This is my first time at writing a Total Drama fanfic, so please be kind.

Genre: Horror, Drama, Romance & Fantasy

Rated T for violents and lots of cussing. You were warned.

o0o

Stitched Up

Prologue

(Gwen's P.O.V.)

New York City is a world completely different from the world of Canadians despite the fact that they are so close. New York is more dangerous, more cold and bitter to life. All that fame and glamour, the hustle and bustle of the big city, the big apple with Time Square and the State of Liberty, it's all a mask, a facade, something to lure the innocent to its grip and destory them completely. The streets and roads were always dangerous, even in the daylight, but at night it becomes a hunting grounds.

Hunting grounds that have been marred with the blood of sinners and innocents. For fun, pleasure and psychotic rage, fuel to a explosive, overheated flame ready to burst with wickedness. It was murders like these that send shivers down grown men's spine, made small children cry in fear, and made newspapers wealthy to expose the victims. God, I hated this rotten place, it's the mortal verson of Hell only not as terrible as the real inferno.

It started to snow; pure, untainted, beautiful white snow that fell from the heavens as a pathetic way to try to stop the bad guys with frigid winds and ice. It was also a beautiful way to express the reality of life: cold and unforgiving but it is beautiful at the same time. I wanted to enjoy this, the first snow fall of the year, but I couldn't. I had a job to do.

And that job included lots and lots of bloodshed.

Pulling my hood over my head, I jogged over towards a nearby alley. Even when it is the coldest day of the years, jackass seem uneffect by this and still do shit. Because of them, my nights, the only time of time I get to relax, are completely fucked up. Not only was my night ruin, but I was late for my stitching appointment. Ugh! Chichi is gonna kill me.

I finally found the jackasses that decided tonight was a good night to be screw someone over. They were some dunk motherfuckers that were kicked out of a neighboring nightclub and decide that the first person they saw would become their puching bag. Shockly, the first person they saw was an 11-years-old little who dropped her ball from her apartment window. She climbed down the fire escape and was captured by the motherfuckers.

The poor thing was cowarding in the corner, praying to God that someone would save her while the man laughed at her. Pulling out a dagger from my back pocket, I crept up behind the tallest one, the one that was raising his hand to hit the girl. Before he could get a swipe at her, I plunged the dagger into the center of his back, digging into the muscles then pulling back the blade. Screaming of pain erupted from the man as when I dug the dagger into his back then yanked it out. He fell down.

The other two turned and charged at me. Unfortunately for them, they were drunk as fuck and barely kept their balance. I stab the jackass on my left in the arm and kicked the other one to the head. Both fell down. I sighed and looked at the bodies, barely a challenge. I yanked out the dagger from the guy's shoulder blade and put it back into my pocket. I kicked the guy in the stomach and all I got was a groan.

God, they were such a waste of flesh!

"E..e..excuse me."

I looked at the wall to see the little girl. Damn it! I forget she was here. No doubt she'll be scarred for life. I bend over and picked her up, whispering in her ear that everything was gonna be alright and I wasn't gonna hurt her. She pointed towards the garbage cans and I saw a medium size red ball with the name 'Emily' written in marker. I handed to her and told her to hold on.

I jumped up, from the ground to the second floor fire escape. My boots made a huge CLACK! sound when it hit the metal that I had to held my breathe, hoping that no one in the building or near the scene heard it. Little Emily clutched my shoulder, whispering prayers to God hoping she'll live, I patted her on the back. I ended up climbing staircases since another jump up would surely give the kid a heart attack. Finally, I reached the fifth floor were her bedroom was, the window wide open.

"Here you are, Emily," I whispered, placing her into her pink-painted room, "Home sweet home, eh."

"Thank you."

"No problem, now go to sleep and don't tell anyone about me or what you saw, ok."

She looked really confused, "Why?"

I smiled and pulled out a cross necklace and placed it in front of her eyes, "Because this is my mission from God, and God says I must not be known. Ok? Now, please go to bed."

She nodded and walked towards her bed. I closed the window as she turned off the light and fell asleep. I waited a few minutes to make sure she really went to sleep and that no one was around. New York was the city that never sleep so it was really rare that streets were empty like this. Hopping up to the rail of the fire escape, I looked for a good spot to land and threw myself off the ledge.

Jumping down to the ground, I stared at the unconscious bodies. They were still drunk and passed out, the two stabbed was bleeding badly and the other one was snoring loudly. I was tempted to just leave them there, but knew my conscious would haunt me if I did. So I dragged them together and, using some of the barb wire I had wrapped around my neck, I tied their arms and legs together.

I fished out their wallets and my iPhone and did a little background check on the three jackass. Idiot one, the big one I stabbed first was Johnny Barker, 31, conviced pedophile and two time offender, never married. Second stabbed jackass, Monny Barker, 39, divorced, father of one, wanted for the rape of a college grad. Third, Alex Price, 29, amateur arsonist and part of a gang call Seven Snakes.

Just the regular garbage of New York. I jogged to the nearest pay phone, dialed 911 and reported the three were laying here, tied up and ready for a prison cell. I hung up when the 911 operator asked me who I was. No money and no method of quick transportation, I ran away from the scene. Luckly, I wasn't that far from the old, broken down church located a bit outside of big city New York.

I was never a fast runner, not exactly track star of my school like that, but somehow, after death, I was more quicker, light on my feet and two miles seemed like two steps to me, despite the freezing air and the falling snow. I reached the church before I even broke a sweat. The St. John's Catholic Church wasn't like those big fancy churches that are found in the middle of the NYC, it was fairly simple, white paint, tall bell tower acted as the entrance and long aisles of pews waiting for morning prayers. It also doubled as a school in the morning, but that was a different story.

I pushed open the heavy oak door, letting in both myself and a few puffs of cold air. Once inside, I closed the door, preventing the snow from coming in and freeze the interior.

"Father Tasker, I've return," I said, my voice echoed through the massive brick structure.

Dropping my blood covered dagger on the floor, letting its clanging noises bounce off the walls, I started marching foward to the were the altar was located while unraveling the barb wire around my neck, careful not to pull any of my stitches. It was a pain in the ass to re-fasten my limbs together. By the time the fuckin' wire was off my neck, I found Father Tasker lighting a few candles at the alter and say a quick prayer under his breath.

Father Tasker was an old man, in his late 50's, early 60's, I think. He looked like those funny grandfathers that rambled on and on about how teens were too wild, corn was too expensive and how earning $20 made you a wealthy man back in his time. But looks were deceiving, and despite his snow white hair and wrinkly skin, he was a strong spiritually and very wise, being the head priest for a decaying church, you often met with a lot of trespassers and vandals coming around, not to mention local gangs looking for new turf, he had a lot of patience with the damage they do. But he doesn't punish them, I do. Harshly. Turning around, he stepped down from the alter and gave me a smile, a real smile.

"Welcome back, Gwendolyn," he answered in his aging voice, "I assume you successful completed another assignment."

"Yes, Father," I replied automatically, getting down on right knee, lowering my head, "Another demon has been destroyed and I managed to save a innocent before she was corrupted."

"Well done, my child," he replied, patting my head like my father did to me when I was a little girl, "Come, Chichi is waiting for you in the basement for you monthly restitching."

I groaned loudly, I loath my restitching appointments with my watcher, but I really had no choice; its either had my stitches redone or have them unravel during battles and lose a limb. It was really embarrassing to have one of my legs or arms fall off.

Father Tasker grabbed my hand and started pulling my towards the hallway; he didn't really have to pull my arm, it's not like I would run away or go against my watcher or Father. I guess it was natural for him, after all, not only is he a priest, but as well as a school teacher to over 50 very stubborn school children.

We exit the church and made way to the forest behind it. My boots along with Father's oxfords crunched the dead leaves and thick snow that laid out in fron of us, dived into the mess of bare, horror-movie ready trees and kept walking straight through for the next ten or so minutes we made it to the church's old abandon bell tower that acted as my hideout and my home. I called it the 'Twisted Tower' cause it looked about ready to fall over, but you'd be surprise how strong and sturdy it is.

"I'll take it you won't run away," asked Father with a sorta of amusement in his voice.

I sighed, "I won't."

"Good girl," he replied and pushed me towards the entrance and became walking back towards the church.

No where to run, wouldn't go against Father Tasker, I pushed open the door and faced the music. There were only two floors in the tower; the ground floor were it was bare, save for a small closet and an dissection table that was in the center of the room, and the top floor which is were my room was and the rope to pull the pull from. I looked around the room, trying to spot Chichi, my watcher.

Here's a little info about Chichi: she's an immortal angel who swore her eternal loyalty and soul to God, Chichi is known as an Ancient, one of the oldest and most powerful angel in her division, a watcher. A watcher is a guardian and teacher for amateur pure soul AKA me, for some reason.

However, it's really hard to take her serious when her mortal form is that of a ten-years-old child. She less than half my size, barely reaching my thigh, with long blonde hair, blue eyes and a lolita style blue dress with a cross necklace. To be blunt, she looked just like the Disney-verson of Alice in Wonderland.

"Gwendolyn Morana Blackwood! Where in the name of the lord were you?"

But she sure doesn't act sweet and naive.

She's very bossy and acts like an overprotective mother, always checking my stitches for loose threads and making sure I don't have any permant scars from my battle. Chichi is also my trainer and her trainning is so brutal it would make Chris's challenge seem like taking a cakewalk. God, I hated her trainning. But I did love her dearly, like a younger sister/best friend. I felt like I've know her for centuries and she said I did. I still don't understand what she meant.

I saw her fly in. Oh, yeah, almost forgot, she has tiny pair of white wings on her back, too. She looked really delicate, but was pretty powerful for her size and had a wit that could cut your mind like my dagger on demon flesh. Her hands were placed on her hips and she had this glaring stare at me. She was pissed off.

"Sorry," I replied, looking down, "I had to save this little girl from being killed."

Chichi's glare dropped and she smiled sweetly at me, she was a sucker for kids, after all: they were inoccent little things.

"Good," she replied, folding her hands on her stomach and dropping herself to the floor, "Very good, Gwendolyn. Now, please undress so we can being restitching your limbs."

Watching Chichi walk into the closet, I began undresses until I was only in my black bra and matching panties. Looking into a mirror, I looked over my stitches on my arms, legs, neck and stomach. I known you are thinking; 'Stitches? Is she hurt? Was she in a accident?' Hurt was not even remotely close to define how I was. But I could think of a perfect one: dead.

Yes, I, Gwendolyn Morana Blackwood, am dead. Or at left half dead. I'm kinda like a mixture of Frankenstein and a zombie. It was a prank gone wrong by my 'friends' that left me like this, with ugly, thick stitches that keeps my limbs connected, my organs don't work anymore so I don't need to drink or eat or go to the bathroom. When I go to battle, I get stabbed, cut and shot multiple times and I don't feel a thing and I can't feel heat and I'm ice cold to the touch. But make no mistake, I'm not some freakin' zombie, I don't eat flesh and definately don't crave brain. I can still eat normal food, but I don't gain weight from it.

So I'm kinda like a shell with a soul. But again I'm not a zombie nor am I female Frankenstein, I'm still me, just dead. Kinda. I never really got this I'm-dead-but-I'm-not thing my watcher been telling me. She's says I'm a holy being. Tsk, yeah right. Take one good look at me and you'll think I'm a monster. Skin pure white, hair changes colors whenever I want and grows way to fast for my liking, too, icy cold blue lips, stitches all over me, and my eyes...they were the only things that were left alone that made me look slightly human.

On cue, my tiny,child-like watcher came back out with her pink purse that contain the needles and threads she needed to fix me up. Next to being my guardian and teacher, Chichi was also my doctor and a extremely strict doctor at that.

"You've certainly done a number on yourself Gwen," scoled Chichi, pulling on the loose threads on my left wrist.

Unraveling the black stitches, my left hand fell to the floor with a muffled thud on the dusty wooden floor. Chichi picked thr fallen limb and walked over to the dissection table that stood in the center of the room. I followed my tiny, winged watcher and jumped on the metal table, laying myself down on it. Putting the severed hand in front of my empty wrist, Chichi pulled out a pink seam ripper from her purse and started ripping several stitches on my body, making sure not to cut any of my skin, not that it matter. I would never feel it.

Signing, I turned my head to the stone wall as Chichi began restitching my limbs with a sharp needle and thick black thread. Dealing with crooks, robbers, murders, and demons were seriously taking its toll on me. It had only been eight months since my death and my resurrection back inside my cut-up body into a stitched duty-bound reaper of sinners and demons. I know, sounds like something out of some noir comic book geeks read with big breasted women and 'cool' looking men, but this is serious shit. Because of what I did I'm forced to stay inside this dead, cut-up, stitched-like-a-rag-doll body for the rest of eternity.

"There!" chirped Chichi, "All done! Now, try to stand up, Gwen."

I started lifting my arms, making sure I still had full funtion of it. I really hated my body, it like being one of those pop on/off limbs dolls, take off one limb and put on a 'nother one, a better one. But unlike dolls, I stayed with my old limbs. My stupid, broken, dead limbs.

I swung my legs over the table and jumped off. I swayed a bit, but I managed to stay on my feet. Doing a few high kicks, punched the air a bit, cartwheel, backflips and all that shit, none of limbs fell off and felt pretty secure with the newly made stitches. Chichi nodded at her handiwork and started putting away her sewing supplies.

"Thanks," I mumured, doing one last kick.

"My pleasure, Gwendolyn," Chichi smiled.

Putting my dirty clothes in the hamper and handing me my now clean weapons, I walked pass my watcher and towards the back door. Opening it revealed a long spiral stone staircase connected to the wall. Whispering goodnight, I walked up the stairs and didn't stop 'till I reach the top where my room was.

Opening the beautifully carved wooden door, I pushed it open and enter into this huge room that was my bedroom ever since coming to New York. Shades of brown colored the room nicely, the ceiling had a ribbed vault, and wooden floor is perfectly polished. Not only was this my bedroom, but it also doubled as my studio, hence all my paintings, the finished ones anyway, was hung on the wall. I walked over to my antique dresser and pulled out my pjs, which was just a black camisole and long black pants.

I jumped onto my bed and stared at the ceiling. I forgot to tell you that my ceiling had been stained with demon blood I slaughter this morning when it tried to kill me in my sleep. Chichi had clean the floor and walls, but forgot the ceiling. I spotted the skin and bits of muscles and organs clinging to the surface while the blood was beginning to dry.

PLOP!

Ugh! I stand corrected. The blood wasn't dry and a drop just hit my forehead. Wiping it away, I pulled the covers over my head and closed my eyes. I began counting sheep and thinking of things that made me happy, like Chris head on a pike. I started to recap what happen to me.

My friends killed me.

I was resurrected back inside my body.

I have to fight demons.

I have to protect the people of New York

No one must ever know I exist.

"Just another normal day for me."

...

Stitched Up - Notes

Gwen has a total of ten stitches: two on both of her arms, two on each leg, on her neck, and stomach. The rest of her unstitched body and skin can heal itself. I'll explain the reason for it later in the story

This is the prologue to this story. It's not much, just an explaination and visual on how Gwen goes about her days since her death/resurrection. It's a short chapter (at least to me) and I think I rushed it a bit, but I promise the next one will be longer.

As the story goes go, you'll meet the new friends Gwen made, the enemies she has and find out how exactly how she died, but that won't be for another few chapters. Hopefully, you guy like it.

NEXT: Chapter 1 - Needle & Thread

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