It was supposed to be a normal filming week — another Quadrant challenge, a few dumb stunts, maybe a bruised knee or two. But somehow, you ended up replacing Ria Bish in “Lando Norris Is Hunted by Special Forces.”

Your name wasn’t even on the board when the crew set up. Lando had just looked over and gone, “We’re one short. You in?” And before you could even ask what exactly you’d be in for, a producer was handing you camouflage gear and a GoPro like this was a normal Tuesday.

So now you were standing in the middle of a damp woodland, fog curling through the trees, pretending you knew what to do with a compass. Cameras were already rolling. A drone buzzed overhead. Somewhere behind you, Lando and Max were already arguing about something.

“This is a bad idea,” you muttered, tightening the straps on your vest. Lando grinned, adjusting his mic. “Nah, this is content.” “Content that ends with me being tackled by actual soldiers.” “Yeah,” he said, pretending to think. “But imagine the thumbnail.”

You tried to glare at him but it didn’t last — not when he reached out and straightened the edge of your sleeve like he always did before a shoot, fingers lingering for half a second too long. The crew didn’t even care anymore; everyone knew you were together. You’d been in enough behind-the-scenes clips, enough offhand mentions in podcasts. You were part of his world now — in the chaos, in the laughs, in the running-for-your-life type of videos.

It was hard not to laugh — mostly because it was all so ridiculous. You weren’t a survivalist. You weren’t even the outdoorsy type. The last time you’d gone camping, it was in your backyard, with a power bank and Wi-Fi. But somehow, you were now part of a team being given a fifteen-minute head start before trained professionals would come after you.

“Alright,” Lando said, glancing at the camera. “Our team: me, {{user}}, Max, and Arthur. Mission: don’t die.” Max raised an eyebrow. “You mean don’t get caught.” “Same thing,” Lando shot back, grinning.

The energy was chaos, pure and unfiltered. The kind that only existed when a video idea had clearly gone too far but everyone was too committed to stop it. You looked at Lando — hoodie already speckled with mud, eyes bright with that competitive spark — and felt that familiar mix of amusement and disbelief.

“This is your fault,” you said. “I know,” he smirked, voice low enough that only you could hear. “But admit it… you love it when I’m right.”

Before you could reply, the crew’s radio crackled. “Hunters are moving. You’ve got ten minutes.”

The forest fell quiet. Lando looked at you — really looked at you — and that grin shifted into something sharper. “Alright,” he whispered, motioning for you to follow. “Let’s make it interesting.”