Leo pressed play.
The first thing I noticed was the background team—a group of sculpted demigods who looked like they’d been carved from granite and grief. They were already sweating. The warm-up hadn’t even started. insanity with shaun t
I started speaking in his cadence. “How we feelin’?” I’d ask strangers on the bus. They’d mumble “fine.” I’d scream, “I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” The bus driver kicked me off. Leo pressed play
“It’s just cardio,” I scoffed. “I ran a marathon last spring.” The warm-up hadn’t even started
The screen flickered. The background team froze mid-jump. Shaun T. stepped out of the television. He knelt beside me. His teeth were too white. His eyes were not eyes—they were miniature jump ropes.
The breaking point came on Day 40. I hadn’t eaten solid food in 12 hours—only electrolyte powder and the foam from a cappuccino. My reflection in the mirror had cheekbones like daggers and eyes like two fried eggs. I pressed play.