Disclaimer: The following story will contain mild graphic content, hence its "T" rating. This includes profane language, violence, and mild gore. This isn't to warn anyone, it's to clarify/justify the rating.


"Fours?"

"Go fish. Sevens?"

"Go fish."

"Seriously? Show me your cards."

"Over my dead body." Chef Hatchet scratched at the light stubble on his jawline. "You're the biggest damn cheat I know."

Chris sighed, setting his cards face-down on the coffee table. He was still in his grubby bathrobe and reeked of several days without a shower, but with nobody was around to judge him save for his television partner-in-crime, the host wasn't about to freshen up.

"This isn't working," he sighed. "What the hell are we supposed to do with a deck of cards? There's only two of us!"

Chef nodded, tossing his own hand on the table. "Never been a fan of Go Fish anyway. Child's game."

"Just scrap the cards, then." Chris sat back on the couch and kicked his slippers up on the coffee table. "Let's just talk, man. It's why you're here in the first place."

"Right." Chef nodded in agreement, shuffling a bit in his seat. His giant frame was a bit too much for the tiny folding chair Chris had to offer him, and it looked ready to collapse, squeaking and groaning every time he moved a muscle.

Chris folded his arms behind his head. "So, what's up with the show? You find out anything I didn't?"

Chef gave him a sour look. "Hell no! You think they'd tell me anything important? I'm lower on the totem pole than their damn toilet cleaners."

"Hey, no need for the tone," Chris scolded. "I'm just in the dark here, buddy. Haven't gotten a call, email, text - hell, I'd take a damn letter from the studio at this point."

"Well, whatever you know I know." Chef balled his large hands together, looking off into space. "Everything I know's from them or you. The rest is word of mouth."

"Word of mouth? Whose mouth are we talkin' about?"

"Fishermen."

"Oh-ho, sailor mouths! The spiciest - wait, why were you hanging around fishermen?" Chris blinked, the gleam in his eyes quickly dissolving.

Chef shrugged. "I got a small lakehouse down in Muskoka. Nice place during the summer. Figured that with the show bein' called off I'd take a trip down there."

"So, let me get this straight: you have a lakehouse in one of the nicest parts of Canada and you've never invited me?!" Chris brought a hand to his chest. "Your closest friend and benevolent coworker?"

"Ha! Like you'd invite me to yours if you had one." Chef rolled his eyes. "Spare me."

"Fair enough. What kind of juicy bits did you get from them?"

Chef's face hardened. "You didn't hear it from me," he insisted gruffly, his voice dropping an octave.

"Uhh, sure. Pinky promise." Chris chortled at his comrade's suddenly serious tone. "What, did they spot the Loch Ness monster ferrying all the kids away?"

The look on Chef's face made it abundantly clear that Chris' humor was unwelcome. The host quickly fell silent.

"It's all rumor," Chef assured, "but, according to the folks in the Georgian Bay fishing community, a group of kids did show up at the dock."

Chris's eyebrows flew up. "Waiiiiit, wait wait wait. Hold on a goddamn minute. What do you mean?"

"They were at the dock, waiting for a boat," Chef explained, serious as a heart attack. "A whole bunch of 'em. Around lunchtime, they said."

"Around lunchtime..." Chris echoed softly. His eyes wandered over to the coffee table, spying a months-old promotional flyer for Total Drama. The place and time for the campers' pickup was clear as day. "As in, noon?"

"No clue. Again, McLean, none of this is a guarantee." Chef fidgeted in his seat, gritting his teeth. "Goddamn, can I PLEASE sit on the couch? This thing is killing me!"

Chris' eyes were still locked onto the flyer, but he cracked a smirk. "Nope. Couch is mine, bud."

"Shoulda brought my own damn chair..." the burly man grumbled.

"Quit whining about the furniture. Talk more about the kids."

Chef grimaced. "Not much more to say. 'Cept for this..." He took in a deep breath, as if trying to fathom if any of what he'd heard could even be true. "Those kids got on someone's boat, based on what I heard."

Chris' eyes went wide.

"What?!" he almost shouted. "So they did get on a boat?"

"That's what I heard," Chef repeated with a nod.

"But... but not OUR boat." Chris' eyes flickered back to the flyer. "We weren't there at noon. They couldn't have. There's no way."

A billion things flooded his mind. Jacob the cameraman, talking about a helicopter swooping down and throwing their boat off-course. The phone calls to parents and households, with each one reporting that their kids weren't home. Weeks without a sighting of even one of twenty-two teenagers. It was all unfolding in some sort of terrifying, possibly criminal conspiracy.

He looked back up to his guest. Chef was shaking his head somberly.

"It's rumor," he reiterated with a sigh.

Chris turned back to the flyer. As if the situation hadn't been shrouded in enough confusion, here came Chef, stirring the pot of mystery even further. He didn't know where to start.

"I need to think about some things," he declared. "Alone, preferably."

Chef nodded. "I figured we were done with the cards." He took a brief pause after rising to his feet. "You know, I really don't think it's as bad as it -"

"Please."

Those were the last words exchanged between the two. Chef gave another nod of understanding, grabbed his things and lumbered out the door, leaving Chris alone in his apartment to mull over his thoughts. The disheveled host was still staring at the Total Drama flyer.

Admittedly, it hadn't been the worst ending to poker night.


The fire danced back and forth, roaring and crackling admist the dark scenery. Duncan stared solemnly into the flames, saying nothing. His head was throbbing and his gaze was long. In spite of the heat radiating from the brilliant campfire, he couldn't help but feel an icy, uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his gut.

Courtney had taken to commemorating Geoff in a long, Courtney-ish speech. Though the other campers weren't used to any one person acting as the center of attention during an otherwise somber ceremony, they didn't have the heart to trample on someone who'd just lost a member of their cabin.

"Geoff didn't deserve this," the C.I.T. insisted. "Nobody does, of course, but Geoff least of all. He risked his life for a stupid challenge and wound upeaten by killer fish because of it."

A few of the campers cringed at the mention of Geoff's brutal execution. Ezekiel gripped his toque and grimaced, Beth screwed her eyes tight, and Bridgette shook her head sadly. Duncan tried to force the image out of his mind, to no avail.

"Brock's psychopathic games have been unfair in the past, but they went too far this time. There was absolutely foul play! I refuse to believe that Geoff drank the same kind of smoothie as everyone else," Courtney continued.

The ice in Duncan's gut grew colder. He brought his eyes to the ground, trying to maintain a steady expression. Sad, but not guilty. Definitely not guilty.

"We can't technically confirm or deny that," Noah pointed out. "There's no proof. Geoff drank all of it."

Courtney's eyes went wide. "Proof? What 'proof' do we need? Nobody else threw up! As an expert on de facto observations, that means that Geoff's smoothie was different from the others'!"

"Or that he had a weaker stomach," Gwen mumbled. Before an angry-looking Courtney could retort, the goth threw her hands up defensively. "Look, I drank the smoothie too. I completely understand throwing up. Maybe the running just upset him enough to puke."

"Whatever the case may be, Geoff's death was as unfair as it was cruel," Courtney concluded. She wasn't directly accusing any campers of voting for the party boy earlier in the day, but her tone heavily implied she meant to.

Duncan sighed deeply. "Let's not talk about whether or not it was fair, OK? Let's just..." He sheepishly looked around, hoping nobody was suspicious. "Just mourn the dude. Without talking."

"Hear, hear," Trent said quietly, before glancing down at the guitar in his lap. "Although, if everyone's cool with it, I wanna play some melancholy chords."

Nobody protested, and the silence in the air returned, permeated only by the crackling fire and the rich, moving notes plucked out on Trent's guitar. The group sitting around the bonfire, now numbering sixteen, wasn't too much smaller than it had been a few weeks ago. But it felt much, much lonelier.

One by one, as the flames slowly dwindled, so too did the mourning campers. The weary teens retreated to their beds, soon leaving only Duncan to stare into the glowing embers of the dying fire. The punk felt exhausted, drained emotionally and physically even though he'd done no competing that day.

He groaned and kicked weakly at the dirt. "Shit..."


CONFESSIONAL: DUNCAN

Duncan's tired eyes stared into the camera. His usual brash confidence was reduced to nothing, and he looked more like a husk of himself than anything.

"It's not my fault," he muttered, in a paltry effort to convince himself. "I didn't mess up. Gregory did. If I had known he would..." He stopped himself, closing his eyes. "It's not my fault. I swear. It's not. It's not..."

When his eyes flickered back open, they brimmed with tears. "Geoff. Dude. I'm so sorry. Wherever you are, just... please forgive me, man. Please."

END CONFESSIONAL


The fire had been reduced to a miniscule orange glow before Duncan even thought about leaving the bonfire pit. Eventually, however, his body's weariness brought him out of his own head. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, feeling the pins and needles in his legs as he finally rose to his feet.

It only took him a few steps before a voice made him freeze.

"Going somewhere?"

Duncan could feel his muscles tense. He knew who that voice belonged to. And as badly as he wanted to ignore it and continue walking, he knew that the right choice would be to turn back around. The punk cursed under his breath and did a one-eighty.

Sitting on a stump across from him, clad in a luxurious-looking white robe and sandals (and shades, though it was nighttime), was Brock Rockwell himself. The host sported his typical grin, though it did anything but ease Duncan's tension.

"Actually, yeah," Duncan said after a moment. "I was going back to my cabin."

"Oh, but you've been out here so long! Surely a few more minutes couldn't hurt?" Brock teased.

"Look, I'm sort of tired, so if you -"

"Sit down."

The tone behind those two words was strict and commanding. As much as he hated Brock, Duncan wasn't about to find out what would happen if he disobeyed. With an annoyed grunt - and to the amused satisfaction of the host - he sat right back on his stump.

"What do you want, man?" Duncan asked, trying to sound as weary as he felt.

Brock chuckled. "Duncan, you're a smart kid. How smart is debatable, of course, but I'm willing to bet you're smart enough to answer that question for yourself."

Dread started to gnaw at the back of Duncan's mind. Juvie experience or no, he knew when someone had caught on to one of his delinquent acts. The smugness Brock had on display told him everything he needed to know.

"Listen," he started. "I swear, I didn't want to hurt Geoff. Honest to God, I didn't."

"You've got to be kidding me," Brock muttered. His grin had dissolved into a scowl. "'Didn't want to hurt Geoff'? Do you seriously think that's why I walked all the way out here?"

In a surprising act, the host pounded the side of the stump he sat upon. The impact wasn't immense, but it was enough to make Duncan flinch (an impressive feat). When he retracted it, there were notably a few splinters digging into the side of his hand.

"I am out here," he half-growled, half-yelled through gritted teeth, "because you tried to play God on MY SHOW." He cradled his fresh injury in his other hand. "I take back whatever I said about you being a smart kid. Clearly, you're an idiot."

Duncan opened his mouth to protest, but Brock shut it down by speaking first. "I was going through the voting confessionals before tonight's execution - funny stuff as always - and I couldn't help but pay particular attention to yours. You were blubbering and bawling like some kind of baby. 'P-p-please don't snitch, Brock, please! I'm b-b-b-begging you!' My first instinct was to laugh, of course. My second was to figure out what the hell you were even talking about. Snitch? About what?

"Obviously, something was up. So I take a brief little stroll over to the Mess Hall, and sure enough, Gregory's got the full scoop! He tells me all about the little stunt you pulled during today's challenge." Brock shook his head, visibly bitter. "Russula emetica, Duncan? Really? What the hell made you think slipping poisonous mushrooms where they don't belong was a good idea? HERE, of all places?"

Duncan tried keeping eye contact with the irate host, though it was becoming more difficult. "Gregory told you?" he mumbled.

"He sure did! And, knowing he couldn't stop you at the time, good ol' Gregory decided to do the next best thing – stand by and let your own stupidity bite you in the ass. So the only cabin that suffered from your lack of a brain was your own," Brock explained, still nursing his splinter-riddled hand.

Duncan slumped further in his seat. To confirm his worst suspicions, Gregory had intentionally caused his plan to backfire after all. No mistakes had been made... other than his own decision to sabotage the challenge.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Oh, spare me." Behind his dark shades, Brock's eyes rolled. "What I want to know is why. Why break my rules like this, Duncan? Why would you do something this deliberately stupid?"

Duncan remained quiet.

"No, wait, let me guess - it's because of my vendetta against you, right?" Brock continued to rant. "It's because I've been out to get you from day one, isn't it? I've heard you bitch and whine about being targeted by me for weeks now, because God KNOWS, my entire universe revolves around YOU, Duncan! You are the most -"

"I did it for Geoff, OK?" Duncan finally snapped. "I did it to help him win. To screw someone else over. I didn't do it for you." He tried to inject extra venom into that last bit, but Brock looked unfazed.

"Then let this be a lesson to you," the host warned, rising to his feet. A drop of blood poured from the deepest cut in his hand, avoiding his white sandals by an inch. "The rules here exist for a reason. And they are NOT to be bent or broken by the likes of you. Do you understand?"

Duncan nodded. The answer wasn't enough for Brock, however, who stamped his foot.

"Do. You. Understand?" he repeated.

"Yeah. I understand," Duncan echoed in a hollow voice.

"Good. Let's keep it that way." Brock stared. "There's one God on this island, kid, and it sure as hell isn't you. He's not targeting you the way you think he is. But keep pushing it, and he might."

He turned and started down the opposite end of the trail, headed to who-knows-where. Duncan watched the white robe grow more and more distant until it could no longer be seen.


CONFESSIONAL: DUNCAN

Duncan looked even more exhausted than earlier. There was a pregnant pause in the confessional booth as the punk was silent.

"You're an asshole," he finally grumbled in a weak attempt to get one over on Brock.

END CONFESSIONAL


Night turned into day, which turned into night, which once again turned into day. The weeks had become almost patternistic for the campers - six days of uncomfortable time-biding and toiling about, then the dreaded day of the week's challenge. Everyone on challenge days looked forward to breakfast, as for most it was the one brief period where they could enjoy one another's company and conversations before Brock entered through the doors, bringing with him another horrible day that would end in someone's unfortunate demise.

So when a week had passed, many of the teens had expected to wake up in their beds to Brock's announcement through the loudspeaker, then trudge down to the Mess Hall for an unappetizing meal. Their expectations had been subverted: nobody woke up to Brock's announcement. Or got breakfast.

Or even woke up in their bed.

When Gwen opened her eyes, the last thing she'd prepared to see was a thick band of black cloth obscuring her vision. The press of the mattress against her back had been swapped out for a pair of muscular arms, cradling her tightly so as to prevent escape. The sound of footsteps and crunching leaves and grass could be heard. Naturally, she was confused and concerned.

"What the hell?" the goth girl groaned groggily. She tried squirming to free herself, but her resistance only made her assailant's grasp around her even tighter. "What's going on? Put me down!"

She could hear a deep grunt. Then, as if in response to her, the grasp loosened. Gwen dropped to the ground beneath unceremoniously, landing on what felt like grass and dirt. She groaned, cursing as she brushed off her pajama bottoms.

A pair of large hands slowly undid her blindfold. When she could eventually see, the morning sun hit her directly in the eyes, causing her to squint and shield them. Gwen gradually blinked away her blindness and glanced at her surroundings.

As it turned out, she was late to the party. Just about every other camper had already arrived, having been dropped off in similar fashion in this unknown forest clearing. Gordon and Isaiah had presumably delivered them all to this place in blindfolds. Many of them looked as upset as she did, and everyone was in their sleepwear - even guys like Duncan and Owen, who were shirtless.

Gwen was mid-yawn when she felt someone brush against her side. Looking up, she saw Tyler. He smiled and crouched next to her, though he also looked kind of tired.

"Sleep okay?" he asked wryly.

"For the most part," she answered, still trying to piece together what was going on. At the forefront of the clearing, Brock was standing and observing the arrival of each contestant. Isaiah was untying Trent's blindfold, while Gordon emerged from the woods with a blindfolded Bridgette over his shoulder. The surfer girl was wriggling in his clutches to no avail, though she was eventually dropped next to Gwen and Tyler.

The blonde goon removed the cloth around her eyes while Tyler gave him a stink eye. Bridgette blinked rapidly, similar to the way Gwen had, and looked to her cabin mates. "What's going on?" she asked, an edge of concern in her voice.

Tyler shrugged. "Beats me. I was having a really weird dream, then woke up to someone tying a blindfold around my eyes and lifting me up. Before I could warn you guys I was being carried out the door and into the woods."

Bridgette sighed and rubbed her backside, which she'd landed on somewhat roughly. "Man, I really wanted to go swimming this morning. It's been getting so hot..."

"Me too! That's, like, my favorite part of the day," Tyler admitted, though he seemed a bit embarrassed after doing so. "I mean, it's just cool! Being out there and swimming laps. It's really cool."

Bridgette nodded in agreement, though Gwen was smirking. Tyler shot her a look, but the goth girl mouthed the words tell her back. He looked away for a second and shook his head slowly.

Not yet, he mouthed back.

"What're you two doing?" Bridgette asked, prompting both of them to flinch. "Why are you talking - or I guess not talking like that?"

"Nothing," Tyler said hastily. "Just... nothing."

Gwen chuckled. "He's got a spider on his pajamas."

Tyler assumed she was using that as a distraction, until he found the very real (and surprisingly big) spider crawling up his pajama pant leg. He yelped and swatted it off with a stick, prompting both Gwen and Bridgette to giggle.


CONFESSIONAL: TYLER

"I know Gwen and I talked about it last week, and..." Tyler cupped his hands under his jawline. "Yeah, I have a crush on Bridgette. I mean, she's so cool, and chill, and I really should tell her how I feel. But..."

He blew a burst of air from his mouth. "I don't know. What if I mess things up? I need everything to be just right if I'm gonna tell her. That makes sense, right?"

The jock thought for a moment. "Who am I kidding, none of my crushes ever make sense..."

END CONFESSIONAL


A few somewhat sleepy conversations were taking place among the campers before they were put to an abrupt halt by Brock. "Is this everyone?" he called out, asking Gordon and Isaiah.

As if they had a psychic connection, the two goons surveyed the clearing, performing a silent head-count. When they both reached the same conclusion, they nodded at one another, then to Brock.

The host grinned and clapped his hands. "Wonderful. In that case, rise and shine, sleepyheads!"

"We're already awake," Noah groaned. "No thanks to you. Or Rosencrantz and Guildenstern over there," he added, jerking a thumb towards the henchmen.

"Jeez. It was a formality, pencil-neck." Brock tut-tutted the snarky camper, before resuming his usual showmanlike flair. "Now, I'm sure you all found yourselves in a peculiar situation this morning. You might have asked yourselves, 'what's going on? Have I finally been saved from this horrible, horrible nightmare?' And to that, I say this."

He proceeded to burst out into a fit of hysterical laughter, joined by absolutely nobody. Many of the campers gave him murderous stares. Eva shook her head and called him something so profane that Ezekiel had to ask Trent what it meant.

"Trust me, you don't want to know," he replied firmly.

Brock wiped a mock tear away from his shades as his laughter died down. "Man, I crack myself up. Anyways, you all have been brought here for a very important reason -" he paused for dramatic effect "- to begin today's challenge!"

"Wait, what?" Courtney interjected. "But we're all in our pajamas!"

"And we're in the middle of nowhere," Cody added, swatting a leaf off of his shoulder.

"And we haven't had breakfast!" Owen whined, his big pale body trembling a bit.

"All very valid concerns," Brock replied. "And they will all be ignored while I explain what's in store for you today!"

Several groans rose up from the campers as Brock went along with his explanation. "As you all have no doubt noticed, today's challenge has a bit of an unconventional beginning. There's a bit of an emphasis on the unknown - as in, a completely unknown location!" He pointed to his shades. "You all can see now, but I take it you remember being blindfolded?"

"Yeah, because it happened literally minutes ago," Gwen pointed out dryly.

"I don't have my glasses!" Beth piped up. "I can't see anything even without my blindfold."

She was right; the farm girl was squinting and blinking rapidly, trying to make sense of her blurry surroundings. Brock looked to Gordon, who grunted and tweezed something out of the back pocket of his shorts. He lobbed a pair of thick eyeglasses over towards Beth, managing to hit her squarely in the nose.

"There. Now everyone can see," Brock declared as a startled Beth slipped her glasses on with her one hand. "Anyways, outside of being an ideal resource for dragging unsuspecting people to an unknown location, those blindfolds had a very important role in today's challenge. Tell me, who knows where we are?"

When nobody had a confident answer, he grinned. "Wonderful! So, for all intents and purposes, we are in the middle of nowhere. At least, you contestants are - I know exactly where I am, trust me. But today's challenge isn't about where you are... it's about where you WILL be that counts!"

Though the last part was meant to be a big reveal, Brock's audience didn't give him the reaction he'd been expecting. Mostly everyone seemed either confused or indifferent.

"And where will we be?" Heather asked when nobody else spoke up.

Brock sighed. "I was hoping for a bit more fanfare. Regardless, the goal of today's challenge is simple. You all have been brought to this clearing with no knowledge of your whereabouts or what path you took to get here. As you may have guessed, for today's competition, you must navigate your way back to the campground!"

"Wait, that's all?" Leshawna asked, cocking an eyebrow. "That don't seem like much of a competition."

"I never said that was all," Brock said firmly. "You're right - that in and of itself is not a challenge. Not unless you're bad with directions, that is. No, the rub is this: you will be finding your way back to the campground..."

He took another dramatic pause, as he was prone to do. Several of the campers rolled their eyes.

"...in a team race!"

The host motioned to Isaiah, who retrieved a small brown bag from behind a nearby tree while Brock continued. "But this is no ordinary team race. Were that the case, I would have just clumped you all together in your cabin groups by now. No, this is a special kind of team race, because you all will be participating in pairs!"

Isaiah opened the bag and revealed its contents to the campers. Inside were a variety of cloths similar to the ones they had worn as blindfolds not too much earlier. Unlike those blindfolds, which had been black, the ones within the sack came in a rainbow of colors - red, green, pink, and just about every other notable color in between, though a few black ones were mixed in as well.

"These flags will represent the color of your team," Brock elaborated. "Your goal as a duo is to return to the campground and tie both flags around a Mess Hall door handle. The challenge ends when all but one team has successfully done so!"

He splayed his hands and grinned once more. "Now, being the generous host that I am, I'll give you all two minutes to ask whatever questions are on your mind without pissing me off. One at a time, please!"

Courtney, naturally, was the first to speak. "How will we be deciding our teams?" she asked sternly.

"I believe what you meant to say was, how will I be deciding your teams," Brock replied with a sadistic chuckle. "You all will be paired based on some previously-determined combinations. Except for one team, that is, but I'll cover that in a bit." His answer received a few disgruntled mutters.

"What if some teams don't make it back?" Noah brought up, the suggestion a bit more ominous than he had intended.

Brock scoffed. "What, and get lost in the woods? Like small children?" He chortled at his own comment. "Anyways, if there's one or more teams or contestants who don't reach the campground by sundown, Gordon and Isaiah are more than happy to escort them back and crown them all as losers. Unless by don't make it back, you mean can't make it back, in which case..."

"I definitely didn't mean that," Noah affirmed quickly.

It didn't take long for someone to pose the question that was on mostly everyone's mind. "If there's only one losing pair, how do we decide who makes it onto the slate?" Sadie asked sharply.

"That's for me to know, and for you to find out later," Brock told her with a smirk. As expected, his answer visibly didn't sit well with the campers. He grinned at their misfortune. "Anything else?"

Ezekiel raised his hand, though he didn't have to. "Do we have to be in our pajamas?"

"Of course not. If you want, you can take them off," Brock joked.


CONFESSIONAL: EZEKIEL

Ezekiel tugged at his white pajama T-shirt and frowned. His toque was notably missing. "Aw, but now my PJs are going to get sweaty and dirty. That's what regular clothes are for, eh..."

END CONFESSIONAL


When nobody else had a question, Brock clapped his hands together. "Right, then! Before you all are sorted like lemmings, one of you has earned a bit of a privilege based on last week's challenge. DJ, if you don't mind standing?"

DJ obliged, rising to his feet silently. All eyes turned to the brickhouse as he looked at the host, who had produced a pair of green cloths from the bag.

"As the sole winner of our previous challenge, you and you alone will be allowed to select your teammate," Brock informed him. "The two of you will take these flags as the Green Team and -"

"I choose Trent," DJ answered.

The speed of his choice was unprecedented. Even Brock seemed a bit surprised. Trent, after a moment of hesitation, stood up.

"Alright then," the guitarist said with a shrug. He and DJ stepped forth and each took a cloth from Brock's outstretched hand. The brickhouse tied his around his wrist, while Trent tucked his own into the back pocket of his pajama shorts.


CONFESSIONAL: TRENT

"To tell you the truth, I was kind of hoping DJ wouldn't pick me," Trent confessed uneasily. "Not that I don't like him or anything, but... with the way he's been acting recently, he's been making me sort of uncomfortable. It's still kind of hard to get a read on what's going on with him."

He paused. "Why did he pick me so quickly, though?"

END CONFESSIONAL


"Now that the exception is out of the way, let's go ahead and get the rest of you sorted out," Brock announced. He passed the bag of cloths over to Isaiah, who began making his way around the clearing, dishing out miscellaneous colored flags to each camper. Though every choice had been pre-determined, it still almost felt randomized.

Once everyone had received a cloth of their own, Isaiah circled back to Brock's side. The host stepped forward and raised a hand. "If you are on the Red Team, raise your flag in the air!"

Beth raised a scarlet fabric in the air, as did Sadie. To the side, Noah breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that he had avoided an extremely awkward situation - and, more importantly, that Sadie was not teammates with Cody. He had a pretty grim idea of how that pairing would go down.

"Right then, you two get together. Keeping with the rainbow pattern, raise your flag if you a member of the Orange Team!"

Bridgette and Tyler raised their cloths together in unison. The pair smiled at one another, with Tyler looking both happy and a bit nervous. Brock chuckled.

"That's right, I remember putting you two together. Trust me - I didn't do it as a favor to either of you." Before Tyler or Bridgette could warily ask what he meant, the host had moved on. "Yellow Team, you know the drill!"

Gwen lifted her flag into the air, looking around to see who had done the same. She seemed a bit disappointed when the only other camper to do so was Cody.

"You better not try anything when we're alone," she warned him.

The geek seemed a bit hurt by her remark. "I wasn't going to..." he mumbled. Gwen simply sniffed and turned her attention back to Brock.

"Already establishing some great chemistry," Brock joked with a grin. "Anyways, Blue Team - where are you at?"

To the campers' confusion, only one blue cloth was lifted up. Noah held his flag aloft, looking around.

"Wait, what the hell?" the bookworm asked. "That's not fair!"

"Right you are, Noah," Brock said, his grin becoming more sadistic. "Tell me, which one of you received a white cloth?"

As expected by the host, Ezekiel raised his hand. The homeschooler seemed just as confused as Noah. "Is mine supposed to be blue?" he asked.

"It sure is!" Brock replied chipperly. "There's just one problem, though. It appears your flag is tied around a bedpost in Cabin Four."

It took a moment for Ezekiel, as well as many of the other campers, to catch on. When he did, his face slowly went from confused to distressed, then to horrified. He happened to remember one very distinct blue cloth that fit Brock's description.

"No..." he mumbled, beginning to feel queasy.

"What the actual hell wrong with you?!" Eva yelled, bolting to her feet. "You're a disgusting pile of scum!"

"Yeah, what gives, man?" Trent added with a sickened expression. "That's really messed up."

"Hey, a blue flag is a blue flag," Brock claimed defensively. "Even if most of it is singed and blackened, it still counts. So Zeke will just have to retrieve it if he wants his team to succeed."

"B-But... that's not a flag..." Ezekiel stammered weakly. Tears were beginning to form in his eyes as he teetered between pain and confusion.

"It's a bandana. Potato, tomato." Brock waved his hand dismissively. "While you're at it, go ahead and get rid of that white one. Who's on the Purple Team?"

Eva, still glaring furiously at Brock, forcibly held her purple flag in the air. Leshawna did the same, though with a fair bit more hesitance. Meanwhile, Ezekiel dropped his white cloth on the ground, looking like he was trying very hard not to cry.

"Great! You two ladies will make a fine team, I can feel it," Brock assured them with a mocking smile. "How about the Pink Team, hm?"

Courtney raised her flag up. After a moment of reluctance, Duncan rolled his eyes and joined her, the feminine pink of his flag clashing heavily with his mostly-black wardrobe and edgy demeanor. Brock giggled in delight.

"Pink suits you, Duncan," he told the punk, hardly hiding his mirth.

"Shut up," Duncan responded icily.

"No thanks, Pinky. Anyways, for those of you who can do math, that leaves just one pair. Black Team, if you don't mind?"

The last two remaining campers each held a black cloth aloft. Heather looked to Owen, who smiled and waved at her. She gave him a nod back.

"Like I told the Orange Team, I didn't put the last two pairs together as any kind of advantage. Sooner or later, you all will know what I mean." Brock rubbed his hands together, having finished grouping everyone up. "Go ahead and get with your teammates, people! The challenge will begin very shortly!"

Everyone began squaring off into their respective pairs. Towards the back of the pack, Eva and Leshawna put their heads together for a two-woman group huddle.

"Man, that boy can be a real piece of work," Leshawna grumbled, looking over to Brock. "Sorry about what he did to your little friend."

Eva almost felt tempted to correct her on that last part, as she wouldn't exactly have called Ezekiel - or anyone on the island, really - a friend. She suppressed the urge, however. "I agree. Brock is the absolute worst."

Leshawna nodded as Eva lowered her voice a bit, speaking in a hushed whisper so nobody around them could hear. "But I think I know how to beat him at his own game. I have a plan."

"A plan?" Leshawna's eyes widened a bit. "Girl, no offense, but... let's just say there's a few people I would trust more with plans than you."

Eva grunted, clearly offended but holding back her anger. "Whatever. Trust me, I've got an idea. If it works, it works. If not, we should still be fine. Are you in?"

Leshawna seemed a bit hesitant, but eventually nodded. "Better than nothin', I guess."

"Good. Now, I need you to do something for me..."


CONFESSIONAL: EVA

"I know I'm not the smartest," Eva growled. "Or the best with puzzles. But when I hate somebody, and I can't just overpower them, I come up with other ways to beat them. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes."

She stared daggers into the camera. "Whatever. It. Takes."

END CONFESSIONAL


"What?" It took everything in Leshawna's power to keep her voice down. "You really expect me to do that?"

"It's part of my plan, so yes."

"Girl, you're outside your mind! Why would I do that?"

"Because I need you to. Trust me, I'm gonna do something even worse. You have the easy job."

"I..." Leshawna gave her an incredulous look. She couldn't really grasp why Eva's plan was the way that it was, but something in her gut told her to just go along with it. "You know what? Fine. Tell me when."

Eva nodded, and the two girls looked back to Brock. The host was waiting for all the groups to face him. Since the Purple Team was near the back of the clearing and behind several taller campers, it was more difficult to see them than any of the other pairs.

"Everyone, get ready to take to the woods," Brock declared. He held up his hand, lifting three fingers. "In three..."

Each camper assumed the position for a running start. At the back, Eva gave a subtle nod to Leshawna.

"...two..."

There was an abrupt cracking sound.

In one swift motion, Leshawna had brought her fist to her teammate's nose. Eva stumbled backwards, the blow having been enough to prompt a geyser of blood to stream out of her nose. She grit her teeth and did her best to endure; after all, what Leshawna had done was only half of the plan. It was time for part two.

Eva dug her heel into the ground and, screwing her eyes tightly, jerked her leg as awkwardly and disjointedly as she could. She tightly clutched the area around her ankle for good measure. As she had hoped, her leg bent and twisted in a very uncomfortable and very unnatural fashion, followed by a loud and unpleasant popping noise.

Heads whipped around to look at the Purple Team as Eva groaned loudly in pain, collapsing into a heap on the grass. Leshawna did her best to look shocked and, more importantly, not at all complicit to Eva's injury.

"What the hell?" Brock paused his countdown, making his way past the other teams to observe the chaos. "What happened to her?"

Leshawna gave an exasperated shrug. Eva writhed around on the ground, wincing and moaning in agony. "I dripped and thprained my ankle," she explained through the pain, her nose region already beginning to swell and discolor.

"Are you k-" Brock pinched the bridge of his nose, looking genuinely frustrated. "How the hell do you trip when you're standing still?"

"I wath gonna thtart running early..." Eva groaned.

"You expect me to believe that?" Brock cocked his head, then threw his hands in the air. "You know what? Whatever. I don't care however the hell you hurt yourself."

He pointed to Isaiah. "Take her back to the medbay and patch her up, then bring her straight back here. She's still in this challenge, damn it. Just keep her eyes covered whenever you're in the woods." He turned to the rest of the campers. "And make sure nobody here follows you."

The Samoan goon obliged, marching over and scooping up the injured Eva, carrying her over his shoulder. He took her purple flag and wrapped it around her eyes. Leshawna gave the host a quizzical stare. "Wait, what am I supposed to do?"

"Stay here and wait. Or don't. That's not my problem once the challenge starts," Brock told her.

"But it's a race! That ain't fair if I have to wait."

"Well, then maybe your teammate should have thought about that before her ankle decided to go kaput!" Brock snapped. "Screw it all - the challenge starts now!"

Hearing their cue, the teams of campers (those who could stand, anyways) dashed into the woods in scattered directions. Leshawna watched as Isaiah departed into the woods, with Eva's blindfolded head cradled uncomfortably on his shoulder. Blood still spewed from her nose, tainting the back of the henchman's white wardrobe and spilling onto the ground below.

As Leshawna's injured teammate was carried away, she gave one last subtle nod.


Noah was in a bit of a predicament. On the one hand, he was usually the guy to take charge in situations; after all, more often than not, he was the smartest guy in the room. With a teammate in emotional distress, it would make sense for the braniac to step up as the leader and put his high IQ to work.

On the other hand, he wasn't an outdoors person. Noah tended to avoid the wilderness, opting to ignore Mother Nature whenever she wasn't being described to him in the pages of a book. Camping was a waste of time and energy to him. Hell, he wasn't even a fan of participating in a reality TV show with a summer camp theme at first, until he'd found out about the cash prize.

So rather than leading the way, Noah simply decided to follow a still-upset Ezekiel into the woods. The results so far had been a mixed bag, as both guys had found themselves wandering somewhat aimlessly throughout the forest. The bookworm made a face and brushed a tree branch out of the way, trailing behind his teammate.

"So, uh... sorry about what happened back there," he said flatly. "That really does suck."

Ezekiel sniffed, stepping over a rock. "It's OK, eh. I mean, it's been a while since -" He almost wanted to mention Lindsay, but saying her name still brought up some traumatic memories for the homeschooler. "Well, you know."

Noah nodded, looking down at the blue cloth wrapped around his wrist. "I really hope Brock's got some karma waiting around the corner for him. Not that I believe in superstition or anything, but if anyone deserves what's coming to them, it's him."

"Brock is a bad guy," Ezekiel stated, somewhat bluntly. He scratched some leaves out of his bushy brown hair, still not used to the feeling of walking around without his toque. "I don't want to talk aboot him."

"Agreed." Noah put his hands on his hips and squinted off into the woods. He saw nothing that indicated where the duo was headed. "Hey, do you know which way we're going?"

Ezekiel stopped, looking where Noah was. "Er, not really. I just sort of started walking, eh. Do you know which way?"

"Not at all. I figured you did," Noah said with a sigh. "Looks like we're gonna be out here for a while, then."

"Wait, what's that?" Ezekiel turned his head a bit to the left, looking at a sturdy, gnarled tree.

Noah blinked. "A tree?"

Ezekiel shook his head. "Not the tree. Look!"

He pointed towards the side of the trunk. A fuzzy-looking green moss was growing along the bark. The two campers approached the moss, with Ezekiel reaching out to run his fingers along it.

"I learned this on a hike, eh," he mentioned. "Moss always faces the north."

Noah snorted. "No offense, but that sounds like a myth."

"No, really! Moss grows in shady places. That's usually the north." Ezekiel pointed towards the direction the tree moss was facing. Sure enough, some other nearby trees sported similar moss patterns. "So that way is north."

"How did you find out about that?" Noah asked. Even the bookworm was impressed by his teammate's bit of unexpected knowledge. He didn't really read to learn random facts about moss.

"My folks taught me!" Ezekiel said with a smile. "Whenever I wasn't in class, they'd take me outside and we'd walk around the forest, eh. I learned all kinds of stuff. Like archery!"

Noah's eyebrows raised. "You know how to use a bow and arrow?"

"Sure do!" Ezekiel nodded. "Just don't ask how well, eh."


CONFESSIONAL: NOAH

"I'll be honest - there's some people on this island I don't know that much about," Noah confessed, wiping some dirt off of his bare feet. "And Ezekiel's one of them. Does that mean I'm willing to learn more? Not necessarily. But when you're stuck in the woods with someone, sometimes you don't have a choice."

END CONFESSIONAL


"OK, so we know which way is north," Noah determined. "But we don't even know where we are, so it doesn't seem like much help."

Ezekiel's smile dropped. "Oh. Right." He kicked at some leaves. "I don't really know what to do aboot that."

"I say we pick a direction and just walk," Noah said with a shrug. "If we reach water, we turn around and walk the opposite way. We're bound to reach the trail after that since it's right down the middle of the island. Sound good?"

"But what if that takes too long? We're supposed to be racing," Ezekiel pointed out.

"We at least have a game plan," Noah argued. "Do you really think Duncan and Courtney have gotten that far? They're probably beating each other with tree branches as we speak. Trust me, as long as we're not last, we're fine."

"Okay." Ezekiel nodded his approval. "Which way do you wanna walk?"

"Hey, you're the one who's used to walking around the woods. You tell me."

Ezekiel stroked his chin. His eyes wandered a bit, though they eventually landed on the mossy tree once again. It wasn't much longer before Noah's gaze had followed his.

"Follow the moss?"

"I thought I was supposed to tell you, eh."


Eva wasn't usually the kind of person who allowed herself to be carried. She was too strong, too athletic, and far too proud to let someone else move her around. The only reason she'd gotten carried out to the clearing in the first place was because she had been asleep. So when Isaiah blindfolded her and slung her over his shoulder for a second time, he'd only done so because she'd let him as part of her plan.

That didn't stop her pride from hurting as the goon stomped through the woods, prompting her head to bob and more blood to drip from her injured nose. She could feel her leg throbbing in pain from the way she'd bent and twisted it. Eva cursed herself for being as rough as she'd been, but the injury had to be convincing.

"Can you thtop walking indo drees?" she snapped after feeling yet another branch scrape uncomfortably against her back. Her speech was still being affected by Leshawna's punch to her nose-mouth area. Suddenly she knew how Ezekiel had felt two weeks prior.

Isaiah grunted, though it was unclear whether he was answering or ignoring her. Eva squirmed a bit in his grasp to reposition her arms, which had been dangling uncomfortably against his back.

The two maintained a silence for what felt like ages until, at long last, Isaiah tugged the camper's blindfold off and dropped it to the ground. Eva blinked away the sunlight hitting her eyes, her vision no longer obscured by purple fabric. She found herself looking at the cabins, back at the campgrounds.

Which meant the Mess Hall was directly behind her.

"What took you so long?" a voice said irately to Isaiah. Though Eva wasn't facing it, she knew it belonged to Brock. "I beat you here by ten minutes! Why did you spend so much extra time just walking around?"

The Samoan henchman grumbled something unintelligible as a reply. Though it didn't appear to be words, Brock was somehow able to glean a meaning from it, as he let out a frustrated sigh.

"You can 'throw people off' without taking a million extra years, you goon. Whatever, just set her down," he commanded.

Isaiah obliged, pushing Eva off of his shoulder. It was a miracle she didn't land on her wounded leg when she dropped, but rather her side - though it wasn't too much more comfortable. Brock crouched down, his eyes locked onto hers behind his shades.

"Her nose looks better," he observed, noting that it wasn't leaking any more blood, though it was still very injured-looking. "I don't know what the hell happened to her leg, but it's probably nothing time won't fix. Just slap some bandages and a brace where they need to go and take her back."

"You can'd juth dake me back," Eva mumbled.

Brock raised his eyebrows. "Oh, yeah? And why can't I? Unless you feel like joining the One-Hand Club, a couple boo-boos aren't enough to keep you out of a challenge."

Eva bared her teeth, her smile a bit more scarlet-tinted than normal. "Becauth."

"Because?"

"Becauth I already won."

Before Brock could figure out what she was talking about, Eva lunged over to where Isaiah had dropped the purple cloth. She rolled onto her front and pushed herself up to her feet using her arms, though adding weight to her injured leg caused her to wince sharply. Isaiah looked ready to stop her, but the host held him back.

"Don't bother," Brock instructed. "I wanna see this."

Eva hopped on her one good foot over to the Mess Hall doors, the purple flag in hand. She tied it in a firm knot around the right door handle. When it was secured, she leaned against the Mess Hall door to take weight off her leg, arms folded triumphantly over her chest.

"There you go," she declared.

"That's it?" Brock smirked, amusement creeping into his voice. He strutted over to the door and gave the knot a gentle tug. "Wow, you sure got me, Eva. You've officially bamboozled your way into completing one-half of today's challenge. Are you proud of yourself?"

Eva gave him a nod, her confidence unwavering. Seeing this, Brock couldn't help but laugh.

"You're aware of the rules, aren't you? This doesn't mean anything until there's a second one just like it. And I hate to burst your aggressive, monobrowed bubble, but there's a pretty good chance your teammate's just sitting back at the clearing waiting for you."

"You're wrong," Eva told him matter-of-factly.

"Am I, now?" Brock tucked his hands into his pockets and grinned smugly. To his side, Isaiah stood cross-armed, the same permanently dull and unassuming expression on his face. "Alright then, Eva. If Leshawna's not in the woods right now, then where the hell is she? Because I sure as shit don't see her anywhere."

"She's right here," Eva had almost said. But she didn't have to. Someone else had beaten her to it.

Brock and Isaiah could only watch as Leshawna casually passed them by, reaching out to tie her own purple flag around the same door handle as Eva's. When she finished, she grinned at her teammate, and at the smugness draining from Brock's face.

"Explain," the host demanded.

Leshawna didn't answer him with words. Rather, she pointed to the ground - more specifically, the loose trail of drying crimson droplets that peppered the dirt and grass.

"Your boy's not very good at making sure nobody's following him," she explained. She offered a high-five to Eva, who accepted, both girls basking in their victory over their sadistic showrunner.

Brock clenched his jaw. He turned to look at his larger employee. "You seriously let her create an entire goddamn breadcrumb trail out of nose blood?" he seethed.

Isaiah, predictably, said nothing. He looked down at the trail of dried blood. Sure enough, it followed the route he had taken when returning to the campground. After a few moments of silent staring, he gave one solitary nod as his answer.

Brock took a few sharp, angry breaths, also saying nothing for a bit. He looked ready to either scream at the tall goon, or punch something very hard.

"Was there anyone else near you?" he finally asked Leshawna.

Leshawna shook her head. "Not that I saw. Pretty sure I'm the only one who knew what to do. Everyone else just looked kinda freaked out by the whole thing."

"Fine." Brock's mouth twitched into an uneasy smile. "Congrats, Purple Team. You gamed the system and technically didn't break any rules, so your victory is legitimate. There's ham sandwiches waiting for the winning teams inside the Mess Hall." He folded his arms behind his back. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some cameras to watch."

He huffed indignantly and turned around, beginning to head towards parts unknown. Isaiah hesitantly took a step to follow behind him, but the host barked at him over his shoulder, ordering the Samoan to stand and watch the doors (and change his tarnished white uniform when he got a chance). Leshawna was beaming as she helped her teammate enter the Mess Hall.

"Girl, how in the hell did that work?" she asked.

Eva leaned on her teammate's shoulder for support. "It juth theemed obviouth," she answered impatiently. She wasn't too interested in talking - not when a late breakfast was waiting for her in the form of a tray of sandwiches sitting by Chef Gregory's serving window.


CONFESSIONAL: EVA

Eva's nose was patched up with tape and gauze, although it seemed to be a bit further along in the healing process. A clumsy-looking brace was also attached to her lower leg, its actual usefulness questionable. She took a bite from the sandwich in her hand before abruptly spitting it out.

"Thad'th definitely nod a ham thandwich," she groaned in disgust at the taste of mystery meat.

END CONFESSIONAL


The morning sun slowly rose higher in the sky as roughly an hour passed since the challenge had begun. Save for the Purple Team, every pair of campers had yet to find the campgrounds. The woods were proving to be more of a hassle to navigate than one would expect.

Things certainly weren't looking up for Duncan, who had spent the better part of that hour walking shirtless through tree branches and spiderwebs, forced to listen to Courtney's complaining. The C.I.T. was already whinier than most people, but apparently being in the forest in her pajamas made her five times worse.

"Ugh, my feet are killing me," she moaned after stepping on yet another stick. "What kind of pervert drops a bunch of teenagers in their pajamas in the forest? I feel like I'm in some skeevy film from the 1980s! And don't get me started on the blindfolds. I know I talked about it, but that was such a -"

Duncan let out a frustrated sigh. "Courtney. Seriously. It'd be nice to hear my own thoughts."

Courtney paused, folding her arms over her chest. "Oh, really? You have thoughts? That's a first."

"Yeah, I do have thoughts," Duncan snapped back, raising an eyebrow. "You wanna hear some of 'em? Most of them contain the words 'annoying bitch'."

Courtney scoffed. She raised up her wrist and pointed to the pink cloth wrapped around it. "Honestly, if it wasn't for this, I would have already ditched you by this point. You've done nothing since this challenge started!"

"You? Ditch me? Please." Duncan rolled his eyes. "If anything, I should be the one doing the ditching. We've been walking for a billion years and you've been whining for all of them!"

"Well, someone's got to do the talking! You haven't said a word." Courtney squinted at him. "Actually, wait. You've been really quiet all week. I didn't say anything about it - after all, since when is you shutting your big, fat mouth a bad thing - but something's up with you, isn't it?"

For a moment, Duncan wasn't sure how to respond. She had a point - ever since his conversation with Brock last week, the punk hadn't been as rude and outgoing as he usually was. The Geoff incident was still on his mind, and he'd been spending a lot of time and energy wrestling with himself over how to feel.

That said, he was the only one who knew what happened. As far as the other campers knew, Geoff's loss in last week's challenge had been completely natural. But Courtney had continued to believe there was more to it than that, still crying foul play even when nothing supported her theory. Duncan had enough to stress about as it was. If Courtney ever found out what he'd done, he could only imagine the fallout that would follow. He had to do something to change the subject.

"I don't have to say shit to you," he said after a moment.

Courtney raised her eyebrows. "Ex-cuse me?"

"Yeah, you know what?" Duncan jabbed a finger at her. "Maybe I don't enjoy talking to the stuck-up know-it-all who calls me a jerk and an idiot at every turn. Maybe I just didn't feel like being a 'good teammate' to a complete and total bitch! Ever think about that, Little Miss Perfect?"

Courtney's eyes were wide with anger. "God, you are such a brat! You think having your stupid dyed mohawk and spiky collars makes you soooo cool, but you're just another edgy, immature asshole who acts out because he feels like it!"

"At least I can make friends," Duncan argued. "How many people on this island have said they even like you, huh? Name one!"

"You? Friends?" Courtney let out a mocking laugh. "Right, because you're Mr. Popular! Everybody loves hanging around with an obnoxious dickweed!"

"I HAD a friend before he got eaten by piranhas!" Duncan yelled.

"Geoff was not YOUR friend! He was as nice to you as he was to EVERYONE!" Courtney shouted back.

The Pink Team was locked in a surprisingly emotional staredown. They had both crossed the line at this point. There was no going back. Duncan continued to glare angrily at Courtney, his chest rising and falling. He took a step closer and lowered his voice.

"You," he growled, "are the most annoying, most insecure, neediest, whiniest, most spoiled piece of shit I have ever met in my entire damn life."

"You're the most stubborn, most obnoxious, pathetic, stuck-up, full-of-himself gaping asshole on the planet!" Courtney squeaked back, marching right up to Duncan's face as she spoke.

Duncan glowered down at Courtney. Courtney glowered right back. In that moment, both campers knew what was coming next.

Without a moment to spare, Courtney pulled Duncan (who happily accepted) in for a kiss.


CONFESSIONAL: COURTNEY

Courtney was grinning from ear to ear. Her hair, which had been tied back into a ponytail under her sleep mask, had been undone and fell around her shoulders.

"I hate Duncan so much," she said dreamily.

END CONFESSIONAL


CONFESSIONAL: DUNCAN

Duncan had a look of smug triumph on his face as he leaned back in the outhouse. "Girls are so weird," he declared. "I don't understand 'em. But when you can get them to be less annoying and shake them off your trail in one move? You don't need to."

He touched a spot on his neck, which was notably discolored. "Courtney, though, is, uh... well, she doesn't kiss like any girl I've been with. That's for sure."

END CONFESSIONAL


Several blissful minutes went by before Courtney finally broke free from Duncan's embrace. Her breathing was a bit shallow and flustered as she took a step back.

"This doesn't change anything," she declared.

"For sure." Duncan nodded in agreement.

"And we both still hate each other."

"Absolutely. You're a bitch."

"You're an asshole."

Duncan scratched a spot on his back. "So... you wanna just get the hell out of this forest?"

Courtney nodded hastily. "Let's go."

She grabbed Duncan by the wrist and bolted into the thick of the woods, dragging him along. The punk normally would have protested, but for once, he and Courtney were on the same page. The Pink Team tore through the trees with big smiles on their faces, the pink flag on Courtney's wrist touching the one tied around Duncan's.


"My feet hurt."

"My feet hurt too, Cody. We have to keep walking."

"But we've been walking for forever!"

"And if we stop, that gives everyone else a chance to beat us, and that makes us losers. Do you want to lose, Cody?"

"No, but..." Cody looked down at his bare feet, which were dirty and sore. He had been following Gwen since the challenge had started, and though the geek had tried being quiet and patient at first, it was only a matter of time before the circumstances got to him. "C'mon, can't we at least take a five-minute break? It's so hot."

A few feet in front of him, Gwen sighed. Part of her wanted to ignore her teammate's whining and continue walking, with or without him. But part of her also felt tired and weary, not to mention uncomfortable - she was wearing long, black pajamas on a summer day in the woods, after all.

"Fine," she eventually said, giving in to her aching legs. "We'll rest for five minutes. But after that, we keep going."


CONFESSIONAL: GWEN

"I guess I should give Cody credit for not trying to hit on me," Gwen stated. "But I'm not sure acting like a second, even more annoying little brother instead deserves 'credit'. At least he hasn't done anything weird..."

END CONFESSIONAL


Cody let out a groan of relief. He gratefully took a seat against the trunk of a tree, his feet relaxing as he did so. "Ohhhh, that's so much better."

Gwen kept her expression straight as she also took a seat, albeit on a rock the size of a microwave oven. The area they were sitting in had a bit of a weird smell to it. Nevertheless, both members of Team Yellow needed a rest more than they needed a rest in a place that didn't smell weird.

The silence between the two only lasted a few seconds before Cody piped up. "So, uh, how's your time on the island been so far?"

Gwen sniffed, giving him a disdainful look. "Awful."

"Yours, too?" Cody chuckled, though he felt a bit bad when his teammate didn't chuckle back. "Sorry, I'm just not really sure what to say. You told me not to try anything."

Gwen raised an eyebrow. "You seriously can't talk to a girl without hitting on her in some way?" she asked.

"It's a habit! I'll have you know, most girls find me irresistible."

"Ha! Yeah, right." For the first time since the challenge had started, Gwen cracked a smile. "Maybe if the girls from wherever you live have a thing for pint-sized geeks."

Though he felt a bit offended, Cody was at least happy his teammate was in a bit of a better mood. "I come from a weird place," he joked.

"Tell me about it. Even my family would find that weird," the goth girl quipped back.

"Your family, huh? Are they also goths?" Cody questioned.

"Nope, they're just weird. My grandma's pretty cool, though." Gwen had a bit of a nostalgic look on her face when thinking about her family. It didn't take long for reality to come crashing down and sour the mood, however. "I miss them..."

Cody could hear a somber edge building in her voice. He'd tried not to think about it, but everyone on the island had a family - which made the fact that at least six teenagers would never return to their loving homes that much more difficult to swallow. The geek had tried suppressing memories of his own parents to avoid despair, though that didn't stop him from the occasional night of panic and tears.

"What kind of family do you think Brock has?" Cody changed the topic, trying to avoid making Gwen or himself too emotional.

Gwen took a moment, but eventually rolled her eyes. "A really terrible one. Anyone who ends up like him couldn't have had a good family."

"True that. Maybe if he had a better one, we wouldn't all be here." Cody sighed. "Wouldn't that be nice."

"Tell me about it. If onl-"

Almost as if he had been eavesdropping, Brock's voice abruptly began to chirp through the loudspeakers strewn throughout the woods.

"Attention campers!" the host announced. "The Purple Team has officially completed today's challenge! Seven pairs remain."

Just as quickly as it arrived, Brock's voice faded into silence. Cody and Gwen exchanged a look of surprise.

"Wait, that fast?" Cody said, audibly shocked.

"We should probably start walking again," Gwen insisted. "It's not a good thing if other teams are already done."

Cody looked down at his sore feet with a small pout, but reluctantly agreed. The goth girl led the way as the Yellow Team left the clearing. Just as soon as one team had departed, however, another one had arrived in the same space.

Sadie brushed past a bush and planted her hands on her hips. "Just as I thought. We're on the right track." The stocky girl had taken the reigns of the Red Team with relative ease, since her partner was too meek to challenge her.

Beth stumbled into the clearing behind her. "We are?" she asked. "How do you know?"

"Because I recognize this place," Sadie explained bluntly. "We keep moving forward and we'll reach the pool sooner or later. Then we can –"

"Wait, you recognize where we are?"

Sadie sighed. "Yeah. I've slept here a couple times. Anyways, if –"

"You sleep here?" Beth interrupted incredulously. She looked at her surroundings. Nothing even remotely resembled a bed or sleeping area. "How?"

"Against the base of that tree," Sadie informed her, an edge of annoyance in her voice. She walked over to the same tree Cody had leaned on just minutes earlier.

"But why? This can't be better than the cabin beds."

Sadie groaned. "You ask a lot of questions," she warned her timid teammate.

Beth, suddenly a lot more self-conscious, sheepishly bowed her head and rubbed the back of her neck with her lone hand. "Sorry…"


CONFESSIONAL: BETH

Beth looked visibly uncomfortable in the confessional booth. "Sadie's making me a little nervous," she said quietly. "She's barely said anything since we started walking, she apparently sleeps in the woods, and she seems really focused on something… It's kind of scaring me."

END CONFESSIONAL


Now that she wasn't being hindered with questions, Sadie's mind was clear. She already knew the way out of the woods – distancing herself from Cabin Two these last few weeks had given her plenty of time to familiarize herself with the forest. Sleeping against a tree wasn't comfortable, but it was much easier than sharing a bedroom with Noah.

And with her clear mind, she could tell something was off. She recognized the clearing, sure, but Sadie couldn't help but feel there had been a minor disturbance. She crouched down against the microwave-sized rock, looking for some sort of trail.

"You know," Beth chimed in after a moment's hesitance, "if you're trying to track something, I have a tiny bit of experience with hunting, so I –"

"Quiet," Sadie commanded. Her brow furrowed, and she closed her eyes.

Beth wanted to ask what her teammate was doing but held her tongue to avoid sounding like a nuisance once more. All the farm girl could do was stand in uncomfortable silence as the Red Team's de facto leader eventually took a sniff at the air.

Sadie's eyes opened. There it was – a very faint aroma that clashed with the others. Amidst all the different smells of nature (both good and bad), there was the mildest hint of the unnatural: baby wipes, tryhard cologne, and preppy pajamas, with a dash of something distinctly Hot Topic-esque. Needless to say, it wasn't all that difficult for her to figure out who those foreign scents belonged to.

"Do you see any footprints?" she asked Beth firmly.

Beth looked down at the ground. "No, but… I think something went that way." She gingerly pointed towards a certain path out of the clearing. "There's trampled leaves and grass. I don't know what kind of animal it is, though."

"I do," Sadie said ominously. "Follow me."

The stocky girl marched in the direction of the path with adamance. Beth uneasily trailed behind her teammate, a bad feeling brewing in the pit of her stomach.


"OK, I've got one," Tyler piped up after he and Bridgette slid down a small, leafy slope. "Favorite movie star."

Bridgette chuckled. "Pass."

"Really?"

"I haven't seen that many movies," Bridgette admitted. "And I'm not the kind of person who really follows celebrity stuff."

"Alright, alright. What abooout… favorite fruit?"

"Pineapple."

Tyler faked a gag. "Gross!"

Bridgette playfully rolled her eyes. "Alright, what about you? What's better than pineapple, in your obviously wrong opinion?"

"Duh. Strawberries!"

"Gross," Bridgette echoed, mimicking Tyler's fake gag before laughing at his expression. "I'm kidding, dude. I like strawberries too."

This small talk had been the status quo for the Orange Team since starting the challenge. Bridgette and Tyler, being more athletic than most of their fellow campers, had been cruising through the woods at a brisk but comfortable pace. They were on track to finish the race in a respectable amount of time – an amount that would have been more respectable had Tyler not tripped over rocks and sticks three different times.

"My turn," Bridgette said over her shoulder after ducking a tree branch. "Favorite… hm…"

Tyler ducked the same branch to lesser results, scraping the top of his head against it. "Favorite what?" he asked when Bridgette had yet to finish her sentence.

"Honestly, I'm blanking," the surfer girl said. "Sorry dude. I think we've gone through, like, everything in the universe."

"I'd believe it," Tyler joked. "Wanna talk about something else?"

"Sure. What's on your mind?" Bridgette asked.

"Well, uh…" Tyler paused. "If it's alright with you… there's one thing I've been meaning to say for a while."

Bridgette could tell by the tone of his voice that Tyler had something serious to share. She slowed her pace a bit to walk beside him. "Go ahead," she encouraged him calmly.

Tyler sighed. "OK, but promise not to tell anyone."

"Sure thing. Pinkie-swear?" Bridgette held out her pinkie finger, the same thing she'd done a few weeks back when Tyler last told her to keep something confidential.

The jock felt a bit silly agreeing to another pinkie-swear, but shook fingers with his teammate nonetheless. The two of them were completely alone. He had a golden opportunity to finally tell Bridgette how he felt about her. Maybe Gwen was right. Maybe this really was the time.

"I'm… not really afraid of cupcakes."

Maybe not.

"Wait, what?" Bridgette raised an eyebrow.

"I made it up," Tyler confessed. "I told Gwen about my actual worst fear, which was a big mistake. She promised not to tell anyone so long as I pretended to be afraid of something even more embarrassing. She's been teasing me about it for weeks."

Bridgette couldn't help but giggle. "Oh my God, that's amazing," she laughed. "Gwen's so mean!"

"Tell me about it," Tyler agreed, also chuckling a bit. Admittedly, Gwen's playful pettiness in this situation was pretty funny.

"So, wait," Bridgette said after the laughter finally died down, "if you're not afraid of cupcakes, then…?"

Tyler shook his head, a faint color in his cheeks. "You don't wanna know."

"We already did a pinkie-swear, dude. Your secret's safe with me." Bridgette smiled at him. "Promise."

"Fine." Tyler took a deep breath. "If you really must know, I'm afraid of –"


CONFESSIONAL: TYLER

"Chicken." Tyler groaned and facepalmed, inadvertently kind-of finishing his earlier sentence. "I'm such a chicken. Damn it, why did I go with the cupcake thing? What if that was the perfect shot to tell her, and I blew it?"

He huffed and sat in the booth in silence, rubbing the red mark his palm had left on his forehead.

END CONFESSIONAL


Bridgette clapped a hand over her mouth, clearly trying very hard not to laugh even more. "No way."

"Yep." The color in Tyler's cheeks burned brighter. "I don't get it either."

"But… I… just… WHY?" the surfer girl exclaimed. "They're not scary!"

"Not to most people," Tyler sighed. "I know, it's stupid. I shouldn't have said it."

"No, no, it's cool," Bridgette insisted through a mirthful smile. "I won't laugh any more. Like I said, your secret's safe with me, dude."

Tyler looked into his teammate's eyes. Though her expression was playful, Bridgette seemed sincere about the promise. He felt embarrassed for telling her, and even more upset about what he hadn't told her, but her reassurance did put his mind at ease a little.

"Thanks," he said softly – right before he tripped over a tree root. The jock tumbled forward a few steps and landed on his belly with an awkward grunt. Bridgette lent a hand to help him up, but Tyler pointed in front of them, at the sparse layer of trees within sight. "Do you see that?"

"Hm?" Bridgette helped her teammate to his feet and squinted ahead. "Oh, hey, that's sunlight! Which means…"

She took off towards the tree line at a brisk jogging pace. Tyler tried to keep up, but his most recent trip cost him a bit of speed. Still, both Bridgette and eventually he crossed through the trees, finding themselves standing near the edge of the pool.

"Wow, talk about a lucky break," Tyler whistled.

Bridgette shielded her eyes from the sun with a hand, looking down the trail that led to the campgrounds. "You wanna go finish this challenge?" she invited her Orange Team partner.

"Like there's more than one way to answer that," Tyler smirked.


After what felt like an eternity of walking, Noah and Ezekiel had finally reached the outskirts of the woods. Fortunately for them, there were no other campers in sight.

Unfortunately for them, they had gone the wrong way. When both Blue Team members left the woods, there was no celebrating; rather, Noah groaned in frustration, kicking a rock into the stretch of water in front of them. There were no campgrounds - only a shallow beach and the lake.

"Are you kidding me?" he spat. "We couldn't have gotten lucky this one time?"

Ezekiel ran his hands through his bushy hair and moaned sadly. "I guess we weren't supposed to go north…"

"No kidding." Noah let out a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Right. Guess we're turning around."

With a lot less time to waste, the bookworm and the homeschooler bolted back into the cover of the woods.


CONFESSIONAL: NOAH

"God, that's going to set us back so far," Noah lamented. "At this point I'm banking on someone to fall into a pit or something. That feels like the only scenario where we don't lose…"

END CONFESSIONAL


"Attention campers! The Orange Team has officially finished today's challenge! Six pairs remain. Chop-chop!"

The taunting voice of Brock blaring through the loudspeakers was hardly the thing Trent needed to hear. Hot, sore and unsettled, the usually calm camper was feeling more on edge than usual. The reminder that another team had reduced his own odds of survival didn't lift his mood.

Still, at least it was someone's voice. His teammate wasn't exactly breaking the ice. DJ had spent the entire duration of the challenge so far plowing through foliage like a machine, swatting aside tree branches left and right with his brawny arms. As Trent had feared, he was talking as little as possible.

"That's two teams done," the guitarist mentioned hesitantly.

DJ pushed aside a large branch and sniffed. "I can count."

"Do you think we might have gone the wrong way if other people are finishing?" Trent asked. "Not that I don't trust you or anything, it's just that –"

"If we went the wrong way, we would have reached water by now," DJ interrupted. "We didn't. So we keep moving forward."

Trent sighed. "DJ, no offense, but you've been kind of difficult to talk to lately."

"I don't want to talk. I want to win." The reasoning was so simple and straightforward, it was almost frustrating. "Talk is a distraction."

"OK, but it's not just here, man. You've been doing this everywhere," Trent pointed out. "The cabin, the Mess Hall, the bonfire pit – you've been super distant. All you talk about is how you need to take things seriously and focus on survival."

"Because that's what's important," DJ clarified. He shoved another branch out of his path, upsetting a small bird in the process. It seemed extremely uncharacteristic for the former animal lover.

"Of course it's important. But you just straight up abandoned who you used to be. I mean, doesn't that bother you?"

"It would," DJ muttered, "if I was anywhere else right now. But I'm here. Trying not to die. Not messing around with a guitar like you."

Trent paused. That part actually stung a little. "Dude, listen to yourself. This isn't you, DJ."

"No, Trent, it IS me."

For the first time in quite a while, emotion had entered DJ's tone. The brickhouse stopped in his tracks and abruptly turned to stare down his smaller teammate. Trent flinched as DJ took a step towards him.

"This is me in survival mode," DJ crossly declared. "This is me realizing that I spent all my life on frilly little hobbies rather than using what I'd been naturally given. This is me getting a grasp on the literal, actual hellhole we're stuck in, and fighting for a chance – ANY chance – to get out of here. And if you're waiting for the Devon Joseph that made roux and wore leotards to come back, then you're wasting your time. Just deal with it."

Given the anger in that response, Trent probably shouldn't have said what he said next.

"But what would your mom think?"

Before he could even process what was happening, the guitarist was hoisted roughly into the air by his shoulders, then flung onto the ground behind him. DJ stood over him like a furious bear.

"DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT MY MOMMA!" he roared. "YOU DON'T KNOW HER!"

Trent scuffled backwards on his backside, terrified of his Green Team partner. "I'm sorry, man! I'm sorry!"

"YOU KEEP HER NAME OUT OF YOUR DIRTY MOUTH!" DJ bellowed, raising a fist. "Don't you EVER mention her again!"

"Okay, okay! I won't!" Trent promised, fearfully protecting his face with his hands. He hardly remembered DJ being this protective of his mother.

What followed was an extremely tense silence between the two. DJ loomed over the cowering Trent for some time before finally turning back around.

"Get up," he ordered. "We need to keep moving."

He didn't even bother helping his teammate up. Trent had to awkwardly sit back up, scraping dirt off the back of his jeans before trailing behind DJ once again. Suddenly, the silence between the two didn't bother him as much.


CONFESSIONAL: DJ

"If I hear Trent – no, scratch that, if I hear ANYONE talking about my Momma like they know her?" DJ glowered at the camera. "I ain't responsible for what happens next. They don't get to talk about her."

END CONFESSIONAL


Of all the teammates Heather could have had, Owen didn't seem like the worst pick at first. He was nice, after all, and one of the people she was closest to on the island. She would be a lot less comfortable paired up with the likes of most anyone else, so that seemed like an advantage.

That advantage didn't matter, though, when the challenge was entirely physical – and her teammate happened to be the least in-shape person in quite possibly all of Canada.

While Heather herself had been keeping a decent pace walking through the woods, it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the wheezing, sweaty lump of gelatin trying his best to keep up. Owen, for all it was worth, was pushing himself as hard as he could to avoid holding the Black Team back. But it became obvious that he needed to take a break sooner or later (preferably sooner, given how hard he was breathing).

Heather stepped over a rock that Owen couldn't clear without stumbling and falling flat on his face. She turned around, startled at the sudden collapse of her teammate.

"Are you okay?" she asked, extending a hand to help him up.

Owen's face remained planted in the ground. To Heather's surprise, he did not accept her help up. He mumbled something unintelligibly into the dirt.

"Come again?"

"Whh shrrd jss gvvp."

"…I can't hear you when you're speaking to the ground, Owen."

Owen groaned and lifted his fat head up. "We should just give up."

Heather shot her teammate an incredulous look as he rolled onto his back. His bare stomach heaved up and down, resembling a glistening flan.

"Are you crazy?!" Heather yelped. "Do you remember what happens if we 'give up'?"

"I'm so tired," Owen whined. He spoke in bursts, taking in gasps of air between sentences. "I don't like our chances anyway…"

There was something about the tone of his voice that bothered Heather. He wasn't telling her everything; being tired hadn't stopped Owen in the past, after all. There had to be some other reason.

"Owen," Heather asked gently, "what's wrong?"

Owen let out a low moan. "Everyone's a jerk," he panted. Before Heather could ask what he meant, the fat camper pressed on. "They're all acting like jerks. Becoming jerks. Sweet sticky molasses, this island is turning everyone into a monster…"

Unbeknownst to Heather, he was referring to his brush with DJ during the previous week's challenge. He let out a heavy sigh, tears starting to brim in the corner of his eyes. "I thought, since we were all trapped here, we could... we could at least work together. I thought all we had was each other. But now I don't know... I just don't wanna be here anymore."

Heather was conflicted. A small part of her wanted to tell Owen to cry later and focus on the challenge for the time being. Another small part thought it would be best to say nothing and keep moving forward, and just hope her teammate would straighten his emotions out and follow her.

But the rest of Heather wasn't that kind of person anymore.

"Listen to me," she said, crouching next to him.

Owen turned his blotchy red face towards her. There were still crumbs of dirt lined around his cheeks and mouth, and his eyes were misty.

"I used to be a jerk," Heather recalled, using Owen's word. "Do you remember when we all first got here?"

He nodded slowly.

"I didn't like anyone. I didn't like you or Beth. Honestly, I was so wrapped up in my own feelings that I felt like taking them out on everyone else was the only thing to do. You're right about one thing, Owen, and that's that you don't want to be here anymore. I don't either. Nobody does – nobody ever did."

She sniffed, thinking back to her notebook full of petty grievances and awful thoughts about pretty much every other camper. The image of it burning in the bonfire pit stuck in her mind.

"But then I met someone," she continued. "Someone who, no matter how badly I acted around him, continued to be nice to me. He treated me like a friend when I needed one most. That's when I realized… I didn't have to be a jerk anymore. Sure, it helped me feel better than everyone else, but I knew deep down that I really wasn't. So I changed to be more like him."

Owen slowly sat up. He was tearing up once more, although this time the cause was different. Heather gave her weary teammate a small smile.

"And if you ask me, I think I changed for the better," she told him. "Do you remember who that someone is?"

Suddenly, Heather was pulled into a tight hug. She assumed it was a hug, anyways – she had been spontaneously absorbed into a sweaty, pale, quivering lump of fatty flesh. Owen held the embrace for several seconds before becoming aware of how uncomfortable he was most likely making Heather, and promptly let go.

"Sorry," he mumbled apologetically. "But thanks. Holy mackerel, I needed that."

"Don't mention it," Heather said amid swiping sweat off of her pajamas. "So, now that you're feeling better, how about we find a way –"

She couldn't even finish her sentence before her teammate had begun trying something. Owen had wandered over to the nearest tree, straddling its trunk in a feeble attempt to climb it. The effort seemed to be in vain given his size, but he was determined, his energy starting to ebb back.

"I have a plan!" he called over his shoulder. His bad mood had already evidently faded.

Heather approached him from the side. "Which is?"

Owen cracked an energetic grin. "You'll see. Prepare to meet… the NATURALIST!"


CONFESSIONAL: OWEN

"That's right, the Naturalist!" Owen chirped, embracing his new persona with enthusiasm. "Female animals want him. Male animals want to be him. He is the master of all things natural, the champion of Canada's wilderness, the utmost expert in his field! The master of the seamless connection between humanity and Mother Nature! Prepare yourselves for his brilliance!"

END CONFESSIONAL


"…uh, a little help?" Owen asked after failing to make any progress climbing the tree.

Heather sighed. "I'll do it. Just give me a boost up."


CONFESSIONAL: OWEN

Owen gave the camera a blank look. "What? Trees are hard to climb. Even the Naturalist isn't perfect."

END CONFESSIONAL


The Mess Hall had been, for the first time, a very peaceful place to be. The two teams fortunate enough to finish first and second found themselves at the same table, eating questionable ham sandwiches (or questionable toast, in Bridgette's case) and shooting the breeze. Eva was still nursing wounds, though she hardly seemed fazed by them as she traded stories with Leshawna, Bridgette and Tyler.

Naturally, that peace was broken the second the doors flew open.

"Are you kidding me?" Courtney whined, tying her pink bandana around the left door handle and nudging past Isaiah, who had been standing watch for several hours. "You couldn't find your way out of a cereal box maze! I deserve the credit."

"Oh, please! That was all me. If I carried you any harder you'd be sitting in my back pocket the whole way through!" Duncan snapped back, doing the same with his pink flag. The two irate campers brought their argument into the Mess Hall, drawing some confused stares from the others.

"Wow, there's a shock," Leshawna mentioned. "I didn't think they'd make it this far fighting like that."

Tyler shook his head. "Me either."

"Opposites attract?" Bridgette suggested. (She had no idea just how right she was.)

Courtney and Duncan continued bickering with one another as they made their way towards the serving window. Each grabbed a sandwich and stormed out of the building, still yelling at one another.

In spite of what the campers in the Mess Hall thought, however, that yelling ceased the minute the Pink Team was out of earshot.

"God, my throat hurts," Duncan groaned, rubbing his neck. "Why did we have to do that, again?"

Courtney motioned for him to lower his voice before speaking. "Because nobody – and I mean nobody - can find out!"

"What are they going to find? It was one kiss, Cour-"

"It was! And we're not going to talk about it!" Courtney fumed. "I still feel disgusting for even thinking about it."

Duncan rolled his eyes, spitting out a bite of his sandwich after cringing at the taste. "Honestly, what's the big deal? I doubt anyone would even care that much."

"First of all," Courtney started, "that is completely false. Everyone else still thinks we hate each other –"

"Which we do."

"- which we do, yes, but nobody knows that we…" She shuddered. "You know. If they find out, suddenly they think we're hiding something –"

"Which we are."

"- yes, yes we are. But we can't let them think we're hiding anything! What if they think… oh God, what if they think we're the ones who killed Geoff?"

Duncan raised an eyebrow, though on the inside he winced. "Why would they think that? We were on his team."

"I don't know! Some kind of twisted power couple move? I just don't want them to be suspicious of us. Which is why we have to keep this under wraps!" She gestured with her hands between the two of them. "The last thing we need is a reason for other people to not trust us!"

"You know, you're starting to sound paranoid," Duncan said. "And kind of selfish."

Courtney moaned. "I know, I don't like it either, but –"

"Who said I didn't like it?"

The C.I.T. paused. Duncan was giving her a somewhat suggestive look. For an extremely brief moment, Courtney almost seemed to reciprocate the expression. She eventually shook herself out of it.

"Not now," she mumbled.

Duncan smirked. "You didn't say 'not now' in the woods."

"I was thinking differently! We were in the middle of a challenge, and –" Courtney let out an exasperated sigh. "And I still hate you!"

"Hey, I didn't stop hating you either," Duncan informed her. "Who's to say a love-hate relationship is a bad thing?"

"Don't say that!" Courtney yelped. "There's no relationship, and there's definitely no love! It was a stupid one-off thing. We're not going to do it any more!"

What followed was a surprisingly long pause. Duncan re-raised his eyebrow, simply studying Courtney like she was a work of art. She stared firmly into his eyes.

Then she cast a quick look to the left.

The right.

Over her shoulder.

"Okay, maybe one more time," she muttered.

Before Duncan could react, he was pulled in for a brief peck on the lips. Courtney pushed him away from the kiss as quickly as she'd brought him in, still looking around warily in case anyone had seen them.

"We are NOT going to talk about it," the C.I.T. repeated.

Duncan held his right hand up. "I swear, Your Honor."

Courtney rolled her eyes at his teasing, right as the loudspeakers crackled to life. "Attention campers! The Pink Team has officially completed today's challenge. Only five teams left!"


CONFESSIONAL: COURTNEY

"What is going on with me today?" Courtney held her head in her hands. "I can't like Duncan. I can't!"

END CONFESSIONAL


When the Yellow Team finally stumbled upon a clearing in the thick of the woods, the main thing Cody felt was relief. He didn't know how much longer he could have gone without falling back into his habit of whining, and that would have probably been the final straw for Gwen to widen the gap in his teeth with her fist.

The goth girl brushed a low-hanging branch aside to see the form of the Mess Hall sitting almost directly across from her. She and Cody had not only made it through the island's woods – they had lucked out in finding the perfect place to leave the forest behind.

"Oh, sweet!" Cody whistled, his tone a mixture of joy and exhaustion. "We don't have to walk that far. It's right there!"

Gwen nodded and cracked a weary smile of her own. "What's your plan after we finish? First thing I'm doing is going for a swim. I feel so gross right now." She wrinkled her nose at the smell of her pajamas.

"You're not gonna get something to eat?" Cody pointed out. "That's what I've got in mind."

"Depends on if there's any food waiting for us. And what it –"

It was likely Gwen would have finished her thought if, at that moment, a rock hadn't struck her in the head. The stone wasn't too big, but it glanced off of her forehead with enough force to knock her over. She stumbled backwards and fell against the tree she had been leaning on, losing consciousness soon after the impact.

Cody yelped and bolted upright, his head whipping to face the direction of the thrown stone. He had barely looked into the depths of the forest before another rock was pelted his way. The wily geek's reflexes took over, and he twitched out of the projectile's path just in time.

"What the hell?!" he shouted, looking back to Gwen. He put his hands over his head to shield himself and crouched by her side, trying to see if she was moving. To his dismay, she had been knocked out.

Another rock hurtled by his shoe, missing him by no more than a few hairs. Cody yelped again and flinched. His fight-or-flight instincts were kicking in – or, in other words, his flight instincts were kicking in.

Reaching down to try and scoop Gwen onto his shoulders, the scrawny geek soon learned that an unconscious person is more difficult to move than a conscious one. The goth girl felt like a hundred sandbags weighing down on him, and Cody struggled to move her very far before giving up. It didn't help that this time, he finally got hit with a rock – though it was only a shot to the thigh. He winced and rubbed the bruise.

"Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap…!" Cody panicked. His noodle arms were making his options for this crisis VERY limited. The attacker's aim was getting better with each shot. If he didn't make a move soon, he'd eventually take a rock to the head as well.

In an act of desperation, Cody took a deep breath and got behind Gwen, hooking his arms beneath her armpits. He hoisted her up to the best of his ability, which in his case meant lifting her head to his knees, and began walking backwards. The goth's body was forced to drag along the ground, her black pajamas collecting no shortage of grass and dirt stains in the process – but at least she was moving.

The task proved to be more physically demanding than he had been expecting. As Cody made his hasty retreat to the finish line with his unconscious teammate, one last final barrage of rocks seemed to be pelted his way. They were thrown in quick succession, though their aim was more scattered and rushed, each one missing Cody by a good distance.


CONFESSIONAL: CODY

Cody looked worn ragged, his chest heaving up and down as he sat in the confessional booth.

"Dang it…" he panted. "Why can't… saving lives… be easy? I don't have the body for this type of stuff…"

END CONFESSIONAL


The image of Cody wearily dragging Gwen to the Mess Hall shrunk further and further away from the trees until he had made it to the Mess Hall doors. Amidst their cover of bushes and foliage, the rock-throwing culprit groaned.

"Are you –" Sadie held her tongue, bringing her voice down to a quiet mutter to herself. "So close every single time, and yet I get her, on accident, first try?!"

She rolled her throwing hand into a fist. Her other hand would have done the same if it hadn't been holding something – in particular, a pair of eyeglasses. Sadie cursed under her breath and looked down at the glasses.

"Beth," she called out. "You can have your glasses back."

Roughly six feet behind her, Beth stood up, blinking at the blurry world around her. She took a wobbly step forward, trying to make out the blob that was Sadie's form. The pigtailed girl rolled her eyes and moved towards her teammate, placing the specs directly on her face.

"Oh, uh, th-thank you," Beth sputtered awkwardly as her vision returned. "But… why did you need my glasses again?"


CONFESSIONAL: SADIE

"Because you're blind as a fruit bat without them and that's exactly what I needed for a few minutes," Sadie said bluntly.

END CONFESSIONAL


"I wanted to get a better look at something through some trees up ahead. I thought it was the pool. Turns out it was the Mess Hall, so we're closer than I figured," Sadie answered, her words belying her thoughts.

"Wait, you needed my glasses for that?" Beth asked. "I don't think we have the same prescription…"

"We don't. They were useless. That's why I'm giving them back." Sadie's explanation was blunt, and she quickly switched topics before Beth could continue to question why her glasses had been borrowed in the first place. "Come on, we're close. Let's finish this stupid challenge already."

She was ready to march ahead, though she took one more moment to watch the Yellow Team while she was still behind cover. Cody had hastily tied his own bandana around the door handles, trying to undo Gwen's around her wrist to do the same. Sadie scowled as he completed their challenge and carefully dragged her through the Mess Hall doors, then stepped back outside to shout at a complacent Isaiah to offer help.

Behind her shoulder, Beth was looking on with a puzzled expression. The farm girl could have sworn she had heard yelling of some kind, but she didn't bring it up. At this point, she felt the less she knew, the better.


Brock's mood had lifted somewhat since his challenge's rules had been bent by the Purple Team. Watching the camera footage of the island's captive campers often got him in better spirits. He had freshly announced the victory of the Yellow Team, followed minutes later by the Red Team's own success.

The finish of those two teams had narrowed the field of competing pairs down to three. Now that the challenge had entered the home stretch, the host saw fit to return to the Mess Hall and watch the final moments in person. Brock strolled to his destination with his hands in his pockets, whistling a vaguely familiar tune about wanting to be famous.

Isaiah had remained stationed outside the building's doors, his uniform still tarnished with blood stains. Brock approached the Samoan henchman, whose gaze met his.

"Did you get a look at the girl's injury?" the host asked.

Isaiah nodded. When asked if it had looked severe, though, he shook his head.

"Great, so she'll be fine for next week. I had a feeling it wasn't that bad," Brock claimed. "Looked sort of nasty, though. Where's she now?"

Isaiah jabbed his thumb across the path to Cabin One. Gordon was standing by the cabin door's side, his eyes trained straight ahead.

Brock nodded. "Good call. We don't need anymore injury fiascos after the stunt Eva pulled. Keep her in the cabin and have her sleep it off before the ceremony." He raised an eyebrow. "Was the dweeb hard to restrain?"

Isaiah shook his head, then gestured with his hands to mimic crying. Brock couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh, man. Classic Codemeister," he said with a chuckle. "Well, since you two seem to have taken care of that on your own – a rare accomplishment, no doubt – I suppose all that's left is to sit back and watch the last few minutes of this rat race!"

Taking a stand next to his henchman, Brock looked on to the forest with his hands folded behind his back. At any moment, one of the final three teams would emerge in a rush to claim victory.

That moment, as it would soon turn out, would come sooner than expected. A monstrous figure barreled out of the tree line and into the campgrounds, transitioning from rough forest terrain to a smooth trail roughly enough to nearly trip. Owen tumbled towards the Mess Hall looking very sweaty but even more determined, with Heather sitting on his back once more, hands clinging to his shirt collar for dear life.

The Black Team didn't "arrive" at their finish line so much as crash-land in front of it. The freight train that was Owen didn't slow down easily once it was set in motion, so the fat camper willfully belly-flopped onto the grass by the Mess Hall once he was close to the doors. The tremendous impact of his body hitting the land startled Brock and even Isaiah.

"The Naturalist… needs a nap," Owen wheezed heavily, one fist limply raised in the air.

Heather shakily rolled off of her teammate as he laid on his back. She gingerly untied the black bandana around his wrist, before doing the same with her own. Brock cleared his throat behind her after a moment.

"Forgive me for saying," he brought up, "but I believe this is the second week in a row where this has been your game plan, Heather."

"That wasn't my plan," Heather told him bluntly. "Everything was his idea." She pointed to her exhausted teammate before starting to tie the black cloths around the somewhat-crowded door handles.

Brock's eyebrows raised. "So, the brains of this operation was… Owen?"

"Not Owen," the fat boy spoke up through heavy gasps. "The Naturalist…"


CONFESSIONAL: HEATHER

"We spent a lot of time climbing trees and trying to talk to squirrels," Heather explained. "Turns out 'the Naturalist' isn't anything more than Owen trying to imitate what he's seen on TV. We really only found our way out because of luck."

She shifted in her seat. "Honestly, Owen didn't really have much of a plan. But… hey, he was feeling better. And he redeemed himself with the whole 'carrying me' thing at the end." A small smile crossed her face.

END CONFESSIONAL


As Heather added both black cloths to the veritable rainbow that was forming in front of the Mess Hall, Owen eventually rose to his feet. He was still taking long, dragging breaths to try and steady himself.

"So who's left?" he wheezed to Brock.

"Just two teams – Green and Blue." Brock rubbed his hands together, smiling as he watched the woods. "I'm anticipating a real photo finish, based on what I've seen so far. Should be fun!"

Heather rolled her eyes. "Right. What do we get for finishing?"

"There's ham sandwiches in the Mess Hall. Of course, if you like, you're welcome to stay and watch with –"

Brock didn't even finish his sentence before the Black Team abandoned him. Heather took a seat beside a reinvigorated Owen, who had all but designated an entire platter of sandwiches for himself. She gently squeezed his thick wrist before he could wolf down the first one he saw.

Thank you, she mouthed.

He gave her a sunny smile in response, right before stuffing his mouth full of bread and mystery meat. Heather hesitantly snatched a sandwich of her own from the platter, too hungry to let Owen take them all – and to turn her nose up at the taste.


The clock was winding down as the minutes passed. The overhead sun was beginning to droop in the sky, indicating that sunset was closer than it was far. Brock was beginning to grow impatient, having no nearby company besides that of his mostly silent goons.

"Come on already," he muttered. "How hard is it to do this? Seriously! I mean, Isaiah, were you ever lost in the woods as a kid? How long would it take you to find your way out?"

Isaiah grumbled his response.

"Wait, really? That's not where you said you grew up."

Another grumble from the henchman.

"Right, so 'born in' and 'grew up in' are two different things, but you should still – wait. Hold that thought." Brock whipped his head back towards the forest clearing.

The sound of foliage rustling and snapping could be distantly heard as DJ emerged through the thick of the woods. The brawny camper's gait didn't slow at all as he marched towards the Mess Hall doors. Trent walked behind him, roughly six steps back and with an expression of quiet concern.

Brock grinned. "Well, well! Looks like you two lucky ducks are the last team to clear today's challenge! Go ahead and tie your flags on."

Trent breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Oh, man. That was the most uncomfortable I've been in a long time…" he mumbled softly. His teammate was out of earshot, moving forward to wrap his green bandana around the door handles. Walking with DJ in tense, blood-curdling silence had been unpleasant from beginning to end, but it was over. They were done.

He had barely taken one step forward before he heard a frantic rustling sound coming from behind him. Branches and leaves were hastily kicked up and swatted aside as a pair of smaller campers exploded into the clearing besides Trent. The guitarist had to leap aside to narrowly avoid Noah and Ezekiel flopping to the ground on his right.

Brock was almost tempted to raise his shades at the turn of events. "Oop. Plot twist."

The campground fell silent, save for the Blue Team's heavy gasping for air. Noah raised his face from the dirt and rapidly looked around. DJ was just finishing. He wasn't finished. Ezekiel wasn't finished.

Trent wasn't finished.

"ZEKE," he yelled out, using some of the last wind left in his lungs. "CABIN."

Ezekiel flinched. "Wh-"

"CABIN. FLAG. NOW!"

In a harried rush, all three remaining campers bolted. Noah scrambled back to his feet and, tapping into the deepest of his energy reserves, sprinted at breakneck speed towards the Mess Hall. DJ had finished tying his flag around the handles, so there was a clear path to the goal now. He just had to make it before Trent did.

Unfortunately, Trent had similar plans. The guitarist had been a step later to the doors than Noah, but he had caught up quickly. The pair were running side-by-side across the clearing, both desperately trying to finish first.

Behind them, Ezekiel made a mad dash for Cabin Four the second he returned to his feet. Flinging the cabin door open, he could make out the silhouette of a cloth tied around one bed's corner post. It was heavily blackened and coated in a thin film of dust, but the dim light hitting it revealed its true color to be sky blue.

The homeschooler tried hard not to picture the rest of Cabin Four hating him in this moment. He could envision Trent and DJ's reactions to losing the challenge. He could predict Eva's disgust at what had to be done. And…

Ezekiel shut his eyes tightly as he stepped forward to remove the bandana. He didn't have any other choice. But as the flag slipped off the bed for the first time since being tied onto it, he couldn't fight back tears.

There was no time to cry, though. He hastily blinked the water out of his eyes as he clutched the bandana in his hands. The most he had time for was a brief whisper.

"I'm sorry, Lindsay."

He darted back out the door, the bandana tightly enclosed in his fist. Returning to the clearing, he could see Trent and Noah grappling around by the dirt path. The two campers had collided in their race to the Mess Hall and were now fighting for the chance to get back on their feet earlier.

"Get off of me!" Noah cried out, throwing flailing punches that mostly missed Trent.

"Are you crazy? YOU ran into me!" Trent shouted back. He shoved the bookworm aside and rose to his feet but was quickly dropped back down when Noah's leg swept his.

Near the doors, Brock was watching with an expression of giddy delight. "Oh, man, this is GREAT!" the sadistic host chirped, watching the final two teams struggle for safety. "Talk about high stakes!"

Trent pushed Noah back onto the ground, trying to move him out of the way to the doors, but the smaller camper remained stubborn. Scraping together a fistful of sand, Noah proceeded to launch dust into the guitarist's eyes. Trent yelled out in pain and grabbed his face, giving his foe the opening he needed to mount a last-gasp dash to the Mess Hall.

He didn't get very far. As Trent blinked away sand particles from his eyes, he could make out the event of Noah getting flattened by an outstretched arm from DJ. The bookworm was laid out in a heap on the grass, stunned.

Everything was happening too fast for Trent to process. He almost wanted to thank DJ for the help, but never got the opportunity to as his teammate roughly hoisted him up by the shoulders.

"Tie your flag on," DJ ordered, pointing to the open space next to his own green cloth.

Trent nodded, stumbling forward as he continued to wipe sand from his eyes. He reached for the flag in his back pocket.

He grabbed nothing.

He reached for it again. Another empty handful. Trent dug his hand firmly into his back pocket, his fingers hastily squirming, exploring every inch. Nothing.

No.

No.

"What are you doing?" DJ asked impatiently, standing inches away from Trent's ear.

Trent fearfully avoided answering his teammate. He frantically searched around his feet. He turned around, trying to find a patch of green cloth on the grass or dirt. There was no flag to be seen.

Noah, who had recovered from being clotheslined, limped forward and hastily wrapped his blue flag in a knot around the right door handle. He had barely tied it on when Trent lunged forward and grabbed him by the shirt collar.

"Did you take it?" he asked, panic edged into his voice.

Noah squirmed in the guitarist's grasp. "Take what? Let me go!"

Trent tried to check Noah's pockets, but the bookworm wriggled free and quickly stepped back. Trent spun back around only to inadvertently slam into DJ's brawny chest. His calm demeanor was completely gone now.

"DJ, please, I swear to God that –"

He clammed up almost instantly. The look in DJ's eyes was unrecognizable. It made his throat tighten up and his head pound. If looks could kill, the brickhouse's stare could have legitimately punctured a hole in his skull.

Trent's body tensed up. He shut his eyes, ready for a swift blow to the head to render him unconscious – or worse. There was nothing he could do but wait.

"…what's going on, eh?"

A timid voice off to the side snapped Trent out of the moment. He reopened his eyes and turned to see Ezekiel. The homeschooler was staring at both DJ and him, visibly startled.

"I… um… oh…" Ezekiel stammered, unable to start a sentence. He took a few shaky steps towards the Mess Hall, past both of his Cabin Four peers. His trembling hands slowly started to tie Lindsay's burned bandana into a knot.

Trent and DJ both silently watched the Blue Team finish the race. Noah and Ezekiel were both far too weary to celebrate, opting to head wordlessly into the Mess Hall instead. As they went inside, the latter cast a scared-looking glance over his shoulder.

The glass in Trent's stomach grew sharper. With some hesitance, he turned to face DJ. The brickhouse was no longer staring at him, but his expression was the same.

"Well, that was a real blast!" Brock crowed with a satisfied clap. His cheerfulness offset the looming dread that now clouded Trent and DJ. "An absolute nail-biter at the very end! Try as you might, it appears you two came up a flag short. Who would've thought, hm?"

He drank in their distress before continuing. "Anyways, the sun's getting pretty close to setting, so we might just have our ceremony a little sooner than we thought! Go on inside, Green Team – but don't touch the sandwiches. Those are for the winning teams!" He chortled. "I'll break the news to the contestants in the Mess Hall. After everyone's done eating, we'll take a trip down to the theater!"

"What about the slate?" Trent asked following a weak cough. His throat muscles felt like jelly.

Brock raised his eyebrows, then grinned. "Oh, right. You know what? These are some special circumstances. I think I'll reveal that at the theater. Really helps build up that drama, you feel me?"

He motioned for Isaiah to follow him into the Mess Hall, where he threw the doors open and gleefully revealed the order of placement to every team waiting inside. Trent winced before trying to speak up once more.

"DJ –"

DJ stormed through the doors behind Isaiah. His teammate remained outside the Mess Hall, his legs wearily rooted to the ground.


CONFESSIONAL: TRENT

Trent's confessional was wordless. He was scribbling something in pen on the back of a page of sheet music, using the backside of his guitar to write on. His hand was shaky as it wrote.

At one moment, he took a deep, trembling breath and shut his eyes. He eventually exhaled slowly and continued writing as if nothing happened.

END CONFESSIONAL


Gwen didn't know how long she was out for. When she woke up, she was in her bed in Cabin One. By the feel of things, she was still wearing her dirty pajamas.

There wasn't much light, but she could make out the shape of two people in the room. One of them, sitting on the edge of her bed, perked up when they noticed her wake.

"Looks like she's up," Tyler said over his shoulder.

Bridgette walked over from the doorway. Her face was awash with relief upon seeing Gwen. "Everything OK? You still remember us, right?"

Gwen nodded, gently resting a hand on her forehead. "I still have all my memories. I think. Did we all finish?"

"Yup. We're good," Bridgette answered with a smile.

"Do you even know what happened?" Tyler asked. "What did you see?"

"I…" Gwen tried to remember what had led up to her knockout. "No, I don't think I was looking at it. I just… something hit me?"

Bridgette's eyes widened. "Oh no. Was it Cody? Tell me it was him and I'll kick his ass again."

"The only headache I got from Cody was listening to him whine," Gwen joked, cracking a smile. "He didn't hit me. I don't know what did."

"That's freaky. We weren't attacked by anything. Honestly, our run was uneventful," Tyler replied.

Bridgette smirked. "Except for you sharing your fear of chickens."

Gwen almost doubled over laughing had it not been for her head injury. "You told her?" she giggled.

Tyler grinded his teeth, his cheeks turning a faint red. "It's a long story. I'll catch you up next time we chat."

"I'm still calling you Cupcake," Gwen teased.

"Aw, come on!"

Bridgette and Gwen shared a laugh that Tyler would eventually (reluctantly) join in on. Interrupting it, however, was a knock at the cabin door. Bridgette opened it to find Cody standing outside.

"Can I have a word with my teammate?" he asked.

Bridgette looked back to Tyler, who nodded. The surfer girl led the way out the door, leaving Cody alone with Gwen. He rushed up to her bedside with a worried look after they left.

"You're OK, right? Like, nothing's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she told him. "What even happened?"

"Oh, Gwen it was awful," he whined. "You got hit with a rock! A-and I didn't know what to do, so I just sort of dragged you away, and there were more rocks being thrown! I have no idea what was happening, I just – it all just –"

He was taking rapid breaths now. Gwen motioned for him to calm down and steady his breathing before she spoke.

"Jeez, get a grip. I'm the one with the injury." She sat up a small bit. "You don't know where the rocks were coming from?"

"No! I mean, it was the forest, but – but I didn't know where and I couldn't see, and it was too scary to look because of all the rocks being thrown!" Cody squeaked.

The goth sighed. "OK, well… at least you did something brave. In the moment." She took another look at the panicked geek. "As hard as that might be to believe right now. And you really came through for me. Thank you."

Cody smiled, though he went back to worrying afterwards. He took a seat by her side, still nervously wringing his hands. "I don't get it. Nobody else said they got attacked by anything in the woods. Why us?"

"Bridgette and Tyler said the same thing. It's weird. Maybe we were just unlucky and triggered some kind of trap."

"But what kind of trap throws rocks one at a time a-and misses most of them?" Cody shook his head. "No, it was a person throwing stones. I'm sure."

Gwen shrugged. "Look, if you didn't see anything, and nobody's saying anything, then we sort of have to move on. This is a small island. We'll find out eventually."

"Yeah…" Cody groaned. "This just doesn't make sense. I wish I knew what was going on here all the time."

"You'd have to think like Brock to do that," Gwen pointed out.

Cody wrinkled his nose. "Good point. Oh, wait – that reminds me. Can you stand or walk right now?"

"Probably not without some help. Why?"

"Brock wants us at the theater after everybody finishes their sandwiches. It's almost sunset." The geek stooped down a bit to offer his hand for support.

Gwen slowly climbed out of bed, a look of confusion crossing her face. "Wait, this seems –"

"Early? Yeah, I thought so too. He hasn't told us who's on the slate yet."

A heavy feeling of dread filled the pit of Gwen's stomach. "I don't like the sound of that," she said nervously. "Can I at least change? These pajamas are nasty right now."

"I mean…" Cody pinched at his own filthy pajama top. "Nobody else has."

Gwen groaned. "Fine. Just take me with you."


With most of the day having passed, the sixteen campers returned to the theater at sunset for another elimination. The ripples of tension created by the day's challenge were evident among many of the contestants. Trent and DJ sat on opposite ends of the seating area, with an injured Eva and an uncomfortable Ezekiel sitting in between to separate them.

Behind them, Cody gingerly lowered Gwen onto a stump next to Tyler and Bridgette. She gave him a grateful nod as he returned to his seat next to Noah, who was still nursing some bruises from earlier. Sadie watched her cabin members from the very back, upset at how the day had gone. Off to the side, Courtney and Duncan sat together, though Courtney was doing her best not to face him.

Brock assumed his position on-stage, megaphone in tow, with Gordon and Isaiah standing behind him. "It's been a hell of a day, hasn't it? But every day must come to an end – and in our case, so must someone's life."

He was set to share some sanctimonious and mostly self-indulgent words with the campers, but a raised hand cut him off. The host rolled his eyes behind his shades. "Yes, Little Mister Can't-Be-Wrong?"

"Why didn't we vote?" Noah asked bluntly. "Or get a slate to vote from? You know, like you've been forcing us to do for the last few weeks."

Brock smiled. "Well, I was planning on leading into that. But since that's on your mind, I guess I'll spill the beans now. Campers, there is no slate for this week."

He delighted in hearing some of their confused or doubtful murmurs. "This challenge," he continued, "was a bit of a special one. I wanted to roll out the usual four-person slate - after all, I do love watching your voting confessionals. The theme of this week's fare, however, was teamwork. You all got into pairs, you walked together, talked together, did it all together! Inspiring stuff."

A mock tear was wiped away from behind his shades before he spoke again. "That being said, one such team didn't do as well as the others. I concluded that they failed to learn the beauty and value of working together, as I had so clearly intended. They need some extra credit! So…" He snapped his fingers. "Trent and DJ, get up here."

Both members of the Green Team obliged. Trent, whose eyes were visibly bloodshot, warily climbed onto the stage. DJ did so on the opposite side with unnerving stoicism. The pair met at the front of the stage, with Brock standing in the middle.

"You two have some kinks to iron out of your teamwork, hm?" Brock teased. "Not to worry – I just thought of a brilliant exercise in cooperation! DJ, big fella, go ahead and face Trent. Trent, do the same."

The last thing Trent wanted to do was look into DJ's eyes again. But with no other choice, he was forced to gaze at the same person who had nearly murdered him with a stare. The brickhouse's expression was slightly softer than it had been earlier. Very, very slightly.

"Now, here's how this will go!" Brock motioned for Isaiah and Gordon to step forward with their firearms ready, a sight that immediately distressed the sitting campers. "Trent, your job is to stand still, close your eyes, and cooperate with DJ by giving him your neck."

Trent's pupils dilated. In that moment, he felt the entire world shatter.

"And DJ, your job is to cooperate with us by putting your hands on Trent's neck and strangling him."

For a moment, it seemed like DJ was ready to refuse. He flinched and shut his eyes in a split-second motion that Trent just barely noticed. Eventually, though, he returned to his lethal silence.

"NO!" Ezekiel wailed dreadfully. The scrawny homeschooler rose to his feet, only to shrink back onto his stump when Gordon and Isaiah pointed their rifles at him. Eva restrained him, though she too looked repulsed at what Brock was ordering. Ezekiel continued to writhe in her powerful grip in distress.

The wave of reactions generated by the other campers was silenced when Brock spoke the next part into his megaphone. "And if any one of you tries to interrupt the process of cooperation, Gordon and Isaiah have no problem putting you down. So don't! Looking at you two." He cast a glance to Eva and Ezekiel.

At this point, Trent was in tears. His body had given up fighting at this point. Every muscle felt too heavy to move. DJ slowly outstretched a hand, but retracted it.

"What if I refuse?" he asked Brock flatly.

Brock lowered his megaphone. "Take a wild guess."

DJ gave a small nod of understanding. He looked into Trent's red eyes.

"It was when I shoved you in the forest," he murmured.

"What?" Trent's voice was a hoarse whisper.

"Your flag. That's when it fell out of your pocket. I didn't notice it then, but… that's what happened."

Trent's head began to spin, more than it already was. His windpipe tightened with every word. "So… it was…"

DJ closed his eyes. In that moment, Trent was able to see the same vulnerability he'd seen from the brickhouse on their first night in Cabin Four.

"Forgive me."

His hands enclosed around Trent's neck. Brock surveyed the strangulation as Gordon and Isaiah kept their eyes and rifles trained on the crowd, prepared to deal with any troublemakers. Eva covered Ezekiel's eyes while looking away herself, though it hardly helped to block out the sound of what was happening.

Trent was paralyzed with fear. He rasped for breath, desperately trying to fill his lungs with air that simply wasn't available. DJ's enormous mitts crushed his neck, forcing his windpipe closed as violently as possible. His body flailed limply and tried to push away, but it was no use.

The corners of his eyes began to grow scarlet. Trent's lungs were burning for air, and the light around him was dimming. His thrashing became more and more intense, wildly punching at anything he could to attempt to free himself. DJ stood firm, his muscular arms hardly budging.

Just as Trent's ragged gasps for air peaked in volume and intensity, they slowly began to wither away. His croaks became defeated and purposeless as his body slowly but surely died in DJ's grasp. The guitarist's eyes were bulging and deeply reddened, and his throat was mangled beyond repair.

Few if any of the campers had seen any of Trent's death. Most had looked away, covering their eyes and ears if lucky. Ezekiel had dissolved into a fitful, crying mess in Eva's arms; her own expression was that of complete and utter horror.

By the time Trent's last gasp had pathetically escaped, DJ was ordered by Brock to drop his former cabin member. His corpse, horribly disfigured neck and all, fell in a heap to the stage. Gordon stepped forth to deal with the body while Isaiah continued to monitor the other contestants.

"Well, it looks like you no longer have a team, so I guess the exercise didn't work as well as I'd thought," Brock joked darkly. "And that concludes this week's elimination ceremony! Trent was the big loser tonight – talk about a choke job, hm? You all know the drill by now. See you next week!"

One by one, the campers trickled away from the theater with the same morbid disgust as every week. Brock and company ushered Trent's corpse away while DJ remained on the stage, staring out into space as his hands drifted back to his sides. There was no emotion on his face as he looked out to the audience.

He could make out the silhouette of the last campers to follow the trail. Ezekiel was sobbing loudly as he continued to clutch onto Eva for some semblance of comfort. Though Eva marched forward at a determined pace, she cast one last look behind her back at the stage.

Then she pressed on. Wordlessly. Furiously.


THE VOTES:

No votes were recorded.


ELIMINATED: TRENT

THE REASONING:

Trent was originally one of the more difficult characters to write for, since his personality is very subtle and nuanced compared to some of the others. I slowly began to find a role for him as a steady, reasonable leader and team player for the likes of Cabin Four. His optimism and level-headedness made him one of the more likable characters to write.

Of course, optimism and level-headedness were never going to last long under these circumstances. I knew that his death, should it ever come, was going to be both a callback to his fear of being strangled and a tragedy. Poor Trent was more or less doomed to be a victim of those around him.

(Talk about a curveball, right? Trent received 0% of the votes in the last prediction poll.)


Hey everyone! After an itsy-bitsy, teeny little delay that may or may not have been… uh... hang on, let me check my calendar…

oh. Oh, God.

Um… anyways, the hiatus has come to an end (for now)! I have finally finished this long-awaited next chapter for TDOR. Your patience has been rewarded!

I can't speak on how consistently I may be able to write these chapters. After all, this one exceeds 21,000 words. They're quite a lot to work on! But I've remained dedicated to finishing up this one and can hopefully carry out my ideas for this series.

As always, feedback is very appreciated and I love hearing from readers! Feel free to let me know your thoughts on this chapter. Also, my Discord inbox remains open at DutchGarden#1008.

That's all for now! Thank you for reading!