Morning light streamed through the blinds, slicing across Aria's face like a lazy reminder that sleep was optional. She hadn't slept anyway.
The text still burned in her mind.
> You looked alive today. Welcome back, A-01.
That name didn't exist here. It shouldn't.
Whoever sent it wasn't guessing — they were remembering.
Aria sat on the couch, phone in hand, dumpling wrapper on her knee, the city murmuring below. For ten years, "A-01" had been a code known only to a handful of people. Most of them were dead.
At least, they were supposed to be.
She ran the number through the starlet's phone. Nothing. Untraceable.
Whoever they were, they'd covered their tracks.
Fine. Two could play that game.
She tucked the thought away as Kelly burst through the door like a caffeine storm. "Emergency meeting! Agency. Now!"
Aria sighed. "Do I need weapons?"
"Just charm," Kelly said grimly. "Which, in your case, might be more dangerous."
---
The agency boardroom was glass and tension — executives in suits pretending to be calm, coffee cups trembling under the weight of collective panic.
Marcus, the same voice from last night's call, looked ready to commit corporate arson.
"Miss Lane," he began, voice too polite to be sincere, "thank you for coming. You've… certainly made an impression."
Aria took a seat, crossing her legs leisurely. "My pleasure. Always happy to contribute to chaos."
Kelly winced. "She means… conversation."
Marcus ignored her. "Due to your recent visibility, we have multiple offers. We'd like you to focus on one. We can't risk overexposure."
"Translation," Aria said. "You can't risk me being unpredictable twice."
Silence. The HR rep coughed into her coffee.
Marcus forced a smile. "We've narrowed your options to two. A safe, elegant cooking competition called Battle Kitchen, and a… slightly more dangerous survival broadcast titled Apocalypse Playground."
Aria tilted her head. "Dangerous how?"
"Fake zombies, night filming, limited food supply, simulated attacks. Total chaos. It's live-streamed 24/7."
Her lips twitched. "So— fun."
Marcus frowned. "No, unsafe. The other show is safer and more glamorous. You'll be in gowns, not mud."
Aria didn't hesitate. "I'll take the zombie one."
Kelly nearly dropped her tablet. "What— no! You were supposed to think about it first!"
Aria smiled sweetly. "I did. For five seconds."
Marcus blinked. "That's not protocol."
"It's instinct."
"Instinct doesn't sign contracts, Miss Lane."
Aria leaned forward, meeting his gaze without blinking. "Then hand me a pen."
Kelly groaned into her sleeve. "I'm going to need a therapist after this."
The room watched in stunned silence as Aria scrawled her name across the glossy paper.
Signature: ARIA LANE.
Project: Apocalypse Playground.
Marcus exhaled sharply. "You understand this is live-streamed? No scripts. No retakes."
Aria capped the pen, smirking. "I prefer real-time missions."
Kelly pinched the bridge of her nose. "You've literally just signed up for five days of fake zombies and real starvation."
"Kelly," Aria said softly, "you're underestimating how much I enjoy food under pressure."
---
Two hours later, back at the apartment, Kelly was still spiraling.
"You accidentally signed a contract that could kill you!"
Aria sorted through her backpack. "Nothing accidental about it."
"You don't even like horror!"
"I don't like people pretending to be monsters," Aria corrected, "but pretending makes them slower."
Kelly groaned. "This is going to be a PR nightmare."
Aria zipped her bag, eyes gleaming. "Nightmares make great television."
Her phone buzzed again — one new message from the same Unknown number.
> You shouldn't have chosen that show.
They'll be watching you.
Her pulse slowed, steady and sharp.
She typed back:
> Good. Makes it easier to find them.
No reply came.
She slid the phone into her pocket, grabbed her jacket, and opened the door.
Kelly trailed after her, still mid-lecture. "Please tell me you have a plan!"
"I always have a plan."
Kelly squinted. "Then what is it this time?"
Aria glanced back, the faintest smile playing at her lips.
"Step one: get on that set. Step two: find whoever's pretending to be a zombie. Step three…"
"Step three what?"
"If they're real, I'll deal with it."
Kelly stopped walking. "Define deal."
"Efficiently."
---
That night, the internet exploded again.
Clips of her contract signing leaked somehow — a fan's shaky footage capturing Aria's calm defiance as the execs sweated.
> 💬 "She picked the hardest show on purpose."
💬 "The audacity. I'm obsessed."
💬 "Queen signed a death warrant with style."
💬 "#AriaVsZombies incoming!"
Meanwhile, hidden among the trending hashtags, a new post appeared on a private network — one only her old world would recognize.
> Subject: A-01 has resurfaced.
Status: Unknown alignment.
Recommendation: Observe. Do not engage — yet.
---
By midnight, Aria was on her balcony, city lights flickering like broken code.
Below her, neon signs blinked promises they'd never keep.
She sipped her coffee, watching the skyline with the practiced calm of someone who'd already died once.
Somewhere out there, someone had seen her slip. Recognized the movement of a hand, a glance, a reflex she'd forgotten to mask.
That meant her past wasn't buried — just waiting.
And if it wanted to find her, it would have to survive the same jungle she now called show business.
She smiled faintly to herself, whispering the words like a private toast to the night:
"Welcome to my playground."