THE NEXT RUNG (SURVIVOR - WEEK 2)

Baltimore, Maryland. Summer 2004.

Sixteen-year-old Coltrane wasn't so different from the ten-year-old version. Bigger. Better control of his own body. Still a kid people found ways to use. His good heart didn't know the word no, which got him onto the football team, then the wrestling team, then onto whatever corner needed him that week. Six-six, pushing two hundred pounds, and everybody who met him had the same thought at the same time: this one's useful.

School hours, he kept it clean. Off the clock, he worked for Darius. He understood exactly what he was standing next to , the drugs, the gangs, the whole machine, and he told himself he was standing next to it, not in it. He kept his hands as clean as a city like this let anybody's hands stay.

Today he had a light post and a job. One of Darius's soldiers stood a few feet off, hands in his pockets. Down the block, a second soldier worked the actual transactions. Cars rolled up, questions got asked, money changed hands, and the driver got pointed down to where Coltrane was standing watch.

Coltrane's job was simple. Somebody stepped out of line, wanted more than they paid for, tried to run off with product, that's when he stepped forward, arms crossed, and let his size do the talking. Most days, that was the whole job. He hadn't had to use his hands yet. Not really.

"Yo." The kid in front of him, his name wasn't sticking in Coltrane's head, turned around. "I gotta piss. Watch this a second?"

"I don't touch it."

That was the rule, Darius's rule, and Coltrane had bought into it as well. No drugs in your hands, no drugs in your pockets, you're clean.

"Man, I'm gonna piss myself right here."

Coltrane looked up and down the block. Nobody around. He held his hand out and the kid dropped the bag into it, held loose, ready to hit the ground the second he needed it gone, before disappearing around the corner toward Harry's, where the old man would let you use the bathroom and then tell you, every single time, that you were better than this. Nobody listened. Darius paid better than Harry ever could.

Two cars pulled up on the far corner. Back to back.

Coltrane swore under his breath.

"Yo, hurry up," he called out, not sure it would even reach the kid.

The first car came his way. He locked eyes with the woman driving it, stepped forward, started to drop the bag through the window —

— and a hand closed around his wrist.

"What the fuck?" Coltrane roared as he looked over and saw a young white boy in the backseat, holding onto him and with a knife in his left hand.

"What the fuck?" Coltrane wrenched his arm back and found a white kid in the backseat holding onto him, knife in his other hand. Eighteen, maybe. The kid looked at the knife, then looked at the size of Coltrane, and some of the confidence went out of his face.

"Give me all of it."

The knife pressed into Coltrane's forearm. Coltrane didn't answer. He yanked the kid forward and slammed his skull into the headrest. The kid, dazed, pushed the blade down anyway, dragging it across skin as he went.

Coltrane roared and drove the back of his fist into the side of the kid's head, then tore his arm free of the window just as the woman floored it. The car was gone before he could get another hand on either of them.

"Motherfuckers." He looked down. Blood on his wrist, shallow, more sting than damage. He shook his arm out. The sting didn't leave. His blood was up now and there was nowhere for it to go, no throat left in reach to put his hands around.

He didn't get a second to breathe before another car rolled up behind him and leaned on the horn.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Coltrane spun around, arms out, ready for round two —

— and stopped.

Thinning hair. Pale skin gone leathery. A goatee that looked like it had been there since the eighties. A man who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else on earth than parked on this particular block.

"Dad?"

Baltimore, Maryland. July 11, 2026.

Alex stood at the window of the Federal Hill condo and let the skyline do the talking. Behind her, Jamie was already treating the condo like conquered territory, calling out room assignments from three doors away.

"Mom!" Jamie skidded back in. "I take the big bedroom, you get the guest room. Deal?"

"Get real."

Alex put an arm around her anyway.

"You're not going to take it, are you?" Disappointment, straight to the point, no preamble. That was Jamie.

"Jamie—"

"Come on. This place is so much better than ours. Dad just made it through the first round of Survivor, he's got money to spend. You could just let him take care of us." She said it with exactly enough irony to make sure Alex knew she knew better.

"Your father's always taken care of us. I'm not against that. But this pulls you out of your school, away from your friends. My commute gets longer. And if he's out of PRIME next year, how do we afford it?"

Jamie went quiet — not hurt, just doing the math and not liking where it landed. She leaned into her mother instead. "Fair. A better school's not nothing, though."

"No, it's not." Alex ran a hand through her daughter's brown locks. Her girl was a year ahead of where she should be and the current school didn't have the funding to notice or the budget to care.

"My friends can still come over. It's just a bus ride."

"Sure. It's not like they have to cross a sea."

"No seas in Baltimore. Just the harbor, and we're not on the other side of it. I still can't fix your commute, though. You could just stay home and let Dad pay for everything."

"I like my job, thank you."

"Fine, if you insist. But Dad wants to give us a better life. Tells me all the time. This is his shot. He'll make it work. I know him."

Alex didn't answer that one. She looked out at the harbor instead and thought about a version of Coltrane that used to run with men she didn't like to think about, and how money had come easy then too, and what it had cost him to walk away from it once he had the chance. She never wanted him back under that kind of pressure, no matter if she couldn't have the nice place with the amazing view.

She checked her watch. Late morning.

"Let's call your father."

Jamie was already at the window, phone out, marveling at how much of the city she could see. Alex hit his name. Two rings.

"Hey." He sounded tired. "How's the place?"

"Amazing. Everything we wanted."

"Wish I could take credit. That was all MacKenzie."

"She always did have good taste." A beat. "Jamie already loves it."

"She pick a room?"

"Mine."

Coltrane laughed, loud enough Alex had to pull the phone back an inch. "Want me to find one with two owner suites?"

"Absolutely not. She can live in the closet and like it."

"She good with a new school?"

Alex glanced at Jamie, now wandering the kitchen. "Hey, hun. Car. I've got work."

"Coming, Mom."

"Sorry. Yeah, I think she'll be fine. Excited, even. I'll check the school zone, but it's probably top-tier."

"For public, yeah, probably. She deserves it. Big brain like that, put it to use. Might save us all from whatever mess this country's turning into."

"Pump the brakes on her saving the world. Let her be a teenager first."

"Fine. Turns twenty, though—"

"Then it's fair game, I'm with you." They stepped out and Alex pulled the door shut behind them, hit the keypad, started down the stairs, ignoring the elevator so she wouldn't lose the call. "You sure about this?"

"Nothing I wouldn't do for you two."

"I know. I just don't want you carrying more than you already do. You've got the whole world on those shoulders."

Silence.

"Cole?"

"Yeah. I hear you. Contract's good, though. More money than I ever thought I'd see. Might as well do something with it. Take care of the people who matter."

Her turn to go quiet. Stomach doing something complicated at the same time her heart began to beat faster.

"Alex?"

"Yeah. Sorry. We love the place. If you're good with it — really good — then do it."

"Good. MacKenzie already handled it this morning."

"How'd you know we'd even like it?"

"Because she picked it, and nobody on earth knows what you like better than she does."

"She's good at details."

"Unfortunately." A beat. "You two catch the show last night?"

They reached the car. Alex slid behind the wheel. "Congrats are in order."

"Thanks. It was something."

"How are you doing with losing Kerry?"

Silence again, longer this time. She let it sit and didn't push.

"They told me the next challenge. No idea what it means. Medieval Times? I don't have to wear armor, do I?"

"You don't know what Medieval Times is?" Alex laughed. "Your poor childhood."

"What?"

"I think Jamie and I need to take you. So you can appreciate it properly." She mouthed Medieval Times at Jamie, who nodded fast.

"It's a place you go?"

"Yes, you sweet summer child. I can't believe you've never been."

"Sorry. Was busy doing other things, probably."

"I'm sure you were."

"What do you think about coming to the next show? It's in Detroit."

Alex started the car, checked traffic, pulled out. "Maybe. I'd need to check my schedule. I've got days saved up."

"Good. Do that."

She turned down the street, phone still to her ear, and didn't notice the black sedan pull out half a block behind her. Didn't notice it take the same right she did, a beat later, like it had somewhere to be too.

Baltimore, Maryland. Summer 2004.

Coltrane stood outside a building that was losing an argument with time. The whole block matched it. Auto shops, distribution warehouses, a stretch of Baltimore that felt forgotten and busy at the same time. People who didn't belong in his neighborhood came and went here, and looked at him like he didn't belong in theirs.

This was the fifth time in the week since he'd seen his father on the corner that he'd come to his building. His father had invited him like two years of silence was a minor scheduling gap. Like they'd just talked last Tuesday.

Coltrane had turned around outside this door four times already. He was working on turning around a fifth when a voice cut through it.

"Cole. Come on." His father, standing in the doorway. The difference in them was stark. His father's pale skin contrasted with his dark. "Get in here or stop showing up on the sidewalk. You're spooking my clients."

Coltrane turned back. "Not happy to see a Black person around here?"

"Some of them look at you and see a thug. A gangbanger. A dealer." A beat. "They wrong?"

"I'm none of those things."

"I didn't see you selling drugs?"

"Didn't I see you buying them?"

"The world isn't fair." His father spread his arms. "It's what it is. Some percentage of people are going to clutch their purse when you walk by. Some percentage are going to think you're there to rob them, hurt them, take something. You're not changing their minds."

"Some percentage of the people buying those drugs are the same ones clutching their purses."

"Look at you. Sounds like you know something about the streets after all."

Coltrane took a step closer. "Lived on them long enough. You left me there."

"I did. Not hiding from it."

"Funny. Don't see you pulling me and my mother out of the projects."

"Your mother doesn't want anything to do with me. Can't blame her for that. I didn't do right by either of you. And I can't fix that any more than you can fix how people look at you. All you can do is live in the world you've got, and when a chance shows up, take the next rung. Sooner you start, the higher you climb."

Coltrane let that sit. "So why am I here?"

"Because you are where you are. Projects. Gang bangers for friends. Surrounded by addicts and fiends. I can't pull you out of that. I'm not going to pull you out of that, even if I could now. What I can do is get you ready for it."

"That's the offer? Teach me how to survive it? Not open your door, feed me, clothe me, take care of me?"

His father laughed, short and dry. "And what would that do for you? None of that teaches you how to live in this world. I could give you everything I've got and it wouldn't prepare you for a single day out there. You're already in that life."

"That life. You keep saying that as if it was the weather report. Like it just happened to me." Coltrane's voice was steady. Calm. "You know what actually happened? A father who didn't want to give me the time of day. A mother who did everything she could to hold it all together. Kids and teenagers who thought they looked tougher with me standing next to them. Money in my pocket that helped keep the lights on and the air conditioner running. Nobody handed me a rulebook on how to survive anything. Least of all the person who was supposed to help me figure it out. Don't act like you're the first person who ever looked at what I already am and figured out a use for it."

The words landed hard and his father looked away, his jaw working like he was chewing on something he didn't like the taste of.

"You're right," he said, finally, quiet and resolute. "I let you down. I'm not the first to look at you and see what else could be there. Problem is, law says you're basically a man now. They catch you on something, they're going to charge you as an adult and throw the book at you. You're past the age for pats on the head and coloring books and Saturday fishing trips. Sorry that life wasn't in the plans for you. Best I can do is help you survive the one you got. If you want it."

He looked Coltrane over. "You've got the size. The mass. You could hurt people. But you're not trained. Not equipped."

"And your fancy gym's gonna fix that?"

"If you think this is fancy, you're not ready for what's out there." His father smiled thin. "I train wrestlers. Fundamentals. How to hit. How to get hit. How to survive it."

Coltrane looked past him at the door. The option was there again. To walk away. Much like the previous times, he felt his weight shift onto his back foot. If he did though, it wouldn't cost his father anything. He wouldn't feel upset about it, he would just move on with his day as he had the past sixteen years. Without a care in the world.

"You planning on being around gangs your whole life?" Not really a question. "You need to know how to handle yourself. I'm not here to tell you how to live. You've already decided you've got that figured out. At your age, you think you've got everything figured out. I just want you standing at the end of it. However that goes."

Coltrane looked at his father a long moment. Then he walked past him toward the door, and it felt less like agreeing and more like giving something up.

"Then fucking teach me."

Detroit, Michigan. July 22, 2026.

Coltrane stood at the entrance to Medieval Times holding a paper crown he had no intention of putting on his head.

"Put it on," Jamie said.

"No."

"Dad. Put it on."

He put it on.

They were led into a room built to look like the eleventh century, which it was not. Trumpets heralded something from somewhere. A woman in a corset offered to take their photo and promised the King would join them shortly.

Coltrane looked over at Alex. "We paid for this."

"We did. Now smile." Alex wrapped an arm around him and pushed his face toward the camera.

Click.

A teenager who clearly lived this life full-time seated them under red banners. "You are now part of the glorious RED KNIGHTS! For life. No takebacks."

Jamie punched a fist in the air. Coltrane did not.

"Did we join a cult? Why is she this excited? Who are the Red Knights? For all we know they're the bad guys."

Alex kissed his cheek. "You're being ridiculous. Those are the Red Knights." She pointed at a banner, a knight's face painted on it, jaw set like this was the most serious business of his life.

"He's basically family now," Jamie said.

"I don't know that guy."

"Dad. Just cheer for the knight."

Then, bowls of soups were brought in and placed in front of them as more and more people were brought in around them to partake in the evening's festivities. He looked down at his bowl and then realized he didn't have a spoon.

"Excuse me," Coltrane called out to the retreating waiter that was dressed as if they were a jester or clown or some shit. "Hey!" The person didn't hear them as the noise levels rose around them.

"What's the issue?" Alex inquired.

"There's no spoons."

"There weren't spoons back then."

Coltrane looked at her confused. "I did go to school. I watched a show on the History Channel at 3am because I couldn't sleep. I've seen they had spoons."

She lifted the bowl and sipped from it. As she placed it back on the table, she looked at him. "Drink the soup, Coltrane."

He did so. It tasted good. Really good. He hated that it did.

Then, a chicken came out on a pewter plate. A whole chicken. No fork, no knife. A whole chicken. He looked around and saw people just digging into it, no shame. As he looked around, he spotted Cancer Jiles in the festivities, and he had somehow procured two chickens and was going to town on them while demanding Miller Lite's be brought to him in the loudest, most obnoxious way possible.

"Isn't that—" Alex started, but Coltrane shook his head.

"I made the mistake of letting them know we were coming here."

"At least he's enjoying himself."

"He's a cockroach. Of course he is."

Jamie ripped a leg off her chicken with both hands and gave him a look like he was the one embarrassing the family.

"You've eaten wings before."

"Sure. This is a whole chicken. Not the same thing."

"Eat. The. Chicken. Dad."

He ate the chicken. Best he'd ever had.

The lights dropped. Six men on real horses came through six gates like it was the most normal thing in the world. Kenny Freeman was somewhere behind them, standing on a table, yelling at every single knight indiscriminately.

"That's him." Jamie was on her feet. "RED. RED LET'S GO."

Coltrane watched a man in armor circle on horseback, doing something with his eyebrows meant to read as menace, and leaned toward Alex.

He leaned toward Alex without taking his eyes off the arena. "This is a show."

"What?"

"This is a show," he gestured at the whole building, the horses, the banners, the paper crown on his own head, "It's exactly what I do."

Alex looked at him for a second like he'd finally said something true out loud by accident.

"Yeah," she said. "Exactly."

"Do you think this is what we have to do?"

"I don't have the slightest clue, love. You work with and for batshit crazy people. I would be prepared for just about anything."

Down in the sand, the Red Knight took a lance to the chest from the Yellow Knight and went down hard.

"Dad. Do something. Yell at him."

"He can't hear me."

"Doesn't matter. YELL AT HIM."

"Get up," Coltrane said, quiet, mostly to himself. Then louder, because Jamie was still looking at him. "GET UP!"

The Red Knight got up. The building lost its mind. Jamie hugged Coltrane's arm like he'd personally willed it into happening, and for the moment, he felt like he was capable of anything.

Three tables over, Jiles stood up on his bench, chicken bone in one fist, and screamed something at the Yellow Knight that got him quietly asked to sit back down by a teenager in a jester costume.

Coltrane watched it happen and, despite himself, laughed.