Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Reid
The transport from Inverness drops me in the middle of rain, mud, and a camp that looks designed to break people.
Arrival blurs together the way deployments always do—forms, gear, clipped instructions, people pretending this is normal. Camera lenses track it all from the corners of tents, red indicator lights blinking steady through rain.
Objective: Survive one month. Win the money. Get home. Resources: My training. My experience. My tolerance for pain. Threats: Weather. Other contestants. Myself. Strategy: Stay focused. Stay separate. Don't get attached.
I hand over my phone without hesitation. Won't need it where I'm going.
The tent holds all twenty-five of us. I scan the room automatically. Assess threats, identify exits, note dynamics.
Most of them look soft. Gym-trained, not field-trained. A few exceptions.
Everyone is done eating, waiting for the final instructions before lights out. I’m handed an MRE and I find a chair where I can see everyone.
There’s a Black guy built like a linebacker. Former NFL, maybe. He’s got the bearing of someone used to command. Could be useful in team challenges.
A younger guy with a prosthetic leg below the knee. Military, probably. Purple Heart recipient, maybe. He’s got the look—angry, trying to prove something. Could be useful or could be a liability.
A tall, dark-haired man sits cross-legged on the edge of a bench, eyes closed, hands resting loosely on his knees. Not asleep. Just… still. Different kind of discipline. I file him away.
And in the corner, alone, there’s a man who’s also watching everyone.
Dark hair streaked with gray. Maybe late thirties, though his hair indicates he might be older. Lean build—not gym muscles, something else. Sharp features, Mediterranean coloring. Sits completely still in a way that suggests either military training or something older.
Our eyes meet for half a second.
His are dark brown, nearly black. Assessing. Calculating.
Neither of us looks away first. Mutual recognition—two people who see threats everywhere.
Then he returns to his assessment and I return to my MRE.
Something about him reads dangerous. Not aggressive. Just… capable. Like he’s done things and knows how to do them again.
Mental note: Photo recognition confirmed. The thawed Gladiator. Avoid unless tactically necessary.
The barracks tent is drafty and crowded. My cot is number twelve, on the women’s side near the middle. Not too bad. I’ve slept in Humvees, on bare ground, in places where you kept your weapon in your hands because you might need it any second.
This is luxury.
I set up my gear with military precision. Sleeping bag laid out perfectly. Pack stowed underneath. Everything accessible, nothing wasted.
The woman in the cot nearest mine has already befriended two others, talking quietly about their lives, their reasons for being here.
Blonde, looks like she belongs on Instagram, but she didn’t complain once during or after the briefing.
She sees me setting up and breaks away from the others to come over.
“Hey. I’m Sienna.”
“Reid.”
“First time doing something like this?”
“Yeah.”
“Terrifying, right?”
I glance at her—really look this time. The way she’s standing too straight. The way her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Different people are scared of different things,” I say.
She blinks, then laughs. “Guess that’s one way to put it.” She heads back to the others.
I don’t join them.
Even though we’re separated by a canvas partition, I can hear voices from the men’s side. I heard a few names in the mess tent. The young guy, Trevor, is talking nervously. Zay is being encouraging. Someone is snoring already.
Silence from the back corner.
Probably the man from the mess tent. The still one.
I lie down and stare at the tent roof.
Tomorrow morning we start. The real test begins.
I’ve trained for this. Fifteen years of military service, combat deployments, survival training. I can outlast these people. I can win this.
I have to win this.
For Dad. For Mom. For the next five years of care that will keep him safe and her from breaking.
I close my eyes.
Survive one month. Win the money. Get home.
Stay focused. Stay separate. Don’t get attached. My strategy repeats in my mind like a mantra.
Outside, the rain hammers the tent. Wind shakes the walls.
I listen to it and think about missions. About deployments. About the things you do because you have no other choice.
This is just another mission.
I can do this.
I will do this.
Outside, the rain doesn't stop.