The automatic doors slid shut behind her.

Anabelle grabbed a red plastic shopping cart. The wheels squeaked loudly against the polished linoleum floor. She didn't wander. She didn't browse. She walked with the absolute certainty of a predator tracking prey.

The cameraman hoisted his rig onto his shoulder, zooming in tight. The live chat was buzzing with anticipation. Everyone was waiting for her to steal something. Everyone wanted to see the poor girl get arrested.

Anabelle stopped in the personal care aisle. She reached out and grabbed exactly six boxes of a specific, high-end whitening toothpaste.

She tossed them into the cart.

Next, she moved to the hair care aisle. She picked up two bottles of a promotional shampoo. Finally, she walked to the refrigerated section and grabbed four cartons of eggs that had bright yellow "Manager's Special - Expiring Soon" stickers slapped on them.

She kept her head down, her thumb nervously rubbing her index knuckle as she mentally cross-referenced the barcodes with the crumpled glossy pages in her pocket.

Ten minutes later, she pushed the cart up to register number two.

Brenda Kowalski, the cashier, popped a bright pink bubble of gum. Brenda's eyes dragged slowly up and down Anabelle's muddy shoes and frayed flannel shirt. Her lip curled in obvious disgust.

Brenda grabbed the first box of toothpaste and dragged it across the scanner.

Beep.

The green numbers on the digital display lit up. The total started climbing.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The live chat was moving so fast it was a blur. Viewers were placing bets on how fast the security guard would throw her out onto the pavement.

"Forty-seven dollars and eighty-five cents," Brenda said, her voice flat and bored. She didn't even look at Anabelle.

Anabelle didn't flinch. Her heart rate remained perfectly steady. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the blank white emergency medical card Trey had given her.

"I need to register for a new ExtraCare rewards account with this card," Anabelle said, her voice polite but firm.

Brenda rolled her eyes hard. She aggressively punched the keys on her register, pulling up the new member screen. She scanned the blank card.

The moment the system accepted the new account, the register chimed. The new member welcome discount automatically applied.

The total on the screen dropped instantly from $47.85 to $35.00.

Before the viewers could even process the drop, Anabelle pulled the crumpled newspaper clippings from her pocket. She smoothed them out flat on the black conveyor belt.

She slid six manufacturer coupons across the counter.

"Two dollars off each toothpaste," Anabelle said.

Brenda frowned, snatching the coupons. She scanned them one by one.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The total plummeted to $23.00. Brenda stopped chewing her gum. Her jaw hung slightly open.

Anabelle pointed a steady finger at a cardboard promotional sign hanging right above Brenda's head. "The store promotion says buying two of those shampoos generates ten dollars in ExtraBucks rewards."

Brenda glared at her, but the system prompted the printer. A long strip of receipt paper spat out, bearing a $10 store reward barcode.

Anabelle reached out, tore the coupon off the machine herself, and handed it right back to Brenda.

"Apply it to this transaction."

"You can't do that," Brenda snapped, her face flushing red.

"Store policy allows same-transaction application if the subtotal exceeds the reward amount," Anabelle recited, her voice dropping an octave. She sounded exactly like an obsessive couponer who had memorized the fine print of every rulebook, staring at the cashier with a paranoid, unyielding intensity.

Brenda's hands shook slightly as she scanned the barcode.

The total dropped to $13.00. The live chat froze. Millions of people stopped typing at the exact same second.

Anabelle pulled out her final weapon. Two manufacturer compensation vouchers for the expiring eggs.

"State consumer protection laws mandate that manufacturer compensation vouchers can be stacked with store markdowns," Anabelle said, her eyes locking onto Brenda's. "Scan them."

Brenda's fingers were trembling so hard she dropped one of the vouchers. She picked it up, her breathing shallow, and ran them over the red laser.

The register let out a loud, angry, continuous buzz.

The digital screen flashed red.

TOTAL DUE: -$0.15

The entire front of the store went dead silent. The cameraman forgot to focus the lens, letting the shot go slightly blurry.

The system couldn't process a negative balance. Brenda's hands shook violently as she manually keyed in an override, adjusting the total to exactly $0.00.

The receipt printer whirred to life, spitting out three feet of paper.

Anabelle smiled, a genuine, terrifying smile. She took the receipt, shoved the eggs and toiletries into her backpack, and walked away.

On Twitter, the hashtag TrailerParkGenius exploded, hitting the number one trending spot in three minutes.

Anabelle walked out the automatic doors. The California sun hit her face, warming her freezing skin. The corners of her mouth twitched upward. The hunt had officially begun.

The smell of hot grease and cooking protein hit the camp like a physical blow.

Anabelle sat cross-legged next to the fire pit. She had found a rusted, discarded tin can near the highway, scrubbed it clean with sand, and was now using it as a makeshift frying pan over the open flames.

She cracked two fresh eggs against a rock. The yolks hit the hot metal with a loud, aggressive sizzle.

The rich scent of frying eggs drifted directly into the wind, sweeping over the five cots.

Stomachs growled in unison. The other contestants looked like walking corpses.

Kody swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He quickly ran a hand through his hair, pasting on a wide, friendly grin. He walked over to the fire pit, squatting down right next to Anabelle.

"Wow, Annie," Kody said, his voice dripping with fake charm. "You really saved our lives. That smells amazing. We make a great team, right?"

Anabelle didn't look up. She kept her eyes fixed on the bubbling egg whites, using a thin green twig to carefully separate the edges from the tin. She let him talk.

Kody's smile faltered when she didn't respond. His eyes darted to the cooked edge of the egg. His stomach let out a loud rumble. He reached his hand out, his fingers inching toward the hot tin.

Smack.

Anabelle whipped the twig through the air, bringing it down hard across the back of Kody's hand.

The sharp crack echoed through the quiet camp.

Kody yanked his hand back, his face twisting in pain. He cradled his stinging knuckles against his chest.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Kody screamed, his friendly mask shattering. "Are you trying to hoard it all for yourself?"

Anabelle slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were completely devoid of emotion. She looked at him the way a person looks at a stain on the sidewalk.

"Pay me," she said. Two words. Ice cold.

Kody let out a harsh, barking laugh. He pointed at the drone hovering above them. "We are a team! We're supposed to help each other! You're being selfish!"

Camila sat up on her cot, wrapping her arms around herself. "He's right, Anabelle. We're all starving. It's really mean to eat in front of us."

Anabelle stood up. She wiped her hands on her jeans.

"Let's do the math," Anabelle said, her voice projecting clearly over the crackle of the fire. "Market value of two organic eggs: one dollar. Labor cost for a ten-mile round trip on foot: twenty dollars. Technical surcharge for wilderness fire-starting and sanitation: twenty-nine dollars."

She looked dead into Kody's eyes.

"The price is fifty dollars for one egg. I don't do credit."

The camp fell dead silent.

"You're out of your damn mind!" Kody roared, kicking a cloud of dirt into the fire. "You're extorting us!"

"It's basic supply and demand," Anabelle replied smoothly, her thumb rubbing her index knuckle. "I hold the monopoly on food. You hold the demand. Pay the premium, or starve."

In the live chat, viewers were losing their minds. The brutal, unapologetic capitalism coming from a girl in a frayed flannel shirt was intoxicating. They mocked Kody relentlessly.

Kody's face turned a deep, ugly purple. The humiliation burned in his chest. He spun around, kicking a large rock near the fire pit.

"You're going to lose!" Kody spat at her. "Nobody is going to help you when you fail!" He stormed off toward the edge of the woods.

Camila quickly pulled her hand back, realizing the beggar routine wouldn't work. She lay back down, turning her face away from the smell.

Diego sat on his cot, his dark sunglasses hiding his eyes. He tilted his head, watching Anabelle with a new, sharp intensity.

Anabelle sat back down. She ate the eggs slowly, methodically, making sure not to drop a single crumb.

When she was finished, she carefully wrapped the remaining two eggs in a piece of plastic she had saved, burying them deep in her backpack. She pulled out the free tube of high-end toothpaste and walked toward the small creek to wash up.

Behind a thick oak tree, Kody watched her walk away. His chest heaved with angry breaths. He motioned for Camila to come over.

"She didn't buy that stuff," Kody whispered, his eyes narrowed into slits. "She stole it from the production crew's tent. If we get close to her, we'll get disqualified too."

Down by the creek, Anabelle saw Kody's reflection in the water. She saw him whispering. She saw Camila nodding.

Anabelle spit the white foam into the dirt. A cold, sharp smile touched her lips. Let them isolate her. A wolf hunts best alone.

By noon, the California sun was a brutal, unforgiving weight pressing down on the camp. The heat baked the dirt, making the air shimmer.

Hunger was a physical ache in everyone's stomach.

Kody sat in the shade of the boulder, leaning close to Camila and Diego. His voice was a low, venomous hiss.

"I'm telling you, she's a sociopath," Kody whispered, making sure his microphone picked up every word. "She's dangerous. People like her, from the trailer parks? They'll stab you in your sleep for a dollar."

Camila clutched her knees to her chest, her eyes wide with manufactured terror. "I'm so scared of her. Did you see how she hit you?"

Diego kept his arms crossed. His jaw clenched. He didn't nod, but he didn't defend Anabelle either. The seed of doubt was planted.

Fifty yards away, Anabelle sat on a flat rock in the blistering sun. She ignored them.

She pulled the folded coupon insert from her pocket—the only part of the newspaper she had kept. On its back side, a half-page advertisement for Schmidt's Bistro was printed. Her eyes locked onto it.

Schmidt's Bistro. Finish our Hell-Tier Crossword Puzzle in under ten minutes, and your lunch is on us. A $100 value.

Anabelle's fingers traced the edge of the paper. Her eyes scanned the sample clues printed on the ad. They were complex. Obscure.

A surge of absolute confidence rushed through her veins.

She folded the insert, stood up, and walked directly toward the whispering trio.

Kody snapped his mouth shut the second her shadow fell over them. He scrambled backward, pulling his knees up defensively.

Anabelle stopped three feet away. Her face was a mask of polite indifference.

"I found a way to get a free lunch," Anabelle said, her voice flat. "I'm going to the commercial district. You can come if you want."

It was a test. She needed to know exactly how deep Kody's poison had spread.

Kody jumped to his feet, pointing a shaking finger at her. "It's a trap! You're trying to get us to break the rules so we get eliminated!"

Camila hugged her backpack tight against her chest, shaking her head violently. She took a physical step back from Anabelle.

Diego looked at her from behind his sunglasses. "I'll stick to the emergency rations," he said coldly.

Anabelle didn't blink. She didn't argue. She just gave a slight, careless shrug.

"Enjoy the starvation," she said.

She turned her back on them, adjusted the straps of her backpack, and walked out of the camp.

The live chat erupted, tearing Kody apart for his cowardice and cheering for Anabelle's solo mission.

Three miles later, Anabelle stood on the pristine brick sidewalk of the upscale commercial district.

Schmidt's Bistro had a massive, heavy glass door with gold-leaf lettering. Through the glass, she could see white linen tablecloths, crystal wine glasses, and men in tailored suits.

Her own reflection stared back at her. Mud-caked shoes. Dirty jeans. A flannel shirt stained with sweat.

She pushed the door open.

The air conditioning hit her like a wall of ice.

The host, a tall man in a crisp vest, took one look at her and his face contorted in horror. He stepped out from behind his podium, raising his hands to physically push her back out the door.

"Excuse me, the kitchen entrance is in the alley," he sneered.

Anabelle didn't step back. She stood her ground, her spine snapping perfectly straight.

She held up the coupon insert.

"I am here for the crossword challenge," Anabelle said.

Her voice shifted. The slight southern drawl of the trailer park vanished, replaced by an unexpected, flat coldness. Her tone became sharp and clipped, carrying an undeniable, quiet certainty that left absolutely no room for argument.

The host froze. The sheer force of her aura paralyzed him. He lowered his hands, confused by the massive disconnect between her clothes and her command.

The cameraman shoved his way through the door, pushing the lens right into the host's face.

Gus Schmidt, the owner of the bistro, was walking across the dining room. He saw the camera. He saw the red recording light.

His eyes lit up with the promise of free publicity.

"Let her in, Thomas!" Gus boomed, plastering a fake, welcoming smile on his face. "Schmidt's Bistro welcomes all challengers!"