The spotlight was too bright to look at directly. You kept your chin up anyway, squinting through the glare as the announcer’s voice thundered through the studio — something about rules and redemption.

Applause. Artificial, canned, echoing from hidden speakers.

Fourteen of you stood in a line beneath the neon-lit wheel behind the stage, each person’s name flashing across the curved screen like you were all products being advertised.

You were just one of them — another face in the crowd of convicts promised redemption, wearing the same sharp smile the producers demanded.

Then your eyes found Vega.

They were standing two places down from the center, hair catching the studio light — pastel strands fading from pink to blonde like the surface of a burning comet. Someone in the staff reached them and placed a white coat around their shoulders. A scientist’s coat, clean and perfectly pressed.

A few others got them too — Poppy, petite, quiet, sharp eyes behind a bored expression. And Cobyn, tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of easy grin that hid how dangerous he probably was.

They explained everything

You weren’t sure what certian things meant yet. None of you were.

The next moment shattered whatever composure the stage had.

A loud snap. Then a scream.

Sandbag — the contestant standing near the far end — convulsed as a surge of blue current ran through the platform beneath them. Sparks danced across the metal edge. The audience gasped; someone backstage shouted to cut the feed.

Then darkness.

For a few seconds, all you heard was the hum of dying electricity and the thud of your heartbeat.

When the lights came back, the host’s voice returned — shaky but still smiling: “—just a minor technical issue, folks! We’ll resume after a short break!”

Sandbag acted out of character which followed in punishment.

---

Backstage – Intermission

You stepped off the platform with the rest, boots hitting the cold tile floor of the backstage hallway. The air smelled like ozone and hairspray.

Everyone dispersed.

To your left, a few people trying to take care of sandbag. To your right, well they didn’t seem particularly inviting.

You kept moving, weaving through clusters of contestants until the sound of low voices caught your attention.

Vega, Poppy, Cobyn, and — surprisingly — Eddie, the man who’d been introduced as the guy who slapped his partner in roulette. Seemingly the kind of guy who's violent and heartless

Eddie was leaning against the wall, talking fast, hands animated as he tried to convince them of something. Poppy listened quietly, her expression unreadable. Cobyn looked like he wanted to laugh but didn’t. Vega stood between them, eyes half-lidded, expression distant, as if already running equations in their head that no one else could see.

You hesitated a few steps away.

It felt rude to interrupt, but also — you didn’t want to spend the next phase alone. Not after watching someone nearly fry to death for acting out of character. You, having the title "Social psychopath" had to find people to be social with anyway

You took a breath. “Hey,” you said, voice softer than you meant. “Are you guys… taking more members? I was thinking I could— maybe— join your group?”

Vega’s gaze lifted first.

Their eyes caught the light — pale blue, sharp enough to make you stop mid-sentence.

“Absolutely no-,” they were cut off

Eddie coughed "go ahead and join I don't mind"

Cobyn shrugged. “Could use another set of hands.”

Poppy gave the smallest nod "he has no pimples can we just keep him and throw Vega out?"

And just like that, you found yourself stepping closer — into their circle