Wang's boots crunched over loose gravel and dried leaves as he bolted deeper into the trees, lungs burning, legs aching. His thoughts swirled in chaotic panic—gunshots at 6 PM, no weapons, no allies, no clue. The sun burned hot overhead, and the air reeked of eucalyptus and old rot.
That's when he saw it—a half-hidden rock face, dark and gaping like a broken mouth. A shallow cave. Not deep enough to be safe, but good enough to catch his breath and—
"Fk, I need to piss," he muttered under his breath, eyes darting behind him.
He ducked inside, crouched near the entrance where roots hung down like limp vines, unzipped, and let go.
Relief hit like morphine. He closed his eyes for a second and let out a low exhale. "Goddamn."
Then he heard it.
Crunch.
A footstep. Light, but not distant.
His spine straightened mid-stream.
"Hey!" came a voice.
He turned with a jolt, nearly pissing on his own boots, jerking backward toward the cave wall. His heart slammed against his ribs. "Jeez—what the fk?!"
A woman stepped into view, hands raised in peace. "Whoa, whoa, easy! I'm not here to fuck you up."
Wang scowled, breath still sharp. "Could've said something before you snuck up on a guy taking a leak."
"Didn't mean to sneak. Just didn't wanna get shot."
Now that she was closer, he could see her clearly.
She looked like she was in her early forties—maybe older, hard to tell under all the grime. Pink hair, dyed and fading, tied up in a messy bun with strands hanging out. Her roots were dark, almost black. Her jumpsuit had the sleeves cut off, showing lean but wiry arms. Her face had a tired beauty to it—sharp cheekbones, sun-kissed skin, a couple faint scars along her jawline. Her eyes were grey. Mistrusting. Like someone who'd learned the hard way that trust was for idiots.
On her neck, just like him, was a branded letter: F. Burned into the skin just under her left ear.
Wang zipped up and turned to face her fully, still braced. "Alright, you're not holding a gun. That's a good start."
"Damn straight," she said. "I'm not into hunting strangers for fun."
There was a short silence between them—tense, but not hostile.
She exhaled and stepped further into the cave. "Name's Hannah," she said, nodding. "You?"
"Wang," he replied. Then quickly added, "Wang-Yang. From Shenzhen. And uh, sorry if I pissed near your feet."
Hannah smirked. "You got a decent aim, don't worry."
She sat down on a flat stone near the back of the cave, pulling out a half-crushed energy bar from her pocket. "This was my last one. Was gonna eat it when I hit my breaking point, but I think I'm already there." She looked at it for a moment, then offered half to him. "Here. Fair's fair."
Wang hesitated, then took it. "Thanks." He took a bite. Dry as hell, but it tasted like salvation. "So... you don't know what the fuck is going on either?"
Hannah shook her head. "Not a clue. Just woke up on that boat like the rest of you. Grey suit, shackles, branded neck. And now they've got us running through the bush like fucking rabbits."
He touched his neck instinctively. "You see what mine says?"
She leaned closer and squinted. "'M'. Huh. Weird."
"Yours says 'F'."
"No shit," she said, tapping it with two fingers. "I thought maybe it meant Female, but... I dunno. That'd be too fucking simple."
"I thought mine was 'M' for Male too," Wang said. "But I saw a dude on the truck with a 'Z'. And one with a 'B'. Like, what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Dunno," she said, biting into her half of the bar. "But it's not random. These psychos branded us like cattle. It means something. We just haven't figured it out yet."
They sat in silence again, chewing slowly, the distant sound of birds and wind carrying through the cave mouth. Wang could feel the sweat drying on his back, and it made his skin itch under the jumpsuit.
"So what'd you do to end up here?" he asked, watching her from the corner of his eye.
Hannah huffed a laugh. "That's a long story."
"We've got until 6 PM."
"Alright," she said, rolling her eyes with a tired smirk. "Back in the real world, I was what you might call... an 'e-girl.'"
Wang blinked. "A what?"
"You know—streaming, posting thirst traps, making horny dudes give me money on the internet."
Wang barked out a laugh. "You serious?"
She held her hand up in mock oath. "Deadass. Made good money too, until one of those horny dudes turned out to be the son of some rich government prick. Shit hit the fan real fast. He stalked me. Got obsessed. I threatened to go public. Next thing I know, I'm getting doxxed, raided, and boom—locked up on some 'indecency' bullshit charge. Guess the bastard's daddy didn't like me humiliating his golden boy online."
Wang nodded slowly. "Fk... That's fked."
"Tell me about it," she muttered.
He raised an eyebrow. "So what was your tag?"
She gave him a look. "Seriously?"
"Just curious. For... cultural research."
She laughed despite herself. "It was HannahTheHotMess. Don't fking look it up, alright?"
"Don't worry. I left my phone in civilization."
"What about you?" she asked. "How'd you get dumped here?"
Wang's rubbed the back of his head, as if his head was missing a piece. "I...I don't quite remember."
They sat again in silence, this time heavier. The wind picked up. Trees swayed. Birds scattered.
"So..." Hannah said, her voice dragging through the heat-hung air, "you remember anything else about your life before all this?"
Wang frowned.
Tried to think.
It felt like staring into a fogged-up mirror.
"...Not really," he muttered. "I got flashes. Like, I know I'm from Shenzhen. I remember fried rice in a metal bowl. A tiny apartment window with a street light buzzing outside. But... it's all scrambled. Like someone took my brain and hit reset."
Hannah tilted her head. "You sure you're not just repressing it all 'cause of trauma or some deep shit like that?"
"Nah," Wang said, tapping the back of his head gently. "I think I got hit with a fking stun baton. Woke up with a welt back here. Shit still hurts. Everything past that moment is just... blank space."
Hannah squinted. "They wiped you. Old-school style."
"Or just knocked me the fuck out and let the brain damage do the rest."
"Damn," she muttered. "That's cold."
He looked at her. "At least you remember who you are. Even if you're a washed-up hot mess."
Hannah smirked. "You say that like it's an insult. I embrace the mess."
They chuckled. It felt wrong to laugh, but also necessary.
Hannah leaned back against the stone. "Alright. I've been honest-ish before. But I guess if you've got amnesia, you deserve the real dirt."
"Hit me," Wang said, flicking a small pebble across the cave floor.
She exhaled. "Okay. So, yeah. I was an e-girl. That part's true. But I wasn't exactly... me on camera."
Wang blinked. "The fuck does that mean?"
"Means I had a filter on. Face-slimming, skin-smoothing, anime-eyed bullshit. And a voice changer."
Wang stared at her. "...You're joking."
"Nope." She popped the 'p.' "I was a whole-ass catgirl with a bubble voice and fake cleavage. People were tipping me hundreds. Thousands sometimes. Just to say 'nya' and send them sleepy pics."
Wang blinked slowly. "...You scammed simps."
She raised both hands like a preacher. "With pride. And they ate that shit up. One guy bought me a fucking gaming chair. Never even saw my real face."
Wang snorted. "Jesus Christ."
Hannah's grin faded. "Then someone did."
He sat up straighter. "Exposed?"
"Worse. One of the guys I conned found my real socials. Found out I was forty-three, divorced, living with my sister in Ohio. Leaked it all. Screen recordings, receipts, my real voice. I went viral on some Reddit forum. 'The Grandmother of Catgirls' or some shit like that."
"Oof."
"Yeah. Then came the doxxing. Death threats. My sister got fired 'cause people thought she was me. Police got involved. Turned out I also unknowingly swindled money from some minor. Parents pressed charges. Whole internet turned into a lynch mob."
Wang whistled low. "That's some real fucked-up karma."
"I know," she said, eyes a bit distant. "But the worst part? I still miss it."
Wang tilted his head.
"I miss being someone else. Even if it was fake," Hannah muttered. "People liked me. They didn't know me, but they... adored what I was. Even if it was a lie."
Silence again.
Just wind outside, swaying the treetops. Crickets. The faint rustle of something small moving through dead leaves.
"You ever think maybe you're lucky you forgot who you were?" she asked.
Wang scratched his head. "Maybe. Or maybe I was just some other loser. Just like I am now. Except now I have no plan, no clue, and I'm playing some murder-hide-and-seek game like it's a school camping trip."
Hannah grinned. "You're not taking it seriously either, huh?"
Wang shrugged. "I mean... They said the guns are non-lethal."
"Yeah, and politicians say they care about the people."
"...Touché."
She leaned forward. "But seriously. What if it is all fake? What if this is just some twisted reality show, or a simulation, or an elaborate way to get us to break and rat each other out?"
Wang raised a brow. "Or maybe we're just the new entertainment. Bread and circuses. Global prison island. Livestreamed executions coming next?"
"Shit," she muttered, rubbing her arms. "Don't give 'em ideas."
They fell silent again, this time heavier. The weight of what might be creeping into the cracks.
But still... the sun was high. The air was dry. No gunshots yet.
That's when they heard it.
Whirrrrrrr...
A low, revving growl of an engine cutting through the forest. Then another.
Two buggies.
Close.
Wang peeked through the leaves, pushing a branch aside with two fingers.
A prisoner—young, twitchy-looking, maybe early twenties—was sprinting through the clearing just ahead. Grey jumpsuit stained with sweat, neck branded with a sharp-looking "K". His face was twisted in panic, and he kept glancing back like he already knew it was over.
Behind him came the hunters.
Two men on beat-up, mud-slick buggies—worn leathers, helmets with black visors, and rifles slung over their shoulders like casual tools. The engines roared as they flanked the runner from both sides, cutting off his escape like jackals cornering a rabbit.
The prisoner turned and put his hands up, screaming, "WAIT—WAIT, I GIVE UP! DON'T SHO—"
CRACK-CRACK-CRACK.
Gunshots tore through the forest air like thunder.
Wang flinched. Hannah covered her mouth.
The prisoner dropped mid-sentence, twitching as three, maybe four rounds punched into his chest. One shot burst out the back, spraying red across the dirt like a smashed tomato. He hit the ground hard and didn't move.
No warning. No non-lethal stun. No mercy.
Just fking dead.
The hunters circled the corpse slowly with their buggies. One of them leaned out, checked the body with the tip of his rifle, and gave a thumbs up to the other.
Wang stared.
His mouth went dry.
"That's not a game," he whispered.
"No shit," Hannah muttered, voice shaking.
Her hand trembled slightly as she started to crawl backward. She was still half in the bush when her foot caught under a twisted root.
SNAP.
A dry branch under her boot cracked like a gunshot.
Wang's heart seized.
Both hunters looked up instantly.
"Oi!" one shouted.
Fuck.
"GO!" Wang hissed.
They scrambled up at once—no plan, no coordination, just raw fucking instinct.
Wang bolted left, into the thicker trees. Hannah went right, toward a slope of jagged brush.
BRRRRRMMMMMMM—the buggies roared to life again, tires spitting dirt and dust as the hunters swerved toward the sound.
Bullets tore through bark and branches behind them. Something zipped past Wang's ear and slapped into a tree with a fleshy thud. He didn't look back.
He just ran.
Every breath burned. Every step was blind. He shoved through brambles and leapt over roots, barely seeing through the mess of motion. Somewhere behind, he heard Hannah yell—brief, sharp, not wounded, just startled. Then silence.
The forest turned into a blur.
Keep moving. Don't stop. Don't fucking stop.
He stumbled down a slope, nearly ate shit, caught himself on a tree. The bark scraped his palms raw. Behind him, engines growled—closer, then farther—maybe they split up.
Maybe they were chasing Hannah now.
His stomach twisted with guilt. But if he stopped, he'd just be another corpse on the dirt.
So he kept running.
The forest was alive with noise—branches creaking, leaves rustling, birds screaming and scattering from their nests. Wang dove behind a thick fallen log and slid to a stop, chest heaving.
He stayed low, sucking in gulps of air through grit teeth.
His shirt was soaked in sweat. Knees scraped. Hands bleeding.
Then he heard it—off to the right.
A crash.
A yelp.
Distant voices.
He couldn't tell if it was Hannah. Or one of the hunters. Or another poor bastard out here getting lit up.
He clenched his jaw. His heart pounded like it wanted out of his chest.
"This ain't a fuckin' game," he muttered to himself. "They're killing people. They're actually fucking killing us."
He leaned his head back against the log.
The sun was dipping now—almost touching the tree line.
Six o'clock was hours ago.
They were already well into the "hunt."
He glanced down at his hands—cut, shaking, useless.
No weapons. No map. No clue.
He wasn't just in some twisted bootcamp or experimental prison show.
This was a goddamn open-air culling ground.
And he was the fking prey.
Q: Are you good at small talk?