Karen Alida sat sweating in the backseat of the jeep, her designer sunglasses sliding down the bridge of her nose as the relentless sun baked the South West African plains. Her foundation streaked with sweat, her mouth twisted into what could only be described as a permanent scowl - the resting scowl of a woman who had never been told "no" without attempting to speak to someone's manager.

This trip, she insisted, was not about leisure but redemption. Or rather, the appearance of it.

Her husband Richard, a sunburned, beaten-down middle manager with the soul of a golden retriever and the spine of a paperclip, sat beside her. This was his vacation too, at least in theory. In practice, he was a hostage with a passport. Karen had dragged him here not for the experience, not for the wildlife, but to record an apology video for a now-infamous incident in the States - one that involved a fast-food employee, a broken ice cream machine, and language that had rightly cost her a job, her HOA presidency, and a respectable chunk of her social media following.

Now, in the middle of the African savannah, Karen hoped that a vaguely humanitarian backdrop and a well-filtered Instagram post would repair the scorched remains of her reputation.

"God, it's like sitting in a damn oven out here!" she snapped, glaring at Richard as though he controlled the sun. "Can't you do something about this heat, or are you going to be useless like usual?"

"Honey, it's just the weather - " Richard began, before she cut him off with an eye-roll that could trigger seismic activity.

Their safari guide, Jabari, sat silently in the front, gripping the steering wheel with the composure of a monk and the patience of a saint. He knew who she was - everyone did. The viral video had made it across oceans. He had accepted the job only because the money was too good to pass up. His kids' education and his business dreams were worth enduring one long, sun-soaked day with the Devil in designer flip-flops.

"Jabari!" Karen barked. "I see lions under that tree. Get them to come closer. I want them in the background of the video. Symmetry matters."

Jabari's jaw tightened, but he spoke calmly. "Madam, those are wild lions. They do not take direction."

"Ugh. Richard!" she screamed. "Are you hearing this? Can't anyone around here do their job?!"

Karen unbuckled her seatbelt and flung open the jeep door. Jabari immediately turned in his seat.

"Madam, please. It is not safe. You must stay in the vehicle."

"Oh, shut up," she snapped without looking at him. "I've seen nature documentaries. They're lazy in the heat. Besides, if anyone should be scared of me, it's them."

She stomped into the open, phone in hand, selfie stick extended like a lance. Richard tried to protest but only managed a sad whimper.

"Look at this!" she said into the camera, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Here I am, in real Africa, showing how much I care. I want to apologize for any misunderstanding caused by - "

A low, throaty growl cut through the dusty air.

From the tall grass, a lioness emerged, her golden eyes fixed on Karen with unsettling calm. The rest of the pride fanned out behind her like silent sentinels. Muscles rippled beneath their fur, tails swaying low with intent.

Karen turned toward them, irritated.

"Oh good, finally. Took you long enough," she said. "Now just stay right there - like statues - so I can shoot this goddamn video."

She didn't see the first lunge. The lioness closed the gap with terrifying speed and clamped her jaws around Karen's forearm. There was a sickening crunch as bone shattered under the pressure, and Karen shrieked, dropping her phone. The scream rose to a full-blown, blood-curdling wail as she flailed wildly, trying to yank her arm free - but the lioness only dug deeper, flesh tearing like wet cloth.

She staggered, blood pouring from the gaping wound, and fell to one knee.

That was the signal.

Another lion pounced from the side, knocking her flat on her back with the sound of air rushing from her lungs. Its claws tore through her stomach, unzipping skin and fat with surgical precision, revealing red coils of intestine that spilled onto the dirt like glistening sausages.

Karen shrieked again - shorter now, gurgled. Her voice bubbled with blood as a third lion tore into her thigh, muscle parting like pulled pork under its powerful jaws. One paw pinned her chest as she convulsed, eyes wide with terror, mouth trying and failing to scream.

A final lion, older and scarred, took her face in its maw. There was a crack like a dropped melon. Her nose disappeared, then her cheek, then most of her jaw - until there was no longer a face left to scream from.

The feeding frenzy began in earnest. The pride worked in savage harmony, ripping sinew from bone, gnawing at organs with crunching satisfaction. Blood soaked the earth beneath them in thick, blackish pools, the savannah eerily silent now but for the sounds of chewing, tearing, and the occasional low growl of territorial displeasure.

Karen's limbs were scattered, her torso hollowed, and her head a ruined pulp by the time they dragged the remains under the acacia tree to feast in shade.

A long silence followed.

Richard exhaled, long and slow. Jabari reached into the cooler and handed him a beer.

They sat together quietly, watching the sunset cast golden light over the savannah.

"Well," Richard said, popping the cap. "She finally went viral for something real."

Jabari didn't smile, but he did take a drink. "Hakuna matata," he said dryly.

And for the first time in a very long time, Richard laughed.