Episode 00: Season Preparation (Part 01)

Author's Note - Hey, what's up? I am Liberty City, or Liberty if you want to keep it short. Yes, it's a reference to the city in Grand Theft Auto. Anyway, I'm also under the internet name of Project, and I'm also one-half of the account: Ace of Danger. But enough about the past, right now what I'm about to present is the prologue chapter. It's not filled with that much action and drama, but it does set up the setting, the timeline, the basic stuff for a Total Drama competition fanfic.

Now that I've set up a daily word count goal (which I should've done a long while ago), I am confident and motivated enough to finish this story. I'm not taking another L on my record, so it's all or nothing at this point. But back to the chapter, I do hope you'll enjoy reading this, even if it might be boring. So now that I've said everything, enjoy the chapter!

(Los Angeles, California)

A loud, roaring sound can be heard in the distance. As time goes by, the sound gets louder and louder, nearly to the point of deafening for the human ear. The source of this sound belonged to an airplane, as it began to make its landing onto the surface. It soon touched the floor, the small wheels preventing any sort of damage to the aircraft.

Upon stopping and the engine shutting off, the door opened and one by one, the passengers began to make their way - along with their luggage - to whatever destination they were planning to head to. They were on the grounds of Los Angeles, California, and joined the thousands of other people in the Los Angeles International Airport. Whether they were returning home, visiting for vacation or business purposes, it didn't matter. At least, it didn't matter to one man.

Chris McLean had arrived at the airport, focused on his reflection in his hand-held mirror. Handsome. Charming. Hunk. Okay, maybe he didn't have the appearance of a hunk, but he still looked hot. Those were words to best describe his physical appearance, from his hair to his face to his body. He paid no attention to the people that were passing by or glancing at him; he had more important matters at hand right now.

"Why the hell is my hair not staying in place?" Chris asked. He seemed to be upset at the one strand of hair that dangled down his forehead and near his eyes. No matter what he does, that piece of hair kept returning to its dangling position. It frustrated him. "For crying out loud, I put on three layers of hair gel this morning! What kind of five-star quality hair gel would cause this?" He gestured to the strand of hair; he oughta sue the company for not providing that five-star quality!

Chef Hatchet stood next to him, walking alongside while pulling two luggage bags behind him. It seemed that Chris had been ranting and venting to him, who had remained silent. The large, muscular man dressed in his cooking outfit tried to listen, tried to remain calm and composed, despite how annoying and pathetic this was. It was one thing if a loved one of his died, but a goddamn strand of hair? Sheesh! He oughta pull that piece of hair and solve this dilemma.

But instead, he chose to tune him out. Such a situation would have him rolling his eyes and shaking his head, but he didn't want to add on to his friend's ire. The complaining and whining would come to an end soon, right? However, what he saw in front of him, made him widen his eyes and reconsider that thought.

Oh dear goodness… the line to purchase the tickets, it looked very long! It almost looked endless, as if there were hundreds of people standing there - which was an exaggeration - and the waiting time potentially being an hour or so. Chef groaned to himself; they should've bought the tickets online. It would've saved them the trouble of waiting in a long line, similar to a line for riding some rollercoaster. On top of that, Chris didn't seem to intend to cease his ranting and venting anytime soon, and he didn't want to deal with that for another potential hour.

If he can't ignore him for an hour, he might as well do something about it, right?

"Ay, pretty boy." Chef spoke up. He wanted to grab his friend's attention - which worked - as Chris ceased his talking and turned his head to face him. But before he could say or ask anything, the large man grabbed the strand of hair with a finger pinch and pulled on it. The hair was now in between his fingers and the petty problem, now solved.

"Yeow!" Chris yelped in pain. He put a hand on where the hair was pulled and glared at him. "I don't know what world you still live in, but pulling on another dude's hair without permission is not cool, dude." He rubbed the area while beginning to stand in line. "You could've easily damaged my hair, my looks!" It seemed like the complaining and whining didn't stop, much to Chef's inner irritation.

"Quit being a big baby, man!" Chef shouted at him, though not loud enough to draw an entire crowd or blow out his eardrums. He sighed to himself and kept looking forward, hoping that the line would somehow move quicker. "You been cryin' 'bout that piece of hair since we got here! It's just a goddamn piece of hair! Ain't nobody give a damn 'bout that!" He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. They hadn't even gotten their tickets yet, and it already felt like a nightmare. At least they were moving.

Chris rolled his eyes. The nerve of his friend to not make a big deal out of it, it made him retort at him. "I doubt you'll understand this, Chef, but I'm a celebrity. I'm part of the entertainment industry in Canada. I'm not some loser living in their mom's basement." He gestured to himself, as if he was trying to prove a point while boosting his own ego at the same time. "I can't afford to look hideous in public, it'll ruin my reputation, my career, everything I worked hard for." Despite his narcissism showing, he did sport a serious tone to his statement. When it came to his career, he treated it very seriously.

"That ain't the point! Yo' face ain't damaged, you ain't got scars or injuries, I don't get why ya' have to throw a tantrum over tiny bullcrap!" Chef countered. It was his turn now, as both men progressed further in the line, about reaching the halfway point now. "Like I said, ain't nobody give a damn 'bout this!" He showed him the piece of hair he pulled out before dropping it onto the floor. "Not the fans, not those camera people -"

"Oh yeah? What makes you so sure of that?" Chris interrupted him. He crossed his arms as he continued to argue with him, over something very minor and ridiculous, no less. "You don't think the paparazzi wouldn't try to get an embarrassing picture of me for those creepy assholes on the internet? You don't think some kid's gonna come up to me and ask for an autograph, and they see me picking my nose -"

"Mom, look! It's Chris McLean!" a voice that certainly belonged to a little kid interrupted him. Speak of the fucking devil. There were a lot of children in the airport, but this one happened to be standing very close to the two men. This kid, male, caught their attention. He looked like a nerd; he wore eyeglasses, had braces, and didn't look cool at all. His mom gave them a slight frown, but smiled at her son. "Can I go talk to him please? I've seen him on TV! He looks so cool, like one of those superheroes in the comic books!" The kid had a lot of positive stuff to say about Chris, and he seemed like a good person.

As the kid continued to persuade his mom to go meet one of his idols, Chris shot the large cook a small yet narcissistic smirk. "Told ya', dude. If that kid caught me with my hair messed up, he would've told his mom, and then she would've told her friends on Facebook, and then -" Speaking of the kid, he made his way towards him and Chef. It seems like his mom gave him the green light, the thumbs up. To be honest, he didn't really expect that. In fact, he wasn't in the mood to sign autographs or talk to children.

"H-Hi there…" the kid had gone from being excited and cheerful to being nervous. Chris put on his signature smile for him, not wanting to ruin his reputation in front of a fan of his. Chef on the other hand, crossed his arms and glared at the kid. He didn't want to deal with another potential brat. One was bad enough. Two annoying children were going to make him snap and lose his temper.

Chris's smile widened when he saw what the kid held in his hand: a piece of paper and a pen. That could only mean one thing… this kid was about to ask him for an autograph! The glances from some of the people passing by and in the line only fueled his ego. He loved all of this attention, even if it's not a ginormous crowd. But it reminded him that he was famous, and that he was a celebrity who -

"Get lost, kid." Chef barged into the conversation. He had to ruin this potential wholesome moment between Chris and the kid, a fan of his. His physique alone would be enough to scare people, especially a kid, but a glare on top of that? This kid might as well have his dreams crushed and be replaced with nightmares of Chef's intimidating, terrifying face.

The kid heard him and frowned, proceeding to look down at the floor in sadness and turning around to walk away back to his mom. "O-Oh… I-I'm sorry…" He apologized and didn't need to be told twice that Chef wanted nothing to do with him. If he told him to get lost, then the kid must've assumed Chris wanted him to get lost as well, seeing that the two of them were chatting just moments ago and thus, friends with each other. The large cook earned a couple of heated glares from the people watching and listening nearby.

Chris shot his friend a glare before attempting to stop the kid from going back to his mom. "Hold on a minute, little dude." He recognized that voice, of course. It belonged to his idol, his favorite celebrity. He was referring to him, right? The kid knew he was a male kid, and thus a little dude. When he turned around, standing in front of him was none other than Chris McLean, who smiled at him. He gestured for him to come closer.

"W-What's up, m-my man?" the kid attempted to show off his cool side, trying to impress his idol while sporting a smile. It backfired and he sounded cringe instead. But Chris paid no attention to that, though he would've cringed as well. He nudged Chef with his elbow and made a signal for him to smile and lighten up a little bit. He didn't want the kid to feel scared or sad again. Begrudgingly, the large cook forced himself to give the nerd a small smile, wanting to move on and purchase the darn tickets.

"Listen, I heard you told your mom that you're a big fan of my work." Chris told him. He bent his knees a little bit to reach around his height level. His smile was still plastered on his face. The kid could see his whitened, brightened teeth. "If you're here for an autograph, I'd be glad to sign that piece of paper you're holding." He was unaware that he and Chef were holding up the line, a large gap of space in front of them that seemed to be growing bigger.

Chef took notice of this and tried to get his friend to focus on more important matters. "We're in the middle of a line, pretty boy. We ain't got all day to sign -" But right before he could ruin the moment again and scare off the kid, Chris turned to him and shot another glare. It didn't scare him though, given that the cook was almost twice his size and body mass.

"Relax, Chef." Chris tried to diffuse the situation without causing a commotion, his glare changing to a calm smile. He patted his arm in a light manner. "Think of this chance we're given right now. It'll be a win-win for all three of us! The kid gets an autograph, I get to make one of my fans happy, and you get to share a bit of the spotlight with yours truly!" He gestured to himself, in a proud tone, no less. Chef could only sigh and roll his eyes. He went along with the plan, albeit out of reluctance.

"It ain't a win for me." he grumbled. Knowing his friend, he didn't give a shit about the kid. Had he not shown up with that piece of paper or complimented him, Chris would've ignored him or told him to get lost as well. After all, narcissism ran through the veins of Chris McLean. He only cared if it benefited him.

"Now then, little Jimmy, was it?" Chris asked the kid. He looked like someone who could be named Jimmy. Jim was better-fitting for some old dude. In either case, the look the kid gave his idol was one of confusion. His favorite celebrity wasn't crazy, right?

"O-Oh… I-I haven't told y-you m-my name yet." the kid, whose name was most likely not Jimmy or Jim, stuttered. He was still nervous, and now he was glancing down at the ground. He had an embarrassed blush on his face as he shuffled his feet around to try to ease the embarrassment. It could've been worse though. He could've been teased and humiliated.

"Then tell us your name." Chef demanded. He may've not shouted at the kid, but his tone of voice sounded intimidating, still as scary as if he were to yell at him. His arms were still crossed and he began tapping his foot in an impatient manner. Some of the people that were standing behind them took advantage and cut in front. They were tired of waiting around for these two to move.

"Um, well… i-it's um… B-B -" the kid began to sputter. His nervousness had increased and he was struggling to tell them his name. But for Chef Hatchet, the sputters from the nerd turned into a gross flight of bullet-shaped saliva that splattered all over Chef's shirt. It was already dirty and covered in grease stains, but the saliva coating his shirt and some of his pants made his right eye twitch. He wanted to remain calm, he really wanted to. It was supposed to be a win-win for all three of them, right? But…

"Spit it out, maggot!" Chef shouted at the kid. He darted his frustrated and angry glare at the lisping, sputtering boy. He had enough of this. This young child had gotten on his last nerves, despite the saliva being an accident. "Tell us yo' goddamn name! We ain't got all day! You gon' get your autograph or not?!"

"N-No, I-I d-didn't mean to…" the kid shivered at how terrifying the large cook sounded. For Chris, he was unfortunate to never learn the kid's name because he turned around and: "MOMMYYYYYY!" He screamed for his mom at the top of his lungs as he ran off back to her, the piece of paper unsigned and the pen unused. The tears that were streaming down his face flew back at a comedic distance due to the terrified speed the young boy had trailed off in, drenching Chef's clothes even further. Now it was coated in grease stains, saliva, and the boy's tears.

Chef sighed in relief. He was glad the kid ran off and left them alone. Now they didn't have to be held up over this bunch of ridiculous nonsense. At this point, he'd rather listen to Chris rant and vent than deal with that pathetic child. But one look at his friend and it was clear that his opinion was very not much shared. Chris looked very miffed about the circumstances that had transpired. Now plenty of eyes were staring at them, out of anger, out of shock, or out of disappointment.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Chris glared at his friend. Needless to say, he was not happy about what just happened. Was he downright pissed? Maybe. Maybe not. "I was about to make that kid's dream come to life! Instead you took that dream, pissed on it, and turned it into a nightmare!" He pointed at the large, muscular cook. "Chef Hatchet, you're a killer of children's dreams!"

"And you don't give a damn 'bout children's dreams anyway, so I guess we both got problems!" Chef directed his glare towards him. Both of them were now glaring at each other, ready to throw down. At least, in a verbal manner and not a physical manner.

Chris looked offended at what his friend was suggesting. Him not giving a damn about children's dreams? The dreams that belonged to his fans especially? "I have a problem? I host a successful reality TV show where hundreds of thousands of people admire my talent. I help the show live up to its name, you serve people food that's barely legal! Even the rats wouldn't want to eat the shit that you cook!"

Now it was Chef's turn to look offended. Food that's barely legal? The same food that wouldn't be edible to those rats living in the sewers? "But you put those kids through some traumatizing, fucked up shit! When that psycho came on the island, what the hell did ya' do? You cared only 'bout the money and the darn ratings! Don't tell me yer give a damn 'bout those kids, 'cause ya' don't!"

"Who put those kids through a dangerous boot camp?" Chris retorted.

"Who made those kids jump into a lake with sharks?" Chef retorted back.

"Who made those kids dance to Bichael Rackson?" Chris leaned in further.

"The hell's wrong with Bichael Rackson?" Chef leaned in further as well.

"HEY! Would you two fucking move?!" an angry masculine voice yelled at the two arguing men. The person couldn't be seen, but they were probably standing in line. "It's your guys' damn turn and you're holding up the fucking line!" Both Chris and Chef glanced around. It seemed like the commotion and their arguing had brought them up to the front of the line. They were up next. Ignoring the frustrated glares from the bystanders, the host and the cook regained their composure they could retain and stepped forward, acting as if nothing had ever happened.

The male ticketing agent groaned to himself. He had seen and heard these two argue, so he was not looking forward to this. It was like working at a fast food restaurant on a busy day, filled with plenty of entitled, asshole customers. But it was still his job, so he had to maintain a professional demeanor. "How can I help you?" he asked. He sounded tired, on the verge of falling asleep.

Chris spoke up for the duo. "Two tickets for first-class." the host gave his signature smile at the ticketing agent. He's really hoping that this ticketing agent didn't see or hear everything him and Chef had said earlier. "Book us for the earliest flight for Toronto. We got people to meet up with over there." He added. It seemed like they were on their way back to Canada.

The ticketing agent sighed to himself. After entering the information onto his computer screen, which included their names, he looked up at them and held out his hand. "It'll be 2000." he told them, not a change in his monotone, tired voice.

"The year's actually 2008." Chris corrected him. He thought the ticketing agent was talking about the year. He also didn't catch on to the fact that he didn't ask for their names. But fair was fair, both of them were celebrities, the host being more popular than the cook. The stupidity from him made his friend facepalm himself internally.

That stupidity also affected the ticketing agent. He blinked a couple of times in rapid succession at what he had just heard. "It's 2000 dollars…" he stared at him, almost dumbfounded. "Each…" God, he couldn't wait to finish up these two and move on.

"What?!" Chris dropped his jaw open, almost agape. The ticketing agent groaned to himself and showed him his airplane ticket. Indeed, it did cost him 2000 dollars in American currency. Flabbergasted would be the appropriate term for the three zeros his eyes had to lay upon. Three zeros was too many zeros for him! "Since when did it cost this much?! Dude, there must be a mistake! It never cost this much!"

"But it has." the ticketing agent countered. He raised an eyebrow. What sort of world was Chris living in at the moment or in general, he didn't want to know. "First-class has always been 2000 dollars in U.S. currency. I can assure you, there is no mistake, dude. If you need to convert to American currency, there's an ATM right there." he leaned over the counter a little bit and pointed to a green machine that was located near them.

Chef, who had been silent and internally screaming at how Chris was behaving, spoke up. "Pretty boy, let me just -" he began to reach into his pocket and pull out his wallet…

"No Chef," Chris interrupted him. It was a hasty interruption, but then he sported a confident grin. "I got this." he told him, pointing to himself before flashing his signature smile at the ticketing agent once again.

He looked at him; he looked like a teenager, probably in college or barely out of college. In any case, he seemed to be younger than him. Men like him would probably want to be cool with someone like Chris McLean, for the attention, for the popularity, for the women to come flaunting to him. For his male friends to show respect to him. If the host wanted cheaper tickets and a better deal, he was going to get what he wanted. It wasn't like he was growing old like Chef or some of those washed-up, has-been celebrities.

"How about you give us some cheaper tickets and then maybe I'll give you something in return?" Chris suggested. He was somehow trying to make a deal, some type of negotiation with this ticketing agent. "An autograph. A picture. I'm sure your buddies will be jealous to have met a famous celebrity like myself. Heck, maybe you could even attract some ladies. What do you say, dude?"

The ticketing agent pondered for a moment, coming up with an answer and decision. Then he printed out another pair of tickets for Chris and Chef. "You want cheaper tickets, right?" he asked. The host nodded his head in slight excitement. He placed the tickets down on the counter. "Here. Economy class is only a thousand dollars each." That excitement and smirk on Chris's face faded away.

"No, dude, I meant a discount for first-class." Chris shook his head, attempting to correct him again. Sheesh, these two weren't on the same page. "All of the stuff I'm probably offering, it's in exchange for some cheaper first-class tickets to Toronto. I'm not paying -"

"You're not getting a discount." the ticketing agent told him in a straightforward, blunt manner. The patience this man had to deal with someone like Chris, it was rather impressive. He held out his hand once more. "2000 dollars each. Take it or leave it."

Chef approached the counter and interrupted the conversation. "Alright, pretty boy -" he was about to pull out his credit card from his wallet, but for the second time, he was unable to do so because…

"No Chef!" Chris interrupted him again. His grin turned into a slight look of desperation. All of those suggestions and he wasn't going to budge? Did he not want the attention and women?! Meeting someone like him was a once-in-a-lifetime experience! "Come on, dude, don't you want to know how it feels to be popular? To have beautiful women pay attention to you? To have cool men invite you to parties because of how cool you are? I'm only asking for a discount on our plane -"

"Stop. Just stop." the ticketing agent interrupted him with a stern tone. He let out a heavy and frustrated sigh through his nose. He hoped he wasn't going to regret this. "I don't want any of that, Mr. McLean. I don't care. I have a girlfriend, I have genuine friends, I'm not interested in autographs or pictures or being popular. To be honest, I wouldn't want to be in a picture with you anyway. I know who you are. I've seen you on TV and on the internet. Sure, you're a celebrity, but you're also a sadist, a narcissist, an asshole! I'm not interested in being associated with some despicable, monstrous bastard who treats other people like lab rats. So I'll say this one more time. Pay up 2000 or 4000 dollars, or you can get out of line. If you try making a discount again, I will call security and have you escorted away." he finished it off by holding out his hand again, waiting for the money or credit card to end up in his hand.

Chris went silent. He's absolutely thunderstruck. No one in their right mind would reject an offer, let alone in a harsh manner. The harsh things he said to him, the insults, it didn't sit right with him. The audacity this loser, this pathetic dude working at an airport being a ticketing agent had… he ought to sue him! He ought to ruin his -

Chef placed his credit card into the ticketing agent's hand. "4000 dollars. That oughta cover it. Sorry for the troubles, sir." he felt bad for the ticketing agent, having to put up with his friend, and probably him to an extent. But paying for Chris's ticket should solve the problem, not to mention makeup for the dilemma from earlier. The ticketing agent handed him both of their tickets.

"Thank you." he said. He forced himself to give the large, muscular cook a small smile. At least one of them had decency and respect. Chef grabbed the tickets and stuffed them into his wallet. "Enjoy your flight." the ticketing agent told them, still monotone as usual. On the inside, he felt relieved. One annoying and one decent person out of his hair. Now he could move on to the next people in line, who hopefully would be better than Chris.

Chef nodded at him before beginning to walk away, both luggage bags still towing behind him. "Come on, pretty boy. Let's go." he gestured for his friend to follow him. But when he glanced to his right, Chris wasn't walking with him. When he turned around, he saw that the host was still standing in the same spot, still thunderstruck and silent. The ticketing agent was ignoring him, focused on helping the next group of people that had approached him.

He sighed. He realized how long this trip was going to be. But at least it won't be painful…

...Right?

(Toronto, Ontario, Canada)

"Dude, why did ya' have to punch me in the face?" Chris complained. The duo had arrived at their home country, their home province of Toronto, Ontario, Canada. The plane had landed and was beginning to make its complete stop. While Chef looked a little bit peeved and had his arms crossed, Chris was rubbing the side of his face in pain.

"Quit cryin', ya' big baby!" Chef shouted at him. Though he didn't shout too loud; he didn't want to start another commotion like four hours earlier at the LAX airport. "I didn't punch ya', I only slapped ya' 'cause you've been whining and cryin' 'bout that one dude." Well, it was safe to say that the trip was painful. At least for the flight. But God knows how awful the rest of the trip will be.

"Whatever, dude. That loser had the nerve to insult me." Chris grumbled. There was pure pettiness coming from his voice. Chef rolled his eyes and stood up as the engine stopped and the doors opened, passengers leaving one by one. "At least I'll finally get reception on my phone. People on social media need to know what I'm doing." he said. He pulled out his phone and waited for the four bars to come back.

"Just wait 'til we get to the darn airport." Chef told him. He grabbed their luggage bags and set them down as he waited for the other people to leave first. Or at least, wait until there wasn't a stuffed crowd trying to push through with their luggage. "Pull yer luggage, man. I ain't no babysitter of yours." he swore he heard Chris curse to himself, but he didn't push it. The last thing he needed right now was more arguing and complaining.

…

Once they were out of the aircraft and in the airport, the duo were near the entrance of the Pearson International Airport, Canada's equivalent of the Los Angeles International Airport. Chris was on the phone, speaking to someone while Chef waited for him to finish. Similar to the LAX airport, this one was just as crowded.

"...And make it snappy!" Chris ordered. He hung up and finished his call, grumbling to himself and waiting alongside his friend. He turned to him and started complaining. Oh boy, not this again… "Dude, why can't you get a phone? It's only 500 dollars for those outdated flip-phones. I can't keep being the one to text and call our boss." he crossed his arms. At least he was pulling his own luggage, albeit out of reluctance.

Chef groaned. Chris had to bring up the phone stuff, did he? "Then why don't you answer my emails? I still got a computer." he crossed his arms. Maybe somehow, this conversation might kill time and their transportation would arrive before they knew it. "I know you got one too. Probably the latest version and model that yo' butler bought."

"Because I got fans and important people to respond to," Chris answered. He looked proud at that fact. "Like I said, Chef, I worked hard to get where I am…" he was unable to finish because a strange and disgusting odor started going into his nose. What was the source? He had no idea. But he pinched his nose and said out loud, "Aw, dude! What the hell is that smell?"

Chef also pinched his nose, grossed out as well. "Let's just find another spot." he suggested. He gestured for him to follow from behind, getting away from whatever nasty shit they were smelling. The people that were passing by near them also had the same reaction. But what the cook or the host didn't notice was that one of them… had brought the aroma with them.

Neither of them noticed that one of them now had a shit stain underneath their shoe. Both men were now outside. Maybe the fresh air and the distance would work? Chef was the first to let go of his nose and check. Unfortunately for him, one small sniff and he caught a whiff of the disgusting aroma that was surrounding them. He should let his friend know that -

"What the?!" Chris let out a horrified scream. Well, it seemed like his friend had beaten him to the punch. At least he didn't have to say anything, though the smell didn't go away. "When the hell did I…?!" The host took one glance around and found the source: a small yet nasty pile of dog poop. No kidding. Rather than picking up the shit, people just moved around it. It wasn't their job or responsibility after all.

"I didn't see that." Chef simply stated. He felt bad for him, but he knew he was in for a long ranting session from the host pretty soon. He checked his shoes for any signs of shit, but found nothing of that sort. "There ain't crap on my shoes though."

That comment only managed to somehow anger Chris even more. Why the hell did he only have to suffer?! "Who cares about your shoes?!" he cried out. He gestured to his right shoe that now has a medium-sized piece of smushed shit attached to it. "My 500 dollar shoe is ruined! Ruined! All of my money spent on that has been wasted!"

Chef didn't know what to say. He was witnessing a 28-year old man whimpering and shedding tears over a fancy shoe. Given his silent reaction, it probably wasn't the first time a minor inconvenience similar to this had brought the host to tears. The people that were standing near them or passing by were watching, their eyes filled with judgment and possibly sympathy. Or they could be making fun of him in their minds.

Then out of nowhere, a yellow taxi cab had stopped in front of them, curbside. Hearing Chris's phone go off, Chef assumed it was their ride that had been provided for them. He had to admit, it was strange riding in a small yellow vehicle after riding in fancier, larger vehicles like limousines, for example. But he wouldn't complain. A free ride was a free ride.

Chris sniffled as he glanced up. His pouting, sad expression changed to one of disgust. "T-This is seriously our ride?!" he blinked. It had to be for someone else, right? "There's no way our boss would send a dirty taxi to pick us up! Where the heck is a limousine?! First some stupid loser insulted me, then my shoe is covered in shit, and now I get screwed over?! Y-You've got to be kidding me!"

Chef took a deep breath. He really didn't want to deal with his whining and complaining for another trip. He had a determined look on his face. He was going to make sure it didn't happen. He had already tolerated four long hours today; that was enough. Another minute and he would've unleashed all of his anger, rage, and fury on him. And that wouldn't be pretty to watch, let alone endure it.

"Pretty boy, let me just clean it off." Chef offered. He glanced back at the airport entrance before looking at Chris again. "I'll go grab paper towels and get the shit off. Well, as much as I can. But I can't get rid of that darn smell." he admitted. It would take some serious cleaning or a shoe replacement to do the trick.

"Oh really?" Chris rolled his eyes. He showed him the shoe that was covered in shit once again. He gestured to the stain. "Do you see how huge this is? You think some paper towels and water will make any sort of progress? This is animal shit!" he put his foot down while continuing to rant. "Some dumbass forgot to pick up their dog's crap at the airport! You'd think someone would say something by now, considering that this airport is one of the most popular ones in Canada!" He turned his head at the entrance to see if the dog shit was still there. It wasn't. "Oh, now it's gone! It took that long to get some janitor to clean up that spot?" the movement of his arms indicated that he was exaggerating a little bit, but his point still stood.

As the host continued to rant about his personal issues and more life nonsense, Chef let out another heavy sigh. It was a sigh filled with annoyance. "Fine then. I tried to help, but if ya' wanna stink up the darn room, then be my guest. I had to deal with your whining for four hours on that goddamn plane! I ain't dealin' with it no more."

"Well it's not my fault you scared off a little kid!" Chris brought up the little nerd kid incident again. He had to bring up something that could be useful in winning this petty back-and-forth between them. In his world, nothing was ever his fault. "You try going through what I've gone through today! I doubt you'll remain as calm as you are now." he crossed his arms and glared at him. The large cook did the same thing to him. It was déjà vu from four hours ago.

"Um, guys?" Another masculine voice interrupted. The duo heard the door slam and saw that the voice belonged to the taxi driver. Their taxi driver. He had a peeved expression, wondering what was taking them so long. He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Is there something wrong?" he asked. "I got other people to pick up soon." he tapped his foot, beginning to grow impatient with them squawking at each other.

Speaking of which, the two men glanced at each other before redirecting their looks at the taxi driver. They regained their professional composure as Chris gave a flat stare at him. "Yeah, I think you got the wrong people, dude. There's no way we were sent to be picked up in a taxi." his comment made the driver twitch his eye a little bit. The nerve of this brat -

"Forget what he said." Chef told the taxi driver. He couldn't believe he had to play peacekeeper and deal with the situation in a civil manner. Letting out another sigh, he gave a request to the driver. "I'm gonna need help packin' these bags in… and this idiot right here." he gestured to his friend.

"Wait, what was that last part?" Chris asked before finding himself being forced into the back of the vehicle. The taxi driver was in the middle of stuffing their bags into the trunk of the taxi, which probably belonged to him. "W-Whoa, whoa, dude!"

"Get yer butt in, pretty boy!" Chef ordered while attempting to shove his friend all the way to the right side of the back seat. All in the while, he's ignoring every plea and resistance that came from the host.

"Help, help!" Chris screamed, hoping someone would hear him and somehow come rescue him from this dire situation. "I don't want to ride in this taxi! Someone get me a limousine and come help me!" But it was too late as Chef entered and shut the door behind him, the taxi driver closing the trunk and reentering the driver's seat. "Nooooooooooooo!" the host cried out in absolute despair as the taxi drove off, away from the airport and to their next destination.

Blaineley sat back against her couch, letting out a relaxed sigh. On her left side, a pint of vanilla ice cream was laid there on the miniature table; there was a metal spoon on top of the lid, clean and waiting to be used to scoop up the ice cream. On her right side, a large bottle of lemonade was resting in the cupholder that came with the couch. Dressed in her pajamas, she grabbed the remote on the low table in front of her, turned on the TV, and began flickering around to different channels to see what was available that could interest her.

"Huh. Maybe some Enemies wouldn't be bad." she muttered, proceeding to select the show and placing the remote down. She scoffed. "It's probably boring. At least it'll be a nice time killer." She checked her phone that she pulled from her pocket. It was almost two in the afternoon; it was the perfect time to be lazy and watch some lame comedy sitcom.

"We were on a break!" Doss, whose name appeared in the subtitles down below, could be seen having an argument with a blonde girl in front of him. Blaineley rolled her eyes almost at the same time the blonde girl did; considering that both of them had dirty blonde hair, it was rather humorous. She grabbed her pint of ice cream, opened the lid, and began eating.

"Ugh! Why the hell do you keep bringing this up, Doss?!" Dachel, whose name also appeared in the subtitles down below, argued back against him. It seemed like Blaineley had tuned into the middle of an episode. She raised an eyebrow; she looked curious and interested. Maybe it might not be as boring as she expected.

…

Letting out a loud burp that would've attracted attention and embarrassment, she placed the ice cream pint down on the miniature table, now empty and the spoon coated in her saliva and whatever was left of the vanilla flavor. Her belly a little bit bloated and her body filled with a shitload of sugar, an attractive woman like her wouldn't be caught dead doing this. Imagine how damaged her reputation would be if pictures of her eating ice cream or drinking unhealthy soda got onto the internet.

But she was at home, having all of the space to herself. She had no one to bother her, she had all of this freedom and luxury. Well, she wasn't living in some large mansion, but her house was still nice and luxurious. She turned off her TV and got up, satisfied with the episode of Enemies.

"Not bad of an episode." she admitted, impressed with the drama and commotion that went down between Doss, Dachel, and the other characters. "Maybe… maybe I should watch another episode so I can find out how Doss's new girlfriend is gonna ruin Dachel's date." But she only took a few steps away from the couch and the living room before she heard her phone buzzing in her pocket.

It turned her attention away from the empty pint and the empty bottle. Maybe it could be one of those weird, advertising scam calls. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, taking a look at the number. A raised eyebrow in confusion implied that she didn't know who it belonged to, on top of the number not being part of her contacts. She could've chosen to hang up, but the location of the caller seemed to be in her own province of Toronto. That caught her attention for sure.

She answered the number. "Hello?" she asked the caller. A small moment of silence followed, possibly because the caller started speaking. "...Who is this? What do you mean it's been too long? Ugh, you better not be one of those creepy fans." she warned the caller, preparing to press on the 'hang up' button if she didn't get her answers.

She let the caller answer and introduce themselves. A bitter scowl formed on her face. "Hmph." she scoffed. "I've been doing fine. Of course I heard about your show being an acclaimed success, it's plastered all over the news. But trust me, Celebrity Manhunt was nothing more than a thing of the past. I'm a bigger celebrity now, I've moved on. I've traveled around the world, and now I'm relaxing in a mansion as we speak."

Pretty much everything she said, was a lie.

She wasn't in a mansion, she hadn't traveled around the world much, she only made up those lies to spite the caller. It seemed that she did recognize the person. It wasn't a creepy person stalking her or those pathetic scam calls. She smirked. It seemed to be working. But then as she continued to listen, that smirk fell quickly. Then she blinked.

"What?" she asked. She's shocked and dismayed. But her scowl remained on her face. "I seriously have to work with him? That sleazy scumbag? Look, I know you may not be fond of me because I denied your offer of hosting the show last year, but please! I am not co-hosting with him!"

Silence followed as she listened to the caller's response. Her upset expression changed to a small yet sincere smile. "Thank you." But then she looked confused once more. "...An aftermath show?" More silence followed. "It's at a five-star resort called Playa Des Losers? That's a weird name for a high quality resort…" she muttered before her eyes perked up in excitement. "So all I get to do is interview the eliminated contestants and try to stir up drama? It's a deal! I'll see you tomorrow morning!"

She hung up her phone, smiling. Just last year, she denied the offer of hosting Total Drama. That was a huge mistake from her. She never expected the show to become so popular, so successful. But now she got another chance to showcase her talent, grow in popularity, and do what she loved to do best.

Spread the juicy gossip and drama.

The Head Producer sat in an office chair in silence. He was the only person in the office room, a calm and peaceful atmosphere being accompanied. The side of the room he was in had dimmed lights, unlike the other side of the room that had brighter lights. It made him seem very mysterious. Nothing about his physical appearance, sans his gender, could be seen.

*Slam!*

The slamming sound didn't come from the door that separated the room and the hallway. Instead, it came from the Head Producer slamming his phone down onto the office table. It didn't take an expert emotion reader to tell that he wasn't in a good mood. A deep breath escaped his mouth, as he waited for the arrivals of two men he was all too familiar with.

"Absolute bitch…" he muttered. It seemed like he was referring to Blaineley, thus confirming him as the caller. The way she complained about Chris McLean and how ungrateful she was behaving, despite her being the one to deny the contract offer last year, he wanted to chew her out. He was a head producer, not a damn therapist! The lack of respect was -

His inner thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Could it be? Before he could ask who it was, the sound of a 28-year old manchild confirmed his assumption. They were here. Chris and Chef were here. While the latter looked peeved, to say the least, the former looked like he was pouting and acting gloom. At least it was better than earlier.

"Ah, the devil's offspring has arrived." the Head Producer stated, a creasing smirk forming on his face that the duo couldn't see. He never turned his chair around to show his front side of his body. A calm voice was accompanied with his mysterious presence. "Mr. McLean. Mr. Hatchet. I trust your return from Los Angeles was a comforting one, yes?" But before he let either of them answer, a quick sniff from his nose led to him asking a question. "May I ask why I'm smelling dog poop right now?" he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Don't remind him." Chef said to the Head Producer, keeping his friend restrained from any more outbursts. Then he changed the topic, giving him a small smile. "But it's nice to see ya' again, big boss." He sat himself down in one chair, Chris in another.

"Please tell me we're here for some good news." Chris sniffled. The past four hours had been an absolute "nightmare" for him. He was insulted. He lost fans from his friend scaring off the little kid. His shoe was ruined - it didn't matter if the only shoe was still fine - and covered in dog shit that would take months to eliminate everything, including the scent. He rode in a dirty taxi. He was humiliated. He hoped the next set of news he was going to receive was something much better.

The Head Producer sat in silence for a brief moment before making his announcement. "In case it hadn't been clear enough, another season of Total Drama is to begin soon." he stated, ignoring the responses from Chris and Chef. He waved out a large packet of documents. "You two are coming back to Wawanakwa. Mr. McLean will be the main host and Mr. Hatchet will be the main cook and backup host."

"Back to the island again?" Chef asked. He scratched his head in confusion. "What about that film lot place you mentioned?"

"Change of plans, Mr. Hatchet. Change of plans." the Head Producer told him before tossing the documents behind him that landed directly onto the desk. "Our fans love the concept of a competition on a remote, isolated island. We give them what we want. That requires changing our own plans for the sake of fame and fortune."

For Chris McLean, that pouting frown turned into a grin in a matter of seconds. It looked sadistic and malicious. All of that despair he had suffered in the last four hours was now gone. He grabbed the documents and didn't even let Chef get a chance to take a peak. A small chuckle escaped his mouth; it wasn't a good one.

"Gosh darn it, pretty boy! Let me look at the maggots we gotta deal with!" Chef forced himself closer to Chris so he could see the documents. On the current page, there seemed to be a list of contestants, sorted in alphabetical order with a label next to each of them, and what appeared to be quotes for the purpose of making them stand out and feel unique.

Contestant #01: Angel:

"It's okay, sweet pea, you can tell me what's wrong."

[The Mother Figure]

"I can't promise to solve your problem, but I can promise to give you a hug."

Contestant #02: Anna:

"It's my mission to help other people find their soulmate!"

[The Matchmaker]

"After all, there's nothing wrong in spreading some love and romance!"

Contestant #03: Candela:

"I meannnn, being normal and living a normal life is fine and all,"

[The Otaku]

"But why do that when you can live the life of an anime protagonist!"

Contestant #04: Elizabeth:

"If some loser in a bear costume can find romance, then so can I!"

[The Romantic]

"I know I can be a great girlfriend if I actually got a chance!"

Contestant #05: Gold:

"Piano is a great musical instrument for providing entertainment."

[The Pianist]

"It makes other people enjoy it, and that's all it takes to make me happy."

Contestant #06: Jerome:

"I'ma be straight up, life ain't got none of that sunshine shit."

[The Gangster]

"But if ya' got the right mindset, yer gonna be fine."

Contestant #07: Katherine:

"I guess I just like taking care of animals."

[The Veterinarian]

"It feels great to be a medic for these amazing creatures."

Contestant #08: Nathan:

"It only takes a few minutes of a good video game to bring happiness."

[The Gamer]

"And it only takes a few minutes of real life to make you hate yourself."

Contestant #09: Noel:

"A person who has the passion for business shall reach inevitable success."

[The Businessman]

"But it does help when you've also got the knowledge."

Contestant #10: Olivia:

"It's one thing to let your voice be heard through singing."

[The Songwriter]

"But it's another thing to use your vocal chords to spread your own message!"

Contestant #11: Omar:

"Gather around, everyone, as I shall deliver a magnificent performance!"

[The Actor]

"When I can embrace the character, I can become the character!"

Contestant #12: Preston:

"Let's face it, everyone loves food and needs food to survive."

[The Cook]

"And I'd be glad to provide the high-quality meals!"

Contestant #13: Ryan:

"No need to be afraid, fellow citizens of the world!"

[The Superhero]

"Captain Hugh G. Rection shall fight off these evildoers in the name of Justice!"

Contestant #14: Samantha:

"I guess w-writing in a n-notebook feels easier…"

[The Writer]

"...I-It's easier than t-talking to other people…"

Contestant #15: Tom:

"The first step in achieving your desired goal is to train the social aspect."

[The Valedictorian]

"You are bound to socialize with another human, forced or intentional."

Contestant #16: Velvet:

"You're better off expressing yourself through art."

[The Artist]

"At least the artwork can't harm you in any way."

"Now this… is gonna be an awesome group!" Chris exclaimed as he placed the documents down onto the desk. He looked excited, to say the least. "Honestly, I really don't care if there's only sixteen instead of twenty-two. As long as I get to put them through dangerous, life-threatening challenges!" he let out a light sadistic laugh. Chef could only roll his eyes.

Unamused with his reaction, the Head Producer interrupted him. "But, there is a catch."

"A catch?" Chris blinked. He looked at his friend, who shrugged, then at his boss. "What are you talking about? Our contracts are still the same from last year, right?" The lack of response from the Head Producer started to make him nervous. What was going on? He wasn't getting fired, at least, but that didn't ease -

"Of course." the Head Producer chuckled, waving his hand around as if he was mocking the host. "While I cannot deny your performance as a host for the show, not to mention your track record of your past -"

"See, Chef?" Chris smirked at him. He had a look that said, 'I told you so'. "I'm not one of those losers who only gets participation trophies or -"

"Let. Me. Finish." the Head Producer's hand gesture changed to a clenched fist. Chris immediately went silent, not wanting to upset the big boss. He didn't want to taste a punch and a pink slip. "Now as I was saying, you are competent at hosting, I can give credit where it's due. But you are also an infamous host. A controversial man who has garnered just as much hate as you have garnered fans. The attitude and behavior of yours is similar to one of a little toddler throwing a tantrum over losing their teddy bear."

"But why does it matter?" Chris asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. "Isn't the ratings more important than how I act? The first season did well, and we all got a lot of money from that. All I had to do was make myself more charming, more entertaining. People don't want to watch a boring host speak like some robot."

"There's a difference between professional behavior and your behavior, Mr. McLean." the Head Producer countered, his tone as calm as usual. "You can still be entertaining without causing trouble or garnering lawsuits that could've been prevented if you had cared more about the contestants' safety. With that being said, to avoid any more potential lawsuits, I will be having one of the executive producers watch over you for the duration of this season." he told him about the catch.

"Wait, what?" Chris dropped his jaw, slightly agape. How did he go from having plenty of freedom and creative control last summer to this? "But it's not like I put them inside balloons and released them into the sky! This is ridiculous, dude!" It was also clear that his treatment of his boss wasn't helping his case.

"I'm sorry, Mr. McLean." the Head Producer noted, still calm despite the rather rude behavior coming from the host. "But these lawsuits cost us almost millions of dollars. While I can't guarantee that we won't get any lawsuits this summer, one lawsuit is better than four or five, correct? But don't worry, this executive producer happens to know you well."

"That doesn't help…" Chris mumbled. He wasn't looking forward to meeting, or re-meeting this executive producer. But it could've been worse… a lot worse. He sighed and for the first time in a blue moon, he gave in. "Fine. Can you at least tell me who the guy is?" he requested.

The Head Producer could only chuckle and smirk. Then the chair slowly turned. The entire figure of the Head Producer is covered up by the dim lights, but Chris and Chef could see that smirk. They could see his eyes. "Patience, Mr. McLean. You'll meet him soon. I'm sure you two will get along very well. Now then, unless either of you two have any questions, this meeting is adjourned. I'll see you both in a few days."

Silence filled the room again. Neither Chris nor Chef had anything to say or ask. Taking that as a sign of 'no further questions', the Head Producer stood up and prepared to leave, holding the door open for the duo to leave first. As the host grabbed the documents and took it with him, all he could think about was this executive producer that was about to join the Total Drama team…

And he had a feeling who it could be.

Author's Note Again - Well, here we are, at the end of the prologue. Did you like it? Or did you scroll down to the bottom of the page? Just kidding. In all seriousness, as we're approaching the beginning of the new season (which will begin next chapter), this chapter has started important storylines for Chris (along with Chef), Blaineley, and this executive producer that will appear in the story. In a sense, I'm planning to use them more than only for hosting. But it won't be too prominent, compared to the contestants.

Speaking of which, I followed Doobop's format (shoutout to him and go read his stories) of the cast list where their name, their label, and their two quotes were displayed. It should provide you an idea of how they'll potentially behave in the competition. Call it first impressions, if you will. I could already see the theories and predictions forming just from this. Also, I decided to keep their labels using only a noun instead of an adjective, followed by a noun like how it normally happens. Makes things more secretive.

So as mentioned, next chapter will be the introductions of the contestants and their arrival to Wawanakwa. Sixteen contestants, so it'll be easier than writing twenty-two contestants. Now then, until next time, stay safe and peace!

Next Chapter's Title: Interesting Introductions