Epilogue

I spend the evening watching Astrid through the hidden cameras in her new apartment.

At first she is just sitting there – motionless, for what seems like an eternity. I even start to think she’s too traumatized to continue living normally. Then, without warning, she slams both hands down onto the table, hard enough to make the silverware jump. The force of it startles even me.

"Fifty million dollars," she hisses to the empty room, her words low and almost guttural.

She exhales sharply through her nose, her shoulders rising and falling as if trying to suppress the sudden flood of emotion crashing over her. Her hands remain flattened against the tabletop, fingers splayed wide as if she's holding herself in place.

"I did it."

Her words are rough, raw, as she lifts her head and looks around the room. The realization hits her in waves. She stands abruptly, pushing back from the table so fast it almost topples over.

"I won. I won."

The repetition sounds almost like a prayer as she moves. One hand lifts to press against her stomach as if to anchor herself to this moment. Her other hand clenches and unclenches at her side, her knuckles still pale from gripping the table.

She stops suddenly, staring at the mirror on the wall, her back to me. I notice her shoulders rise and fall as she inhales slowly, deliberately, as if forcing control over the riot of emotions churning through her.

"You won't take that away from me," she murmurs to the reflection of her own face.

She closes her eyes for a long moment, then opens them again, watching herself.

"I earned this."

I watch her taking a shower when my inbox pings. The message says ‘Season Highlights’.

I open the message – inside there’s a video compilation. All the girls going through their casual daily life – Cassie wet and happy after having surfed a huge wave, Rita having fun at a rock concert, Amara giving an interview on the television, Emily telling stories as a tour guide… All of them so normal, happy, alive…

What follows is their casting for the ‘beauty contest’ – all of them a little nervous but excited. Beautiful makeup, swimsuits, interviews…

And then the videos of what I did to them.

I find myself surprised that Cassie’s death that seemed so significant when it happened, now was almost out of my memory, completely overwritten by more recent and much more gruesome deaths of other girls.

The videos fuck with my mind in ways I didn’t suspect were possible. Why did they send them to me? To break me completely? As if I wasn’t already broken enough.

I spend what seems like several hours motionless, watching the videos on repeat, having completely forgotten about Astrid. The night brings no comfort.

The door to Astrid's apartment swings open at precisely 9 AM. She's standing by the window, though her posture is straighter now – shoulders squared, back perfectly aligned. She turns with a slow grace, studying the makeup artist and stylist who step inside. Her face remains neutral, but there's something new in her demeanor – a confidence that wasn't there yesterday.

"I assume this is for the ceremony," she says.

The words are even, but I notice the faint catch in her throat, the smallest crack in her otherwise perfect composure.

The makeup artist smiles reassuringly. "Yes, Ms. Lund. We'll just -"

"Call me Astrid."

The makeup artist's hands pause mid-motion.

"Right. Astrid. We'll start with your face first, then move to your hair and makeup." The stylist steps forward with the garment bag containing a luxurious black dress. "I'll get this ready for you while they work."

Astrid nods once, her chin tilting slightly upward as she turns to sit at the vanity. The makeup artist dabs foundation along her face, the brush moving with precision. Astrid watches in the mirror, her gaze locked onto her reflection.

When I enter, Astrid looks like a completely different person – she is wearing a beautiful short sleeved black dress, high heels; her hair has volume I haven’t seen before, dark circles under her eyes completely covered by makeup. She is so gorgeous that I can’t take my eyes off her.

I offer her my hand and we leave the apartment, our looks in stark contrast to the way we looked just yesterday when we came here.

After a short walk through the corridors, we enter a large hall with a stage in the middle. Applause greet Astrid as we climb onto the stage. All lights focus on her and the audience looks like a uniform mass of dark silhouettes. She squints her eyes and raises her hand to shield her from the brightness that suddenly overwhelms her.

I take the microphone, my voice amplified by the PA system.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you our last surviving participant – Astrid Lund!"

The crowd erupts again. Giving them enough time to clap, I continue.

“Astrid was brave and defiant in the face of danger and fate has chosen her as our Final Girl!” I wrap my arm around her waist and put the microphone in front of her. “Tell us a little about your experience, Astrid. How did it feel to spend those days in the dungeon watching other girls die?”

Astrid flinches and then freezes in place, her expression a mix of shock and disgust. The crowd emits a short laugh.

Astrid’s mouth opens but no words come out, as if she is struggling to breathe.

“It’s ok, take your time,” I tell her calmly, then turn to face the crowd. “It must have been overwhelming for you.”

Astrid finally gathers herself and speaks up, her voice monotonous, almost robotic.

“I… It was scary,” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “John did terrible things to other girls. But I am.. I am grateful to you for this opportunity.”

Her voice cracks on the last few words, her no longer able to maintain her composure and continue this performance.

I signal the assistant who brings five large suitcases, one by one, onto the stage and opens them. All of them are full of cash, smell of paper and paint typical of new bills filling the air.

"As promised, Ms. Lund… Astrid – fifty million dollars, all in hundred dollar bills." I calmly stroke her back. “No need to be scared anymore – your new life is ahead of you.”

Astrid puts on a fake smile and I feel her body trembling under my touch. We thank the audience and walk off the stage.

“Just one last touch and it’s over.” I whisper as we are walking towards the dining hall.

The applause fades as me and Astrid descend the steps together. The crowd parts before us like the Red Sea, men and women in evening wear whispering and staring as we pass. The guests are not wearing any masks and the number of faces I recognize makes me feel uneasy. Astrid walks beside me, her head held high, her black dress clinging perfectly to her slender frame.

The dining hall doors swing open to reveal a long table, white tablecloths glowing in the candlelight. The chandelier above casts golden reflections across the polished wood. Astrid freezes just inside the doorway, her breath catching audibly.

I guide Astrid forward, my fingers resting lightly on the small of her back as she moves with careful, measured steps. The table groans under platters of poached lobster, roasted quail, truffled risotto – delicacies I know she's never tasted before. Bottles of Dom Pérignon chilling in ice buckets beside crystal flutes placed across the whole length of the table.

Astrid approaches the table with the crowd coming back together behind us, looking from the feast to me and back again. Her eyes lock on a large empty silver tray in the middle of the table. It is at this moment that everything changes.

Astrid's breath hitches as masked crew members materialize around her. Their hands are firm but not cruel as they lift her with practiced precision, her back arching slightly as she's placed supine on the silver tray. The candles flicker as her body settles on the cold metal surface. Her pupils dilate as she looks up at me standing above her.

"I knew it," she whispers, though no real surprise colors her words.

Her pulse thrums visibly at her throat. One of the crew fastens leather restraints around her wrists, drawing them down to the corners of the table. She doesn't resist as they do the same with her ankles.

The dinner jackets and evening gowns of the guests provide a dark, aristocratic backdrop as the masked crew members efficiently slice through Astrid's dress with razor-sharp blades. The fabric parts like tissue paper beneath their practiced hands. Astrid lies exposed, her silver-blonde hair spilling across the tablecloth, her pale skin luminous in the candlelight. Her breathing has become shallow and rapid, but her gaze remains steady – watching me with a strange, detached fascination.

A woman in emerald silk leans forward from the opposite side of the table, her jewels catching the light as she studies Astrid's body.

"Magnificent specimen," she murmurs to her neighbor.

Astrid's nostrils flare slightly at the woman's words, but she doesn't look away from me. The restraints creak as she tests them, confirming their tightness. The guests continue settling into their seats, their voices blending into a low hum of conversation as servers move among them with silver trays.

I lean down, placing both hands on the edge of the table beside her hips. The wood groans under the pressure of my weight.

"Tell me," I say quietly, my words for her alone even as dozens of eyes watch, "when did you realize you weren't actually leaving here alive?"

Her lips part slightly, breath coming in soft little hitches. Her blue eyes flick down for just a moment before meeting mine again.

She studies me for a long moment, then says with a faint smile, "The moment you smiled at me while showing me the money." Her voice is clear, steady despite the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat.

"And when you showed me this room with all this food..."

She watches as I stand straight and motion to the servers. They begin lifting silver lids, revealing steaming platters of food. "...I knew it was all just... decoration."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not." She says it without accusation. Just fact. "You're sad about it. But you're not sorry. If you were sorry, you'd tell me the truth."

She's right. Again, someone's right about what I am.

I straighten up and motion for the feast to begin.

The servers descend on Astrid with surgical precision, their blades flashing as they begin the first incisions into her tender body. A server presses a heated grilling fork against her inner thigh, searing the skin pink before expertly peeling away a strip of flesh. The aroma – coppery and faintly sweet – rises between them as he tosses the sizzling morsel onto a plate.

Astrid gasps at the pain, her back arching slightly against the restraints. Her pale skin turns pink where the heat touches it, the edges of the wound already blistering. Her lips part, and for a moment it seems she might cry out, but instead she exhales slowly through her nose, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

The next server works on her abdomen, making small, precise cuts to create a pattern of crescent moons across her stomach. Her muscles tense and quiver beneath the knife, but she doesn't look away from me. A third cuts into her breast, carving a thin slice from the underside and tossing it onto a waiting platter where it joins the others.

"Don't worry," a guest across the table says, his words dripping with false concern as he sips his wine. "It's a delicate technique – keeps the meat tender."

He gestures to the piece being prepared for him, a pink spiral of flesh still glistening with blood and juices.

I sit down, my chair located right across Astrid’s head, her eyes filled with tears of pain and yet still focused on me. I have now completed my final act, the ultimate betrayal, and she won’t let me forget it.

Jeff, the show’s producer who sits next to me, touches my hand

“Which part of her would you like to eat, John?” His voice soft but his eyes looking at me with cruel mockery.

I shrug, his words hitting me like an electric current, and then everything freezes inside.

“I.. I’ll pass, thank you.”

“Oh, but I insist,” Jeff’s hand covers mine as he orders the server to serve me Astrid’s pussy.

The lead server nods, setting aside his carving knife. He produces a larger blade, the edge wickedly sharp.

"The labia majora and labia minora, sir?" he asks, already positioning the tip of the knife at the base of her vulva.

Astrid's breath comes in shallow gasps now, her gaze locked on mine with a strange intensity.

“Oh, John here deserves all of it. Nothing but the best for our dear host.” Jeff’s smile could freeze hell. “Right John?”

The lead server doesn't hesitate. With swift precision, he presses the blade against the base of Astrid's vulva, drawing it upward in a single smooth motion. The meat separates with a wet sound, blood welling up as he creates a vertical incision. Astrid's entire body tenses, a strangled cry escaping her throat as the knife parts her flesh.

The guests lean forward in their seats, some reaching for their wine glasses, others already savoring the appetizers being served. The server's hands are steady as he makes the next cut, this one horizontal, connecting the first and forming a crude 'T' shape. The blood flows more freely now, staining the white tablecloth beneath her.

Astrid's breathing becomes ragged, her body shaking with the effort of not screaming. Her mouth opens in a silent gasp as the server peels back the outer layers, separating the labia with careful precision. A guest near me sniffs appreciatively as the aroma of fresh meat rises from the table.

"Oh, I do love it when they're still alive for the initial cutting," an older man beside me murmurs, cutting into his own plate with delicate precision. "Makes the flesh so much more tender, don't you think?"

He holds a bite up to examine it, red against white china.

"Though I suppose this particular cut will need a bit more seasoning than usual." He smiles at his own joke.

The server places a small silver tray on my plate, Astrid’s pussy already grilled and brownish in color, adorned with slices of vegetables, seeds and drips of various sauces. It smells delicious but I can’t make myself take the knife and fork.

Jeff watches my hesitation and does everything for me – cuts a piece, lifts it on a fork and brings it up to my mouth.

“Eat.”

The warm flesh gives way beneath my teeth with satisfying resistance, the seared surface crackling slightly as I bite down. The texture is firm but yielding, the taste rich and slightly metallic. As I chew, Astrid maintains eye contact with me. Her pupils dilate, her throat working as she swallows against the pain and the horror of watching me eat her.

"You -" she begins, then stops, breath hitching. A single tear escapes down the side of her face, catching the candlelight. She presses her mouth shut, then opens it again. "You... filthy... monster. Fucking coward."

Her words come strained and faint. I can see the muscles in her thighs and abdomen tremble as she fights to stay still.

She stares at me, watching my jaw work as I chew, studying my face. The servers continue their work, one preparing the next cut while another dips a cloth in warm water to clean away the blood that pools around her groin. I notice her breathing has taken on a rapid, shallow rhythm – an autonomic response to the agony.

Her eyes though… I am the only thing in the whole room that she has been looking at. Her gaze is full of suffering and hatred, draining all hope for redemption out of me. There’s no redemption, no salvation. Not after this.

I learned to be kind. I connected with them. I treated them like humans. And I'm still eating her flesh at a billionaire's dinner party.

Her eyes continue to look at me long after she’s dead, her head remaining the only part of her body that has not turned into a bloodied skeleton. And I can’t force myself to look away either.

Jeff is talking about some nonsense, but I think about how hard it is for the Devil. God has created both good and evil, created the world, humans in it and the Devil himself, yet it is the Devil who gets blamed for everything wrong – the ultimate scapegoat. I feel like I’m the Devil in this twisted parody of the world.

Jeff repeats something to me and I meet his eyes with a blank stare. He snaps his fingers before my eyes.

“Ground control to major John,” he smiles. “I was asking what great ideas have you got for us in Season Two now that the first season is such a success?”

I stare at him. Season Two… Of course there would be a Season Two – there’s no way these sick motherfuckers would let this horror happen once and be done with it. Next year everything will repeat.

“I have… some ideas,” I try my best to look confident and powerful, like the host should. “I’m sure you will like them.”