Chapter I: Is This How We Got Here?

Calabasas, California

"We're so happy to finally see you, Ms. Charles! Please, take a seat on the couch."

Gwen shook hands with the suit-wearing man before shuffling across the table from him. The leather on the sofas looked pristine, a little too pristine for her tastes, and the table gave the appearance of being worth more then the GDP of a small country.

"Are you the executive that we've been in contact with?" Gwen asked, "Uh… Jonathan Curtis is your name, right?"

"Why yes, I am, but please, call me Jonny. I know you might not believe it, but we do want you to think of us as friends."

Jonny was right, she didn't believe it. How could she though, she was here to sign a record contract, not to bond over similar preference in décor. Though she certainly wouldn't have minded if the couches were a little less ostentatious… maybe it would've made her feel a bit more comfortable.

"Oh, how silly of me, I didn't ask you if you wanted a drink," Jonny chuckled, "We could get you coffee, tea, water…"

"Actually, now that you mention it, I would like a coffee," Gwen said, "It was a long flight."

"Eileen, could you please make us both a coffee!" Jonny shouted towards his kitchen, "So, hopefully we have the pleasantries out of the way now, though if there's anything you need please feel free to speak up."

"Uh, yeah, no problem I guess," Gwen said nervously. Just looking at Jonny, she saw a man sitting confidently across from her, with a perfectly coiffed suit, a dangling gold chain, and a gleam across his face. He came to battle, and this was a battle he'd fought, and won, before. Gwen, on the other hand, didn't even so much as have an agent, let alone any experience with these kinds of stakes.

"So, I listened to Red Eye all the way through," he said, referring to Gwen's free mixtape, "And I must say I was impressed by the ingenuity, even if the production quality left something to be desired."

"And that's where you come in, I'm guessing," Gwen said.

"I knew you were a smart girl," he said, "Here at Pacific Sound we can provide you with professional quality production to match your unique sound."

As Jonny finished that sentence, Eileen brought around the cups of coffee, complete with a tray of sugar, cream, and the like. He thanked her, then took a gentle sip from the cup. Gwen merely poured a packet of sugar in hers and lazily stared at it.

"I will be able to bring my team though, right?" Gwen asked, "Trent and Knox are just as much a part of Gwen Charles as I am, I don't think I'll be able to do any of this without them."

"Oh, for sure, we can accommodate your in-house production team," Jonny said, "By the same token though, it wouldn't hurt you to branch out a little, right? I mean even Drake works with people other then 40 sometimes, no?"

"Right…" Gwen said, not completely convinced.

"And of course, the other musical aspect we can give you is a lane to market yourself in," Jonny said, "You have a mixtape that went viral and that everyone loved, but people still aren't quite sure what to think of you. Are you going to be the next SZA? Are you going to try and market yourself as a female version of The Weeknd?"

"Yeah, about that," Gwen said, finally taking a slow sip of her drink, "Look, whenever I see comments about my music on Reddit or wherever, its always a comparison to another contemporary artist; like 'oh, she's the white SZA' or whatever. But I don't want to be the next whoever, firstly because its not who I am, but also because isn't that just dooming me to lower monetary returns then any of them?"

"You're precisely right Gwen; god I love a woman who knows how to talk business," Jonny chuckled, making Gwen feel even smaller in her seat then she already did. "So, I actually have a unique angle from which you can work from."

"Hmm, and that would be?"

"Well, you used to be a reality star, right? Total Drama Island, if I'm not mistaken."

"Uh… yeah. Why?"

"Don't you think that could work as a pitch?" Jonny asked, "Reality show diva turned alt-R&B critical darling. Folks will be ceaselessly wondering; how did this happen? What changed in this intervening 5 years that changed you from a fake star to a real one?"

"Okay, I wasn't a diva on Total Drama Island," Gwen said, "I was the goth chick. I'm still the goth chick."

"Yeah yeah, its just buried beneath this layer of self-conscious artificial showbiz and bottled blonde dye," Jonny said, "Apologies, sweetheart, but I've heard this tale before."

"Not even buried," Gwen countered, "I mean what's more goth then tricking stupid record execs into thinking you've gone Hollywood because you dyed your hair."

Gwen quickly realized what she'd said, however, and tried to make nice: "Uh, I didn't mean you, I meant like other record executives…"

"Well, you certainly are full of surprises," Jonny said, "Though don't even think about saying that again. But onto the matter at hand, I sense some resistance my idea."

"Yeah. Look, I had a lot of bad experiences with Total Drama, and I really don't want to rip open old scabs."

"I understand that," Jonny said, "And look, if we were meeting in a neutral setting, person-to-person, I'd give you a big hug and tell you that you never have to speak about your experiences until you feel comfortable doing so. But look, this is the entertainment industry, and like it or not ripping open old scabs is a goldmine."

"Maybe, but what about the toll it takes on my psyche."

"What happened, happened, Ms. Charles," Jonny said, "These events will continue to plague your psyche no matter what. But it seems to me you have a choice here; either you can suffer in silence, or you can use your pain and trauma to make us shitloads of money. Actually, no, forget me, to make you shitloads of money."

Gwen said nothing and squirmed a little, so Jonny continued.

"Besides, won't you be able to afford better therapists once you're rich?"

"I suppose so," Gwen said hesitantly, "Alright, you win."

Jonny smirked, "Excellent. Ooh but one more thing though."

"What's that?"

"Well, I quite like your outfit," he said, glaring up and down and Gwen's business suit, "Its very professional and it actually suits you well, pun intended of course."

"Yes," Gwen said, "But…?"

"But, as I said when we first met, we're all friends here at Pacific. You can wear something a little more casual, a little more, uh, free-spirited if you catch my drift."

"Oh," Gwen said.

"Hell, you're about to be a popstar, girl," Jonny said, "Go wild, get creative. But not right now, right now its contract signing time."

"Wait, hold on just a sec," Gwen said, "I need to talk to a lawyer first, right?"

"Oh, certainly," Jonny said, "We'll provide you with one of our top-notch in house lawyers to boot."

"Uh…" Gwen said.

"Oh, I get it, you're worried about prices, right?" Jonny said, "Don't worry, our rates are much cheaper then anything you'll get from outside Pacific Sound."

"Jonny, its not the rates I'm worried about," Gwen said, "If you have your lawyers reviewing your contract, how am I supposed to know if its fair, or hell even if its legal? There's a conflict of interest is what I'm saying."

"Okay, I see where you're coming from," Jonny said, "But keep this in mind as well: since its our offer, we have the legal right to rescind it at any time until you put your name on the dotted line. So, you can leave the house, take the contract home, and study it with as many lawyers as you can get if you so choose, but let's not forget that when you return the next day, the terms and conditions might change."

At this point, Gwen was beginning to feel like the uncomfortable and alien décor was at least partially intentional, a deliberate attempt to make the employee feel out of her league and perhaps even a little unwelcome. Or if that wasn't a deliberate aesthetic choice, it was definitely a happy accident on Pacific's part.

"If you need to think about it I can give you a little time; 10, 15, 20 minutes if you so choose. I of course can't be here the whole day-"

At this moment, Eileen popped her head back into the living room. This seemed to surprise Jonny, though he regained his composure startlingly quickly. Gwen, on the other hand, stayed confused.

"The boss would like to see you upstairs, Ms. Charles," Eileen said in a noticeable Latino accent, though Gwen had no way of nailing the region down any more specifically.

"Is everything alright?" Jonny asked.

"Yes, everything's fine," Eileen continued, "This won't take too long, he's just looking to have a few words."

"Well, it looks like this is where we part ways, at least for now," Jonny said to Gwen while holding his right arm out, "It was a pleasure meeting you, and I hope everything goes as smoothly as possible with the big man."

"Yeah, likewise," Gwen said and shook his hand, but she wasn't really paying attention. Who was the boss, why did he want to speak with her, and why did something about this feel not quite right?

"Right this way please, Ms. Charles," Eileen said, and guided the other girl up two flights of stairs to a dimly-lit hallway on the third floor.

"Enter the second door on your left and please wait, the boss will be with you momentarily," Eileen said, but just before Gwen turned the knob she also added "oh, and good luck."

Good luck? What the hell? Okay, this was beginning to get strange, but Gwen really wasn't in a position to argue. Its probably just nerves and a tense conversation with Jonny getting to me, she thought.

Gwen shut the door behind her and turned around to find, well, nothing. The room was pitch black dark, and also strangely warmer then the rest of the house, so Gwen naturally began looking for a light switch. She did actually find one just about a foot left of the door, but it did nothing, and she couldn't see further into the room to tell if there was another one. She also began feeling really lightheaded all of a sudden, like she'd just stepped into a wall of humidity, only somehow angrier, like the heat was being directed at her. Then, seemingly without warning, her legs began to give out and last she remembered falling… falling…

Burnaby, British Columbia

"Hello, welcome to Chipotle, can I take your order?"

"Actually, I'm looking to speak to the manager," the customer inquired.

"That would be me. Can I help you with something?"

"Yes actually, my husband ordered a burrito bowl from your location yesterday, and it was overstuffed with lettuce. Do you remember who made his food?"

"Uh… no, unfortunately I do not. But I'll make sure to remind all of our workers to stick to the Chipotle standard amount of lettuce. Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

The customer then glared curiously at the worker for a few seconds, saying nothing. After what seemed like eons, she finally spoke.

"Are you sure you're the manager…" she paused to check the nametag, "Bridgette. You look awfully young."

"Yes, I'm quite sure, but I appreciate your concern," Bridgette said with a smile.

"I only bring that up because its customary for Chipotle to give a full refund to anyone who's unsatisfied with their purchase here, but I guess you young people do things differently."

"Ma'am, with all due respect, that's never been our policy. But, uh, if you're looking to purchase something today we can give you a 20% discount."

"So you won't mind if I go ahead and phone up the owner of this establishment, right?" the lady said, "I'm sure he'll be delighted to hear that one of his employees was giving a loyal customer a hassle."

Bridgette sighed in resignation, "Alright, I will get you your full refund. Do you have the receipt for your husband's purchase?"

"Why would I carry that?" the lady asked, "Food isn't tax deductible."

"That's not why I- you know what, forget it. Do you remember what he ordered?"

"Well, it was a burrito bowl, I know that."

"Yes, you mentioned that," Bridgette said, "But as you can see on the menu, burrito bowls are priced differently depending on which meat you order. Also, if he got any sides or a drink that would increase the price as well, so that's relevant information here too."

At this point the lady was getting visibly flustered, "Well how am I supposed to remember that?"

"That's why I asked about the receipt," Bridgette said, "But if you can't remember, I'm just going to refund the price of a chicken bowl with no sides. We have a bit of a line forming, and neither of us want to spend all day standing here guessing, no?"

"And short change me? Yeah, I don't think so!" the lady said, "You know what, keep your money. We'll just be taking our business elsewhere."

And with her last word, the lady stormed off, rendering their conversation absolutely pointless and leaving a sad, bewildered Bridgette with nothing but her own thoughts and the quickly forming lineup that looked like it was starting to get annoyed with her.

"Welcome to Chipotle, can I take your order?" Bridgette asked quickly, "And sorry for the wait."

Once the line had cleared up a bit and the restaurant was quiet, Bridgette quietly slinked off to the backroom where she encountered one of her workers nibbling on her sandwich. Bridgette pulled up a chair next to her, put her head in her hands and just sighed. For like a good five minutes.

"Can you believe these fucking people?" she said, "You did see what happened, right?"

"Oh yes, it was horrible," the worker said, albeit through a thick Indian accent, "She was really just a nightmare."

"I just don't understand how anyone can go through life like that. How does that lady not look at herself in the mirror one day and just think 'hey, am I like a monster or something?'"

The other girl laughed.

"Anyway, at least I'm done in an hour," Bridgette said, "You're closing up tonight, right Rupinder?"

"Right," Rupinder said, "And you're opening tomorrow?"

"Correct. Ugh, I am so not looking forward to being here at 8 in the morning."

"I know," Rupinder said, "Like I always hear my alarm go off, and I just think like 'one more hour please.'"

"I usually just wish I was surfing, god its been too damn long," Bridgette said, "Anyways, I gotta get back out to the front, see you in 10 when your break's done."

The remainder of Bridgette's shift went pretty uneventfully, Chipotle customers are pretty frequently a pain, but these ones weren't really any more painful then normal. Finally, the clock struck 7, which meant Bridgette could finally start packing up and head home. But just after she punched out, she was stopped by Rupinder.

"Hey, sorry if its an awkward time, but like, what happened with you and surfing?"

"Oh," Bridgette said, "Uh, well, at first it was my right knee, I kept having problems with that shit. Nothing debilitating or anything like that, but just minor issues that prevented me from heading out to the waters. Nowadays my knee is fine, but… well, y'know," she continued, pointing to her tummy.

"Oh, of course," Rupinder laughed, "I was just curious cause I knew you as like the surfer girl, right? But you never really brought it up until now."

"Wait how would you- oh, from the show?" Bridgette asked, "Total Drama Island; try as hard as I can I can't escape its lumbering shadow."

"Oh I'm sorry if I'm bringing back bad memories," Rupinder quickly added.

"No its fine, I don't mind talking about it," Bridgette said, "Like it or not, it's a part of my history, right? Anyway, I gotta head out now, but if you're interested in knowing more about surfing feel free to hit me up."

"Right, definitely," Rupinder said softly as she turned away from the blonde girl.

Bridgette watched the front door swing close behind her as she began walking home. She was lucky, she lived close enough to home that she could walk, and it didn't look like it was going to rain tonight, though with Vancouver weather you never know for sure. It was weird that Bridgette would think like this, but she often felt bad whenever she left Rupinder to close up for the night. Not that she wasn't capable of it, Bridgette knew she was. But, well, she was the shift manager, and she felt weird leaving her trainee to just pick up the pieces for her. Still though, she needed her rest for tomorrow and she wasn't about to give that up to appease her lingering guilt.

As she was walking down the street, Bridgette felt a rubber ball hit her in the leg. This wasn't terribly unusual, there were children who lived around here, and it wasn't uncommon for one of them to be accidentally intrusive. But when she picked up the ball and looked around to seek out who's it was, she instead found a small boy, perhaps around 6 or 7, blankly staring at her. Likewise this wasn't super bizarre, children are wont to stare at things and people for no reason sometimes, but there was something about this boy that felt a little bit… off.

"Uh, hi," Bridgette said kindly, "I'm guessing this is yours."

The boy said nothing. He did not move around or indicate in any way that he was aware she spoke. He simply kept staring.

"Alright, maybe not," Bridgette said, "Do you speak English?"

Again, no response. Even kids who weren't necessarily fluent in English yet would've known she was saying something. She also wondered if he might've been deaf, but again he would've seen her lips move and registered that she was at least trying to communicate. So Bridgette concluded this was most likely just a child being weird for no reason and decided to cut her losses.

"Well, alright, I'm just gonna put this back down next to you." Which she did, but as soon as the ball hit the pavement Bridgette found herself airborne. She had no idea what pushed her or why, it felt almost more like she was tossed but no one ever grabbed her. All she remembered was flying through the air as her eyelids grew increasingly heavy, and then falling… falling…

Mississauga, Ontario

A man stood waiting in the kitchen. He wasn't wearing much, just a bathrobe with a small knapsack slung over his shoulder. And he looked impatient, like he was waiting for someone to do something for him, whatever that happened to be. He was a pretty good-looking dude, tall and muscular, but his face belied his concern.

To his left he saw a young woman, also wearing a bathrobe, enter the kitchen through the living room. At first he perked up, as if her presence had solved whatever he was waiting for, but his attitude soon reversed when it became clear she was not pleased to see him.

"Oh, you're still here?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah," he said, "I thought we were gonna do breakfast."

The woman stroked her chin and looked upon him pityingly, "Look, I think you're confusing me with your ex-bitch. Its an understandable mistake, so let me clarify: the sun is up, so you need to get the fuck out of my apartment. Oh, and I'll need my bathrobe back too."

"Wait, seriously?" the guy said, "I'm just a pump and dump to you?"

"Yeah, pretty much," the woman replied, "Later Carl."

"Okay, I know you know my name is DeSean," he said, "We went over this like three times last night- the fuck has gotten into you this morning?"

"Look, I did tell you last night I was no good, but did you listen? No, you wanted to tap that ass so badly you didn't even listen to my warnings. Now, here's what I want: I wanna see you hand me back my robe, and I wanna see your black ass walk out that door. Put your pants back on or not, I really don't care."

"Fucking Christ Courtney, you're an even bigger bitch then my ex."

"Yeah well, I'm sure," Courtney said, "If its any consolation, your dick is bigger then my ex's, though you apparently catch feelings even easier."

DeSean eventually walked out the door, though not without cussing at Courtney pretty much the entire way. She didn't mind though, or at least she wanted not to mind. She kinda liked the guy, honestly, and as she suggested he was a pretty good lay. But she absolutely just did not want a relationship right now, and if that meant DeSean hated her forever then so be it. Better him hate her now then hate her after six months of extremely uncomfortable dates, right?

Thing is, Courtney wasn't lying earlier, she wasn't good for people and she knew it. Her main priority these days, at least as far as her social life went, was getting a dick inside her, the person the dick was attached to be damned. Now this wouldn't really be an issue if she was just up front about that, but DeSean wasn't the first guy she led on, accidentally or otherwise, and he almost certainly wouldn't be the last. She sorta liked it when they got attached, when they felt like it meant more to them then it did to her. She never wanted to intentionally kill anyone's self-esteem, but yeah, thinking about it maybe her fun wasn't the most ethical.

Oh well, Courtney thought, personally I blame Duncan for this. She was just a sweet innocent girl once upon a time, or at least that's how it felt in hindsight. Then along came that fucking TV show, and with it came Duncan, who awakened things in her she had never felt before, and then promptly broke her heart. Or maybe she broke is… it was a long time ago; the point is that it didn't work out and it was really awful and now Courtney is a ruthless man-eater because of it. Okay, that's not completely fair, she knew she would have to take at least some responsibility for her own actions. But she maintained that had she never met that guy, she'd probably have a very different and much healthier relationship with men. Alas.

Before Courtney could continue down this train of thought, however, she heard her ring tone go off. She looked at her display name and saw that it was apparently Jared, one of her coworkers. Why he'd be calling at 7:30 in the morning on a Saturday was a mystery, albeit one that Courtney was about to find out.

"Hey," Courtney said, "What's up."

"Boss wants you in this morning," Jared said.

"What!?" Courtney exclaimed, "But its Saturday."

"I'm well aware," Jared said, "Apparently we're training a bunch of new interns today, and there aren't that many people qualified to actually do that."

Courtney sighed, "Why did nobody tell me this beforehand?"

"Boss was probably busy," Jared said.

"Too busy to tell his employees he needs them until the morning of, I guess," Courtney said.

"Hey, cut him some slack, he's a hardworking man," Jared said.

"Sure Jared. What time does he want me in for?"

"The sooner the better, is what he said."

Courtney sighed dramatically, "Alright Jared, I'll help your daddy out with his little intern problem."

"Okay, do you mean daddy in the parental way or daddy in the sex way because in either case-"

"Yes," Courtney said, "See ya soon, Jared."

Courtney hung up her phone, grabbed her keys and was ready to roll before having a startling realization, namely that she wasn't actually wearing any clothes and she didn't think anyone would be too pleased if she showed up to work in a bathrobe. Well, maybe the weird perverts in accounting on Level 5, but they don't count.

Okay, leaving the house, take 2: Courtney, now fully clothed, grabbed her phone and her keys and found her way out of the condo to her car parked in the basement. Lot A, Spot 56, just how she liked it, anything else would be obscene of course. After waiting a few moments to deal with an irritatingly slow family of ducks, Courtney finally revved up her engine on her new Nissan and then all of a sudden she felt unbelievably drowsy. She imagined this was probably because of the late night she has yesterday, thanks to Jared for making her hungover ass go to work unexpectedly, but it was kinda weird for it to hit her all of a sudden like this. Well, all she could really do at this point was power through it and hope it works for the best, which is exactly what she did. Lord help us all.

Courtney wasn't that worried. It wasn't that far from her condo to the BMO office she worked at. All she had to do was manage to keep her composure for, like, 12 or 85 more minutes, or something, then she could grab a coffee and deal with the repercussions of too much coffee later. As of right now, those repercussions were usually 'getting judged by goddamn weirdos.'

Okay, come on Courtney, you can do this, she told herself.

But what if you can't? What if you fall asleep at the wheel and crash?

You can't do that. You won't let yourself do that. You need this job, and you need this promotion.

Wait, why do we think there's a promotion at the end of this? Bosses do randomly dickish things all the time, that doesn't mean there's going to be an award for it larger then not getting canned.

"Okay stop," Courtney told the voices in her head, "I need to concentrate on the- I need- concentrate-"

…

Wake up!

Courtney awoke with a start. A frazzled, panicked start in which Courtney was driving, behind the wheel of her car, and she suddenly realized she'd been out for god knows how long. Okay… okay, she was still in her car, nothing was broken or damaged, the cops weren't coming after her, and it even looked like she was still heading in the right direction. Wonderful, somehow she dozed off for a minute or nine and ended up in an even better spot then she started out in. Now, the downside of course was that she was still incredibly exhausted, and she was beginning to feel kinda light-headed too. That certainly wasn't good, maybe it was time to pull over and grab a coffee now, at least if there was a Tim Horton's or a Starbucks nearby. Which of course there was, this was Greater Toronto, there was practically one of those things on every block, right? Didn't look like it at the moment though, she was still in a condo corridor. But if there were condos around here then that probably meant… Courtney lost her train of thought as the wooziness began to increase. Okay, at this point there was definitely something wrong and she'd almost certainly have to pull over but last thing she recalled she was still driving… driving…

Los Angeles, California

"Lindsay, we need to talk."

"Okay, can we talk about how good your mascara looks today?" Lindsay countered, "Because, like, wow is that a shade that suits you, Michelle."

"Thank you, I actually wasn't sure about this colour but I've gotten a lot of compliments about it," Michelle replied, "But unfortunately, we have to talk about the sales for your new makeup line."

Lindsay looked dejected already, "They're bad, aren't they?"

"Yeah, they're not great. And I know this was a passion project for you, but-"

"I really thought this could be something," Lindsay said, "We even came up with a great name for it- Lindsay's Kisses. Playful and seductive, but not sleezy."

"It is a great name," Michelle said, "And the product is good, reviews from those who've actually bought it are generally on the positive side. The problem, well, the problem is-"

"No one remembers who I am anymore," Lindsay said bluntly.

"Now there, that's not true," Michelle said, "In fact, if anything your hits on Google Search engine and on your YouTube channel have actually been trending upwards over the past few months."

"Over the past few months, maybe," Lindsay said, "But, like, how many people didn't even know that Lindsay's Kisses were from Lindsay Houston. How many people thought they were from, like, Lindsay Lohan, or some other famous Lindsay."

"…quite a few," Michelle admitted, "Admittedly, it's a pretty common name."

Lindsay cupped her head in her hands and stared at the ground, "So, are they cancelling the line?"

"What? No, of course not," Michelle said, "I'd never let them fuck you over like that. We just need to figure out how to sell it better."

"Maybe I need to change my appearance," Lindsay said, "I mean I already got the new haircut." She said pointing to her short, messy hairdo dyed jet black.

"Yeah, I saw that," Michelle said, "You know, I wasn't sure if you could pull of short hair before, but I like it. I do have to say though, I think short hair plus your giant tits give you like unfathomable dyke powers."

"Well that's the plan, baby," Lindsay said, before coming onto a realization, "Wait a minute, maybe that's an angle we can work from."

Michelle began to think for a bit, "I think I got it! Maybe I could appear in your videos and your ads with you and we could market Lindsay's Kisses as a two for one package? I mean a makeup line by a queer woman is one thing, but by a lesbian couple? That's pretty new, and people will be interested."

"Yeah, but that means coming out to the public," Lindsay said, "And I'm really not sure I'm ready to do that yet."

"You don't think they already suspect it?" Michelle asked, "I mean we're always together for one thing."

"They don't know you," Lindsay said, "And they barely know me. What they remember most is The Show, where I was a ditzy blonde with a crush on a cute jock. Going from that to big tiddy punk lesbian… well it's kind of a conceptual leap, y'know?"

Lindsay then began chuckling to herself, prompting Michelle to inquire what was up.

"You remember Gwen from The Show, right? The goth chick?"

"Yeah, why?" Michelle asked.

"Well she's like an underground R&B legend now, and I'm following her on Instagram and she dyed her hair blonde and is wearing like skimpy dresses and whatnot. I should hit her up and tell her I'm more goth then she is now."

"How do you think she'd react?"

"I think she'd laugh," Lindsay said, "I remember Gwen having a sense of humour. Though maybe I'm confusing her with Courtney."

"Somehow I don't think you are," Michelle said, "Anyway, so that's our pitch? Two lesbians selling makeup together?

Lindsay sighed, once again prompting Michelle to probe.

"I just don't want it to feel cynical though," Lindsay said, "Lindsay's Kisses come from the heart and- you know, on second thought, saying it out loud like that, maybe its not such a great name?"

"No, no, its fine, trust me its wonderful," Michelle said.

"Alright, I trust you," Lindsay replied, "But anyways, if this is going to be a project about queer women, then it needs to really be about queer women. We can't just use queerness to sell our shit, we have to, like, give back to the LGBT community, right? That's what I mean about it not feeling cynical."

"Right, of course," Michelle said, "Sorry, I guess I've been an ad executive for too long, I think I don't really think of things from a human perspective the way you do. You're the artist, and I'm just the saleswoman."

"But that's why we work well together, because we have two different perspectives," Lindsay said, "Hell, that's why we're with each other, right?"

"Well yeah," Michelle said, "That, and because I could play with those fucking titties like all night."

Lindsay blushed and said nothing.

"So what do you mean by 'give back to the LGBT community'?" Michelle asked.

"I don't know," Lindsay said, "Like, show support to those who blazed the trail? Maybe read up on, like, the Steelwall Riots, show folks I've done my homework."

"Steelwall?" Michelle asked.

"Yeah," Lindsay said, "Is- is that not what they were called?"

"Are you referring to the Stonewall Riots?"

"Argh," Lindsay said frustratedly, "Okay, I'm way out of my depth here. What the fuck was I even thinking about, Michelle. I'm not an activist, I'm just a reality show has-been."

A few tears began to roll out of Lindsay's eyes, and upon noticing this Michelle rose up out of her chair, grabbed her younger partner and held her in as tight an embrace as she could.

"I'm sorry I'm such a blubbering mess today," Lindsay said.

"No, I understand, its been a tough couple of weeks," Michelle replied, "But you're tough as nails, and you'll get through this."

"Don't you mean we'll get through this?" Lindsay teased, to which Michelle responded with an eye-roll and a laugh-snort.

"There are a lot of details to hash out," Michelle added, "But in the meantime, would you like to take a 40-to-90-minute break? Sometimes in life I find I need to take some time off and, uh, let myself go to get the creative juices flowing."

"Just the creative juices?" Lindsay asked slyly.

"Well no, not just those," Michelle replied, "In fact, if you're feeling up to it I have a few-"

At that moment the door to the boardroom swung open and in popped a… maid? At least, she was dressed like a maid, but neither woman had ever seen her before nor did they hire anyone to clean anything.

"The sponsors would like to speak to you, Ms. Houston," the maid said.

"Sorry, I don't mean to be rude but would you mind telling me…"

"My name is Eileen," the maid said, "But that's not really important. The important part is that the sponsors of Lindsay's Kisses are holding a meeting downstairs and they require your presence, Ms. Houston. And exclusively Ms. Houston, if that's not too much trouble."

Lindsay looked toward her girlfriend for guidance, who smiled back at her, "Just go ahead. You know where to find me when you get back."

"Of course," Lindsay said, and reluctantly followed Eileen out of the boardroom and down the stairs. In a way, Lindsay felt relieved she had a guide to take her to the correct room, as she often got disoriented by the building's interior design. That tends to happen with indistinguishable masses of stainless steel though, they try so hard to be hip and modern that they end up just kinda looking goofy and confusing patrons, or at least that's how Lindsay saw it. Perhaps that was just an imprint from her Kitchener roots though, and had she grown up in Toronto or Los Angeles where people actually live inside these New Age monstrosities she might be better equipped to-

"Uh, Ms. Houston? It's actually the next room over."

Lindsay peered over her shoulder to realize she'd wandered haplessly into the wrong room. Again.

"Oh… right. Sorry," Lindsay said, awkwardly making her way into the dimly lit room where Eileen currently stood.

"So, who exactly wants to speak to me, and would you happen to know why?" Lindsay continued.

"Unfortunately I wasn't privy to that information," Eileen said, "I'm just a worker bee, of course. I was simply asked to make sure you wait in here until the rest of the party arrives."

And with that Eileen left, shutting the door behind her and leaving Lindsay alone to contemplate her thoughts. The whole thing was very strange and short notice, wasn't it? Like, was it normal for shareholders to suddenly show up like that and whisk her away from her bae? No, it couldn't be, right? But maybe it was, after all what did Lindsay know about marketing? Perhaps there was an urgent new development that they just had to talk to her about; yeah, that seemed the most likely case. Well, whatever it was, she hoped that didn't mean her beauty line was in jeopardy, she'd worked so hard and jumped through so many hoops, and to just have it vanish like that… well she tried not to think of it.

Actually, Lindsay was trying not to think of anything at all. Maybe it was just the confusion or maybe it was about being alone in a dark room, but she began to feel strangely light-headed and out of sorts. This was pretty atypical for Lindsay, but she responded by sitting down and hoping that would take care of things; it didn't. Perhaps she just needed some water; she looked around and there wasn't any. Or maybe it was there but her vision doubled so severely that she could barely see anything at all. She also began to notice a strange light fog in the corners, or at least that was the way it felt through her blurred vision. Last thing she remembered was running for the door, with the space between the centre desk and the exit seeming to stretch on for a light year and then everything faded to black.

Scarborough, Ontario

"Heather!"

She heard her name called by her manager. She chose to ignore it.

"Heather, where are you?"

Once again, Heather did not respond. She really just wasn't in the mood for this shit today.

"Heather Anno, I need to talk to you this instance!"

Ugh. Okay, he very clearly wasn't going away, looks like she'd have to deal with this shit after all.

"I'm in the back," Heather called out "Also, please don't shout my full name at me when your mad, you sound like my mother."

"Why are you in the back," her manager shouted as he stormed into the lunchroom, "You literally just got off break an hour ago?"

"Because there's no one here," Heather said, "It's midnight, nobody wants a fucking tuna sub at midnight, Stuart."

"You don't know that," Stuart replied, "There's plenty of clubbers out tonight, it is Saturday after all."

"That's what Taco Bell is for," Heather said without skipping a beat.

Stuart sighed heavily, "Okay fine, but why aren't you cleaning up then?"

"Already did, I finished mopping about half an hour ago," Heather said, glancingly longingly at her phone sitting on the table.

"Then why aren't you doing inventory?" Stuart said.

"Quinn did that before she left," Heather said, "I promise you, everything is taken care of. You can go home now."

"Quinn's shift ended at 10," Stuart said, "We've had several customers since then, and I'd like you to please re-do it. There's always something you can be doing instead of sitting on your phone wasting time."

"Sure, but what if I'd rather be sitting on my phone wasting time," Heather posited.

"Well I'm glad, Heather," Stuart said, "But you're not being paid to do that."

"And you're not being paid to be ugly, yet you still manage to find time to do that," Heather replied.

This wasn't the first time she'd mocked Stuart's looks to his face, and just about every time she did that it made him extremely mad. And looking into his eyes, today was clearly no exception.

"You know I could fire you right now," Stuart fumed, "And absolutely no one here will miss you."

"Perhaps, but then you'd have to find someone else willing to spend Saturday nights inside a sandwich shop," Heather replied, "Besides, I'm going back to Ryerson in September anyhow, so you only have to deal with a few more months of me. I'm sure your fragile ego will manage."

Tired of talking to her boss, Heather picked up her phone and began scrolling through her Twitter feed.

"Heather, I'm not leaving until you start inventory," Stuart said.

Alright, now that was a threat with consequences too grave for her to handle. Unfortunately, the sad reality of the modern workplace is that the boss will always find a way to win, or at least force you to be miserable along with them.

"Alright, I'll get to it right away," Heather said.

"Thank you. And please leave the report on my desk when you're done, and of course hand your key over to Michael when he starts his shift at 6."

"Yes, mom," Heather said.

"Given what a lovely, exotic creature your mother is, I'll take that as a complement," Stuart said slyly, and Heather visibly shuddered.

"Anyways, I must be heading out now," Stuart finally said, beginning to march toward the door before briefly turning around, "Oh yes, and Heather? One more thing."

"What's up," she said, trying not to sound annoyed.

"Please don't let anyone see you on your phone, it's really embarrassing for me."

"Don't worry, as I said no one's coming," Heather said.

Stuart took a couple more paces towards the door before stopping again.

"Oh, and please don't bring a bunch of your friends in here to hang out. This is Subway, not a bar."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Heather replied quickly.

"You sure about that? Because I've heard reports from people that you definitely have dreamed about it. And by that, I mean you've done it in real life."

"Don't know what you're talking about," Heather said again, "Anyway bye Stu, say hi to the wifey- ooh, right. Uh… say hi to your cat for me?"

"I swear to god if you ever use me as a reference I will…" the rest of his sentence was lost to Heather as he slumped out the door and shuffled away. Thank heavens, he was finally gone.

'Okay, who the fuck snitched on me?' Heather thought, 'probably Michael, that little bitch. I hate Michael so much.'

Before she could think or do anything else, her phone started ringing. That wasn't all that bizarre, but what did interest her was who Caller ID was telling her it was. After all, this was a boy she hadn't spoken to in almost 5 years.

"Hello?" She asked, "Trent Johnston, is that you?"

"Yeah," he said through ragged breath, "Am I speaking to Heather Anno right now?"

"Yup, that's me," Heather said, "Any particular reason for the call, because if you're just calling to catch up I'm kinda at work right now so its maybe not the best time."

"Actually, there's- there's something I need to tell you."

"What, that you always had a crush on me?" Heather teased, "I'm flattered Trent, I always thought you were cute too but it's a little late for that."

"Heather, this is serious," Trent said, "Gwen's missing."

Heather was taken aback, "Like, Gwen from Total Drama Island? Our Gwen?"

"Yes, our Gwen," Trent said.

"Okay, I had absolutely nothing to do with it," Heather said, "I know we had our differences but I'm not-"

"Oh God no, I'm not blaming you," Trent said, "I'm trying to protect you."

"Protect me?" Heather asked, "Look, I feel terrible about Gwen's disappearance but I'm not sure what it has to do with me."

"Well, I don't think she's the only one," Trent said, "I tried contacting Lindsay before you and I've been getting radio silence. And let's not forget this isn't the first time a former Total Drama star has mysteriously vanished."

"You think they all have something to do with each other?" Heather asked, anticipating his answer.

"I can't prove it, but it feels connected to me," Trent said, "I don't think anyone from that show is safe, including me or you."

Heather sighed and stared at the ceiling, "Where are you right now?" she asked.

"I'm at home in Hamilton," Trent said, "But Gwen's in LA, or at least she was. Douglas went with her and he's been freaking the fuck out for the past 8 hours."

Heather didn't know who Douglas was, but that wasn't really the point right now. She'd ask at a later date, once all this had been settled.

"I was just asking because, well I know it's a bit of a long drive to Scarborough, but if you wanna make the trek," Heather pondered, "You know, strength in numbers and all that."

"Thanks, but I think it'd be more dangerous for me to get in the car and drive for an hour," Trent laughed, "Maybe you could try contacting someone who lives in Toronto?"

"Eh, I don't think any of them would be happy to receive a call at midnight on a Saturday," Heather said, "Least of all from me."

"I didn't mean like an island, uh, contestant, I meant one of your real-life friends," Trent said.

"Well that's what I would've done, except I was explicitly forbidden from bringing any of my friends in here," Heather replied, "I mean it was literally the final thing my boss said to me before he left."

"One of those bosses, huh?" Trent said.

"Yeah, and the last time I went against him on this someone snitched on me," Heather said, "And I'm fairly sure I know who did it, you don't know the guy or anything but he's a complete dickweed."

"Is he the type of brown-noser who kisses the bosses ass in desperate hopes of moving up the corporate ladder?"

"Essentially," Heather said, "Which I just don't understand. He has to know that bosses see workers as interchangeable, right? Does he just not realize that? Does he think he can be the exception if he just rats out his would-be comrades enough times?"

"Yeah," Trent said, seemingly like he wasn't paying full attention.

Heather laughed a little and sighed, "I don't know why I'm telling you all this. We haven't spoken in years and even when we did speak our interactions weren't always… look I'm sorry I kissed you to get back at Gwen."

"Uh…" Trent said, "Honestly I'd kinda forgotten about that, but thanks for reminding me. No, Gwen and I are fine. I mean we're not dating or anything, but we've been bandmates and collaborators for a couple years now."

"Well, that's good to hear," Heather said, before hearing the bell that signalled a customer's arrival.

"Look, we got a customer now, so I gotta go. But it was nice talking to you again."

"Yeah, it was nice talking to you too," Trent said, "And just try to be safe, alright?"

"I'll do my best," Heather said before hanging up the phone dramatically. Or, at least as dramatically as possible when all you're doing is pressing a button.

Heather strolled to the front of the restaurant to find a tall, slim man in a suit waiting. He had a very neutral expression on his face, seeming like he either didn't know or didn't care exactly where he was. And I mean who could blame him, he was in a fucking Subway at 12:30 on Sunday morning, likely glazed out of his mind.

"Hello sir," Heather said, "Can I help you?"

The man said nothing, but his glare did seem to become more focused on Heather, as if he'd locked onto his target. Heather suddenly flashed back to Trent's description of Gwen's disappearance; was she about to be next? Heather could only hope this was a really weird drunk guy and not… whatever the hell kidnapped Gwen.

"Sir, is there something I can help you with? You're not going to be allowed to stay here unless you order something."

The man stood there for a few more seconds, while Heather remained at the perfect intersection of scared and irritated. Then he lunged forward, grabbed the young girl by her shirt collar and held her there. Heather tried to squirm out of his grip but she found herself unable to move as her limbs increasingly went limp and her brain increasingly went fuzzy. It was like jacuzzi jets had been pumped directly into her skull, leaving her unable to think or process or react to anything. She could simply stand there, first in paralyzed fear and later in dizziness as her head started spinning and she began falling apart.

Coda

"And that's all 5 of them?"

"That's all 5, yup, at least for the time being. For now, you're dismissed."

"If you don't mind me asking, what exactly is the plan for these girls?"

"I think that's rather obvious, Eileen. Now, we begin the training phase."