The Mating Run by Leeka

Hope

“What’s that all about?”

Zeke’s eyes narrow, fixated elsewhere, his attention tuned to the blaring siren. The forest falls into a

hushed silence, and although my heart pounds furiously, he remains focused, refusing to release my

wrist. The siren blares louder, his grip tightening, making it hard to breathe.

Amidst the blaring sirens, a robotic voice suddenly starts reciting numbers. My head darts around,

seeking signs of an impending threat, but the numbers aren’t orderly; they’re chaotic, randomly

announced.

“What is that?” I ask Zeke again, noting the serious expression etched on his face. “Hey! What on earth

is that?”

“Deaths,” Zeke responds, his voice emotionless. “They’re talking about the numbers of people who

died. Are you paying attention? How many numbers have they said?”

But I’m not listening. The words fade into the background. Frozen, I fixate on the robotic voice as it

echoes the numbers. The number 72 strikes a chord in my

ear.

72.

The Hunter I just left behind. He’s truly dead.

I killed him.

My eyes lock onto a camera lens, and I let out a surprised chuckle, tears welling in my eyes. It’s a sight

that won’t go unnoticed. I took his last breath. They’ll whisper behind my back; their judgment will seep

into my existence.

Deaths during the Mating Run are common. Waivers are signed before the event, acknowledging this

likelihood. The staff, PR team, and Alpha aimed to avoid

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“What’s that all about?”

Zeke’s eyes narrow, fixated elsewhere, his attention tuned to the blaring siren. The forest falls into a

hushed silence, and although my heart pounds furiously, he remains focused, refusing to release my

wrist. The siren blares louder, his grip tightening, making it hard to breathe.

Amidst the blaring sirens, a robotic voice suddenly starts reciting numbers. My head darts around,

seeking signs of an impending threat, but the numbers aren’t orderly; they’re chaotic, randomly

announced.

“What is that?” I ask Zeke again, noting the serious expression etched on hist face. “Hey! What on

earth is that?”

“Deaths,” Zeke responds, his voice emotionless. “They’re talking about the numbers of people who

died. Are you paying attention? How many numbers have they said?”

But I’m not listening. The words fade into the background. Frozen, I fixate on the robotic voice as it

echoes the numbers. The number 72 strikes a chord in my

ear.

72.

The Hunter I just left behind. He’s truly dead.

I killed him.

My eyes lock onto a camera lens, and I let out a surprised chuckle, tears welling in my eyes. It’s a sight

that won’t go unnoticed. I took his last breath. They’ll whisper behind my back; their judgment will seep

into my existence.

Deaths during the Mating Run are common. Waivers are signed before the event, acknowledging this

likelihood. The staff, PR team, and Alpha aimed to avoid

O

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1627 Wed, 6 Mar &

Hope

such incidents but failed.

Hunters typically commit the killings. Their bloodlust fuels aggression toward fellow Hunters and

sometimes even Hiders. When a Hider causes death, it’s rare and heavily condemned.

I know everyone witnessing this will turn their backs on me. No sponsors, no chance of survival. The

eyes around me, especially after my outrageous act, weigh heavily.

If Miles saw what I did to the Hunter, he’d be in tears.

But before I can even think of anything else, Zeke suddenly grunts loudly, startling me. I feel his hand

slip away from mine, and in an instant, I push him away forcefully, but he remains resolute. With a

pensive expression, he rubs his chin thoughtfully and runs his fingers through his hair. I can’t tear my

eyes away from the menacing machete he brandishes and the gruesome blood splatters that adorn his

face.

“More Hiders died, dam n. You know what that means, right?”

Zeke asks in a hypothetical manner, making it clear that he doesn’t actually want an answer from me.

Once again, he forcefully grabs my chin, making me meet his intense gaze. I shoot him a fierce glare,

my nails digging into his wrist with each passing second.

“It means the other Hunters will get way more aggressive. So, let me ask you again, and I really don’t

wanna ask a second time. Where the f uck is Victor? I can tell you’ve been with him, you’re definitely

his b itch. Answer me if you don’t want the other Hunters to take you out.”

“Seriously, I’ve already told you, how many times do I have to say it?” I let out at scream, my frustration

becoming too much to handle. “I don’t have a da mn clue

where that motherf ucker is!”

And it must be with the way my voice quivers as I scream, must be the tears of frustration streaming

down my face, it must be those things that make Zeke finally believe me. Just when I anticipate his

release, he unexpectedly tightens his grip. As

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he raises his machete over his head again, a stent scream escapes from my

“I suppose there’s no point in keeping you alive, hurt?” He mutters under his breath, his fingers grazing

the fabric of my poke are reaches for the number on 1. “Dont see it, I’ll make sure they put your name

on a coffin, 2”

Med his heavy weight pressing me into the ground, his foul breath burning against my face, and his

hand gripping the gleaming machete, ready to strike. Panic surges through my veins, urging me to fight

for my survival.

In a state of panic, I thankfully find the strength to wrench myself to the side, my heart pounding in my

ears. With a surge of sheer will, I manage to slip from under him, the swest on my brow mixing with the

dirt and grime.

But his fingers tightly wrap around my ankle, pulling me back with an unyielding force.

“Where do you think you’re going, 9?”

His voice rumbles like a feral beast, stripped of any trace of humanity, revealing only a twisted sense of

purpose. My heart thumps so loudly in my ears that I can barely hear anything else as I twist and

squirm.

“Let go, you ba star d!”

There is no sign of hesitation in him; his eyes are filled with a madness that sends shivers down my

spine. The sharp edge of the blade catches the light, creating a glint that seems to inch closer,

intensifying the sense of impending danger. With a sudden burst of desperation, I duck and slip past

under him, my body moving with a desperate agility, my entire being focused on one thing:

survival.

“Don’t you dare run, 9”

His angry voice drives me forward, sending a surge of fear and energy coursing through my veins. In

the distance, the lake glistens like a shimmering oasis, beckoning with the promise of escape, I sprint

towards it, my legs aching, my

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breath coming in regged gesps, my focus solely on reaching the water, on finding safety.

“You can’t escape me!”

From behind me, Zeke’s voice resonates with a bone-chilling determination.

Each step through the gravel feels heavy and labored, as if carrying the weight of impending doom.

The water draws nearer, its rhythmic waves crashing against the shore, offering solace in this

nightmare. Summoning every ounce of strength, I launch myself into the chilling waters of the lake,

where the icy embrace sends

shivers down my spine.

Or at least that’s my plan, but before I can take a step, Zeke’s hand grabs the back of my collar and

forcefully pulls me back. I let out a piercing scream, losing my balance and collapsing onto the ground.

Just when I think all hope is lost, a glimmer catches my eye from afar.

Under a shrub, a small robot with a screen displaying my name remains

unnoticed.

For Alina – #9.”

Amidst the chaos, a surge of hope spreads through me like a wildfire.

Why is this thing here? And how does it know my name, anyway?

It suddenly clicks – the surprise package is a special offering from a sponsor.

In a split second, Zeke’s grip falters, creating a brief opportunity for me to take advantage of. With the

opportunity in front of me, I swiftly grab a rock from the ground, my hand closing around it. I gather all

my strength and swing it towards his head, the force of the impact momentarily disorienting him. With a

grunt, he sta gg ers and loses his balance.

“F uck off and leave me alone!”

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I shout, my voice filled with a desperate fury, as I forcefully pull myself away

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from him.

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The brief respite he’s granted me is all I need. With no hesitation, I dash towards the peculiar robot, the

sound of my racing heartbeat filling my ears. I reach it, my hands trembling with excitement, as I search

for a way to unlock it and reveal its hidden contents.

My frantic attempts finally yield to the device, and as it opens, a rush of curiosity and confusion floods

my senses. Inside, a screen displays intricate information, accompanied by a faint hum of electricity. It’s

as if this device has been designed specifically to assist me, to steer me away from this nightmarish

ordeal.

As I navigate through the options, my fingers tremble with anticipation, unsure of what this enigmatic

machine holds in store.

Is it a rescue device? A tracking device? How did it know my name?

“Come on, come on,”

I mutter to myself, my voice filled with a palpable sense of urgency, as if time is

slipping away.

The screen lights up with a series of commands and options, blinking and beckoning me towards a

lifeline, a way out. It seems to be some sort of distress. beacon, emitting a faint, desperate signal.

Hope washes over me like a powerful wave, blending with the raw fear and unwavering determination

that propel me forward.

My mind spins with endless possibilities and unanswered questions, but there’s no time to seek

answers. The urgent need to survive pushes me onward, my heart pounding in my chest. With

trembling fingers, I carefully enter the required details, hoping to unlock the potential of this enigmatic

device.

Finally, it asks for the number on my tracksuit,

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Without hesitation, I press the number nine on the keyboard. With a click, the robot’s compartments

slide apart, resembling the opening of a box.

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My attention is instantly drawn to the note. With trembling hands, I reach for it, carefully reading every

word.

“Watch out for those Hunters, 9. Do whatever you can to protect yourself.”

Without a name to attribute gratitude to, I find myself at a loss as to whom I should express my thanks.

Still, I look around, my eyes widening at the sight of the nearest camera, capturing every moment. I

whisper a silent stream of thanks, my lips forming the words without making a sound, before shifting my

attention back to

the robot.

Inside, there is more than just a note; there is also a chillingly sharp knife.

Suddenly, Zeke appears out of nowhere, his hand gripping the back of my collar, forcefully pulling me

back with a brutal strength that could shatter my

determination.

“Thought you could escape, did you?” His voice, filled with venom, sends a chilling sensation down my

back, a constant reminder of the peril I face.

I refuse to give in, no matter the circumstances. With a surge of primal instinct, my hand darts to the

knife, its cold metal pressing against my palm.

With no time to think, I forcefully twist the blade and watch as it penetrates his ankles, the sound of his

pained scream filling the air. His piercing scream tears through the air, a cacophony of agony that

sends shivers down my spine, yet somehow brings a strange sense of relief as his grip loosens, setting

me free.

Zeke st aggers back, his face contorted in agony, but he refuses to fall. Fueled by his twisted

determination, he seeks vengeance and strives to regain power. As he twists, desperately trying to

regain his balance, the unforgiving ground gives way beneath him. As his feet tangle, he desperately

tries to regain his footing, but ultimately falls backwards with a sickening thud, the sound echoing

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through the

silent forest.

My lips release a sharp gasp as he crumples, his body going limp, the sound echoing through the air.

The silence that follows is so quiet it feels suffocating, interrupted only by the sound of my labored

breathing. As I hold onto the knife, my

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hand trembles uncontrollably, a blend of relief and fear washing over me.

“Holy sh it.” I inhale sharply, scuttling towards him with urgency. I fling the knife away from me, stealing

a quick glance at the cameras positioned closest to us. “Holy sh it, not again!”

In that moment, my senses are overwhelmed as my mind battles between the relief of temporary safety

and the chilling sight of the fallen figure. My breaths come. in rapid bursts, a constant reminder of my

presence and determination to keep fighting.

With caution, I touch my finger to his neck, seeking the reassuring throb of a pulse. After a few

seconds, I feel a faint pulse and collapse onto my back, overwhelmed with exhaustion but relieved that

the b asta rd is still alive. I groan in frustration, feeling the sweat trickling down my forehead, and I’m

just about to rise to my feet.

Only, a heavy guilt infiltrates my every thought. I turn my head, and my eyes meet Zeke’s crumpled

figure on the ground, his body motionless.

Now what do I do about him?

The will be updated daily. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

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