He fell in slow motion, which was ironic because real life was now happening at 50 frames per second in Ultra HD. He hit the mud with a sound like a dropped lasagna. The cameras zoomed in. Somewhere in the control booth, a director whispered, "Beautiful. Beautiful. "

He shimmied up. One hand. Then the other. His abs, once a Photoshopped marvel, were now just a roadmap of insect welts and despair. The Greek production assistant on the loudspeaker—a man named Dimitri with the soul of a Byzantine torturer—counted down.

Somewhere above him, Dimitri lit a cigarette and announced over the loudspeaker: "Next trial: 'The Wasp Pantry.' For Kieran."

"Day nine," he croaked into the mossy bark of a challenge pole. "I have eaten a fermented sea urchin's cousin. I have been bitten by something that looked like a handbag. And I have listened to Brenda from Baking Your Best Life talk about her gluten-free sourdough starter for six hours ."

"DEK-ah! ENN-ee-ah! OC-toh!"