The Mating Run

Chapter 38

Rigged The shack falls into an eerie silence.

| don’t say a word. | don’t need to. The shack, with all its excess and comfort, seems to shrink around us. The sound of the slap echoes in the silence, a sharp punctuation to the absurdity of the situation.

Victor, rubbing his cheek, looks at me with a mix of surprise and something else. -a realization, perhaps, that his carefully crafted illusion of control has cracks.NôvelDrama.Org owns all © content.

| set the cup of coffee down, the warmth turning cold. My gaze holds his, the unspoken words lingering in the air. The forest, the challenges — they may be real, but this shack, this oasis of comfort, is a mockery.

He breaks the silence, his tone subdued.

“| guess | deserve that.”

I turn away from him.

Victor, still rubbing his cheek, watches me with a newfound seriousness.

|| take a deep breath, mustering the words to convey the frustration that simmers within me.

“Did you know why | slapped you?” | ask, my voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of irritation.

Victor, reclining on a beanbag, looks at me, with a nonchalant shrug. “Couldn’t tell you, Alina. Maybe you didn’t like the kind of coffee | offered. People can be picky about their coffee, you know.”

| narrow my eyes at him, incredulous at the absurdity of his response. “Coffee? That's what you think this is about?” 1/7

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He smirks, as if the entire situation is a joke. “Well, you did seem a bit displeased with the coffee. Maybe next time Ill ask for your preferred roast before offering a cup.”

| let out a sarcastic laugh, my frustration reaching a boiling point. “Victor, this isn’t about the coffee. It’s about the fact that you’re treating everything like it's some kind of game. Like the Mating Run is a joke.”

He looks at me, still smirking. “Isn’t it, though? A game, a challenge — call it what you want. It’s all part of the grand adventure we find ourselves in.”

| shake my head in disbelief. “Adventure? This isn’t an adventure, Victor. It’s a struggle for survival. People are out there, fighting for their lives, and you're sitting here, treating it like a game.”

He stretches out on the beanbag, his indifference infuriating. “Survival, adventure it’s all a matter of perspective, Alina. You see it as a struggle; | see it as an opportunity to discover who you truly are in the face of the unknown.”

| can’t take it anymore. The frustration, the anger — they spill over, and | shove him, the force surprising both of us. He looks at me with raised eyebrows, the smirk fading. “Okay, that’s a bit too much-”

| glare at him, the words rushing out in a torrent. “That was for treating everything like a joke. This isn’t a game, Victor. Lives are at stake, and you're here, lounging in your shack, acting like it’s all a grand experiment.”

He sits up, his expression changing to one of mild surprise. “Experiment? That's an interesting way to put it. But isn’t life itself an experiment, Alina? We navigate through the unknown, facing challenges, making choices — all part of the grand experiment of existence.”

| shake my head, the frustration reaching its peak. “This isn’t philosophy class, Victor. This is reality. People are scared, hungry, and you're here, detached from it all!”

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| scoff, the absurdity of it all overwhelming. 88%

He chuckles, as if my words amuse him. “Pawns, players — it’s all semantics. You have the power to shape your own narrative in this. Blaming me for your choices is just an excuse.”

| stand before Victor, my hands trembling with a mix of anger and frustration. The shack, with its excess and comfort, seems to close in on me as | gather the courage to speak.

“You ruined everything,” | say, my voice laced with accusation.

Victor, lounging on a beanbag, smirks, exhaling a swirl of smoke from hist cigarette. “Ruined everything? Well, that’s quite a dramatic way to put it, Alina.”

I clench my fists, the weight of my words sinking in. “You turned this into a nightmare. I’m a murderer now, thanks to you. Once the Mating Run is over, I'll probably end up in jail.”

Victor laughs, the sound dripping with sarcasm. “Ah, the blame game. Always a favorite pastime. How is it my fault when you were the one who bashed that Hunter’s head with a rock, not me?”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. | freeze, the reality of his statement sinking in. The shack, the cigarette smoke — it’s all a mockery in the face of the choices | made.

| shake my head, as if denying it could erase the truth. “But you ruined my hiding spot on the first day of this Mating Run! You set me up for failure.”

Victor shrugs, his nonchalance infuriating. “Setting up for failure, or testing your limits? It’s a matter of perspective, Alina.”

| take a step closer, my frustration reaching a boiling point. “Don’t play games with words. You knew what would happen out there. You knew the risks.”

He takes a leisurely drag from his cigarette, the smoke swirling around him like a sinister halo. “Risks are part of life, Alina. Whether you face them head-on or

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crumble under the pressure is up to you.”

| shove him, unable to contain the surge of anger within me.

He smirks, unfazed by my outburst. “Life is the ultimate experiment, Alina. Your either adapt or get left behind.” | glare at him, the frustration building into a tidal wave of resentment.

“You think you're so clever, don’t you?”

He blows a smoke ring, watching it dissipate in the air.

“Maybe.”

| glare around the shack, frustration bubbling within me like a tempest ready to unleash its fury. The excess, the comfort — it’s all too much.

This whole setup is a joke!” | retort, sweeping my arm across the shack. “Did your beloved father send you all this, or did you get it from some sponsor who finds. your little games amusing?”

Victor winces, the smirk fading from his face. It seems | hit a nerve, struck a chord that resonates deeper than | thought. He takes a drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around him like a shield.

“Just shut up and drink some coffee, Alina. You're giving me a headache,” he mutters, his tone strained.

| raise an eyebrow, my anger unabated. “Your father didn’t even send you a message through a sponsor, did he? Or were all these gifts just handed to you. because Daddy's rich?”

Victor's jaw tightens, a flash of irritation crossing his features. “Mind your own business, Alina. It’s none of your concern.” 377

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| scoff, the air thick with tension. “None of my concern? We're in the middle of a life-and-death situation, and you act like it’s a vacation. | have every right to know where all this came from.”

He takes a deep breath, as if trying to compose himself. The shack, with its illusion of comfort, becomes a battleground for our simmering conflict.

“Fine, if you must know,” he says, exhaling the words like an unwanted confession. “Some of it is from sponsors. Happy now?” | cross my arms, not satisfied with his vague admission. “And the rest?”

He avoids my gaze, staring at the floor as if it holds the answers he refuses to give. “Some of it is from my father, okay? Are you happy now?”

The revelation hangs in the air, a heavy truth that neither of us can escape. | take a step back, the anger replaced by a mix of frustration and pity. The shack, with its excess and secrets, feels like a cage.

“So, Daddy bailed you out of this mess,” | say, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

Victor's eyes narrow, a defensive glint in them. “He didn’t bail me out. | can handle things on my own.”

| scoff, the bitterness lingering in my words. “Sure, you can handle things. That’s why we're out here, fighting for our lives, right?” He leans back, the tension between us palpable. “You wouldn't understand, Alina. You’ve always been the struggling type, clawing your way through life. Some of us are born with privileges.”

Privileges. The word hangs in the air, a stark reminder of the disparities between us. | shake my head, a bitter smile playing on my lips.

“Privileges don’t mean a thing out here, Victor. In the forest, in the Mating Run, we're all equals. No amount of gifts or comforts will change that.”

He rolls his eyes, dismissing my words with a wave of his hand. “You're always

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so idealistic, Alina. Sometimes, survival requires more than just brute force and determination.” BB’

Ignoring his words, | start digging through his belongings. Clothes, gadgets, and various items scattered around it’s a display of luxury that fuels my rage. Victor tries to stop me at first, but when he sees the futility of it, he sighs loudly and retreats to lean on his beanbag, puffing on his cigarette.

I'm relentless, uncovering more of the excess hidden in the shack. The anger builds within me like a storm, and | can’t hold it back any longer. Plates crash to the floor, shattering into pieces. | throw things, my actions fueled by a mix of frustration and a desperate need to level the playing field.

Victor watches with a detached amusement, his laughter echoing through the chaos. “Having a tantrum, Alina? It won’t change a thing.”

I turn to him, my chest heaving with anger. “This isn’t fair, Victor. You have everything handed to you while the rest of us struggle to survive.”

He takes a leisurely drag from his cigarette, exhaling smoke with a smirk. “Life isn’t fair, Alina. You should have learned that by

now.

| continue my rampage, the shack becoming a battlefield for my rebellion. The remnants of broken plates and scattered items tell the story of my frustration. Victor remains unfazed, a picture of nonchalance.

| scream at him, my words dripping with venom. “You think this is a game? You have no idea what it’s like for the rest of us. This whole setup is rigged in your favor.”

Victor laughs, the sound cutting through the chaos like a taunt. “Rigged or not, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re here, destroying things like a child throwing a tantrum.”

I clench my fists, the unfairness of it all weighing heavily on me. “You have sponsors, gifts from your father — it’s all handed to you on a silver platter. Meanwhile, the rest of us fight tooth and nail for every scrap of survival.”

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Victor rolls his eyes, a dismissive gesture that only adds fuel to the fire. “Survival of the fittest, Alina. You can either adapt or perish. It’s that simple.”

I grab a random object, hurling it at the wall. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about survival of the fittest. It's about your privilege overshadowing the true essence of the Mating Run.”

He smirks, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Privilege, essence — they're just words you use to justify your struggles. In the end, it's all a game, Alina.”

My frustration reaches a breaking point, and | scream at him, my words echoing through the shack. “You're so blinded by your arrogance that you can’t see the reality of the forest. This isn’t a game for the rest of us. It’s life and death.”

Victor stands up, the amusement in his eyes replaced by a cold glint. “Life and death — a melodramatic perspective. You'll understand one day that the choices we make define our fate.”

| charge at him, my anger propelling me forward. “Choices? What choices do we have when the game is rigged in your favor? Your sponsors, your father — they’ve already decided your fate.”

Victor dodges my attempt to confront him, stepping back with a smirk. “If you’re just realizing now that the game is rigged in my favor, then you’re dumber than | first thought.”

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