scene.
Somewhere in the jungle, a twig snapped.
Kevin used his O.D.R, and there he could see a green dot from behind them getting closer.
"If he catches us with the stolen food and wepons,
WE'RE SCREWED."