The Discarded Heiress Owns The Wasteland

Casey walked off the stage. She headed straight for the resource distribution area in the back.

A staff member stood behind a counter. He looked at her with open disgust. He slapped a holographic tablet down on the counter.

"Sign this," he sneered. "Death waiver. Hurry up."

Casey didn't react to his tone. She scanned the document. It was a standard release form. If she died, it wasn't the show's fault. She picked up the stylus and signed. The tablet beeped.

"Done," she said.

The staff member rolled his eyes. "Now pick your gear."

Across the room, Coralie was surrounded by her men. She giggled as she selected a sturdy, wind-proof cabin. She grabbed a stack of high-grade nutrient packs and a thermal sleeping bag.

Elena Tran, the leopard beastman, chose a dry cave and a steel crossbow.

One by one, the contestants took the best items. By the time it was Casey's turn, the table was empty.

Except for one thing. A single-person tent, dumped in the corner. It was covered in dust. One of the main poles was snapped. The fabric was torn in three places.

Next to it sat a single bottle of cheap water. 500 milliliters.

"This is what's left. Take it or leave it," the staff member said, his voice dripping with malice. "Looks like this is all the system thinks you deserve. Better luck next time."

The live chat was having a field day. They predicted she would cry. They predicted she would beg.

Casey's face was blank. She walked over and picked up the torn tent. She didn't look at the staff member. She shoved the bundle into her tactical backpack.

She picked up the water bottle. She unscrewed the cap and took a small sip. Just enough to wet her throat. She screwed the cap back on.

She turned and walked toward the transport pods. The staff member stared after her, looking disappointed.

"Contestants, enter your pods," a robotic voice announced.

Casey stepped into the narrow pod. The heavy metal door slid shut, sealing out the noise.

The pod lurched. A crushing weight pressed down on her chest. The G-forces made her vision blur. She gripped the metal handrail, her knuckles white, regulating her breathing.

Minutes later, the shaking stopped. A hiss of pressurized air. The door slid open.

A wave of hot, dry air hit her face. It smelled like rust and dead things.

Casey stepped out. Her boots crunched on the red dirt of Planet A13.