-wakeupnfuck- Viola Bailey- Apolonia Lapiedra -... File

Viola bolted upright, clutching the sheet to her chest. Across the sprawling penthouse suite, on a matching sectional sofa, a woman with fiery hair and a constellation of freckles was staring at her own wrist.

Viola and the redhead—who introduced herself as Bailey, just Bailey—joined her at the window. The city below was pristine. Gleaming towers, lush vertical gardens, and streets filled with silent, electric vehicles. On the side of the opposite building, a massive digital billboard cycled through three images: their faces.

Bailey’s card read: Explore the building. Floor 13 is locked. Do not pick the lock. (But if you do, we’ll be watching.) -WakeUpNFuck- Viola Bailey- Apolonia Lapiedra -...

“Alright,” Viola said, picking up her card and a nearby bottle of rare truffle oil. “If they want a lifestyle spectacle, let’s give them a meal they’ll never forget. Bailey, you’ve got the lock. Apolonia, don’t make my schedule too hellish.”

Below their faces, in smaller text: Your lifestyle. Their entertainment. One rule: Don't check out. Viola bolted upright, clutching the sheet to her chest

Apolonia raised an eyebrow. “No promises. Entertainment first.”

Viola’s card read: Choose your signature recipe. The audience will rate it. The loser cleans the infinity pool. By hand. The city below was pristine

And in that penthouse, suspended above an unknown city, three strangers stopped being contestants and started being collaborators. The first episode of had just begun—and the world was already refreshing its feed.

Apolonia Lapiedra stood by the espresso machine, already dressed in crisp white linen trousers and a black sleeveless top. She looked like she’d stepped out of a minimalist architecture digest, not a bed. She held up her own wrist, displaying the same mark.

“Who are you?” the redhead demanded. “And why do I have ‘#WakeUpN’ written on my arm in permanent marker?”