Reuben Hemslock stands at the edge of the hole, fixated on the twisted tree and its grotesque fruit with the biggest grin on his face. He takes off his sunglasses. “I’m going down there,” he says. “Hook me up.”

Gries turns. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“I’ve climbed down worse places, man. I’m not afraid of some dead dickhead on a tree. I want two cameras—head, face shot. Tape up the mic, don’t clip it—strap everything tight so nothing gets dislodged while I’m down there.”

“Reuben!”

“I know what I’m doing. I’ve been doing this for twenty years! You said you’d let me handle the show my way, so shut up and let me get you the ratings I promised!”

No one is listening to Leo Gries’s protests. The crew is already outfitting Hemslock with cameras—one attached to a helmet on his head, another wired to face him—and hooks secured around his waist to help him rappel down. He tugs hard on the ropes tethering him to safety, nods. “Keep rolling, no matter what happens,” he tells the cameramen, and then leaps backward, effortlessly, down into the sinkhole.

“At least take some of the security team with you,” Leo Gries yells after him.

“Not waiting for them,” Reuben shouts back. “And I’m not gonna film this twice.”

Already there is a mad scramble among the safety crew to don similar protective gear, even as the actor lowers himself farther into the hole. Hemslock’s bodyguards have gathered around the sinkhole. A few have their guns trained on the corpse.

“Do not shoot the damn tree!” Armani shouts, no longer pleased. “We’ll need more footage of it before the day’s out—I swear to God, Reuben—”

“Steve, they’re doing what I’m paying them for.” Hemslock angles himself toward the withered tree. “What a way to start the show!” I hear him exclaim as he begins recording. “This is how the Godseye welcomes me, literally on the first day I set foot on this island—with this beautiful corpse bouquet.”

He keeps up the chatter, as Leo Gries and the others wait by a hastily set up workstation. Twin screens show the live recording—one focused on Hemslock’s face and the other receiving feed from the camera on his head. The latter perfectly captures the gnarled tree as Hemslock gradually works his way toward it. The former shows the delighted expression on the man’s face as he draws nearer.

I watch through the monitor as the camera swings downward, toward the hole below Reuben’s feet. “That’s a long way down,” he notes. “I think I can see the ground from here, and something tells me I’m going to be exploring that before long, too—but that’s a journey for another day.” His viewpoint returns to the corpse tree before him. The other members of the safety crew are scaling down the sinkhole as well, their own cameras connected to more screens for us to observe with.

“Now, will you look at this beauty,” we hear him whisper as he clings to the wall adjacent to the body, close enough for him to reach out and touch.