Amelia slips from the live TV gallery, down a dark corridor, into any icy, heavily refrigerated room full of computer servers. Her sanctuary, she relaxes. The hot engineer she’s had a crush on since this shitty job started is glued to his computer screen, punk music audible from his headphones, he gives her a wink. At no point when she went to film school was gallery assistant on a reality show on her to-do list. But here she is, thousands of dollars of student debt, two cell phones, a radio headset glued to her ear 12 hours a day and a sleezey producer to call boss. The radio perched on the control desk screeches; “TX, pull the best of show, get ready to go to tape!” Amelia and the hot engineer exchange a look, they never cut the live show. They look up at the monitor mounted on the wall, just in time to see a tanned woman with model good looks run into shot, her bikini clad body splattered in blood. She grabs her husband’s hand as the newlyweds flee along the beach. An arrow flies towards them narrowly missing the athletic husband. A pink and blue graphic flashes “Honeymoon Island is brought to you by Tropical Airlines- your dream vacation is only a flight away!” Harry tears the headset off his head and tosses it on the desk; “Fuck.” He rubs his eyes and starts to pace. 50-something, tailored suit, signet ring, loafers, fake tan, Botox, gym-fit, capped teeth and hair plugs. Harry made his name and fortune on flashy reality contestant shows with big brand sponsors and record breaking audience numbers. The wall of monitors blink with the view from dozens of hidden cameras positioned around the tropical island. An idyllic waterfall, glistening blue sea, a million dollar yacht deck, galley, cabin with king size bed and satin sheets, underwater cameras show brightly coloured fish. A giant monitor labelled “Live” plays a commercial for a luxury car, next to it a second monitor labelled “Preview” shows a white sand beach splattered with blood and littered with goats’ heads on spikes. “Mike, get off that damn shot! Find me something to come back to from this break. I don’t care if it’s daisy the dolphin, just please God get me something that won’t get the whole damn network shutdown!” Harry bellows at the wiry, bald director who frantically presses buttons at an impressive desk of flashing lights and faders. Amelia rushes into the gallery, Harry clocks her “Where the hell have you been? You chose one hell of a time to take a break. Pick up that phone and get hold of her now, I don’t care what excuse her assistant gives, I don’t care if she’s having dinner at the White House or sucking her husband’s dick, she needs to speak to me ASAP.” Amelia makes the call from the cell phone in her left hand whilst frantically texting from the cell phone in her right hand. Harry continues to shout commands at the graphics guy and the sound op. Phoebe and Brad have made it to the tender at the edge of the shore, panting, crying, bleeding Phoebe climbs into the boat as Brad frantically tries to untether it and push it out to sea. Jumping in the boat, Phoebe starts the outboard and they head towards the yacht. This is not what they signed up for. The beach fills with roaring, glorious, sweat glistening warriors. Men and women in ghoulish war paint dance with glee in the waves. A line of bows take aim at the happy couple and set their arrows free. Harry paces the gallery floor, watching Amelia dial and redial head office. Sea turtles defy their form to gracefully glide across the preview monitor. “TX to gallery, highlights reel ready for playback.” Harry sighs, one good bit of news at least they’ll have something to air for the next 7minutes until the next ad break. He lets himself wonder if they’ll break ratings records as word gets out, #bloodymoonisland is already trending. A bird lands in shot on the beach, blocking the view as it pecks at goat brains. Mike the scrawny director pukes into his trash can. The graphics kid is crying as Harry yells in his direction; “Give me the highlight slate we’re back in 10!” A monitor shows the yacht deck as Brad and Phoebe clamber onboard. An arrow in Brad’s shoulder, blood gushing from Phoebe’s arm and leg. Amelia calmly takes off her headset and hands it to Harry with her cell phone & photo pass. “I don’t think this job is what I’m looking for” she says; “but thanks for the opportunity.”