Last time, on Revenge of the Island! The Maggots continue to be divided about their de facto leader, Jo. Meanwhile, our intern Dakota seems to be going through a bit of a growth spurt. In the challenge, I quizzed our competitors on some deep knowledge. Surprisingly, the game point was snatched by none other than Lightning for the Rats! Dave pouted about Sky, until Dawn told him to just get over it already. Dave even got a nice calming boat ride home to sort himself out. Who will need to sort out their issues next? Find out right here, on Total! Drama! Revenge of the Island!

Intro plays.

In the Maggots' girls' cabin, the morning light filters through the grimy windows, casting a soiled glow over the discolored furniture. Anne Maria glances at Jo, who is rhythmically dribbling a ball against the wall with a persistent thud.

"Jo, why are you still here?" Anne Maria asks, irritated. "Aren't you usually out on a morning run or something?"

Thud.

Jo doesn't bother to look over. "Of course you would ask that. You clearly don't want me here."

Thud.

Anne Maria rolls her eyes, exasperated. "It ain't just me. It's everybody."

Thud.

Jo remains unaffected. "That's great, sunshine. Just great."

Thud.

Anne Maria sighs. "Well, if you're going to stick around, quit throwing that ball. It's annoying."

Thud.

Jo grimaces. "Okay, MOM. Anything else you'd like?"

Thud.

Anne Maria's face flushes a deeper shade of red as her patience frays. "Maybe some politeness for once!"

The thudding stops. Jo's eyes flash with anger. "You're one to talk!"

Sky, sensing the escalating tension, steps in to diffuse the situation. "Cool it. This isn't going anywhere."

Anne Maria's eyes narrow. "Yeah, just like Jo, unfortunately."

Sky's patience wears thin. "Stop it! You're just making it worse."

Anne Maria waves a dismissive hand. "Yo, sis, I'm just playing the game. It's a popularity contest. So if I don't like you, I'm gonna say it."

Jo folds her arms. "Ditto."

Sky tries to reason with them. "But won't being overly negative make you yourself unpopular?"

Anne Maria's eyes intensify with resolve. "Not if I'm speaking for the silent majority. Ella hates Jo too, but she's too nice to say it outright."

Jo bristles. "That's not true. She called me a 'bad influence.'"

Ella, who has been quietly observing, chimes in softly. "I only want our team to be happy. When there's someone refusing to allow that, I—"

Jo interrupts sharply, her voice deeply bitter. "Happy? Happy? Look around! We're in a toxic waste dump, humiliating ourselves on TV, for the amusement of a sociopath!"

"That doesn't mean you can't be happy while doing it," Ella maintains.

Jo throws her hands up in mock surrender. "Break into song then, why don't ya?"

Ella jumps at the opportunity to start singing. "Okay!" she smiles. "'Sing with your heart and—'"

Jo cuts her off abruptly. "That was a joke!"

ZOEY CONFESSIONAL: The girls' cabin is a nightmare, and it gets worse every day. No one wants to admit fault. Sky tries to mediate but she always takes Jo's side. I'm sure the boy's cabin is much more pleasant.

In the boys' cabin, Shawn snorts hideously and spits a large wad of phlegm into a garbage can. "Dude, I think there's like pollen or something in the air. I kept coughing up loogies all night." The room is filled with stale. putrid air and unwashed clothes.

Brick stretches his arms, looking surprisingly refreshed. "Well, I don't know about you, but I slept like a rock."

Mike looks over. "Yeah… I could tell…"

Brick raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Shawn snickers. "You were snoring all night, man."

Cameron, who has been fiddling with a loose thread on his blanket, adds, "Also talking in your sleep. A lot of repressed memories of your mother came out."

Mike, curious despite himself, asks, "Did she really lock you in a closet?"

"NO! NO!" Brick exclaims, his voice rising in a defensive tone. "My mother is a saint!"

Shawn shrugs nonchalantly. "Whatever, man. We all got problems. Especially Dave. Kid was a total basket case. Glad he's gone."

Mike's expression softens with sympathy. "I felt bad for him."

Shawn nods, his tone becoming more contemplative. "Yeah. I guess. But at a certain point, you gotta sort yourself out so you don't drag others down. Like you, Mike. You're the most sane one here."

MIKE CONFESSIONAL: No way do they think I'm a model of mental stability. Have I really masked it that well? What happens when I can't anymore?

Outside, Sam approaches Dakota at a picnic table, who is deeply engrossed in a book. "Hey, Dakota!" Sam greets, stumbling over his words. "I mean… Hey," he corrects, speaking in a gruffer, more masculine manner.

Dakota glances up briefly, her focus quickly returning to the pages. "Hi…" she replies, flipping through the book with practiced ease.

Curious, Sam peers over her shoulder. "What'cha got there?"

Dakota looks up again. "Cam gave me some books on molecular biology. But once I finished those, I moved on to some spirituality texts from Dawn. After those, I dove into philosophy and psychology with books from Scarlett. Then I tackled nature and survival guides from Shawn. Now I'm reading through equipment manuals Chris has for the island." She pauses, then adds, "By the way, do you have anything to read?"

Sam fumbles, a little taken aback. "Uh… only a gaming magazine. How did you read all that?"

Dakota simply shrugs. "I don't know. I never tried it before. Isn't that how fast people usually read?"

Sam blinks in surprise. "Uh… no."

Dakota looks slightly deflated. "You mean I'm too slow? Guess I gotta read faster."

"No, I meant the opposite!" Sam clarifies.

In the cafeteria, Sam plops down at a table next to Scott, his breakfast tray clattering slightly.

"Have you seen Dakota?" Sam asks Scott.

Scott shaking his head. "Thankfully, no."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Thankfully?"

Scott leans back, his tone dismissive. "Look, I know you've got a thing for her or whatever mushy stuff you're into, but I've seen headless chickens with more brains than she's got."

"Clearly, you haven't seen her lately," Sam defends.

Scott looks intrigued. "What do you mean?"

"She's been reading. Like… a lot."

Scott shrugs, unimpressed. "Eh. That doesn't mean anything. You can read a million books and still be a jerk."

Scarlett, who has been covertly listening in, smiles, amused at Scott's description of intelligence versus morality.

SCARLETT CONFESSIONAL: That might be the first perceptive thing I've heard Scott say.

Sam leans closer to Scott, his voice dropping. "Hey, man. You seem to get this game pretty well. Do you have, like, a strategy?"

Scott's eyes narrow smugly. "Are you asking for an alliance?"

Sam hesitates, then nods. "Uh… well, like I said yesterday, I need to be more ruthless at this game. I'm not that good at challenges, so I need to make up for it some other way."

Scott grins unpleasantly. "Sure, Sam. You can trust me."

SAM CONFESSIONAL: Yeah, man, that's how deals are made! 10 social skills.

SCOTT CONFESSIONAL: What a sucker!

The intercom in the dining hall crackles to life. The voice coming through is unmistakably female and it quivers with a hint of panic. "Uh… hello? Can anyone hear me?"

Zoey looks around, confused. "What was that?"

A second voice interrupts, this one male, with deadpan, nasally indignation. "Chris, I know this is you. I don't know any other sociopaths with this much free time and disposable income."

Jasmine's eyes widen as recognition hits her. "Hey, I know that voice."

Chris steps forward, a smirk playing on his lips as he addresses the room. "A couple of former players have filed charges against me for 'unjust termination' or something. Apparently, their eliminations weren't 'justified' by the rules of the game, and thus they were deprived of potential monetary gain and… something or other… annoying." He waves his hand dismissively. "It's not like there are any concrete laws here; I can change the rules whenever I want. Anyway, please welcome back Leshawna and Noah!"

The announcement is met with mostly silence, punctuated by a few scattered claps from the concerned contestants.

A crackling voice—Leshawna's—comes through the intercom, full of frustration. "What is wrong with you? I can't even see five feet in front of me!"

Chris's smirk widens. "You said you were deprived of screen time. I'm giving it back. Isn't this what you wanted?"

Noah's voice cuts in, more irritated than panicked. "You realize this isn't the only thing we're suing you for, right? The list of charges against you is a mile long. I didn't want to come back to this stupid show. Much less in a COFFIN!"

Samantha's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "A coffin? Where are they?"

Chris crosses his arms, his grin now almost gleeful. "Ah, yes, THAT'S the challenge part. They are buried underground, and it's up to you guys to find them! Maggots, you've got Leshawna. Rats, Noah. Whoever saves their target first wins immunity. The others… Well, you still have to find them. I don't want to get in hot water here."

Leshawna's voice rises in fury through the walkie-talkie, muffled but unmistakable. "You are way beyond being in hot water! You're in… lava! On the sun! You absolute son of a—"

Chris calmly flicks off Leshawna's walkie-talkie, cutting her off mid-rant. "Whatever," he dismisses, before turning back to the contestants. "Anyway, you have to find them by going to a location relevant to their time on the island. Rats, you've gotta look for the dodgeball stadium, and Maggots, you're searching for the ATV Leshawna took in the final episode."

"That can't be that hard," Topher says. "It's on the beach, right?"

Chris scratches the back of his head, an expression of mock concern crossing his face. "Oh, yeah. We had to tear that down. There was asbestos in it."

Samantha's eyes narrow in disbelief. "So, what, he could be buried anywhere on the shoreline?"

Chris shrugs, clearly unfazed. "I'm gonna be real with you—I forgot where exactly they're buried. So your guess is as good as mine."

Sky throws her hands up, exasperated. "Are you kidding me?"

Chris claps his hands together. "Good luck!"

MIKE CONFESSIONAL: What Chris is doing is illegal, right?

ZOEY CONFESSIONAL: Leshawna was one of my favorite contestants. I can't wait to meet her! Well… if we find her…

Chris looks far too pleased with the chaos he's about to unleash. "You each get shovels, as well as a walkie-talkie to communicate with your ex-camper. I don't know why you'd want to do that, though. They're kind of cranky right now."

Scarlett, deadpan as always, raises an eyebrow. "I can't imagine why."

Chris smirks, unfazed. "Right? Anyway, get moving!"

The Toxic Rats jog through the decrepit island, their shovels clanging with each step. Sam's sweaty hands fumble with the walkie-talkie as he brings it up to his mouth. "Are you guys really suing Chris?" he asks Noah.

Noah's voice comes back, tired and nasally over the walkie-talkie. "It's not just us. Don't listen to Chris—it's not about being 'eliminated unfairly.' Leshawna and I got everyone signed on now for negligence, abuse, and subjecting us to hazardous conditions. It's a full class-action lawsuit."

Scarlett furrows her brow. "Class-action? There were, what, 22 to 25 contestants on the show? You'd need more than that for a class-action."

"Oh, we've got more," Noah responds. "Chris has more collateral damage than an atom bomb. Interns, PAs, camera crew… anyone who's worked with him. There are dozens."

Samantha's eyes widen as she processes the information. "So… are we in danger?"

Noah's reply is blunt. "Yes. Yes. One million times yes."

They arrive at the beach, the salty sea breeze hitting their faces as they scan the area. Lightning cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, "Little boy! Where are you?"

Noah sighs audibly through the walkie-talkie. "Okay, one, I'm pretty sure I'm older than you, and two, all I can see is black."

Lightning's eyes widen. "He must be somewhere where it's night time, then!"

Dawn serenely looks at the walkie-talkie as if she can sense Noah through it. "What's your sign, Noah?"

"My what?" Noah replies flatly.

"Your zodiac sign," Dawn continues. "I can find you if I know your aura better."

Noah sighs with resignation. "I probably should have told my legal team to draft a will, too."

SCARLETT CONFESSIONAL: I like this guy.

The Mutant Maggots similarly cut through the boreal landscape, their pace urgent as the sun begins to rise higher in the sky. Jo presses the walkie-talkie to her mouth. "Alright, Leshawna, got any leads for us?"

Leshawna's voice crackles through the speaker, dripping with sarcasm and anger. "I'm fine, thank you for asking!"

Jo rolls her eyes. "Guess that's a no. Won't be needing this, then." Without hesitation, she flings the walkie-talkie over her shoulder.

"Wait!" Zoey exclaims, scrambling to catch the walkie-talkie before it hits the ground. She frowns at Jo as she clutches it tightly.

Jo huffs in annoyance. "Come on, this is a life-or-death situation, not the Larry King show. You can have your chat later!"

Zoey, undeterred, presses the button on the walkie-talkie, her voice gentle. "Leshawna, are you alright?"

Leshawna's response is immediate, her frustration boiling over. "Am I ALRIGHT? Girl, you have some nerve!"

Jo smirks, vindicated. "See? Useless."

Shawn suddenly perks up, eyes wide with an idea. "I've got it! Leshawna, stay calm and take off your shirt."

Leshawna's response is filled with pure outrage. "Excuse me?!"

Brick cuts in, mortified. "Shawn, that's extremely inappropriate."

Shawn waves it off, trying to explain. "No, I mean, pull the shirt over your face. It'll filter the air. And don't scream or breathe deeply—it'll use up the oxygen."

Leshawna, still skeptical, pauses before responding. "OK… you better not be making a fool out of me…"

Shawn's tone shifts, serious and focused. "Knowing Chris, he probably cut some corners and bought a cheap wood box. He wouldn't have buried you very deep. Start kicking at the wood."

A tense silence follows. Then, through the walkie-talkie, a faint thud, followed by another, and another. The sound of a crack splits through the static.

Leshawna's voice bursts out, triumphant. "It broke!"

"The dirt should be loose," Shawn coaches, his voice calm and steady. "Keep kicking at it, but make sure it stays at your feet."

Sky turns to Shawn, her eyes wide with admiration. "Shawn, this is amazing. Where did you learn this? One of your survivalist books?"

Shawn glances away. "Actually, I learned this one from… a friend."

The scene cuts to the Toxic Rats, where Jasmine is guiding Noah through the exact same procedure.

"Alright, Noah, just keep calm," Jasmine instructs, her voice a mix of calm and command. "The sand should be loose. Kick at the wood like I told you."

Noah's voice crackles through the speaker, muffled from beneath the ground. "Yeah, I'm doing that."

Another few thuds echo through the walkie-talkie, followed by the sound of cracking wood. Noah grunts, pushing at the earth above him. Finally, with one last powerful shove, the sand begins to shift, and Noah's hand bursts through the surface. The team rushes over, pulling him up as he emerges from the sand, gasping and covered in sediment.

"Sweet," Sam chuckles. "You emerged from the ground just like a zombie in Gravediggers VII."

"Yes, my near-death experience was just like a video game. Thank you for the astute observation," Noah rolls his eyes.

Meanwhile, across the island, the Mutant Maggots have found the now-rusted ATV and are frantically digging near the remains of it. Leshawna's voice comes through the walkie-talkie, a little more hopeful than before.

"I'm kicking, like you said!" she shouts, her voice slightly muffled.

Shawn stands at the ready. "Keep going, Leshawna! The box should be breaking apart by now."

After a few more tense moments, a loud crack echoes from beneath the ATV, followed by the sound of dirt shifting. Leshawna's hand finally breaks through the earth as she pulls herself free, covered in dirt but fuming with a fierce energy. Brick and Mike push the ATV out of the way.

Leshawna gasps as she dusts herself off. "Chris is a DEAD MAN!" she declares furiously.

Both teams, victorious but exhausted, race back toward the starting line. As they break through the trees, expecting to see Chris waiting with his signature smug grin, they instead find Chef standing alone, arms crossed.

Chef glances at the group. "Well, Chris is dead."

"What?!"

"Oh my God."

"How?"

"Give him a cheap funeral."

Chef, however, remains unfazed. "While you all were out, Dakota took Chris and drove off with him in my golf cart."

"What do you mean 'took' him?" Jo asks, her eyes narrowing in confusion.

"I mean she picked him up… and took him." Chef shook his head. "And man, she did look mad."

The contestants attempt to process the bizarre news. They murmur uneasily to each other for a bit before Chef's radio crackles to life. Chris's familiar voice comes through, sounding more irritated than afraid. "Yo. Chef. Do you still have those elephant tranquilizers? I think we're gonna need 'em for Dakota here."

The campers exchange confused glances. Not only was Chris still alive, but he didn't even seem all that distressed.

Chris continues over the radio, clearly not taking the situation as seriously as he should. "If Mr. Milton asks what happened, just say she, uh… I don't know. Make something up."

Topher looks around at the others, disbelief in his eyes. "This can't be real…"

"Why do you need elephant tranquilizers for Dakota?" Scott bites. "She's built like a twig."

Chef raises an eyebrow, the tiniest hint of knowing amusement in his stoic expression. "Not anymore, she ain't."

"What? How?" Sky asks.

"I would wager the extended exposure to toxic waste had something to do with it," Chef replies.

"You mean she's deformed because of you?" Sam exclaims, enraged. He charges at Chef and begins punching him in the gut. "This… is… for… destroying… something… beautiful!" He spaces out each word to punctuate each punch. Chef doesn't even flinch. It's like Sam is punching a steel wall.

"She ain't deformed," Chef replies, not even acknowledging the attempt at violence. "If anything, she's better now than she was before. If you ask me, all women should be seven feet tall." Chef's face changes to a dreamy wistful smile.

"Weird. Weird. Weird." Scott repeats like a blaring alarm.

"Uh, two words. Maternal projection," Noah adds dryly, psychoanalyzing Chef's odd taste in women as a result of some unresolved issue with his mother.

Chef puts on a pair of glasses too small for his face. "Anyway, I've got a screenplay to work on. You can try to rescue Chris or whatever. I don't care." With that, he pulls out a dusty old typewriter and carefully adjusts his reading glasses. "Exterior… Belgrade. 1943. Midnight," he mutters, fingers loudly clicking away at the keys.

The contestants stand in stunned silence, the absurdity of the situation settling over them.

"So, do we rescue him… or… just…" Samantha trails off, wrestling with the idea of just abandoning Chris to the wilderness.

"No Chris means no legal settlement," Leshawna points out, dissatisfied with the idea of Chris McLean escaping justice. "He's gotta pay for all the crap he's pulled on us."

"And no prize money," Jo adds curtly. "Come on, just follow the tracks. This should be easy." The ground, still wet from yesterday's rainfall, caused the golf cart to leave prominent mud tracks on the grass and dirt. The rest of the Mutant Maggots team follows suit.

Reluctantly, the rest of the Mutant Maggots fall in line, following the tracks. Sam watches while nursing his bruised knuckles, injured from his 'fight' with Chef. "Forget Chris… is Dakota okay?"

Jasmine nods in agreement. "Yeah, we need to see what's going on with her. For both their sakes."

"Plus, he'll probably give us the win for this challenge if we rescue him!" Topher adds, and with that, team Rat follows after the Mutant Maggots.

"Wait… but… ugh, do we HAVE to?" Scott whines like a petulant child forced to do chores. A hand grasps his shoulder. It's Scarlett.

"Scott, wait a minute," Scarlett says. "Sam trusts you, right?"

"Yeah, he said so this morning."

She lowers her voice to a whisper. "I've got a plan…"

Sam trudges along with the others, eyes focused on the muddy tracks that twist deeper into the forest. The damp earth clings to his shoes and the sky remains a stagnant gray. As he's lost in thought, Scott trots up beside him, his expression oddly casual for someone in the middle of this bizarre situation.

"Sam, buddy," Scott says, his tone light but carrying a hint of something more.

"Yeah?"

"I just had a thought," Scott continues, lowering his voice like he's about to share something important. "You know how Topher doesn't like you? And he doesn't like Dakota, either?"

Sam frowns slightly. "Uh, yeah. I guess. Yeah."

Scott narrows his eyes, giving Sam a knowing look. "And do you remember when Chef left that toxic marshmallow in the bathroom, and Topher found it?"

A grin tugs at the corner of Sam's mouth. "Yeah, that was pretty funny."

Scott's grin is different—sharp, sinister. "Well, I thought of something not so funny. Chef said Dakota's suffering from exposure to toxic radiation. You don't think… maybe Topher had something to do with it?"

Sam's smile fades instantly, his stomach twisting. His face drops as the implications hit him. "...No… that…"

Scott leans in closer, his voice steady, his words calculated. "Sam, you wanna be a tough guy? You gotta be one step ahead of the game. And you gotta teach Topher not to mess with your girl. You understand what I'm saying here?"

Sam's face hardens. "That slimy son of a…" His voice trails off, anger simmering beneath the surface. His fists tighten and mind races.

As the trees thin out toward the water's edge, the Maggots, slightly in front, realize the tracks lead to a boathouse. Unlike the other dilapidated structures on the island, this building seems to be in relatively good condition. The golf cart lies unoccupied nearby.

Mike squints at the structure, his brow furrowed. "Since when was there a boathouse here?"

Zoey steps up beside him, her gaze shifting to the pristine building. "It's probably where Chris keeps his… yachts, or something. You can tell it's his because of how well-kept it is."

"Yeah. Except for that." Anne Maria gestures to the ground, where the boathouse door lies, completely ripped off its hinges.

The contestants exchange uneasy glances as the Rats approach from behind, having followed the same muddy trail.

"Where's the crazy girl at?" Lightning asks, his voice booming with confidence. He trips over the door and falls flat on his face. "Yo, who put that there?"

The 17 campers gather around the boathouse, staring at the ominous entrance and hesitating on what to do next. Scarlett crouches next to the door, her fingers tracing the deep gouges in the wood, studying the damage. Meanwhile, Lightning, brushing dirt off his clothes, pretends his embarrassing fall moments earlier didn't happen.

Jo, as always, grows impatient. She looks around at the frozen group, rolling her eyes. "So, we goin' in, or what?" she demands, her voice cutting through the tension.

"Yes. Yes we are."

Sam steps forward with a look of intense determination. He gazes forward with icy confidence. As he moves closer to the entrance, the wind picks up, blowing his shirt dramatically like he's the lone hero in a spaghetti western. Somewhere, a Morricone-style musical riff echoes, accompanied by the distant cry of an eagle.

For a brief, glorious moment, Sam looks unstoppable—until the wind sends a large leaf straight into his face, disrupting the entire scene. He sputters and waves it off.

Jo snickers. "Suit yourself, game boy." She glances at the others, her eyebrow raised. "Anyone else got the guts?"

Scarlett rises, brushing the dirt from her hands. "I'll go," she says calmly.

Jo shakes her head in disbelief. "What is this, the mathletes?" she mutters, eyeing the unassuming nature of the two volunteers. Her gaze shifts to her own team's bespectacled member, Cameron, who's trying his best to remain invisible. "Bubble boy, you want in on this?"

Cameron stammers, eyes wide behind his glasses. "Uhh…"

Before he can finish, Shawn steps forward, interrupting with an eager grin. "I gotta see this. I'll go in."

"Alright, then, kids. Field trip time," Jo announces, and enters the structure with Sam, Scarlett, and Shawn following close behind.

The inside is surprisingly brightly lit, warm, and almost cozy, completely at odds with the tension outside. The house contains amber-toned pine wood and the furnishings—plush chairs, a large wooden table, and a couple of wicker chairs by an unlit fireplace—give the space the feel of a rustic lodge rather than a creepy boathouse.

In one of the wicker chairs, tied up with ropes but otherwise unharmed, sits Chris McLean, facing away from them.

Chris tries to turn his head but can't. He assumes Chef has entered. "Chef, is that you? Finally! What took you so long?"

"Uh, Chef's working on his screenplay," Shawn replies, glancing at the others. "It's us."

Chris lets out an exasperated groan. "Oh, for crying out loud. He's still working on that thing? He keeps pestering me about whether my agent is interested in a science-fiction romance set in Yugoslavia. No one is interested in that. No one!"

"Dakota, what about Dakota?" Sam presses impatiently.

"Huh? Oh, I don't know. She wandered off somewhere."

"Wandered off?" Jo exclaims. "What… how do you just lose her?"

"Do I look like I'm in a position to keep track of her?" Chris snaps, his usual sarcastic tone cutting through the group's tension. "I'm tied to a chair, genius!"

Before anyone can respond, a creaking sound comes from the back of the boathouse. The campers freeze as a door swings open, revealing an imposing figure shrouded in shadow. The figure steps forward, towering over everything in sight—then abruptly bumps their head on the doorframe with a sharp thud. "Ow," a voice mutters in a familiar nasal, breathy valley-girl tone.

The figure steps fully into the light, revealing what Dakota has become. She's now towering at a height that rivals even the tallest NBA players, easily around seven feet tall. Her body is stocky, muscular. Her once-tanned skin has faded into a pallid, almost sickly tone, and her long blonde hair is frayed, losing its color and life. Her dilated, manic pupils make her look like she hasn't slept in days.

The room falls into complete silence as everyone exchanges frozen glances, unsure of what to do next. Dakota, towering and transformed, stands before them like something out of a fever dream. No one moves or speaks, tension thick in the air.

Finally, Sam, breaking the awkward quiet, casually says, "Hey."

Dakota's manic eyes shift toward him, and to everyone's surprise, she responds just as casually, "Hey, Sam."

SAM CONFESSIONAL: Can you believe it? I thought this sort of thing was impossible… She finally remembered my name!

Jo, never one for politeness, interrupts the moment. "You look terrible. What happened to you?" she asks bluntly.

Dakota shrugs with unsettling calmness. "I don't know," she replies simply. "But I think it might be the ionizing radiation acting upon dormant retrotransposons, interfering with the tumor suppressor proteins resulting in hypertrophic hyperplasia, enhancing neurogenesis and synaptic plasticity in the hippocampus and prefrontal cortex. And, since my epiphyseal plates have yet to close, it could be an alteration of the feedback loops between my pituitary gland and hypothalamus, leading to an endocrine imbalance and a surge in growth hormones."

Jo, blinking in confusion, tries to play it cool. "...uh… yeah. That's… exactly what I thought." Her attempt at feigning understanding falls flat, but she powers through it.

SCARLETT CONFESSIONAL: Her physiognomy is too structurally sound to be the result of an endocrine imbalance! Amateur.

"So... uh... what's goin' on here?" Sam asks, trying to make sense of the bizarre situation.

"Oh, nothing. Just synthesis," Dakota responds casually, as if discussing the weather. She disappears for a moment and reemerges with a hand truck, wheeling a large barrel of toxic waste into the room. She hums the show's theme song under her breath, her demeanor eerily carefree as she brings the hand truck to a stop right next to Chris's chair.

Chris's smug confidence evaporates in an instant. His eyes dart toward the barrel, and his voice wavers. "Uh, wait a minute. What... what is this?"

Dakota smiles. "In history, every thesis requires an antithesis in order for progress to be made," she explains, repeating something she probably read in one of Scarlett's books. "Therefore, it only makes sense that I do to you what you did to me!"

SCARLETT CONFESSIONAL: Blatant misunderstanding of historical dialectics, too.

Chris's panic sets in as he squirms against the ropes. "Hey, hey, wait a minute. Wait a minute!" His fingers fumble for the walkie-talkie clipped to his waist, and he manages to hit the button. "Chef! Chef! CHEF!" he shouts, his voice echoing with desperation. But there's no response from the other end—just the crackle of dead air.

Dakota continues to adjust the toxic barrel, seemingly unfazed, as Shawn suddenly jumps in. "Wait, Dakota! This isn't right!"

"Yeah!" Sam chimes in. "It wasn't Chris who poisoned you. It was Topher!"

"Right!—wait, what?" Shawn's rallying cry stumbles, his confusion clear. "I was going to say revenge isn't the answer!"

"Topher?" Dakota's manic gaze shifts as she reconsiders, her eyes narrowing in on the idea.

Chris, ever the opportunist, seizes the moment. "What? Oh, yeah! Definitely Topher. This was all him," Chris says quickly, nodding fervently. "Totally his idea. You should go talk to him!" Chris shamelessly throws Topher under the bus, desperate to save himself, and, more importantly, his good looks.

Dakota storms toward the exit, her voice booming as she shouts, "TOPHER! WHAT DID YOU DO?"

Outside, the campers gasp at the sight of Dakota's towering figure. Topher's eyes go wide and he lets out a high-pitched shriek. "I-I don't know what you're talking about, lady, I swear!" His voice cracks as he backs away, eyes darting for an escape route.

Meanwhile, inside the boathouse, Jo surveys the room, eyes landing on a heavy metal poker leaning against the fireplace and a ladder leading to the roof. A plan forms in her mind. "Shawn!" she barks, pointing at him. "Untie Chris. I've got a plan."

Shawn rushes over to Chris and begins working at the ropes. Chris, never one to show his appreciation of others, wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Dude, when's the last time you showered?"

Shawn gives Chris an unimpressed look. "Uh, it's called masking my scent," he explains. "Showering washes off essential pheromones." Chris grimaces, trying to lean away from Shawn as much as possible, but he's too tied up to do much more than make a face.

Outside, Dakota marches closer to Topher, her finger pointing directly at him like a mythic judge ready to deliver a final sentence. "You did this to me!" she accuses "You were jealous of my good looks and my fame! It all makes sense now!"

Topher throws his hands up in nervous defense. "I have no idea what you're talking about!"

"Don't play dumb, bro," Sam says as he steps outside, backing up Dakota.

Scott seizes the chance to highlight Sam's betrayal. "Sam, what are you doing?" he exclaims.

"I'm doing... justice!" Sam declares with an exaggerated sense of righteousness. "I'm defending my girl!"

No sooner has Sam made his dramatic proclamation than a shadowy figure leaps from the roof of the boathouse. In one swift motion, the figure strikes Dakota squarely on the head. The impact reverberates as Dakota stumbles, then collapses to the ground with a heavy thud.

"Easy," Jo says, dusting herself off with a cocky grin. "Who's the villain now?"

Topher, still trembling, quickly regains his composure. "Jo, you saved my life!" he gushes, his relief palpable. "And more importantly, my face!"

The rest of the campers rush toward Jo, surrounding her with praise for her bold and decisive act. Jo's usual detractors—Anne Maria and Ella—exchange reluctant glances, unwilling to completely concede but admittedly impressed.

Chris struts out of the boathouse, smoothing down his hair with a smug grin plastered across his face. "For saving my skin, the Mutant Maggots win immunity!" he announces. Chris turns to Sam. "Sam, my man, I appreciate the effort of throwing someone else under the bus," he says. "But lying never gets you anywhere. Unless you're me."

"Lying? But…" Sam trails off, unsure what to believe now.

TOPHER CONFESSIONAL: Did Sam really tell Dakota that I somehow caused her to get… like that? What a baby!

JO CONFESSIONAL: Finally, my team doesn't think I'm a total dirtbag anymore. All it took was me inflicting violence onto another human being. Who would have thought?

In the light of late afternoon, a group of campers cautiously gathers outside the mess hall—Sam, Cameron, Jasmine, and Zoey among them. They attempt to peek in through the windows, but are unable to make out what's occurring inside. The door creaks open slightly, and Chef steps out, wiping his hands on his apron.

"Is she okay?" Sam asks, his voice laced with worry.

Chef gives a noncommittal grunt. "I don't know about okay. But she's calmed down, at least." His words offer little reassurance, but it's better than nothing.

The four campers edge closer to the door. With a hesitant push, Zoey opens it a little wider. "Hello?" she calls out tentatively.

From inside, Dakota's voice replies, softer and almost shy. "Hey, guys..."

The campers step inside, unsure what to expect. Dakota sits on a stool by the counter, her posture relaxed and unthreatening. Sitting down, with her height disguised, she looks almost normal. Though taller and noticeably stronger, the frenzied appearance from earlier has faded. Her skin is regaining its natural tone, and the manic glint in her eyes has softened. A bandage around her head indicated an attempt to heal the strike Jo inflicted earlier.

Zoey steps forward, her voice soft. "You really gave us a scare there."

Dakota looks down, guilt evident on her face. "Sorry… but what was I supposed to do? I'm a freak show now! I'm not supposed to look like this!"

Jasmine crosses her arms, shaking her head firmly. "That's no way to talk. There's no 'supposed to' when it comes to how you look. I've had people laugh at me, make jokes, or stare just because I don't fit the mold of a 'normal' lass. But you know what? I realized I can't control how I look, so I might as well wear it with confidence."

Cameron jumps in, adjusting his glasses. "Hey, Sergei Rachmaninoff was huge, but his massive hands made him one of the greatest pianists of all time! And look at me. I'm probably the shortest guy ever to step foot on this show, but that doesn't stop me. I'm still here!"

Sam beams with enthusiasm. "I think you look awesome! You're like Chelia from Road Brawlers 2! Plus, you're giga-smart now! You're basically a superhero!"

Dakota blushes slightly, managing a small smile. "Aw, I don't know who that is, but... thanks."

Jasmine's tone drops. "Still, I'd definitely see a doctor when we get back."

The others nod in agreement. "Yeah, mmhmm, definitely," they mutter in unison.

Then, Leshawna steps forward, a smirk on her face. She slaps a folder of legal documents onto the table in front of Dakota. "You want to really hit Chris where it hurts?"

Dakota raises an eyebrow. "I'm listening…"

Leshawna leans in, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Hit his wallet."

A grin spreads across Dakota's face as she picks up the folder. "Oh, yeah. Daddy's got lawyers who'll make Chris' head spin."

The campers exchange grins.

The night air is heavy with tension as the campers gather around the flickering campfire, casting long shadows over their weary faces. Sam, Scott, Scarlett, Topher, Jasmine, Samantha, Lightning, and Dawn sit on the wooden stumps fashioned as seating.

Chris strides in, the firelight casting sharp angles across his grinning visage. "What a day, huh?" he says. "Fun was had, laughs were shared, and all that crap."

"Multiple people nearly died!" Samantha exclaims.

"Nearly! Nearly!" Chris emphasizes. "See, I always know not to take it too far."

Chris takes out the plate of marshmallows. "Marshmallows. You get one, you're safe. You don't, and I never want to see you again. You know the drill." He points at Dawn. "Dawn, you know what I'm talking about. That's why you're safe."

Dawn catches it but doesn't look pleased. "This marshmallow is not worth the horrific crimes against the human spirit I bore witness to on this day."

"The entire bag of marshmallows was worth about 4 bucks, but okay, sure," Chris shrugs. "Also safe are… Jasmine. Scarlett. Samantha."

Jasmine, Scarlett, and Samantha receive their marshmallows, but Samantha isn't done. She narrows her eyes at Chris, her voice steady. "You know there's a very convincing case being built against you, right? You could go to prison."

Chris shrugs, clearly uninterested in her warning. "Do you guys wanna keep playing, or sit around and whine all night? Honestly." Without missing a beat, he throws another marshmallow. "Lightning, you're safe too. Hopefully you don't have any aspersions to cast."

Lightning catches the marshmallow triumphantly. "Lightning doesn't even know the meaning of aspersions!" He hesitates. "…No, seriously, what does that mean?"

"And Scott." Chris lobs another marshmallow, which Scott catches.

Topher and Sam remain without a marshmallow. "Topher, Sam," Chris begins, leaning forward with a glint of mockery in his eyes. "You both made history tonight. You really proved you don't need to be a woman to hold onto stupid, petty grudges."

Instantly, a chorus of angry voices rises from the girls. "Shut up, Chris!" Jasmine, Dawn, Samantha, and Scarlett yell, disgusted. They pelt Chris with their marshmallows. The sugary cylinders bounce off Chris' face and torso. "Pig!"

"Yeesh, tough crowd tonight," Chris winces. "This is why I didn't go into stand-up." Chef emerges from the shadows, decked out in a hazmat suit, carrying a small lead box. Chris's mood lifts at the sight. "And now, the toxic marshmallow… for the lucky loser. For real this time." Chef opens the metal container, revealing the toxic marshmallow, glowing eerily green and emitting a faint droning hum.

"And the camper safe for another day is…"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

…Topher."

Topher lets out a huge sigh of relief. "Phew!" he says, catching the marshmallow, satisfied.

Sam, standing empty-handed and defeated, lowers his gaze. "Ugh. I guess I deserve this," he mutters, glancing over at Topher. He shuffles his feet awkwardly. "Sorry for trying to sic an enraged mutant on you. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Whatever, man," Topher dismisses, looking away, not acknowledging Sam's penitence.

Sam sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just wanted to have power and respect, you know? No one's ever taken me seriously." Sam turns and heads toward the dock, dejected. He reaches for the hose by the side of the dock. He turns it on, rinsing himself off under the cold spray. "Don't worry, Chef. I know the drill," he mutters. "Detox of Shame."

Noah and Leshawna, who are also departing the island tonight, stand watching him.

"So… your crush turned into a genetically-enhanced superhuman, and you used her to freak out a walking men's shampoo commercial?" Noah says dryly. "Yeah, we've all been there."

Sam perks up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Really?"

Noah doesn't even blink, his face flat and unimpressed as he stares at Sam's inability to detect the sarcasm. "No."

Leshawna looks thoughtful. "Where is that girl, anyway?"

Just then, a voice calls out from the distance. "Sam!" Dakota's voice echoes. She runs to the dock and pulls him into a hug, lifting him slightly off the ground. The sound of bones cracking echoes in the stillness of the night, likely Sam's spine.

"Ow… Who would have thought I'd be this happy to injure my spine, and probably my ribs, too?" Sam wheezes, grimacing through a smile.

Dakota pulls back. "Sam, I'm so sorry for how I treated you. You were the only one who tried to reach out to me when everything went crazy. But all I cared about was being on TV, and now… look at me."

Sam looks up at her. "Look at you? You mean, look at the awesome Amazon woman of my dreams?"

Dakota laughs. "I'm coming with you all," she says, more determined now. "I'm helping Leshawna and Noah file suit against Chris."

Sam's eyes light up. "Get back at Chris? Count me in!"

Together, Sam, Dakota, Leshawna, and Noah step onto the Boat of Losers, their departure feeling less like a defeat and more like the start of an organized revolt. The boat pulls away from the dock.

Meanwhile, Chris stands on the shore, watching them go. His confident smirk falters for a moment. He pulls out his cell phone and quickly dials a number. "Hey, Andy," he says in a hushed tone, glancing nervously around. "I'm gonna need you to move all my money into that offshore account… Wait, are we still rolling?" He looks directly into the camera, panic flashing across his face. He swats at the camera. "Get out of here!"

The camera pans over to Chef Hatchet, who's changing out of his hazmat suit. Chef looks up, caught off-guard.

"Will Chris keep gettin' away with all this? Will I still get paid after this lawsuit? Man, I better. Find out next time, on Total! Drama! Revenge of the Island!"