Reality TV live
The game show host started to introduce the game of the night.
The man on the screen didn’t know yet, but the people in the street he had talked to were being brought inside the studio as audience members.
The well-dressed, animated host made a joke, and the signs lit up for people to laugh.
It was just the beginning of the night, so a few people sitting sparsely in the stands looked at each other awkwardly.
He was being projected onto the big screen, and from there the audience could see what was happening.
After a while, the studio filled up. At that moment, the lights changed and the music got louder for a few minutes.
From one side of the stage, people started handing out remotes to the audience, without yet explaining what they were for.
On the screen, nothing exciting was happening. He ate, went to work, and lived a normal—almost boring—life.
Right at nine, he took a razor blade and cut himself on the shoulder after figuring out where the cameras were.
The signs lit up, telling the audience to gasp. This time, with a full studio, there was silence after the gasp.
The studio lights dimmed, and the man on the screen moved his lips as subtitles appeared at the bottom of the screen without sound.
“That was a warning. If you don’t leave, I will do it.”
He went to bed, thinking it was going to be more dramatic than it was.
With the dim lights still on, the host began to speak slowly, almost in a creepy whisper.
“By now, you all have control over your hands, and you get to decide two questions:
Was that real? Did he actually cut himself, or is he messing with us?
And—if he is not lying—should we leave?
Vote now!”
The stage lit up, and animated music started playing. A green light pointed to each chair as votes were cast.
Once everyone had voted, the lights flashed and statistics appeared on the screen.
“It seems that it was real!
And it seems that we stay in the game.”
A second screen beside the main one showed the audience members’ faces. Discomfort was clear on some of them—still confused about what this was, how they got there, and why anyone would vote to stay.
On the screen, everything on his phone was visible: who he followed, what he liked—absolutely everything.
Beside the yes/no buttons were two others: he’s alright and fuck that guy.
The host explained that the more clicks fuck that guy received, the louder the ringing in his left ear would become.
For a test round, eighty percent of the audience clicked fuck that guy.
Most meant it. Some just wanted to see if the ringing would increase.
As he waited for the bus, he scrolled through his phone, watching random videos and pictures. He laughed at one.
An audible gasp came from the audience.
The fuck that guy emojis began flying across the screen as the audience clicked nonstop.
One week in his life passed as one hour in the studio.
At the halfway point, another set of remotes was brought out.
Now the audience could control the feed shown to the man on the screen.
The host paused the show after letting them experiment.
“He seems lonely. What do you say we get him a wife? Vote now!”
The majority voted yes.
“Based on dating app data and history,” the host continued, “we have found the woman of his dreams!”
A spotlight pointed to a chair in the audience. The signs lit up again for applause.
The host walked over, asked her name, handed her a new remote, took the others, and guided her to a chair in the center of the stage.
“The feed is yours now. Make him fall in love,” the host said as the stage turned pink.
He sensed someone on the other side—a woman—and that she wanted him. It got strange when tests appeared, checking whether he liked her personality or body type.
He also realized that every like not directed at her made her jealous.
The comment section opened, and the audience began typing.
Near the end of the show, she grew angry, selecting posts to make him sad, insecure, or upset.
He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, unmoving for hours.
The audience grew visibly uncomfortable. Faces on the side screen shifted from fear to stress to sadness. There was no button to help him.
A flash of light hit the stage. The screen went dark.
“That’s all for tonight! Before you go, one final secret vote.
Will you come back tomorrow?”
The audience voted.
The next night, only a few chairs were empty—quickly filled by people he passed on the street.
“Last night ended with a massive fight!” the host announced. “Our contestant tested him with another woman—and he failed by liking a picture!”
Applause signs lit up.
“Now vote—can you forgive him?”
She forgave him. To celebrate, she kissed the host.
“Let’s begin day two!” the host said, wiping lipstick from his face.
Statistics split across the screen—hers opposite his.
Green rose for forgiveness. Red surged after the kiss.
“Because of your mercy, you’ve unlocked prizes!”
Balloons fell.
Three lights illuminated three seats. Three handsome men stepped onto the stage.
“You can still choose,” the host said.
On the screen, the man slept. Captions read: fart.
The men wore suits and carried flowers.
She pressed test drive.
The show paused. Lights out. Music louder.
She exited a room with one man.
“Back to the marriage!” the audience shouted.
On the screen, he waited in a hotel lobby.
“He’s wearing shorts,” she said.
Wrong. Reset.
“The car isn’t right.”
Wrong. Reset.
“He doesn’t have flowers.”
Wrong. Reset.
Even when he arrived dressed well with flowers—wrong.
“So many attempts,” the host laughed. “You deserve more prizes!”
She gave him one last chance.
He lay on his bed again.
“He let me down. Fuck that guy!” she screamed.
The audience echoed it.
Another man was chosen.
“Well, he’s pretty fucked,” the host said.
Votes flew.
“Let’s give him thirty minutes.”
A countdown began.
He failed.
“No one is coming!” the audience chanted.
The next night, another contestant was introduced.
“This is harder than it looks,” she said, kissing the host.
“Make your bets,” he whispered. “Only we know.”
But this time, the man figured it out.
The stage exploded with light.
Half the audience jumped to their feet.
