The Show Must Go On

The echoes of applause hammered through the atmosphere, with faint crowd cheers and laughter echoing.

Willa opened her eyes, her body expecting the wave of dizziness and pain to shoot within her, but seconds turned to minutes, and nothing happened. Her eyes squinted as she stared past her thick glasses.

This was no hospital.

Not home.

Not the office.

She stared at her surroundings. It was too eerie; the never-ending fog shielded her vision, and broken tar and half-dead flowers made her stomach churn.

“This has to be a dream,” she muttered, pinching herself so hard it bruised. But when she opened her eyes again, she was still there.

Before her stood her monitor, her unfinished draft, its words hovering around her from places far too familiar.

“Die by poisoning… thrown off the balcony… drowned… scared to death… killed by a serial killer.”

She read each one aloud, her eyes widening with realization.

“I wrote these endings… this is mine.”

Her fingers trembled as she reached for her monitor, but her hand passed right through it. The keyboard began typing on its own, crafting words and characters just like she used to.

Willa’s breath hitched.

“This can’t be a horror nightmare, right?” she murmured, her arms wrapping around herself like a shielding blanket, yet it couldn’t wake her up or protect her.

The white fog grew thicker, and faint clapping echoed in the background.

Willa spun around, but there was no one. She was alone.

[Player 07: Congratulations. Your death received 3.7 million views.]

A distorted, genderless voice vibrated through the fog.

“What death… I’m alive!” Willa protested.

She felt alive, her body, her pulse, but then the memories of the crash came flooding back. Her eyes widened, and her breath hitched.

“No…” she cried.

After the crash, she had felt dizzy, her vision blurred as she flew through some strange wormhole. At the time, she thought it was the effect of the collision, but now, it didn’t appear to be.

She stood on a path, not knowing where it led or where she had come from. Her outfit was still the same: white jeans, a pink blouse, and white canvas.

Willa tried to scream, to call out for help, but her voice never made it through. It was like one of those nightmares where you keep shouting but never really say anything.

The applause behind her grew louder. The cheers continued.

“I can’t be dead…” she whispered.

[The show must go on.]

The eerie voice announced, and within seconds, Willa felt her body flung from the fog.

Now she stood before an old, abandoned bus station.

She glanced around. The air was thick with rust, and the faint smell of blood hovered nearby. Broken streetlights and collapsing buildings surrounded her; it looked nothing like her well-managed neighborhood.

Willa’s survival instincts instantly kicked in. She needed no one to remind her it wasn’t safe.

Before she could make a run for it, an old bus wobbled forward like a ready-to-pop pregnant woman. The wheels were worn off, the tires slashed, and the paint faded in some parts, while rust consumed the rest.

It looked nothing like the bus she sometimes took to the office. It was ancient, like something that existed before her mother’s birth.

The door opened, and Willa quickly glanced inside, but there was nothing but darkness. Slowly, she stepped back, but the bus just waited, its entrance gaping open like a whale ready to swallow her whole.

Willa wasn’t stupid. She knew danger when she saw it.

“Hey…” she screamed, but nothing came out. Her voice didn’t go beyond her ears.

At only twenty-one, she had become the most sought-after ghostwriter in the country. Platforms like Ellalux, Febnovel, and even the mighty master of webnovels, Koodnovel, had sought her services. Known as the horror-story specialist, she crafted dignified deaths, haunted struggles, and glorified survivals.

Dream or not, she knew walking into that bus meant death.

“Why are we stopping?” someone asked.

Willa turned, but she was alone.

“A girl is at the station,” another voice answered coldly.

“What’s she doing?” the first voice grunted impatiently.

“Being a scared newbie,” the second one laughed.

What the…? Willa raised her fist, but the next second, an arm ripped through the darkness and grabbed her wrist, pulling her into the bus with brutal force.

There was no time for protest or struggle.

Willa turned toward the stranger, ready to curse, but before her stood the most handsome face, one she had only ever drafted in her novels. Yet here he was, in real life.

However, her fleeting admiration was cut short by the hoarse at the front as it chimed like an old kettle, and then came to life.

[Welcome to The Survival Game Contest! We have prepared a six-figure prize for you! Stay tuned!]

Willa glanced around. Everyone sat attentively.

[Congratulations, you are all dead! But considering the greenhouse effect, hell is in recycle mode right now. So, you are being sent to dead worlds as entertainment! Please, provide the fanciest death you can… for the audience!]

“What audience?!” Willa murmured.

But nobody, no dead body, on the bus was in the mood to answer her.

Life was so unfair. She had worked hard for herself and her sister, providing her with the prestigious life she craved. But in the end, she was betrayed and cheated on, and now even her savings, apartment, and life were all snatched away by the horrible betrayers.

And now, she had to entertain people… by dying fancy? This had to be a sick joke.

Wasn’t this supposed to be a survival game?

“And what if I refuse to be entertainment? What then? Will you kill me a second time?” Willa folded her fists, glaring toward the speaker.

“Then,” the handsome man from earlier murmured, “you die.”

Willa dodged back on instinct, but his lips curled and his eyes darkened.

“Not by my hands, darling,” he whispered. “The death world… it will eat you up soon enough.”

Willa’s hands trembled. Her breath hitched at the seriousness in his tone.

She glanced around. No one wore a happy face.

She looked out the window, and there was nothing but a never-ending white fog.

This had to be a dream. A nightmare.

So she pinched herself even harder.

The man watched her, amused. He had seen worse.

Right then, the screen at the front flickered to life, catching everyone’s attention.

Words jumped up in bold:

[Next station: Dracula Castle.]

Willa’s jaw dropped to the ground.

This was her novel.

Her most successful and most haunting.

Her palms clasped together, sweat springing from her forehead. She glanced at the handsome man, but he looked unfazed, like he’d gone through this a thousand times.

She opened her mouth to say something, but the speaker chimed once more.

[ Player 07, welcome on board. Die fabulously, for the audience.]

[Rule no 1: The fancier the death… The higher the payout]