Alright, quick author's note before we proceed: so, as some of you know, there was originally part #1 of episode #2 here. But while writing the second part, I admittedly went through something of a depressive state- and then later on, had a bit of a spat with a roommate. This spat led to the destruction of a hard drive of mine, which contained all the writing done on the next part. With my progress destroyed and my admittedly poor feeling on the first part taken into account, I decided- fuck it, I'll start over. So the original Ep2 Pt1 is no longer canon, and the remake will come out...later!

Until then, enjoy this- a bit of writing practice: an intermission between episodes #1 and #2 to further build the world and dip in a bit of foreshadowing for what's to come. Consider this an add-on to the contents of episode #1.

Enjoy~


Shadows fell over Camp Ivy as a full moon rose overhead, the calm night sky harshly contrasted against the still bustling activity of the grounds below.

Film equipment was currently being moved to the appropriate storage by the interns. Most of them looked utterly exhausted- bags under their eyes from a hard day's work and aching bones from the sheer amount of back and forth of such heavy tech.

One of these poor souls came in the form of a white, moth-like larva- Larvesta. He placed one of the cameras into the portable filming trailer along the edge of the open area, before wiping his brow of sweat. "You think this will ever get easier?" He asked nobody in particular.

"Ha, you wish," another intern sniped from nearby. Specifically, an Amoonguss, leaning up against a table beside another intern, a Carnivine. The mushroom carried on, "this is just the first day! It's gonna get way tougher. Trust me- I've got experience with this kinda junk."

While Larvesta eyed the mushroom in annoyance, another bug- a Swadloon, scuttled up beside him, lazily tossing a light inside while deadpanning, "Thus why you're the only one not doing anything."

Amoonguss glared at the bug- then turned the glare on Carnivine when he heard him laugh. The plant forced a smile. "Heh heh...Sorry."

Though, the laughter didn't end- in fact, it just kept echoing over the site. The others looked confused for a moment, before a ghastly presence materialized between Larvesta and Swadloon. And while the former squeaked in fear, the latter...Didn't even flinch.

"...Ahh. So scared." Swadloon deadpanned, unblinking.

The laughter materialized and formed into a single being moments later- Spiritomb. He gave the group a wide smile. "Sorry, gang; couldn't help myself even if I tried...Which I didn't!"

Larvesta groaned, walking away with a glare, "Why is it always me?"

Spiritomb suddenly floated ahead of the bug, catching him off guard again as his grin grew. "Because your reactions are the funniest, duh!"

Amoonguss shrugged. "He's got a point. You make it easy."

Larvesta flushed a bright red, turning away in embarrassment as Spiritomb grinned at the group. "Anyway- you ask me, guys-"

"Which nobody did," Swadloon stated.

"-I'll take a lazy bum over a yelling pawn!" Spiritomb exclaimed. "Losing he who shall be ignored is a real win in my book."

"He's uh...Not wrong," Carnivine nodded awkwardly.

"Hehehe. You guys talking 'bout Cyclizar?" Came even more new voices- a stumbling weed with two peppers for heads, one red and one green. Scovillain. And they were...Currently snacking on a bag of chips.

Mouth full, the green pepper smacked his lips and nodded. "Yeah. That jerk deserved to get fired."

The red one suddenly bopped the green one over the head. "He wasn't fired. Idiot. He's competing now." The two then shared a laugh, as if that interaction hadn't even happened.

"You ask me, based on what's coming up," Amoonguss started, a sick smirk forming on his face, "he'll wish he had been fired."

The mushroom started laughing wickedly, which a blushing, oddly smiling Carnivine joined in on, with Scovillain and Spiritomb close behind. The only ones to not do so were Larvesta and Swadloon, who exchanged a disturbed glance as they tried to back away from the scene-

Only to back right into the yapping, excitable body of a dog, "Hey guys!" The two jumped, and the laughing interns ceased, as they turned to stare at the dog- a Growlithe, one whose back left leg was noticeably a metallic prosthetic.

"C'mon- Machoke asked us to get this all ready to go for tomorrow!" Growlithe exclaimed, running back and forth between the two small groups, his head excitedly shifting back and forth. "We got a lot to do- let's go, go, go!"

As he beamed brightly with a smile, his peers only groaned, but reluctantly did as they were told. It was gonna be a long night.

Little were they aware though, as they shuffled off, another presence peeked out from the trees along the edge of camp. Their eyes glowed in the darkness all around them, as they shifted through the forest, ducking between tree to tree for cover.

And then they saw it- the film tent. They couldn't help but smile, and after a quick look around, they shifted toward it, slipping between the open flaps of the door.

Once inside, it didn't take them long to find where they had been keeping their storage. They flipped through the open space, and saw what they were looking for, laying right there atop the stack, as if freshly viewed from the day prior.

The audition tapes. One for each of the players. And before anyone could stop them, they had scooped them all up.

They made their way over to the nearest monitor, and began to watch the tapes. After they were done with them, next were the confessionals. And then, and only then...They'll have the information they want...


With a click of a mouse, the webpage shifted with a flash of light onto a video screen, the contents in question fading in from black onto a rotating red background as an electric guitar riff sounded off in the background. A spinning globe twisted into view, followed one by large, white lettered words reading, "Reality Manhunt".

The corny, if somewhat catchy name belonged to none other than one of the internet's current hottest (and most controversial) sensations…

"Heyo, it's your boy, Devereux! Coming at you with the latest and lamest in the world of entertainment!"

Indeed, the screen had shifted from the snappy opening sequence into a shot of a black desk against a green-screen. In front of it and leaning into a microphone was a Grafaiai, that signature smile of his creeping onto his face as he snickered obnoxiously to himself.

"Now then, let's get into the latest of what's sure to be a series of misfires for everyone's least favorite entrepreneurs," the Grafaiai started, as a photo flashed on screen of a pair; a Pyroar and a Galarian Rapidash, "because in case you missed it from living under a rock so long, celebrity power couple, Jessica Riegal and Rico Garcia, the biggest go-getter producers this side of Pokéstar Studios, are officially splitsville, and wouldn't you know it, it all went down only weeks before the grand finale of their biggest collaboration to date, Outlaster!"

The show in question's logo shot into the center of the screen, the snickering monkey adding insult to injury with, "Man, imagine making one of the biggest shows of all time then screwing it up over love. Freaking embarrassing!" With a cackle, he brought up a remote and clicked a button, revealing footage of a courtroom, "And with the world watching their divorce proceedings live on an international web stream, we got to see all the juicy drama unfold! In particular, the biggest news to come out of the case; Riegal losing the rights to her own show!"

Cackling, the Grafaiai tossed the remote aside and grinned sadistically, "Yeah, looks like miss "too good for interviews'' herself lost the documentation necessary to keep her half of residuals, so now, anything and everything made off the brand is going to her husband, who let me say," a photo slid from offscreen to reveal the horse, his mane well groomed, and a smirk on his face, "is absolutely rocking the hottest style of the season in spite of his busy body of an ex wasting his and everyone else's time by constantly picking fights both in and out of court. But hey, I ain't complaining!"

Snickering, he reached below the desk, pulling up a bowl of popcorn and proceeding to munch on it. With a mouthful of the buttery snack, he carried on, adding, "And if all that wasn't enough, guess what she decided to announce only a few days after Outlaster's winner claimed their crown…Her own, new reality show; Total Drama Island! Which seems to follow…The exact same premise!"

Hollering with laughter, the Grafaiai slammed a fist onto his desk and threw on a nasty glare, "Talk about attention whoring, am I right?! A perfect display of how worthless she is without her marriage," he threw another handful of popcorn into his mouth, "twenty bucks says it's canceled after five episodes- no…Two! She won't even make it to the starting line!"

Throwing his head back, he laughed even harder- only to abruptly choke, gagging on the popcorn in the back of his throat as he fell off his chair. After a solid two minutes of hacking, he coughed up his food with a groan. "...Ignore that."

Growling, the Grafaiai slumped back into his seat, taking back his deserved attention by clearing his throat and smiling again, "Still though, can't help but wonder how the sad sacks working on that joke will fare. I bet they won't get a good night's sleep to save their lives!"


Pyroar's eyes opened at the sound of ringing, her breathing heavy as she raised a paw and clasped it over her chest. Her alarm, which came in the form of the cellphone on her desk, continued to blare in her ear, that infernal sound repeating, over and over again...

And yet, somehow, that wasn't the loudest sound in her head at the moment. It wasn't the alarm, it wasn't the traffic of the city outside, it wasn't even the tv she had forgotten to turn off when she had gone to bed. Of all things, it was the one she wanted to hear the least- his voice.

The same voice she had grown so used to hearing when she woke up in the morning. The same voice she had attended every meeting and interview with for years. The same voice that had broken her heart- or whatever you could call what they had. In the moment it felt so harrowing, so endless.

And that picture- that horrible thing...It didn't make things better. That portrait of the two of them- smiling. A jagged crack running right down the middle of it as a result of one of her more indulgent nights since their abrupt end. She still remembered when they had taken it- right after they had learned their show had been picked up. She remembered how excited he had been for the opportunities, all the promises made that had now been broken.

And she scowled.

"Good riddance," she'd say- but she knew better than anyone...Such sentiments wouldn't hold up once night came again.

Best to enjoy the mental freedom while she still could.


From the high-rise atop one of the tallest buildings in Castelia, one had a good view of the greater city. Of the pollution plumbed from the factories in the distance. Of the swarms of gullible masses she was paid to sell to. Hell, she had a pretty good view of the Wingull who just crapped on her window too- damn prick, he'd rue this day! God, she was in a mood...

Pyroar sipped on her coffee, her eyes planted onto the window with an expression that could read as...Well...Actually not quite anger, or even regret, or disgust, or anything! It just felt...Hollow.

A knock at the door was the only thing to knock her out of this funk, as Pyroar looked up in silence. A silent nod, and it turned to open- and standing in the doorway was a dull looking Shieldon, his expression easily readable as impatience.

"Miss Riegal- remember, you have an appointment over in Virbank by noon," he stated, "if we want to make it, we have to leave soon."

"Thank you, Benny," she lazily replied, oblivious to the eye twitch on the dinosaur's face as he exited the room once more.

Yet Pyroar didn't bother with much of a rush- she continued to simply stare out at the city, utterly apathetic to the world around her, the only comfort being the coffee in her paws.

She took another sip, and just...Stared. On and on…


The halls of Pokestar Studios were an ominous place for most. Beyond the average day-to-day worries of running into a coworker you'd rather not speak to, or worse, your boss, they had something of a reputation.

Because every Friday for the past decade at least, at exactly two o'clock pm, the meetings started. And on the fifth floor of the major production center, responsible for all the semantics of putting together their recent lot of films and tv productions, one man eagerly awaited his victim of the week.

Casper O'Grady, or as someone in the studio space had taken to calling him, the "Hand of God", was truly reviled. While it was commonplace for productions to get canceled or have their budgets chopped up, or worse, deal with constant meddling, O'Grady in particular seemed to revel in his power over his employees. Many assumed he purposefully took any and all jobs regarding the latest bout of "bad news", just so he could hold it over the unfortunate sucker's head and play with their mind for all it was worth.

In the modern age of entertainment, where reboots thrived and creative integrity dies, O'Grady stood proudly as the cold-hearted personification of the problem. And many couldn't help but think he loved it. Most knew well if you were called to his office on a Friday, something was coming, and it was never good.

And unfortunately for one Jessica Riegal, better known as Pyroar for your reading pleasure, she was the poor soul who had been asked to attend this day.

She rounded the corner to stare down the seemingly endless hall of gray walls before her. But she wouldn't let it bring her down- she isn't going to feel weak in this moment of importance. She kept her head held high and exuded confidence, unlike her little lapdog assistant, Shieldon, AKA Benson or "Benny" as she'd call him, who stomped in tune to her lazily.

When the door to O'Grady's office came into view, she couldn't help but glare- but that flicker of anger she quickly ignored in favor of a more approachable, marketable smile.

"Ayyyy, Jess!"

And suddenly the anger was back.

Cause walking down the opposite end of the hall with equally as manufactured an appearance was a former peer of hers. One whose absence from her recent life had been one of the few pleasures of her current situation. Bobby Sinclair, obviously an alias, or as you the audience should be reminded- Bidoof. The current host of Outlaster.

He was wearing a bedazzled coat of his tiny, slightly chubby beaver body, and he had done up his front fur into an exaggerated pompadour, one he was currently running a comb through. And that obnoxious smirk of his- it creased her in ways she couldn't even describe. When he snapped a finger gun at her, she breathed in...And said-

"Ahh, Bobby...It's been a while." Pyroar forced that smile of hers that she had grown so used to practicing.

Bidoof waved it off with a laugh. "Too long, babe!" Him using that word made him go up a spot on her mental hit list. "How are you doing? And like...Why're you here?"

That aura of ignorance momentarily made her smile- hopefully she could get out of this encounter with her dignity still intact. "Oh, just paying some colleagues a visit." I mean...She wasn't lying. She was here for that. It was just a bit more complicated...

But when Bidoof noticed the door nearest to them, she watched him connect the dots mentally, and her hopes were ignored. "...Ahhhhh...Yeah, right. Colleagues...You mean like, the big guy?"

Pyroar mentally groaned. "Perhaps."

"Oooooh, Jess, baby...I'm so sorry," Bidoof sympathized...Poorly. That smug glint in his eyes told her everything she needed, "did your little side piece not turn out well."

"It's not a side piece, but I can understand how you wouldn't get that. You're clearly quite busy." Pyroar defended in as approachable a way as she could.

"Oh, oh, busy ain't even describing it!" Bidoof fake groaned, "Between all the press stuff and interviews and preparations for season two-"

Season two?

"-it's been so much...I'm tired!" Bidoof forced a yawn, stretching out, before noticing the confusion plastered across Pyroar's face. "What? Oh...Was it what I said? Specifically the little...Two thing? That too much for you?"

Pyroar couldn't help it- her emotions were showing. Her face was falling. Shieldon, even out the corner of his eyes, could still tell- she was heartbroken. And yet, Bidoof snickered, shrugging and saying, "I mean...This can't be a shock for you, babe? You were there...You knew it was gonna be a hit. Just now...Well...You're not there."

Pyroar said nothing. She couldn't say anything.

Bidoof smiled and walked up to her, patting her on the shoulder, "But hey, no hard feelings, eh? Now, I got places to be- you knew showbiz, you get it." He gave her a mock salute and walked off. "Later."

Shieldon heard the beaver whistle all the way down the hall. As soon as he was out of sight, he snarked, "Well- he's a dick."

Pyroar snapped out of her daze a moment, long enough to nudge him and shake her head. "Don't be unprofessional."

Shieldon just looked confused, "Wha- but you saw-" Her glare was enough to make him stand straight, then groan. If he could fold his arms he would, but doing so would more likely look silly with his quadrupedal form.

Breathing in, Pyroar forced herself to focus. This was important. She wouldn't let that rodent get under her skin. She was better than this, better than him. He didn't win.

"Stay out here- I won't be longed," Pyroar growled out as she approached the door. Shieldon, barely even wanting anything to do with this crap already, just shrugged and leaned against a wall. Maybe he could sneak a nap.

Mentally prepared, or as much as she could be, she stepped forward and through the door-

"Incoming!"

And immediately had to duck under a golf ball. It smashed against the wall behind her, cracking it and indenting itself inside...Right beside Shieldon's head.

Pyroar and Shieldon stared at in shock, their confused horror only interrupted by the harrowing cackle from the room before them.

"Sorry about that- swung in the wrong direction! But hey, it happens."

The man threw his golf club onto his shoulder, his bright grin brimming with a ripened ego- Casper O'Grady, or, for this story...Raichu.

"Come on in! We got a lot to discuss, Jasmine," he called out.

"Jessica," Pyroar stated firmly.

"That's what I said. Now c'mon, chop chop!"

Pyroar held back her glare, and shook away her lingering feelings. She had so much brewing in her mind. So much envy, frustration- this need to scream out into the world. But she couldn't! She'd make those who had done this to her- that had made her feel so weak…They'd pay.

But not now. Now wasn't the time for emotion. Now...Now was the time for business.

Without a second thought, she stepped into the room, the dual doors slamming shut behind her.