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#Log_006 - Follower Count
Outside, buildings press in from all sides. Her entire view consists of massive glass towers and scattered shiny dots—white, yellow, pink, red, blue. Her balcony sits unnervingly close to the main entrance. She bends over the railing. The stories below her vanish into the void of the street. Jumping would be a way out, probably less painful than waiting for the arena battles. But unoriginal.
There’s been at least one of those on every season.
As she leans further into the railing, she notices a large electronic poster board above the reception area. Four messages cycle on repeat, more than advertising, they feel like commands.
Rebecca reads the first slogan: “DON’T FORGET TO POST.” It repeats more often than the others. Blunt. It doesn’t even try to pass as an advertisement. That one is for them. To remind the imprisoned contestants of the show’s obsessive need for engagement. After all, their lives depend on it. That slogan feels like the building’s heartbeat. The number one rule. The first commandment.
Next, a softer yet far more sinister message appears: “YOU’LL GET THE LOVE YOU’VE NEVER HAD.” That one enrages her. Who do they think they are to assume she isn’t loved? Her anger quickly turns to shame, though. Rebecca isn’t sure she even knows what love is. Sure, her parents had loved her. Once. But they weren’t the expressive kind. No big words. No grand gestures. Their love was manifested through endless photos and videos of her dancing—posted on social media to show the world what a great daughter they had.
And she loved making them proud.
Then her mum got sick and died. Her father stopped talking to her. And for the first time, she realized she had never truly felt seen.
The third message, far less frequent but infinitely more unnerving, reads: “THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE TO SHINE.” The words serve as a warning—a countdown of her scarce time left.
Finally, a fourth message blinks into view: “THE PRIZE, FREEDOM.” It speaks for itself. Freedom. The absolution of all her crimes and enough money to sustain her for the rest of her life. It feels both like salvation and mockery. How does one really get there?
Rebecca stares at the board, reading each message more than once. Her chest tightens, a little more each time. It’s been almost two years since she quit smoking. Right now, she could use one. Two choices war in her mind, both merciless, both absolute: conform or perish.
Suddenly, the tiny balcony, the towering buildings, even the bright lights, feel suffocating. The wind, furious as it is, helps a little, but not enough. She turns, steps back into her room, but it’s more of the same. The noise in there—the white noise she barely noticed before—isn’t as loud as the cars outside, but it’s worse. This one is unsettling. It makes sure she never forgets not even the air she’s breathing is real, that she is always under surveillance.
Back in her room, Rebecca lies on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The thin mattress offers little comfort, but that hardly matters—comfort is a distant luxury now. Suddenly, her phone vibrates in her pocket, she checks it. It’s finally on. She hesitates as her fingers hover over the lock screen. When she finally swipes, its glow burns into her eyes.
The screen feels alien in her hand, unfamiliar. She doesn’t know what she’s looking for, yet she can’t bring herself to set it down. Notifications flood in—the other contestants have already succumbed to the desperation of garnering likes. She sees fragments of them. Half repulsed. Half worried she should be doing the same.
“Hi, new followers!” chirps one voice, gratingly cheerful. She scrolls past it immediately. Another—softer, more rehearsed—says, “Let me show you my room… it’s… cozy.” The forced intimacy, the transparent desperation to be liked, is almost comical.
Rebecca’s own profile, once quiet and untouched, now teems with activity. Her follower count soars—more than thousands—an inexplicable surge she cannot quite comprehend. When did it happen? How did it happen so fast? Her profile remains unchanged; it is still the same collection of photos and videos of her dancing, candid moments with friends and family, and the occasional shot of her cat. The only difference is that her life is now an open book, exposed for strangers to consume. Likes and comments pile up, the adoration pouring in faster than she can grasp.
The phone feels heavier in her hand with each passing moment, as if burdened by an audience she never asked for. She scrolls, numb, as messages continue to stream in. Their affectionate words feel hollow—suffocating rather than uplifting.
A restless energy builds in her chest, propelling her to her feet. She slips out of her room, the familiar theme song of the show trailing her down the empty, C-shaped corridor like an omnipresent specter. Room 13 lurks ahead, and before she can second-guess herself, she raises a hand and knocks.
The door slides open, revealing Reese standing before her. His brows are drawn, lips pressed tight, his gaze hard. Until he sees her, and just like that, it’s gone. His eyes widen. His eyebrows shoot up, nearly disappearing behind his fringe. That practiced smirk of his stretches wide, triumphant.
Rebecca swallows.
He remains silent at first, waiting for her to break the stillness. Rebecca, her voice steadier than she feels, asks, “How many new followers do you have?”
His smirk deepens; there’s a hungry quality to it that scares her. “Two million,” Reese replies, his voice tight with excitement. “Two million new followers. And that’s just today.”
Rebecca’s breath catches. The number is staggering, incomprehensible. A cold knot twists in her stomach as the reality of the game sinks in with crushing clarity. She glances up at one of the embedded cameras—they are probably watching her right now.
“I’m not sure that’s a good thing,” she murmurs.
Reese’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t look at the camera, he focuses on her. His smirk falters for a fraction of a second before turning into a soft, sympathetic smile. A bullshit smile, Rebecca thinks.
“It’s not,” he admits. “Two million followers… that’s not a victory. It’s a target.”
She nods. Not because she agrees, although she does, but because she sees it now.
“Thank you, that’s all I wanted to know.”
She turns, overwhelmed by the urgent need to retreat, to hide from the world’s gaze. The corridor stretches behind her—sterile, white. Cameras watch all the way back to the relative safety of her room. But Reese’s hand, surprisingly gentle, catches her arm, stopping her.
“Wait,” he says, his voice softer now.
The greedy energy from earlier gives way to a resignation that mirrors her own. “They don’t give a shit about the followers, you know? Not really. It’s the story they care about, 42. You don’t give‘em anything to watch? You’re first on the chopping block.”
“Please, don’t call me ‘42.’ My name’s Rebecca,” she replies firmly.
Reese’s lips twitch into a bitter smile. “Rebecca,” he repeats, like he’s testing the weight of her name. “Two million followers… What do you think they’re after? Two million pairs of eyes are a bloody liability, not some big win. They don’t want us to have it. Nobody likes watching people who are stronger, hotter, more successful than them. Not even us. That’s why we’re here. We fucked up. Made the wrong kind of mistakes. So now, they’ll watch us pay—right to the bitter end.” He pauses, then smirks. “Or ‘til one of us snaps.” He exhales sharply, withdrawing his hand from her arm. “And when we fall, they’ll eat it up. Cheer. Like the good little audience they are.”
Rebecca takes a step back. “Isn’t it dangerous to say things like that?”
“Definitely,” he says. “But the microphones in the hallways are shit. The only ones that actually work are in the dining hall and the common room.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. Every word.”
Rebecca watches him for a moment, one arm drawn across her chest, eyes narrowed.
Reese adds, “In past seasons, you couldn’t hear shit when people talked in the corridors. That’s how I know. It’s another marketing strategy, actually. The more they can twist our words, the better.”
Despite his own argument, his voice dips lower. “And about the other thing”—his eyes search hers, looking for understanding—”you know what the only smart thing to do is? Give them exactly what they want. Put on an act, one that sells, so nothing they say or do affects you.”
Her knees go weak. “I’m not sure there’s an act strong enough for that.”
Reese shrugs. “I already have one in mind. You see where I’m going, right?”
Rebecca shakes her head. “No.”
“Come on, Rebecca. What sells better than anything? Love. Tragedy. That’s an act that can protect us both.”
“I don’t want to.”
“But it has to be you.”
“Why?”
He doesn’t need words. The answer’s obvious when he gives her a slow glance from head to toe and back up, his mouth slightly parted in that insufferable smirk of his.
“Ugh.” Her reaction is immediate—almost reflexive.
“What can I say, Rebecca. Beauty gets up-votes and you look like a freaking doll.”
“Ask someone else,” she says, her voice cold.
She doesn’t wait for a reply. Just turns and walks away.
But he’s right about one thing: people don’t want to see her happy. Or any of the other contestants. No one has ever reached the end of the show fully put together. Whole. She knows that.
She doesn’t aim for that.
She just hopes she doesn’t lose it completely before she either wins or dies.
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What would you do? Would you accept Reese's offer? Please share your thoughts in the comments. Suggestions and complaints are also appreciated <3 Thank you for reading!
Those first slogans hit a bit too close to home, given the place we're all in right now (I mean we the readers/writers)!
So, judging from the sound of it, Reese is trying to goad Rebecca into a feigned romance in order to provide the audience with enough of a distraction. Still, despite him being deliberately vague about what would happen if the public wanted to see them "suffer", he sounded like he has an idea of what that entails... and so does Rebecca, seemingly. Given that we appear to be privy to her thoughts, though, it does feel a bit odd for her not to come too clean about it - I understand the need for not spoiling things early but at the same time it is her PoV after all^^
I'm also a bit uncertain about why would Reese specifically pick Rebecca. Again, she seems to know - she does say "it's obvious" - but personally I'm not seeing it. Why her? Maybe the following chapters will make it clearer but, again, I feel a bit surprised she'd be so sybylline even while straight-up monologuing.
Don't let that make you think I've not been enjoying it, though. It just has the right undertone of implied emotional abusiveness to make me want to continue^^ And aside from that, the writing style is clean enough to let me into it - the more I read around this place, the more I'm beginning to appreciate how good the first few works I picked up actually are, comparatively speaking!